Breathe

 Friday, December 19, 2008

Breathe

As I was driving down the Sam Houston toll-way my chest began to hurt so badly I thought I was going to die right then and there. I pulled over to the shoulder of the road and got out of the car - I just needed to stand up for a second to catch my breath. The pain in my upper back was excruciating. After a few moments, and some unusual stares by passing motorists I reentered the car, and painfully resumed my trip home from the airport. I had been on a two week business trip and just wanted to make it home.

I made it to there, but that was about it. Instead of calling 911 I called my girlfriend, Karen and asked her to come home from work ASAP. By the time she got there, (approximately 15 minutes later) I realized I truly needed medical help. This was getting serious! I had to quickly get over my disdain for medical bills, and concede that she take me to the nearest hospital. We didn’t make it there directly though, as she stopped at a nearby 24 - hour emergency clinic in fear that I wouldn’t make the next ten miles alive. They quickly transferred me to West Houston Medical Center via an ambulance.

Notions of a heart attack soon gave way to chest x-rays and the obvious evidence of a serious case of pneumonia. According to the MDs both of my lungs were nearly filled to capacity with fluid. - Results of an almost six-month old case of pneumonia that I had let go untreated. After a week of aggressive treatment I emerged from the hospital a new man. No more pain in my chest and upper back that had plagued my body for so long. No more of the hacking and coughing, which had been persistent forever it seemed. (You quickly get the picture that I’m really kind of stupid when it comes to health issues, don’t you?) After about a month of recovery and some serious medication consumption I could finally breathe through the full capacity of my lungs - I mean really breathe! Deep long breathes that had been absent in my life for more than half a year now.

Although this incident in my life is more than ten years past, in 2006 I had a similar situation - this time though there were no medical facilities, or Med-School graduates with their ridiculously outrageous charges for things such as “consultation.” No, this time I was treated - then healed by God himself. I learned to breathe again by accepting the forgiveness that the Cross of Calvary extends to those that are sick and afflicted in spirit and soul. Jesus truly is the great physician for the lost and desperate - and thus was I healed.

Did you know that in both the original Greek and Hebrew translations of the Bible the same word was used for breath as well as for spirit? The Greek word “nooma” represents Breath and Spirit, one and the same! Makes sense as to why we feel such a calming presence over our bodies when God breathes His spirit into us. To breathe is defined by man as “the taking in and letting out of air” - but to really breathe is defined by the Almighty wordsmith as “to take in fully His Holy Spirit.”

I’ve been reminded lately that one of the most consistent characteristics of a “true Christian” is the aura of a calming presence in our conversations, and interactions with others. This is a real, tale-tale sign according to the very knowledgeable spiritual leaders in my life, and now I’m beginning to understand even more so the truth in this precept.

Confusion and discord is the manifestation of a “breath” that comes from the spirit of the Enemy and is (just as, if not more) obvious to our sight, taste, sound, smell, and touch. It fills the lungs, hearts, and the minds of its victims with the fluids of hatred, racism, envy, jealousy, selfishness, and so often abusiveness. It’s an ever-present foul breath, or spirit that is exposed through words and actions. Bottom line - it’s a pneumonia like sickness which consumes the bodies of so many today!

On the other hand, Love (the kind of love that can only come from God) manifests itself through our Christian spirit, and breath - to fill rooms and relationships with a peace that truly surpasses all understanding.

Take just a minute and stop reading, stop thinking, stop looking, stop listening and close your eyes and take a couple of long, slow breathes. Come on, just do it!

Now, didn’t that feel relaxing? Did you feel God’s presence? Its calming affect is truly a healing balm for our troubled souls, and worried minds. Maybe we should do this more often? Come unto me all who are weak and (heavy laden) burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

He calls; Come unto Me, and I will give you a new nooma……doug

Unbroken Circle

 

Monday, December 29, 2008

unbroken circle

It was a rainy spring evening and revival week at Hoitt Ave. Baptist Church had just begun. Like most thirteen year-old boys I would’ve rather been anywhere but church this night. With the exception of flipping knuckles on the back row of pews with my best friend Gary Cole there wasn’t much to capture my attention. That is until the back door of the church flew open and in walked a couple of men with trench coats and umbrellas. One was leading the other by the arm, due to the physical blindness he suffered from. They approached the front of the church, removed their coats and took a seat on the front row. Soon the pastor asked “Brother Ray” to come sing. This small, unassuming, shaved-head man had everyone’s attention, including the Rat Pack on the back pew.

He sang several songs (without accompaniment) with an untrained voice, and constant interruption from what country folk term a “touch of the palsy.” None of that made a difference though, because for one thirteen year old it was God himself singing and calling to my heart “come, come unto me”. I walked down the center aisle and approached our Savior’s fountain of grace and mercy for the first time that night.

As time went by, my life moved further and further away from that rainy night altar. As time went by, I recovered from my grief for my friend Gary's suicide before the age of twenty-five. As time went by I lost the awareness of how special His grace was. As time went by, I forgot about blind Brother Ray. As time went by……

Jerry Bates, (a man I casually knew at the time) came into my office one day in need of an ear, or more accurately in need of a heart. His beloved sister Lois was going to die of cancer soon unless they could find a way to treat the aggressive disease that was spreading throughout her body. He needed to have prayer with someone, and God sent him my way. Me of all people. We prayed, and God was among us. Two hours after he left I got a call that my aunt Barbara was diagnosed with terminal cancer and would live only six months. Unlike Lois though Aunt Barbara wasn’t given any treatment options, and seven weeks later she spiritually recovered from her afflictions and took on a new body, as God called her home.

The day after Barbara’s funeral, Jerry Bates appeared at my door again. This time to sing praises that Lois had come through the surgery, and early opinion was that she had a good chance for recovery. Because of God’s calling for us to be an encouragement to one another I went to see this stranger in her hospital bed. Awkwardly I introduced myself and fellowshipped for a while with her and her sister from Alabama, while Jerry was still at work. I told her that I would come back on the weekend to check on her again.

But then the news came the next day that my uncle Ken, (Aunt Barbara’s husband) had suffered a stroke and a massive heart attack. His short stay in the CCU unit of another hospital, and merciful death and burial prevented me from making it back to see Sister Lois before she was discharged and sent home to recover. I felt bad about breaking my word to her. In the mist of Lois's miraculous period of healing I had lost two dear relatives, but all three were situations to celebrate.

A few months later Jerry showed up at my door once again. (By the way I forgot to mention, each time he comes by he brings me a present.) You see God has equipped Brother Jerry to be a remarkable singer and songwriter, and during each visit he shares with me, (again me, of all people) a newly written song in his heart - and I am so honored. I care less about what my co-workers think when they hear this angelic voice singing praises at the workplace, or what they may think about the redness of my eyes when the visit is complete. God has blessed us with His presence and that’s all that matters. Anyway, this visit brought about an invitation to come worship at his church while they were having revival services the next week.

As I made the 35 – 40 mile journey to his church in upper east Tennessee for the second time last week, I listened to songs sung by the beautiful, and blind Ginny Owens who just happens to perform for Rocketown Records, which was formed by my former fellow-church member in Franklin, Tn. Michael W. Smith several years ago. (strings of a circle) As I pulled into the parking lot Ginny was just finishing up with the song If You want me to, and for a moment I felt comfort - while still in the mist of a very tough week. Thankfully God calls us into periods of growth to make us stronger, because He alone knows where we’re heading. “Putting on our strength” as I was reminded yesterday. Putting on our strength.

Anyway, I made my way to an empty seat (in the almost full to capacity small country sanctuary) and began to worship among strangers, among fellow sinners. Brother Jerry and his nephew Lamar were sitting at the front, and there across from me sat Sister Lois simply waiting for me with a beautiful smile to share. As the service progressed, several people went forward to sing God’s praises, yet I was disappointed that God didn’t lead Jerry to do so. Then the pastor made his way to the pulpit and I thought to myself that the “preaching” would soon begin - but instead he looked to his left and asked, “Brother Ray has God placed a song on your heart tonight?”

And there he was - almost ageless, some 35 years into the future, shaved head and all. Not broken, not defeated, not passed away – but still fighting the good fight that the Apostle Paul spoke of, and still enduring to the end. What a sight through my tear filled eyes – and I heard God say "Hey Doug, remember when?"

and then, for me the real revival began…….doug

REAL

 REAL (originally written in 1983)

The other day I discovered a long lost copy of some of my early writings - this item being the oldest. It was printed in the United Methodist Church weekly bulletin in Knoxville, Tennessee in 1983, the week after I moved to Nashville to start a new job in June of that year. About eight years ago I included it in my book entitled; A View from the Fence. (A story for another time.) It's interesting to see how my ideas have changed somewhat over the past 30 plus years, yet in so many ways they're still grounded in the same truths I knew way back then. It's been quite a journey since I scribbled these thoughts - quite a journey indeed. The original version was included in a thank you letter to all my friends in the church that I was leaving behind - those that had showed me on a daily basis what it truly meant to be Real.                                               

 “Real”

The lamp of the body is the eye. If therefore your eye is good, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If therefore the light that is in you is darkness, how great is the darkness. Matthew 6:22-23

"If therefore the light that is in you is darkness, how great is the darkness." Wow, now how deep is that one! So often we forget about the enormous philosophical overtures of the biblical scriptures, and only see the theological aspect of them, but sometimes sentences such as this just seems to scream out to us. For the most part the writers of the scriptures as we read it today weren't known as the great thinkers of their day, they were more commonly known as, the great believers but boy, some of their stuff is really really deep! That's really where the God inspired thing shows its validity if you ask me. Man can't duplicate what God created. 

  

You may think what I am about to admit seems a bit shallow, (especially compared to the words of Jesus we just read) but what the heck. My favorite book of all time is the children’s tale, The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams! Now I suspect, unless you have a small child, grandchildren, or work in a daycare center it’s probably a safe bet to say you haven’t read this story in quite a while. Me, I’ve read it numerous times over the years. A simple book, with lots of big pictures which is right down my alley! 

Actually, at the heart of the message from the Velveteen Rabbit is a moral which is much more geared for the grown up in spirit, than the small children we often read it to. An adult level comprehension finds a meaning in the story that a child simply can’t understand. I suggest if you haven’t read it lately, do so because it’s a tale for all ages. In the mean time I will paraphrase the jest of the Ms. Williams’ wonderful tale for us.

The boy, (whose name, by the way is never mentioned) gets a fat, bunchy, brown and white spotted velveteen rabbit for Christmas one year. For almost two hours the boy loved and played with his rabbit, but in the excitement of the day, and the fun he had playing with his many gifts he soon forgot about ol’ mister rabbit. Then we find the velveteen rabbit, (whose name, also is never mentioned) gets tossed in the boy’s room among his other toys that evening.

The rabbit began to feel out of place almost immediately, as the more expensive toys openly snubbed him. (Ever been the new kid on the block? I certainly have!) The only one that was kind to him was a cloth rocking horse that had lived in the boy’s room longer than any of the other toys. After overhearing a conversation between a few of the other toys the rabbit asked the horse “What is real?” The cloth horse caught off guard by the question, thought for a minute, and then responded.  

Real; well real is not about what you’re made of, or even how you’re made. It doesn’t have anything to do with the fancy things you can do, or even what you’re able to say.

Real is something that happens to you over a long period of time, and it doesn’t come easy.  

Generally by the time you become real most of your hair has been loved off, and you begin to look pretty shabby. Often you end up with a few loose stitches, a hand or ear that has had to be sewn back on, and you’re probably missing a bow, a shoe, or maybe even an eye that has popped out. 

The rocking horse finished by saying; “But you want to know the best part about becoming real, the best part is that it can never be taken away from you, because once you’re real it lasts for always.” 

The velveteen rabbit sat there overcome with sadness at the thought of it taking so long, and possibly very painful just to become real.  

Over time the boy grew very fond of his new toy, and soon they became inseparable. After awhile the velveteen rabbit began to show signs of such an intimate relationship, (just as the horse had predicted years earlier). Stains, rubbed off fur, loose stitches, missing ear, he had it all. Then one day in defense of the rabbit (as it was suggested the rabbit be thrown away) the boy exclaimed to his nanny; My rabbit isn't a dirty worn out toy, “He's real!”  

Hearing those words made the rabbit so happy, and very proud, for now he was finally Real.

  

[Real, what a wonderful presence of existence, yet sadly some of us never make it to that point in our lives. We end up spending most of our time pretending to be real, but deep down we never allow ourselves to be loved in a manner that's transforming at all. We boast of being real, yet honestly we would rather not be real as to have our hair messed up, or risk the possibility of being hurt. We live our lives everyday in fear that we will be hugged one too many times, and our stuffing will be exposed for the whole world to see. The risk of ridicule and criticism is too great to chance, so we continue to live at an arms-distance away, pretending to be something we’re not. All the while in our heart of hearts we know how we live isn't real at all, but it's safe, and living safely can become addictive. Living a life that is real is risky business.]

Whew, where did that come from? Anyway, back to the children’s story…

Later, the boy developed Scarlet Fever and the doctor insisted the family destroy all of his toys, and bedding from his room in order to eliminate the bacteria from lingering, (this is obviously the toughest part of the book to explain to the child while reading).  

As the rabbit sat outside with the pile of the other things to be burned he thought, “What good does it do to become real if this is how things are going to end up anyway? And then, right at that very moment a tear began to roll down his furry little cheek. A real tear, and from this tear he began to be transformed into a real bunny. The other toys looked on in amazement as he hopped away into the woods and was saved. Hurrah he thought, the old cloth rocking horse was right, real does exist, but then he became saddened at the thought of those toys, (some friends, and some that chose not to be) still lying there in the pile to be burned. He wished somehow he could save them, each and every one, regardless how they felt about him.   

Later on, once the boy had fully recovered, he was outside playing again in the backyard when the rabbit, his rabbit, hopped out of the nearby woods and the two had a wonderful time playing together all day long.

Many a life has been wasted trying to disprove Jesus was in fact a real person – that he truly existed as a living, air-breathing being in the history of mankind. Yet, many of those so-called researchers never reach a point where they can admit the truth that Jesus’ realness isn't merely proven in his physical existence, (which certainly exists) but also in the message of his words, and the example he gave through the recorded life he lived. 

Matthew 5:39-41, the lesson about turning the other cheek, - Luke 10:30-35, the good Samaritan story, - Mark 12:13-17 render unto Caesar which is Caesar’s, - Luke 16:1-8 the shrewd master parable, - Mark 10:31 the first will be last, warning, - Matthew 20:1-15, the instructions to love your enemies, (and my personal favorite) Matthew 20:1-15 the vineyard laborer story, where Jesus taught us the vitally important lessons of focusing on our own relationship with God, and not on our fellow man.

Seventy-three of the so-called greatest biblical scholars (from the Jesus Seminar Conferences) of our generation all agreed, without reservation that these scriptures, and many more came directly from the teachings from a man known as Jesus of Nazareth. I don’t know about you, but this sure passes the smell test for me, so I declare, He is “Real”!

No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit. Each tree is recognized by its own fruit. People do not pick figs from a thorn-bush, or grapes from the briers. The good man brings good things out of the good that is stored up in his heart, and the evil man brings evil stored in his heart. For out of the overflow of his heart, his mouth speaks. Luke 6:43-45 Speaking / living out the language of realness, that was the message He shared, the same message mankind needs to hear today!

Us, with our re-sewn seams, repaired appendages, balding cover, and visible stuffing. He, with his nailed-scarred hands, spear pierced side, and shredded forehead, - all signs of the wear and tear from the pathway to realness. Us, from accepting (all too often reluctantly) the transforming type of love we truly need, and His from the rejection of those that feared He was actually who they said He was.  

What's so remarkable though, is the undeniable impact that this single man from some two thousand years ago, (in such a remote part of the world) has had on the lives of all those that have heard his name ever since.

Through, the love and admiration of so many millions of people throughout the world today- maintains the realness of the one we call Jesus, yet without it He would still be just as real. We can only hope to ever achieve a speck of His type of realness in our own lives, which is exactly why we must strive to be more Jesus-like every day. 

Thanks to the wonderful story from Margery Williams we have a great reminder of the impact our love for each other can have, but just as importantly we also learn the hard truth about the distance between being real and otherwise - at least that's my take on it! Being real means living a life that is anything but safe! To be real we must be willing to offer ourselves up for the possibility of being hurt or even killed for someone else - someone that very possibly would not do the same for you or me. We must expose our vulnerabilities to others and have faith it will be okay in the end.  

Despite the skepticism of some scholars, I personally believe it is still Jesus today who reminds us to; “love your neighbor as you love yourself” and for me, that becomes a very big step on the road to becoming “Real” in my own life. How we love ourselves is fairly obvious, and how we love others becomes just as obvious to those around us.

(This ending is from the 1983 letter) I want to say a heartfelt thank you to all my friends I now leave behind in pursuit of a new beginning in Nashville. I take with me all the lessons learned from the times we've spent together - leaning on each other, loving on each other, and most importantly, holding each other accountable - accountable to the quest of realness. 

With great love, His love, your servant for life, doug

As tall as wide as long

 

 "And the city lieth foursquare, and the length is as large as the breadth: and he measured the city with the reed, twelve thousand furlongs. The length and the breadth and the height of it are equal."  

Rev 21:16 KJV

In this scripture, John describes the place we call Heaven as being "foursquare," a city that was as wide as it was long.   In today's measurement, standards (12,000 stadia or furlough) are considered 1,400 miles.

1,400 miles by 1,400 miles. Wow, that's a vast area! 

But here's what gets my head spinning, all of the translations I've read also say it's height was the same.  1,400 miles high.

Have you ever heard anyone give dimensions to a town, state, country, etc, that included how tall it was?   I've never!

1,400 miles high!   Written by a man who had never left the ground.  Never flew in a plane - never glided above the clouds in a Boeing 747.  John was merely a ground man in a ground era.

The tallest mountain point in the Middle East is the peak of a volcano called Damavand, which is an impressive 3-1/2 miles high.  Yet, that's still relatively short in comparison to 1,400 miles high.

According to NASA, outer space begins about 50 miles above Earth.   Yet John's vision was of a city 1,400 miles by 1,400 miles by 1,400 miles. 

That's a vision that had to come from above.  I doubt John ever traveled 1,400 miles in his life. (The equivalent of traveling from Atlanta Ga to Albuquerque NM.) Those dimensions had to exceed his mortal thinking, as well as did many of the other things he wrote about in his visions from the Island of Patmos. 

So why was mentioning the height so important? As I said, I've never heard anyone give city dimensions that included height.  As a matter of fact, nowhere else in the Bible does height get mentioned as far as a city's description is concerned. 

After pondering this for a bit, I've concluded that God was giving us some insight as to how different things will be in Eternity - a place where our spirits live forever.   In a place where we'll no longer be mere Ground men, but as far as our freed Sprit men are concerned, height certainly becomes significant.  

"But I saw no temple in it, for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are its temple. The city had no need of the sun or of the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God illuminated it. The Lamb is its light. And the nations of those who are saved shall walk in its light, and the kings of the earth bring their glory and honor into it. Its gates shall not be shut at all by day (there shall be no night there). And they shall bring the glory and the honor of the nations into it. But there shall by no means enter it anything that defiles or causes an abomination or a lie, but only those who are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life."

Rev 21:22‭-‬27 NKJV

What a place that will be!!!!

The Masters

Reprinted from April 2007.    This past week I was supposed to be in Augusta, Georgia in attendance for the Masters Golf Tournament.  Well, at least for a practice round on Tuesday, the Par Three tournament on Wednesday, and then the opening round of competition on Thursday.    As I said, I was supposed to be there.    My life-long dream and I was invited.   We had motel reservations, tickets to the events, and a plan of attack to buy passes for the weekend rounds.   This had been in the works for nearly a year now, so why did it all fall through?

Last summer I was playing golf almost everyday, including a regular foursome on Sundays.  One of the guys from that group had us “hooked up” for this year’s Masters Trip, and boy was I excited at the thought.   Each Sunday morning we would meet at one of the many golf courses in the east Tennessee area where we thought we could sneak in a couple of coolers of beer and we’d have plenty of “good-ole boy” fun.   Our golf game didn’t see much improvement, but it was “good times” - as far as golfing and drinking goes that is. 

Thanksgiving Day was the last round of golf that I played with them, though.   An injury to my knee that I had suffered at work several months earlier had continued to worsen, and it reached a point that I just couldn’t play any longer.   Finally I had to give in to the idea of sitting out the winter months to give my knee a chance to heal.  What took place over the next month was life changing to say the least - for I began to go to church on Sundays rather than to the nearest eighteen-hole escape center.    Even though I wasn’t living the life of a Christian, I hungered to be around “good people” and to learn more about what I didn’t know.   Unfortunately my knee didn’t heal much though, and by mid December it had digressed to a point where I was barely able to walk, as some of you will remember.

Most of you know, last December I asked God to forgive me of my sins and take control of my life, (we all know that there are many that ask the prior, but not the latter and it becomes a vicious cycle of returning to the same sin that they have succumbed to for years) and this is when several things changed drastically!    First of all my heart was healed, secondly my knee was healed, and thirdly my desires were transformed to His desires.   Guess what, His desires didn’t include me going to the Masters Tournament, and hanging out with my former golf/drinking buddies.    Instead He had a much richer experience planned for me this past week.

The week started out with a Palm Sunday Church service, and a deeply engraved message from God through our pastor. Wednesday night’s service brought about an unorthodox message from the same pastor, and a personal calling for me to do more in His service.   Thursday evening there was the Seder Passover meal (a traditional Jewish communion service) and a true learning experience provided by two wonderfully gifted men of God.   Friday night, and our LIFE group meeting (Prayer/Bible study) then my participation in the 24-hour prayer service at our Church.   My scheduled time was from 12:45am to 2am.  On the way to Church to pray, I was simply hoping that I would be able to stay focused for more than an hour of prayer in the middle of the night.   At 3:20 in the morning I walked out of the building.  I looked at my watch and began to praise God for how much time had elapsed as I had prayed for one situation after another for my extended church family.  This may seem trivial to some, but when you go as long as I did without praying, you get a little out of practice.   Try this - mentally add 19 years to your age (if you’re 40 now, then say you would be 59 years old) and ask yourself, what it would be like if you never said another prayer until you reached that age.  Not a single one, regardless of your circumstances.   Tough to imagine isn’t it?

Anyway, back to last week - Sunday came and a 6:30am Sunrise Service, which was beautiful both in song and spirit.   The sun rose above the hills and trees around 7:15 despite the unusual twenty-six degree weather that morning.   A pancake breakfast, good conversation, and a personal prayer session in the sanctuary tithed me over until the routine worship service began, (which as usual is anything but a routine service).  Once home again I turned on golf and watched a relatively unknown kid from Iowa win the greatest of all golfing events, and declare before a worldwide television audience that Jesus was his risen Savior this Easter Sunday.   What a simple, but fearless testimony!   We can all wish that we would do the same, given the opportunity.

The title of this journal entry is deceptive in a way.  “The Masters” not as in the golf tournament, but as in The Master plural, with the recognition that we choose as to which master we serve.    What I came to recognize this week was that The Masters isn’t a golf event, but rather a lifestyle, a focus, a direction, a commitment to serve others through Him.   The Masters goes on 365 days a year in our lives with the choices we make as to what our priorities are.   I heard a pastor recently talk about the trap that he had fallen into with spending so much time watching ESPN broadcast of such things as fishing tournaments, professional poker playing, and reruns of sports news that he had just watched a few hours earlier.   Masters!

Our jobs, our businesses, our children, our money, our worries, our golf-game, our televisions, our “religion,” our whatever  - all Masters in one way or another that distract us from living out God’s will for our lives.   Which will you choose to serve today?   As for me, and my household……

  

Dear Father, help me to be focused on You each day, and not on the many Masters that avail themselves, or thrust themselves upon me.   I want to be known by You as a great champion of faith, and deeds to receive a white robe when the course has been completed, as opposed to the green jacket that this world has to offer.   Amen

Doug

Time Stood Still

Good Friday.   It’s a little past eleven o'clock this morning and Jesus from Nazareth has been hanging from the cross for more than two hours now. This morning as been filled with many strange, yet thoroughly predicted events. Some of us have simply gone about our morning as if it were just another day, but for Him it was the beginning of a new covenant. 

I've already been awake for about six hours now and the thought of how his day had started so much earlier (for he’s been up all night) has flowed in and out of my thoughts several times.

What started out as an after-dinner prayer session in the garden has now come full circle through one mock trial after another. Not a defender or friend found anywhere at this point, only those wanting to persecute and punish him for the vicious crime of love. Alone again, just as he was last night while praying so earnestly as the blood and sweat poured through his skin as his closest allies slept silently.

Many of us can tell someone exactly where we were when the news of 911 reached us, or what we were doing when we heard President Kennedy had been shot, or what our reaction was to hearing that the wall dividing the two Germanys finally fell - but how many of us will pause long enough to recount the events of this day in history. Where are you on this day, Good Friday - today?

Before seven o'clock this morning he had already been held up to the crowds awaiting outside the ruler's chamber, only to be denied recognition in exchange for the release of Barabbas, (a known killer and thief) the first of many to be saved by this Saviour of ours. 

At that same time this morning Dale and I watched the sun rise over the shoreline of a beautiful and serene lake in an area of Alabama appropriately named "All Good" and my heart was being drawn nearer to His. A good start to a Good Friday indeed!

Already he’s endured unimaginably cruel whippings, and beatings to the point layer upon layer of skin has been stripped from his body. He's suffered through shameless acts of disgrace before rulers, priest, and judges of this world throughout the night, yet he's maintained his dignity – he's stayed true to himself and his purpose. Unlike most of us, he never resents his position or calling, he never cowards down to appeasement, he simply continues to march in cadence with the beat of a warrior's drum.

By seven-thirty he's been sentenced to death - I was fixing pancakes and bacon for breakfast, while she checks her email and does some on-line banking. He's facing not a normal execution, but rather a vile and cruel one set aside for the worst of all criminals, and for revolutionaries – the hideous Roman crucifix. I imagine it takes quite a bit of time as the guards select just the right cross from the pile of readied lumber outside the wood-worker's shop for which to hang a son of a carpenter claiming deity. They want to insure the heaviest and largest would be thrown across his shoulders, yet the weight of the wood is the least of the load he bears this morning.

The executioners meticulously see to it that his punishment is carried out so completely in every way. Despite being tired, hurt, and dazed, he simply relies on the strength of his purpose to keep moving forward – to his point of destiny. No sleep for over twenty-four hours, beaten down, blood flowing profusely from the stripes upon his body. His face is battered and swollen from the closed-fist beatings he's taken as a cloth is wrapped around his eyes (supposedly to hide the identity of his attackers), yet he knows each one. Dried spit now stains his cheeks as a robe of ridicule is placed over his shoulders. There is no one with him 'cept the Father. 

All the while this morning around this time I go about loading and unloading the dishwasher trying to wrap my heart around this scene playing out in my mind. Trying to get a feel for the depth of loneliness he must have felt this morning. 

By eight o'clock he's staggering and stumbling through the streets and across the rocky pathway finally giving in to accept the assistance of a man from Africa whom we know only as Simeon. A bonding takes place that will change lives forever in this fateful appointment as they walk upward to a place and time that history is yet to forget. Eight-thirty rings in with a loud clank, the sickening sounds of the first spike being driven through skin, muscle, veins, and then wood.

This morning it once again resounds in my mind - CLANG - goes the hammer to the nail, as the blood splatters over the garment of the soldier holding it steady against his wrist and hand. His feet are over-lapped and held in place as the third and final spike is driven with tremendous force by the swinging of the heavy hammer.

I'm now alone with my thoughts of him as Dale goes about her house-cleaning chores, pausing only long enough to stop by the desk for a hug every now and then. CLANG goes the sound in my mind – CLANG as my body shivers at the sound.

By nine o'clock the cross is raised into place on a hillside sadly called “Place of a Skull” and the bidding begins immediately for his garments, a testimony to the fact that even these deniers knew the importance of the moment – the man. Once in the upright position the blood begins to pour freely from his forehead where the jagged edges of the weather-hardened thorns have pushed through his now fragile layers of skin.

With little earthly life left in him he still finds the mercy to voice forgiveness to a repentant thief hanging beside him. His mother and Mary Magdalene have just finished leading a group of women who love and adore him unlike no other to a hillside just a short distance away to pray to God for mercy to be shown for the one they call Master – friend.  At a distance, this was the best his faithful followers could do at this point, merely follow from a distance. 

I pause from this writing long enough to pray to him – for the One that is on the cross that morning long ago, still today sits at the right hand of the Father.

Mid-day approaches and the focus on this torturous death has been temporarily shifted when the sun disappears into the darken skies for three hours, a heavenly event that can't go unnoticed by even the strongest of deniers. The earth shakes violently, and the sound of the thick veil of the temple is deafening as it's being torn end to end capturing the attention of all those giving witness. Suddenly everyone recaptures their focus as the man hanging from the cross shouts (not whispers) - “Father, I entrust my spirit into your hands.” My Bible says, “and with those words he took his last breath.”

This next part may not be in your Bible, but I know it's in the Bible that rests in my heart - All natural laws of time and space were broken, and all theories of physics were tossed out the window as time stood still this afternoon to mark the historic reunion of the Creator and His creations - as if it were the moment just before God created Adam. 

Again this morning, time stands still as I recognize once more the significance of this event on a personal level. He did all this for a wretched sinner like me - amazing love!  We have such a tendency to hurry past this day on our way to Resurrection Sunday that often times we neglect to ponder on His sufferings.  Oh sure we can wear with ease the shiny crosses around our necks, but we somehow can't stomach to watch the horrific pain he suffered even when it's in movie form.  It's just too graphic we cry out through our tears, too painful.  I believe for us to truly appreciate the resurrection we must first totally engulf the cross and all its nastiness.   

As I write this item the song You are my king (Amazing love) by the group called Newsboys plays repeatedly. I've loved the lyrics of this song since my friend Tom Coleman first played it for me several years ago, and when I sense a need to refocus I simply play it as I am this morning, over and over, and over.

I’m forgiven because You were forsaken
I’m accepted, You were condemned
I’m alive and well, Your Spirit is within me
Because You died and rose again

Amazing love, how can it be

That You, my King, should die for me?

Amazing love, I know it’s true

It’s my joy to honor You

In all I do, to honor You

You are my King

You are my King

Jesus, You are my King

You are my King

On this day, the one we call “Good Friday” here in this beautiful place I call home I'm reminded of just how much an honor it is to praise and serve Him with our words and actions. Just a few short days from now the tomb will be emptied as the rock is rolled away and the sound of trumpets will shout He Lives. Yet, on this historically celebrated day I will always stop whatever I'm doing and give observance for the reason that time stood still some two thousand years ago.

I invite you to join me in singing from the heart in one accord - Jesus, you are my king!

An amazing love indeed...... I pray Easter-like blessings on each of you this weekend. doug


Reprinted from April 2009

Holding On

tuesday, april 8, 2014

Holding On - reprinted from Jan. 9, 2009

friday, january 9, 2009

Let go! “Just let go, and you’ll be ok” I screamed, but even in a crisis situation I felt really uncomfortable yelling at an eighty-something year old woman like that. There’s something to be said about “good raisings” I guess. “Please let go, I promise I’ll catch you!” Mrs. Kennedy was confused, she was hurt, she was disoriented, but most of all she was afraid – very afraid. Holding on for dear life was all she had left.

The problem was, what she was holding on to was sinking, and sinking fast I might add. To be exact, she was holding onto an eighty foot cabin-cruiser with half of its rear-section blown apart from an explosion in the engine compartment mere minutes earlier. What I was trying to get her to take hold of, was my hand, my bass boat, what small bit of safety I had to offer her. What she was holding on to also held her husband Leroy (of almost sixty years) and this is what she was really afraid to let go of - a lifetime, more so than a life.
Again, the problem was, what she was holding onto was sinking quickly beneath her feet.

I knew if I had any chance of saving her husband before it was too late she was going to have to let go of the deck rail she had a death grip of, and fall down into my arms for me to catch her. Finally she did, and I did. I convinced her (after about three attempts) to stay put in my boat, as I went for Leroy. She was confused, and frantic, but I found her loving husband to be even more so - after the deafening explosion he wasn’t sure what to do except to try and save his beautiful bride, and then himself. He immediately tried to radio for help, and then went underneath the deck and into the cabin to retrieve a couple of life-jackets for them.

Leroy was 84 years old at the time, all six foot two, and two hundred and fifty pounds of him. Throw in a bunch of soaking wet clothes and he was a “hand full” to say the least. The fact that he had somehow managed to get his life-jacket on while still holding on to her vest presented a whole new set of issues to deal with. As you can imagine the cabin section of the boat was filling quickly with the cold water of Old Hickory Lake and the flotation of the life jackets was causing the elderly Mr. Kennedy to become pinned against its roof yet he refused to let go of her life jacket, even unto the point where he lost consciousness.

Their boat had sunk more than ten feet since my arrival, and I was now standing in ankle deep water. Somehow I was able to break out the three panes of glass in the boat’s front windows and then finally two Samaritans swam over and helped me pry the water-logged body from the grips of death that held a temporary hold of it. We managed to roll him over and into my boat as the deck of the cabin-cruiser went beneath the surface. I quickly loosened the rope between the two boats before we were all dragged to the bottom of this greedy lake, and off we headed for the Marina.

Holding on to life was Mrs. Kennedy as she also held her husband’s head in her lap as I held on to his wrist as I checked for a pulse while steering my boat toward safety. What started out as an opportunity to continue holding on to the peace and serenity of a day on the lake before winterizing our vessels became an afternoon where we found ourselves merely holding on to each other, and the situation we had before us.

You know, the one thing I’ve found I do more often than I should is I hang on to things that just aren’t good for me. Like eating the wrong foods, drinking the wrong stuff, thinking the wrong thoughts. Hanging out with the wrong groups of people, or any of the other many bad habits I’ve experimented with from time to time in my life. Sometimes what I find is I’m voluntarily holding on to the very things that hold me back from being where I need to be with my life - where God wants me to be.

There’s always a sense of security in holding on to something since we already know the risks/rewards involved, and the level of commitment that is expected from us. And there’s always a certain amount of fear in reaching out for something new or different. This is so true in many aspects of our lives; with relationships, jobs, homes, even automobiles, where we go to church, how we teach our children, and yes most certainly in how we see ourselves. There are so many things we find to hold onto in our past, and present that sometimes our hands become so full we can’t hold on to the “right things” tight enough, and we simply lose our grip.

Holding on to things such as absolute truth, conviction, values, and principles are all things that get tested at times, and either our grips are made weaker or stronger because of these challenges. I now understand that simply because someone else is holding on tightly to a sinking ship, doesn’t make it something I should hold on to also. Yet so often we revert to that way of thinking, we get caught up in trying to mirror our lives in many ways to the lives of our parents, grandparents, friends, fellow church-goers.

I’ve found FEAR will almost always cause us to be hesitant to let go of what we even understand to be wrong for us. “Fear” as in the lack of courage to trust God, and have faith that He is in total control of all things both here on earth as well as in heaven - the kind of “fear” that can only be conquered by God’s love, and direction through His word.

Mrs. Kennedy finally let go, and let God rescue her, for I was merely the bodily form He used to catch her. Mr. Kennedy finally let go of the hand of death he was holding on to, and recovered from this accident. Unfortunately, it took me many more years to let go of so many of the fearful thoughts, and selfish ways I had been holding on to for so long – yet we all three were saved in a very real way.

Holding on sometimes can be the one thing that actually holds us back from allowing His purpose to be fulfilled in our lives. Ask yourself, is there something in your past you’re holding on to even today that you know you need to let go of? If the truth were told - we all have those things in our lives. If the truth were told - we all live with some unhealthy amount of fear about letting go of the things we've held on to for far too long.

Let go! “Just let go, and you’ll be ok” He calls out to us, “Please let go, I promise I’ll catch you.”

doug