Circle of Friends

April 7, 2017

Tonight's post will be short because it may turn out to be a very short night for me. Our dinner group normally meets the first Friday of every month, rotating between our homes. Tonight was to have been our evening to host, but one of the couples had a family emergency, and the wife of the other couple is down south visiting children and grandchildren. So Linda and I had dinner out with Ken, tonight's sole remaining member. We had a delightful evening eating and talking about life before receiving a call from the other friends with the news that her brother had passed away. They were planning on taking their grandson to the Cleveland airport for an early morning flight, but with all the changing circumstances, I may be providing the taxi service, or at least keeping them company on the drive.

Life is full of unexpected incidents, crises, and tragedies. When they come our way, it is good to have friends who gather around, circling the wagons in prayer and support. We have often been recipients of the love and support of this small circle of friends. Tonight, it is our turn and our privilege to be there for our friends who have so often been there for us. It feels like we have stepped onto holy ground, so we take off our shoes, bow down, and worship.

Ice Cream and Panama Rocks

April 6, 2017

Panama Rocks. No, it's not a high school cheer, although it could be. It's a geological formation just outside the village of Panama, N.Y. that has been local tourist attraction for generations. In the summertime, for a small fee you can park in the lot and roam the formations at will. It's not the Grand Canyon by any means, but it provides an exciting afternoon for the kids who enjoy climbing and exploring. At least once each summer there is a craft fair at the edge of the parking lot that draws quite a crowd. And once upon a time, it provided the setting for an incident that still brings a smile to my face.

Our now grown kids were just little kids on that day we decided to make a day of the Rocks and craft fair. The sun was hot, but the woods grown up around the rocks provided a welcome cooling shade as the kids laughed and ran their way around the formations. I however, was not laughing. I was not feeling well. Somewhere between arrival and midday, my stomach began growling and gurgling. I toughed it out until it was just about time to go, at which time, I had to go. The only facilities were the blue port-a-potties that stood in a neat row at one edge of the parking lot. I don't like using them now, and liked it even less back then, before they started hanging a bottle of hand sanitizer just inside the door.

There is no way to say it nicely. I had diarrhea. Montezuma's Revenge. The Hershey Squirts. It wasn't genteel or delicate. And it wasn't clean. Remember...no hand sanitizer. I felt better when I stepped out of the blue cocoon, but decided it was time to head home. By that time, the kids had gotten all the climbing out of their systems, so we packed up and hit the road. It was still blazing hot, even late in the afternoon.

"How about stopping for ice cream on the way home?" Linda suggested. In case you didn't know, Linda LOVES ice cream. Especially on a hot summer afternoon.

"I think I'd just rather go home," I suggested.

"Ice Cream!" The din from the back seat was more than a suggestion. This dad is no dud. I know when I've been outvoted and outmaneuvered. Ice cream, it was.

Everyone ordered, I paid, and contentment ruled. I have to admit, mine went down pretty well. Perhaps the complete drainage of my alimentary canal had something to do with it, but I polished off the entire cone except for the tiny little tip at the bottom.

"Aren't you going to eat that?" Linda inquired.

"No," I answered, whereupon she reached over, snatched it out of my hand, and popped it into her mouth.

"Mmph, Mmph,," she said. This translated to, "How come?"

"Because I never got to wash my hands," I replied.

"Aughhh!" She gagged.

I am thankful that Linda has a strong and healthy immune system. As I said, the memory still brings a smile to my face.

The Right Tool

April 5, 2017

Having the right tool for the job makes all the difference. Years ago, I needed my 1" wood chisel for a project. When I retrieved it from my toolbox, I noticed a couple deep gouges in what had formerly been a razor sharp edge. A little inquiry revealed that one of my sons had used it to pry open a can of paint. That chisel was never the same after that. It was the wrong tool for the job.

Yesterday when I got home from a doctor's appointment, the toothbar I had ordered for my tractor was lying on the entry room floor. Today was installation time! It bolts to the bucket through holes I had to drill in the sides. I measured as per instructions, and began drilling with a step bit that came with the bar to help with the process. I'd never seen one before, and it sped up the operation considerably. It is what its name implies, a bit with cutting surfaces arranged conically from 1/4" to 3/4." Each step enlarges the hole by about 1/16," enabling the user to drill a large hole without continually changing bits from one size to another. The right tool made the job easier.

Once installed, I had to try it out. What a difference it made! The front yard is a mess, left over from last year's water line project. It needed about three inches shaved off the top to get it ready to receive the sod I plan on installing. It would take a lot bigger tractor than I have to do that with a straight blade, but with the jagged shark-tooth edge of the tooth bar, it cut through with barely a whimper. The right tool makes all the difference.

St. Peter tells us (2 Peter 1:3) that God "has given us everything we need for life and godliness through the knowledge of him who has called us to glory and virtue." Everything we need. What Peter is telling us is that Jesus is the right tool for the job of life. Of course, he is God, not a tool to be used by us at our whim, but he is the One who makes all the difference when it comes to life.

My Mattress

April 4, 2017

I was cold; I could feel every lump in the hard ground through the sleeping pad and sleeping bag. October in Algonquin is not the place for the faint of heart, but here we were, trying to get through the night, sleeping fitfully, longing for the morning that wasn't in any hurry to arrive. These fall canoe trips always sounded better in the planning stage. Reality however, could be cruel.

The morning finally dawned, cold and windswept. Brushing snow from the tent fly, we peeked out to a bleak view. We were camped on the Tim River, with miles of paddling looming. The sooner we got started, the sooner we would feel the warmth of the car heater when we finally got back to our jump off point. The snow was falling faster now, so we decided to forego breakfast. We packed up, and soon were on our way. Canoe Lake isn't the biggest in the park, but when we rounded the point at the outlet, the scene before us made our hearts sink. Whitecaps! We were loaded pretty heavily; with three grown men in the canoe with all their gear, the gunwales only cleared about two inches.

The wind angled off the port bow, a dangerous situation in the best of circumstances. Loaded as we were, waves hitting the side of the canoe could swamp us before we knew what happened. If we capsized, hypothermia would make survival in the middle of that lake nearly impossible. We had a lot of water to cross.

It was a new experience for me. Every previous canoe trip found me in the stern, providing more steering than power. My eldest son Nate would take the bow, with Matt in the middle, enjoying the ride. They were older now - young men, and for the first time, I had the middle seat. We were set up for the only argument my sons can ever remember having. One wanted to go straight ahead towards an island where we could bail out the water that was splashing over the gunwales, while the other thought we should head directly for our launch point, which meant facing the waves at a dangerous angle. As they argued, I literally thought we were all going to die out on that accursed lake.

We made the island, bailed out, and headed for the launch ramp. I didn't actually do it, but I could have kissed the ground when we finally landed. Tonight, I am not in a sleeping bag on a thin pad with snow falling all around me. I am in a warm bed on a soft mattress. Life is good, and I am thankful.

Contentment

April 4, 2017

For years as a young man, I was taught that God had a plan for my life that was specific and detailed regarding what I was to do, who I should marry, where I should live. It was quite a burden. I worried lest I make a mistake in any area, for such a mistake would have a domino effect on everything that followed. If I married the wrong woman, it would forever after mess things up for her, for me, and for those "we should have" married. And what if I didn't read the signals correctly about what work I was to do, or where I was to do it? Under these conditions, a mistake is not merely a mistake, but a disaster that threatened to unravel all of life.

I have a lifetime of decisions behind me. Nearly forty-seven years ago, I married the woman whom I chose and who chose me. I suppose each of us could have chosen someone else and been happy, but we didn't. We chose each other, and have been happy with the life we've built together. Once we made that free-will choice, God's will was clear to both of us: we stay together, learning to love each other, treating each other with respect and kindness. We haven't done that perfectly, but we've fulfilled God's will as it is spelled out in Scripture. It was our choice to do it where we did and how we did, but we have done it, and will continue to do it until one of us lays the other into the arms of God.

We've tried to live with integrity and faith. We've stepped out into the unknown, attempted what for us were great things, made mistakes along the way, and have known success and failure. We've found God's will quite clear: live by faith, treat people with love and grace, give and receive forgiveness, live in holiness and purity. Everything else has been choices God has given us freedom to make. I can't say it was God's will for us to spend the bulk of our lives in a little village in Western New York. We freely made that choice, and found God's will in it as we've lived according to his Word.

The reason I reflect on this today is that I've been reading in Joshua 1, where God told Joshua it was time to cross the Jordan and conquer the Promised Land. I can't claim to have heard such clear command from God for much of anything in my life. I've been challenged, and have tried to meet those challenges with strength and courage, but the commands have been few. For that, I am grateful, for at this time in my life when I no longer have a job and a specific ministry, I would be in a panic, not having some great calling before me. Instead, I have the clear command of God to continue living with integrity and faithfulness, and the freedom to choose from the many challenges that are placed before me. I don't have the responsibilities of a job, but I do have the responsibility once I choose to do something, to do it as best as I can. I am thankful I can do so without any feelings of guilt when I decline an invitation, and with peace in my heart that God continues to use the desires and interests he placed within me to give him glory as I exercise whatever gifts and graces I have to serve him and the people he puts into my life.

Drop the Stone

April 2, 2017

St. John tells the story of a woman dragged before Jesus in anticipation of his judgment upon her. It was a trap, ready to be sprung, and Jesus didn't hesitate. He took the bait, sprung the trap, and turned it on the woman's accusers. Plenty of preachers have expounded upon this text, delighting in how the religious leaders who thought they had him were silenced. The story is simple in its telling, but profound in its implications. The woman was caught - in the very act - of adultery. One has to wonder how that happened. According to Jewish law, both parties would have been guilty, but the man is never mentioned. Was she a pawn in a deliberate plot to bring Jesus down? Was she set up? We don't know, but we do know that everything was not as it seemed to be. This was no ordinary situation; it smells of a sting.

Whatever the intrigue, the religious leaders were focused on the sin, and intent on shaming the woman. Before we judge them too severely, we would do well to see ourselves in the story. I hate to admit it, but I tend to be judgmental. It is easy for me to see all the  ways people fail to measure up. It's no excuse, but perhaps part of the reason for that is how often I see myself failing to measure up. Painting someone else with a dark brush is one way to divert the attention from my own failures. Whatever the reason, being judgmental is never good. When I focus on someone's faults and failures, I am not seeing the person. Failure to see the person is a failure to take God's view of things. That failure never ends well.

Jesus of course, knew the sin, but he saw the woman. He also saw the sins of the religious leaders. His word to the woman was no different than his word to them: "Go, and sin no more." In neither case did he wink at sin. He instead acknowledged it, forgave it, and encouraged repentance. It's a good thing he did, because all of us are on one side or the other, accused or accusers. And all of us are in need of forgiveness. "Go, and sin no more" are Jesus' words for us, too. For me, it's time to drop my stone, walk away, and ponder his words.

Good News

April 1, 2017

Years ago, we used to subscribe to a weekly newspaper called the Grit. It was geared towards rural and small town life, filled with homey stories and pithy sayings. You probably have to be a senior citizen to remember it, although a little research shows that it is still published in a somewhat different form as a glossy magazine. The Grit's editorial policy was stated by its founder back in the late 1800s:

"Always keep Grit from being pessimistic. Avoid printing those things which distort the minds of readers or make them feel at odds with the world. Avoid showing the wrong side of things, or making people feel discontented. Do nothing that will encourage fear, worry, or temptation... Wherever possible, suggest peace and good will toward men. Give our readers courage and strength for their daily tasks. Put happy thoughts, cheer, and contentment into their hearts."

I don't know of a single other publication or media enterprise that has such a standard. If the modern media is only place you go for your perspective on life, that perspective will be inescapably bent towards trouble, danger, and disaster. The good parts of life don't make the news. And they don't pay the salaries of the media folks and politicians who depend on pandering to our fears and desires to stay in business. Tragedy, discontent, and fear sell, and if we were to believe it, our very future is in jeopardy.

There is however, another story to tell. Tonight I attended a Footsteps Holy Hour. Footsteps is an interdenominational Christian weekend retreat for teenagers. Holy hour is when teens who have already been through the weekend and adults who have attended a Koinonia weekend gather to worship and pray for the teens and the team working with them. During the Holy hour, we are introduced to a team of twelve teenagers who have committed to praying round the clock  for the candidates, sponsors, and team members. It's hard to not be impressed by their dedication and enthusiasm, and for their passion for Christ and his people. With all the bad news we hear and see, this is good news indeed, and I am thankful to have seen just a glimpse of it this evening.