AND GOD CRIED

He created the universe and it was good. Galaxies by the billions and stars by the trillions. Space so vast that mankind cannot really conceive of the distances involved and must resort to describing how far light travels in a year in order to explain how far the closest galaxy is from earth. And, then, we have only just pricked the skin of the apple! We have only just removed one grain of sand from the beaches of the world.

This God, did he cry when he created the Universe? I suppose your answer may depend on whether you believe that at the instant of creation he also absorbed the pain of the cross of Calvary. Did this God of ours know and understand and comprehend at the instant of creation that he would suffer and die and absorb all of the hideous evil of his creation? That in his very act of creation, he was beginning a process that would include the cry, "My God, My God - why have you forsaken me?"

Oh, I know that Jesus wept over his friend Lazarus, and shed a tear over the people of Jerusalem, but I think God's heart was pierced long before he put on human flesh and walked with man. I suspect that when he created "creation," he knew the pain and sorrow that would come. I doubt that any of us knows what thousands of years of wicked acts by billions of people amounts to on the scales of God's holiness. How can you measure the atrocities of slaughter, rape, and pillage committed throughout history by each and every person born to mankind? And, God absorbed it all in Christ Jesus. From the earliest lies told by young children, to the theft of trinkets by adolescents, to the gas chambered slaughters of Belsen and Treblinka committed by evil incarnate, our God looked into the face of his only begotten Son hanging on a cross, and perhaps, they both said in unison, "It is finished!"

It seems to me that God exists outside of time and space. That is, scripture and science both seem to argue for the universe being created. Now, what existed before the universe existed - God help us to even come close to understanding. The best I can do is postulate that before the Universe existed, God was. But, the Universe is all I know, and discounting space dust, the universe is more than 99.99% "empty." I can't understand something existing before creation, and truth of all truths, I can't really even come close to understanding the God who created. A God who knows that his creation will fail him, and will deliberately and intentionally violate his every trust and confidence, but who will make provision for the salvation and restoration of every person who caused him pain and sorrow. And, I can't understand a God who cried.

Ah, Lord! I can trust a God who cried for me. Sometimes, I cry for you as I think about your pain. I think of the sorrow man brings upon man and I have no clue as to the depth of pain felt by you. I can only hope that your joy is unbounded as we bring our worship and praise and adoration into your presence. I trust that your laughter and joy have multiplied and filled the heavens for the eternal ages. Rejoice, oh my creator and savior in your redeemed creation.

BRANDED

A hot fire, dusty cowboys, excited horses, wild eyed cattle, the smell of burnt hair and hide hanging in the air. They were all part of the day's work when cows were being branded. A "brand" signified ownership. Real estate didn't move around, so a piece of paper, a "deed" could be used to tell the world who owned the property. But, cows just kept moving around and they all looked like each other, so the owner put his identifying mark - his brand - on his cattle. The hot iron seared through hair and hide and left a permanent identification so the world would know who owned those cows.

We are all branded. We have social security numbers, driver license numbers, military identification numbers, VISA numbers, employee numbers, and telephone numbers. The list goes on and on and on. Those numbers are all computerized and I have been told by experts it is almost impossible for anyone to completely "disappear." Given enough time and money anyone can be located if someone wants to find them badly enough.

Tattoo artists brand people. Some people are "tattooed" with a name of boyfriend, girlfriend, mother, husband or wife etched for the world to see. But, time marches on and some tattoo's become embarrassing. New boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands and wives sometimes come along, and "ownership" changes. Then too, a big red and blue eagle tattooed across your back may look awesome when you are 18 years old, but may seem pretty silly in the corporate spa when you are 50 years old.

God brands people too. In the Old Testament a servant who wanted to permanently remain with his master could have his ear pierced with an awl. But, in the New Testament God's brand is more subtle. He transforms and changes hearts of stone into hearts of flesh and then brands a cross upon those fleshly tablets. You can't see his brand without looking carefully, but you will notice that the behavior of his people is different. Branded Christians belong to God. They think about him; they talk to him; they serve others for him; in short, their lives belong to him.

I don't mind being branded with the Cross of Christ. I like belonging to him. I don't want to be free and independent - and lost and afraid anymore. Belonging to God entitles me to security and peace and forgiveness and power and love and acceptance. I have everything to gain and nothing to lose, except my stubborn pride and callous indifference to the loving savior. You see, like it or not, you get to choose whether you will accept God's brand and become God's servant. It is not forced on you. You are not brow-beaten into submission. Gently he calls to each of us, inviting all of us, to willingly submit to his ownership.

Personally, I like wearing the brand of the boss of the Universe.

So, whose brand do you wear?

THE LOST SAPPHIRES

It was a Christmas present that never quite made it under the tree.  A client owed me several thousand dollars. His bill was getting pretty old and it did not look like he had much inclination to square away his account.

One day, his office manager dropped by and casually put a dark blue felt cloth on my desk. He opened it and revealed 30 or 40 shimmering dark blue sapphires. Visions of sugar plums began dancing in my head as I thought of my bill finally being paid. At the same time, I peered out the window to make sure the police were not about ready to sweep into my office to break up a jewelry theft ring. I could just see my children reading the paper and asking mom why daddy was being led away in handcuffs from his office.

The office manager said that they had no cash to pay my bill but they wanted to trade some goods for services. After thinking about it for two seconds, I said that it sounded like a good idea to me. They owned a building supply business as well, so in addition to getting several thousand dollars of materials for a local church building project, I acquired two dark blue shimmering sapphires worth $1,000 each. It was my intention to put them in matching rings for my wife and me. Or, to have them set in two matching earrings for my wife. I thought these would make a really nice gift for my wife and she would really be impressed with her husband.

Being in no hurry, I put the two sapphires in a hollowed out book made for hiding such valuables. I put it among the 1,000 books of my library knowing that no thief would ever bother opening a book entitled "Building Better Fences." As the years passed by, I would take the book out occasionally to make sure the sapphires were still there. I would unroll the tissue, hold them up to the sunlight to admire their beauty for a few minutes, and then carefully wrap them back up and put the book back on the shelf. I never told anyone that I had these sapphires at home, in a hollowed out book, on the fifth row of the third bookshelf in the living room.

Soon however, my young children started reading a lot of books. I noticed that they were even starting to read books on my bookshelves. By this time several years had gone by and I thought that sooner or later one of my children would get around to wanting to read "Building Better Fences." It was time to hide the sapphires in a more secure location. The perfect place seemed to be one of many plastic containers in my oak desk in which I stored 35 millimeter rolls of film negatives. They were in the back of the second right hand drawer of my old oak desk. No one would ever look in that drawer for anything.

So, I once again opened the tissue, admired the sapphires, carefully put them into a plastic container, and put them among the 10 or 12 other plastic containers in which I stored rolls of old film negatives. Several years later the old oak desk was relocated into another room, but I still used it as a working desk and the rolls of film negatives stayed in the back of the second drawer on the right hand side awaiting the day when I would have the two beautiful sapphires put into rings for my wife and me, or into a set of matching earrings for my wife.

Well, you have probably guessed by now that one day I decided to open the drawer and look at the two dark blue beautiful sapphires and start the process of making some very special jewelry for my wife. I opened the drawer, I took out the plastic container that I thought contained the two beautiful sapphires, then I took out another plastic container that I thought contained the sapphires. Then I opened every single one of the 12 plastic containers and all I discovered were rolls and rolls of 35 millimeter film negatives, but no sapphires. There were just no deep blue sparkling sapphires. Not wanting to accuse anyone in the house of theft, I began to look at every hiding place that I had ever used around the house for any reason. There was nothing.

Finally, I casually asked my six children if any of them had been in the desk for any reason and used a plastic container. Well, it appears that my wife did get her sapphires, but because they were wrapped in what looked like wadded up tissue, she did not know what she was holding. She needed a plastic container for some other purpose, probably for a bug collection for one of the kids. It appears that the old tissue was "disposed" of and now resides in a land fill somewhere in the Los Angeles County basin.

That hurt. It was my fault for not taking care of business. But I found you can survive pain. It helped to know that my wife actually got to handle and touch the sapphires, even though she did not know that they were in the tissue that went into the trash. It really brought home to me the concept that "it is the thought that counts" because that was all I had to give her now. Perhaps someone digging through a land fill some day will stumble across them and be amazed that sapphires pop up out of the ground already perfectly cut and polished.

I want to talk to you about precious stones today. Rubies, sapphires, diamonds, opals and so on. I am not really too upset or concerned about my lost sapphires because I know that everyone who knows Christ as their personal Savior will soon inherit a universe full of precious stones courtesy of the God who created them. To worry about a few pitiful throwaways here on earth, when Heaven will be so special is rather short sighted.

Granted, Heaven is described in the Bible in terms that cannot be easily or completely comprehended. It is like an ant trying to describe the intricacies of the space shuttle to another ant. It just doesn't compute very well. But, Heaven is described and defined throughout the Bible, and in particular, in the New Testament by Jesus, Paul, and John. Jesus is quoted as saying in John's gospel, (John 14:1-6) Let not your heart be troubled: you believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions (or dwelling places): if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there you may be also.

Paul states in his letter to the young church in the city of Corinth (1 Cor. 2:9-11) "But as it is written, 'Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for them that love him.' But God has revealed them unto us by his Spirit: for the Spirit searches all things, yea, the deep things of God. For what man knows the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him? Even so the things of God knows no man, but the Spirit of God.

Finally, John the apostle in the Book of Revelation does the best he can with the limited vocabulary available to him to describe what he has been shown of the final destiny of mankind, including the indescribable beauties of Heaven. I have set forth the entirety of chapters 21 and 22 of the Book of Revelation at the end of this article which is certainly worth your review.

But I want to describe something which I believe will be breathtaking, dazzling, and spectacular. It is why I have no concern at all about my lost sapphires. In the last two chapters of the Book of the Revelation, John is shown something descending from the heavens which he calls "The City of God." Here is what is special about that event. First: John describes a city that is approximately 1500 miles square, actually it is a cube, and it is called the City of God. Those dimensions roughly put one side of the city on the Canadian border, the opposite side on the Mexican border, another side on the Mississippi River, and the last side on the Pacific Ocean, give or take a few feet one way or the other and it is 1500 miles tall. It's a big place! Second: This City of God is built out of all kinds of translucent materials that are similar to all of the precious jewels known to man. Third: There is a brilliant, blinding light that penetrates and permeates throughout the City of God replacing the need of a sun by day or a moon by night.

Folks, you have never seen anything like this place. If you ever go to a museum's gemstone exhibit and see extremely strong light shown through the facets of a few dozen gemstones and jewels, the effect is dazzling and the crowd will "oooh" and "aaah" as the light is played over and through the rubies, diamonds, sapphires, and other precious stones.

But, my dear friends. I am talking about a 1500 mile cube filled and built with millions and millions and millions of something like all of the precious stones you can imagine and then being illuminated by something akin to sunlight itself. This will be a city that radiates with all the dynamic colors of the universe in a never ending display of brilliance that we would not be able to endure unless God himself changes our mortal body into that of immortality (cf. 1 Cor 15). There is just no comparison to anything we are familiar with.

If you know Jesus Christ as your personal Savior, you can say with John at the end of his writing, "Even so come, Lord Jesus." Heaven is a special place for special people. Those who have bent their knees and bowed their heads and asked God to forgive them for rejecting Him and accepting the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus, for their sins. Television's paltry parody of the hereafter is an insult. The realty of God's habitation is unimaginable and can only be hinted at by the writers of scripture.

If you do not yet know Jesus as your personal Savior, I want to remind you of my lost sapphires. They are irretrievably gone. I wasted 10 years looking at them and never doing anything with them. I can never get them back. Don't let your life end up like my sapphires, cast out with the trash. Make your peace with God now while you still have the chance. Make Heaven your eternal home too.

LIFE IN A CAVE

I was in Carlsbad Caverns when the lights went out!

The National Park Service actually turned them off as part of their presentation. About 40 tourists sat together some 1500 feet underground in pitch black darkness listening to each other breathe. It was then that one of my kids slid an unseen hand slowly over to my wife's shoulder and "tweaked" her. That was not a good idea. My wife is not a great fan of darkness, or of things that crawl in the night. We almost had to pull her off the nearest stalactite.

There are many caves mentioned in the Bible, and two of them interest me. Elijah's cave and Lazarus' cave. Elijah's cave had to do with his fear and personal insecurities, whereas Lazarus' cave had to do with his death and separation. Caves are holes in the earth where something used to be, but disappeared over time. Many of the great cave systems in the United States were formed when water began eroding or chemically dissolving softer earth like limestone. As time relentlessly marched on, marvelous and magnificent cave systems like the Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico were formed. Lava flow, sea waves, or winds form some caves. The caves of ancient Israel were created in limestone formations as water diluted the minerals.

People often take temporary refuge in caves in order to escape storms, armies, and other dangers, But rarely do people take up permanent residence in caves. Of course, in Lazarus situation it was supposed to be a bit more permanent arrangement. His corpse had been placed in the cave because he was recently deceased and was not going anywhere; it was his burial chamber. John wrote, "It was a cave, and a stone lay against it." (John 11:38b). Caves were used as burial tombs for the remains of dead people in Israel. I've always wanted to have been a spectator at that particular event near Bethany. Jesus did a lot of things in 3 short years, but this really intrigues me and makes the hair on my neck stand up. Lazarus was dead 4 days. A corpse is a corpse after 4 days. There is no magic mumbo-jumbo or secret potion that some trickster can use on a 4-day-old corpse. It is going nowhere, nowhere, nowhere. No way, no how.

I don't think Jesus yelled or screamed or huffed and puffed. He merely spoke and things obeyed him. Oceans, waves, winds, demons, blind eyes, tied tongues, plugged ears, and even dead bodies. I don't know if I would want to be in the cave with Lazarus - or outside with Jesus, when He spoke the words, "Lazarus, come forth." But, it would have really been something, wouldn't it?

Well, just think of all of the people who are dead to God because of their lives of sin. They are also in their own personal caves of death, separated from God with no signs of spiritual life. Death takes many forms, one of which is spiritual darkness and separation from the God of Creation. Well I have been there when some of these people were beckoned to leave their caves of death by the Lord Jesus. The transformation in their lives has been as real and powerful and dynamic as the physical resurrection of poor old Lazarus' body. Scripture is pretty plain when it says that we all are dead in our trespasses and sin. But it is also pretty plain when it says that "he has quickened us" who call upon Him. That is the same old lighting bolt of life that invaded the cave of Lazarus that can be used to bring a spark of life to a dead soul. The old Frankenstein movie with the sparks whirling upward and the lightning coming downward could never produce the life that the power and majesty of God can produce in a body as lifeless as Frankenstein's cobbled up creature. But God can and does bring spiritual life to those who call upon Him.

What about Elijah's cave? No dead men there. But, there was one beat up, frightened man who had just done great battle for his God, and was now hiding in his cave. I don't condemn Elijah for hiding in a cave. I've been there too, haven't you? Life can beat all of us up and toss us like limp rags; much like a tornado picks up a house, tears it apart, and scatters the pieces over a 10-acre farm. If the mouth of the cave had a zipper, I think Elijah would have entered, turned around, zipped the cave shut, and never come back out again. Just another servant of God with one too many arrows sticking out of his body, wanting to just curl up and go to sleep and never wake up again. Not an uncommon problem for those who fight the fight of faith and get bruised in the conflict. Well Elijah's God came after him. God's soldiers have more battles to fight. You can have one night in the cave nursing your wounds, but there is work to be done and you have to come out of the cave to fight again.

God was not in the strong wind or any other strong force of nature that men look at. No, He was the still, small, voice asking, "Elijah, what are you doing here?" The message is clear. You cannot stay in the cave. You cannot hide from God when there is work to be done. Clean up your wounds. Bandage your pain. Embrace your God. Get ready to go back to work.

SITTING ON YOUR HOUSEHOLD GODS

There are some things I do not really need any help with.  It does not look as though, at my age, I will become a bank robber. Nor, does it appear that any time soon I will be stealing automobiles from off the streets, or participating in any major corporate accounting scandals. I doubt that armed robbery, or assault with intent to commit bodily harm looms large in my future.

Sometimes getting older means that it is harder to violate some of the Ten Commandments. At least it is simpler to just think the thought, than to do the deed.

On the other hand, I seem to have no trouble violating one of the most basic of God's laws, i.e., reliance upon my household gods which I insist on carrying around with me. They are made by mans own hand and I keep on taking them with me wherever I go. So easy to do, so hard to avoid.

As Jacob was sneaking away and leaving his father-in-law, unbeknownst to him, his wife Rachel had taken from her father's tents the "household gods." Here is how the story is portrayed in the Bible at Genesis 31:19-30:

"When Laban had gone to shear his sheep, Rachel stole her father's household gods. Moreover, Jacob deceived Laban the Aramean by not telling him he was running away. So he fled with all he had, and crossing the River, he headed for the hill country of Gilead. Jacob had pitched his tent in the hill country of Gilead when Laban overtook him, and Laban and his relatives camped there too. Then Laban said to Jacob, "What have you done? You've deceived me, and you've carried off my daughters like captives in war. Why did you run off secretly and deceive me? Why didn't you tell me, so I could send you away with joy and singing to the music of tambourines and harps? You didn't even let me kiss my grandchildren and my daughters good-by. You have done a foolish thing. I have the power to harm you; but last night the God of your father said to me, `Be careful not to say anything to Jacob, either good or bad.' Now you have gone off because you longed to return to your father's house. But why did you steal my gods?"

That last plaintive cry, "But why did you steal my gods?" would be comical if it were not so tragic. Even more intriguing is the deception of Rachel described in the subsequent verses:

"Now Rachel had taken the household gods and put them inside her camel's saddle and was sitting on them. Laban searched through everything in the tent but found nothing. Rachel said to her father, "Don't be angry, my lord, that I cannot stand up in your presence; I'm having my period." So he searched but could not find the household gods.

I suppose there is nothing as soothing as the knowledge that your household gods are small enough to be slipped into your camel's saddle so you can sit upon them and hide them from someone who wants them. Is that not a pretty sad and ignominious fate for a god? To be stolen and taken 7 days journey from your home base, to be hidden in someone's saddlebags, and then sat upon by the person wanting your protection and benefits. You would think these household gods would be feeling pretty insignificant and small – if they had feelings, or intelligence, or life. But, in truth they are merely created by the hands of men, inanimate objects with no power or ability to influence or change the affairs of mankind. They are useless and lifeless, but they bring comfort to those who hold them dear, while rejecting the One True God – the Creator God who cannot be stolen, carried around in saddlebags, or sat upon.

Gods made by the hands of men seem so paltry when compared with the God who created. How can you measure the God who created the Universe? How can you take a little figure carved and shaped from rock or wood and endow it with the ability to live, breathe, and create.

I really feel a bit sorry for Rachel. Risking the anger of her father and, perhaps even death, for what she was sitting on. And, don't you pity her father, Laban, also as he searches for the "household gods" which gave him comfort. Life can be pretty empty when all you have are the gods created by the hands of men.

But, it seems that Rachel and Laban are not the only ones who carry around "household gods" for protection, blessing, and comfort. I'm afraid I do too. And multiplied millions of other people as well. There are obviously people who still bow down to objects carved from wood, ivory, and stone. And, there are still those who build larger than life statues and cover them with gold, silver, and precious stones. Then, there are the rest of us who retreat from the living God of scripture and embrace something other than Him as we try to work out our spiritual life. If you purchase a new refrigerator, it does not matter whether the electrical cord is 1" away from being plugged into the wall outlet, or one mile – the truth is that the electric power will not flow unless, and until, the plug is inserted into the socket. I may not bow down to a carved image. I may not bend my knee before a gold covered Buddha. But, I may not be plugged into the living God either. Going through the rituals and motions of religion are not enough. Saying all the right buzz words at the right time don't get the job done either.

God, where are you when we need you? Well, it seems He is not really all that far away!

Isaiah 55:6-7 "Seek the LORD while he may be found; call on him while he is near. Let the wicked forsake his way and the evil man his thoughts. Let him turn to the LORD, and he will have mercy on him, and to our God, for he will freely pardon."

John 14:23-27 "Jesus replied, 'If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching. My Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him. He who does not love me will not obey my teaching. These words you hear are not my own; they belong to the Father who sent me. All this I have spoken while still with you. But the Counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.'"

Household gods belong in the trash heap. Trusting in objects made by the hands of man for deliverance and blessing is foolhardy. Only the living God of the Bible, the God who created, i.e., the personal God who intervened in the pages of man's history is the God who asks to become your one and only God. He does not dwell in houses made by hand, but He does want to live in you.

WHERE DOES GOD LIVE

We were talking about God the other day. Someone said God had a personality, i.e., he became angry, he loved, and so on. Then someone else said that God was a "spirit" and did not occupy time and space.

But, we want a God who looks like us, not a God who is a wind or a cloud. We want a God with eyes and a nose and ears.

When you meet a new friend, you want to know who they are and where they live. Hi, my name is Bill and I live in Phoenix. That statement identifies the person and tells you something about Bill. And, you know what - I want to know who God is and where he lives. But, I can't really know God or where he lives except in a very limited sense and only as He permits.

For instance, take the statement that "God created the heavens and the earth." It is generally accepted that the creation event was the "Big Bang," that is - everything that exists was created from an extremely small amount of nothing (or something) in an instant of time and the universe has been exploding outwards ever since, for 15 billion or so light years say many.

So, where did God live before the Big Bang? And today, does he live inside the universe, or does he live outside the edge of the expanding universe where nothing exists, and how can anything live "outside" the universe anyway?

And, if God is really a personality (loves, hates, has moral values) and is also a "spirit," how in the world does he become three different personalities, and how can anybody worship a spirit anyway?

Oh, I know that the Bible says that God walked with Adam, that he talked with Abraham, and that he visited Moses in a tent. But, for most of us, God just does not have a name or a mailing address where we can find him. He is like the great cosmic eye in the sky that might, or might not, exist and affect our lives.

But then God invaded history. Jesus came to live with us. Miracle of all miracles, God incarnate, Emmanuel, God with us. The Creator through whom the world was formed joined his creation. Whether he came from the edge of the universe, or from the smallest atom, or from beyond time itself, God the Father sent "his only begotten Son" into our time and space. God had a name, and a pretty common name at that. The angel said, "You shall call his name Jesus for he shall save his people from their sins." And, God had an address: a specific stable at a particular Inn in a real town called Bethlehem. For 33 years people could visit God! They could touch him, talk to him, eat with him, walk with him, pray with him, and kill him.

Now, I don't have the foggiest idea how God did all of that. I don't know much about God before Jesus came, but I know a lot more about him since Jesus came. I have 33 years of a living, breathing, loving Savior to look at. And I know his name, and I know where he lived, and I know that wherever he went, he is coming back after a bit to get me so I can see where he lives and I can live with him too.

Even so come, Lord Jesus. I am ready to go home!

HE RETURNS

Early in my employment career I had several rather dull and boring jobs. One task involved drilling a countersink into thousands of aluminum missile guidance fins every day, day after day after day. Another involved taking 4,000 artillery cartridge cases each day and inserting them into a mock gun barrel to make sure they "fit." Boring as these jobs were, the one job that really drove me crazy was standing at the end of a conveyor chain and unhooking cartridge cases from the line, and putting them on another conveyor belt to go somewhere else. I never met the person who loaded the parts at the front end of the line.

At lunch time my end of the conveyor suddenly became empty because the other guy went to lunch at 11:30. I knew that in one half hour I had better be back in place because those cartridge cases would again be coming out to be unloaded, whether I was there or not. From 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. I unloaded the conveyor line. Looking back, I can't understand why it took me two months to apply my talents elsewhere.

You know, life can be tedious. Every one of my children informed me, usually around age 13, that he or she was "bored." But people do not have to be bored with life. My life brims with excitement. And, it has nothing to do with what I do for a living. My current job is to work for the Lord of the Harvest and to await His return. I do so with eager anticipation.

How many people do you think were on the earth when Jesus was born? Less than one billion I'm sure. How many were really aware of his appearance in a Bethlehem stable? If you count all of the shepherds, magi, angels, Simeon, Anna, Mary, Joseph and throw in their relatives, the animals and Herod's officials for good measure, you probably still can't total 100 people.

And, how many people are on the earth today? Maybe six billion or so? How many do you think are really tuned in to his second appearance in the skies above? How about you? Do you wait expectantly, and earnestly desire his return?

Would it disrupt your life too much if he were to return while you read this little page? I hope not. Remember the preacher who told his congregation, "I have some good news and I have some bad news for you: the good news is that Jesus is returning again, the bad news is that He is coming tonight." Luke wrote, "Men of Galilee, why do you stand gazing up into heaven? This Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will so come in like manner as you saw him go into heaven." Acts 1:11. It's an interesting verse. Could have been left out I suppose. Just says He is coming back again the same way you saw him leave, so why are you standing around looking up in the sky.

How in the world can anyone be bored when the next great event in the history of mankind is the imminent, post-resurrectional and post-ascensional return of the Christ of God for his Church. I've flown in a lot of airplanes, and I can't wait to take that flight. No boarding pass, no packaged peanuts, no runway taxiing.

Just "up, up, and away" with Jesus Christ evermore!

AND THEY CRUCIFIED HIM

"And they crucified him" is how the gospel writers put it.  But, it is hard to imagine such paucity of words used to describe the death of Jesus. I have grown up with movies, television, and newspaper accounts describing state sponsored executions where every detail of the death of people is examined and scrutinized. I am old enough to remember condemned prisoners being hung with a hangman's noose, electrocuted in the electric chair, gassed in gas chambers, shot by firing squads, and injected with lethal drugs.

My first exposure to state sponsored executions came as a 10 year old boy from reading "Tale of Two Cities" as the use of the guillotine was described in revolutionary France in 1789. These methods of execution resulted in rather swift deaths, but the description of people dying, prior to the actual death itself, was usually very lengthy.

In the time of the Roman occupation of Israel, some 2,000 years ago, the act of crucifixion was relatively common as a means of execution of criminals by the Roman government. Jesus of Nazareth was not the first person, nor would he be the last, to be crucified by the Roman government in Israel. The process of crucifixion was lengthy, being one or more days in duration. Yet, the description of the death of Jesus in all of the four Gospel accounts is reduced to only 4 or 5 words which can be summarized as "and they crucified him." (cf. Matthew 27:35 (KJV) - And they crucified him; Mark 15:24-25 (KJV) - And when they had crucified him; Luke 23:33 (KJV) - there they crucified him; John 19:18 (KJV) - Where they crucified him).

Crucifixion was the execution of a criminal by nailing or binding to a cross. It was a common form of capital punishment from the 6th century BC to the 4th century AD, among the Persians, Egyptians, Carthaginians, and Romans. The Romans used crucifixion for slaves and criminals but never for their own citizens. Roman law provided that the criminal be scourged before being put to death. The accused also had to carry either the entire cross or, more commonly, the crossbeam from the place of scourging to the place of execution. The practice was abolished in the year 337 in the Roman Empire by Constantine the Great.

"And they crucified him" -  four short words to describe the end of 33 years of an extraordinary life. Had Jesus not erupted from the burial cave three days later, those four short words could have been written on his grave marker as an epitaph and the world could have kept on spinning on its axis as though nothing extraordinary had occurred in the lives of mankind.

It is a bit strange. Scripture records that the Roman government "put" him on the cross, i.e., the Roman soldiers under the direction of the centurion in charge actually hung Jesus on the cross, probably driving spikes through both wrists and feet as was common. Then scripture states that Joseph, an Israelite from Arimathea, gathered up his courage and went to the Roman governor, Pilate, to ask for the body for burial. Joseph, a man of Israel, actually took the body down from the cross. So, we know who put Jesus on the cross and we know who took him down from the cross. The only thing we are not told is what kept him on that cross from mid-morning until he died later that afternoon.

I would say that you and I kept him on that cross. Only his love for you, only his passion for the world of people he loved, kept him on the cross. It is probably best stated in the familiar passage of John's Gospel at 3:16 (KJV)

"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

That verse is also short and to the point, just like "and they crucified him." Just 25 words long, it doesn't say anything directly about what kept Jesus on the cross. But, if you read between the lines and between the words, it becomes obvious that the Glue of God held Jesus on that cross. His great undying love for all of us.

LIFE & DEATH

If you go to my grandfather Albert's crypt at Forest Lawn in Glendale, California, you will notice nearby on the same wall, the crypt of Francis X. Bushman, famous star of silent movies. But, being famous or wealthy or powerful is no defense against death. The not so well known person, and the very well known person, lay side by side – their empty hands incapable of clutching and holding onto anything of value from this world.

Ponder this a moment. Look at the graves of some famous people you would easily recognize. The Emperor Napoleon, Sir Winston Churchill, Marilyn Monroe, John F. Kennedy, Lenin or Stalin. Impressive monuments left behind for important people in their lifetime.

Impressive deaths, perhaps, but what is "an impressive life." Here are two more people whom you probably do not recognize. William Brafford, a pastor friend of mine, and a Filipino missionary lady, both encrypted at Forest Lawn Cemetery in Covina, California, perhaps 100 feet from each other. The inscriptions on their markers talk about their faith in Christ, and a hope in eternal life, a life that did not end for them as their last breath was drawn.

When the hospital machinery finally shows no more brain wave activity; when the doctors and nurses leave the room and my body is taken from the hospital room to await the mortuary station wagon, the words of Charles Wesley's poem, "Oh for a thousand tongues to sing, my great Redeemers praise" can be shouted down the hallways for me by those who are left standing at my hospital bed.

Those who serve the Creator God and have made their peace with Him through His Son Jesus have nothing to fear when death approaches. I do not have a clue as to what happened inside the tomb where Jesus body lay for three days. I don't know the process that caused his dead body to live anew and resurrect – but I do know that every child of God will experience that same resurrection life and shall rise again.

One of the first passages of scripture that sent a chill through me over 40 years ago was Job 19:23-27 (NASB): "Oh that my words were written! Oh that they were inscribed in a book! [24] "That with an iron stylus and lead they were engraved in the rock forever! [25] "And as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, And at the last He will take His stand on the earth. [26] "Even after my skin is destroyed, Yet from my flesh I shall see God; [27] Whom I myself shall behold, And whom my eyes shall see and not another.

Those words still leap out and grip my attention. For you see I know that who I am, and what I am, is not lying out there among all those pretty grassy lawns and monuments. You can come visit those places all you want to looking for us, but we are not there!

2 Cor. 5:1-10 (NASB)
For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. [2] For indeed in this house we groan, longing to be clothed with our dwelling from heaven; [3] inasmuch as we, having put it on, shall not be found naked. [4] For indeed while we are in this tent, we groan, being burdened, because we do not want to be unclothed, but to be clothed, in order that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. [5] Now He who prepared us for this very purpose is God, who gave to us the Spirit as a pledge. [6] Therefore, being always of good courage, and knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord-- [7] for we walk by faith, not by sight-- [8] we are of good courage, I say, and prefer rather to be absent from the body and to be at home with the Lord. [9] Therefore also we have as our ambition, whether at home or absent, to be pleasing to Him. [10] For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that each one may be recompensed for his deeds in the body, according to what he has done, whether good or bad.

We are just not there, lying six feet under ground with the stars shining down upon us. No, we are seated in the heavens with Christ Jesus getting ready for the next act in the drama. Why don't you make sure that you are ready to come and be with us.

1 Cor. 15:50-58 (NASB)
Now I say this, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. [51] Behold, I tell you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, [52] in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. [53] For this perishable must put on the imperishable, and this mortal must put on immortality. [54] But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality, then will come about the saying that is written, "Death is swallowed up in victory. [55] "O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?" [56] The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law; [57] but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. [58] Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your toil is not in vain in the Lord.

COME FLY WITH ME

Lots of things I don't like about traveling on airplanes.

For one thing I am always in a coach seat. I have never learned how to sleep sitting almost straight up, while my neck tilts on a 45 degree angle, laying on some strangers shoulder. This usually leaves me with my head in a semi-permanent bend that lasts a few hours and causes people to stare at me when I'm getting my baggage. Then, there is that tense wait while you find your seat and begin to check out the passengers coming down the aisles to see who your seatmates are going to be. You are hoping that it will be an 80 pound little girl and not a behemoth – this can be critical on a long transatlantic flight. And then there are those little itsy, bitsy bathrooms that are not built for those of us with more ample posteriors. And, finally, what can you say about a bag of peanuts that has not been said already, except that I now bring my own food with me. All those years I moaned about my mother packing a brown bag lunch for me in grammar school, and now I am making my own peanut butter sandwiches to eat at 36,000 miles over Omaha.

But, there are some things that I really, really like about airplanes a whole lot. A year or so back, I was heading back to Los Angeles (LAX) from Europe. It was a long flight and I was ready for home. We were on the normal glide path about 45 minutes out when the pilot came on the intercom and said, "Folks, it looks like the airport is completely fogged in." Back in the old days when LAX was fogged in, the planes were diverted to the Lancaster / Palmdale area which is about one hour north in a higher desert elevation. The air was always clear up there because the winds never stopped blowing. Then the passengers were put on a bus and driven into Los Angeles. Usually, you just added an extra 2 to 4 hours to your trip and got home in time to see the sun come up, and greet the rooster.

But, our Captain soon followed up and said, "Not to worry folks, this new 757LR is equipped with triple backup auto-pilot capability and we should be touching down in about 30 minutes." You can bet that everyone who was sleeping had suddenly become rather alert. Sometimes, maybe most times, when you are landing in a major city you look out of the windows and see the bright shining lights of the metropolis. Well, not this time. I had a window seat, and I knew the landing approach like the back of my hand. All I saw out the window was a reflection of my face staring back at me. It was soupy, soupy, soupy all the way. The minutes ticked on by and I felt like a fetus in the womb – the outside world might be there, but you could not prove it to any of the passengers. But, we did have the Captains assurances, "Be not afraid, this new 757LR is equipped with triple backup auto-pilot capability."

Suddenly, we broke through the foggy soup about 20 feet off the ground right over the leading edge of the runway and 20 seconds before the wheels of the plane touched down for one of the smoothest landings I have ever had. The passengers all exhaled together and clapped as the Captain taxied us home to where loved ones were waiting for us.

So who is your Captain on this great trip of life, and do you really trust Him to get you safely home?


John 14:1-6 "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. 2 In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. 4 You know the way to the place where I am going." Thomas said to him, "Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.

LIFE IN A HOTEL ROOM

Growing up, I never stayed in hotels. Didn't know anything about hotels. Later, I went to a few luncheons and banquets at hotels but I still didn't stay overnight – just drove up and parked, ate a meal, and went home. The hotel life was a mystery to me until about age 45 when I began to enter the unique experience of sleeping in hotels.

Now, after 25 years of putting my head on pillows from the bottom of the world to the top of the world, I have some thoughts on hotels.

It all started around 1976 when I became a Gideon. I began to take Bibles to different kinds of hotels and motels in my local neighborhood, and then in other cities and states within the USA. I soon learned that there are all kinds of hotels and motels. For instance, a room that cost $10 per night was different than a room that cost $200 or more per night. The smells were different, the insects were different, the neighbors were different, the view from the window was different.

The manager of one of the first motels to which I brought Bibles, gave me a master room key and I began knocking on doors to enter the room to place a new Bible. A young man opened one of the doors. As I peeked inside, I saw 4 or 5 other young men in the process of injecting drugs – I handed the fellow a new Bible and asked him to put it by the telephone. It was certainly not one of the $200 per night luxury hotels.

Later, I found out that Bibles also were placed in the very, very expensive hotel suites occupied by the rich and famous. The Bibles were everywhere the traveling public went. I was not yet a part of the "traveling public" so I was just getting a glimpse of hotels from the outside.

I soon discovered that as I began traveling out of the state or out of the country, it was necessary to stay in a hotel or motel. And sometimes, in strange cities, you could not always choose a five star hotel. In my journeys, I found some "one star" and "two star" hotels, and I found some places that could not quite merit any stars at all. I even chose to sleep in my clothes in a few, and used my jacket for a pillow. In some countries, the rooms on your floor can be occupied by people speaking 15 different languages, but not your own. And, their occupations can range from salesman or electrician, to burglar or drug dealer.

At any given moment, hotels and motels can have many miserable people in them. A lot of lives torn apart by personal tragedy; unhappy marriages, lives of crime, financial misery, bad health, wasted opportunities, and squandered hopes. If you sit in hotel lobbies and watch people walk by, you will see all of the dreams and disillusionment, successes and failures of mankind. But, it will all be compressed into brief moments. Like ships passing each other in the ocean, everyone has a story to tell, but no one wants to stop and listen. They are people on the go, constantly in motion, traveling from one city to another, from one country to another.

Well, what do I personally want from my hotel experience?

I can boil it down to only two things. First, and most important, I want the shower to be the greatest shower in the world. I don't care if the TV does not work, if the maids don't work, if the elevators don't work. But, if that shower doesn't work, then I have serious problems. I have been in rooms where the water dribbles or spurts or is colored brown, or doesn't get hot enough. I can only say that life is too short to not have a great shower when you are dirty, tired, smelly, and 10 hours behind the clock at home. When you travel and are far away from home, you want to get clean, stay clean, and start your new day fresh.

Second on my list of most important things, I want a good bed and a good nights sleep. Lumpy mattresses, strange looking bed covers that don't fit, pillows that look grungy, smells that you can't identify; they are all a part of hotel life that I can do without. When your head is touching the wall, and your toes are hanging out over the end of the mattress, you know that your sleep is not going to come easily. Getting a good night's sleep and rest can make up for a lot of other problems.

So there you have it. A good shower to get clean, and a good rest to start you on the next day of your life. But, ladies and gentlemen, to really be clean before God, and to really get good rest from God, both for today and for eternity, may I suggest that you consider the following:

Psalms 51:7 Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. 51:10 Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Luke 5:12-13 And it came to pass, when he was in a certain city, behold a man full of leprosy: who seeing Jesus fell on his face, and besought him, saying, Lord, if you will, you can make me clean. [13] And he put forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I will: be thou clean. And immediately the leprosy departed from him.

Hebrews 4:8-11 There remains therefore a rest to the people of God. [10] For he that is entered into his rest, he also has ceased from his own works, as God did from his. [11] Let us labour therefore to enter into that rest, lest any man fall after the same example of unbelief.

Matthew 11:28-29 Come unto me, all of you that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. [29] Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and you shall find rest unto your souls.

MY APPLE TREE

In my back yard was a very special tree. It was an apple tree that produced exceptionally tasty red apples that were firm, crisp, juicy, and just great tasting. The tree is healthy and strong. It will produce fruit for many years to come. A lot of people will take pleasure in its delicious fruit. But, it was not always like this. I planted it as a mere one year old stripling along with other trees some 15 years ago. During its second year I uncovered the growth that surrounded its trunk and discovered that insects had eaten most of the tender bark just above the graft. The tree was almost destroyed as its ability to receive nutrients from the soil was limited to a thin strip of bark less than the size of a pencil that connected the bottom root stock with the grafted apple tree.

Frankly, I thought I had lost the tree. But, that thin strand of bark gave me some hope. In the weeks that followed, I tended that tree like a wet nurse cares for a newborn child. I got down on my hands and knees and pulled the grass and weeds away. I erected barriers to prevent further insect damage. Year after year I watched the bark grow and advance, millimeter by millimeter. It took several years for the bark to grow halfway around the trunk of the tree. And, the tree was still about as small as when I planted it.

And then one year there were two or three apples that showed up on its knobby little limbs. I watched those apples slowly grow, only one survived. I finally ate that one apple and found that my apple tree was producing a very tasty apple, as good as any I have eaten. It certainly beat the apples I bought at the market. I was more determined than ever to save this tree. About the 5th or 6th year of its struggle, we moved to another house. It may sound silly to you, but one of the last loads I moved from that property was my apple tree. In the dark of night a friend helped me dig a big hole around the tree. We laid the tree on its side and slid an old trash barrel under its roots. Then we pulled that tree up and laboriously pushed, pulled, and rolled that trash container into the bed of a pickup truck. I thought we had finally killed it. Roots were torn and then folded over to be squeezed into that plastic trash container to be hauled away to another house. I really did not think it would survive. But I had a glimmer of hope, and a little tiny bit of faith in the nature of life and the survival of trees.

At the new house, we dug another hole to put the tree into, some 3 or 4 feet deep and as wide as it was deep. I put the best soil mix with the best tree food into that hole. And then we planted it. We watered it. We tended to it's wounded bark, now closed around three fourths of the trunk. And then we waited to see what would be the destiny of that apple tree. Eventually, the bark closed completely and the trunk showed its first true signs of maturity. It had taken 10 or 11 years, but the tree survived. Now, in September and October, I go outside in the morning hours and pick an apple off that tree.

I have to admit, there is a special relationship between me and that tree. I saved its life. I nursed it to health. I tended it faithfully for many years. Now, I partake of its fruit day after day. After I am gone, others will reach up into its branches in the early morning and enjoy the wonderful taste of a fresh apple picked from the tree.

Matthew 12:18-21 Behold my servant, whom I have chosen; my beloved, in whom my soul is well pleased: I will put my spirit upon him, and he shall show judgment to the Gentiles. [19] He shall not strive, nor cry; neither shall any man hear his voice in the streets. [20] A bruised reed shall he not break, and smoking flax shall he not quench, till he send forth judgment unto victory. [21] And in his name shall the Gentiles trust.

The tender loving care of the Holy Spirit of God has taken each one of us and gently salvaged us from death. Think back to your first years as a Christian, the moment you really said "yes" to God and accepted Jesus as your Savior. You were not exactly an image of Christian maturity and strength, ready to do battle against all of the spiritual Goliath's in town. As a matter of fact, there were probably more than a few people who wondered whether you really would be around in 6 months to sing Victory in Jesus. If you think back to your first days and weeks and months as a new born Christian, you were very much like my little apple tree with just a very thin piece of living bark connecting you to your life source.

But The Master Gardener tended to you in the garden and protected you and nurtured you and fed you, and you became stronger and stronger as each day passed. Then one day you produced fruit, and your caretaker was pleased and happy. Now, perhaps, you are producing fruit on a regular and continual basis making your gardening friend well pleased indeed. Never forget that a bruised reed He shall not break, nor smoking flax will He ever quench. He is the ultimate gardener of the soul, who chooses to bring health and healing to his people.

Wouldn't you say that the investment our God has in each one of us calls for a lot of fruit production on our part.

DEAD MEN DO TELL TALES

The Bible has some things in it that are really hard to believe. For instance, on the very first page, it says that God created everything. He just spoke and things were created; like Mars and Jupiter and the sun and the stars, all that really big stuff. Then, on the very last pages of the Bible it talks about strange looking creatures flying in the heavens and fire coming down and destroying the earth along with a bunch of plagues and other terrible things, not to mention a lake of fire and a bottomless pit.

A lot of the Bible is history and poetry and people just living life. That part is O.K. I mean history is history, and poetry is poetry, right? That stuff is believable, right? Some king did this, and another king did that. Someone built a city and someone else tore it down. That factual kind of information is not too hard to swallow. It's the same kind of thing you read about and learn in high school and college.

But, it is not easy to believe some man lived to be more than 900 years old before he died. Or, that another guy built a huge boat so a bunch of animals could be rescued from a world wide flood along with his family. Those kind of things just don't happen in my everyday life, like fire coming down from heaven, or bread loaves (whatever manna was) floating down to my door step every morning. So, it doesn't bother me a whole lot when someone has a hard time digesting what is in the pages of the Bible.

Let me tell you one of the things that kind of pushes me over into the "I believe" column. It is the story of Lazarus in the 11th chapter of the book of John. Strange story it is, and yet if it is true, then I don't have problem with a lot of the other things in the book. The long and short of the tale is that a man named Lazarus died and was wrapped in burial clothes. He was put into a tomb in the side of a hill, and a rock was rolled in front of the opening. Jesus showed up 4 days after the man died and was placed in the tomb. He greets the family and then asks someone to roll the stone away from the opening of the cave. A sister of the recently deceased says that it has been 4 days since his passing and the body is probably smelling badly by now. Perhaps it would be best if the stone is left in place.

I know, I know – someone can always say, "well, the poor guy was just in a coma and weak from his illness. He really didn't come back from the dead, he was just recuperating from his illness laying there in that cave." I have to admit, I was not there. I'm just reading the book. But, it sure seems like people back then could tell the difference between dead people and sick people who were not quite gone yet. They were not exactly strangers to death in their country given the Roman army and its occupation.

Well anyway, the next thing you know you have Jesus standing in front of this open cave and roaring with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out." Now, I don't know what happened inside that dark smelly cave. I've never, ever, ever, ever seen a dead body return to life. I grew up with my share of vampire and werewolf movies from the 1940's and there were a lot of people coming back to life in the movies. But, that was make believe, it was the movies.

When you open the Bible and read the 11th chapter of the book of John, you are reading a story that says that a well known man in the community named Lazarus, whose sisters were Mary and Martha, a man who was dead for 4 days came back to life because Jesus commanded him to do so. Sends shivers down my spine and makes the hair on my neck stand up. If I believe that Jesus can do "that," then I don't have much problem with a lot of the other things in the Bible. Is it any harder to create an ocean or a planet, than it is to order a dead man to live again? I can't do either, can you?

The scary part of the story is this: if Jesus can order one dead man to rise and live again, then he can probably order the rest of us to rise and live again too once we are gone. If so, maybe the rest of the Bible isn't so far fetched after all.

JN 11:25-26 Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?" 11:38-44 Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. "Take away the stone," he said. "But, Lord," said Martha, the sister of the dead man, "by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days." Then Jesus said, "Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?" When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!" The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. Jesus said to them, "Take off the grave clothes and let him go." 

Wonder who was more surprised?  Lazarus or the people watching him come out of the tomb? 

THE OLD MAN AND THE DOG

My 93 year old father liked this story, and so do I.

"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?" Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle. "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt. Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back.

At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him? Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone. My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm.. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.

But the months wore on and God was silent. A raindrop struck my cheek. I looked up into the gray sky. Somewhere up there was "God." Although I believe a Supreme Being had created the universe, I had difficulty believing the God cared about the tiny human being on this earth. I was tired of waiting for a God who didn't answer. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered--in vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog. I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon.

After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs-all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons-too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?" "Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog." I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said. I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly. Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it." Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house. Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw. Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Church together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet. Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But he had died quietly sometime during the night. Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had make filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers." I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said. For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article . . . Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter . . . his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father . . . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

GROWING OLDER

Well, my birthday will soon be approaching. Another reminder that my body is just a wee bit past it's prime.  As the folk  song says, "The old gray mare just ain't what it used to be."  About 30 years ago I began to be aware that things were beginning to change for me too.

I was playing baseball in a church slow pitch league and I hit a mighty  blow.  The ball took off like a rocket.   Yes, I had hit a home run ball. It was a classic swing and the bat connected with all my weight behind it.  It was driven with such force that it sailed over the left fielders head and rolled into the trees. I sprinted to first base and turned towards second base. I saw the left fielder turn and run into the trees after the ball. About the time I rounded second base, I saw him bending down and picking up the ball.

But, I knew I was in trouble when I got to second base.  My legs began to quiver, my breath got shorter, and it dawned on me that my body was not going to get me safely to home plate, it was giving up on me. I finally  reached third base and just stood there, my breath coming in deep wheezes. The realization came to me that my mighty home run blast had been betrayed by my aging body, which could now only squeeze a triple out of what used to be a home run swing. I stood there, huffing and puffing, on third base. I remembered my father also coming to this same point in his life. I saw it happen to Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays, and others. The legs give out first, then the eyesight. Finally, it is the hair and then perhaps, the teeth.

I kept the gloves, the uniform, the bats, and the shoes for a while. You never know when someone might call and say, "Hey, lets start a team up and go play some ball." But, as the months and the years trickled by, things began to disappear. First, I gave a glove to a teenager who began to play ball. Then, the uniform didn't fit one day when I tried it on. The pounds began to add up and I couldn't even get the pants on anymore. It seemed appropriate to put it out for the VFW truck to pick up. The shoes held out longer. Every boy that has played ball knows the feeling of wearing cleats on a baseball diamond and in the dugout. They were in a gym bag in various cars over the years, but one day I moved the bag from its resting place, and it began falling apart. I took the shoes out and they were old and dusty - had some cobwebs in them where some animal had made a home. I put them in the trash container out in the alley.

I kept the aluminum bats around the house. You never know when a burglar might break in and attack you. I might need one of those bats for self defense. I paid $10 when I bought them and now they are running $140 or $150 in the stores. Besides, I had sanded them down and painted them really stunning metallic colors. I could still remember getting some great hits with them.

As the years passed by, every now and then I would run across those baseball bats. When no one was looking I would pick one up and stand in the living room taking some practice swings, thinking back in time. But then the bats went into different closets, and now I can't remember where they are, think I sold them at a yard sale for $1 each. If a burglar shows up in our seniors complex, I will just have to yell and assume my karate stance.

The only thing that I kept was one glove that I oiled and wrapped in a plastic bag. I'd get it out every year or so and pound my fist into it a few times and smell the leather. I finally gave it to a young boy in Venezuela. If someone calls me up to play baseball tomorrow, I am now wise enough to know that doctor visits can be very expensive. My memories of baseball will include being a 10 year old kid playing on a real field in a neighborhood park. And then a 20 or 30 year old young man playing in the prime of life. But finally, I'll remember being 40 years old and standing on third base, bent over and wheezing, after hitting a home run ball.

Life is like that, isn't it? So much promise, and then one day we are looking backward at what might have been.

But, senior citizens can still dream can't we – and life always holds the promise of another day – and another chance at hitting a home run.

The writer of the Book of Ecclesiastes puts it this way: “Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth, before the difficult days come, and the years draw near when you say, "I have no pleasure in them. . . before the silver cord is loosed, or the golden bowl is broken, or the pitcher shattered at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the well. Then the dust will return to the earth as it was, and the spirit will return to God who gave it."

And, before you can't get safely home from third base anymore.

JOY'S STORY

What will you do when your life is suddenly turned upside down and you can't find help anywhere you look?  Sometimes you just can't dial an emergency telephone number, or look in the Yellow Pages for help.   A friend shared an  experience that highlights why it is important to be in tune with God before the "emergency"  comes your way. Here is Joy's story.

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"We had a really great week in Bulawayo. We got back home at the farm at 6:45 p.m., and had a very different night. With six tired children, we gave them supper and got them settled in bed. Carol had showered and was ready for bed. I was going to shower, but she wanted to relax a bit so we sat down in the dining room to relax and nibble some crisps with a glass of milk. We were chatting for about ten minutes when I saw a sudden movement and in a second four armed men seemed to glide into the dining room from the passage way.

Now I must tell you that about four months ago, four couples in the Shamva area were attacked in a two week period and they were all beaten on the head. When this happened, the one lady told me that her first reaction was fear and panic. When she was knocked to the floor she cried out to the Lord and heard a voice say to her, "Do not panic I am with you." With that she shouted to her husband who was bleeding from the head facing one of the two intruders, "Do not panic God is here, we will be O.K." With that he took a step towards his intruder who got a shock and started to step backwards - so much so that he fell over the settee. Her husband quickly dodged into the bedroom off the lounge, grabbed his pistol, and came out. The two intruders then fled. She shared with me that the problem was that you get such a shock that you are paralyzed with fear and panic.

I thought about this and I wondered how I would react if someone walked in on me remembering that 2 Tim. 1:7 says "For God has not given us a spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of sound mind." I prayed that the Lord would enable me to greet any unexpected intruders into my home in His Name and not be paralyzed with fear and panic. Well, you may not believe it but when I saw these men in my dining room, I heard myself saying, without even thinking, "Oh hello, it looks like the Lord has sent us some visitors tonight." Carol was a bit awestruck at first but the most unpleasant one of the four said to us "shh...sshh" . . . and to Carol, "Where's your husband." She told him that he was in Harare. He checked the kitchen to make sure there was no one else with us and then asked, "How many of you are here." Carol assured him that there was just her, me, and "many children - so please, could they not make any noise and wake the children as she did not want them to be frightened."

They said they wanted our money and if we did not co-operate they would shoot us. Two of them were holding their pistols on us. We had stood up by this stage. They said they would not wake the children and all we needed to do was co-operate. One of them asked where was the safe and the money. We said that we had just come home from Bulawayo and that we had no money, but they said that "we have inside information that you have money here, so come on and show us the safe." They coerced us through to the passage where Carol gave the keys to one of them. He then he said, "you open it" as he did not know which key it was. We could not all fit into the office so after Carol opened the safe they kept us in the passage under armed surveillance. They were very disappointed that I had only a very small amount of money in the safe and demanded to know where the rest of the money was and where was my forex. We kept assuring them that we did not have any. They finally took money out of a dozen odd pay packets that some of the staff had not collected before we went to Bulawayo.

They looked up and spotted the gun cupboard with the padlock and asked for the key. I said that Andrew had a key for that cabinet. They took ages to break the padlock with a heavy duty screw driver. While all this was going on I said to Carol we are not going to just sit here we are going to stand up and praise the Lord and pray for these men - which we did loud and clear. We praised the Lord with raised arms that He was there with us, that He saw what was happening, and that He would forgive these men if they stopped doing the things that they were doing. Every time one of them walked passed us I told him that Jesus loved him. We told them exactly what they would find in each place but they did not believe us.

One of the men went into Carol's room and went through her bag, grabbed her cell phone from next to her bed, and took money from her bag. He also took money that she had in her Bible. They were actually looking for her forex which of course she did not have. When they went through the safe they took all her jewelry from Granny which was probably the only really valuable jewelry in my house. Then they went to my bedroom, where the children were sleeping on mattresses. They went through my handbag and looked in a few other places, but I had virtually no money or anything of value anywhere. I was able to kick my cell phone, which was lying on the floor with some things, under the desk next to my bed and empty a bag of washing on top of it so they did not get that. When they could not find any more money, they asked for the car key, and sadly we were in Andrew's new second -hand Mercedes. Carol had to go with them to the car to show them how to start it. They wanted assurance that there was no cut-off switch that would disable the car just down the road. We were then held under guard in the hallway while they took ages to plan out their get-a-way. I asked the man near me if he knew the mystery of the Bible. He replied that he did not, so I read and explained John 3:16 to him.

Then I asked if he knew what God was doing for him right then. Again, he replied that he did not. So, I read John 14 - the whole chapter making it very personal for him. This younger man seemed to have a kind of respect for us. They seemed to take a long time making sure of their escape. They finally told the man guarding us to lock us up so that they could go. He asked Carol where he should lock us up and she said, "well you can lock us in this bedroom then we will not disturb the children in the other two rooms." So he locked us in there, and he left the key in the door! We waited until we were sure they were gone, and then we jumped out. We got into my bedroom window and went straight to the radio to call Andrew. They had gotten into the house through my bedroom window as all the doors were locked, and had jumped over Rachel who was sleeping right there. None of the children even stirred while all this was going on. Carol explained it all to them in the morning so that they would not be upset when the police came. This was now after 10:00 p.m. and by 11:30 we had the police in three groups there taking statements from us and our two guards who had been held hostage by a fifth man that we did not know was there.

Saturday morning saw us giving statements to the authorities, and the finger print people were there at the house. They left us just after 10:00 p.m.on Friday night. On Saturday evening, at about 6:30 pm, a foot patrol of police in a suburb of Harare saw a car going very slowly. It stopped and a man got out. When the police foot patrol was still quite some distance away, three men abandoned the car and fled into the long grass along the roadside. The police decided to investigate and found the car perfectly O.K. with the key still in the ignition. They decided it had to be a stolen car and pushed it to their Police post. They could only confirm on Monday that it was a stolen car. We collected our "stolen car" on Wednesday morning, in perfect order except for a defaced radio. Did the men in the car see angels instead of the police? Our experience once again clearly demonstrates that God answers prayer, and our God is powerful in all situations. To Him be the glory. Joy"

RACHEL

She knew about pain, both physically and emotionally. Her sister, Leah, was substituted as Jacob's wife on Rachel's wedding night. After her eventual marriage to Jacob, as his "second" wife, her sister produced four children while Rachel remained childless. First came Reuben, and then Simeon and Levi and Judah. Four sons born to her sister and each was a dagger in Rachel's side. Finally, in desperation Rachel gave her servant Bilhah to Jacob so she could become a surrogate mother of sorts. From Jacob and Bilhah came sons Dan and Naphtali. Not to be outdone, Leah (who had stopped having children) gave her servant girl, Zilpah, to Jacob and from their union came sons Gad and Asher. On another day Rachel bargained for Leah's mandrakes entitling Leah to spend the night with Jacob which resulted in a fifth son, Issachar. Leah later conceived a sixth son, Zebulun, and a daughter, Dinah.

All of these eleven children were born to Jacob by three women, but his beloved wife, Rachel, remained childless and barren. With each announcement of pregnancy, the pain of feeling rejected by God and useless as a wife to Jacob must have hung heavier and heavier upon her shoulders. And then, a curious scripture passage states that "God remembered Rachel; he listened to her and opened her womb." (Genesis 30:22). And, miraculously, a son was born and was named Joseph. What a special treasure he must have been to Rachel! The name Joseph meant "may he add," an entreaty to God that was fulfilled with the birth of Ben-Oni, "son of my trouble," which birth resulted in the death of Rachel. Jacob later changed the boys name to Benjamin which means "son of my right hand."

Perhaps, it was well that Rachel was not alive to endure the cruel and fraudulent "death of Joseph" as perpetrated by Jacob's other sons when Joseph was sold into slavery in Egypt, or the subsequent holding of Rachel's other son, Benjamin, as "hostage" to ensure the return of Jacob's family to Egypt. Perhaps Rachel and Jacob did treat this child Joseph differently from the others. Some of Jacob's other children may have been teenagers and already beginning to assume family responsibilities with the herds. This last born child may have had trouble "fitting in" with the rest of the family. It is reported that "Israel (Jacob) loved Joseph more than any of his other sons, because he had been born to him in his old age."

Jacob and Rachel look an awful lot like "us." They were cunning, deceitful, jealous; yet at times wrestling with God and prevailing. Their very human traits brought both of them great pain and sorrow during their lifetimes. Yet, God said to Jacob "I am God Almighty; be fruitful and increase in number. A nation and a community of nations will come from you, and kings will come from your body." (Genesis 35:11 NIV).

Did you ever wonder at how fragile and thin the promise of God seems to hang at times? This small nomadic family of 70 souls is headed for starvation, disruption, and perhaps, death at the hands of neighboring enemies. In the providence of God a 17 year old lad named Joseph antagonizes his brothers to such an extent that they sell him to a trading caravan heading into Egypt as a slave. There Joseph ultimately is imprisoned and seems destined to rot away his remaining years, unknown and forgotten by man and God. But just as God remembered Rachel and listened to her and opened her womb, so God remembered Joseph and opened the prison doors. Joseph later told his brothers that "God sent me ahead of you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance." (Genesis 45:7)

Can you imagine the shock to the nervous system of Jacob when his ten remaining sons returned to tell him that after 18 or so years, his son Joseph is not only alive, but is also now the "day-to-day" ruler of Egypt? Telling your father that you dented the fender on the family car couldn't even come close to the discussion Reuben and Judah had with Jacob that day.

The lives of Jacob, Rachel, Leah, Joseph and the other players in this drama are reminders to me of several things. First, sin dogs our footsteps, and we all fail to be what we could be in God. Second, our sinful failures always result in consequences that harm and damage our relationships with each other and with God. Third, God will wrestle with us; we can prevail with him, and he will bless us. Fourth, God has a program, a plan, and a time table that will be kept and will be met.

Could any Hollywood screenwriter sell a script premised on God saving mankind through a family whose great grandfather took their future grandfather into a mountain to sacrifice him? Whose same grandfather later gave the family blessing to the wrong son? Whose father was a cunning cheat? Whose brothers so hated him they would have killed him, but settled on selling him? When Moses wrote the story, he must have shaken his head. Yes, they were a motley crew, but listen to God's word to Jacob: "I am God, the God of your father. Do not be afraid to go down to Egypt, for I will make you into a great nation there. I will go down to Egypt with you, and I will surely bring you back again. And Joseph's own hand will close your eyes." (Genesis 46:3)

My mind wanders back to Jacob escaping from the tents of Isaac, fearful that his brother Esau would plant his head on a pike, and wandering into the herds of Laban in time to help a young girl named Rachel water her flock of sheep. Yes, heartache and pain were a part of their life together, as they are a part of everyone's life. But, God heard both Jacob and Rachel in the depths of their pain, and he used them to accomplish a great part of his eternal plan. For it will be through their son Joseph that the nation of Israel would be preserved, and Judah (son of Leah) would produce kings,

. . . . and a King for the ages.