11 Apr 04 -- I'm not saying it should be this way, but Easter means different things to different people, even within the community of Believers.  Some trivialize it, viewing it as just another religious holiday.  Others have perverted it to down to a crass marketing event.  Still others elevate it to a high holy day, attaching an almost mystical relevance to it.  I'd like to tell you what it means to me.
    First of all, I accept the Resurrection account at face value.  I believe it's an actual historic event, that Jesus died, was buried, and came back to life.  That's a necessary point of view to take if one is to accept the whole premise of Christianity, but you'd be surprised how many people are uneasy with the concept.  He was dead, now He's alive.  That's easy for me.
    The why of it all is harder, because it requires a certain follow-through within my own life.  Anyone who has ever heard the Gospel message has heard that Jesus died for our sins, but we don't often plumb the depths of why He conquered death.  Once the sacrifice is made, the price is paid, right?  Wouldn't His death alone have been enough to justify us before the Father?
    For me, the answer is in the living-out of our faith.  If what He did for us is to have real value, it must be proved 24/7, 365 days a year, by the way we live our lives.  Too many of us, and I've been guilty of this myself, live as if we're dead again.  When we accept the Grace that God offers through the gift of His Son, we are born again.  We pass from a state of spiritual death into a state of spiritual life.  Trouble is, sometimes we act like we forget that ever happened.
    I see too many Christians living life back amongst the tombstones of the land they left behind.  Every church has its population of once-a-year Christians, the ones who only show up on Easter Sunday.  They're a pitiful lot, and probably do more harm to the Faith than any other group combined.  Sometimes I want to grab them by collar, shake them good and hard, and politely remind them that Jesus defeated Death as an example to us.  He did it literally.  We should do no less, if only figuratively, by living in victory through the authority He's given us.
    We celebrate Easter yearly as a reminder that our life isn't back there, but "over yonder."  If we let that simple, powerful truth penetrate deep down into our souls, we wouldn't need Easter;  all we'd need is every new morning sunrise.  
    He is risen indeed.

28 Mar 04 -- My wife's grandmother passed away tonight; Flossie King was her name.  You don't meet many gals named Flossie these days, and it's sure there are many like her left in this world.  She lived out most of her ninety years in a little town "up on the mountain" called Arab, Alabama.  Her husband, Grady, died nearly 40 years ago.  Flossie never wanted to be with anyone else.  We'll bury her this week right next to him, out by the Methodist Church.
    There's not a doubt in my mind that she's with The Lord tonight.  She was a Christian woman, a Proverbs 31 kind of woman.  All the years I knew her, I'd never heard her utter an unkind word about anyone, never saw her get mad about anything, never knew her to be anything but sweet, kind and gentle.  She loved her children, her grandchildren, and her great-grandchildren.
    She was brought up to show love the old-fashioned way, by living it out day by day.  Grady and she were sharecroppers.  They survived the depression years farming their existence out of the North Alabama soil.  They raised their young'uns to be decent, God-fearing, respectable, hardworking adults.  They always voted Democrat.  They read their Bible often, and made sure their children did too.  They understood the value of simple meals, like pintos and cornbread.
    Flossie loved to quilt.  We have several she's made over the  years; it's something else you don't see much anymore.  A few weeks back she woke up from a fitful sleep and said to a family member: "I shore am tired.  As soon as I finish up with this quilt, I'm gonna lay down in them purdy flowers over there and rest a spell."  I guess she finished that quilt today.
    She leaves behind many loved ones, friends and family, but she leaves us with rich and treasured memories -- her homemade fried apple pies, that cackling laugh when something got her really tickled, her thoughtfulness at birthdays and Christmas, that special way she'd press her head against mine when she'd hug me hello or goodbye.  She was one of a kind.  We love you, Flossie.  Take a rest in "them purdy flowers", you certainly deserve it.

15 Feb 04 -- I was really hoping today for a Frozen Precipitation Activity Event (snowstorm), as the Meteorologist (weather man) calls it, but it looks like we'll miss it.  It's been a while since this part of Georgia has had one.  In fact, it's been about 10 years since any part of Georgia had one.  I think that's the average, every ten years or so.  We're due.  I miss snow.  I suppose I could live up North and get lots of snow, but then I'd miss the South.  Can't have it both ways.
    I don't necessarily attribute that to so-called Global Warming, which, depending on who you talk to is either a real or contrived Global Ecosystem Activity Event (disaster), but it does seem to me that snowstorms were more common when I was a kid growing up in the Piedmont (foot of the mountain) region of North Carolina.  Back then, in the Sixties, looking back through the filter of my memories, snowstorms happened every Winter, at least once a Winter.  We'd usually get three, maybe four average dustings of an inch or so, but then we'd get that major Frozen Precipitation Activity Event that would close the schools for a few days.
    I lived in a great neighborhood for sledding.  The road my house was on was long and straight, with a just-right hill.   Nobody dared drive up or down the hill, so it was ours.  Sometimes the adults would bring out hot chocolate, or build fires out of scrap wood in 55-gallon drums, right out on the side of the road.  They were my friends and neighbors.  There aren't many folks like that around any more....
    My yard had a pretty nice slope to it on one side, and except for a couple of trees and the creek full of water at the bottom, it made an excellent sledding run.  We had a variety of sleds, but there were only four of them and I had five sisters so we had take turns (which nobody wanted to do, because it meant waiting while others were sledding) or we had to double up (which escalated the Risk Mitigation Profile (personal danger) to the riders) but was nonetheless an acceptable alternative to waiting.  Aside from the sleds, there was the dreaded Coke Sign.
    Back when we used to put peanuts in our Coke bottle and eat/drink them together, it was common to see huge six-foot metal disks, like giant hubcaps, painted with the Coca-Cola logo, used as outdoor advertising.  Those big signs would occasionally get liberated from their assigned marketing locations and become unguided sliding rockets filled with screaming children when the weather was right.  We had a permanently liberated one.  Its new marketing location was our basement, where it hung on a nail until the weather made its removal imperative.
    If you've never ridden in a Coke sign, you need to know how it works, just in case you're ever invited.  Naturally, you turn it upside-down and sit in the "bowl".  That's the passenger compartment.  If you've got room for more people, by all means, add them on.  It only serves to heighten the excitement.   Old signs, particularly if they've grown rusty, benefit greatly from the liberal application of canning wax, but in modern times I suppose Non-Stick All-Vegetable Aerosol Spray Lubricant (Pam) will work as well.   With the riders in place, all that's needed is a hill, the steeper the better, and an outside volunteer to push you off.  It's a wonder of physics.  Once the motion starts, it does not cease until every foot-pound of its momentum has been expended, which, conveniently, often occurs at the base of a large tree or the bottom of a creek.
    It's very simple to operate.  Steering is not a problem -- there is none.  Slowing down or braking is no concern either -- it can't be done.  Bailing out is sometimes an option, depending on the velocity, but you need to understand that only sissies bail out of a Coke sign.  Manhood or Womanhood is defined or lost according to the subtle rules of when to exploit an Emergency Evacuation Procedure (bail out) from a Coke sign in motion.  Jump too soon and you're labeled a wimp for the rest of your natural life.   Wait too long and, well, it may not matter what they call you, as long as they send nice flowers.
    Alas, none of that matters now.  We have no snow.  We have no Coke sign.  We've got some great hills, and a couple of plastic lids from our outside garbage cans, but without that wonderful icy white stuff, we're just objects at rest.

8 Feb 04 -- I'm bad,  I know.  This is the longest I've gone between updates.  I promise to do better.  It's been an intense week for me.  (That's not an excuse by the way, it's a reason.)  Most of that was work training related, but there was an event this weekend I want to mention.
    Our church youth participated in a kind of mini-revival, Friday through Sunday, called Disciple Now.  The schedule was hectic and challenging, and was jam-packed full of Bible study, evangelism and fun activities.  The gang would meet all together for some events, but split off into smaller groups for more one-on-one development.  The theme for the weekend was the idea of transformation -- the change we go through as we experience the reality of Christ.
    My partner and I were responsible for five young men in the 7th and 8th grades.  We provided their transportation, lead their studies, worked with them, talked with them, walked with them.  At night they crashed at my house.  It was a time of focused discipleship.
    The transformation process that takes place in the human heart through the work of God's Holy Spirit is a very real thing.  I watched it unfold this weekend.  All of these guys already know Christ, but they each came looking for a deeper relationship with Him, and came away satisfied.  Let me give you a few examples.  
    First, there was a guy I'll call Bob.  I didn't really know much about Bob, but it didn't take me long to see that he's a special guy.  He reads voraciously, is very sensitive about being picked on, and has a strong knowledge of the Bible.  His desire was to learn how to pray more effectively.  By the end of the weekend he had seen an answer to that prayer.
    There's another one I'll call Charlie.  Charlie may not realize it yet, but I'm betting he'll end up being either a preacher or a veterinarian.  He has a way with animals that's hard to explain, and he has a way with words that I can only attribute to the work of the God in his young, pain-filled life.  He preached a private 25-minute sermon to me that made me want to get baptized again, and he wasn't even trying.  His heart's desire was to be more like Jesus, day in and day out.  I witnessed one incremental step in that journey this weekend.
    Then there's McGruff, the natural-born leader.  He's in an awkward spot, knows he's in an awkward spot, and makes the best of it.   He's one of the warmest, most sincere, most big-hearted teenage boys I've ever met, but he keeps tripping over his own feet.  In the space of about 36 hours I watched him trip time after time after time.  Each time, without fail, he got up and tried again.  He's got the kind of courage that comes from not knowing any better, mixed with the heartfelt desire to get it right.   This weekend I watched him transform from something bouncy and wild and energetic into something purposeful and poised and confident.
    Two more guys...I'll blend them into one called Chuck, because they're so much alike it's scary.  Chuck1 and Chuck2 are quiet, thoughtful, kind, and sensitive.  It's obvious they've been raised well by someone who loves them, because they were always the first two to consider the needs of the others.  They struggle like everybody, but seem to want to keep it to themselves, maybe because they think the others' struggles are greater.  When I wanted serious, they were there.  When I asked for silly, they jumped right in.  Their transformation was perhaps the greatest of all -- the willingness to risk.  They learned to come out of the Comfortable Place to risk exposure and adolescent rib-poking.  They took steps along a new path with God.  What an awesome thing to see!  What an awesome work God does in the lives of His people!

29 Jan 04 -- There's a remarkable little passage in the Gospel of Matthew, chapter nine, where Jesus takes advantage of a "teachable moment" to shine a light into one of the dark corners of man's heart.  He's just entered back into Nazareth and meets Matthew, the tax collector, and invites him to follow as a Disciple.  Jewish tax collectors, incidentally, were considered sold-out traitors to the faith.  They were shunned.
    Jesus ends up having dinner at this guy's house, who happens to bring along some of his friends, who, like Matthew, were the outcasts of society.  It was an unusual scene; Jesus had a mixed following at this time.  Common folks kept up with him to see what miracle he'd do next.  The Jewish religious leaders followed him around because they weren't convinced he was really the Messiah and were hoping to trip him up.  They figured they had him now, because he was sitting down to dinner with a tax collector and his "heathen" buddies.  
    The Pharisees turned up their noses and whispered to some of the disciples, "What's he doing here with these sinners?"  They knew that good religious folks wouldn't hang out with this crowd.  Jesus overheard them, and spoke.  The whole room goes quiet as he looks at them and says, "Healthy people don't need a doctor, sick ones do."
    Imagine the looks on the Pharisees' faces.  They blink a couple of times, swallow, and as they're trying to think of a snappy come-back, Jesus drives home his point with this:  "Go learn what I mean by that.  Me, I'm going to practice the art of mercy instead of spending my time in Religious Show and Tell."
    Right about then someone probably drops a tray of silverware and nervous laughter fills the room.  The meal goes on.  But in your mind's eye, scan the smiles around the table.  Observe Matthew.  Watch his expression slowly turn to quiet wonderment as he looks at his guest, this man called Jesus.  Wouldn't you love to know what he's thinking?

26 Jan 04 -- What would you do if a friend or acquaintance came to you with a complaint about something you'd done to offend him?  Address it head-on, most likely.   You'd talk to him, reason it out, maybe apologize.  No biggie, right?
    What if it was a superior who had the complaint?  Again, you'd probably meet it directly, speak up on behalf of yourself, get it taken care of.
    But ratchet up the heat a little, call it your boss's boss, or the company CEO.  If somebody like that came to you with a complaint, chances are you'd filter the conversation through your immediate supervisor.  That's what they're paid for, after all.
    Add a little more heat -- let's say it's a federal judge.  You'd be looking for legal representation, wouldn't you?  You'd be finding a lawyer to act as mediator.  Why?  Because you're not on the same playing field as a federal judge.  You know you wouldn't have a chance.
    What if it was God Himself?  Assuming everything you ever heard about God is true, you'd not want to risk saying or doing anything to incur His wrath.  A mediator, that's just what you'd need,  someone who could speak on your behalf before the Great Almighty and plead your case.

    What I'm going to say next is not considered politically correct in these times, but it is the absolute truth as declared by the Word of God: Everyone on this earth is in trouble with God.  The name of that trouble is Sin.  Every one of us, rich or poor, great or small, good or bad, EVERYONE is at odds with the Creator of the universe because of the sin we inherited into our lives by virtue of our common human ancestry.  Because God is who He is, and because sin is what it is, and regardless of how good our sense of morality may be, we're in trouble.  Sounds to me like now would be a good time to latch on to a mediator.
    The word "gospel" means "good news".  Did you know that?  Curious what the good news is?  It can be summed up in these two verses from the Bible:  "For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus; Who gave himself a ransom for all, to be testified in due time." (1 Timothy 2:5-6)
    We do have a spokesman, a go-between, a mediator.  Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, who took upon Himself the sins of this world -- He is who we need.  Through Jesus, and Him alone, we can be made right before God.  Without Him, well, we're in trouble.  Argue or disagree if you like, but it's what the Bible says.
    Don't try to go it alone, friend.  We're not on the same playing field as God.

23 Jan 04 -- I'm a few days tardy updating this page for you, but I actually have a pretty good excuse this time -- I've been busy getting ready to start back to work.  Remember back in November when I spoke of those scenic overlooks we sometimes experience in life (my metaphor for being laid off)?  Well, I'm back behind the wheel again, I've got my foot on the gas pedal and I'm ready to "zoom on down, zoom on down da road."
    I've joined a national career recruiting firm whose placement specialties include the medical and information technology industries.  I'm a headhunter now, and I mean business.  (Sorry, I couldn't resist that.)
    For the time being, I'd like to keep some of the details private, but as things progress I'll tell you more.  Here's the important thing -- the miracle of God's hand in my life throughout this whole experience.  It's been God and His grace that has carried me through these times.  I've had my down moments, but I've always, ALWAYS, rested firmly in His assurance that I was solidly in the center of His will, and that nothing would come against my family and me that He didn't allow for our benefit.  "And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose."  -- Romans 8:28
    Along the way, I've been befriended by many wonderful people who have freely given their time, love, prayers, and even their money to help us.  It's an incredible thing to witness, especially when you're the recipient.  For those of you who have been there for me, my prayer for you is that God would bless you tenfold.  I believe He will honor that prayer, by the way.
    Meanwhile, if you're looking for a genuine, God-fearing, ethical recruiter who'll do his absolute best to place you into the career of your dreams, then polish up that resume and send it on, 'cause I'm your man.       -- S.D.G.

16 Jan 04 -- Suffering and pain is an unfortunate, but necessary, fact of life.  Some would argue how necessary it is, but if your perspective is grounded in Biblical teaching you have to concede that it's a requirement for admission into the human race.  Perspective is the key.
    Our perspective on this, and many other things, comes in one of two flavors: God-centered or Man-centered.  There are no alternatives.  We either see (or attempt to see) things as God does, or we forego His point of view in favor of that which pleases our own self will.
    When we attempt therefore to understand suffering from God's point of view it becomes an entirely different thing.   It ceases to be matter for which we feel self-pity and hopelessness.  It becomes instead an emblem of honor, for we know what God does in the lives of His people through suffering.  (There's a whole other line of thinking here on the dynamics of self-inflicted suffering, but that's not the topic for this discussion.)
    So it's true, bad things do happen to "good" people, and we as observers may lean back and say "Whoa!  Where'd that come from?"  Well, it comes from, or is at least in control of, God.  That's the concept that sticks in the craw of so many non-believers, and naturally so, because their perspective, remember, is Man-centered.
    Sometimes we ask things like "why is this happening?" or "how much longer will this go on?"  God's Word gives us a model for answering questions like that in the book of Revelation.  It chronicles suffering that will come to this world from two perspectives at once: God's and Man's.
    There's a scene in the sixth chapter (verses 9-11) where John sees people who had been martyred early in the Tribulation.  He says they were "slain for the word of God, and for the testimony they held."  They're crying out to God, asking how long will He wait to avenge their suffering.  They're told to "rest yet for a season" until the fulfillment of more to come for their fellow believers.  That's painful stuff, but it shows that God is allowing things to progress on His terms.
    Later in chapter nine, we read that despite the tremendous suffering of non-believers through God's judgment, they still refuse to acknowledge Him.  Verses 20 and 21 describe people who will not repent of the evil things they cling to, even though they are dearly paying for their own behavior.  Even in pain, they shake their fists at God and declare their self-will.
    That's a future event, by the way.  It will happen exactly as the Bible says it will.  If it happens in your lifetime, which perspective will you hold?    

13 Jan 04 -- Last week I was talking with a friend who mentioned Bubba the Dawg.  "Yeah, we miss him a lot," I said.
    "Will you get another dog?" he asked.
    I chuckled.  "No, we've got plenty of pets -- don't need any more."  I meant it.  Really.
    That was Tuesday.  Friday morning, driving the kids off to school in the sleet and freezing rain, we see a puppy on the corner, shivering, frightened, looking down the road for its owner.  She doesn't understand why her owner left her there, but she's waiting patiently for his return. There's no way I can drive on by.
    We tried to find her a home.  We sent out emails and talked with friends, but no takers.  Somewhere over the weekend we began calling her Bitsy, and somewhere between giving the lost puppy a name and laughing at all the cute puppy things she did, we knew we had to keep her.  Another stray in a long line of strays moves into our home and into our hearts.
    I'm looking at her now, sprawled out on the floor, chewing contentedly on a rawhide, glancing my way occasionally for reassurance.   She has a favorite toy, a stuffed Koala bear nearly twice her size.  Ironically, I had found it a couple of years ago abandoned outside a day-care center near my workplace.  It looked like it needed a home, too.
    Bitsy probably doesn't remember that confusing episode that left her trembling and alone in the rain.  I'll do my best to be sure she never has to be worried about anything like that again.  She's happy.  We're happy.
    Meanwhile, somewhere out there is a low-life bully of an animal abuser that needs to come to repentance.    

8 Jan 04 -- Anyone who knows me well knows that my favorite composer is and always has been Johann Sebastian Bach.  I'm revealing my fuddy-duddiness here, but his music is a huge inspiration to me.   I was told once that he always signed his completed works with this simple, enigmatic inscription:  S.D.G.
   Today's mail brought a simple note with a wonderful gift for my family and me, from someone who took obvious pains to remain anonymous.   I'll respect that wish for anonymity, because I know that God Himself will reward them in far greater measure than I ever could, and that's just the way it should be.  I have to tell you what the note said, though.  Six simple words, that's all.  "To God Alone Be the Glory."
    But the note also came with the Latin, "Soli Deo Gloria."  S. D. G.
    That's why I love Bach, because he recognized, like my anonymous benefactor, that the glory truly belongs to God, and God alone.

6 Jan 04 --  It took me years to realize it, but Mr. Whitman didn't really need my help around his yard.  Oh, I never refused him, never balked at all about jumping across the creek out back to run over when he called.  I enjoyed being around him because he was interesting.  He cussed a lot, (much to the embarrassment of my mother) but I didn't know he was cussing because I'd never heard those words (much to the credit of my mother) and I just thought they were curious words he'd picked up as natural as one would pick up a rock and look at it.  He was always doing something out in his yard -- building saw horses, or tending his worm farm, or cultivating spaghetti squash -- always something, and it always interested me.  I thought he was old and needed my help.  He thought I was young and needed a mentor.  Guess who was right?
    He taught me valuable lessons I'll never forget.  One summer we began a civil engineering project along the creek that divided his yard and mine.  The creek was prone to "gully-washering" from time to time, and one Spring it washed out the bridge he built across it.  First order of business was a new bridge, second order of business was the sandbagging.  That sounded like fun so I became his helper.  We filled literally hundreds of sand bags with dry concrete mix and placed them just so along the bank.  I was amazed to learn that concrete will actually cure under water.  I was even more amazed at the end of it all when we sat down to admire our work and he said, "Don't really matter what we do here.  In the end, the river, she always does what she wants."  He had piloted riverboats up and down the Mississippi, so I believed him, but I had to ask, "So why'd we go to all this trouble?"  He rubbed a towel over his face and said, "Cause people need to feel like they're bigger than God."  I didn't know anything about that, but I did feel bigger then.  He always had a way of making me feel more grown up when I was around him.
    Mr. Whitman called himself a Rock Hound.  Judging by the collection in his basement, I thought it was his way of saying he had a talent for sniffing up precious rubies and such.  He made me appreciate rocks.  Think about that...the most common thing you can find on the face of the planet.  He had saws and drills and mysterious purple lights that made my PF Fliers glow.  The most mysterious thing I ever saw was his tumbler.  He'd put a handful of gravel in and weeks later produce untold riches of wealth.  I tried doing the same thing with sandpaper once and showed him my result.  He didn't laugh.  Instead, he told me I was on the right track, all it needed was more of the same.  He would say things like that and look at me in a way that made me understand that I didn't need to keep asking because I already knew the answer.  Still, he answered my unspoken question in his typical interesting way,  "It takes a lot of time to rub away the dirt to find the gem."
    I think about him often, and the way he did things.  He died several years after I left home.  The last time I saw him we sat and talked about the Tournament of Roses Parade and how all the flowers were real.  I wore my uniform just so he could be proud of me, and treasured the gift he handed over to me as I walked out.  It was a huge geode from somewhere out west, he told me.  "Not much to look at on the outside," he said, "but crack it open someday and see what's hiding inside."
    I did.  He was right, as always.

4 Jan 04 -- Sometimes it's fun to put your brain in neutral and let it wander.  I did that once in my automobile in an empty parking lot, except it wasn't exactly neutral, it was actually the [D] setting on the automatic transmission console.  Yep, I just put it Drive, put my feet up and let it roll.  It's pretty amazing how fast you can go with an idle engine, although I don't recommend doing it unless you're in an empty parking lot.  I drove slap across Texas once, East to West, and I don't think I turned the steering wheel more than 10 degrees any direction, but that wasn't in neutral.   Not sure why I mention that, except for the neutral brain syndrome.  Speaking of NBS, I've done some pretty silly things in my life...flew a paper (cardboard, actually) airplane off the roof of a 12-story furniture building in High Point, NC, then sat down on the edge of the roof, dangled my legs over the side and ate a sandwich.  When the police arrived, they asked me to put my sandwich down, so I threw it over the side too.  That was silly.  A PBJ traveling at terminal velocity could probably hurt someone.   There was also a late-night incident where I repeatedly drove a jeep up and down the steps leading to a general's office at a major West Coast military installation.  Not sure exactly why I did that either, but I remember thinking at the time it seemed like the thing to do.  (There was also an incident involving grunion that same night, but you don't need the details of that.)  Sometimes a wandering neutral brain leads you from the realm of silly into the land of real danger, case in point being the time I placed an unspent rifle round on a train track, than laid down about six feet away from it so's to get a better view of the action when the train squashed it.  I was lucky.  A friend who was with me was later almost real unlucky when he played chicken -- on foot -- with a freight train.  His brother, not afflicted at the moment with NBS, made a command decision to pull him from the track at the last possible second.   Holiday NBS is always special; Christmas seems to be prime NBS time for me.  I've been known to buy some pretty silly things for loved ones.  The RonCo Electric Dog Polisher was probably the best example of that, but I didn't realize it until I opened the battery compartment and noticed it required 16 D-cell batteries.  Silly me.  I had only bought 12.

    As much as I'd like to be able to say all this is my own original thinking, it's not.  I didn't make up any of it.  It came from a wise ol' fella named Solomon.  If it sounds familiar to you, it's because you probably read it in the Book of Proverbs, chapter 21.
    There's lots more good common-sense thinking there.  Read it and see.  It's a great way to start off a new year.      

25 Dec 03 -- Most of us know the story, the account from the Gospel of Luke.  Mary and Joseph finding no room in the inn.  Shepherds abiding in the field.  Angels appearing.  The search for the Messiah.  They find him at last, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.  But there's more, much more.
    Simeon, an old man, waiting in the temple because God told him he'd not die until he got to see the Messiah.  As he held the infant he said, "For mine eyes have seen thy salvation."
    Twelve years later, the young lad Jesus gets separated from his frantic parents during the crowded and festive Passover celebration in Jerusalem.  They find him at last, teaching in the temple.  Jesus is surprised that they're put out, saying in effect, "you should have looked for me here, doing my Father's business."
    Eighteen years pass, and we find him again in the temple.  This time, He proclaims the nature of his purpose on Earth.  His friends and neighbors didn't take too kindly to it, but that was okay, because He had work to do.
    The next three years of his life are a blur.  Such a short time among us, doing His Father's business, but oh, the difference He made.  He healed broken bodies.  He restored broken souls.  He raised the dead.  He gave His all for you and me.
    We know the story, but do we know what it means for us?  Restoration from sin, atonement, justification before the Father...do we really understand?  Do we, can we, truly know Him?  
    Wise men still seek Him.  Will you?

21 Dec 03 -- Christmas memories are special.  There's a magic in this time of year that makes memories stick.  Every year we dust them off, pull them out, and turn them over in our minds the way we might handle an old delicate keepsake.  Many of my Christmas memories include music.  Here are three of my favorite memories.
    - I'm a senior in high school, it's the last day before Christmas vacation.  I'm walking between classes and pass by the band room.  From inside, I hear what I think is a recording of the Charlie Brown Christmas Song [2.2 mb].  A door opens, and I look in to see something I've never forgotten.  There's a tall, skinny Black guy in there, the class prodigy, and he's tearing up the piano, playing this tune.  The guy was a music genius or something.  He played standing up, eyes glazed over and staring into space.  He couldn't read a lick of music, just played by ear.  He heard the song on TV, then just played it.  It was an amazing, flawless reproduction of the televised original.  I admired and envied his talent ever since then, and often wonder where he ended up.
    - I'm fifteen or sixteen, can't remember exactly, and it's Sunday night.  I've come home from church where we had a Christmas program.  I was inspired and couldn't sleep.  My family was sleepy, and headed off to bed.  I go into the living room and fire up our stereo, which is about the size of a couch.  I insert an 8-track cassette tape in the drive, slap on the headphones, crank up the volume extra loud and lay on the floor in the dark to listen to Handel's Hallelujah Chorus.  As the melodious strains fill every pore of my being, I gradually become aware of an insistent thumping vibrating the floor beneath me.  I look up, peer across the dark room, and see my father standing in his boxer shorts, arms flailing, foot stomping the floor.  I yank the headphones off and experience a Memorex moment with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir performing in our living room.  I had neglected to turn off the external speakers....
    - Christmas in Okinawa, 1978.  I was away from home for the first time, homesick, lonesome, and feeling sorry for myself.  A good friend recognizes my condition for what it is and prescribes service to others as the cure.  A bus load of Marines from my base is gathering donations and food to take to some needy kids for Christmas and convinces me to go along.  Only after we're on our way does he tell me the whole truth.  The kids we'll be visiting, as well as their families, are permanent residents of a Leprosarium located on an isolated extremity of the island.  We arrive, and gather with them in a small open-sided community building.  We pass out our gifts and share cake and punch.  We sing Christmas carols for them.  We pat them on the back, look them in the eye and let them know we care.  It does our hearts good.  As we prepare to leave, their spokesman calls us back, for they have a present to give us.  We sit back down while they assemble in the front.  On cue, they begin singing Silent Night in carefully rehearsed English.  It was all they had to give us, wretched and poor as they were, and they gave it to us hoping to cheer the spirits of "those poor boys so far from home."  It was the most precious thing anyone has ever given me.
    I'd love to hear your Christmas memories.  Drop me a line and I'll post them here. 

    Somehow, despite personal and national tragedy, he was able to see past the gloom and write a poem of praise about God's gift to humankind, the Christ child.  The poem in its completed form later became the familiar carol "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day."
    Many of the folks around you may be feeling similar despair.  They see the problems of this world, as well as the problems of their own lives.  They feel the disappointment of unmet expectations.  They're hurried, harried, overspent and underpaid.  The Joy of Christmas they hear everyone talk about is no more real to them than a greeting-card manger scene.
    When you meet someone like that, take a moment with them to share the meaning of the celebration -- the Mass -- of Christ. 

8 Dec 03 -- It was a busy weekend, but a very good one.  I've been a little slow on the Christmas Spirit uptake this year, but the last few days have done it for me.  First, here's a helpful live radio link to pass along, from the Moody Institute in Chicago:  http://www.moody.edu/wmbi.asx  Their programming will be 100% Christmas music in a week or so, through the end of the year.  It's a good site to link into for nice background music while you work.
    I got pulled a couple of different directions Saturday with seasonal activities.  Jessica's school arranged for a number of students to volunteer their time as bell-ringers for the Salvation Army, so we pitched in to help.  I don't know how much money was raised, but the kettle was full of folding money when her shift ended.  As an avid people-watcher, I was fascinated just to observe from the periphery.  There were several children with coins in hand, some handed to them by their parents, making multiple trips to the kettle.  There was an arguing, stressed-out couple who paused for a moment to make their contribution.  Peace reigned on their countenance for the 10 seconds it took them to complete the transaction, then they resumed their battle with each other and walked away.   There was the little old lady who drove up to the curb, honking the horn and waving a dollar bill.  When Jessica's partner walked over to the passenger-side window to retrieve the bill, she saw a folded wheelchair in the seat, then felt bad about what she had been thinking about the lady making a drive-by contribution.  You can learn a lot about people by observing the way they treat their money.
    Meanwhile, at a nearby nursing home, Martha took her kids from church to deliver presents and sing Christmas carols.  The presents were simple, but appreciated (and practical).  For the last month or so we've been collecting donations of slipper socks from church members.  The nursing home residents loved them, and the kids loved delivering them up and down the halls, caroling as they went.  What struck me most about that scene was the absence of relatives and visitors.  It was a Saturday, there should have been lots of folks visiting their loved ones.  There weren't.  Maybe they were busy over at the shopping center pretending not to notice the Salvation Army bell-ringers posted by the entrances.  You can learn a lot about people by observing how they treat their senior citizens.
    Sunday evening after church we went with the youth group for a Walk Through Bethlehem.  Now that was neat!  Hosted every year by Briarwood Baptist in Ringgold, the idea was to recreate the sounds, smells and sites of ancient Bethlehem.  Tour guides walk small groups through the maze of streets, stopping here and there to visit with shopkeepers, converse with Roman Guards and sample local period cuisine.  There was, of course, a hillside where shepherds tended their flock, and we too were witness to an angelic visitation announcing the birth of Christ.  It was all very well done, with a lot of attention paid to small details.   It was very easy for me to immerse myself in the experience and imagine "being there."
    It really is beginning to look and feel a lot like Christmas here in North Georgia.

1 Dec 03 -- There's a time and a place for everything. When every thing is in its time and place you can sense the order and symmetry of it.  Contrariwise, when some thing is out of its place and time, you might notice that it just doesn't "feel right."  This is highly subjective, very squishy stuff I'm talking about here, but it describes what I've been feeling with regard to modern religious music.  There's something about it that just seems wrong to me, and I can't quite put my finger on what it is.   The best way I know to describe it is to compare two sets of instructions, one for shampooing, and another for cooking meatloaf.
    Lather, Rinse, Repeat.  Do that and you'll have clean hair.  It's very simple, easy to learn, it doesn't require preparation or thoughtfulness.  It's self-gratifying and devoid of meaning.
    Baking a tasty meatloaf requires time, quality ingredients, and attention to detail.  It's not something you do mindlessly, not if you want to eat it.  The final result nourishes you and others.  It produces something good.
    Here's an example of congregational shampoo:  "Lord I love you / Yes I do / Lord I love you / Yes I do / I love you so much Lord" {repeat 3 times}
    Compare that to these words from a hymn of Robert Robertson: "O to grace how great a debtor Daily I'm constrained to be! / Let thy grace, Lord, like a fetter, Bind my wand'ring heart to thee: / Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, Prone to leave the God I love; / Here's my heart, Lord, take and seal it, Seal it for they courts above"
    I fear what the church is allowing itself to become -- a mirror of the culture.  One of the defining characteristics of a culture is its music.  Whether it's acid rock, or rap, or honky-tonk beer drinking music, it shapes its adopted populace into the image it projects.  If the church falls into the same trap and gives itself over to shampoo worship, the result will be huge happy congregations with shiny, fragrant hair and empty stomachs.

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