It seemed like I had just gone to bed when I heard a voice.
“I’M AWAKE!” cried my Mind. Mumbling, Eye opened up and looked at the clock. 12:35 a.m.
“Go to sleep.” “Pipe down!” “Be quiet!” chorused various parts of Body, not wanting to wake up yet.
“BUT I’M AWAKE!” Mind continued to clamor.
“Make him stop,” cried Hands, afraid I would soon jump out of bed to work on the computer.
“I’m still awake,” whimpered Mind.
“Well, you’d better get a grip on yourself,” called out Stomach, "before I start twisting in bed." “Shut him up,” Leg demanded of me, “Or I’ll give us a cramp.”
Younger reader, know this: as you age, Mind and Body cease to always be on the same page. At times Mind tells Body to do things it can’t; sometimes Body does things Mind wishes it wouldn’t. Conflicts can occur. It was time to step in.
“Mind,” I said, “settle down. Think about something other than being awake.”
Then I heard another voice. “Let’s think about all the sins you’ve committed.” It was Satan. Before I could respond, Mind had whipped out his list.
“Put that away,” I said. “I’ve taken all of those to Christ. He promised to take care of them, and I trust Him. I don’t need to go over that list again.”
“Well, let’s worry about tomorrow!” suggested Satan. Right away, Mind had the To-Do list for this day out, scanning it for probable problems and searching for unforseeable crises.
“No need,” I responded. "I’ve given tomorrow to Christ, also. He’s promised to sustain me, guide me, to provide all my needs. His protection is mine, His angels are at my beck and call as long as I trust in Him. I don’t need to worry. Everything is taken care of. Get lost, Satan. Go to sleep, Mind.”
“But I’m still awake,” whispered Mind.
“Then I’ll tell you a story.” And I began to review the gospel story, relaxing Body, and calming Mind. I even switched to Spanish for the benefit of the more southern parts and recesses of Body and Mind.
I must be a pretty poor preacher. Before I knew it, the alarm was ringing and it was time to get up.
Friend, let me tell you – if you wake up at night and are bothered by a restless mind, review His story. Remember His promises. Claim them as yours. He really can be trusted. Close your eyes and settle into His rest.
Have a peaceful sleep!!
Dr. G
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
The Cure
Your church probably follows a similar format to mine when it comes to prayer meeting. A short song service, then a sharing time for praises and prayer requests, followed by a study of some sort. A few weeks ago, at my prayer meeting there were a number of names mentioned for special prayer. Six of them had something in common: cancer. Five of the six I knew, several fairly well. Cancer. A dreaded word to most people. It seems like it is always in the news – new treatments, new methods of detection, new suggested regulations, new causes…the list is endless.
Scientists have been working for many years to understand cancer. Some progress has been made as to knowing what cancer is. In most cases, however, the how’s and why’s are still fuzzy at best. Society is getting better at treating cancer, fortunately. There are three basic modalities of treatment: surgery, radiation, and chemo. Each totally radical from the other. Yet they all have something in common: in treating the cancer, they also affect healthy tissue.
In surgery, the surgeon always takes a little extra tissue – “just in case.” While the radiologist will focus his bean as tightly and narrowly as possible, there is inescapable damage to nearby tissue. Chemo is the least focused of the methods in that the chemicals flow throughout the body. The drugs are searching out cells that are multiplying rapidly. For that is one of the things that make cancer so dangerous – the rate of growth and how quickly tumors can begin affecting surrounding tissues. So any tissue that is rapidly dividing is at the mercy of these deadly drugs. Linings of the gut, blood producing tissues, hair follicles – these are sites that chemo affects that we wish it would leave alone. But it doesn’t.
Success rates often depend on how early the cancer is found. In some, the age and general health of the patient can play a factor. We’ve reached the place now where childhood leukemia has very high success rates. If caught early, melanoma is one of the easiest to treat, although it is one of the most deadly if not caught early. Basal cell cancer is generally easy to treat. Other forms lurk undetected until it is almost too late to have long-term survival rate. A few, like pancreatic cancer, are still almost unstoppable.
Which cancer do you fear the most? Breast cancer? Skin cancer? Prostate? Colon ? None are desirable, but if you had to pick one to have, which would it be?
There is one cancer I’ve not mentioned. It is blight on the human race. It’s insidious, infecting us all. Untreated, it is always terminal. This cancer, of course, is cancer of the soul, also known as sin. We don’t understand it well, except to know its dreadful effects. Our bodies are unable to fight it off. Outside help is needed. But treatment is available, regardless of your insurance plan. Ultimatley, this cancer will be obliterated. But anyone clinging to it will also be eradicated, just like the normal tissue adjoining physical cancer. Far better to separate now.
Like some forms of radiation, the treatment for sin involves the implanting of the cure – the entrance of the Holy Spirit into the heart. A sure cure. However, it is a cure that requires daily dosage. If you go off your meds, the disease will surely come back, often with great fervor.
I suggest taking the cure. Some of us may “fall off the wagon” temporarily. But the Great Physician is always happy to see us back in His office. Why not take a dose right now?
Have a very healthy day!
Dr. G
Scientists have been working for many years to understand cancer. Some progress has been made as to knowing what cancer is. In most cases, however, the how’s and why’s are still fuzzy at best. Society is getting better at treating cancer, fortunately. There are three basic modalities of treatment: surgery, radiation, and chemo. Each totally radical from the other. Yet they all have something in common: in treating the cancer, they also affect healthy tissue.
In surgery, the surgeon always takes a little extra tissue – “just in case.” While the radiologist will focus his bean as tightly and narrowly as possible, there is inescapable damage to nearby tissue. Chemo is the least focused of the methods in that the chemicals flow throughout the body. The drugs are searching out cells that are multiplying rapidly. For that is one of the things that make cancer so dangerous – the rate of growth and how quickly tumors can begin affecting surrounding tissues. So any tissue that is rapidly dividing is at the mercy of these deadly drugs. Linings of the gut, blood producing tissues, hair follicles – these are sites that chemo affects that we wish it would leave alone. But it doesn’t.
Success rates often depend on how early the cancer is found. In some, the age and general health of the patient can play a factor. We’ve reached the place now where childhood leukemia has very high success rates. If caught early, melanoma is one of the easiest to treat, although it is one of the most deadly if not caught early. Basal cell cancer is generally easy to treat. Other forms lurk undetected until it is almost too late to have long-term survival rate. A few, like pancreatic cancer, are still almost unstoppable.
Which cancer do you fear the most? Breast cancer? Skin cancer? Prostate? Colon ? None are desirable, but if you had to pick one to have, which would it be?
There is one cancer I’ve not mentioned. It is blight on the human race. It’s insidious, infecting us all. Untreated, it is always terminal. This cancer, of course, is cancer of the soul, also known as sin. We don’t understand it well, except to know its dreadful effects. Our bodies are unable to fight it off. Outside help is needed. But treatment is available, regardless of your insurance plan. Ultimatley, this cancer will be obliterated. But anyone clinging to it will also be eradicated, just like the normal tissue adjoining physical cancer. Far better to separate now.
Like some forms of radiation, the treatment for sin involves the implanting of the cure – the entrance of the Holy Spirit into the heart. A sure cure. However, it is a cure that requires daily dosage. If you go off your meds, the disease will surely come back, often with great fervor.
I suggest taking the cure. Some of us may “fall off the wagon” temporarily. But the Great Physician is always happy to see us back in His office. Why not take a dose right now?
Have a very healthy day!
Dr. G
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
I'm Thankful
I’m thankful for the occasional twinges of pain in my hands from arthritis. They remind me how nice it is to have hands.
I’m thankful for such a nice place to work and great colleagues to work with. Some are not so lucky – some work with grouches, others don’t work.
I’m thankful I get to unload the buses every morning. Some folks never get to see and hear excitement in children’s voices.
I’m thankful for my opportunity several weekends each month to be able to sing with a group of other men, praising the Lord. Some men have never lifted their voices in song; some do not know the Lord.
I’m thankful for the ability to read. I can expand my horizons, and learn even more to share with my students.
I’m thankful for family, even though none live close at hand. It is good to share news with them, and to share encouragement. There are those who have no one to turn to for comfort or to share a laugh.
I’m thankful that the car started this morning, for I had a task to do. There are those who have no tasks, let alone a vehicle with which to accomplish one.
I’m thankful for a sense of humor. Without it, some days would be a real grind. I’m even thankful for the days that are a grind. They provide opportunities for growth.
I’m thankful that there is a God in heaven who can see down the road when I can hardly look beyond my shoes. I know I can trust Him to guide my steps when I can’t bear to look.
I'm thankful I live in a country where it is still OK to be thankful for things others may not appreciate. They don't know what they are missing.
Have you made your list yet? Thanksgiving is tomorrow.
Dr. G
Thursday, November 5, 2009
How Will You Get There?
The men’s chorus I sing in presented a program in a small church up on Lookout Mountain this past weekend, somewhere near the town of Rising Fawn , GA (at least that was the address). I understand that the group had sung there a number of years ago, but most of the current members had never been there before.
Lookout Mountain is the southern-most mountain of the Appalachians , and has many cliffs and escarpments, especially on the northern and western edges. Even so, there are a number of ways to get up on top. But to get to this church, one had to eventually get onto Highway 157. Our director and several riding with him came from Chattanooga at the north end, and up past Rock City . A number of others went through Fort Oglethorpe and attacked the mountain from various roads on the east. In fact, I pulled up to a traffic light in Fort O , and found myself next to another chorus member. He turned left, I went straight. I never saw him again until I pulled into the church parking lot. He had just gotten out of his car.
Four of the guys decided to carpool. None of them had been atop the mountain before, let alone been at this church. The driver felt confident, however. He’d plugged the church’s address into his GPS. Unfortunately, they had hardly left their starting point when the GPS suffered a fatal error. One of the other guys in the vehicle happened to have some sketchy instructions that had been distributed at the previous rehearsal. Working together with these, and with everyone watching for landmarks, they arrived safe and sound. They, too, were able to find Highway 157 and thence, the church.
This sort of made me think of getting to heaven. We can approach it from several directions, but everyone has to get to Christ. He is the “Highway 157” in the salvation story. Some of us are born into a family that already lives on Highway 157 (Christ is in the home to begin with). Others of us find Him following our own paths, sometimes even diverging from others’ paths. Still others, finding scraps of information about a Savior, have worked together and found the path as a group. But no matter how they got there, Christ, who is the path, the way, the only doorway, was the answer.
One of our members, a young college student still living with his parents, didn’t make it. He’d planned on riding up with his mother. But something came up that morning, and she didn’t go. Neither did he. The application, of course, is that we can’t depend on others, even close family members, to get us into heaven. We have to get to the Savior on our own. He’ll get us in.
For some, the route may be a gentle climb. For others, the route may be steep and full of twists and turns. Keep going though; don’t give up. The reward is worth the effort.
Let me see that map. Do I turn left, right, or go straight ahead here?
Dr. G
Lookout Mountain is the southern-most mountain of the Appalachians , and has many cliffs and escarpments, especially on the northern and western edges. Even so, there are a number of ways to get up on top. But to get to this church, one had to eventually get onto Highway 157. Our director and several riding with him came from Chattanooga at the north end, and up past Rock City . A number of others went through Fort Oglethorpe and attacked the mountain from various roads on the east. In fact, I pulled up to a traffic light in Fort O , and found myself next to another chorus member. He turned left, I went straight. I never saw him again until I pulled into the church parking lot. He had just gotten out of his car.
Four of the guys decided to carpool. None of them had been atop the mountain before, let alone been at this church. The driver felt confident, however. He’d plugged the church’s address into his GPS. Unfortunately, they had hardly left their starting point when the GPS suffered a fatal error. One of the other guys in the vehicle happened to have some sketchy instructions that had been distributed at the previous rehearsal. Working together with these, and with everyone watching for landmarks, they arrived safe and sound. They, too, were able to find Highway 157 and thence, the church.
This sort of made me think of getting to heaven. We can approach it from several directions, but everyone has to get to Christ. He is the “Highway 157” in the salvation story. Some of us are born into a family that already lives on Highway 157 (Christ is in the home to begin with). Others of us find Him following our own paths, sometimes even diverging from others’ paths. Still others, finding scraps of information about a Savior, have worked together and found the path as a group. But no matter how they got there, Christ, who is the path, the way, the only doorway, was the answer.
One of our members, a young college student still living with his parents, didn’t make it. He’d planned on riding up with his mother. But something came up that morning, and she didn’t go. Neither did he. The application, of course, is that we can’t depend on others, even close family members, to get us into heaven. We have to get to the Savior on our own. He’ll get us in.
For some, the route may be a gentle climb. For others, the route may be steep and full of twists and turns. Keep going though; don’t give up. The reward is worth the effort.
Let me see that map. Do I turn left, right, or go straight ahead here?
Dr. G
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Lights On!
The weather this past Tuesday was not the most pleasant – not a really heavy rain, but more of a heavy drizzle all day long. That is sort of what I grew up with all winter long in Seattle, WA. Cold. Damp. Not a great day for driving, but a great day for staying inside.
However, my wife and I needed to go to several stores up at the mall. So after I picker her up at the school where she teaches, we headed for the freeway, about 20 miles away. We had to go cross country through several small towns, mostly on two-lane roads. What really caught my mind as I drove was the number of vehicles that passed me going the other way without their headlights on. I was surprised and concerned. Because of the drizzle, mist, and spray, it was quite hard to see such cars coming. I had to wonder what people were thinking. Having the lights on isn’t necessarily for only so I can see; it certainly helps others see me.
That is sort of like the Christian life. We’re saved by the grace of God, through our relationship with Christ. Having our “lights” on isn’t what saves us. Yet we’re told to have our lights burning bright, as it were, for the benefit of others. We’re not to put our lights under a bushel or hide them in a corner. We are to be the light of the world for our Master. Not for our sakes. But for the others, so they can see and notice what Christ has done in our lives. Not for our glory – for His. Perhaps seeing my lights, or yours, will keep someone else from running into one of Satan’s ditches. Keep them on, all the time, rain or shine!
Have a safe day in Him
Dr. G
However, my wife and I needed to go to several stores up at the mall. So after I picker her up at the school where she teaches, we headed for the freeway, about 20 miles away. We had to go cross country through several small towns, mostly on two-lane roads. What really caught my mind as I drove was the number of vehicles that passed me going the other way without their headlights on. I was surprised and concerned. Because of the drizzle, mist, and spray, it was quite hard to see such cars coming. I had to wonder what people were thinking. Having the lights on isn’t necessarily for only so I can see; it certainly helps others see me.
That is sort of like the Christian life. We’re saved by the grace of God, through our relationship with Christ. Having our “lights” on isn’t what saves us. Yet we’re told to have our lights burning bright, as it were, for the benefit of others. We’re not to put our lights under a bushel or hide them in a corner. We are to be the light of the world for our Master. Not for our sakes. But for the others, so they can see and notice what Christ has done in our lives. Not for our glory – for His. Perhaps seeing my lights, or yours, will keep someone else from running into one of Satan’s ditches. Keep them on, all the time, rain or shine!
Have a safe day in Him
Dr. G
Friday, October 16, 2009
The Master Teacher
Many people look upon Christ as the source of salvation. And this He is. But how many take note of His teaching skills? His ability to approach lessons and situations with gentle words is easy to see. He was the same with the comely as with the outcast and the erring. Consider how he treated the woman caught in adultery: He spoke softly and, while not condoning, did not condemn. What about the Syro-Phoenician woman who was willing to accept scraps from the master’s table? I’m sure there was a twinkle in His eye when He suggested she was a dog. Otherwise the woman would not have persisted or answered as she did. Then there was the Samaritan woman who had to go to the well at noon-day because the women of her village wouldn’t associate with her. His openness and gentleness allowed her to open up her life to Him and to receive salvation.
His examples and illustrations came from the listeners’ everyday life. This helped draw the lesson out so they could understand, but it also helped in retention. After hearing the story about the mustard seed and the mustard bush, who, among those who’d heard the story, could walk by such a plant without pausing to think about having faith? Who could see barns being town down to be replaced by larger ones without remembering the lesson of responsibility and stewardship?
And did He ever love children. He didn’t just give the disciples permission to bring children; He commanded that the children be brought. They, in turn, loved being in His presence.
We would do well, both as teachers and as parents to learn from Christ. Who to teach. How to teach. What to teach. He was truly the master teacher.
Have a great day.
Dr. G
His examples and illustrations came from the listeners’ everyday life. This helped draw the lesson out so they could understand, but it also helped in retention. After hearing the story about the mustard seed and the mustard bush, who, among those who’d heard the story, could walk by such a plant without pausing to think about having faith? Who could see barns being town down to be replaced by larger ones without remembering the lesson of responsibility and stewardship?
And did He ever love children. He didn’t just give the disciples permission to bring children; He commanded that the children be brought. They, in turn, loved being in His presence.
We would do well, both as teachers and as parents to learn from Christ. Who to teach. How to teach. What to teach. He was truly the master teacher.
Have a great day.
Dr. G
Friday, September 25, 2009
My name is...
Daisy was a student of mine when she was in Kindergarten. She is now in second grade, and I work with her in both ESOL and EIP (supplemental math intervention). So I see her for forty five minutes twice a day. I also see her every morning as I unload the buses. Unfortunately, I’m just as likely today to call her Diana as I was during the first week of school two years ago. I don’t know why. Maybe she looks more like a Diana than a Daisy in some back recess of my mind. But when it happens, she laughs and says, “It’s Daisy!”Then there is Carlos. I’ve also known him for two years. I may call him Daniel or Luis. It just pops out as he gets off the bus. A couple of times, in my confusion, I try to correct myself as he goes by, and it ends up, “Hi, Luis Daniel Carlos!” He grins.
I try to get their names right, and most of the time I do. But with some, it is a real struggle. I know it’s important to the kids that we know their names. As I call off names of passing students as they flow from the buses, I will, from time to time, have a student I’ve never worked with come up and say, “My name is ---- (Juan, Susana, whatever).” It is clear they want their name spoken as they pass by me, too. They want to be known.
I’m glad the Lord knows my name (and yours, and that of every child on the earth). Can you picture it: All the redeemed are streaming in through the gates of glory (but we won’t be getting off of buses) and the Lord is standing there greeting everyone by name. He doesn’t get a single one wrong. Just think of it – not one will come up and say “My name is –“. He is intimately acquainted with each one. Like a parent knows each of his or her children. But it only makes sense, since we are His children. Of course He knows us. What a great feeling! He’s calling you and me by name today. Can’t you hear Him?
Have a wonderful day, regardless what your name is.
Jerry
Thursday, September 24, 2009
How much is enough?
The other day my wife and I were running some errands here in town when I pulled up to a stop light over by the Hobby Lobby. The car immediately in front of me (which would have qualified for the “Cash for Clunkers” program) had a quite new bumper sticker that read, “If 10% is good enough for God, it is good enough for the IRS”. Sort of humorous, but it got me to thinking along several lines.
First of all, if, during the 50 or so years that I’ve sort of been watching political behavior in this country, the government had been a little more God-like in its actions, maybe people might be willing to contribute more than only 10%. That having been thought, I moved on to the next line of thought.
Is 10% good enough for God? Yes, the scriptures indicate in numerous places that 10% of what we gain “belongs” to God. But what if I really love Him? Will I not want to give Him what He deserves? What has He done for me that might make me want to give Him a little bit special? Let me see…
I woke up this morning
My feet still worked properly
My eyes functioned
The sun came up
The light switch worked
The car started…
And what about..
He still loves me
Christ’s sacrifice still works for me
The Spirit is still working on my heart to make me a better person
He’s promised me a fantastic new life
He loves my friends
He keeps the earth, moon and sun in their places…
Yep. I guess He deserves a little more than 10%.
Some thoughts from Lamentations 3:22 and following:
- His mercies are new every morning
- Great is His faithfulness
- Except through His mercies we would be consumed.
How about this? I can’t give Him enough, so maybe I should give Him my all.
Have a great day!
Jerry
First of all, if, during the 50 or so years that I’ve sort of been watching political behavior in this country, the government had been a little more God-like in its actions, maybe people might be willing to contribute more than only 10%. That having been thought, I moved on to the next line of thought.
Is 10% good enough for God? Yes, the scriptures indicate in numerous places that 10% of what we gain “belongs” to God. But what if I really love Him? Will I not want to give Him what He deserves? What has He done for me that might make me want to give Him a little bit special? Let me see…
I woke up this morning
My feet still worked properly
My eyes functioned
The sun came up
The light switch worked
The car started…
And what about..
He still loves me
Christ’s sacrifice still works for me
The Spirit is still working on my heart to make me a better person
He’s promised me a fantastic new life
He loves my friends
He keeps the earth, moon and sun in their places…
Yep. I guess He deserves a little more than 10%.
Some thoughts from Lamentations 3:22 and following:
- His mercies are new every morning
- Great is His faithfulness
- Except through His mercies we would be consumed.
How about this? I can’t give Him enough, so maybe I should give Him my all.
Have a great day!
Jerry
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Another "Clunkers" Program
During the past few months, one of the things most heard of in the news headlines was the government’s “Cash for Clunkers” program. Perhaps you even investigated the idea. Maybe you actually participated. If you happened to be in the market for a new car, it didn’t sound like a bad program, as long as your clunker qualified. For there were some restrictions. Among other things, it had to be currently registered and have been insured in the past year. I couldn’t have resurrected my pickup that hasn’t run in two years. There was no cash for it.
I have no political response to the program. I’ll let others pick it apart or build it up as their needs demand. But I would like to tell you about another “Clunkers” program – except it really doesn’t go by that name.
There are a number of places where the problem is described. The Apostle Paul does about as good a job in exposing the situation as anyone. Basically, he says, “What I want to do, I don’t. What I don’t want to do, I do. My life is a clunker! Who will take this problem off my hands?”
Wouldn’t you know it? There is a New Life dealer right down the street who is willing to take your mess, my mess as a trade in for a new life. No strings attached, other than He retains the title. It is registered in our name. And the mileage this new life gets is out of this world.
With the government’s program, you got a $2000 rebate on the new car, but ultimately it will all cost us more in tax dollars. With the program I’m talking about, He has paid the full price. This isn’t a “cash for clunkers” program. It is a “Cross for Clunkers” program. It can’t be beat.
Have a great day.
Jerry
Sunday, May 31, 2009
No More 'No Mores"
Some folks call them covered dish luncheons. Others call them potlucks. It doesn’t matter what you call them, we’ve all been there and partook. Some folks are good cooks, others less so (I’ve seen at least a dozen ways to ruin okra. Picking it is right up near the top of the list). But we learn whose dishes to keep an eye on, and which to watch out for. As we work our way up the table, we keep hoping there’s something left in that one dish. Have you ever reached that spot only to find that there’s…NO MORE!?
Have you ever stood in line for tickets to a fabulous concert or program, only to reach the ticket window to find out there’s…NO MORE!?
Have you ever gone to a concert, or fireworks display that you wish would last forever, and suddenly, there’s…NO MORE!?
Why do wonderful things always seem to be in short supply? Good food, fellowship, enjoyable times – there’s either not enough, or that which there is doesn’t last long enough. Well, I’ve got good news. There is a time and place up ahead that I will refer to as the land of “No more No Mores”. That which is good for us, that which is needful, will be in abundance. Talk about music concerts. Talk about glorious displays in the sky. Talk about potlucks. Man, the Lord’s going to lay out a spread that you and I can’t begin to imagine. No more no mores.
In Revelation 21 and 22, John mentions some other “No Mores”. Perhaps you’ve read of some of them: no more pain, no more sorrow, no more tears, no more death, no more night, no more sickness, no more sin, no more abominations, no more curse.
Is it too far a fetch of the imagination to think that maybe, in that wonderful place called heaven, after the passage of some time, we will no longer remember the trials we’ve been through, the rough spots Satan has dragged us through? I like to think that even with what we’ve experienced on this earth, there’ll come a time when there’ll be no more “no mores.” We’ll remember what going against God’s will has caused – there’ll still be nail prints in those hands – but we won’t be able to recall the specifics of sin. Just maybe, the no mores will be, No More.
This old world is growing weary; it’s a tiresome place to live. It holds no fascination for me, No More, No More. Heaven’s looking better and better every day.
Have a great summer!
DR. G
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
You Can't Go Home
You can’t go home. I’m sure you’ve all heard that saying before. But time and again we hear of people going back, trying to rejoin a time and place that has moved on. Can’t be done. I’ve tried.
I first attended school in a little town called Belgrade, in the state of Montana. We moved there shortly after my fourth birthday, and left shortly before my eighth. I can still picture our house, the neighborhood, the large open field stretching from the end of our street, continuing over to the old Northern Pacific mainline tracks perhaps a quarter of a mile away. On the other side was the main street, most of the houses and our school.
About 15 years after leaving Belgrade, my wife and I passed through the town. I took her out to the house I remembered so well. It was smaller now. It was also somewhat derelict. The names on the mailboxes next door were not what I remembered. Home wasn’t there anymore.
A couple of years after graduating from high school, I stopped by my former school during class hours. I found the choir room, wanting to visit my former choir director. He was there, but only briefly. Although he still directed the choir, he was also now teaching an accounting class. Fewer kids were signing up for singing groups. Two years later, he left teaching and went to work for a bank. Can’t go back to the old school either. It’s not there anymore, at least not the school I remember. Bricks and roofing, yes, but the experience can’t be revisited.
When my kids were ten or twelve, I drove them through the old neighborhood I'd lived in during my highschool years. The lot where I found the rubber boa I described a few weeks ago now had a house. The house I’d lived in needed paint. I took my son and daughter along the route I would have followed when I walked to school. The two-lane main street of Burien had given way to four lanes. Buildings had gone, buildings had come. It certainly wasn’t home anymore.
Prior to coming to DPS, I had spent six years as registrar at my college alma mater. The old administration building was the same, but offices had been rearranged and the folks in them were different. The whole valley was different. Even the climate had changed. When I was in school, most of the valley was given over to dry-land farming of wheat and peas. Now, with the addition of dams on the Snake River, much of the valley is under irrigation. The evaporation of water from the irrigated fields has greatly increased the humidity in the valley. Now, heavy long-lasting fogs are not uncommon in the winters where once there had been desert. It’s just not the same as I remember it being. It wasn’t “home”.
A few months ago, I was moved from one school to another. Now, I’ve been given the opportunity to return to the former school. I accepted the offer, but I’m not really going home. Some of my friends are retiring at the end of this year. My former principal has just accepted a position with the central office. My fifth-grade kids will have moved on. I can’t even go home less than a year after leaving.
We are destined to continue progressing through our experiences here, knowing that we can never go back to where we’ve been. No point in being homesick. The home you or I might be homesick for no longer exists. All of our longing really should point forward. There is one home, one we’ve never been to, yet, that deserves our longing, our attention. No, we can’t go back, but we can go forward.
Christ has promised us each a home, far greater, more joyous – filled with more love, filled with all the good things memories are made of. Yes, we must forget about looking back at what was never as good as our minds have made us think it was. Instead, we must look upward and onward, toward that which our minds can’t even begin to comprehend. Aren’t you just a little homesick for heaven? I am.
Dr. G
I first attended school in a little town called Belgrade, in the state of Montana. We moved there shortly after my fourth birthday, and left shortly before my eighth. I can still picture our house, the neighborhood, the large open field stretching from the end of our street, continuing over to the old Northern Pacific mainline tracks perhaps a quarter of a mile away. On the other side was the main street, most of the houses and our school.
About 15 years after leaving Belgrade, my wife and I passed through the town. I took her out to the house I remembered so well. It was smaller now. It was also somewhat derelict. The names on the mailboxes next door were not what I remembered. Home wasn’t there anymore.
A couple of years after graduating from high school, I stopped by my former school during class hours. I found the choir room, wanting to visit my former choir director. He was there, but only briefly. Although he still directed the choir, he was also now teaching an accounting class. Fewer kids were signing up for singing groups. Two years later, he left teaching and went to work for a bank. Can’t go back to the old school either. It’s not there anymore, at least not the school I remember. Bricks and roofing, yes, but the experience can’t be revisited.
When my kids were ten or twelve, I drove them through the old neighborhood I'd lived in during my highschool years. The lot where I found the rubber boa I described a few weeks ago now had a house. The house I’d lived in needed paint. I took my son and daughter along the route I would have followed when I walked to school. The two-lane main street of Burien had given way to four lanes. Buildings had gone, buildings had come. It certainly wasn’t home anymore.
Prior to coming to DPS, I had spent six years as registrar at my college alma mater. The old administration building was the same, but offices had been rearranged and the folks in them were different. The whole valley was different. Even the climate had changed. When I was in school, most of the valley was given over to dry-land farming of wheat and peas. Now, with the addition of dams on the Snake River, much of the valley is under irrigation. The evaporation of water from the irrigated fields has greatly increased the humidity in the valley. Now, heavy long-lasting fogs are not uncommon in the winters where once there had been desert. It’s just not the same as I remember it being. It wasn’t “home”.
A few months ago, I was moved from one school to another. Now, I’ve been given the opportunity to return to the former school. I accepted the offer, but I’m not really going home. Some of my friends are retiring at the end of this year. My former principal has just accepted a position with the central office. My fifth-grade kids will have moved on. I can’t even go home less than a year after leaving.
We are destined to continue progressing through our experiences here, knowing that we can never go back to where we’ve been. No point in being homesick. The home you or I might be homesick for no longer exists. All of our longing really should point forward. There is one home, one we’ve never been to, yet, that deserves our longing, our attention. No, we can’t go back, but we can go forward.
Christ has promised us each a home, far greater, more joyous – filled with more love, filled with all the good things memories are made of. Yes, we must forget about looking back at what was never as good as our minds have made us think it was. Instead, we must look upward and onward, toward that which our minds can’t even begin to comprehend. Aren’t you just a little homesick for heaven? I am.
Dr. G
Friday, May 15, 2009
Can You See Anything?
The second teaching jobs that my wife and I had were at a private school in Oshawa, Ontario, about 20 miles east of Toronto. The school encouraged students to be involved in reach-out teams which would visit smaller, outlying churches and provide music and other programs on weekends. So it was, during the winter of 1976, that we found ourselves with three young ladies headed to a church in Sudbury, Ontario, a distance of about 250 miles.
Most winter weather in Ontario comes from the west and northwest. As a result, it is often cold, but snowfall typically is not too great, since the larger bodies of water (the Great Lakes) are either far away to the west or just to the south. So there usually isn’t much lake-effect snow. However, the road going to Sudbury is just inland from the shore of Georgian Bay, a large eastern-projecting section of Lake Huron. As a consequence, lake-effect snow is very common there.
It was cold, but mostly clear when we left Oshawa Friday afternoon. By the time we reached Barrie, it had clouded up and a light snow was falling. It was also dark (sunset comes quite early that far north in the winter). The road was snow covered, but driving was not difficult. When we reached a section of road north of Parry Sound, however, things changed. A full-blown white-out covered the area as snow blew in off the lake.
I had never driven to Sudbury, so didn’t have a clue what the road was like, nor did I have any idea of where we were or what the surroundings were like. But I kept creeping forward slowly, trying to keep to the right of the piled-up snow at the edge of the road. After a short distance, I became aware of some taillights ahead of me. I worked my way up behind them, only to discover that I was following one of the big snowplows that worked the roads up there.
White-outs are not fun. It is comforting when you’re not the only vehicle on the road. I decided to stay close enough behind that I could still track him, but far enough back that I could stop in time should he put on his brakes. His taillights were the only point of contact we had to anything outside the car for over twenty miles. We kept wondering, "How does he know where he’s going?" He must have had that road memorized. Eventually, the snow abated. He pulled off, and we continued on, now able to see.
There have been times when I’ve been in a spiritual white-out. Satan surrounds us with so much downward pulling noise, so many distractions, disappointments, frustrations; he’ll use anything that shields our eyes from the narrow road the Lord has outlined for us.
It really wasn’t wise of me to continue driving when I first hit the white-out. I was totally without a point of reference; the road had a number of turns and pitfalls. It would have been so easy to lose my way, and bring tragedy not only to myself but the other four in the car. The snowplow was heaven-sent, a reliable guide that had the road memorized.
When I find myself getting overwhelmed by the snowstorms Satan sends my way, it is imperative that I pull over, wait for the Holy Spirit to come along and then follow Him explicitly. He knows the way. Imagine how silly it would have been for me to pull out and try to pass the snowplow, or to turn off onto another road, wanting to try another route. Behind God’s snowplow is the only way to travel through the winter of Satan’s discontent.
Can one of you find that window scraper under your feet back there?
Dr. G
Most winter weather in Ontario comes from the west and northwest. As a result, it is often cold, but snowfall typically is not too great, since the larger bodies of water (the Great Lakes) are either far away to the west or just to the south. So there usually isn’t much lake-effect snow. However, the road going to Sudbury is just inland from the shore of Georgian Bay, a large eastern-projecting section of Lake Huron. As a consequence, lake-effect snow is very common there.
It was cold, but mostly clear when we left Oshawa Friday afternoon. By the time we reached Barrie, it had clouded up and a light snow was falling. It was also dark (sunset comes quite early that far north in the winter). The road was snow covered, but driving was not difficult. When we reached a section of road north of Parry Sound, however, things changed. A full-blown white-out covered the area as snow blew in off the lake.
I had never driven to Sudbury, so didn’t have a clue what the road was like, nor did I have any idea of where we were or what the surroundings were like. But I kept creeping forward slowly, trying to keep to the right of the piled-up snow at the edge of the road. After a short distance, I became aware of some taillights ahead of me. I worked my way up behind them, only to discover that I was following one of the big snowplows that worked the roads up there.
White-outs are not fun. It is comforting when you’re not the only vehicle on the road. I decided to stay close enough behind that I could still track him, but far enough back that I could stop in time should he put on his brakes. His taillights were the only point of contact we had to anything outside the car for over twenty miles. We kept wondering, "How does he know where he’s going?" He must have had that road memorized. Eventually, the snow abated. He pulled off, and we continued on, now able to see.
There have been times when I’ve been in a spiritual white-out. Satan surrounds us with so much downward pulling noise, so many distractions, disappointments, frustrations; he’ll use anything that shields our eyes from the narrow road the Lord has outlined for us.
It really wasn’t wise of me to continue driving when I first hit the white-out. I was totally without a point of reference; the road had a number of turns and pitfalls. It would have been so easy to lose my way, and bring tragedy not only to myself but the other four in the car. The snowplow was heaven-sent, a reliable guide that had the road memorized.
When I find myself getting overwhelmed by the snowstorms Satan sends my way, it is imperative that I pull over, wait for the Holy Spirit to come along and then follow Him explicitly. He knows the way. Imagine how silly it would have been for me to pull out and try to pass the snowplow, or to turn off onto another road, wanting to try another route. Behind God’s snowplow is the only way to travel through the winter of Satan’s discontent.
Can one of you find that window scraper under your feet back there?
Dr. G
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Snake Handlin' II
I had been away at college less than a month. To say I was unaware as to how things worked at an institution with dormitories, deans, schools, and respected administrators would be to suggest that I was somewhat naïve, perhaps a little gullible, certainly trusting. It would also be true. I had grown up in a home where you did the right thing because it was the right thing to do; I tried to believe my friends were of the same mold (more or less).
I had gone for a walk with several of those friends after lunch on a Saturday afternoon in late September. The school was in a small rural town, and only blocks off campus the landscape turned into pastures, wheat fields, and streams bordered by cottonwoods and willows. That is where we headed. We’d barely reached the wheat fields and were passing through a road cut on one of the rolling hills when I looked up and saw something sticking out of an exposed gopher hole about a foot below the field level. It was a snake’s head. A good-sized snake head.
I asked my friends to stay in the road and keep an eye on the snake while I backtracked, went up into the field, intending to arrive just above the snake. What I wanted to do was to reach down over the cut edge and grab the snake just behind its head. It worked like a charm.
I ended up pulling a western bull snake that was a well over four feet long (these constrictors grow up to eight feet long, and are among the largest of snakes in North America) out of that hole.
Of course my friends thought I was crazy, but neither of them had a biological bent to their thinking. They continued on their walk. I headed back to my dorm room, which I shared with one of the resident counselors. He wasn’t in at the time. So I was free to locate a box in which to store my treasure (for what, I didn’t know). Unlike the rubber boa I wrote about a few weeks back, a bull snake (also known as a gopher snake) can and will strike in self-defense. While not poisonous and lacking fangs, the teeth can cause a bloody wound. Somehow I got it into the box safely and piled all of my books on top to keep it there. I had no idea what I was going to do with it next.
After supper, one of the guys who had gone walking with me stopped by the room. He was a little surprised that I still had the snake. He suggested that he was acquainted with a girl who “probably” would like to see it. Trusting him, I opened the box and deftly grabbed the snake, which coiled itself around my forearm and part way up my upper arm; I was off to town, snake in tow.
What I didn’t know was that this girl (Shirley) was working the reception desk at the women’s dormitory. I had the sense to stop at the top of the entry steps, and didn’t go in. My friend went inside to get her. Believe it or not, she did come out and showed genuine interest in the snake. I relaxed a bit. Then she suggested that the Women’s Dean might like to see it. She went back inside, only to appear a moment later to say that the Dean was in her office and I could go in to see her. What I didn’t know was that Shirley had only told the Dean “there was a young man outside with something he wants to show you.”
I went where few men have trod: into the office of the Dean of Women with a four-foot plus bull snake. To make matters worse, the school President had been having a conversation with her and was sitting in a chair in front of her desk. I can remember clearly to this day the resulting responses. Before I had two words out of my mouth, the president was behind the Dean’s chair, and she was coming around the desk toward me. She was even more interested than Shirley had been. We remained on good terms for decades.
With her permission, I sat on a small couch in the lobby of the dorm for about a half hour. Many people (mostly female) passed by; only a few even saw the snake. Those that did kept going, albeit a little faster than when they had approached.
Over the years, I’ve pondered the several responses I saw that night. A fully-grown
man had fled as far away as he could and still keep his dignity. The Dean responded with great interest, even to the point of stroking the snake’s head and noting the colored patterns in the scales. Others saw the snake, knew what it was, and wanted nothing to do with it. Most were unaware of its presence.
In many ways, people of this world respond to Satan in much the same manner. Some are drawn to and charmed by him. Others sense his presence and flee for safer ground. Unfortunately, more and more people are ignorant of his presence, maybe even of his existence. Bull snakes are harmless. Being ignorant of them is of no consequence. Satan is as dangerous when we are not aware of his presence as when we are, perhaps even more so.
It’s my prayer that we’ll all be able to keep our spiritual eyes open during our spiritual journey through life. He could be lurking in that tall grass right over there!
Dr. G
I had gone for a walk with several of those friends after lunch on a Saturday afternoon in late September. The school was in a small rural town, and only blocks off campus the landscape turned into pastures, wheat fields, and streams bordered by cottonwoods and willows. That is where we headed. We’d barely reached the wheat fields and were passing through a road cut on one of the rolling hills when I looked up and saw something sticking out of an exposed gopher hole about a foot below the field level. It was a snake’s head. A good-sized snake head.
I asked my friends to stay in the road and keep an eye on the snake while I backtracked, went up into the field, intending to arrive just above the snake. What I wanted to do was to reach down over the cut edge and grab the snake just behind its head. It worked like a charm.
I ended up pulling a western bull snake that was a well over four feet long (these constrictors grow up to eight feet long, and are among the largest of snakes in North America) out of that hole. Of course my friends thought I was crazy, but neither of them had a biological bent to their thinking. They continued on their walk. I headed back to my dorm room, which I shared with one of the resident counselors. He wasn’t in at the time. So I was free to locate a box in which to store my treasure (for what, I didn’t know). Unlike the rubber boa I wrote about a few weeks back, a bull snake (also known as a gopher snake) can and will strike in self-defense. While not poisonous and lacking fangs, the teeth can cause a bloody wound. Somehow I got it into the box safely and piled all of my books on top to keep it there. I had no idea what I was going to do with it next.
After supper, one of the guys who had gone walking with me stopped by the room. He was a little surprised that I still had the snake. He suggested that he was acquainted with a girl who “probably” would like to see it. Trusting him, I opened the box and deftly grabbed the snake, which coiled itself around my forearm and part way up my upper arm; I was off to town, snake in tow.
What I didn’t know was that this girl (Shirley) was working the reception desk at the women’s dormitory. I had the sense to stop at the top of the entry steps, and didn’t go in. My friend went inside to get her. Believe it or not, she did come out and showed genuine interest in the snake. I relaxed a bit. Then she suggested that the Women’s Dean might like to see it. She went back inside, only to appear a moment later to say that the Dean was in her office and I could go in to see her. What I didn’t know was that Shirley had only told the Dean “there was a young man outside with something he wants to show you.”
I went where few men have trod: into the office of the Dean of Women with a four-foot plus bull snake. To make matters worse, the school President had been having a conversation with her and was sitting in a chair in front of her desk. I can remember clearly to this day the resulting responses. Before I had two words out of my mouth, the president was behind the Dean’s chair, and she was coming around the desk toward me. She was even more interested than Shirley had been. We remained on good terms for decades.
With her permission, I sat on a small couch in the lobby of the dorm for about a half hour. Many people (mostly female) passed by; only a few even saw the snake. Those that did kept going, albeit a little faster than when they had approached.
Over the years, I’ve pondered the several responses I saw that night. A fully-grown
man had fled as far away as he could and still keep his dignity. The Dean responded with great interest, even to the point of stroking the snake’s head and noting the colored patterns in the scales. Others saw the snake, knew what it was, and wanted nothing to do with it. Most were unaware of its presence. In many ways, people of this world respond to Satan in much the same manner. Some are drawn to and charmed by him. Others sense his presence and flee for safer ground. Unfortunately, more and more people are ignorant of his presence, maybe even of his existence. Bull snakes are harmless. Being ignorant of them is of no consequence. Satan is as dangerous when we are not aware of his presence as when we are, perhaps even more so.
It’s my prayer that we’ll all be able to keep our spiritual eyes open during our spiritual journey through life. He could be lurking in that tall grass right over there!
Dr. G
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Snake Handlin'
It was the summer between my eighth and ninth grade school years. My family had just recently moved into a new house in a new subdivision about 12 blocks from where we’d lived for a little over five years. It was close enough that friends from the old neighborhood could come over. Late one afternoon, one of those friends and I were tossing a baseball back and forth in the back yard. Either one of his throws went awry or I flubbed an easy catch (there was a reason major league scouts never stopped by to watch us). In any event, the ball skipped across the street into a large, undeveloped lot. This lot had a few trees – mostly red alder, madrona and western hemlock – and the typical undergrowth found on the land around Puget Sound in Washington State. There was a lot of red huckleberries, bracken fern and a shrub known as salal, which, like the huckleberry is a member of the heath family. My friend Gordy had thrown the ball fairly hard, so I figured it was about 20 feet into this thick mess. I got down on my knees and started crawling in where we last saw the white orb. This was the best way to tackle the task, since both the salal and bracken fern grew about three feet tall.
After going just a short distance, I spied the ball. I quickly noticed that it was perched upon a strange structure. In the dim light, I recognized it for what it was: a rather uncommon snake known as a rubber boa, coiled up as nicely as could be under the ball. Having a biological bent even at that age, my baseball game came to a stop as I retrieved my approximately two-foot long treasure. How I knew what it was back then I have no idea. To my knowledge, I’d never seen one before, and I don’t remember having ever read about them. But I just knew that was what it was.
I took the snake to the house and put it into the standard “Dr. G” collecting apparatus – my mother’s old galvanized washtub. There I supplied it with plant material to hide under until I could take it to school in a shoe box the next day. I had tolerant teachers. In drafting class I announced that I had something I wanted to show the others. When I dumped the snake out onto the table, there were several forms of excitement, ranging from shrieks to gasps of admiration (at least that’s how I took them). Rubber boas are about as docile as a snake can be – according to literature I checked as I wrote this they are not known to strike in defense. One will generally bury its head under its body, and if terribly bothered, release a strong musky fluid from the vent. But that is all. Fortunately, I didn’t irritate my snake.
The other thing that made it such a neat display object is that they are quite slow as far as snakes go. We had no trouble directing its movement, and quite a few of my classmates got up the nerve to actually handle the snake. The body, as can be seen in the photo, is very muscular (it is a Boa, after all) and has the feel of soft but firm rubber (hence the name). After a few days, my folks called the zoo in Seattle to see if they’d like it (they would) so we took it in to them.
I think it is wonderful that you can learn so much about snakes that you can identify them immediately. But a word of caution. There is one snake that we need to learn to recognize, but only at distance. He’s found world-wide and is quite vicious. He can be found described in both the book of Genesis and the book of Revelation. He is called the father of lies, a master of deceit. He is a champion of disguise, and is not to be trusted. He can appear in many forms, and is very aggressive, and will strike without provocation. He is best left to the Expert. Don’t try to deal with him on your own. To paraphrase Paul, Satan is out like a hissing serpent, seeking whom he may devour. Stay where the Expert has indicated it is safe.
Dr. G
Monday, April 27, 2009
How's My Testimony?
Have you ever had to testify in court? Have you given sworn testimony, borne witness to some event? The scriptures are full of references to testimony, testifying, bearing witness. Some passages, like John 5:33 and John 5:39 refer to reliable witness. The testimony given was reliable, truthful. 
Both of these passages are in one of Christ’s longer responses to the Jewish leaders who had challenged Him. “John bore witness to the truth.” “The scriptures, which you search, testify of me.”
In John 3:11, in His discussion with Nicodemus, Christ pointed out that He (and the disciples) were giving witness and testifying of what they knew and had seen. Furthermore, He pointed out that this reliable testimony was not being received.
Of course, not all testimony given is reliable. At Christ’s trial, false testimony was offered against Him, but the witnesses contradicted one another (Mark 14:56-59)
Another important thought is that we, too, are witnesses. Acts 22:15 was spoken almost 2000 years ago, but it still applies to you and me: “For you will be His witness to all men of what you have seen and heard.”
What is my witness like? Where do you and I bear our testimony? As sure as a connection with Christ is to bear fruit in our lives, we are on constant display as His witnesses. Is my witness reliable, or is it in conflict with my claims? Do I claim to have truth, only to bear false witness? As people observe my actions and hear my words, to which spirit do I bear witness?
Many years ago, I was parked outside a mall waiting for my wife to return from a brief errand inside. My daughter and son were with me. While sitting there, we watched as a friend and colleague from the college where I was teaching pulled his car into a nearby space. He quickly left the car and headed for the mall door. It was a warm summer evening, and he’d left his car windows open.
Moments later, another vehicle pulled up behind his. A young man jumped out, ran to my friend’s car, removed something from the dashboard, and began to pull away, right before our eyes. I quickly pulled my car in behind him, and I had one of the children write down the license number while the other child confirmed what I read. I then returned to our original spot to await my colleague’s return.
A few months later I was subpoenaed and had to give my testimony in court. I was able to identify the young man, and was able to confirm under oath what I had reported to the police. The suspect’s attorney was unable to refute to my testimony, and his client paid the price.
It is so wonderful to know that when I face the heavenly courtroom, I will have an attorney who will be able to refute the charges laid against me; He'll testify in my behalf. He’s experienced; His testimony is sure. I won’t have to pay the price.
By the way – crossing your fingers while testifying doesn’t work.
Dr. G
Both of these passages are in one of Christ’s longer responses to the Jewish leaders who had challenged Him. “John bore witness to the truth.” “The scriptures, which you search, testify of me.”
In John 3:11, in His discussion with Nicodemus, Christ pointed out that He (and the disciples) were giving witness and testifying of what they knew and had seen. Furthermore, He pointed out that this reliable testimony was not being received.
Of course, not all testimony given is reliable. At Christ’s trial, false testimony was offered against Him, but the witnesses contradicted one another (Mark 14:56-59)
Another important thought is that we, too, are witnesses. Acts 22:15 was spoken almost 2000 years ago, but it still applies to you and me: “For you will be His witness to all men of what you have seen and heard.”
What is my witness like? Where do you and I bear our testimony? As sure as a connection with Christ is to bear fruit in our lives, we are on constant display as His witnesses. Is my witness reliable, or is it in conflict with my claims? Do I claim to have truth, only to bear false witness? As people observe my actions and hear my words, to which spirit do I bear witness?
Many years ago, I was parked outside a mall waiting for my wife to return from a brief errand inside. My daughter and son were with me. While sitting there, we watched as a friend and colleague from the college where I was teaching pulled his car into a nearby space. He quickly left the car and headed for the mall door. It was a warm summer evening, and he’d left his car windows open.
Moments later, another vehicle pulled up behind his. A young man jumped out, ran to my friend’s car, removed something from the dashboard, and began to pull away, right before our eyes. I quickly pulled my car in behind him, and I had one of the children write down the license number while the other child confirmed what I read. I then returned to our original spot to await my colleague’s return.
A few months later I was subpoenaed and had to give my testimony in court. I was able to identify the young man, and was able to confirm under oath what I had reported to the police. The suspect’s attorney was unable to refute to my testimony, and his client paid the price.
It is so wonderful to know that when I face the heavenly courtroom, I will have an attorney who will be able to refute the charges laid against me; He'll testify in my behalf. He’s experienced; His testimony is sure. I won’t have to pay the price.
By the way – crossing your fingers while testifying doesn’t work.
Dr. G
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Spiritual Box Lunches
A number of years back I attended an out-of-town conference. When registering, I had the option of ordering a prepared lunch, which I took (mostly because they offered a vegetarian option, not because of the $15 charge). When I lined up for my lunch on the day of the conference, I discovered that we were getting box lunches. The contents were: a sandwich, an apple, a bag of chips and one cookie. Oh, yeah, there was also a Juicy Juice. I compared my lunch with the person sitting next to me (a non-vegetarian). Same lunch, except her sandwich had two slices of ham and one slice of cheese where mine had two slices of tomato, some sprouts, and three slices of cucumber. We both got mayo and lettuce. Quite a lunch for $15.
A week ago, my wife and I joined some friends at a large cabin up in Townsend, TN for the weekend. Two couples were responsible for Friday night supper, two for Saturday breakfast, and three for Saturday night supper. For each meal, there was a great abundance of food, probably enough to handle another four couples. The first meal centered on several big pots of soup and four types of sandwiches, but included a great variety of other items. Dessert consisted of large brownies covered with thick, rich chocolate over either a mint layer or peanut-butter. There was far more food than could be eaten.
Breakfast the next morning centered on breakfast burritos, with all sorts of things for the stuffing. One of the men involved prepared several types of fresh-fruit smoothies. Plus the leftovers from the night before were brought out (and enjoyed a second time). Again, there was much more than we could finish.
Supper that night? Burgers, chick-patty sandwiches, hot-dogs, salads, chips…and leftovers from the night before and from breakfast. The point is, there was a great abundance of food the whole weekend, and I suspect that we did the whole thing for less than $15 per person for the weekend. A lot less than I’d spent seven years earlier on a box lunch.
A banquet up in heaven for the redeemed is referred to several times in scripture. Sometimes it is called a wedding feast. In Revelation 19:9 it is called the marriage supper of the Lamb. Do you suppose there’ll be box lunches?
What about my daily spiritual food? Am I satisfied with an almost-empty box lunch (a quick prayer and a text as I dash out the door), or do I really fill my plate with spiritual food by digging into the scriptures to find out what they really teach? Is there spiritual junk-food – sort of God-related, but not really expanding my relationship with Him? How much of that do I put into my system?
Now there's some food for thought.
Have a great day!
Dr. G
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
False Accusations
Years ago I would make an annual pilgrimage to one of the continent’s spring birding hotspots. I first started going there while teaching biology at a school about 20 miles to the east of Toronto, Ontario. I continued for each of the next fourteen years after I became a professor of biology at a college in central Massachusetts. I even worked it out so that this week-long trip coincided with the week of field work in a class in ornithology that I taught. Yes, Point Pelee National Park on the northern shore of Lake Ontario was the place to be in early May.
While I have many great memories from the times I was there, one has recently come back to mind. I spent an extended weekend there with a friend who was willing to go birding, but wasn’t what I would call an avid birder. But he was a good companion, and we had a fun time. One day we were working the woods south of the nature center, looking for warblers and vireos. We were just off the trail in some dense second growth that opened up into the lower branches of some larger trees.
I had learned the calls of most all the eastern woodland birds, and did much of my initial bird-finding by ear rather than watching for birds. As we crouched there listening, I heard a ruckus headed our way, up about the level of
tree tops. It was a flock of crows, and I knew right away that they were harassing some sort of raptor, possibly a hawk. Then, suddenly, crashing down through the small branches and perching about eight feet from us was a great horned owl. Here was the crows’ sport. Angry, fluffed up, out of breath. The crows quickly spotted my friend and me, and stayed at the tops of the trees. The owl sat where it had landed and glared at us.
Have you ever been falsely accused? The look on the owl’s face seemed to be one that peered into our souls, as if we were responsible for its situation. So intense was the look that I was tempted to respond, telling the owl that we had nothing to do with its plight. While this may have been true, the accusing look could not be ignored. Even our actual innocence could not remove the feeling of condemnation placed upon us.
How do you deal with false accusation? Or, perhaps, is this something you’ve never had to deal with? Most of the disciples had to deal with it at one time or another. If you read the book of Acts, and even some of Paul’s epistles, we find that many times he was badly treated on the basis of false accusations.
Stephen was falsely accused, and stoned.
Most terrible were the false accusations that were hurled at Christ during His trial. The accusations were even contradictory. But those in charge were so determined to be done with Him that they ignored the laws regarding fair trial, and condemned Him anyway. I wonder how they will feel when they have to look into His face when He returns (check out Revelation 1:7). The accusations they will face will not be false. Far better to face false accustions in behalf of our Lord than to face true accusations from Him.
This weekend, Christendom will celebrate His death and resurrection. Keep in mind that even as He promised to die for us, He has promised to return for us. Every eye will see Him. Some will see joy on His face. Some will not.
Have a great weekend.
Dr. G
While I have many great memories from the times I was there, one has recently come back to mind. I spent an extended weekend there with a friend who was willing to go birding, but wasn’t what I would call an avid birder. But he was a good companion, and we had a fun time. One day we were working the woods south of the nature center, looking for warblers and vireos. We were just off the trail in some dense second growth that opened up into the lower branches of some larger trees.
I had learned the calls of most all the eastern woodland birds, and did much of my initial bird-finding by ear rather than watching for birds. As we crouched there listening, I heard a ruckus headed our way, up about the level of
tree tops. It was a flock of crows, and I knew right away that they were harassing some sort of raptor, possibly a hawk. Then, suddenly, crashing down through the small branches and perching about eight feet from us was a great horned owl. Here was the crows’ sport. Angry, fluffed up, out of breath. The crows quickly spotted my friend and me, and stayed at the tops of the trees. The owl sat where it had landed and glared at us.Have you ever been falsely accused? The look on the owl’s face seemed to be one that peered into our souls, as if we were responsible for its situation. So intense was the look that I was tempted to respond, telling the owl that we had nothing to do with its plight. While this may have been true, the accusing look could not be ignored. Even our actual innocence could not remove the feeling of condemnation placed upon us.
How do you deal with false accusation? Or, perhaps, is this something you’ve never had to deal with? Most of the disciples had to deal with it at one time or another. If you read the book of Acts, and even some of Paul’s epistles, we find that many times he was badly treated on the basis of false accusations.
Stephen was falsely accused, and stoned.
Most terrible were the false accusations that were hurled at Christ during His trial. The accusations were even contradictory. But those in charge were so determined to be done with Him that they ignored the laws regarding fair trial, and condemned Him anyway. I wonder how they will feel when they have to look into His face when He returns (check out Revelation 1:7). The accusations they will face will not be false. Far better to face false accustions in behalf of our Lord than to face true accusations from Him.
This weekend, Christendom will celebrate His death and resurrection. Keep in mind that even as He promised to die for us, He has promised to return for us. Every eye will see Him. Some will see joy on His face. Some will not.
Have a great weekend.
Dr. G
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Bus 4!
One of my colleagues was walking down the Kindergarten hallway the other day when a little guy in a door way greeted her with, “Bus 4!”
A little explanation may be in order to understand what was going on. At our school, at the end of the day, certain support staff walk the length of the Kindergarten-First grade hallway collecting children for the
various buses. As we go, we carry a sign with the bus number and call out the number as we pass the rooms. We then lead our lines out the doors and onto the buses.
Apparently, this fellow above recognized the teacher involved as someone who would take him to his bus, and he was either imitating her by calling out his bus number, or he was reporting for duty. In any case, he saw her as someone connected with his bus.
After this story was related to me, I wondered, what else do these children see in us? Do they see me only as the man who wears funny ties? Do they see me as someone who has time to return a wave as we pass? In their eyes, am I someone who responds to their needs?
Or do they see me simply as someone who is always telling them to sit down and be quiet? Stay in line, and quit talking! Pay attention to your work! Is that the me they see? Am I a friend, or someone to be endured during the day? What do they see in me?
In a passage in Matthew 25, Christ relates the connection between how we treat and respond to the least of those around us (children, perhaps?) to how we treat Him. “(I)nasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.” (Verse 40)
Perhaps I’ve been focusing on the wrong question. Instead of only asking, “What do they see in me?” I should also be asking, “What do I see in them?”
Yes, it is important for me to act in such a way that they will see Christ reflected in my life. Wait, that is poorly worded. I shouldn’t be acting. May my life be under Christ’s control to such an extent that they see Him, rather than me.
At the same time, it is also important for me to see them as Christ’s lambs, for such they are. Hmmmm. How can I do that? Let's see. If He’s in control....How will I see them?
Have a blessed day.
Dr. G
A little explanation may be in order to understand what was going on. At our school, at the end of the day, certain support staff walk the length of the Kindergarten-First grade hallway collecting children for the
various buses. As we go, we carry a sign with the bus number and call out the number as we pass the rooms. We then lead our lines out the doors and onto the buses. Apparently, this fellow above recognized the teacher involved as someone who would take him to his bus, and he was either imitating her by calling out his bus number, or he was reporting for duty. In any case, he saw her as someone connected with his bus.
After this story was related to me, I wondered, what else do these children see in us? Do they see me only as the man who wears funny ties? Do they see me as someone who has time to return a wave as we pass? In their eyes, am I someone who responds to their needs?
Or do they see me simply as someone who is always telling them to sit down and be quiet? Stay in line, and quit talking! Pay attention to your work! Is that the me they see? Am I a friend, or someone to be endured during the day? What do they see in me?
In a passage in Matthew 25, Christ relates the connection between how we treat and respond to the least of those around us (children, perhaps?) to how we treat Him. “(I)nasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.” (Verse 40)
Perhaps I’ve been focusing on the wrong question. Instead of only asking, “What do they see in me?” I should also be asking, “What do I see in them?”
Yes, it is important for me to act in such a way that they will see Christ reflected in my life. Wait, that is poorly worded. I shouldn’t be acting. May my life be under Christ’s control to such an extent that they see Him, rather than me.
At the same time, it is also important for me to see them as Christ’s lambs, for such they are. Hmmmm. How can I do that? Let's see. If He’s in control....How will I see them?
Have a blessed day.
Dr. G
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Watery Eyes?
Well, it is that time again. Trees in bloom. Maples bloomed almost a month ago, 
and then came the Bradford pears. Now we have a whole bunch of trees in bloom: red buds, ashes, dogwoods, hickories, pines. The oaks and flowering crab apples can’t be too far behind.
The human body has a protection mechanism that involves the immune system. This system is designed to counteract foreign protein; in particular, proteins on invading parasites, bacteria and viruses. It is this mechanism that brings about the aching, fever, inflammation, watery eyes and runny noses that come with colds, flues, etc. But the system will also respond to other, non-dangerous proteins, perhaps more in some folks’ cases than in others. And that is where the trees come in to play at this time of year.
Most trees are wind pollinated. To be successful, they must spread their pollen over broad areas in the hopes that the pollen will make contact with a corresponding
flower of the same tree type. Part of this strategy is to produce extra-large quantities of pollen. Sort of like the shotgun approach. For the trees, this is a great strategy. For those sensitive to (read allergic) to the proteins on the pollen grains, it can spell misery. My eyes have been red, watery and itchy since the maples began blooming in early March.
What is happening, as in other allergies, is that my immune system is over-reacting to the harmless pollen in the air. At my expense, yet. Yes, there are medications that can help. Some I can take, others not. Of those I can take, some make me drowsy, others don’t. Unfortunately, in my case, the ones that don’t make me drowsy don’t seem to work on the symptoms. On the other hand, the ones that do make me drowsy work quite well on the symptoms. This would be great, except it doesn’t pay to be too drowsy when at work, if you know what I mean. So I have to settle for the lowest common denominator – suffer through the problem without pharmaceutical help. Until my body undergoes a change and no longer responds to invading protein, I guess I’m stuck with it.
I wish I had an immune system that would respond as strongly and naturally against sin. But my human nature welcomes in the invading temptations. I’m extremely susceptible on my own. Fortunately, however, there is an “over-the-counter” medication available. The Great Physician is willing to step in, any time I ask, to help against the infections. In fact, the way I understand it, as long as I am under His direct care, I won’t get sick. Not only will He work on healing me from the inside out, He’ll help me stay away from those places where I might pick up some strange “sin” protein. I think I’ll give it a try.
Yes, I know my eyes are red, and, No, I haven’t been crying. Pass me the tissues, please.
Dr. G
Post Notes:
1. Redbud and crabapple trees are insect pollinated. Little of their pollen gets in the air. Therefore, they’re not generally allergy-causing trees.
2. Pine trees, while wind pollinated, produce pollen that is non-allergenic for most people. So they don’t mess up your system. Only your car if you park near a pine tree this time of year.
3. The Great Physician’s remedies are free.
and then came the Bradford pears. Now we have a whole bunch of trees in bloom: red buds, ashes, dogwoods, hickories, pines. The oaks and flowering crab apples can’t be too far behind. The human body has a protection mechanism that involves the immune system. This system is designed to counteract foreign protein; in particular, proteins on invading parasites, bacteria and viruses. It is this mechanism that brings about the aching, fever, inflammation, watery eyes and runny noses that come with colds, flues, etc. But the system will also respond to other, non-dangerous proteins, perhaps more in some folks’ cases than in others. And that is where the trees come in to play at this time of year.
Most trees are wind pollinated. To be successful, they must spread their pollen over broad areas in the hopes that the pollen will make contact with a corresponding
flower of the same tree type. Part of this strategy is to produce extra-large quantities of pollen. Sort of like the shotgun approach. For the trees, this is a great strategy. For those sensitive to (read allergic) to the proteins on the pollen grains, it can spell misery. My eyes have been red, watery and itchy since the maples began blooming in early March. What is happening, as in other allergies, is that my immune system is over-reacting to the harmless pollen in the air. At my expense, yet. Yes, there are medications that can help. Some I can take, others not. Of those I can take, some make me drowsy, others don’t. Unfortunately, in my case, the ones that don’t make me drowsy don’t seem to work on the symptoms. On the other hand, the ones that do make me drowsy work quite well on the symptoms. This would be great, except it doesn’t pay to be too drowsy when at work, if you know what I mean. So I have to settle for the lowest common denominator – suffer through the problem without pharmaceutical help. Until my body undergoes a change and no longer responds to invading protein, I guess I’m stuck with it.
I wish I had an immune system that would respond as strongly and naturally against sin. But my human nature welcomes in the invading temptations. I’m extremely susceptible on my own. Fortunately, however, there is an “over-the-counter” medication available. The Great Physician is willing to step in, any time I ask, to help against the infections. In fact, the way I understand it, as long as I am under His direct care, I won’t get sick. Not only will He work on healing me from the inside out, He’ll help me stay away from those places where I might pick up some strange “sin” protein. I think I’ll give it a try.
Yes, I know my eyes are red, and, No, I haven’t been crying. Pass me the tissues, please.
Dr. G
Post Notes:
1. Redbud and crabapple trees are insect pollinated. Little of their pollen gets in the air. Therefore, they’re not generally allergy-causing trees.
2. Pine trees, while wind pollinated, produce pollen that is non-allergenic for most people. So they don’t mess up your system. Only your car if you park near a pine tree this time of year.
3. The Great Physician’s remedies are free.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Got Pain?
Got pain?
Physical pain: as in sciatica, or a severe burn, or migraines. Severe pain as in degenerative hip disease. Severe pain as in terminal cancer.
Got pain?
How about mental pain? As in having been rejected by one who had pledged undying love? Or the anguish of a loved one lost due to an accident. What about the mental pain from depression or loneliness?
Got pain?
What about spiritual pain, the pain of having let the Lord down? Of not having taking that chance to witness, now gone?
Got pain?
God Pain.
Try carrying a heavy cross on your back that’s been lacerated by Roman soldiers. Or the pangs of 40 days of hunger. Pain of iron spikes driven through your hands and feet. Thorns you've created tearing the flesh of your forehead and scalp.
God pain.
Deserted by those who pledged to stand beside you and fight for/with you. Stabbed in the back by one who said he had Your back. Pain of being ridiculed by family members who’ve misunderstood you. The pain of hearing those you loved crying, “Crucify Him, crucify Him.” The pain of feeling abandoned by the Father you’ve served.
Got pain?
Is it burdening you down? Give it to Him. God knows pain. Let yours become His, because He can help carry yours. And in the end, no pain!
Got pain?
God pain.
God’s pain.
No pain.
Have a better day!
Dr. G
Physical pain: as in sciatica, or a severe burn, or migraines. Severe pain as in degenerative hip disease. Severe pain as in terminal cancer.
Got pain?
How about mental pain? As in having been rejected by one who had pledged undying love? Or the anguish of a loved one lost due to an accident. What about the mental pain from depression or loneliness?
Got pain?
What about spiritual pain, the pain of having let the Lord down? Of not having taking that chance to witness, now gone?
Got pain?
God Pain.
Try carrying a heavy cross on your back that’s been lacerated by Roman soldiers. Or the pangs of 40 days of hunger. Pain of iron spikes driven through your hands and feet. Thorns you've created tearing the flesh of your forehead and scalp.
God pain.
Deserted by those who pledged to stand beside you and fight for/with you. Stabbed in the back by one who said he had Your back. Pain of being ridiculed by family members who’ve misunderstood you. The pain of hearing those you loved crying, “Crucify Him, crucify Him.” The pain of feeling abandoned by the Father you’ve served.
Got pain?
Is it burdening you down? Give it to Him. God knows pain. Let yours become His, because He can help carry yours. And in the end, no pain!
Got pain?
God pain.
God’s pain.
No pain.
Have a better day!
Dr. G
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Ring, Ring
It goes something like this:
“Ring-ring. Ring-ring.”
“Hello?”
“Hello! This call is for Dr. G. If you are that person, please stay on the line.”
The alternate form is:
“Ring-ring. Ring-ring.”
“Hello?”
“Hello! This call is for Dr. G. If you are not that person, please hang up now.”
Sound familiar? Such a warm, positive voice. Friendly; you can almost feel the smile on the other end. You’ve got about five seconds to respond. As you know, it isn’t a real person speaking to you. If you don’t hang up, somewhere in the world a computer screen will begin flashing, “WE’VE GOT A LIVE ONE!” And a REAL PERSON will come on the line and begin their spiel.
It may be from your insurance company, letting you know that you’ve just become eligible for a new service you simply can’t do without. Or, perhaps, the alumni office from a school you attended for one term. They want you to contribute to the new building for the Performing Martial Arts and Sciences program. If you’ve done business with the Fire and Rescue service, they may be looking for funding for new tires for the ambulance you helped purchase ten years ago. Again, it is possible that it may be a collection agency looking for a past due payment on a credit card you cancelled several years ago. Or a student loan re-finance offer. Or….
No matter who it’s from, one thing is sure. They want access into your pocketbook. Do you stay on the line, or hang up? If you hang up, they’ll be back. It’s like they want your very soul.
God has an automatic calling system, too. Conscience, we call it. He promised to whisper from behind, letting us know whether to turn to the right or the left.
Have you noticed that there isn’t any qualifying, “if” when the call comes? It’s always for us, and if we hang up on Him, He’s persistent: you know He’ll call back. However, unlike the other callers, He doesn’t want our money; He is after our souls. Have you let the Heavenly computer screen flash, “We’ve got a live one!” recently?
Can someone catch that phone for me? I’ve got my hands full here.
Dr. G
Friday, February 6, 2009
It's All In The Timing
Timing. It’s all a matter of timing.
If we’re standing ten feet apart and you toss me a football, there isn’t too much of an issue in timing if I’m to catch the ball. But if I’m running down the football field with two defenders at my heels, and you throw the ball to a spot 30 yards away, there has to be excellent timing if I’m to catch that ball without breaking my stride. Timing.
Or consider a toad flicking its tongue out and catching a passing housefly. What about a diver getting his or her body into just that right position to split the surface of the water with hardly a ripple? Timing.
The Scriptures are full of promises the Lord has given us. Promises of protection. Promises that He will supply our need. Promises that He’ll come again. Promises. Timing. The two go hand in hand.
I don’t believe in fate. I don’t believe in circumstances. I am convinced that the Lord plays an active role in our lives daily. He arranges opportunities for us to nurture and to be nurtured, to encourage and to be encouraged, to find examples and to be an example. It’s all in the timing.
Jesus didn’t just “happen” to be passing by the entrance to the village of Nain. He timed it to bring relief to a grief-stricken mother. It wasn’t happenstance that He was in town the day Jairus needed Him, either.
Nor was He at the well in mid-day by accident. If He had come in the middle of the morning or the middle of the afternoon, the Samaritan woman wouldn’t have encountered a Jewish male who treated her with respect, something she didn’t receive from the other women in her village. It was all in the timing, and a whole village accepted the Messiah.
The men’s chorus I sing with makes appointments to do church services, especially in smaller churches that may not attract larger performing groups or more important speakers. A number of years ago, we’d tried to arrange an appointment out west of Cleveland, but didn’t seem to be able to find a date that was suitable. Finally, one fall we set a date for late the following spring. Two months before we were to go, the church got a new pastor who wanted to organize his own program and we were dumped. We tried again the following year, and again had our appointment cancelled.
Two years after that, we tried again, and, somewhat to our surprise, we actually kept the appointment. During the preliminaries, it was announced that a member had passed away during the week. None of us knew the gentleman, and didn’t give much thought to the announcement. After the service, our group was standing around in the foyer visiting with the members of the congregation when four or five of us had the same experience. A small, white-haired lady in a shawl came up and said to each of us, “The Lord knew what I needed this morning. My husband passed away last night.” Timing.
Those of us who were there are convinced that the Lord didn’t “need” us at that particular church two and three years earlier. He needed us there that morning.
Timing. It’s all in the timing. It’s all in HIS timing. Who needs more than that?
Dr. G
If we’re standing ten feet apart and you toss me a football, there isn’t too much of an issue in timing if I’m to catch the ball. But if I’m running down the football field with two defenders at my heels, and you throw the ball to a spot 30 yards away, there has to be excellent timing if I’m to catch that ball without breaking my stride. Timing.
Or consider a toad flicking its tongue out and catching a passing housefly. What about a diver getting his or her body into just that right position to split the surface of the water with hardly a ripple? Timing.
The Scriptures are full of promises the Lord has given us. Promises of protection. Promises that He will supply our need. Promises that He’ll come again. Promises. Timing. The two go hand in hand.
I don’t believe in fate. I don’t believe in circumstances. I am convinced that the Lord plays an active role in our lives daily. He arranges opportunities for us to nurture and to be nurtured, to encourage and to be encouraged, to find examples and to be an example. It’s all in the timing.
Jesus didn’t just “happen” to be passing by the entrance to the village of Nain. He timed it to bring relief to a grief-stricken mother. It wasn’t happenstance that He was in town the day Jairus needed Him, either.
Nor was He at the well in mid-day by accident. If He had come in the middle of the morning or the middle of the afternoon, the Samaritan woman wouldn’t have encountered a Jewish male who treated her with respect, something she didn’t receive from the other women in her village. It was all in the timing, and a whole village accepted the Messiah.
The men’s chorus I sing with makes appointments to do church services, especially in smaller churches that may not attract larger performing groups or more important speakers. A number of years ago, we’d tried to arrange an appointment out west of Cleveland, but didn’t seem to be able to find a date that was suitable. Finally, one fall we set a date for late the following spring. Two months before we were to go, the church got a new pastor who wanted to organize his own program and we were dumped. We tried again the following year, and again had our appointment cancelled.
Two years after that, we tried again, and, somewhat to our surprise, we actually kept the appointment. During the preliminaries, it was announced that a member had passed away during the week. None of us knew the gentleman, and didn’t give much thought to the announcement. After the service, our group was standing around in the foyer visiting with the members of the congregation when four or five of us had the same experience. A small, white-haired lady in a shawl came up and said to each of us, “The Lord knew what I needed this morning. My husband passed away last night.” Timing.
Those of us who were there are convinced that the Lord didn’t “need” us at that particular church two and three years earlier. He needed us there that morning.
Timing. It’s all in the timing. It’s all in HIS timing. Who needs more than that?
Dr. G
Saturday, January 17, 2009
On Green Pastures
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures...
- The 23rd Psalm
Our Shepherd has all of our needs in mind. He knows of our need for rest. But I would suggest that the word "maketh" runs more along the line of "encourages, bids, provides opportunity for, or invites" than "forces, requires, mandates". He is such a loving Shepherd that, even though He may know of our need, He won't force His will on us. But the opportunity for rest is there.
Have you ever given thought to the fact that the pastures are green?. Green is such a calming, relaxing color to the human eye. Perhaps that is why a walk through the woods or in the park can be so restorative. Can you imagine lying down in a yellow pasture, or red, or even orange? No, green is the restful color. Easy on the eye, calming to the soul. I'm glad He bids me lie down in a restful place ("Come unto me...").
Have you ever laid down on the lawn, gazing up into the sky? Have you ever laid down on barren rocks, gazing up into the sky? Which was more comfortable? The pasture, of course. Pastures are serene, nutritive for the animal's needs. The "pastures" spoken of by the Psalmist were not neatly mown, fenced spaces, but sheltered, grassy, well-watered spots to which the shepherd knew he could lead his sheep. Rest, relaxation, rejuvenation, cogitation, meditation, rumination. Words that should connect our souls to the Shepherd at the green pastures He leads us to.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures...
The summer I was sixteen, my older brother and I spent some time hiking the Wonderland Trail that encircles Mt. Rainier in Washington State. From above, the mountain is not dissimilar to a spoked wheel, with alternating ridges and valleys radiating out from the central mountain's mass. As a result, any trail circumnavigating the mountain will have plenty of ups and downs - up a ridge, down into a valley. Up a ridge, down into a valley.
One day on our trip, we were going from a shelter in a meadow (green pasture) on Klapatche Ridge to another in a meadow known as Indian Henry's Hunting Ground. We'd gone down into our first valley of the day, and were cresting out near tree-line on the first ridge to climb when we began to notice that the low shrubs were festooned with shaggy white banners, not unlike the Spanish moss that is found on the live oaks of southern Georgia. Then, as we broke out into a smallish meadow, we
found a small herd of mountain goats, lying placidly and chewing their cuds not far from the trail. Amazingly (we'd tried to get close to mountain goats before, to no avail), these goats simply continued their activities (or nonactivities) and paid us no mind. They were secure in their "green pasture". My brother and I joined them for a brief breather before moving on. The Lord had ( and still has) a different pasture for us. But many times during the years since that day, when I've heard or read the 23rd Psalm, my mind's eye has gone back to that windy ridge with the mountain goats.
"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures..."
Have you found one of His pastures?
Dr. G
- The 23rd Psalm
Our Shepherd has all of our needs in mind. He knows of our need for rest. But I would suggest that the word "maketh" runs more along the line of "encourages, bids, provides opportunity for, or invites" than "forces, requires, mandates". He is such a loving Shepherd that, even though He may know of our need, He won't force His will on us. But the opportunity for rest is there.
Have you ever given thought to the fact that the pastures are green?. Green is such a calming, relaxing color to the human eye. Perhaps that is why a walk through the woods or in the park can be so restorative. Can you imagine lying down in a yellow pasture, or red, or even orange? No, green is the restful color. Easy on the eye, calming to the soul. I'm glad He bids me lie down in a restful place ("Come unto me...").
Have you ever laid down on the lawn, gazing up into the sky? Have you ever laid down on barren rocks, gazing up into the sky? Which was more comfortable? The pasture, of course. Pastures are serene, nutritive for the animal's needs. The "pastures" spoken of by the Psalmist were not neatly mown, fenced spaces, but sheltered, grassy, well-watered spots to which the shepherd knew he could lead his sheep. Rest, relaxation, rejuvenation, cogitation, meditation, rumination. Words that should connect our souls to the Shepherd at the green pastures He leads us to.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures...
The summer I was sixteen, my older brother and I spent some time hiking the Wonderland Trail that encircles Mt. Rainier in Washington State. From above, the mountain is not dissimilar to a spoked wheel, with alternating ridges and valleys radiating out from the central mountain's mass. As a result, any trail circumnavigating the mountain will have plenty of ups and downs - up a ridge, down into a valley. Up a ridge, down into a valley.
One day on our trip, we were going from a shelter in a meadow (green pasture) on Klapatche Ridge to another in a meadow known as Indian Henry's Hunting Ground. We'd gone down into our first valley of the day, and were cresting out near tree-line on the first ridge to climb when we began to notice that the low shrubs were festooned with shaggy white banners, not unlike the Spanish moss that is found on the live oaks of southern Georgia. Then, as we broke out into a smallish meadow, we
found a small herd of mountain goats, lying placidly and chewing their cuds not far from the trail. Amazingly (we'd tried to get close to mountain goats before, to no avail), these goats simply continued their activities (or nonactivities) and paid us no mind. They were secure in their "green pasture". My brother and I joined them for a brief breather before moving on. The Lord had ( and still has) a different pasture for us. But many times during the years since that day, when I've heard or read the 23rd Psalm, my mind's eye has gone back to that windy ridge with the mountain goats. "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures..."
Have you found one of His pastures?
Dr. G
Friday, January 16, 2009
Did I Sleep Through the Alarm Again?
I really sleep best in a cool room. For me, there is something about the cool air that makes/allows a deeper sleep. In fact, if I’m going to sleep through an alarm, it is most likely going to happen when I’ve got the room below 60 degrees F. 
Maybe I’m part bear, and I approach torpor (a good biological term) - the deep sleep of hibernation. I don’t know. But the other morning, the room temp was at 58 degrees F, the alarm went off at 4:00, and I was awakened at 5:05. Perhaps I need more alarms, or for my one alarm to be much more obvious.
In Matthew 24, Christ described some alarms that would go off shortly before His return. There are also suggestions throughout the New Testament that near the end of time, His followers, or perhaps, would-be followers would have a tendency to sleep. Such are given a strong warning – Wake up! It’s time to be ready!
I don’t know about you, but does it seem like some of the alarms are going off? True, there have always been wars. There have always been earthquakes and other natural disasters. There has always been social strife and commotion. Tribulations are not new to the human experience. But did you know that the word translated “tribulations” in Matthew 24 actually literally refers to labor pains? Surely you’re aware that as the birth approaches, the labor pains become more frequent and stronger. Is there a chance that I’m in torpor, and sleeping through the spiritual alarms?
Interestingly, Christ didn’t tell His followers to start getting ready when the signs became apparent (Does an expectant mother wait for the labor pains to come before getting the nursery ready?). He told His followers to be ready. That involves having an active relationship with Him now. If He’s my best friend – if I am putting Him first in my life – I’ll be spending time getting and staying ready, whether the alarms are going off or not.
Right now the world looks like it is in a real mess. It sounds as if we’re at the brink. I don’t know if we actually are or not. That’s not really the question before me. The real question is whether I’m cold (in a torpor, deeply asleep spiritually), lukewarm (awake, but not really doing a whole lot with my spiritual life), or hot (out of bed and ready to go).
Anyone want an extra blanket?
Dr. G
Maybe I’m part bear, and I approach torpor (a good biological term) - the deep sleep of hibernation. I don’t know. But the other morning, the room temp was at 58 degrees F, the alarm went off at 4:00, and I was awakened at 5:05. Perhaps I need more alarms, or for my one alarm to be much more obvious. In Matthew 24, Christ described some alarms that would go off shortly before His return. There are also suggestions throughout the New Testament that near the end of time, His followers, or perhaps, would-be followers would have a tendency to sleep. Such are given a strong warning – Wake up! It’s time to be ready!
I don’t know about you, but does it seem like some of the alarms are going off? True, there have always been wars. There have always been earthquakes and other natural disasters. There has always been social strife and commotion. Tribulations are not new to the human experience. But did you know that the word translated “tribulations” in Matthew 24 actually literally refers to labor pains? Surely you’re aware that as the birth approaches, the labor pains become more frequent and stronger. Is there a chance that I’m in torpor, and sleeping through the spiritual alarms?
Interestingly, Christ didn’t tell His followers to start getting ready when the signs became apparent (Does an expectant mother wait for the labor pains to come before getting the nursery ready?). He told His followers to be ready. That involves having an active relationship with Him now. If He’s my best friend – if I am putting Him first in my life – I’ll be spending time getting and staying ready, whether the alarms are going off or not.
Right now the world looks like it is in a real mess. It sounds as if we’re at the brink. I don’t know if we actually are or not. That’s not really the question before me. The real question is whether I’m cold (in a torpor, deeply asleep spiritually), lukewarm (awake, but not really doing a whole lot with my spiritual life), or hot (out of bed and ready to go).
Anyone want an extra blanket?
Dr. G
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)