Every-once-in-a-morning I wake up to face a “Bathroom Monster” that may or may not have crawled up from the depths of my home to scare me in the shower.  This morning a big, brown centipede! 

For some reason, probably the time of year, these “monsters” only invade my bathroom.  The term “Bathroom Monsters” is one that one of my tenants in my Brown-Delaware house (which, as an 1890 Victorian, has its share of creepy-crawlies), used to describe them.

In the morning, especially since the eyes aren’t what they used to be, I’m not at my best and my brain is still asleep.  My muscles and bones are just warming up.  So I like the first place I go to, from my bed, to be a place of comfort, warmth and security.  But I carefully open the shower door and look.  Today it was the centipede.  It seemed, at first, to be about 4 feet in length but as I looked closely I realized it was just about 3 inches long.  Of course, once I started swatting at it with the toilet brush it put all those feet to use and tried to escape fast enough to make me jump.  Then I was really after it…because the only thing worse than the Bathroom Monsters you can see are the ones that you CAN’T see.  Once the beast was totally, and completely, annihilated and spread in pieces from my zeal of destruction, I said to myself: this has GOT to be some kind of lesson for my BLOG.

And here it is. 

FEARS: many of our fears (or maybe I should just speak for myself) are either: blown out of proportion by our own active imaginations, things that haven’t happened, OR things out of our control.

God’s words and actions are very clear to us: “worry” is a killer, and there are many, many things that we need not waste our time worrying about.  “Worry” seems to be “imagination out of control.”  We will play over scenarios that haven’t happened yet, and may never happen.  We “imagine” the worst, in every scenario.

We also worry about events out of our control.  There are things that others have control over, AND EVERTHING is in God’s control.  Even the worst that could happen to us is temporary at best, and many of the fears we have are unfounded.

Thinking on today – here is an event that is well within my control.  After all, this is MY bathroom, and I’m more scary to the largest spider and creepiest-looking earwig than they are to me.  (Yes I have cats that SHOULD be taking care of these issues, but they are actually more gifted at laying in the sun and curling up on the couch…They observe, but do not catch insects.)

Today’s metaphor is a bit ridiculous, but still, how much time do we all spend “fearing” or “worrying” about things that I have power over; or even things that we DO have power over?  I’m convinced that one of the first things we will say to each other, as we stroll through one of the many beautiful parks in the Age-To-Come, is “Can you believe how much time we spent worrying?”

It is said there are 365 “Fear Nots” in the Bible.  That’s a nice thought, there are actually more “Fear Nots” than that from Genesis to Revelation – in many contexts.  God does not want us to fear anything but Him…and THAT fear is the “healthy fear” of knowing we are dealing with a destructive-but-good power way beyond ourselves.  And our God has the power to stand with us and help us conquer any REAL obstacles we fear.

“The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?” PSALM 27

“Even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death,
I will fear no evil…”
PSALM 23 

 “With humans it is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”
MATTHEW 19 

“I am the Lord your God, who takes ahold of your right hand and says to you, ‘Do not fear, I will help you’.”
ISAIAH 41

 “For I am convinced that NOTHING can separate me
from the love of God which is in Jesus Christ our Lord.”
ROMANS 8

…and another quote, not from the Bible, but from one of my favorite Presidents: because of God’s love and care for us…”we have nothing to fear, but fear itself.”

So go forth and CONQUER your own “Bathroom Monsters” – or REAL fear and worry, for that matter, through the strength and peace that comes from your Heavenly Father! 

For me, working in the theatre is almost the same as being involved with a church congregation: it’s a bunch of diverse people getting together with a variety of talents and gifts, and one single purpose.  Through the process of designing, planning, rehearsing, building, sewing, and creating, actors “bond” with one another and a new community is formed.  That’s one of the main reasons I love it, and have for most of my adult life.

Theatre also feeds the process of teaching, through observing human nature.  Like I always say, God will speak to you in whatever way you’ll listen.  The theatre, and people involved, have (knowingly and unknowingly) taught me a lot about God, about life, and about love.

I’m currently rehearsing a show.  I am assisting as a Stage Manager for our director (Kevin Weston) and am reminded of situations I’ve had before.  One example, one “epiphany”, presented itself to me.

Often, in theatre where volunteers are involved (people with lives outside of the theatre) someone will need to miss a rehearsal and someone else will need to fill in that night.  In one rehearsal I attended, the striking, tall, blonde leading lady with the golden voice was absent and the Assistant Director to the show was obliged to step in, script-in-hand, and sub for her.  The leading lady had a few love scenes, a couple of beautiful songs, and a dance – and the script consistently spoke of her character’s beauty, especially with the line, “She’s an elegant strain of music in the moonlight…with blonde hair”.  Now, the Assistant Director was a round, 55-ish man, balding with a huge mustache and beard…his “uniform” was sweatshirt and jeans.  And no one would want to hear him sing.

During one moment in the rehearsal, one of the actors, in character and speaking with his impeccable British accent, turned to him and said, “You’re the ugliest strain of music in the moonlight with blonde hair I’ve ever seen!”  EVERYONE, including the Assistant Director, laughed.  No one was hurt or offended.

I catalogued the moment.

Everyone laughed.  HE laughed.  Why?  Because it was obvious to everyone, including the Assistant Director in question, that he was neither a woman, tall, blonde, or exactly “beautiful”.  He wasn’t hurt.  Far from it – HE thought it was hilarious.  Everyone enjoyed the joke.  The Assistant Director thought it was funny because he KNEW he wasn’t an “elegant strain of music in the moonlight, with blonde hair.”

Instead, he KNEW who he was.

WORDS are power, and sometimes WORDS do hurt.  In my lifetime I’ve been hit with some ugly and ignorant words.  We’ve all heard the “sticks and stones” phrase, even though experience tells us words are powerful, with a power to be used for good or bad.  So how do we protect ourselves against words that hurt, opinions about us that are untrue?  Do we fight back? Well, we don’t need to.

But we do need to know who we are.  If someone told me I was an ugly tall blonde woman I’m not sure I would be angry, because the accusation is so ridiculous.  I know I’m not tall, blonde, or female.  They couldn’t hurt me with that “instult” because it is so far from who I actually am that it’s silly.

So, why are we hurt when someone says something unkind to us or about us that is clearly not true?  I believe there are a couple of reasons:
1. We are too concerned about what other people think about us, and
2. We are insecure in ourselves about who we really are and think we need validation from others, to be spectacular. 

When a person decides God is who He says He is, and they realize that Jesus is His Son, and God-in-the-Flesh – and decide to follow Him, they become who HE says they are.  And God calls us His children.  This is the same God who spoke the word “light” and there was light.  When He speaks it…it is so.  He thinks you’re the most spectacular bit of stardust He has breathed life into – that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.  Others don’t have the final say about your life, and neither do they sit on the throne of the universe.

But what about the loudest voice of all, your own?  The scripture assumes that we all love ourselves, sometimes. “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Assumes you love yourself.  We all know that isn’t always the case.  We are our own worst enemies when it comes to believing in our own significance. What is the answer?

Go back to point one; God decides your worth…but He also inhabits your very soul, because it is worthy of Him.  Or at least HE believes so. And, because we belong to Him, we assure that hurtful words never come out of OUR mouths.

When I know who I am and where my “significance” comes from, there isn’t a word anyone can say to penetrate that armor of love and truth, I cannot be permanently be harmed.  Of course, we need to be honest about our abilities and inabilities, not think TOO highly of ourselves, and not compare ourselves with others.  We have to be able to accept unconditional (which actually means, “unconditional”) love.  And we need to continually, continually, practice life within those parameters – it TAKES practice, it won’t happen all at once.

I thank both the theatre and the church for helping me grow my imagination, share my talents, and for speaking God’s Truth to me…in the language(s) I hear.  With that God-given imagination, and in a very “theatrical” way, I see Jesus at the bottom of that hill in Israel called “Mount of the Beatitudes”. In a moment He looks up at me; one lost man in the sea of thousands on the hill that day, and says, “You are the salt of the earth.  You are the light of the world.”…

…and I realize, sometimes God has more faith in me than I do in Him.

Be well, go shine, remember who you are.

He was a professional clown. If you had asked me, at the time, who in the congregation was the LEAST likely to be a clown, I would have said, “that guy.” Don’t get me wrong, he was a wonderful guy; a man of solid faith, warm, and good & kind to me and my family. But I consider one of the primary functions of a good clown is that they are funny. He wasn’t. In fact, sometimes, he was downright depressing. 

Throughout time that I knew him, however, clowning was something he took very seriously (I see the irony). He also saw it as a ministry, and that’s what made him so endearing. He used his not-so-great jokes, tricks, props, and “clown personality” to open a door to God, hoping that others would see God there (when they couldn’t see Jesus anywhere else).

The other thing about this guy was that he was, in all the years I knew him, constantly dying. I mean, he wasn’t REALLY dying but he thought he was, and prepared us all for it. He had his final wishes, written in detail, decades before his exit from this age. He made sure that the staff at church knew his plans. They were elaborate, and many of the personal touches he planned required him to create and construct some things himself. 

He wanted balloons, not flowers. He wanted to be dressed and made up as his clown persona. He wanted his photos and props displayed.  He wanted happy music played (a calliope if we could find one). He wanted jokes told. He wanted tears left behind. He had his portrait painted, as his clown persona, on silk and sewn into the panel of the coffin lid, which he had already purchased.  The best idea (in my mind at least) was a device he drew up and started but didn’t complete:  it was a lapel flower for him to wear in the casket. It was rigged with a hose, a bag of water, and a small foot-operated floor pump. The idea was someone standing near the head of the casket, during “The Calling”, would have their foot near the pump. When a grieving friend or family member approached the casket, bending to kiss or whisper or merely take a closer look at the clown makeup, the flower would squirt water on them.

Nice.

When he did finally pass, we were somewhat shocked. It was an event we had all heard about (from him) for years but never really expected.  Thankfully, all the plans were set.

Or were they? 

His family loved him, to a point, but that love was mixed with the feeling that he was an old fool. When confronted with the detailed plans he had made for the service, they were horrified, humiliated, and flatly refused to fulfill his wishes. (This is where the minister earns his money by acting as referee and arbitrator.)  He tried his best to convince the family of their father’s wishes (I was NOT the Pastor in charge of the memorial, thank Heaven!). They, in turn, gave the reasonable argument that this was a service for his family and friends, not him, since he wasn’t there. Eventually a compromise was reached. 

I don’t know what the best result would’ve been, and I was not a part of the service, just a mourner. But this is what I saw: a funeral constructed compromise and committee. A life, boiled down to compromise and not exactly a good representation of that life, to say the least.  His wishes, not quite observed. 

I walked into the service just before it began. I signed my name in the registry, which was in the entrance alcove of the chapel. I walked a few feet, turned left, and stood at the back of the filled chapel. Looking down the aisle, I saw an open casket surrounded by multicolored, hydrogen-filled balloons. A portrait of the deceased, in full clown face, was smiling and facing me from the lid of the casket. And, from the back of the chapel I could see, barely poking over the top edge of the open casket, a red nose.

I wish that I could say what followed was laughter, inappropriate jokes, and stories and the warmth of a well-lived and remembered life. But that’s not what happened.  What followed was none of what this kind and generous man wanted, it was (based on his family’s wishes) a morose, traditional, and dull affair. A very strange mix, with a clown in the casket…surrounded by balloons.

And I mourned that clown in the casket: a man who saw himself and his destiny as something his loved ones could not, or chose not to, see. And in a way I saw something of all of us. 

Sometimes following our passion, against the odds (or the expectation of others) is very difficult.

Was he a success as the clown he wanted to be? Was he a minister to those who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see God any other way? I don’t know, but I’d like to think that he was.

But one thing I DO know: On that day that he gave ME a message and he ministered to ME: Use God-given discernment to know through whom The Spirit is speaking.  Follow Jesus.  Follow the path the Father has started in your heart. Don’t let anyone, including those closest to you, distract you from your God-given dream.

Cherokee Legends

GENESIS 1:1-2 In the beginning, God was creating the heavens and the earth, and the earth was without form, and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep, and the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. . .

GALATIANS 5:22-23 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.

Having grown up near the Great Smoky Mountains in a town located about an half hour’s drive from the Cherokee Indian Reservation, I learned a few of the Cherokee legends as I heard them several times. I will share two of them from memory, with apologies to those authors who have written these same stories with many variations.

HOW THE MILKY WAY CAME TO BE
From the beginning of time, every Cherokee family understood the importance of preserving the harvest so that they may have bread and food for the winter. In the autumn, as the corn stalks yield their dried ears of corn, it was gathering time. With ample corn stored, then every few days a few ears of corn were taken and the corn kernels were shelled off of the cob and placed into a hollow bowl. With a wooden pestle, the corn was ground into cornmeal, a tedious task before the days of grist mills. Once the cornmeal was made, it was stored in a basket- enough to make cornbread daily for several days before more corn had to be ground into meal.

One day an old Indian couple had worked hard to prepare their corn into cornmeal, and they carefully stored their basket of fresh cornmeal. Alas! The next morning much of the cornmeal was gone. Looking around they sought clues as to who the thief was. Outside, the ground was covered with scattered cornmeal, revealing the tracks of a giant dog. The old couple said nothing, hoping that it would not happen again. But the next morning, even more cornmeal was taken, and again, the tracks of a giant dog were seen. So the whole village was alerted. Together the villagers held a council and made a plan, namely, they would hide during the night and every one of them would have a rattle or some kind of noise-maker. When the thief came again and entered the area where the cornmeal was stored, the people would make a loud noise that would roll up the mountainside like a roar of thunder. So at dusk, the villagers took their places, careful not to make a sound as the darkness of the night deepened.

Then suddenly, swooping down from the western sky, the giant dog came into the village, landed near the old couple’s tepee, and quietly sneaked into the area where the basket of fresh cornmeal was kept. Just as the dog bit into the cornmeal, loud noise shook the place. Startled, the dog ran outside and the villagers chased it. Suddenly the huge dog arose and streaked across the sky, bits of cornmeal flying from its mouth, forming stars. Immediately the sky was filled with stars of all kinds, far too numerous to be counted. And it dawned on the villagers: this was the Great Spirit in the form of a dog. And the Milky Way, the brighter band of stars, was the promise of the Great Spirit.

Granted, this story has many variations. And yet, I marvel at how different cultures have stories of a “Great Spirit” who brought the heavens and/or the earth into being. The Cherokee, whose ancient ancestors had never heard of the familiar biblical stories that we know, have their own story of the Great Spirit who creates the starry sky. And yes, in the Cherokee language, the word for “milky way” literally means “where the dog ran.”

THE TWO WOLVES
A grandson sat near his grandfather, an old Cherokee elder, and listened to the stories that the grandfather hoped to pass down to the new generations of children. In order to make sure that his grandson was listening, the grandfather said, “Have you heard the story of the two wolves that fight inside people?” “No,” was the quick response, “tell me the story”, replied the grandson.

The grandfather began, “Every person has two wolves that live inside, and they fight all the time. One wolf is evil, and he tries to convince the person to be mean, resentful, argumentative, selfish, revengeful, disruptive, dishonest, disrespectful, envious, and even heretical. The other wolf is good, and he tries to convince the people to be loving, kind, patient, joyful, gentle, peaceful, meek, forgiving, and faithful.”

Responding quickly, the grandson asked, “Who won?”

“Whichever wolf the person feeds” came the answer.

Few legends are as loaded with truth and insight as this Cherokee tale. Who hasn’t known the fierceness of the battle within us? Who hasn’t regretted those moments when the “evil wolf” gets the upper hand of our emotions and our actions. In a day and age when “love” is often perceived as softness that has “no guts and no power”, let me remind you that the love of which Jesus spoke is a “love that is born of the will.” Turning the other cheek is not simply a gesture to defuse an explosive issue for the moment, rather, it is a will to treat that person kindly forever. When Jesus asks us to “lay aside all malice and all revenge”, he meant that agape or Christian love rested upon a will within us that will not allow us to do evil unto others. Yet, Jesus knew the power of human emotions and honored that aspect of life. “Be angry, and sin not” is clearly an admonition to express anger but refrain from acting out toward others in anger. Even Jesus in his anger toward the moneychangers in the Temple, did not smite the moneychangers, but overturned their tables! One element of agape (Christian) love is this: forgiveness! Whether one “forgives and forgets” is NOT the point; rather, the point is that forgiveness as an act of love is also an act of incredible will power. In the New Testament there are a couple of words for forgiveness, but when Jesus said from the cross, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. . .”, Jesus used a word that meant “do not hold back from total and full forgiveness.” Talk about will power! For Jesus to speak this prayer of forgiveness was to wipe out all feelings of revenge toward those who crucified and/or condemned and/or mocked him. Had we been in Jesus’ place, which wolf would have won the battle within us?

Until we preachers of the Gospel can find the words, meager and weak as they may be, to help us all grasp that agape (Christian) love requires a strong will, the Church may not have the fortitude to face a society in which the bad wolf howls and nips at our heels. Can we, the Church Universal, feed the good wolf enough so that our will (love) is adequate to heal division all across this world? Mind you, I am NOT talking about agreement, I am talking about having the will (love) to honor the sacredness of all life. No, we can’t and won’t be perfect, but when we fall short, shall we feed a little more to the good wolf?

For the first time in my life (since my graduation from college) I’m planning for the rest of my life, which means I’m looking at my retirement years.  And by “retirement years” I mean the years during which most people would retire, but I will be working & BEHAVING like I’m retired.

The boys, MY boys, are now grown and in their twenties/thirties.  They live close by, but in separate homes, creating new lives.  Just when and how did all that happen?

As I look at my boys, at their maturity, and as I listen to them speak, I realize that they have become strong, able, somewhat wise, and grown quickly beyond anything I would be able to teach them or show them…how did that happen? 

How does ANYONE “grow”?  My boys grew.  But they didn’t grow because their mother and I stood over them every day and COMMANDED them to grow.  They grew and matured because we focused on their NURTURE.  We fed them, made sure that they got enough rest.  We educated them and made sure that they were surrounded and protected by educators who reflected and taught what we believed to be the truth.  We gave them extra protection and help when they were weak.  We gave them space to walk and run when they were strong. As a result, they grew.

Their growth was, and is, a result of being nurtured.

Church growth is a subject of thousands of books and even more theories.  In my congregation, we face the question that many other churches ask: how can we survive without growth?  Some churches and pastors believe that focusing on growth itself is the answer, with an effort to push and pull people into the pews.  Unfortunately, some congregations focus so much energy on reaching outside the congregation that they neglect, or forget, the people that are currently in the pews, and neglect their true purpose: Worship.  It’s true in commerce and it’s true in church:  all of the best, cleverest, and most expensive, advertising available to a restaurant won’t do anything but get customers in the door…ONCE…but if the “food” is lousy, no advertising available will get them to return.  Good food is its best advertisement.

My philosophy, which is probably flawed and lacking because I just don’t know everything, is that NURTURE causes growth, even in congregations.  People will be naturally and supernaturally drawn to a place where there is love, where they are fed, where they in turn have an opportunity to feed, and where they are accepted and have a place.  When God’s presence is sincerely felt, no one can help but advertise.

“By this all people will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.” JOHN 13:35 

On warm summer evenings I enjoy the small luxury of reading, either on my front or back porch, but usually the front.  As a person who sometimes believes he needs to constantly be “doing something”, reading is one of those exercises that can be both relaxing and “doing something” for me.  The miracles of technology have made it possible to read a backlit book in whatever font size I need.  I sit with a cold drink, a good book or two, and the music of insects and frogs in my neighborhood.

I was sitting in that spot a few weeks back when some movement caught the periphery of my vision, and I looked up.  Now, I always need to check every possible flicker because I am at that age, and have the condition, where I get lots of “floaters” in my eyes; what seems like a flying bug is often just a moving spot in my eye.  I have made the mistake of swatting (in public and in front of family) at things that aren’t there, risking early incarceration in a guarded care facility.  But on this evening what caught my eye was a frog on the brick wall some twelve feet in front of me.

It was not yet sunset, but almost.  We see many little tree frogs from the nearby river, in and around our porches.  They love the plants in the back, and often sit on the fence watching me grill.  But this guy was at least three times the size of the small, green, frogs I was used to seeing.  We exchanged the male “head nod” and he progressed up the wall to the outdoor lamp on the wall.  He remained there.  I continued reading Greek philosophy in the original language.  (I’m kidding, it was probably Agatha Christie).

The next evening found me out there again.  Same chair, same book.  Once again, at around the exact time as the night before, my friend came back to the wall.  I decided, since this was going to be a regular meeting, he (head-nod told me he identified as male) needed a name.  I christened him, Edward (named after American realist painter, Edward Hopper). This night, Edward made his way, once again to the lamp on the wall.  On the way, however, he paused.  When he did, I saw two other smaller (of the sort I’m used to seeing) frogs come up the wall behind him.  He continued until he was securely behind the lamp and the other two frogs (Sons? Daughters? Grandkids?) secured themselves nearby.

I was puzzled by this routine, which seemed to happen every late afternoon/evening at the same time.  Until I witnessed it a third time.  You, who are probably quicker and wiser than I am, have already figured it out.  On the third night I observed the same routine, gave the head-nod to Edward and his family and watched them take their places and then it happened.  The sun went down, the lamp (connected to a sensor) came on.  Suddenly that little spot became a “Frog Smorgasbord” as every bug in the county came out.

Edward knew where the food was.  He went to it.  He led others to it.

Naturally, at that moment, I made a note of the event.  Here is one of God’s creations.  Edward, as bright as he may be, is still a frog.  He is not at the pinnacle of creation, that place is held by humans, but he is a “brother creation”.  Through his tiny frog brain he deciphered enough to know this: God, his Father, will provide what Edward needs.  But, as with everything in the Kingdom, it requires some cooperation, some partnership, from Edward.  Not only that, once provided for, the Kingdom requires Edward to fulfill the miracle of provision, by providing for others. 

My brain may be bigger, but sometimes I revert to the belief God will provide for me by bringing things directly to me when I ask. The Spirit doesn’t teach that, neither in the Scripture nor in day-to-day life.  What the Spirit teaches me, Edward, and you, is the KINGDOM of God is a cooperative.  We work WITH God in all things, taking a first step in faith (like hopping up a wall to the light) to prove we are willing, THEN our Father provides.  Once that happens, we have, in effect, committed to be someone else’s miracle (“Much will be required of everyone who has been given much.” LUKE 12:48). It’s in our KINGDOM CONTRACT (The Lord’s Prayer): “…give US (not ME) this day OUR daily bread…forgive US OUR debts (together, because) …WE forgive OUR debtors…” 

This KINGDOM of God IS progressing, despite what it may seem (depending on where you get your news, or what YOUR world may look like).  It grows slowly and steadily, like the mustard plant.

As the KINGDOM grows, I continue to learn, and carry, these Truths:

Every spiritual Truth has a physical metaphor.
God’s Truth is revealed on and off the pages of Scripture.
Look and listen for the Spirit.  You only find what you seek.
Prayer is a partnership, not a passive request to a “metaphysical genie”… 

…and, even Edward the frog knows enough to hear God, and share God. 

I don’t know if you’ve seen the “11 Seasons of Indiana” (here they are, for your information):

1. Winter
2. Fool’s Spring
3. Pot Hole Period
4. Second Winter
5. Spring of Deception/Pot Hole Season 2
6. Third Winter
7. Actual Spring/Pot Hole Season 3
8. Summer
9. False Autumn
10. Second Summer (1 Week)
11. Actual Autumn

 …but POTHOLE SEASON seems to hang on (like a bad cough) through the entire cycle of seasons in a year.

Potholes; the inevitable result of cold and moisture slowly, insidiously, working its way into the pavement and breaking it apart (there’s a sermon right there!). Some years ago I replaced not one, but TWO tires due to those “satanic land-mines of doom”.

However, since I do believe that all Spiritual Truths have a Physical Metaphor, I looked (as I was standing by the side of the road last year waiting for AAA) for a lesson in the pothole. Actually, I didn’t have to use a lot of imagination.  The picture was pretty clear.

POTHOLE SYMBOLISM – If one looks at a Pothole as the inevitable obstruction along the road of life – caused by whatever reason – then some metaphors immediately come to mind:

• Take Potholes seriously. If I hit one, it’s not just hole in the road, it could cause enough damage to hurt me, hurt YOU, AND make it impossible for me to get anywhere down the road.  Sometimes I don’t take “pitfalls” seriously enough.  Humans make mistakes. Life deals cards that are sometimes a good hand and sometimes not.  But if we don’t prepare for obstacles (before they happen), we don’t take the consequences seriously enough and are hit twice as hard.  Let’s not get so secure in our protection from God that we forget what life around us is like…and prepare for it.  Again, like the Apostle Paul says, “put on the whole armor…SO THAT WHEN THE DAY COMES…”
  
• I may not be able to prevent them, but I can sometimes avoid them. When it comes to poor choices or “walking close to the edge”, how many pitfalls in life could I avoid if I just avoided getting close?  Temptation not in my control is one thing (and, since we know Jesus was tempted, and Jesus didn’t sin, then temptation alone is not a sin), but what I call “tempting temptation” is MY responsibility completely.  The Apostle Paul tells us to avoid anything that would tangle us up and cause us to “lose the race”, that’s not always “sin”, it could be anything that slows us down from our primary objective.  When possible, avoid using the roads with potholes…WHEN YOU KNOW ABOUT THEM.

• Potholes are easier to see in the daylight. But some folks just don’t understand what the concept. Jesus and the teaching in the letters of Paul, John, and Peter remind us to “walk in the light”, so that we don’t stumble.  It seems obvious, but some of us tend to like the danger of living on the edge, pushing the boundaries and find ourselves walking (driving) in the dark…unable to see the approaching danger.  Stay in the light.

• Don’t travel too fast. There is a fine line between confidence and recklessness.  By not recognizing, ignoring, or not caring about the danger of obstacles/potholes I get complacent and start driving too fast.  Although I am personally guilty of driving my body and my life at reckless speeds sometimes, I preach (to myself and others) that to not be “in the moment” is to miss out on “God moments”.  I have a “mantra” I try to live up to, and one I preach/teach:

“Every moment has its time.
Every person has their place.
Do not brush away either.
In doing so, you may brush away God’s wish
For you to either ENJOY or BE a miracle.”

I will keep my eye on the ultimate goal, but I also need to consistently be aware of my current surroundings, not just because I’ll miss out on something good, but also so I can recognize obstacles as they approach and see them for what they are.

• Sometimes you’re the follower. Sometimes you’re the leader.  This year I found myself suddenly on a busy Indianapolis road that was pockmarked with deep potholes.  Having not driven on the road since Autumn I was unaware of the dangers and immediately got behind someone else who seemed to know the way better than I did.  I slowed when they slowed, I dodged when they dodged…it helped to have someone in the lead.  Later in the week I was driving to a notorious minor stretch of road with at least a dozen holes all together.  Behind me, and I mean RIGHT behind me, was a person not wanting to follow the speed limit (in Edgewood where the speed limit is the 11^th Commandment) and I came to the place, tapped my brakes and went into the left lane to avoid the dreaded war zone.  I looked in my back mirror and saw the car begin to take the opportunity to pass me on the right…they immediately hit the first hole and stopped (unhurt) and slowly followed me the rest of the way, a safer distance behind.  Sometimes you follow.  Sometimes you lead.
  
  
• It helps if you’ve traveled that road before. Through the obstacle courses that are “Pothole Season” in Indiana, there are a few places I have now come to know and can smoothly turn, swerve, and brake, like a strong slalom skier in the Winter Olympics. Because I must travel that road, and have been there before, I know where the pitfalls are…and I avoid them.  I’ve heard so often, and sometimes say, “I wouldn’t wish what I went through on my worst enemy, but I wish everyone could be where I am now, on the other side.” Another reason to not brush off even the bad moments is that hitting a pot hole teaches us, strengthens us…not only for ourselves, but to be there for someone else who is traveling down the same road.

Pothole Season isn’t one of my favorite times of year in Indiana, but I CAN say that I’m stronger for it.   My prayer is that you avoid the damage done by unavoidable potholes in life, and that you may never be the cause of someone else’s obstacle in life.

Knowing that eventually the potholes will be patched, the roads will be smooth, and all will be well (if only for a short time, till the next winter) also helps me get through.  Another lesson of the season is our constant message and lesson:

“Everything will be OK in the end.  If it’s not OK, it’s not the end.”
FERNANDO SABINO

“Weeping may spend the night, but there is joy in the morning.”
PSALM 30:5b 

WHEN ONE RESTS WHILE DOING HARD WORK by Ken Rickett

“Come unto me ye who are heavy laden, and take my well-fitted yoke upon you, and learn of me, and I will give you rest.”

 “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

 Labor Day is a day, like Sunday, when one “rests from their labors.”  Of course, there are those institutions and persons who must labor anyway because their labor is often of necessity.  Hospitals and nursing staff, farmers and the care of their livestock, public safety personnel, etc. are just mere examples of a rather long list of people who work on Sundays and Labor Day.  

Part of the issue we face on Labor Day is the cultural understanding of “rest” as “time off”, “a day of leisure”, a “vacation”, or any time away from the jobs from which we earn our income.  We who follow Jesus are definitely “missing something” when rest is primarily “a day off from our jobs.” For one, the biblical meaning of “rest” is lost, and secondly, if “rest” is obscured, then so is the meaning of the biblical word “love.” 

When Moses received the Ten Commandments, one of which says, “remember the Sabbath, to keep it holy” (ie, a day of rest), work of necessity still had to be done.  The sick needed care on the Sabbath, livestock needed fed on the Sabbath, public well-being needed protection on the Sabbath, etc.  Back in those days, even a day of rest, the Sabbath, could be interrupted by emergencies, requiring physical work.  In other words, the ox can fall into a miry ditch, and hard work must be undertaken quickly to remove the animal from danger.  Who hasn’t seen videos of animals trapped in a flood or a deer that has broken through the thin ice over a pond?  The animals’ efforts to free themselves from such danger are so quickly tiring; they will perish without help.

Labor Day implies time off from work.  What if the biblical understanding of rest did not refer to the absence of physical labor?  For me, it is not physical work that makes me “tired to my very bones” or “weary unto the very depths of my soul.”  I can work all day in my yard with flowers and lawn upkeep and get quite tired–which is easily fixed by a good meal and a snooze in my recliner.  It’s amazing how fast energy is restored!

So, let me talk about some really hard work!  For a college midterm, the assignment was to write a paper and hand it in on the due date.  I finished my paper a couple of days early.  A friend (on the same floor in the dorm in which I was living) had been struggling with his paper, and so I let him read mine. He disappeared briefly–and unknown to me, xeroxed a copy.  Imagine the anger when I got a “D” with the notation that 4 or 5 papers were exceptionally similar!  Upon confrontation with my friend, he admitted that he had a copy and let “a couple of others see it, too.”  Talk about anger and betrayal!  Even though I had “said my piece” to him, I had the hard work of letting go and moving on.  Every tiny bit of progress was REST.  The hardest job, however, was not with the friend, it was restoring a sense of integrity with the professor.  The final exam was writing several essays, using creative, colorful language and we had a week to write them.  O, how I struggled to get this “job” right, how I worried that my professor’s assumptions would cloud his grading of my papers!  I had to find “rest” with every sentence I wrote, that is, I had to feel that I had done my utmost on one sentence before would I even dare write the next sentence. The work of waiting several days to get my grade was tough; my self-talk went haywire, and each time I could calm myself down, it was rest.  To my relief, my grade was top-notch, with a notation that said, “a joy to read.”   Full rest at last!  And a mistake I didn’t allow to happen again! 

One needs rest while doing hard work.  Run this thinking out. One doesn’t just forgive someone, and it’s over in a second or two.  No, forgiveness is hard work.  It is hard work to avoid making a situation worse.  It is hard work to decide what to say, if anything.  It is hard work to get the relationship back to its previous level of trust.  Each step forward brings its measure of rest.

One needs rest while doing hard work.Coping with a serious illness of ourselves or our loved ones is hard work, and every tiny bit of acceptance and coping is rest.  Grieving is hard work from which we need rest, and every tiny bit of coming to terms with the loss we feel is rest.

 One needs rest while doing hard work.  The tortuous journey from losing a job to finding another job is hard work, and every bit of relief from the self-denigration or the unfairness of company policies and actions is rest.

Let’s face it.  Most of the really hard work we do has very little to do with physical work. The “renewing of our minds” and the softening of hardened hearts is constant work foisted upon us all throughout life, but yoked with Christ, there is rest while doing hard work..

It is when we work the hardest on such life experiences that we who are yoked with Christ, can find rest.  Not rest from the cessation of physical labor but rest that comes in the midst of working hard with life itself. Only when we experience rest in the midst of hard work do we find the deeper meaning of being human in the way that God created us.  In fact, it is in this hard labor that we “learn of Jesus” who gives rest to those “heavy laden”.  Not just any rest, but a rest that results in loving oneself and our neighbor as ourselves. 

by Pastor KEN RICKETT

Do Signs Tell Us All We Need To Know? 

Matthew 16: 2-3: He (Jesus) said unto them (Pharisees), “When it is evening you say, it will be fair weather because the sky is red, and in the morning, it will be foul weather today for the sky is red and lowering. O ye hypocrites! You can discern the face of the sky, but you cannot discern the signs of the times!

Signs from the physical world are all around us. If not around us, then signs are under or over us. No escaping these signs. Here! There! Everywhere we look, signs are there.

For example, signs of autumn’s approach will soon be seen. In the mountains of Western North Carolina, near the Great Smokies, two signs of autumn appear in late July and early August, namely, the leaves of sourwood trees (from which we get sourwood honey!) and the leaves of poison ivy vines (the “untouchable”!) that grow up to the tops of trees are fiery red long before September’s goldenrod begins to bloom. After almost 30 years of living in Indiana, I have observed even while corn stalks and leaves are still green, the full grown ears of corn stand up straight like a minute hand on a clock at the top of the hour, and by the time the corn stalk and leaves are brown, the ears of corn have slowly descended 180 degrees, like a minute hand that reaches the half hour mark. I see the ears of corn in a slow descent long before the green stalk dies. 

Evergreen leaves of rhododendron or mountain laurel can tell the astute observer the temperature on very cold mornings. If the temperature gets around zero degrees, rhododendron leaves are curled up like a little pipe. As a resident of Indiana, it is the appearance of the red winged blackbird rather than the robin that signals the arrival of spring.  

Signs are also under us. Did you know that the ash from the huge explosion of Yellowstone volcano thousands of years ago have been found in archeological digs as far East as Illinois and western Indiana? Signs of old events that can’t be found in history books. 

Signs are over us and the heavens reveal their glory. Black holes, comets that return after several decades or generations, and the likely extension of space forever with many galaxies and stars awe us, and these things are a sign of something incredible!

Many years ago I was in a shop in which a man repaired watches, clocks (including grandfather clocks and other antique timepieces) and he would sell repaired and cleaned clocks from estate sales. He was busy with a customer when I first entered so I walked around. When that customer left and I went to the counter to give him a watch to repair, the man said to me,
“You have seen a lot of pain and grief in your childhood.”
I was shocked. He was right. I lost both parents when I was quite young. When stunned by such a statement as that one, it took me a few seconds to ask the obvious:
“How did you know?”
He said, “when I saw you walking around, your manner of walk told me that you had a lot of childhood stories, even happy stories, but some stories would most definitely be tragic.”
Talk about “signs” that tell all about me! I had no idea! Naturally, I told him a couple of stories that substantiated his observation. But my own intuition surfaced, and I then asked him,
“what is such an astute observer of humanity doing in a watch shop?”
Ah! His story emerged! He was once a professor of medicine in a major university. His philosophy was that doctors needed to hone their skills of observation. But as medical doctors, by insurance rules, etc., were forced to use medical test after expensive medical test to diagnose what should be obvious to an observant eye, he rebelled. Eventually he resigned. He then told me about a customer who came in the shop, and he said,
“I took a good look at him and I told him, ‘your body is fighting a cancer.’”
The customer said, “I just had a physical last month, and all was fine”
to which the watch repairman said, “go back and ask your doctor to check out this and this.”
A few days later, that customer returned and asked,
“how did you know…..? But we caught it early, and I will be fine.”
This “watchman” saw signs of far more than the red sky at night. . .He saw signs of . . Life.

We know signs–like signs of approaching seasons, or even approaching storms. We know signs–like the red sky at sunset promises fair weather, but red clouds in the morning forebodes foul weather. But Jesus said, “O ye hypocrites, you can discern the face of the sky, but you cannot discern the signs of the times.” People begged Jesus to tell them “the signs of his second coming.” Jesus refused.  

What signs did Jesus want us to see? I think I have a hunch. Jesus wanted us to see signs of human hope and human struggle. Jesus wanted us to see signs of human injustice and signs of righteousness. Jesus wanted us to see signs, not of the physical world per se, but signs of the world in which a Just and Holy God also has a Heart of forgiveness and redemption is present among all peoples.

Jesus spent his lifetime on earth, but few really knew who He was. They missed the signs. . . .signs that you and I must not miss. . . .of a God, revealed in Jesus, who shows us not only the true meaning of Love, but surrounds us with the deepest experience of Love. Signs that beg to be seen, heard, experienced, celebrated!