The Real Deal

Your Mercy is limitless.

Your Encouragement for my soul is beyond expression.

Your Righteousness is our only desire.

Your Reality is the basis of all human understanding.

Your Years are infinitely uncountable.

 

Your Courage smothers the fear that emanates from Hades.

Your Heart holds the love of the universe; yet there is still room for more.

Your Remembrance of my sin is no more, as if it never was.

Your Instincts create reality.

Your Strength covers all of my weakness.

Your Timing is exact and perfectly planned.

Your Motives are pure.

Your Authority is permanent and eternal.

Your Son is our road to salvation.

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Weren’t There Ten of You?

The title of this story was the classic response from Jesus, when after healing the ten lepers, only one came back to say, thank you.  “Weren’t there ten of you?” He asked.  Of course He knew how many there were; he had just healed them.  He wanted the one person who returned with a grateful heart, and us, to know that He was questioning the whereabouts of the other nine.  In effect, Jesus was asking, “Were the others happy to be healed of this terrible disease as well?  Why didn’t they come back and say so?”  Undoubtedly, the other nine men were very happy and excited to be healed; most likely, that was the problem.  They were so excited that they forgot who to thank for their gift.  They ran off to their homes and villages to show off the miracle, to stand before the crowds and reveal how fortunate their circumstances had changed.  The gift became the focus of all, the center of attention; and the giver, the most important person in this moment, was cast in a supporting role.  The nine were confused and mistaken. It was not the gift that was important, but the giver of the gift who was the real story.  In their haste, (and happiness) they forgot about gratitude.

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You’re Welcome

As Thanksgiving approaches there will be numerous articles written, radio programs broadcasted, and television shows aired bringing to our attention the need to be thankful. Setting aside one day a year to remember, and acknowledge all the reasons we have to be thankful is a very good tradition. I encourage everyone to embrace this holiday; to be with friends and family and carefully consider how lucky we are to be American’s, living where we do, having food in the pantry and people who love us. Only, my goal this season was not to write about Thanksgiving simply because everyone else is, yet here I am mentioning Thanksgiving three times in the first paragraph. So, I’ve decided instead to focus my writing on You’re Welcome; it’s what happens after thanks.

Saying “You’re welcome” is the finale of a three part process initiated by an action; not just any action though. For instance, stepping on someone’s foot while dancing doesn’t usually lead to you’re welcome, nor would denting a car door in the grocery store parking lot. To arrive at the desired good outcome, the first step is to do something that brings joy, happiness, relief, comfort or love to another person, whether you know that person or not. An action is needed to start the process. Being thankful unto itself normally is a passive experience, and living in the level of good fortune that we do, begs for more than a passive gratitude.

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Heroes

Heroes

“Dudley Do-Right, you are my hero!” was the all-encompassing praise of Nell, the ever so sweet girlfriend want-to-be of the good mannered, yet bumbling Canadian Mountie.  Dudley’s goal in life, at least on the 1970’s cartoon, was to be Nell’s hero. Not a bad goal.  We humans have, since the beginning of recorded history, searched for, and identified with a hero figure; someone that we want to emulate.  Heroes are larger than life, they overcome great obstacles; heroes are fast, smart, typically good looking, wise, caring, brutal when dealing with a bad guy; yet humble, and kind to birds, kittens and bunny rabbits.  Everyone wants to be a hero (at least secretly), and identifies with someone living, or from the past, that they call hero.  Warriors have typically made good heroes for little boys, pitting good versus evil at terrible odds; but somehow good always triumphs.  To be a hero it is important to win big and often.  Explorers also commonly fall into the hero category, especially those who travel in either a wooden ship with many large sails, or a spacecraft with a single large engine; these explorers set out for places where “no one has gone before.”  It is also important for a hero not to go to the same place over and over again, but to seek out exciting and dangerous new places.  It is easier to be a hero if you are the creation in a book or movie, where life has a script to follow, and the writer can make certain that immoral choices are never made; where compromise is unknown and everyone (except for the bad guys) follows the rules.  Life is much harder for the hero who lives, breathes, and makes decisions for themselves.  We cannot just erase a bad drawing and start anew; real heroes, and their worshipers, must live with the consequences of a corrupt page.

We also like to expand the life of a hero into that of a role model.  Not only will we praise the hero, and dream of them, but we will try to live just like our hero.  “I want to be just like (fill in the blank) when I grow up.”  John F Kennedy was a charismatic leader with true vision, and a great love for his country.  Martin Luther King envisioned a better way to find the promise land, here at home.  Neil Armstrong walked on the moon – we all saw it on TV.  My list of heroes and role models included these people, and many more – sports figures, local celebrities, and of course, my Mother and Father.  My parents were not always the hero in the moment, it was as I grew older, and had children of my own that their heroism became apparent. 

Also, as I have aged, the reality that a hero / role model was imperfect has become abundantly clear.  Heroes are people, and people are flawed; that was not a fact when I was ten, but it is now.  Still, a person became my hero because of something specific that they were, or did:  best batting average, first on the moon, amazing speech, or the finest example of character I have ever seen.  Being human does not remove the heroic achievement, it gives it perspective.  So, to cope with the reality of human heroes, we filter out the corrupt pages and only view the ones that fit the profile of our hero: kind, strong, wise, caring, decisive, moral, and fearless – a perfect role model as defined within our very human mind.  The other pages: immoral, thief, liar, cheat, adulterer – they are torn out and cast aside, because they do not fit a hero’s mold.  It is a very natural compromise, arising from the need to have a hero in our life, and the realization that a hero cannot be perfect in all things. I still keep heroes, who are human and very flawed; because I need them, and I think they need me.  But, I realize, as I hope they do, that we are all a part of humanity, so perfection never enters into the conversation. 

When I have a need for a flawless hero, I get on my knees and look up.  I do this daily to remind myself, and Him, that perfection found its way to earth just once, and left an everlasting impression on all of us.

Thanks for reading.

Packing the Suitcase

At the moment I am somewhere between Los Angeles and Mexico City, at 37,000 feet aboard Aero Mexico flight 18. Looking out my window in row 12, I see the Gulf of California; it’s a hazy morning, so distinguishing any details of the land is hard. The best I can perceive is that the water is blue and the land, brown. I should have been a detective with skills like that.

We will be traveling for nine days and could only take one bag, so it was important to pack the right items; a combination of things I need, and possessions that are important to me. We are going to a beach in a tropical area, so bathing suits, suntan lotion, cotton tee shirts, and square bottom shirts with wildly colored flowers splashed across a black background are necessities. Of course, your basic toiletries fit into that category as well, as does my passport. Some cash, not too much, and a credit card, a camera and sandals completes my must have list. It doesn’t seem like a big list but, I still found myself on the bedroom floor with one knee on the bag and perspiration dotting my forehead as I forced the zipper closed. The person at the check in counter listed the bag weight at 46 pounds, just shy of the maximum.

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The View From My Car Window

I spent much of this week in Canada, near Toronto.  It is an absolutely beautiful area: rolling green hills, with strands of purple and yellow wildflowers winding between the small lakes and tall trees.  Autumn is gently taking stride; the trees wore bright yellow leaves, and every so often a deep red would highlight the season.  Rounded stone walls surrounded the pitched steeples of old, yet still vibrant churches at many of the four way stop signs as we drove through the countryside.  The square stone construction and arched stain glass windows of the churches reminded me of a time when days were filled with hard work on the family farm, and the nights with a fire, blanket, and a good book to end the day.  Nostalgic memories of what were, or of what I envisioned it to be, filled my mind; and I freely let it pour in, drenching my subconscious with thoughts of all that was good, and filtering out anything that wasn’t.

Our car sped down the two lane Canadian road in metric time; the signs telling me in kilometers how much further until we reached the reality of the city, where grey concrete obscured the yellow of the trees, and red was the color of the light at intersections.   The transition from the tranquility of the country, to the attempted beauty of the city was slow, like a small leak deflating a bicycle tire. Make no mistake, Toronto is an amazing city, with more to offer than most, but it cannot compare to the land that surrounds it.

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Hook Up The Plow Horse

If you were a farmer 100 years ago, you might have used a plow horse to pull the metal plow to turn and mix the soil until it was sufficiently prepared to plant the seeds.  The horse was meant to do the bulk of the labor; dragging the heavy plow through good soil and bad, while the farmer kept the horse in a straight line.  A plow horse didn’t have to move swiftly to be considered good at its job, it needed to be consistent and dependable; always moving forward toward its goal, without much complaining or urging – a good plow horse wanted to plow the field.  It knew every morning that the day would bring some rocky, dry, hard spots and, some places that were level and smooth; but, it didn’t matter, the plow horse would work its way through all of it, under the carful guidance of its farmer.

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People Watching

I am still sitting in terminal 1 in the C concourse at Chicago O’Hare airport on the 14th hour of delay, waiting for a flight home.  The monitor, which I no longer believe, says that I still have two more hours to wait. So, I do what everyone does under these circumstances; I slouch in my uncomfortable faux leather chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs to maintain circulation, and watch people walk by. 

There is a lot of talk about diversity, how everybody is different and the difference is good for everyone.  Well, in this airport I have found the grand slam of diversity.  I have seen every shape, size and color of person meander by my perch in just the last 30 minutes. I have a great location to watch and write about the world, and I don’t think I can even type fast enough to capture all that I see.  My plan is simple; I will smile at random people walking past, not too obvious-just a pleasant hello kind of smile, and note their reaction.  Here we go:

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Good News

In old movies, there was often a part where a man was sitting on the sidewalk leaning against a worn building, wearing torn clothes that supported several days of dirt, would ask a passerby, “Hey buddy, can you spare a dime?”  After the horrifying news this week coming from London about the crime, violence, and complete disregard for human dignity, the starvation in Africa, and the emotional turmoil created by the inept political and financial management of our nation’s resources, today I think the same guy would ask, “Hey buddy, can you spare some good news?”  Even if the person walking past had some good news, he might have chosen to keep it for himself, knowing that more good news would be hard to find; as if sharing good news might dilute its affect.  Or maybe, the guy walking and sitting both needed to look deeper, inside them and outside, to find that elusive good news.

This was one of those weeks where powering on any devise that linked you to world events was a risk.  Seeing the truth of what we humans can do, or accept as justifiable, was difficult; unless one took a long moment to find some of the good that was deeply hidden in all of the bad.  That’s where we enter the conversation.  As Christians we are called to find the good of the moment, and if we are able – to be the good in the moment; it is up to us to paint the silver lining on the dark cloud.  I do not suggest that we bathe ourselves in naivety; turning away from reality so as to not see what is wrong.  No, instead we must tune our eyes and ears (and our hearts) to the frequency of what is good, compassionate, and human; we must find the people, who in the midst of darkness exhibit a flicker of light.

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Five Minutes With God

“Are you ready yet?”

“Yes, almost. It doesn’t start for an hour and it will only take ten minutes to get there.”

“I know that,” replied mom, not hiding her irritation with Katie, her daughter, for not taking today more seriously.  “We need to be a little early to court.  The last thing we need is for you to be late.”

“It’s just stupid, I didn’t do anything wrong,” shot back Katie, the 19 year old daughter of Carol Young.

“It may be stupid to you, but if it goes wrong today in court you will lose your license for a year.  So let’s go.” The tension in the Young’s living room was as thick as the fog in Fresno that morning.

The drive to the Superior Court was quiet.  Two nervous women were hoping, and praying, for a fair Judge and a compassionate District Attorney.  In their previous trips to court, the outcome may have been considered fair by some, but compassion was nowhere to be found.  They arrived with twenty minutes to spare, leaving more time to squirm, tap fingers and rehearse Katie’s plea.

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