Honey

For whatever reason, I have always loved honey. I can't explain why, other than from my early childhood, I hold memories of the "honey bear" dispenser we had in my childhood home. We used that bear so much, all of his painted facial features were long worn off and only his snout and little "bear (not beer) belly" identified him as a bear at all.

Part of what I love about honey is that it is natural. One can walk right up to a hive, if you dare to, and take a swipe (seems like Winnie the Pooh was something of an authority on the subject). You don't have to wait for the processing and all that... just grab some honey and go.

Largely under-rated in the sweetening community, I actually prefer honey to any other sweetener (natural or laboratory-animal-tested). Honey on cereal has to be one of the all time great eating experiences and given the choice between ice cream or cereal with honey, I'm choosing the cereal every time. Additionally, I'm such a fan of honey, that I'll actually take those little single honey packets, rip it open and just suck the honey right out of it. (Beware of a particularly famous fried chicken retailer that deceptively serves "100% honey syrup" for their flaky biscuits that isn't real honey... it is 100% honey flavored "goo").

There must be something to this whole honey thing. God has a tendency to reference honey quite a bit. There are some 60 references to honey in scripture and well over 20 specifically for "milk and honey." (Maybe in addition to "cleanliness," perhaps eating honey in your cereal is "next to godliness," too?).

"Milk and honey" originates in the Hebrew Bible in God's description of the land between the Mediterranean Sea and the Jordan River, namely, Canaan. It is first described as "a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey" (Ex. 3:8)— and this description becomes a frequent reference for God to motivate His people to move there. I don't think He would have to twist my arm!

Apparently I am not the only one who highly values honey. An interesting part of honey's legacy in Jewish culture is that, as a testament to the high value put on this particular food, Jewish dietary laws made a consolation for it. Rabbis taught that biblical laws reflect the general principle that anything taken from any "unclean" animals is forbidden. Bees would have fit the description as as "unclean" .

Early rabbinical literature declares that bees do not produce honey, but simply transport the nectar of flowers and store it as honey in their hives. Therefore, since they didn't "make" the honey, then it was acceptable for the Israelites to eat it. Modern science, however, recognizes that bees actually do produce it, processing nectar in their bodies with enzymes. To argue for honey's acceptance, God's description of Canaan was used as argument that it was acceptable to eat it.

The Psalmist suggests a beautifully sweet word picture, "How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!" (119:103 also see Ps. 19:10). I love the thought of that! God's word being a sweet to me as pouring that wonderful golden nectar on my corn flakes? Can it get much better than that? That truly is a sweet sound to my ears!

Even if it as brief as a hit off a plastic packet of cheap coffee shop honey, I want each occasion I read the word of God to hit my spirit with sweetness and delight. For many Christ-followers, we can sometimes come to God's word as a routine, forgetting what it is (God-breathed) and just how wonderfully sweet it can be for changing our lives for the better. Even if it is one small taste per day, go ahead and step up to "the hive." There is a blessing in it waiting for you!

House of Praise

Due to a long, long over-due state vehicular inspection sticker (you know you’re too busy if…), this morning found me somewhat off my usual beaten path. Apparently state inspection stations are not as plentiful as I thought they were so today, after seeking out several locations at pre-dawn AM, I went back to the one I knew could take care of my need. Unfortunately, they didn’t open for another hour! So, given the opportunity there must always be a cup of coffee not too far away.

Craving a “bucks,” but finances and known location getting the better of desire, I wheeled into a place sporting “golden arches.” From the moment I arrived though, I realized the “outsides” don’t always match the “insides.” I quickly discovered this wasn’t your typical “Micky D’s.”

Masculine dark wood décor accented with paisley cushions, beveled glass curio cabinets, potted silk plants, faux wood accompanying ceramic tile floors, decorative “mood” lighting, angular architecture… from top to bottom this place was like stepping into a fast-food parallel universe.

One reason I frequent the nation’s fastest growing coffee chain is as much about ambiance as it is coffee. Those places simply feel “right” to me as body and brain come together in experience. My creative mind is soothed by the soft textures, intentional lighting and (generally) quiet surroundings.

“This is a McDonalds?” I ask myself upon entry. Sitting in a booth, I realize this doesn’t feel like a McDonalds at all (and the coffee was the best fast food coffee I’ve ever tasted). I sure can’t get a McMuffin at S’bucks! I’m beginning to wish this wasn’t so “out of my way.”

Growing up at McD’s, I never knew anything but red and yellow color splashed all over a canvas of white fiberglass seats and stainless steel countertops. An air tank cleverly disguised as a guy named “Ronald” would blow up a balloon for me. What is going on in the world of Filet-O-Fish and the Hamburgler? Maybe they are realizing something the people of God have known for thousands of years. They way things look communicates something. I mean, even the Playland here is “up-scale” with a rustic rough stone and lodge pole feel. Do these kids realize what they have?

Halfway through my coffee and McMuffin, a group of local high school students enter. Among the most well behaved teens I’ve seen in a while, they prove to be louder than the rest of this morning’s clientele (what pre-tardy teens aren’t?). It seems as though they respect how nice this place is and as they begin to leave, I see each one cleaning up after themselves (what are the odds?). This has been a nice experience off my usual beaten path.

All this makes me wonder what people see when they encounter places of worship. I’ve been around church buildings all my life. Most of which I don’t recall, but some are etched in my memory for good. Aromas, art, sound… some made profoundly positive impressions on me not just of architecture and finish, but of religious experience and of worship and, perhaps, even of God Himself.

Growing up in a fellowship where we apparently worked hard at making things look “plain, simple and functional” it was as if we traded one thing or something else. What could have been elegant light fixtures in the worship space were nearly always displaced by some type of simple 60’s pendant globes that had about as much personality as a cold leftover French fry. Religious art was, at best, a painted mural of a stream behind the baptistery. “Function over form” might be the most economic description of what I knew of church buildings growing up. What a long distance from “fiberglass booths and stainless steel countertops” this fast food restaurant has come. About now, I could really use another cup of coffee.

In the 65^th Psalm, David declares God will be praised in Jerusalem and that God’s people are filled with good things when they enter the house of the Lord (the Temple). There were occasions when God’s people didn’t put the effort they should have into the house of God (the Temple) (see Haggai for example). On at least one occasion they had to go back and get it right because they were putting more effort into making their own homes nice than they were the house of the Lord.

There must certainly be discretionary limits to décor, even in a house of worship. It doesn’t have to be gaudy, but it should be nice and intentional. Because when the place is nice, it makes a difference and it communicates something. Perhaps we should give more consideration toward, and put more effort into, what our “houses of worship” look like. If it mattered to God for the Temple, maybe it still does! What do you think?

I’m on my way to get a free refill on my coffee... now try that at your local “fancy coffee” place!

T-Shirts

The other day as I was leaving the gym I passed a woman who was wearing a T-shirt with a scenic graphic picture on the front and the simple words "South Carolina" emblazoned across the bottom. Clearly on her way to work out, I guessed this shirt (like the sweaty one rolled up in the bottom of my gym bag) was a "cull" from the "soon to be rag" category of her wardrobe.

When it comes to work out clothes it generally seems like there are two kinds of "gym types." There are those sporting the high dollar, scientifically developed, pro athlete endorsed, sweat wicking togs and then there are what I would call the "S.L.O.B's" (Shirt Left Over Bunch) who grab whatever may be laying on the floor when the motivation to hit the gym strikes. I'll confess, I'm more the "slob" variety. But this has little to do with my point.

Seeing this woman's shirt got me to wondering what life was like before silkscreen shirts. Can we even remember back that far? I remember the "early days" of silk screens when they were basically iron-on emblems that in time pealed off the shirt like old paint off the side of a barn.

Now, that type of technology is so good, you can print your own iron-on transfers from your own laptop and have a "custom" shirt in minutes and they last nearly as long as commercially produced shirts.

Commercially produced silk screen shirts in our culture today is big business (I actually was aggressively challenged by a silk-screen salesperson last week on "why in the world would you not want screened shirts advertising your church?") and the more attention I've paid to it the last few days, I can safely say screened shirts are "everywhere." Even the label in the T-shirt I'm wearing today is screened in, not sewn in.

What has really got me thinking is "why" do we wear screened clothing? Going back to the lady at the gym early this week... why "South Carolina" anyway? Is she a native? Did she visit and like it so much she had to tell the world about it? Did someone else visit and "all she got was this stupid T-shirt?" What is it with our fascination with advertising places and products, anyway?

To my knowledge I've never received a single penny from one of the "big three" sports clothing manufacturers for wearing one of their shirts, yet I have a shelf in my closet full of them. Weird! Is it our desire to look like pro athletes that makes us buy these things? Are we so impressed with a particular vacation spot that we want the world to know we've been there, done that?

What are we proclaiming with our shirts? Are we encouraging others to buy "our" brand? Surely it is more than letting others know what brand we're wearing. If that's it, then why don't we just rip our labels out and sew them on the front of our shirts? Problem solved!

Is the woman at the gym proud of South Carolina? Is wearing the shirt a way of recalling a memory? If so, does the affection of the memory fade as the shirt reaches "workout" status? I now own shirts I won't wear anymore simply because the memory attached to the place is so strong. I don't want to ruin the shirt and then not have the symbol of my affection. Again, quite weird if you're asking me!

And what of all those religious shirts? Are they a proclamation of faith? Are they testimonial? Are they simply a reminder to benefit the wearer? Are they judgment for all others who don't agree with the wearer's brand of faith?

It is a curious thing why we wear our allegiances so boldly. I have to wonder if we really believe what we wear, or are we merely wearing our convictions on our sleeves?

If I Counted Correctly...

If I counted correctly, I could have attended as many as six gift-exchange parties this Christmas season! That means I could have given/received more gifts than I will likely receive on Christmas morning! While some of these events are a little more serious (nice gifts expected -- some now with a price tag of $25 or more), some are cheap ($.99 or less -- this year the BAG cost more than the gift I gave in that exchange) and some are utterly and completely silly (just ask my good friend, "SpongeBob SquarePreacher" -- he was "framed" I'm telling you, "framed!").

Why we keep doing these things, I don't know. It all seems so predictable and yet, there we go, gift in hand, laugh a little, get ticked that someone else stole the gift we really wanted (especially in those $25 exchanges), try to figure out a way to let people know what gift we brought (if we are proud of it and it was a "hit") and hope no one finds out what we brought (if the general consensus is that the gift was a dud). Then we go home and mutter something about how tired we are of "those things" and ask why do we keep going to them.

Now don't get me wrong. It's not that I'm against these festive little gatherings. In fact, in some ways having them may poke fun at how commercially "profane" we've made the season of Christ's birth in the first place. Actually, I'm good with all that now and then and frankly believe we need to poke a finger into our collective sides on occasion and query why we do what we do.

I guess what bugs me about this whole "gift exchange game" is the fact that I must now "count" how many I could have attended one of them (remember I could have attended SIX of these things this season) and question the general lack of apparent creativity on the part of us as hosts (just earlier tonight I hosted a high school drama department version of the exact same thing in our home -- so I admit I'm as much a part of the problem as the solution). Seriously thinking, other than the retailers of silly (or not so silly) gift items, is anyone just chomping at the bit for us to have another one of these things? I'm just wondering to myself here...

It isn't that I don't completely enjoy these exchanges or that I'm not willing to attend another one ever again (though I'm done for this year)... I'm just wondering if there is something else "out there" for us human beings to do as friends at Christmas time! Maybe caroling, maybe sharing Christmas stories, perhaps decorating a tree... I don't know -- let's come up with something different. I'd even go for a hay ride, but I'd wind up sneezing myself into oblivion!

I'm just thinking out loud and wondering if anyone else shares my complications with the whole "need for counting..." thing. One gift exchange would be enough, wouldn't it? If we were really honest with ourselves... aren't we maybe a little bored with the whole concept, anyway? I mean, I've been going to these things for years!!!

This next year I am going to commit some time to thinking of something new to do with my friends next Christmas. Who knows? Maybe you'll consider joining us and then you'll have to "count" and see if our gig will make your list of things to do!

A Thumb-full of Patience

Lately I’ve been learning a lesson in patience (funny how “the more we learn, the less we know!”). My right thumb has now been splinted 24/7 for nearly 28 consecutive days. That is only half-way through a minimum 8 weeks two months required to “compensate” for a ruptured extensor tendon. Torn beyond the repair that surgery might have provided, medical advise suggests simply keeping it immobilized to let scar tissue form and create what is essentially a new “tendon” (in function) that will (hopefully) provide up to 90% of the movement I once took for granted. It is amazing what the human body is capable of doing to compensate for injury.

While old dogs may have difficulty learning new tricks, clearly old thumbs don’t heal as quickly as they once did and while the days on the calendar seem to evaporate like water in a hot skillet the older we get, they don’t when it comes to have a bandaged up thumb. In the world of my right hand the days and weeks are only creeping by. Which is slower the healing or the calendar? I don’t know. What I do know is I wish that the time zone in my left hand would catch up with the rest of the world speeding by!

As with most things in human existence when occurring out of the norm, there is typically close by a lesson waiting to be found . This morning I found one in Israel’s old hymnal (Psalm 24). This song proclaims a welcome for God into the temple. David uses a phrase that I particularly like, “Open up, you gates. Open wide, you aged doors and the glorious King will come in. Who is this glorious King? The Lord, strong and mighty. The Lord, the powerful warrior…” (Ps. 24:7-9). With bound thumb in splint, seemingly slower to heal each day and challenging my patience in ever-increasing ways, the “aged door” phrase has captured my attention.

Aged doors don’t open easily, do they? Decades of use, abuse, rust and wear make hinges squeak, grind and not easily open. There are occasions when we may even give up on ever even opening the door again. We becoming merely content to stay on the side we are on or perhaps we may seek an alternative way in. But here, at David’s exhortation, there is reason to pull on those old hinges and open the door, again. “Who is this glorious King?”

When I consider patience, I have to be amazed at the patience God has for me as I live in my earthly “temple.” Wholly dedicated to Him sometimes, there are also periods where I allow my hinges to rust and the door simply doesn’t open as easily for Him as it once did. Yet He remains, “The Lord, strong and mighty… the powerful warrior.”

Though it might be a bit more difficult than usual with my injured thumb, I'm learning something about patience and about the Lord and me as well. There is a good reason to grab the latch on the gate of my heart and give a good hard tug. I am confident an open gate is an invitation to meet with the King of glory, strong and mighty! It is there I may find a thumb-full more patience, too.

Becoming...

Who I need to be is quite possibly not that far off. It is as though I can vaguely see it on the horizon like the dawning of the sun as it crests the landscape and illumines the silhouettes of winter's now barren trees. Provoked by knowing something better lies further down the road, I'm perplexed by how much time I've been spending in the rest area on the side of life's road. To be sure, there are others milling around here with me and perhaps we are all in the same predicament? I wonder where they are heading and wonder what they are becoming as well?

I'm not clear whether it is God's voice or my own ambition that begs me to get back on the road. There seems to be a fine line between self motivated ambition and fulfilling true Creative design. I'm guessing that even if I achieve all I think I should be, I'll still be missing the form and function the Creator desires. How much can we ever really know, anyway?

An ever increasing dependence upon the One who knows all things is where my limitations are most exposed. Frankly, I don't care much for being exposed. Far beyond the days of infantile innocence romping around in my developmental "birthday suit," mid-life acutely beckons awareness of who I am, who I'm not and what I am or am not becoming.

A strange thing is that most of us can function quite well right where we are. Continuing on as we have (perhaps for years) is apparently no major catastrophe (at least for the moment). When we allow ourselves to actually peek into that horizon though, where the sun has now fully engulfed the sky, then we are called to a reckoning of space and time. Looking into that brilliance, the realization of who we can be becomes somewhat inescapable. As surely as we can't halt the path of the sun, eventually we can't ignore the reality of who we could be. We are therefore forced to choose: either stay where I am or get back on the road.

This is when things become quite critical. A "wasted" day is now 12, 14, 15, 16, 17 waking hours less development toward my becoming. I face the reality that I can't keep living in the "rest area" and cast if off as merely a day when "I didn't do too much." It is now a day where I chose to hang out eating only junk food from vending machines and trying to wash in a sink that only provides 5 second bursts of water. There must be a better place further down the road, don't you think? Do we all really want to stay in a rest area (where most don't even have public showers, for goodness sakes!)?

So, it appears it is most appropriate for me (I can't make the decision for you) to buckle up and get back on the road. Becoming is on the horizon and from this vantage point, what remains to be seen looks rather interesting. Discipline is the call of the day. So, if you'll pardon my "blinker," that will be me merging in...

Colors

The forecast calls for 65 degrees, but today will likely bring something closer to only 60. Tonight's low will be in the high 30's resulting in an explosion of color over the next few days. True, the northern regions of the great state of Texas is no New Hampshire this time of year, but nonetheless there is still an abundance of color to be found if one is willing to look for it.

Sitting alone at one of my favorite coffee spots, the colors of the season are already presenting. Pastel interpretations of Fall's colors adorn the walls as contributed by a local elementary school. Evidently the product of a collective art assignment. Some more technically accurate than others, the diversity of all must be appreciated. How wonderful are the differences between us.

Diversity and difference brings energy to some and challenge and frustration for others. I often wonder what differentiates the two. How is it that one person can see diversity in its stark reality and embrace it as a "good thing" and next run from it like a dangerous enemy?

I'm doubtful this time of year we will find any two leafs alike. Even if we combined all the leafs of New Hampshire and north Texas together, we still would likely never find any two exactly the same and yet we find few who will argue with fall's beauty.

This season, I'm trying to learn to further embrace diversity and see things more as God must see them and certainly as He has created them. Each uniquely created and yet in accord with His image. There is beauty in diversity and difference if we are willing to look for it.

How singularly incredible God is to be the "same yesterday, today and forever" and still love with such incredible diversity. These are the colors of the season.

Of Coffee Beans and Big Fish

From the moment my head hit the pillow, I was anticipating it. Rain already falling in the late watch of the night secured the promise of showers certain to greet the early risers. Drifting off to a restful sleep, I could already smell the steaming cup of Autumn Blend awaiting my arrival in only a few short hours.

Autumn Blend is a seasonal intermingling of “artisan roasted beans” that has captured my caffeinated attention this fall. A hearty brew with an earthy undertone of chestnut and rose petals, it is sympathetic with the changing of the seasons. Rich in color and body, its aroma is nearly as captivating as its taste. So “sacred” has this blend become to me in the past few weeks, I dare not cover a steaming cup with a lid! This coffee must breathe and be experienced by as many senses as appropriately possible. Drinking even one cup has become precious to me.

Eyes beginning to close, I could see myself sitting in my usual spot. Slipping silently from the last few conscious moments of this day, I anticipated beginning my next watching out the window as the early moments of dawn illuminate the falling rain droplets off the window canopy. The week would begin on a beautiful note with a wonderful "cup of joe."

Darting between drops as a thick band of showers entered the area, I could see from the parking lot that my preferred table was unoccupied. Claiming my turf, I ordered a toasted “power bagel” (with butter) and a medium cup. Receiving my change, I made my way to the coffee bar and soon witnessed the wheels rolling off the beginning of my idyllic week… where is the Autumn Blend?

“Are you still brewing the Autumn Blend,” I ask inquiringly. “No, we’re out of Autumn Blend,” is the reply. “Out as in… ‘Out for the moment’, or...” I hopefully suggest. “No…out as in the distribution center has it back ordered and it will be several days or more before we have any available,” is the response from the cashier. “Oh... I see…” is my lament.

Funny how we become so conditioned by preference. Now on my third cup of Vanilla Hazelnut, I’m all the more convinced there is no better coffee for this season than my beloved Autumn Blend. “Why does it have to be this way?” I wonder to myself. “Don’t they realize how many lives are affected by the fact that some distribution clerk did not appropriately anticipate the demand? Didn’t anyone realize that I alone could personally account for a run on the season’s best coffee?” I finally concede as I pour that third cup of inferior java.

How appropriate my morning reading would include Jonah. Most are quite familiar with Jonah and the big fish incident but not as many recall Jonah and the whole vine thing. That incident in Jonah’s life doesn’t seem to get as much press coverage but is as telling about his general disposition as not wanting to go where God sent him.

After God and Jonah have their 3-day, 3-night “staff meeting” in the belly of the big fish, Jonah makes his way to Ninevah and proclaims the prophecy of the Lord – basically, “repent or die.” The people appropriately repent in sackcloth and ashes as Jonah waits east of the city to see if God is going to follow through on His promises. He does and Jonah is about as hacked about it as if his favorite coffee were missing from the coffee bar.

From his perch of perdition, Jonah is comforted by a quickly sprouting vine which shades his head from the heat of the day. As he becomes accustomed to its provided comfort, a worm attacks the vine and the plant dies as quickly as it grew. Jonah’s anger now grows beyond reason as God steps in to intervene.

“You are so concerned for that plant even though you did nothing to make it grow. It appeared one day and the next day it died,” God said. And I find myself curious as to whether the clarity of his anger struck Jonah. "I know why I am angry," he must be assured. "But is it right?" has got to be a perplexing issue for him.

I wonder how many times I become upset about inconveniences to my life but have no invested effort in their existence or outcome. Do I complain over the rain when I’d prefer sunshine? Do I revisit anger over a frequently encountered pothole on my morning commute while I’ve done nothing to help maintain the roadway? Do I pout when my favorite blend of coffee is unavailable, yet there are plenty of others from which to choose?

So my week didn’t start out as envisioned, but I’m seeking a new perspective. How about you? Is there another way of looking at matters of inconvenience which are ultimately well beyond our control?

Of Fall...

After what seemed a long summer, morning’s chill has finally come. The crisp snap in the pre-dawn air is a clear indicator fall has arrived and winter’s blast not long to come. While leaves still tenaciously hang at their perch, it is now only a matter of time before they blush into a chilly night’s hue and make their gentle descent to the ground. It is the season of slumber, of calm, of returning to the things that ground us. There is a subtle, yet profound, beauty in this time of year.

One of the great features of fall is watching things change. A gentle metamorphosis occurs right before one’s eyes. In a matter of weeks, what once was green and full of life makes a fantastic chromatic journey through the color spectrum and then quietly goes to tender sleep resting on earth’s floor. As long as time itself, the cycle repeats annually only to give way to the birth of spring pending fall’s chill again. It is a beautiful thing, really.

These are the days of fall. Football games, festivals, State Fairs and homecomings… a time when we come back to where we’ve come from. Different than the reunions typical of spring or summer, homecomings have a more natural and less formal feel about them. A migratory sense looms about this time of year as natural as a leaf returning to the ground. Bundled in our warm overcoats, perhaps for the first time of the season, homecoming calls us to root on the home team and refrain the alma mater one more time. It is a wonderful thing, really.

Homecoming kings and queens notwithstanding, homecoming is about getting back to where we started. It is about reacquainting ourselves with the familiar and coming close once again to the things dear to us. While it may be chilly on the outside, overall there is something warm and comfortable about coming home.

This is a great time of year. A time to touch base and reconnect; to let the leaves fall while remembering what is at the core of our being. This is a time to become quiet and return to that which deeply roots us. Fall is a beautiful time of year.

“We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body

and at home with the Lord.”

2 Cor. 5:8

The Death of Trees

Perhaps I should have seen it coming, though I never saw it coming. It was likely so obvious that had it been a hole in the ground, I would have walked right into it. In fact, it was a hole in the ground at one point.

My family and I moved into our current home about 26 months ago. We have a lovely home, situated in an ideal neighborhood surrounded by lovely park settings, walking trails, urban lakes and a golf course. Though far from mature in flora, the builders and HOA have cooperated with one another to quickly produce a visibly pleasing place to live (something should justify those HOA fees!).

Each home came fully equipped with featured landscaping in the front yards including three nice trees in the front and fully sodded backyards including one tree from which to begin landscaping in the back. Each tree had a one-year guarantee from the date of move-in. Within a year, we replaced three of the four trees!

Moving into our home in the middle of a season of drought in North Texas was tough on the lawns and trees in particular. Within that first year, three of our four trees met an unfortunate death to what we thought was shock. Two nice northern Red Oaks in the front and one Texas Live Oak in the back never saw the home's first anniversary. Responsibly, the builder replaced all three trees with Texas Live Oaks and for a season all seemed well.

Within only a few months however, I began to notice the tree in the back yard began looking "ill." I was careful to give it plenty of water and watched the tree closely. My neighbor's tree (also a Live Oak) seemed to be doing just fine. But in a matter of only a couple more months, that tree went from a beautiful "live" Live Oak to a sparsely leafed, "dead oak." The only consolation I received in its passing was that a small bird family had nested in it branches. Of course, by now we had met the one-year deadline (pardon the pun) and the builders considered themselves free from any responsibility in replace my now dead replacement tree.

Through the cold winter the tree stood its ground but was clearly done with life and though its branches reached toward the warmth of Springs new sun, the leaves never returned. Within a few months, the bony fingered branches figured against the bright blue sky and barked pealed away from the main trunk. The tree began returning to the ground from which it came.

I left that tree standing for some time as a sorrowful reminder of just how quickly death can take all things that have life (and breath. I suppose it could be argued that even trees breathe, as they give back oxygen to the created world around them).

An old friend of mine moved into the neighborhood a few months later, but into a section with older mature trees. In fact, his property looks like an old arboretum or something compared to ours. He has beautiful old trees all over his yard that tower into the sky. Some of the trees soar 50 feet or more into the sky. But in keeping with their contractual promise, the builders stuck a simple little "new" Northern Red Oak smack dab in the middle of my friend's new yard. It was the most ill placed tree anyone had ever seen. In the midst of all its towering neighbors and for the sake of having some semblance of a functional yard, the baby tree clearly had to go!

My friend was just going to throw it out until one day I suggested we could replace my dead tree with his "new" one. He agreed and through a comical escapade (something involving another friend's pickup truck, a furniture dolly, rope and a couple bungee cords -- a funny story better saved for another time) we hauled this lovely Northern Red Oak to my backyard (nearly a mile's driving distance away) and successfully transplanted the tree where the previously two had stood, and died.

I kept the trunk of the old tree not far from its once thriving growth spot as a kind of tombstone and epitaph in memoriam to both the former trees (that may have been a bad idea, though I'm not sure it would have ultimately made a difference). The young Red Oak stood tall and proud. Truth be told, it was the finest of all three of the trees that had now occupied the hole. Given all the work and sweat invested in this tree, I loved it! The tree and I had "bonded" (my friend and I had made a wonderfully funny memory to add to our collection) and I anticipated the day that tree would grow big and strong. I could clearly envision the day I would likely sip lemonade in its shade and sneak a hammock nap on a cool Spring afternoon. For a year now, things have gone according to plan. Until last week...

As I was mowing the lawn, I noticed the edges of all the leaves beginning to turn brown. Since it had now been a couple of weeks since our last rain, I thought it might need more water. However, the tree's Red Oak counterpart in the front yard is thriving in the same conditions. Now 2 1/2 years in its place, it is beginning to tower into the sky (the largest new oak on our street). The two Texas Live Oaks in the front are doing well also, which tells me the brown edges are not the function of a lack of water. Incredible rain totals this year (North Texas is now officially no longer in a drought) have provided plenty of water in which to grow. Plus, I've been careful to keep water on the tree in the dry weeks. There must be something else wrong, I began to think.

Yesterday, my wife left me a note saying, "Something is wrong with the tree in the back yard." And going out to investigate, I could not believe the change in only a week's time. There is something very wrong with our wonderful tree.

Today, I researched the matter and have determined it is terminal. Our sweet Red Oak could be completely dead by the end of the month and there is nothing I can do about it. There is a condition called Oak Wilt that will take the life of an oak tree quicker than anything else (it is the equivalent of a massive coronary in a human being). A fungus clogs the vascular system of oak trees preventing the flow of water and nutrients through the trunk and the tree dies a certain death. There is no known cure. (Read more about Oak Wilt) (On one of our church campuses, Oak Wilt has killed a number of historic trees that have been cut down and destroyed. Without such aggressive action, Oak Wilt can take out every tree in the area).

Beginning to mourn the loss of my young Red Oak tree, honestly today has been a sad day. I was proud of how that tree had stood its ground where the previous two had not. Carefully staked into the ground, the new tree had traveled a long way to our house (in a hilarious adventure) and it seemed to like the new location and warm evening sun. It had also weathered some powerful summer storms (a couple too-close-for-comfort lightning strikes that raised havoc on certain appliances and electronics in our house). But now, a simple, unstoppable fungus will ultimately be its demise. Today, I began to wonder if anything will ever grow in the hole?

I should have seen it coming. If I had only thought about the hole... but I never thought about the hole! It wasn't the tree, it was the soil! Duh! It seems so obvious now! If I had only known about the hole! It just kills me that I led the tree into a hole of death! What a really, really sad thing it is!

Have you ever thought about the soil into which your life is planted? So often, our lives (like beautiful trees) can be looking so good from one point of view and then, take a sudden turn for the worse. Sometimes, "stuff" invades our spiritual lives that is so destructive it is like a fungus. It works its way into our root system and chokes us out and over time, we just might die and by then, there is nothing we can do about it. Our spiritual vascular system is so compromised, we just wither up and die.

The Oak Wilt fungus doesn't manifest itself in visual signs on the tree until the life is already choked out of it. Now for our family, it is just a function of watching it continue to die. If I had only known about the hole! There were things we might could have done... evacuated the soil, chemically treated it and let the soil rest until the fungus was gone. Or perhaps I could have planted the tree in another hole far from the first one. But, instead we put a beautiful tree into a very dead hole.

What kind of soil are you living in? You may look fine to the world around you, but that may not be the best indicator of how spiritually healthy you are. There may be sickness "in the hole" that only you know about. If so, may I suggest a quick transplanting? By the time your "leaves" start showing the ill effects, it simply might be too late.

I'm going to miss that tree... imagine what it could have been.

Expectations...

"So what did you expect?" came the proposed question with a slight tone of condescension and disappointment that there wasn't more faith played out in the moment.

"I don't know..." was the drifting response.

So, what do we expect in any given circumstance? I realize certain personality types are more given to optimism while others will always deem the "glass half empty." Though typically an optimistic person, I still find myself "expecting the best" but "prepared for the worst." And I'm trying to change.

One of my favorite scenes from the Minor Prophets of Old Testament scripture is a picture of Jerusalem fully blessed by the Lord. In the span of a few verses, the prophet Zechariah speaks on behalf of the Lord and proclaims that He has a "strong love for Jerusalem" that burns like a fire. God promises to return to Jerusalem and living in it will see to it that "old men and old women will sit along the streets and the streets will be filled with boys and girls playing." Those who will be left alive to witness this beautiful picture will think something this wonderful will be "too difficult" for the Lord. But God is quick to respond saying, "but it is not too difficult for me." (For the entire picture, see Zechariah 8:1-23).

Jerusalem had been in exile for a long time at the hands of a powerful and oppressive people. When we find ourselves in a tough situation for a long period of time, it is often difficult to even think, let alone envision, something better than what we've known. But God is in the business of doing amazing things and it is true that "nothing is too difficult" for Him.

I'm learning when it comes to being in relationship with God, I can actually not only expect the good circumstances, but I can actually prepare for them with anticipation, knowing that God is painting an extravagant picture and true reliable blessings are just around the corner.

Do you have the faith to expect the very best and then live in anticipation of it?

What's Love Got To Do With It?

Tina Turner once recorded a song lamenting "What's love got to do with it... Who needs a heart, when a heart can be broken?" It is just one of a "million" songs questioning whether love is ever really worth the trouble. Perhaps people ask the same question about a relationship with God as well?

God is love. This is His most self-defining trait. It might be helpful for us when we think of God and love to think not so much in terms of "God doing lovely things," but that "Love does godly things." You see, love is something that does indescribable things. Love can work miracles in the lives of people and can bring so much beauty to the world, it is impossible to appreciate it all. Love is a powerful force beyond measure.

God is love and whoever doesn't love like God loves doesn't really know God (1 John 4:8). I think rather than God choosing to love, the powerful reality about God is that He IS love. It is as if he is bound by His own nature and therefore He has to act according to that nature! This is what makes that scripture so powerful when it says, "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son..."

While I can't prove God didn't "choose" to send His son, I do think it is a powerful thought to consider that God's nature of love is as powerful, if not more powerful, than choice! That is a great thought isn't it? Because that means that if we REALLY love someone, we are going to sacrifice for them almost "instinctively" rather than merely because we "choose" to. Love can be a powerful thing, can't it?

Think of it in terms of salvation in Christ. "God demonstrates his own love for us in this. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8). For Jesus to die for us is a mighty strong demonstration of love. I really like the thought that love is more powerful than choice. I'm going to have to spend some more time thinking about that, but I believe it may be true.

The painful part of life is when someone "chooses" not to demonstrate love. Again, thinking in terms of "love doing godly things" that can explain why it hurts so much when someone doesn't "choose" to love us. When someone else injures or abuses us, we have to wonder and ask, "why isn't that person loving me?" That is what makes God's love so incredibly amazing. He is always willing to love without fault! But that reality is also what makes a human being's inability for "loving to do godly things" hurt us so badly when they fail us. We want the love God can give, but get the love (or lack of love) a human chooses to give. That is an incredible "lowering of the bar" from what God has to offer. I mean, find someone who can love you more and more like God loves you and you've really found something!

Birdsong

Most of my life I have enjoyed singing (though not always fond of the sound of my own voice) and it is rare there is not a song in my head and typically one can be found on my lips. And yet, in the past few years I have come to appreciate the voice of another member of the created community certainly more than my own.

In recent years, I have become more and more attuned to the countless sounds birds make. Birdsongs are fascinating artistic works if one will simply take the time to listen to them. (Hear a Nightingale here) Yesterday, while leaving our church campus following a great day of worship, Bible study, fellowship and food... I was stopped in my tracks by a wonderful sound of a particular bird. Once I spotted the beaked vocalist in the trees, I invited it to continue on in singing its songs... and the bird was quite kind in reply.

For several minutes I stood and listened to song after song (I was careful to quietly thank the performer at the end of each verse). I lost count at over a dozen different renderings or chirps, warps and chuckles. It was a most excellent concert and I likely would have applauded if I'd known it would not offend the bird and have it consider me trying to rid the area of its presence.

The event took me back to an account I once read of St. Francis of Assisi.

Many of the accounts surrounding the life of St Francis mention his particular appreciation for animals and creation. Perhaps the most famous account from his life expressing his love for nature is recounted in the 'Fioretti' (The Little Flowers), a collection of legends and folk-lore that sprang up after his death. It is told that one day while Francis was traveling with some companions they happened upon a place where birds filled the trees on either side of them. Francis told his companions to “wait for me while I go to preach to my sisters the birds.” The birds surrounded him, drawn by the power of his voice, and not one of them flew away. Francis spoke to them:

"My sister birds, you owe much to God, and you must always and in everyplace give praise to Him; for He has given you freedom to wing through the sky and He has clothed you…you neither sow nor reap, and yet God feeds you and gives you rivers and fountains for your thirst, and mountains and valleys for shelter, and tall trees for your nests. And although you neither know how to spin or weave, God dresses you and your children, for the Creator loves you greatly and He blesses you abundantly. Therefore… always seek to praise God."

While I didn't preach to this singular songbird, I did feel a sense of connectedness to all of Creation through the experience. After a great day with my Christian family, it seemed only appropriate to share some of our joy with the "birds of the field." They, in turn, were willing to share their gift with me.

I'm looking forward to another concert. In fact, I heard the chorus practicing today outside my office window and I know they will be well rehearsed for their next performance. As with my friend St. Francis, I will only ask that my birdsong friends always seek to praise God. For if they do, it will surely be a wonderful experience!

Repentence

One thing I don't enjoy doing is U-turns. On a motorcycle, no matter how good a rider may be, U-turns present problems. As adept as most motorcycles and their riders are in the turns, at such low speeds, even the highest performing bikes and riders are vulnerable to rider error or bike limitations (it has been said it takes more skill to ride slowly than it does to ride fast). Generally speaking, motorcycles are not inclined to turn such tight turns at such reduced speeds. Balance, precision, technique and concentration all come into play when riding slowly and navigating a 180 degree turn.

I also don't care for U-turns because generally speaking, it means I've "missed" something and am having to correct a navigational "error." Most of the time, a U-turn is a public admission of guilt for when I have made a mistake and must "turn around."

The biblical concept of repentance is basically a call for a "U-turn." It is a call for a 180 degree shift in behavior and/or thought and is critical to successfully navigating a journey with the Creator.

So often repentance in my life has been more of a response to my own shame than to true godly sorrow. I am puzzled to think of how many times I have "repented," often from the same sin over and over again and still fins myself doing it again . This makes me wonder how authentic and effectual my "repentance" ever was in the first place! Is repentance really repentance if we simply return to the same behaviors over and over again? Maybe, maybe not.

I wonder how often I have repented to merely salvage my own ego or to maintain some sense of a good reputation? Henry Drummond wrote about repentance, true repentance, as a matter of "looking God in the face," not merely looking at one's self in the mirror and dealing with the pain or injury of one's sin against self or one another.

For true repentance to take root in our life, we must be willing to walk before the throne of God with humble abandon and let the masterful work of His perfection expose the crude indecency of our sin. Only He can truly expose who I really am. Only He has the power to renovate my interiors so that my final exteriors will begin to ultimately bear His glory and praise.

Left to my own assessment, I'll surely try to justify my choices one way or another.

By God's grace and mercy, we can have the courage to face ourselves as only God sees us. He knows our hearts, He sees everything as it is and still chooses to love in spite of what He sees. He is the One, whom I may have just run past, that calls me back to a better course of direction and ultimately a better final destination.

For the sake of His love and mercy, I'm learning to gladly make a U-turn, even if it requires slowing down and exercising more caution than usual.

Time Passages

Tonight, a good friend's daughter became engaged. He "popped the question" and she said "yes!" She called many of us as friends to share the good news. We could all see it coming (a match made in heaven some would say) but to have it "official" will now allow all the family and friends to rejoice all the more (pardon the pun for those who know them).

This is becoming a pattern for my life. For the past few years, as I watch my friend's children begin to marry and start their own families, I've been observing my own children now the way I once observed my friend's children. My daughters are filling the "life stations" that other's children have travel before them. Our newly engaged friend is 21 today (seems too young now, but as I think that, I acknowledge it is the same age as my wife the day we married) and I realize that in less than 5 full years, my oldest daughter will be the same age... 21! On that day, another time passage will be fulfilled and another will begin.

Time passes quickly I suppose, though that is obviously more a function of perspective than anything else. As natural as it is for time to pass and for children to grow, it should be equally natural for a parent to welcome the change. It isn't always easy.

I'm finding simply appreciating the beauty of each life station and taking in as much of the "scenery" as possible is about the best way to cope. In a few years, that will be my daughter calling our friends announcing the "big news." I can only pray I'm ready for those headlines!

Congratulations to the young man and young woman newly engaged tonight! In another 5 years (give or take a few) they'll continue the cycle and will remember what my kids were like as their kids grow. In one sense it is simply the passing of time, but in another, it is so much more (pardon that pun again... but I think you'll understand).

Time passages.

Adventures

I am currently finding myself about waist-deep in an ever unfolding adventure. Humbled to be participating in the first multi-site expression of church in the Churches of Christ, I'm finding very little to be unfolding as predicted. I love adventures, always have.

Ever since I was a little kid, I've preferred the "unknown." Given the opportunity to hear something, read something, experience something where the final "chapter" is unknown, I'll take it every time over the predictable. I've always been spontaneous and love "taking turns" at speed.

I have been known to simply "drop in" on my friends (much to the consternation of my wife) with little or no notice. This tendency likely has some genetic moorings that I'm now watching regenerate in at least one of my own children (the other is more like her mom... "let's be on time and spare me the surprises" would be her mantra).

One of my favorite things to do is to get on my motorcycle (preferably with another friend also on their motorcycle, though I have gone it alone), pick a navigational direction and just "go." For several days at a time with no idea for what we'll see, or what we'll eat or where we'll sleep or whatever. It has proven to be one of the most liberating experiences of my life and I'll likely keep doing it as long as I'm able.

Right now, ministry is like one of those trips. We're launching a new church site this coming Sunday and we have no idea how many people are going to show up for the first worship service in our new location or what to expect other than we will be gathered to lead people to a deeper walk with Christ.

We've extended the invitation to over 20,000 people (if they all show up, it will be a real adventure, for sure) and we are scurrying around making all the preparations so the day goes as smoothly as possible. However, building renovations won't be concluded and there will surely be some loose ends that we can't begin to even forecast. But I am confident God is going to show up in even greater force than those who come to worship Him and it will be an amazing time.

Isn't it great to follow the Creator who can build a universe out of "nothing?" Keep us in your prayers, we have no idea how wonderful this trip is going to be, but I can assure you, it will be exciting!

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous.
Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged,
for the Lord your God will be with you
wherever you go."
Joshua 1:9

Simple Things

Thinking back over my years thus far I have to confess I've been quite fortunate. So many incredible blessings beyond counting have been mine and still I'm amazed by the things I experience every day.

I've been fortunate to sit at the feet of some incredibly talented and well-known (famous) people, I've seen some amazing things and traveled to locations some will only see on the pages of magazines (though there is still so much more I want to see and experience) and still I remain staggeringly amazed by the "simple" things.

I have found it is not the famous, the picturesque or the exotic in life that finds its deepest meaning for me, but rather it is in the simple. Catching the eye and the smile of a 5 month old child during the last song of today's worship, noticing the grandeur of an old oak tree, or simply taking a walk around the neighborhood. Sometimes the most "amazing" experiences are found in the "simple" things.

What will that little 5 month old boy become one day (I prayed he already feels the power of God's presence in his life)? How long has that old oak tree been growing next to the freeway exit (I guarantee it has been there much longer than the freeway)? How many crickets, frogs and birds are contributing to nature's chorus in my own backyard (listen closely to their music, it is magnificent)? Simply amazing, really.

If you are willing, look for the "simple" things and share what you experience over the next few days.

Culture of Abundance

Much is often said of the abundance in our culture. Fortunate or not, we find ourselves living in the wealthiest nation in the world at what is arguably the height of its riches. Sociologists make much of the ever increasing distance between the wealthy and poor and that this distance will ultimately be the downfall of our "success." I don't know what to make of such things, though it seems plausible when I consider how abundance influences my own life.

Earlier today, I continued pondering the expanse of my own abundance. Yesterday, I began culling through my closet of clothes because I simply can't stand the thought any longer of having so much and consistently wearing so little (not that I wear "skimpy" clothes, but I tend to wear the same things with frequency). So, I'm planning on donating a bunch of clothes to our local benevolence ministry.

The ironic thing in this great culture of abundance is considering the things I lack. The things I lack are not of a material nature, but are rather things like the discipline to spend even more time in quiet reflection before the Lord. Things like taking the time to call my sister more often and catch up on her life. Things like stopping long enough to watch birds bathe themselves in puddles (or take dirt "baths" in piles of loose dirt -- that's always been a mystery to me as to why they do that -- there is nothing about a dirt bath that I find inviting).

I suppose my problem with the whole thing is that I live as though there will always be "enough" of everything in my life -- a culture of abundance. For example, I tend to live like there will always be time to do these things I mentioned I don't seem to have "enough" time to do. I try to be disciplined with my time and maximize the effort I invest in my life, but perhaps the culture of abundance deceives me. Maybe there is a better way...

To think of time as a precious commodity... rather than one of abundance, makes me wonder how my life would change (I realize this cognitively, but emotionally and spiritually there are new depths to plumb). Would I become even more "possessive" of my time and treat people or projects with disrespect if I didn't deem them "worthy" of my time? Would I become even more liberal with my time and allow for even more intrusion than I do now? I don't know. But it seems to me there must be a better balance in there, somewhere. Don't you think?

What are your thoughts about our "culture of abundance" and how do you think it influences our life? I'm curious to know your thoughts.

How about taking a little time, giving it a little thought and then sharing what you discover about it? If you have the time... of course.

Wild Fire

Most people are quick to proclaim which element of their physical being for which they have little if any affinity. For some, they might declare it is their hips that could benefit from some renovation (now that I think of it, I don't believe I've ever heard a man complain about his hips). For others it might be their hair (and then I've heard a "mess" of men complain about their hair -- or typically the lack thereof). I am, however, most certain I've never heard anyone complain about their tongue. That is simply something you don't hear people talking about! "Eeewww... I hate my tongue," does not roll off the lips of body-conscious teenage girls. While hormonally-driven teenage boys who will brag all day about their biceps or "six-pack" abs will never be heard bragging about how awesome their tongue is (at least I'd hope not). It just doesn't happen (at least it shouldn't -- that'd be just a little too weird).

Perhaps this explains the relative lack of maintenance the human tongue receives. Do you brush your tongue with regularity (kind of a personal question, I know)? My dentist told me long ago vigorously brushing of the tongue was a way of preventing what he determined as "unsightly breath." (Now, I'm still trying to figure out just how "unsightly breath" would smell and it seems to me that if one's breath has deteriorated to the point of being even "sightly" (let alone "unsightly") it would likely be time to consider a new oral hygiene regimen).

I've always had a unique relationship with my tongue. I recall wiling away hours in school, training my tongue to do various "tricks." The standard "nose touch" and the typically routine "half-pipe" roll was an early accomplishment along with the "barrel-rolls" both to the right and to the left. After some practice, I got to the point of being able to fold my tongue over backwards, sticking it "front over back" (think taco laying on its side, long edge facing you) and keeping it there for as long as I pleased. This won the acclaim of many grade school counterparts. I was one of only two kids in my entire school whom I knew could even come close to that trick. My crowing achievement in "tongue tricks arena" however was when I was in graduate school. Suffering from a serious sinus infection, one day I was scratching the back of my throat with my tongue when I accidentally swallowed my whole tongue (while driving a car I might add). Instantly I began gasping for breath, thinking this would be an inexplicable way to die! I could hear the officers asking my wife, "Just how long was he epileptic?" and her replying, "I don't know, he never shared that fact with me!"

Shocked nearly beyond recovery at the time, I finally had the presence of mind to reach my own finger back into my throat and boldly "rescue" myself. I thought, "I really have heard of people dying from this!" So... I did the most logical thing a 22-year-old guy would do and.... I did it again, only intentionally this time! Within a week, I could swallow my tongue (without the instinctive gag reflex kicking in) at will. What fun, I thought! Dry graduate school lectures would never be the same!!! I had another "trick" in the repertoire! Throughout the years since, it has served as a great "party gag" and in particular social settings I could have probably earned some extra spending money with that tongue trick -- which isn't really my point.

While I've spent years being aware of what "tricks" my physical tongue can accomplish, I'll confess I've not always appreciated the harm it can render as well. What mighty "fires" can be started by the "spark" of the tongue (see James 3:1-13).

When I think of the power of the human tongue it is surprising to me it doesn't get the attention it deserves. These days, both men and women pierce their tongues for various "decorator purposes." While people will install all kinds of interesting implements in their tongues, I wonder if we humans are equally aware of how "disguised" our tongues can be. The subtle veils of deception our tongues will garner often betray the true heart within. We may speak with "designer" tongues, but the language is as impostor as fake jewels.

Lately I've been working on my tongue, not to accomplish any more tricks, but merely trying to make it more presentable in the image of the Savior to whom I try to devote my days and nights. Consistency, accuracy, sensitivity, leniency are all things with which I'm trying to tame my tongue. If I get those things figured out, maybe my tongue will be more presentable and I won't have to rely on the "tricks" anymore.

How about you? How are you working on your tongue? If you are working on it, what are you discovering?

Distance

Even casual or recreational writing is a demanding discipline. Time, energy, attention are stern taskmasters and must be respected and heeded appropriately. What is there to say when one refuses to submit the time, energy and attention to accomplish the task? Best to keep quiet, I suppose.

June 9 was the last date of entry to my blog. Obsessively moved at times by many things in my life, blogging had become one and yet I found myself growing scattered, weary and taxed for the time to devote to it. I also found myself drifting as with what words to choose. A hiatus was therefore in order.

If there were any who read this blog with frequency, my hunch is they have since moved on. If you are one of those and happen to find yourself returning to this particular entry, I apologize for the unexcused absence. Perhaps this cliche may suffice, "absence makes the heart grow fonder." I would want this to be the case, at least.

Some distance from the discipline of writing I believe has refreshed me. Who would want to read something of someone who feels as if they have little of nothing to say? Frequently, I read others who seem to write simply because they have to not because it is something which flows from within them. I have at times allowed my blogging to take time from my wife and children and even if there was content worth considering (and I hesitate to suggest there really was), at what price should it come? I have to wonder.

The distance over the past few weeks has been blessed. I'm prayerfully considering wading back into the blog water again. There are fascinating things happening in the world around me and perhaps these will stoke the flame to write a bit more. It is with anticipation the content will merit the return.

Thank you for reading. I'm humbled by your presence.

Peace be with you.