Compassion

Compassion

Compassion...what is it really?  Is it a serious venture - one worth pursuing?  Do I really care for people?  Maybe this compassion thing is some kind of emotion conjured up within my head to make myself feel rightous.  As a child my friends and I created our own little club to solve the ills of society.  We would dredge up garbage out of the river.....and leave it on the shore.  We would bring root beer and twinkies to the local drunk...but lost track of him when he didn't show up on the porch and yell at us.  Did I really care about the river or the drunk man?  In a way I suppose I did but mostly because it made me feel as if I was doing something.  How can I sort out this thing called compassion?

Hate!  Now there is an emotion I can wrap my head around.  It stands for itself.  It's catatonic really, self focused, self absorbed...a self inflicted stupor.  But compassion is so complex because it takes so many directions.  Experiences are different and personalities varied.  How do I balance this emotion?  There's empathy, discipline, teaching, giving, withholding, patience, pursuance and connectivity.  There's the ability to care for someone who has done wrong, protect someone who's been wronged, cry with someone who is hurting, listen to someone who is suffering and work with someone who needs help.  How can I be compassionate to the mistreated and the "treater"?

Could my compassionate base, with all these angles and directions, have flattened out and become murky?  In my last few posts I've been writing about a dimension where we live through the Holy Spirit.  This is a dimension God gives us to learn and be like Him.

Sure, I flounder in and out but do I really lose focus of myself, concentrate on the teaching of God's Spirit and allow myself to be Christ-like?  Now don't cast me off as some mystical wack-job.  God sends us help when we receive Him into our life.  John 14:26 says God will send the Holy Spirit to "teach" us.  John 16:13 says the Holy spirit will "guide" us.  We are taught to be Christ-like and guided to do Christ-like things.  So, when we are able to be Christ-like and not determining what Christ should be like, we are able to understand the difference between discipline and abuse, caring and posturing, giving and gloating, receiving and expectation.

Lets look at murky.  In 2 Samuel 6 we see David bringing the ark of God to "his" city.  The ark becomes unsettled during a stumble of the oxen.  Uzzah, probably a very nice and kind man, reached out to steady the ark.  God's anger "burned against him" (not good) and Uzzah died.  Was Uzzah compassionate to steady the ark? Now this is my God. How is my faith?  I often tend to wonder in criticism of God.  Why, God ?  As in, "how dare you"!    But God gets it, He is always right.  I should be asking, "why Uzzah".  Don't get lost in this example but the idea is that problems are not God problems they are "me" problems.  God is the Savior not the villain.  How do I quit being murky?  How do I make sure I don't reach when I should keep my hands close?

Maybe I've given up on the principles of truth. Compassion does not seem to be sentimentality, compassion is obedience.  This isn't something I make up.  Compassion has to do with the overflowing of Gods grace not the outpouring of my sense of wonderfulness. God's word points us to this very idea.  Psalms 51:15-17 shows Davids heart when he had been found out in adultery.  "To obey is better than sacrifice."  Could it be that living truth is better than wishing I had?  God gives us His word and His Spirit...not to manipulate but to obey.

Murky is uncomfortable.  I often make stuff up in my head thinking I'm doing wonders and justifying my actions without really understanding the ramifications of "steadying" the "unsteady ark of God".  I either didn't know or remember the truth or consequence of such an interference.

Really now...am I a pompous narcissist? Do I actually seek to be thoughtful and compassionate or do I just want people to notice my righteousness?  Do I recycle and quietly relegate to be a good steward of God's resources or do I shine up my recycle bin in order to portray my diligence and criticize others?  Am I loud and clear? Do I become raucous in my charity, activate my ideas, protest other's and pound my chest to acknowledge to everyone that I am quite incredible?  Again...is my compassion misguided and murky because I have given up on the principles of truth?

Previously I had written about my mom (press link for post). She was a wonderful lady, not perfect but blessed for sure.  In her last months of life I had wondered when a person's life becomes unviable.  When does a life slip into "uselessness"?  Was it at the point of pain, cost or unbefitting behavior?  Is it ever useless?  Were these thoughts uncomfortable?  Yes, but a decision I may have had to make.  This compassion question could not be murky in my mind.  There was no way this answer could come from me.  As I sought truth in God's word and direction from God's Spirit I was shown that my ways are not God's ways.  Life affects people in ways unbeknownst to me and my hands must be careful what they steady.  As my mom lay, seeming useless, in that nursing home, my brothers, who are quite gifted in their compassion, visited old friends, teachers from long ago and people they did not even know.  We sang concerts, shared coffee, books, laughs and tears.  My children learned more about love, care and concern than I could have taught them.  All this happened because of a life that was just there.  Am I willing to do away with life, whether young, old or imperfect because my compassion lies in the murky idea of alleviating hardship instead of elevating the creation of a marvelous God?  I can't conform to some kind of mind twisting because truth seems uncomfortable.

I tend to make illogical, irrational and unreliable decisions based on what I am feeling today, instead of the unwavering truth of the Creator of all. I have the assurance truth is at my disposable and my gleanings will reap effective, consistent and concise answers based on the words of my God and the guidance of His Holy Spirit. ]

What do I do then?  Being a pragmatic individual I want the 1, 2's and 3's and the A, B's and C's to offer me the exact analysis and solution.  But often God doesn't work that way because He is so complex.  So, when I am able to move past my idiosyncrasies and into the dimension he provided things look so different.  I don't see how much, how long, how often, how soon or even...."why?".  But God shows me truthful criteria to influence my decision making and guidance for how to manifest this compassion.  Am I good at it?  Not really. But God is... so I will continue to pursue Him. 

I am unable to make many of these difficult decisions in this earthly dimension in which I spend too much time.  This is because I have too much pride, greed and sin....too much me.  I must move into the place where God teaches and His Holy Spirit guides me. 

This compassion will bring many decisions and many will be difficult.  But we will see God realign normal life and create dependence out of hardship, mercy out of pain and strength out of weakness.  Realize then that this blog is not to say what should be done but where to go and whom to seek.

Anxiety

As I think about this topic allow me to alleviate your anxiety and give you the freedom to realize I am unqualified to discuss this subject medically or theologically. However, may I ponder a link between David, the man after God's heart, and this toxic anxiety?

It has been an incredibly long time that I have had a desire to trust God so completely that I would be anxiety free.  In the fifth grade I had turned my life over to this God and my walk was immediately interrupted by a traumatic change of schools.  In my old school boys weren't more or less cool, girls weren't more or less pretty and kids weren't more or less smart.  We all just seemed to be more or less friends.  This school change brought a pecking order; status delineation, cuteness ratio, dweeb analysis.  My groove factor was somewhere between "pathetic" and "Oh brother".  The tiles on the floor became my friend.  The hill, on our farm that overlooked the river...my solace.

Why all this anxiety?  Was it the change in schools?  Maybe adolescence had crept up on me. Or even worse -  had I become something people now despised?  

Over these many years anxiety has perplexed me.  Countless times, in the Bible, God warns us about this anxiety.  The confusion is that something which seems to be attached to me is so vehemently warned against.

As of late, I have been involved in a study of David, the Shepard who became king.  Acts 13:22 and 1 Samuel 13:14 refer to David as a "Man after God's own heart."  Why was that?  What was this trait he possessed?  Certainly it wasn't because of his many character deviations like adultery and murder. But as I look through his life, God was his focus.  Even when his humanness got in the way God was his default.  Could this be a link to my anxiety?

David didn't seem upset that he had been forgotten by his family in the blessed king lottery.  Killing the bear and lion...no problem, it was his duty to protect the sheep, God would protect him.  There was no second thought about himself with Goliath. Big or not Goliath had mocked God and must be dealt with.  Running from Psycho Saul was confusing but David always kept checking in with God.

However, does anxiety begin to make an entrance in 1 Samuel 27 when David begins to think "to himself"?  He begins to run...wherever.  His plans were all of a sudden not directed.

Proverbs 3:5 says this:

"Trust in the Lord with all 

your heart

and lean not on your own 

understanding;

in all your ways 

acknowledge him,

and he will direct your path."  

Is there a dimension, state of mind or acknowledgement of God's glory that I can escape to where there is no realization in which I can manipulate?  Often I feel as if I clumsily struggle in the morass between wanting to know and understand what and why and desiring to do what and why because it is obvious.

Let me try to explain.  In a previous blog I tried to describe humility as something that is, not something I do.  If I do humility I flounder in and out of guilt and pride.  If I was actually humble I would not know and escape this confusion of a reality created by my own determination.  

To be "in Christ"...not a pursuance exactly but a dimension of being...a state of having no option but Christ-likeness.

Will this Holy Spirit dimension release me from this dreaded anxiety?  And if so how do I get there and will I know when I have arrived?  

Does it seem as if God's plan is neither?  If I know how and why, maybe that is the proof I'm not there.  Is giving way to dependence His desire?  Is it about me at all?  Doesn't God say I must trust and He will direct?

Yes, we need to keep moving along and yes, there are other reasons for anxiety and yes, I still flounder.  But, could it be that if I am kept out of anxiety and replace me with dependence on God, might I soar into this often desired but hidden dimension?  Others may see me in and I will experience it but I will never realize I have arrived because this Godly dimension has a unending arrival, it is always pursue-able.  

It isn't easy, hence the dependence.  There will be hard times, trouble and even calamity.  But Psalm 46 shows me that God is my refuge and His Holy Spirit my reassurance.  This anxiety limits what is and obsesses what is not.  When I  "be still," give way, depend and allow this Lord Almighty to build a "fortress" around me, anxiety will fade and comfort will fill the now vacant spaces.

Shadows

The shadow of the cross

reveals a story true.

A baby born with love so boundless

to give us life anew.

Wrapped in blood and in a manger

a sacrifice will come

The test will not be easy,

the sins of all, not some.

A Kingly Crown to us be given, 

the One who wore the thorn.

The empty cross, He's risen

the One to us was born.

As always God has more for us than we first understand.  Maybe Christmas wasn't really about the birth of Jesus at all.  It was about beginning the sacrificial process of providing us new life!

John 10:10

"I have come that you may have life

and have it to the full."

Merry Christmas! 

Rest

My father was a man of principle.  Often, however, I didn't understand the passion behind the scruples.  You see, there was a hesitancy for him to do certain things for some reason.  I grew up in an age of obedience...no questions asked.  Unfortunately it wasn't until the last years of his life that we were able to chat as friends instead of "father-son."  There were too many things to find out, at that point, so his concept of Sunday rest went unknown.  It seemed somewhat confusing because activities like playing tennis were OK, but fishing was out of the question.  Fishing...? Why fishing?  Was it too much work to get the boat out, the old motor started and the fish cleaned?  Who knows, but it was off limits.  I will say, however, even this unknown created a semblance of difference and respect for the "day of rest".

Somehow this life has so many ways to fill itself with chaos and mayhem.  Work, kids...life- it sucks the existence out of us.  Though we now live under grace and we aren't bound by this "day of rest", is the component still essential?

Amy Carmichael puts it this way in the book, "I Come Quietly to Meet You":

                             "Those of us who are God's emissaries are to treat the world
                               (not just its corruptions, but its legitimate joys, its privileges and
                                blessings also), as a thing to be touched at a distance. 
                              We must be aware at all times that, if we are caught by its spirit,        
                               or fed by its meat, we will lose our sensitivity to the very breath
                               of the Highest and will no longer receive the manna that falls
                               from heaven to feed  our souls.

                             It is not that He forbids us this or that indulgence or comfort;
                              not that He is stern, calling us to a life of harsh asceticism,
                             as if that would make Him more pleased with us.  No, it is that we
                             who love our Lord, and we whose affections are set on the things
                             that are heaven for us today, will voluntarily and gladly lay aside
                            things that charm the world, so that we may be charmed and ravished
                            with the things of heaven.  Then our whole being may be poured forth
                            in constant and unreserved devotion in serving our Lord, who died to
                            save us." 

Does freedom lie in the captivity of this Savior?  Is there seriousness in why God gave rest its own special day?  Do I use this day of rest to entangle my life with more nonsense or do I rid the nonsense allowing myself room to be filled with wonder?

Will God judge me if I mow the lawn, play tennis or go fishing?  I should think not.  The offering of spiritual renewal and refreshment is given as a benefit not a painful hindrance.  I don't think God recommends options to give Himself opportunities to punish.  His creation and sacrifice is for our benefit.  If I refuse the benefit to be refreshed, I just won't be refreshed.

We see here then that sacrifice is a risky business.  So just as the soldier died to give me the right to burn the flag he is buried with, he hopes the freedom he sacrificed for would not bring despicable behavior.  This also holds true for the "day of rest".  The freedom we have gained to be refreshed by the sacrifice of Jesus, was meant to establish desire not repugnance.

Is this "day of rest" more important than I had once believed?  Often my fathers principles turn out that way.  Have I given away my freedom for things that just fill time and not refresh?  I must revive myself.  I must spend time with my God and make my "day of rest" worthwhile.  I must be careful because maybe, just maybe, if I am not a servant to the freedom sacrifice has provided I will become a slave to the tyranny I despise. 

Perspective

                                                                                               

                                                         PERSPECTIVE

                                                          Genesis 2:1&2

                                         "Thus the heavens and the earth were
                                             completed in all their vast array.
                                          By the seventh day God had finished
                                         the work He had been doing; so on the
                                        seventh day he rested from all His work."

How do I look at things?  What do I see?  Does it have confusing intricate detail...or is it all in plain view?  It often seems as if the complex issues in the miraculous majesty of God may be something only wise intellectuals can muster.  But I have this thought that, maybe, even the minds of those of us who are less adept can perceive this great Majesty as well.

Now realize, this is not to take anything away from brilliance...if only I had more of this coveted intellect. But this blog is to view perspective in a way to show God's creativity in allowing us to all be interested.

One day I was sitting in on a class of my friend as he was explaining certain views of creation.  His excitement began to ramp up as he described a view of a longer creation than an actual six day span.  In his excitement he began to explain molecules, atoms, light years and on and on.  My thoughts fluttered off into kids movies about toys and my mind began to shut down.  How could I facilitate my view of God in all this?  All these microbes, cellular structures and physic...things were spectacular but how could I calculate my God's Majesty using theory's I couldn't process?

Was my God smaller because my mind couldn't wrap its tentacles around such brilliance?  Could I not stand firm in my belief that the God of my friend and the God of my heart were the same?

The supposition behind the brilliance was that there was so much majesty in this God of his...so much complexity.  And thus the complexity being all true proves that this creation is much more than happenstance.  This amazing feat must have taken more than six actual days to complete. Of course God gives intricate criteria for things like salvation but often we process things in our own peculiar ways. As I think further it makes more sense to me now.  Though we all have our differences God remains the same. He is majestic no matter the perspective.  You see, my friend is brilliant and may be bored with my simple explanation of God's majestic creation.  He dives into the wonders of how this incredible God made all this majesty work.  And me, I am just extremely thankful that God included me in the plan.  Maybe its all a little like Freud and Rip Van Winkle; one agonizes over what our minds do in our sleep and the other can't wait to take a nap.

Its just hard for me to extrapolate on simple words.  Six days seem to be six days.  And is that less majestic?  Did he need more time?  All this complexity created because my God spoke it into being...a Majestic God for a simple man.

Continuation

Have you ever gotten the feeling that you weren't able to finish something but knew that if you had had the time you wouldn't have been able to get it right anyway?  Often I have had this feeling as a father.  Since my kids have moved on my heart yearns for one more explanation...something to relive the gift of time together.  When their fingers slipped through mine my responsibility seemed incomplete...unfinished.  The present somehow still lay unopened...wrong tears for "I'll miss you, wrong hug for "I'm sorry", Wrong words for "I love you".

Is it possible I made a connection when I noticed that a conflict between a parent and child, or for that matter a child and an aging parent, may be with the perspective of conversation...one giving instruction the other receiving correction?  Why does the bow on this gift seem to be untouched, the knot still held tight?

Do not misinterpret this difference between instruction and correction.  As we age our search for independence doesn't really leave us, although the focus may change.  We want to be loved, noticed and congratulated for our inferences and discoveries. However, these struggles of acceptance seem to intensify during the teenage and elder years.  The young adult is breaking free and the older adult holding on.  In both cases their hope is in the understanding that trust and belief is needed from those who are closest, yet it is held at a distance, if accepted at all.

                                  "I can do this don't baby me" or "I can do this don't pity me"

When advice is given frustration begins to mount.  My attempt at instruction, meant to help, love and protect, was often met with this frustration, a push back of sorts. I often thought there was some kind of an irritation from the instruction when it may have been a condescending message of correction I was portraying.   My instructive words were coming through with a corrective attitude leaving people lessened not build up.

Jesus handled situations differently, for example, look in the Bible with me at the adulterous woman in John 8.  With simple questions and pictures in the sand, Jesus allowed the Pharisees to admonish themselves and the woman to feel true love and acceptance.  He was able to allow each of them to come to terms with their needed response.   Granted, Jesus is God and I am me so situations often work out differently. but this is a picture, nonetheless, of positive idea transfer.

Did I bolster my parents or my kids?  Do I offer real help to my co-workers?  Do I reach out and help the crabby customer?

I look back and feel somewhat of a failure at opening this gift of communication...the missed opportunities of instruction, the frustrating terms of correction.  But as I age, the picture seems clearer somehow.  Getting it all right pales in comparison to pressing on.  Other lives will experience wisdom I have gained from both triumphs and failures of the past because I have been blessed with the gracious acceptance of my family who have allowed me to practice these many years.

As in the example Jesus set before us in John 8, I pray that my words will be less distinct and my pictures in the sand more evident. This gift of time together continues on as the present does not lie unopened, but has been re-wrapped and the bow untangled to reveal a new gift...a grandson.  Welcome Avery!  Together there will be treasures opened that only we will see...places we will go...people we will meet and secrets we will share. 

BLAKE

Almost three years ago I wrote Christmas Child and the memories were sweet. As I revisit this blog post my heart is heavy.

----------

CHRISTMAS CHILD

It has been many years now since my wife and I have taken in foster children.  The kids were great but, at times, the advocacy was difficult.  At one point we had a little boy who stayed with us much longer than anticipated.  Karen worked tirelessly to protect and find a wonderful home for this little boy.  The whole process took a few years enabling me to do something I maybe should have shielded myself from....we developed a special kind of a bond.

The image never goes away.  As I would sit and read in the early morning my eyes would catch bouncing, curly hair traipsing down the stairs.  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he would plop down next to me, wrap himself up in my arms and keep me company.  Sometimes we didn't talk, but often we chatted about "stuff".  It wasn't long now and he was gone, we had all finally settled on a good home, I didn't realize right away but this little boy had cut out a piece of my heart and taken it with him.

How much more must Christmas have felt to God?  He wrapped up His Son, set Him in a cold manger and left Him in a warped, crazy world.  God knew this baby would be mocked, ridiculed, beaten and killed.  But He also knew there was no other way to defeat man's sinful hearts. 

Oh how glad I am that God was willing to suffer the pain of separation so I could find this babe of Christmas.

Merry Christmas!

----------

After sacrificing his time and life in Afghanistan to protect our freedom Blake could battle no more. He passed away fighting the demons he was unable to cope with. After twenty some years Blake had reached out to us and tried to connect. If I could have just wrapped him up in my arms and talked about “stuff” again would it have helped? Of course there is always the “what ifs”… We were so close, I wish we could have reached him but the past was all too consuming.

That Babe of Christmas is still waiting to wrap us in His arms and shield us from the “stuff” we battle. Don’t give up…He’s waiting.

WRESTLING

Come back with me some thirty five years to LeTourneau College. To the heat of eastern Texas on a campus where the girls were diamonds and the boys were rough. The living quarters were as varied as a man's wardrobe of bell bottoms and leisure suits. " Sir, would you prefer an old army barrack, a room in our brand new plush cement bomb shelter or a suite in an old Hilton Hotel." I didn't need much, I was a man of little consequence. So I accepted the luxury hotel suite, the pool...the whole deal.

I had a wonderful friend back then whose biceps made my thighs look small and out of proportion. You see, Dan lifted weights and wrestled for the college. I had played a little basketball and tennis but had never participated in the sport of bad uniforms and humiliation. By bad uniforms I mean bad uniforms. What I mean by humiliation is that wrestling is not a team sport. If you won it was great, if you lost...you lost. You stood out there in front of everyone and took your lumps. There was no sharing the blame, you were alone.

As a fan it was so easy to watch someone out on the mat struggling and do the official annoying yell; " just stand up". I didn't understand the reality of that annoyance until Dan asked me to be his practice partner. I would go for a take down and find that moving his leg was like repositioning the foundation of the Eiffel Tower. This musclebound person would flop me around like a rag doll on a sweaty, smelly rubber mat finally jumping on top of me for my final demise. He would body slam me, put me in holds the names of which seem somewhat inappropriate, and continually pin me to the mat. My perspective changed. If someone would have told me to "just stand up" during my drubbing I may have lost whatever composure I had left.

This may not make sense to you but thoughts like these caused me to quit writing for a spell. A friend of mine created a pod-cast which explained the difference between a thinker and a doer. Often I think and draw conclusions leading to frustration as I analyse why people act and do what they do. I draw ideas from my perspective, my dealings...my way of life. With my brilliant overtones I think I can solve these dilemmas which have caused such anxiety. But really my conclusions are only the annoying "just stand up." Of course I care. But the empathy is often self served because I want a change to alleviate the hassle in my life. It was time to put the pen down and the wrestling shoes on.

Jesus got in the face of people. He didn't conjecture from a wing back chair in the den. He didn't assume the woman at the well was scummy and should be spanked. He didn't assume the Pharisees were perfect because they were religious leaders. He didn't assume Peter should just stand up. He entered their lives and saw what they needed. He saw a woman who needed a different kind of love. He saw a bunch of men that completely missed the point of His Father's words and needed a boot in the shorts. And He saw a man reaching out and helped him stand up. Granted, He is God, He knows what to do... of course He will help us as well.

Do I always know what people need? Generally... no. Do I know the brokenness behind difficult relationships?Do I know the hurt, the struggles or the void? Should I be a coach, a father or just a friend? I do know that sometimes they can't just stand up. I wrestle with myself. Many times my pen scribbles, but my feet can walk with them. Too often, however, I say what to do before I do what

I should.

Miracles

Some time ago I wrote a letter to a friend of mine, let me recount some of it to you.

My friend 's daughter had written an entry on "caring bridge" about her sick mother. Bravely, she approached the difficulty of praying for a miracle and yet showed us her fortitude to hold firmly onto her Savior for clarity no matter the outcome.

This exact struggle has plagued me for most of my life. When I was a boy my father lay dying, would my God answer my prayers and heal him? As a young father would I only be able to helplessly stand by while my son struggled to survive? When I got sick was my God powerful enough to reinstate my dreams and overpower my failures? Could I handle praying for a miracle and see nothing? If I prayed for a miracle and he didn't provide would He be less of a God? Because, you see, the worse option for me, by far, was not the "no miracle", it was the "less God."

It hasn't really been that long now since my perspective has changed. "No miracle", no longer has the possibility of "less God." Somewhere I came up with thinking miracles were mine. Miracles are not mine they belong to God. I am the recipient of His power. God is not more sometimes and less other times He is "all" all of the time. He never stops working on my behalf...His miracles are continuous! 

The reality, I feel, is that my involvement changes my perspective of each situation. God has allowed me to love deeply so my heart will burn for my desires, my answers and for results. I think He created me like this because He desires me to desire Him. However, because of these deep desires they often shadow God's workings. So, within moments what I had desired and prayed for has changed into something completely different. I am sure God is pleased with my desires and prayers but knows even I would not truly want Him to bring to life my confusion.

God can create situations to grow me. But I also believe God can use life as it happens and even Satan's conniving to help me grow. God has this incredible ability, that I can hardly understand, to work things out and make it good. 

So, though I have no idea what God has in store I am commanded to pray and ask, not only for His will, but for my God centered desires. God created us, I have no doubt He can fix us. I will not be ashamed to pray for just that...just like the daughter of my friend so bravely conveyed to us. She put it simply yet concise. She didn't talk herself out of it, her focus was sure:

"It's hard but I will continue to pray for miracles."

Laughter

Laughter

Often, when I was a kid, our family ate supper together. We brothers would usually tell some dumb jokes or wear some weird outfit and mom would get us all laughing with her uncontrollable giggling. Her laugh was insatiable, it would entice us to keep it coming, not to just put off doing the dishes but because the laughter seemed to clean out some of the toxic world.

Will there be laughter in Heaven? If so what will it be like? Of course there is that uncomfortable, awkward laughter we are sometimes forced into. But it seems that most laughter should come from something which is actually funny. Will it be self- deprecating? This hardly seems as if it would be part of Heaven's humor. Maybe pointing out something peculiar or idiosyncratic would lift our spirits. But wouldn't idiosyncrasies be classified as gifts in Heaven...not something goofy at all? There must be some types of jokes Jesus would tell. Do you think His sense of humor would be dry or roll back and howl funny? Surely there is laughter in Heaven. 

Our world is full of hurting, lonely and sick friends. There are uncomfortable decisions being created and acted upon within our society. We see too many odd situations developing within our political realm. The suffering we see around the world is epidemic. All this makes our hearts heavy...oh for a little laughter.

Kent, my buddy who passed away earlier this year, was a great joke teller not because of the jokes he told but because of how he told the joke. I can see him walking past Jesus on some golden side street, their eyes meet and Kent gives Jesus the "up nod"... " knock knock", and without flinching, Jesus, in all His omniscience, flashes a quick smile..."who's there." Neither of them would make it past the "who's there" because Kent would be in hysterics and although Jesus would already know the punch line His laughter would also be hysterical as he watched His created laughter be so perfectly exhibited through Kent.

Sure, in Heaven there will be everlasting joy. But what about here, what about now? Is laughter necessary? Although sometimes it's hard to come by I do believe it is important. There are healing qualities for the struggles we encounter keeping us healthy and capable for the work God has given.

Proverbs 17:22

A cheerful heart is good medicine,

 but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.

The more we let the bones dry the more susceptible we become to the taunts and testings of the evil ones. Don't give in. LOL 

Disease

                                   Disease

My Father was an incredible man.  He had an amazing drive and desire to serve his God, to the point some may have felt, it was overdone.  He was a diabetic and a researcher, so was often unconventional in his treatment and tried his own way to control the disease.  Often this meant he would end up with some kind of reaction.  The benefit of the malady was that he always had a bag of candy in the car.  However, most of my life these reactions meant cramming concentrated frozen orange juice into his system to regulate him.  Later on they created a syringe, loaded with the good stuff, that we had to inject into him.  When dad had these reactions, many opportunities erupted for angels to stay vigilant by keeping the house from burning down, watching over approaching vehicles and stalling out runaway tractors. 

One particular time Dad and Mom were in a back alley in Watertown, MN, right next to the river.  I must have gotten a text from God because somehow I tracked them down.  Now understand, Dad would either get wacky funny or angry during a reaction.  This time he was extraordinarily angry.  I kept running up to the car and he kept driving away.  My worry was he was so erratic that he may drive into the river.  I finally reached the car and turned it off and while I was wrestling the keys away, dad began swearing at me (he never swore) and punching me in the face.  As I wrestled to restrain my dad so mom could use the syringe I looked into his eyes and longed for my real father to come back.  Finally the medicine took hold...he came back.  He never really spoke to me about the event but I knew he felt awful.  Even though it wasn't who he really was it affected us both somehow.  I think it hurt the most because he felt so bad.

Sin is somewhat like this disease.  It comes over us unexpectedly and its effects somehow overtake us and drag us where we don't want to go.  It makes it seem a grand thing to take life over the cliff into the river.  Satan is really good at that and takes on the form that applies to us; a driver, a debater, a counselor, a thinker; the thing we would have considered a gift not a disease. 

Will I allow friends to restrain me so God can stab me with His Son and let the Holy Spirit drain into my life and bring back the me God wants to see?

 Psalm 43:3

Send forth your light and your truth,

let them guide me; let them

bring me to your holy mountain.

Often when I slip away from God I feel bad just as my father felt so many years ago.  But God offers hope.

Psalm 43:5

Why so downcast my soul?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God

for I will yet praise Him

my Savior and my God.

Now these are not words from a weak willed blubbering Scandinavian.  These are words given to a powerful and mighty king who needed and received the same hope I do.

                                              

PIOSITY

As I glance back in time I uncover acquaintances helping me to maneuver through disasters that awaited me. I also see myself shying away not wanting to relegate these maneuverings as warnings from others but instead as a design bestowed upon myself as brilliance. It seems I become frustrated when people, friends or otherwise, dictate the hows and whys of my life; what I do or things I say. The approach of these situations should be my business and decision should they not? These pious ne'er-do- wells are like irritating burrs under my saddle.

But really now, the people who I feel are full of piousness are no different than myself. They are not without temptation or tendency. No one is perfect in all areas of life but we all may have some contribution for betterment.

When I ask for an opinion I most usually am looking for resolution not absolution. Therefore I go to my friends who believe as I do and ask if my participation in some such matter is OK. If I do ask someone who may oppose me, and they do, I consider them pious not practical. I make an attempt to analyse their life and call them heretics not realizing they have succumbed to temptations with which they wish me not to struggle.

Sure there are Pharisaical frumps who have nothing better to do than stomp on my creativity.  But, I must make sure I am dealing with frumps and not parents who care for me or friends who hold me accountable or pastors who use the Word of God to sear my conscience.

Tendency to question, the still small voice or even the reason to reevaluate my steps are there for a reason...I must take heed lest I 

fall. I must be careful not to categorize people who warn or differ as pious for quite soon I may discover that what I thought pious is truth and what I felt was truth is actually piosity.

FRIENDS

Recently my daughter was married. Along with the celebration came many of her friends. It may not have been the idea of these people to include me as one of their friends but they stole my heart so what can you do? I have added them to my list of special people.  Many of Heidi's school comrades stayed with us and I can't tell you all the sweetness, laughter, long talks and just plain fun I enjoyed with these new friendships that were created.

I am incredibly blessed to have so many friends...or am I? What is it with friends? They freshen your life, they accentuate your demeanor, they push you to higher levels, they cry for you, they pray for you, they bail you out, they take you in, they hold you up and pull you along. they build you up and strengthen you... they humble you and keep you accountable. Why am I worthy of this? What do I have to offer? And even so, though I don't offer much, they don't care. I am accepted, propped up, prayed over, laughed with and fed much.

Then they leave and it's not just a bump in the road to climb over...it's a hole in my life to crawl out of. My friend left us and went to be with Jesus. Don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge him since many of our talks included a desire to see our God. Time with Kent was limited since normal life took up most of our time... then why this deep hole? Is this friendship thing all it's made out to be?

Kent was electric! You may think I'm just using a descriptive word... but that's what he was. I have a ninety nine cent extension cord running though my body. Kent was an electrical grid spewing energy all throughout the room. I don't think I remember any punch lines to Kent's jokes because I was waiting for him to explode. And when he talked about his Lord every muscle was twitching and his mind was so far out in front of his mouth because he so wanted to describe the wonder of it all. One never noticed how often he served others because it was so commonplace. And you knew his life was always true, with no show, because his family exemplified his instruction and faithfulness.

Would there be no holes if there were no friendships? Would the sorrow be less if the love was less? I should think the sorrow is great because the love is deep... and would I want it any other way? Thanks Kent for allowing me into your wonderful place of friendship. You will be greatly missed.

Unshakable

As the curtain is opened and this new year unfolds I see much suffering. Many friends of mine are struggling with afflictions life has sent their way. I pray for strength and healing and reflect on what grand times we have spent together. 

My view on what is important often changes from day to day, of which I am sorry to say. I look at what I deserve and see it as mostly what I do not have. What I do not deserve I have; a living God, a loving wife, wonderful children and incredible blessings. Often I want everything; no fuss, no problems and no work. I am a servant not a master. I am a sinner not a savior but I have a part to play in this production I call life. My true desire is that what I deserve I will learn from, what I do not deserve of this I will be faithful and what I want will not overtake me.

When this curtain opens to different acts throughout this next year I pray God will give us all a new appreciation, a greater dependence and a faith in Him that will prove unshakable.

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?