LOVE FIRST…LOVE MOST

WINSDAY WISDOM REWIND 11

The highlight of my athletic life happened when I was twelve years old. That moment sums up the Wikipedia account of sports stardom for this writer. I peaked in the first dozen years.

Why was this moment so important? That can be answered only through the perspective of a twelve-year-old boy who loved sports because his hero dad was a high school coach. I hope you will see what I saw, feel what I felt, and learn what I learned that unforgettable night.

Like many dads, mine taught me the game of baseball. He bought me my first glove and trained me to use two hands to cradle catch fly balls and to crouch for the hard-hit grounders.

Dad coached a twelve-year-old baseball team when I was seven. He gave me a uniform and inserted me into right field for the last inning of games when our team was far ahead. Of course, I thought I should be playing more. At one pre-game dinner, I asked Dad to stop treating me as though I was his son. That night, I sat on the bench for the entire game. One lesson learned.

When I was twelve, our family spent the summer in Stillwater, Oklahoma, where my dad was in the university summer school classes to earn his Masters’ Degree. Dad signed me up for Little League baseball. I played second base for a team who welcomed this outsider onto its homegrown roster.

It was a fun Sandlot type of summer. Our team had good players and coaches. We won every contest. My parents found a way to attend every game, even with Dad’s heavy load of schoolwork. They cheered loudly for the team and especially for me.

I repeat, Dad was my hero. The post-game stops for a milkshake or ice-cold root beer were memorable celebrations of victories and our relationship.

The successful season culminated with our team playing in the area championship finals. A trip to the national championship in Williamsport was the prize to the winners. It was the last inning and our team led by one run. Three outs from victory and more weeks of summer baseball.

However, we had to change pitchers. Our best pitcher had maxed out the limit of pitches allowed by the Little League rules. The change in pitchers was normally not a problem for our team, but tonight would prove differently. Why? Our second best, equally dominant pitcher, was sidelined with the mumps.

Our third pitcher was on family vacation in Colorado. Who goes on vacation on the weekend of the season’s most important game? What parent does that? This is the championship game! Get your priorities straight!

Our coach called in our first baseman to pitch. Mark was tall and lanky for twelve. He also was wild with his pitches. Eight throws, eight balls, two men walked on base. The tying run was on second base, and the potential winning run for our opponent stood on first base.

The coach walked to the pitcher’s mound, took the ball from Mark, patted him on the back, then pointed at me standing near second base. I looked around like a kid caught stealing cookies. It must be someone else! No, the coach signaled for me to come pitch.

I had never pitched, not in a real game. I sometimes pitched in batting practice because I could throw the ball over the plate in the strike zone, but slow enough for everyone to hit it. That is why it is called batting practice, not pitching practice.

The coach handed me the ball and told me not to walk anyone as Mark had just done. He said to take a deep breath and remember that the whole season is on the line.

Thank you, coach, for piling all the weight of a pressure-packed moment onto a twelve-year-old kid. “Go big or go home!” The Coach seriously underestimated my desire to go home.

I looked at the opposing team’s batter, then at the tying baserunner on second and the winning baserunner on first. I was nervous! I could not breathe!

The first pitch went right over the plate. Unfortunately, it also flew over the catcher’s head and the umpire’s head before landing against the backstop. Now, the tying run was at third base and the winning run was standing on second base.

As the catcher tossed the ball back to me, he shouted his seasoned advice, “You’re killin’ me, Smalls.”

I heard someone could be so nervous his knees would knock together. Mine shook so violently they were missing each other.

What happened next could be described as a miracle. The batter wildly swung at my next three pitches and struck out.

This was not “The Colossus of Clout” or “Mighty Casey” who struck out. This was possibly the worst Little Leaguer in the history of baseball. I cringe at the possibility he might read this account of his infamous moment. I do not understand why he swung at those pitches and neither did his coach.

One out! My teammates shouted encouragements to steady me. The opponents yelled insults to rattle me. Coaches and parents screamed at their counterparts on the other team.

The next batter popped up my first pitch to him. I caught it and now there were two outs! Maybe, I should have been pitching all summer. We were one out away from winning the championship, and I would be the star relief pitcher.

This was my iconic High Noon showdown at Tombstone, taking place at night in a ballpark. I planned for my pitch to be faster than the opposing player’s swing. I would mow down the bad guy, toss my glove in the dirt, and ride off into the night with my girl, whom I simply called Mom.

I stepped on the mound ready to end this game. I was like ice in a cool breeze. I looked at the potential tying run at third base, then glanced at the winning runner standing on second.

I glared at the opponent stepping into the batter’s box. He rearranged his batting gloves, pounded his bat on home plate, then got into his hitting stance.

Our eyes met. It was a stare-down standoff. The suspense heightened. My body tensed with every labored breath. I waited for the batter to blink first. The haunting theme music from “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” played over the loudspeakers in my head.

The music was suddenly halted by the umpire’s scream, asking if I were going to throw the ball or just stand there all night. I think he even called me Karen.

The next pitch would be the last one of this game. The excitement and tension were at their highest levels. These are the moments that define the Thrill of Victory and the Agony of Defeat.

I went through my wind-up and heaved the ball to home plate. The batter swung and hit a short, soft blooper in the direction of first base. It was an easy out.

Next came the leaps into the air, the shouts at the top of the lungs, and gloves thrown high into the air, followed by the traditional dog pile.

Wake up! My head turned to watch our first baseman catch the ball, but Mark stood uninvolved and unmoved, still in shock from his ill-fated pitching experience. I reacted instinctively as I ran toward the basepath with my eyes on the descending ball.

I stretched out my arm and the ball plopped softly into my glove. We were one second away from the championship when suddenly, our substitute second baseman crashed into me, knocking both of us down.

The ball fell to the ground and rolled across the white chalked line towards the dugout fence. I looked up from my prone position to see the tying run cross home plate and the winning runner racing around third base headed for home.

I scrambled to my knees and quickly crawled through the dirt to retrieve the errant baseball. I popped up on my knees and threw the runner out at home. That is exactly what happened…in my mind, but not in reality. As my arm went into its throwing motion, the baseball slipped out of my hands and softly fell to the ground behind me.

Anyone who has ever played or watched a youth baseball or softball game understands what happened next as the emotional rollercoaster turns from ecstatic happiness to total heartbreak. One team is jumping, hugging, shouting, tossing gloves and caps into the air, and celebrating the championship victory.

The other team mourns the loss. Some players slump to the ground; some angrily throw their gloves and caps. Some cry. I did all those things. Championship defeats hurt badly, whatever the sport, whatever the age.

My team lost, and I was the reason. Everyone knew whose son cost our team the championship. My hustling teammate did not cause me to drop the easy pop-up. The baseball had already bounced out of my glove before the collision.

I attempted a sweet one-handed grab instead of the safer two-handed style taught by my dad. I dropped the ball a second time with my attempted throw to our catcher. I was crushed beyond belief. Devastated.

The distance between the joy of victory and the depression of defeat is one very small step. The time between dancing on the mountaintop to crying in the valley is measured in seconds. There was no joy in Mudville that day. My world had ended.

The philosopher, Aristotle, wrote about the metaphor, catharsis–the process of releasing emotions in the face of true tragedy. He described it as both helpful and healthful to the heart. Aristotle never played Little League baseball.

Cathartic? How is this supposed to be good for the heart? This little kid was heartbroken. I sat motionless on the bench with my cap pulled down to hide my tear-filled eyes. Sad thoughts raced through my mind.

This is not how the movie was supposed to end. Gary Cooper’s Marshal Kane does not get shot by a faster gun at High Noon.

Catharsis? I was releasing emotions. It was neither helpful nor healthful. Forget you, Aristotle. I dropped the baseball.

The Agony of Defeat. I can still taste the dust. Seriously, my mouth is dusty dry even now. I cringe at the thought of that baseball slipping out of my hand.

I vividly remember the sight of the opposing team’s runner joyfully jumping onto home plate. I still feel the sadness and darkness deep down in my memory bank.

The coach sat us all down in the dugout and talked about what a great season it had been. He encouraged us all to get better so we could win the championship next year. Well, I would not be back next year because I did not live in this town; besides, my teammates would not want me back on their team. No one would be calling, “Shane! Come back!”

When the consolation talk finished, the distraught players slowly exited the bench area, while the coaches bagged the equipment.

I sat there in silence. Heartbroken. Tears still streaming down my cheeks. I bit my lip and pondered an exit strategy. The coach literally helped me to my feet, guided me out of the dugout, and patted me on the back as we left the ballfield.

In that moment, I decided to run away. I could not face my disappointed dad. I could not answer why I dropped the ball while acting like some showboat star player.

So, my solution was to run away. I did not know where. I did not know for how long, but anywhere would be better than my present option.

I stood there at the edge of the ballpark, head bowed, shoulders slumped, with my cap pushed down to cover my eyes. The stadium lights were turned off causing the surrounding area to darken. The gravel parking lot lay ahead and the tree-lined park behind. This was the crossroads of my twelve-year-old sporting career.

Would I run? What direction?

I raised my head slightly, just to see our family car in the parking lot. I saw two feet standing next to it, obviously belonging to my father. I did not want to hear a parental lecture on how to properly catch a pop-up fly ball. I certainly did not want to look into my dad’s disappointed eyes, but I did want to see him one last time before I ran away in the opposite direction.

What I saw in that moment brings me to tears even now. It shaped my life…forever. Not just as an athlete, but as a son, as a father, as a grandfather, and as a man seeking to influence and impact the lives of other sons and fathers.

I looked up with those moistened eyes and trembling lips to see my dad standing by the car. He was looking at me. He was waiting for me…with his arms opened wide.

This twelve-year-old boy ran across the gravel parking lot as fast as he could go, jumped into his dad’s arms, and sobbed uncontrollably. I can still feel those huge forearms wrapped around me in a big bear hug.

Finally, I mumbled how sorry I was for dropping the ball. What I saw and felt in that moment were superseded by what I heard.

“That’s OK, Son. I still love you! Let’s go home!”

Never have I heard words which impacted me more. I understood in that moment words which would carry me through the rest of my life. Words that would teach me about my relationship with my Heavenly Father. Words that would shape me as a father to my kids. 

It’s OK! I still love you! Let’s go home!

• God’s love always comforts; it never condemns.
• God’s love always continues; it never ceases.
• God’s love always takes us home; it never closes the door.

No matter how I mess up in life, intentionally or unintentionally, I am still loved. No matter how often or how far I try to run in the wrong direction, I still have a home.

I AM IN AWE OF HOW AND WHY GOD LOVES ME.                                                                    I am thankful to a dad who taught and demonstrated that love to me.

What is your biggest mistake or disappointment in life? Where did you drop the ball? What hurt, fear, worry, guilt, or loss has you weighed down under its heavy burden? What causes you to want to run away from God and others?

God is always with you. God is always for you. Whatever the mess, God never loves you less. 

GOD NEVER LOVES YOU LESS!

One of my favorite verses declares our Heavenly Father’s wonderful promise: God is over you, beside you, in you, around you, and underneath you (Isaiah 41:10).

God has you covered in His love. God’s loving arms remain wide open. You never face a game or a challenge or a crisis alone. You never go through difficulty and suffering alone. You never experience trials, troubles, and tribulations alone.

God’s infinite love is wider, longer, higher, and deeper than you can ever imagine.

Whenever I drop the ball in loving others, I run into the loving arms of my Heavenly Father. My prayer is that you will join me. It will change your life forever.

NO MATTER WHAT SEEMS TO GO WRONG IN YOUR LIFE, YOUR HEAVENLY FATHER NEVER, NEVER, NEVER LOVES YOU LESS.

Please allow me to speak directly to your heart. “It’s OK. I still love you. Let’s go home.”

Love first. Love most.

WINSDAY WISDOM 232

Have you ever been tear-gassed? My college experience was terrifying.

I heard there was something big happening at Harvard Square, the main intersection next to our college campus. I raced five blocks from my dorm to where the action was taking place.

Pandemonium–a situation where a crowd of people act in a wild, loud, uncontrolled manner. Commotion. Confusion. Craziness. Crisis. Chaos.

This was the flash point that led to the Harvard Square tear-gas confrontation. A student group organized a parade down Boston’s Beacon Street. They crossed the Harvard Bridge and marched down Massachusetts Avenue which ended at the large intersection in front of the entrance to Harvard Yard.

This protest united the anti-war crowd with the radical Black Panther group. If that were not enough, they were joined by members of the Women Liberation. It was the trifecta of protests!

The protest crowd eventually swelled to three thousand students on this sunny, spring day.

Note: My personal observation is that college student protests take place in comfortable weather conditions. Students are not as dumb as they act. I have not studied all historic revolutions, but I imagine most began in good weather. For example, Paul Revere’s famous ride occurred in April along with the cherry blossoms, not when New England was covered with snow.

The sound truck was used to exhort the crowd to “march on Harvard Square where the enemies are.” The growing rage evolved into some street fighting as traffic was blocked and some store windows were smashed.

By seven o’clock that evening, the protest crowd had attracted a similar number of onlookers. The riot police force formed an unbreakable barrier. Most stood and watched as protesters threw rocks at store windows and the police.

I raced to the scene. As I turned the corner from the side street, I hit the brakes. I was staring into a long line of Swat team guys dressed in riot gear. They stood united in their helmets, face guards, shields, and nightsticks. They were holding tear gas guns.

It looked like a war zone.

My sudden appearance from around a dark corner startled some of the riot force. Their reaction frightened me. My heart pounded and my feet quickly reversed my path as several officers stepped in my direction.

As I retreated to the edge of the street, I scaled a small tree and sat on the branch. I looked like Zaccheus waiting on Jesus to pass by.

From the tree branch, I had a gallery seat view of the riot scene. Students protesting the Viet Nam War were sitting in the street blocking traffic. They held signs and water bottles.

Loud protest chants echoed through the Square. An occasional object was hurled in the direction of the police blockade. Loudspeakers blared with instructions demanding the students to peacefully disperse.

Oh, the irony. Students protesting the war would not peacefully depart the confrontation without an altercation leading to injuries and arrests. This was not pictures of the modern day Palestinian-Israeli conflict and its American counterparts protesting in the streets. Anti-war, Equality, and Liberation protesters were smashing windows, throwing rocks, and overturning police vehicles in the middle of the Home of Freedom.

The police warning was reiterated again and again. When the protesters did not leave the Square, the side-by-side police force moved closer. I could have sold my VIP perch for a lot of money. I had a panoramic view of the entire area.

The melee worsened. Women taunted the police with their screams and signs. Several draped bras over the shoulders of the men assigned to keep the peace. The standoff went on for hours as the tensions heightened.

Some protesters sat in silence blocking the flow of traffic while others issued defiant screams. A few protesters’ rage led to broken store windows and two overturned police cars. Several fires were set. A few members of the tactical force wildly swung their clubs as protesters screamed into their faces.

Pandemonium ruled the night. The protest speeches were loud and passionate. The riot squad was quiet and intimidating. The firemen were putting out the fires. Tempers flared as this peaceful protest march transformed into a war zone.

Suddenly, the police force fired cannisters of tear gas into the raucous crowd. The protesters began coughing and choking, trying to cover their faces as they ran into the nearby darkness.

Tear gas can cause shortness of breath and a burning sensation of the eyes, mouth, nose, and lungs. I watched as the crowd dispersed in all directions. Some needed help to see. Many stumbled for safety as they passed right under my tree limb.

I had never seen anything like this except on television. It was a little frightening and a little humorous…until the mixture in the air reached my tree.

My eyes began to burn. My throat tightened. I could not see nor breathe. I quickly dropped from the tree landing on two fleeing students. They thought they had been bombed. I thought I was going to be trampled. We all picked ourselves up from the sidewalk and fled down an alleyway.

Jesus did not need tear gas to get Zacchaeus down from his tree stand. This had the same result. I was going back home to have a “Come to Jesus Talk.”

For the uninitiated, the “come to Jesus talk” is where a person of authority has a heart to heart meeting regarding the necessity for the other person to improve his/her attitude and actions. A change has to be made.

In my case, a lesson was learned. Tear gas flows outward and upward. If you sit down with the ducks, you might be mistaken for a duck.

Arrests were made. Makeshift medical rooms were set up in local churches. A curfew was set. Calls were made to parents just settling in for their evening slumber.

“Hey, Mom, guess what? I just got tear-gassed at the university.”

Nothing like this had ever happened in my little hometown. My exposure to such challenges to authority were limited to two students spraying graffiti on the lockers because they had been suspended from school for disrupting an English class.

A loud lady organized her private protest of the local IGA store because they ran out of their soda sale items. Karen had more problems than Pepsi with no fizz. She was also missing a few coupons.

Our Barney Fife cop once had a face-off with our town’s top drag racers. He parked two blocks away and honked his horn. The showdown at midnight never generated any arrests. That was probably because most of the town was lining both sides of the speedway. No one felt the need to protest.

I had been introduced to student protests at my liberal college in Boston. My young Writing teacher spent several nights in jail when he refused to stop distributing war protest materials on the city streets. He took it out on my freshman writing assignments. One of his comments written across my latest book report included the thoughts of his antiwar thinking.

“How did you get into this school with your simplistic writing ability?”

I wish he had stayed in jail. Then I could write him some notes filled with “simplistic” sarcasm.

That spring brought the protests even closer. I will save that account for another time.

Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” The phrase is used in our everyday speech to indicate doubt of someone’s sincerity regarding the strong denial of the truth.

Do you ever protest? Too much, methinks?

Protests are becoming more prevalent. All groups want the culture’s attention. So, there are marches and rallies and counter rallies. There are slogans and shouts. Some group responds with a cancel culture of their opposing group who has already blacklisted them.

Families and individual relationships get in on the protest of grievances. We join the parade.

We often seek to shift the blame of our situation onto someone else. We demand better treatment. We scream, carry signs, engage in stubborn sit-down moments, and even go on strike, refusing to love or consider reconciliation.

We demand our rights or, at least, our wants.

Does it actually help?

A protest can help raise awareness about issues that might not yet have reached the mainstream. However, a protest does not guarantee that others agree with your viewpoint.

Too often, our words spread like tear-gas. They hurt and burn and create distance in the relationship. Wrong words can stab the soul and crush the spirit.

However, a word remains the most powerful of all the four-letter words. The right word at the right time can breathe life into a dying soul. It produces hope and courage in a fearful heart.

“Words fitly spoken are like apples of gold in a setting of silver” (Proverbs 25:11).

Colors fade. Shorelines erode. Leaves fall. Empires crumble. But right “words” spoken at the right time are like a personalized piece of gold jewelry. It fits the person perfectly and, most importantly, it endures.

The love language words of Jesus are life changing. They empower the soul with courage and hope.

The greatest message you can share is to love first and love most. Start with the words and actions mentioned by Jesus as the Golden Rule. “Do for others what you would want them to do for you. This is the teaching of God’s Word in a nutshell” (Matthew 7:12).

If you wonder where to start in a relationship, start with the Golden Rule. It prevents the need for protests or a long list of rules.

Just put yourself in the other person’s place and think, “What would I need if I were him or her?” Then do it.

We all protest too much, methinks. Let us set aside our personal protests. Practice the Golden Rule. The words will be precious. The actions will be powerful.

WINSDAY WISDOM REWIND 10

I’m gonna tell you a story about my town…
Yeah, down by the river
Down by the banks of the river Charles
That’s where you’ll find me
Along with lovers, muggers, and thieves
Aw, but they’re cool people

Well, I love that dirty water
Oh, Boston, you’re my home
—Dirty Water by the Standells, also covered by Bruce Springsteen (The song is played during home postgame victory celebrations by the Boston Bruins’ hockey team and baseball’s Boston Red Sox.)

The flashing blue lights and siren startled us as the Boston Metropolitan Police car came flying off the interstate racing down the banks toward the River Charles which flows through Cambridge, Massachusetts, into the Boston Harbor. That’s where they found us. We were not lovers, muggers, or thieves. I did think we were pretty cool people.

We were just a bunch of first-year college students enjoying a springtime bonfire down by the river where the Ryan O’Neal and Ali MacGraw movie, Love Story, was filmed earlier that year. Our fun event entailed tossing the frisbee, roasting marshmallows, and lots of laughter with friends. It was a nice break from the studies routine.

Our frolicking festivities were temporarily interrupted by a couple of young adolescent boys running through the campfire group. They were just kids, but they might have been part of the “thieves” hanging out near the dirty water. They would grab the frisbee or the football. We would chase them and retrieve our stolen item. This snatch and grab followed by our catch and grab was executed several times. It became very annoying.

As time passed, my frustrated friend Joel established his own no-trespassing rule. He picked up one of the small branches to be used for the bonfire and issued a threat to the next intruder. They came and he chased. His stick was more for defensive purposes, but he did look like Thor wielding a mighty sword to protect the ladies in distress.

The delinquent villains ran away, and we all returned to the party. However, Joel was spent. The anger and energy had spoiled his social game. He retreated to the dorm for a shower. This time, we did not hide all his clothes. Going to Widener Library wearing only a towel was frowned upon, even in our liberal arts school.

The fun and games down by the river continued. The skies darkened and the bonfire blazed. Stories and laughter dominated the conversations. No one was spouting political jargon or printing banners for the next social protest. This was college…the way it was meant to be. Faces of friends shining amidst the fire’s glow.

Then we heard the sirens from an emergency vehicle. That was not unusual since the interstate was located near the river. We saw the flashing blue lights approaching. Suddenly, the police car swerved off the road and down the highway embankment toward our campfire alongside the river.

The speeding car squealed to a stop about fifty feet from where our group gathered. Two policemen jumped from the car. One approached us and ordered us all to stand still. The other police officer opened the back door of his car to let out a passenger. It was the little rag runt who had spoiled our party.

As the officer and the little kid closed in on our party of ten, the boy pointed at me and yelled out, “That’s him! That’s him!”

The lawman asked if the squealer was sure. You had to love his reply. “Yes, I’m sure. I remember that smirk on his face.”

My quirky smirk has been a trademark and nemesis throughout my life. It’s not a smile and it’s not a frown. I think it is usually a response of muffled amusement. Or that my mind is engaged in some planned retort that should never see the light of day. Some might call it a sheepish grin. Others would say it is distracting or judgmental in tone. It is just a defining funny look.

This kid stooge certainly pointed it out. The officer grabbed my arm and declared I was under arrest. He forcibly marched me to the patrol car. I was ordered to lean face first against the car and place my hands behind my back.

He handcuffed me. I was told I was being charged with Assault and Battery. Then the law enforcement officer read me my legal rights, especially the right to be silent.

This was Boston, not my little Midwestern hometown. No one had heard of Miranda Rights or the River Charles. If you wanted action, you went to the Fireworks stand or Tenkiller Lake. You could catch an occasional weekend fight at Sunset Corner.

Our town had only one Barney Fife deputy. Most of the time, he slept in the police car as the drag racers sped down the main highway. If anyone was guilty of anything in our small town, the police called your momma.

My major crimes in that hole-in-the-wall place never led to arrest, court sentencing, and hard prison time in the state penitentiary. Now that the statute of limitations has passed and my parents are enjoying heaven, I confess to a few unnamed misdemeanors.

My enjoyment of fireworks and destruction included blowing up my little brother’s toy soldiers and beautifully detailed model airplanes with well-placed cherry bomb explosions. It was a fun way to teach the young man a life lesson. Sometimes, hard work and dreams just go up in smoke. Sorry, kid. Don’t cry.

My Uncle Derwin did jokingly, but shamefully, accuse me of taking money out of the church offering plate. I packed my bags that afternoon and started walking my six-year-old body to the bus station.

The point of these storied diversions is that I did not have the crime profile of a hard-edged criminal. I had been a reasonably good kid growing up.

Now here I was as a college student in the big city of Boston and under arrest. Oh, the shame and embarrassment. The officer turned me around and yelled in my frightened face, “Why did you hurt this young boy?”

I pleaded my innocence. The little lad kept crying and pointing at me. “That’s him, officer. That’s the guy who hit me.”

The two police officers were not in any mood for questions or explanations. It was just time to put away the hardened criminals, especially this one. They thought I  might be one of those student protesters.

When Jesus was questioned with false accusations, He did not answer. I lacked the spiritual fortitude to withstand the attack. I was scared. I stuttered, “What did I do?”

The officer raised the shirt of the juvenile accuser to expose a large bruise on his side and back. The kid screamed, “That’s where he hit me with the big stick.”

Everyone was yelling and no one was communicating. The devilish delinquent was yelling. The policeman was yelling. My friends were yelling. I would have been yelling but my throat locked up from fright. At least, I don’t think I was smirking.

This is the point where the Prison Captain in the movie Cool Hand Luke speaks the infamous line to the prisoner played by Paul Newman, “What we have here is a failure to communicate.”

Thankfully, the girls in our group came to my defense. The guys remained silent for the most part. No gladiator stood up to defend my honor. They found the whole dilemma quite amusing.

My roommate, now a Harvard lawyer, did not remind the police to read me my Miranda rights. He just stood behind the group, contemplating the enjoyment of visiting me in jail. Andy would eventually reason with the officers about the mistaken identity of the accused.

The police were just doing their job. Abuse is an extremely serious issue. Every abused spouse or child needs protection. Every accused man declares his blamelessness. There was nothing different about this situation…except for the cluster of pretty women pleading my innocence.

Never underestimate the powerful pleas of a pretty girl. They convinced the officers that I was not the guy who had a run in with the terrible tyke. That person had left the banks of the River Charles and returned to his dorm. He was not guilty, and neither was the smirker. No one had touched the accuser who had infiltrated the bonfire party.

I wrestled with thoughts about jail time and how to tell my parents. After much discussion, the officers were convinced that I did not belong in handcuffs. Under strong questioning, the juvenile admitted that his dad had beaten him the night before. That is so sad and far too prevalent in this world.

The law enforcement car left the premises headed for the kid’s home. We returned to the bonfire down by the banks of the River Charles. We just chilled along with the other lovers, muggers, and thieves. The cool crowd had a story to tell.

Let’s all do better at loving first and most. You never know whom you meet along life’s highway or what they are facing in life. Some are guilty of self-centeredness, and some are victims of abuse. Some are falsely accused or socially abused. Some judge and condemn. Some hide in shame. Others struggle to survive.

The men and women in blue are much needed and should be much appreciated. They have their own family issues to deal with as well. A few might be black sheep, but that does not discount the mass of self-sacrificial guardians of our freedom and safety. Share a friendly wave. Be sure to make all five fingers visible.

Let us all be thankful for those precious moments with our families and friends. Let us all be mindful of those struggling in their family or involved with the wrong kind of friends.

And let us all be grateful for the merciful forgiveness of the Supreme Judge who does know all the wrong things we have said and done. We belong in an eternal prison of darkness reserved for the guilty, yet He treats us to the highest place of heavenly honor. Why? Our innocence was secured by the great love of Another willing to be bound and punished for our wrongdoing. It was not a case of mistaken identity. It was voluntary, substitutionary love.

Let us learn from Jesus how to love others first and most.

Oh Lord, help us not to be quick to judge or condemn others. Please help us to stop just saying we love people, but to show it by our actions.

I want my soul to sing and dance with the thoughts expressed in one of the greatest hymns written by those of us who stand accused by the adversary:

The love of God is greater far
Than tongue or pen can ever tell;
It goes beyond the highest star,
And reaches to the lowest hell;
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His Son to win;
His erring child He reconciled,
And pardoned from his sin.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.

Oh, love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure—
The saints’ and angels’ song.

                          —The Love of God by Frederick Lehman

WINSDAY WISDOM 231

Do you love me? What a question!

The answer to that question carries a lot of commitment and responsibility in a relationship. In some cases, the question can also generate a lot of anxiety.

In my younger, single days, that question rattled my nerves. It always marked the moment I began to back away from a good relationship. It was the sign that started me on a long walk back to Solitaryville.  

In later years, I enjoyed the scene with Jack Nicholson and Shirley MacLaine in the movie, Terms of Endearment. It was not funny to any female, but I could identify with the sentiment.

In the movie, Nicholson’s character is a former astronaut bachelor about to leave on a plane. Shirley’s character was his next-door neighbor who had just told him she loved him,

Shirley: Do you have any reaction to my telling you I love you?

Jack: I was just inches from a clean getaway.

Shirley: Well, you’re stuck, so face it.

Jack: Well, I don’t know what else to say except my stock answer.

Shirley: Which is?

Jack: I love you too, kid.

There came a time I told my future wife that I loved her. She just stood there in shock. After an awkward pause, I asked if she had anything she wanted to say. She responded, “I love you too, kid.” (Funny girl!)

Well, I can always fall back on the Contours’ hit single revived in the classic movie Dirty Dancing…Do You Love Me (Now That I Can Dance)?

Tell me, (Tell me), Tell me
Do you love me? (Do you love me?)
Now, do you love me? (Do you love me?)
Now, do you love me? (Do you love me?)
Now that I can dance! (Watch me now, hey!)

Do you love me? That becomes an even more important issue when asked by Jesus.

When Jesus asked that question of Peter, I imagine Peter thought he was headed to Solitaryville or worse. Peter knew he had a chance to fulfill his pledge of dying loyalty to Jesus, but he blew it. He caved in big time. Spiritual failure.

Have you ever felt that way? I have. Some of you might be sitting on the sidelines because of your failures. You might go through the practice motions, but you have benched yourself. How can you say you love Jesus? How could Jesus still love you?

Do YOU love ME?

Jesus followed the question with a simple statement we can all understand. “Follow Me. Trace my likeness into your life…Love others the way I love you” (John 21).

Do YOU Love ME? When Jesus asks that question, it becomes the most important question you will ever be asked.

The question is about a Person (Jesus) and the question is Personal to YOU. Not one of us is exempt from this question. It is not only the most important thing in life, but it also determines your life’s earthly impact and your eternal destination.

Let’s begin with some context for this question from the #1 Textbook. Jesus was crucified and risen, now preparing early morning breakfast on the shoreline for the disciples fishing about one hundred yards away on the lake.

Jesus had just voluntarily laid down his life for them. However, those dear friends of Jesus had bailed and failed to love Him at the very moment His love was demonstrated for them.

One disciple, Peter, had previously promised he would remain loyal to death even if all the others turned away. While Jesus laid down His life for Peter and the others, Peter denied three times any affiliation with Jesus and cursed at the suggestion he loved Him. All of that was done in the sight and hearing of Jesus.

Peter was excited and overjoyed at seeing the living Jesus. He swam to shore, embraced Jesus, and ate some breakfast with Him. As they sat around the fire, surely, there were thoughts of the stinging similarity with another fire where he warmed himself a few days earlier and denied any love for Jesus. When faced with a question about devotion to Jesus, Peter declared, “I do not even know the man.”

Peter’s mind must have been racing and his heart pounding. Then Jesus looked right into the eyes of Peter and asked, “Do you love me?”

Do YOU love ME?

I invite you to place yourself into that scene. Be there. Feel the atmosphere. Breakfast and laughter. Joy and apprehension. This Jesus had proven He could read the minds and hearts of His followers (John 16:30). Jesus knew what they were thinking and saying without any audible sounds. Likewise, He knows your actions and words from this past week. He knows your thoughts right now.

Here, around this shoreline campfire, is the one Person who loves you and the others to the utmost. He has always loved you first and most. Now, Jesus serves you breakfast with His nail-scarred hands.

What was Peter thinking and feeling? What are you thinking and feeling right now with the eyes of the Lord locked on you?

I imagine Peter’s thoughts were jumbled in his mind. His heart raced. His palms were sweating. His stomach churned. His eyes moistened. Maybe, his lips were quivering as He wondered what Jesus really thought of him.

Their eyes meet again, and Jesus breaks the silence with an unforgettable question followed by a loving command. Three times.

Do YOU love ME?

In the original Greek translation of their conversation, Jesus and Peter use different words for “love.” I think that coincides with the varied spectrum of definitions we use in our culture when saying the word, “love.”

This is my paraphrase of the conversation.

Jesus says, “Do you love Me with this unconditional, unlimited, unfailing, unending kind of love I have for you?”

Peter responds, “Well, I really like you a lot, like a friend.”

Jesus repeats His question, “Do you love Me with this giving up yourself for the other person kind of love?”

Peter’s second reply echoes his first, “I really like you.”

For the third question, Jesus changes the verb to Peter’s definition of love. “Do you like Me as much as you say?”

Peter responds, “Lord, you know what my heart feels…You know the truth. How can I say I love you the way You love me? You know I cannot say that after what I have done.”

Yes, Jesus knew what was in Peter’s heart. He knows the truth of what is in my heart and in your heart right now.

We know that the most important thing in life is to love God with all your heart and to love others as yourself. We know that the way to love like Jesus is to give up yourself for the good of the other person. We know that true love will always love first and love most.

And we know, we fall far short of the Lord’s definition of true love. We fail to show what we say. But whatever we say or do or believe or define as love, the real definition of love is defined and demonstrated by Jesus. That is the divine standard. That is the only measurement of genuine love.

Many poets, authors, songwriters, lovers, and playboys have added their descriptions of love. A movie and song declared Love is a Many-Splendored Thing. Micky and Sylvia sang Love is Strange. The tragic Harvard Love Story ends with the famous line, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.” The ancient Greek philosopher, Plato, was a little more skeptical when he declared, “Love is a serious mental disease.”

Shakespeare wrote, “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.” That is closer to the truth. Genuine love does not alter with the changing circumstances; it is fixed and unchanging. It does not ebb and flow like the tides nor does it increase or decrease like the winds.

But all romantic and philosophical expressions pale in comparison to Jesus’ definition.

The #1 Textbook describes a true love that suffers long, lasts forever, and never fails. The book of Jesus’ love strongly declares that without His kind of love, we are nothing.

Whatever its definition, we know love is “patient and kind and longsuffering and full of mercy and forgiving” (1 Corinthians 13).

“Here is how we know and understand the love of God, because He laid down His life for us” (1 John 3:16). “God demonstrated His own love for us, in while we were still sinful enemies, Jesus Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).

The true definition of love is a Person. That Person is the Lord Jesus Christ. He is Love personified. The love of Jesus never alters, never changes, never lessens, never ends, never fails, no matter who is the recipient and no matter what circumstances are involved. Jesus always loves first and most.

Jesus asks you again, “Do YOU love ME?

What is your answer based on Jesus’ definition and demonstration of love? Do you just love the idea of going to heaven in much the same way you choose a vacation destination. You prefer heaven to hell. Do you like the atmosphere of a church in the same manner you choose a restaurant. It meets your needs and preferences. That is not love.

Do YOU love JESUS? Is He first and foremost in your heart? Is He before and above everyone and everything else?

Do YOU love ME? I state again that this is a very personal question.

Jesus had renamed the disciple as Peter, the rock. He now addresses the three-time denier as Simon (the shaky one), how he was known before he followed Jesus.

The question is about a personal restoration of your relationship to Jesus, just as it was for Simon Peter. Yes, the Lord knows how much or how little you love Him. What is His response to Simon’s failure and our shortcomings?

“Go love others the way I have loved you.“

Jesus LIVES in you to LEAD you to others He intends to LOVE through you.

Yes, this is personal. Love is about a Person, and it is to be directed to other persons.

Jesus did not tell Simon to repent for all his denials and failures. He did not tell Simon to have a pity party or take a backrow seat. Jesus told Peter to go show others the love of Jesus that transformed his life.

You cannot love others like some Simon character, the person you used to be. What was true for Peter, is true for you and me. The only way to love others is to become the person the Lord has made you.

“This is my commandment, that you love others just as I have loved you” (John 15:12). “We know what real love is from Christ’s example in dying for us. So, we also ought to lay down our lives for others” (1 John 3:16).

There it is. Do YOU love ME? Then trace Jesus’ likeness into your life. “Be imitators of God and walk in love just as Jesus Christ has loved us by giving Himself up for us” (Ephesians 5:1-2). Imitate Jesus. Be a mime. Become a tracing tablet. Be a personal demonstration of Christ’s love.

Showing love is not about comparison to anyone else. When Peter looked back at John, he asked, “But what about him?” Jesus replied, “What does that have to do with you? Nothing.”

Loving first and most has nothing to do with who the other person is or how they act. It is never altered by what he/she says or does not say, nor by what he/she does or does not do.

Jesus’ question and command is personal. It is solely about YOU taking your love for God and love for others to a higher level. Love is about delight, not duty. It is about personal devotion, not people comparisons.

This question is about YOU. Do YOU love Jesus? Will you lay down your life for others?

YOU WILL NEVER TRULY LOVE GOD AND OTHERS UNTIL YOU ACT LIKE THE PERSON GOD MADE YOU TO BECOME.

I close this time of reflection with a quote from J.C. Ryle, an old preacher now in heaven.

“OF ALL THE THINGS THAT WILL SURPRISE US WHEN WE AWAKE IN HEAVEN, I BELIEVE WE WILL BE MOST SURPRISED THAT WE DID NOT LOVE JESUS CHRIST MORE BEFORE WE DIED.”

Jesus meets you today where He met the heart of Peter on that resurrection morning…back at the beginning. Back where this relationship all started. For Simon Peter, it began beside the lake after a successful fishing trip.

It is the loving Lord coming to where you are and saying again, “I love you to the utmost. My love for YOU is unconditional, unlimited, unfailing, unending. It is longsuffering and everlasting.”

Do YOU love ME?

It is one simple, yet life-changing question with one simple and equally life-changing command. “Go love others as I have loved you.”

JESUS IS THE GOD OF ANOTHER CHANCE…and another and another as needed. Go love Jesus and others more today than yesterday and even more tomorrow.

“At the heart of the Christian story, it is a relationship with Jesus. It is a love affair. It is not a course in systematic theology.” (Alistair Begg)

AT THE HEART OF THE CHRISTIAN STORY, IT IS A LOVE AFFAIR WITH JESUS.

There is coming a moment when we will all wish we had loved Jesus and others more.

Let’s take our love to a higher level today. Keep reminding yourself why you love Jesus!

Living, He loved me
Dying, He saved me
Buried, He carried my sins far away
Rising, He justified freely forever
One day He’s coming
Oh glorious day, oh glorious day! — Glorious Day (Casting Crowns lyrics)

Winsday Wisdom 229

I was recently reminded of the wonderful benefits of calling God. It began with one of several calls to AT&T customer service.

Regrettably and ashamedly, I have been a long, long-time customer of AT&T. I might have been born that way. I have remained a miniscule part of their empire’s vast bankroll out of a false sense of loyalty or a reluctance to change my ways or just financial stupidity.

Please do not send me information on better options. Best network. Best phones. Best coverage. Best plans. Best price. I can read and I can do math. I am just strange about these things and, therefore, not very well-off financially.

For years, I have experienced overcharges, hidden charges, and extra charges. Over those years, I have spent more time with AT&T customer service than with some of my grandkids.

Anyway, last month’s charges were the straw that broke this camel’s back. The time came where I could identify with the Steve Martin character in the remake production of the movie, Father of the Bride. Faced with the enormity of additional charges for his daughter’s upcoming wedding, George Stanley Banks went bonkers in a supermarket, deciding to tear open a package of hotdog buns, and pay for only the number he needed.

Movie script:

George Banks is in the supermarket tearing open two hotdog bun packages saying, “Mellowing out is not in the cards.”

Supermarket stock boy: Excuse me sir, what are you doing?

George: I’ll tell you what I’m doing. I wanna buy eight hotdogs, and eight hotdog buns to go with them. But nobody sells eight hotdog buns; they only sell twelve. I end up paying for buns I don’t need. So, I am removing the superfluous buns!

Stock boy: Sir, you’ll still have to pay for all twelve buns. They’re not marked individually.

George: Yeah. And do ya wanna know why?! Because some big-shot over at the wiener company got together with some big-shot over at the bun company and decided to rip off the American public! Because they think the American public is a bunch of trusting nitwits who will pay for things they don’t need rather than make a stink.

Supermarket Assistant Manager: Get me security!

George: Well, they’re not ripping off this nitwit anymore because I’m not paying for one more thing I don’t need. George Banks is saying NO!

Stock boy: Who’s George Banks?

George: ME!

Assistant Manager: Why don’t we just calm down now, sir?

George: I’ll tell you why WE don’t calm down because you are not excited. It takes two people for a WE to calm down, doesn’t it?

Assistant Manager: If you do not pipe down and pay for those buns, I am going to call the police.

George: Right! (as he marches away with his shopping cart)

Next scene: George is sitting in a police cell. “That was the low point.”

I had reached that same frustration level. This was my do-or-die moment with AT&T. A jail cell without a phone might be a relief from the stressful agitation.

Admittedly, the customer agents did not take the confrontation any more seriously than the clerk questioning George. The supervisor asked me to confirm what was on her computer screen: “What is your name?” …  “What is your problem? … “You still have to pay.”

Through an extended time with a customer agent, the overcharge was corrected, and I was offered a new phone plan which drastically reduced my monthly bill. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

The next month I was billed the previous overcharged amount. That was corrected through another lengthy conversation with a customer agent and his supervisor. I have to admit that AT&T never flinched at the possibility of losing a few crumbs from their oversized cookie jar. They just got tired of staying on the phone for so long.

A few days later, AT&T automatically withdrew payment from my checking account for the previous excessive bill. Another call and another supervisor with a short bypass to the legal department to report possible fraud led to this tired, frustrated, but satisfied George Banks enjoying his eight hotdog buns ripped out of the twelve-bun phone plan.

I do not recommend AT&T or my attitude. I do have some important thoughts regarding our needy conversations with God.

1. God never refuses to answer our calls.
2. God never places us on hold.
3. God never hangs up on us.
4. God never disconnects the call.
5. God never hits the Mute button.
6. God never needs to transfer the call to a supervisor.
7. God never deletes our messages.
8. God never blocks our calls.
9. God never gets frustrated with a frustrated caller.
10. God never charges us for the everlasting redemption plan already fully paid by Jesus.

While I am talking about phone calls, I am going to share a story which might not seem funny to anyone except me. I admit I have a strange and somewhat warped sense of humor.

A friend told me of a Bible conference he attended where an old preacher shared a stirring missionary message about Paul hearing the Macedonian call. “Come over and help us” (Acts 16).

A young college student, stirred by the message, and, perhaps, a little caught up in the moment, was assigned the closing prayer. He waxed on for a long time. “Lord, we hear the call from Nigeria. They need our help. Lord, we hear the call from Sudan. They need our help. Lord, we hear the call from Turkmenistan. They need our help. Lord, we hear the call to help…(many countries were named).”

Sometime during the student’s prolonged prayer, the old preacher stepped to the microphone and interrupted the prayer with these words, “My Lord, what a phone bill! It’s time to hang up. Amen. Everyone is dismissed.”

I have been in a few extended church prayer times where I was privately asking God to disconnect the call. Okay, forgive me, Lord.

Did you realize that God calls us?

Adam and Eve heard the voice of God calling them and tried to hide from Him. They acted as if they were not at home. Moses heard God’s call from a bush extension. He replied, “Who are you?” Samuel heard God repeatedly calling his name and number until Samuel answered, “Yes, Lord, I’m listening.”

God always calls first and most. God calls us to live with purpose and love. When God calls, He calls ordinary people who feel inadequate for His higher love challenge.

God calls to have a relationship with you. He calls to say, “I love you. Follow Me.”

Jesus LIVES inside of you to LEAD you to others He intends to LOVE through you.

The divine call plan is 24/7 with a lifetime guarantee. No hidden charges. No additional fees or taxes. No wait times. No long distance costs. No places without coverage. No over the limit fees. Jesus paid it all, once and for all.

“God gives Himself and all He has to those who call for Him” (Romans 10:12).

Calling God is easy and beneficial. Whether it is a 911 emergency call or just a call to chat, God always listens, always cares, always helps, always saves.

God promised, “I will Never, Never, Never, Never, no matter whatever happens, I will Never turn loose of you or hang up on you. Never!” (Hebrews 13:5). (The Greek superlative uses five negative particles to emphasize the strongest possible negative that there is no possible way under any circumstances that God will disconnect from us.)

Whatever you choose to do with your cell phone call plan, this Winsday Wisdom encourages you to be God-centered and God-saturated.

I HOPE THE NEXT TIME YOU PICK UP YOUR CELL PHONE, YOU WILL THINK ABOUT JESUS.

Whether Smartphone or Speed dial, use your calls to Love First and Love Most. Everything else is a distraction from the most important thing in life.

Thank you, Lord, that You never disconnect any of my calls for help.

OK, Mr. Banks. WE need to calm down!

WINSDAY WISDOM 227

I want to introduce this session with a few examples about being convinced or not convinced.

In college, I was convinced I could squeeze my way through a Humanities test by describing the portrait of the artistic sculpture as archaic because of its poorly developed eyes. The professor reminded me that it was a famous bust of the classical poet, Homer. My instructor wrote across my test book in large red ink letters, “Homer was blind!”

My mom, the detective English teacher, was convinced she had broken a high school drug ring. The subsequent investigation confirmed the students were sharing Tik Tak breath mints. Mom also told me not to sneak some of the fudge she made for my Uncle Curt or there would be no Christmas. To her regret, I was not convinced. Christmas came anyway. Maybe not for my uncle.

My best friend suggested a new eight-track player for my car would be awesome. With absolutely no regret, I was convinced until eight-track became replaced with cassette players which were terminated by CD players whose demise came about by Sirius radio, Alexis, and Apple Music cell phones. Does anyone want a classic Four Seasons or Neil Diamond eight-track?

I dated a girl who was convinced that the sun and the moon were the same thing. Dated. Past tense.

My college roommate told me to buy stock in Amazon and Microsoft. To my regret, I was not convinced.

I know a man who was convinced he would not die. That did not work out well for him.

And what about that person who is convinced he/she is always right about politics, religion, cooking, music, or sports? I wish there were a way to convince them to take a hike in the Sahara.

Definition of Convinced: to be completely certain about something; evidence for belief; to accept something as true.

We live and love based on things for which we are convinced to be true.

WHEN THINGS GO SOUTH AND SOUR IN YOUR LIFE, WHAT ARE YOU CONVINCED ABOUT? Are you convinced this world is against you? Are you convinced you got the short end of the stick? Are you convinced of anything?

THE #1 TEXTBOOK TELLS US ABOUT THE UNFAILING STEADFAST LOVE OF GOD ALWAYS WORKING FOR OUR GREATEST GOOD. THEN IT ASKS A HOPE-REVEALING QUESTION:

WHAT SHALL WE SAY IN RESPONSE TO THESE THINGS? (Romans 8:31).

I would be most interested to hear what you will say in light of your life’s story. As for me, I join with the apostle Paul in exclaiming, “For I am convinced that nothing can separate us (you and me) from the love of God. Absolutely nothing“ (Romans 8:38-39).

For I am convinced and absolutely persuaded not by arguments or explanations or calculations or education or indoctrination but convinced by God, by who God is, by what God says, by what God has done, by what God has promised.

Standing outside with binoculars turned toward the sky, my four-year-old grandson, Cooper, stared at the varied cloud formations and made a very important observation. “It sure looks like Jesus is up to something!”

As I look back over my life, I see that Jesus has been up to something every day. I stand in amazement as I see how all the dots in my life are connected by those big divine conjunctions: And God…But God.

What shall we say in response to these things?

For most of us, our days of childlike wonder and youthful joy have been scarred by suffering, chilled by circumstances, and distorted by spiritually impaired vision. My prayer is that this Winsday Wisdom might become your spiritual binoculars by which you gain a new perspective into the darkened clouds surrounding your life.

I pray you will see the reality of hope that Jesus is always up to something good in our lives. Sometimes we just do not see the goodness—or feel it.

Real faith struggles with doubts and questions. Like hope, it ebbs and flows through highs and lows, but the source of our faith and hope never wavers, never shakes, never weakens, and never lessens.

Our God is unchangeable, immoveable, unconquerable, and unquestionable in His wisdom, rightness, and goodness toward us. Despair is not the end of hope; emotional darkness is where hope shines the brightest.

What shall we say in response to these things?

There is hope. It is not the stuff of wishful thinking or fantasy dreams. Hope is grounded in truth. That truth is revealed in God’s Word. It is real and relevant and reliable. It is supremely sufficient for your suffering and circumstances. It is like looking through spiritual binoculars of hope.

Hope: the confident expectation of experiencing all the future goodness God has promised you…somehow…someway…sometime.

Because of the future dynamic of hope, we have to learn to fight for that confidence in God during the present sufferings. We all struggle with the external forces of changing circumstances and the internal pressure of emotional stress. Even though God has promised us future good beyond our imaginations, there are times it feels as if God has forgotten us and it looks as if God’s love is absent from the scene.

There comes a time in all our lives when we cannot see and do not feel any hope; we need an outside voice to speak to us of truthful things blurred by our tears and numbed by our despair. If we are honest, we have all been there.

What do you do when it seems as though God has failed to come through for you?

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see” (Heb. 11:1).

What shall we say in response to these things?

In those moments when the sights and sounds of hope become distant memories, I can declare with the utmost confidence and unclouded hope, “It sure looks like Jesus is up to something!” I see it with the binoculars of faith. I observe it on the horizon. I study it in the clouds of witnesses. I shout it like a four-year-old full of hope and confident expectation of future good.

I am convinced because I know God better than ever before. I know God is supreme and sovereign. I know God is first and foremost in all my circumstances. He is before all things and above all things. God is the ultimate reality and unsurpassed value of all things earthly and eternal. God is forever faithful and trustworthy.

I am convinced in God and by God as I see how He works things together in my life for good. God did not leave me alone in my journey. He never abandoned me or left me without help and hope for both my earthly and eternal benefit. I am absolutely persuaded God will get me safely home.

As I look back on the road I’ve traveled,

I see so many times He carried me through;

And if there’s one thing that I’ve learned in my life,

My Redeemer is faithful and true.

—“My Redeemer Is Faithful and True,” Stephen Curtis Chapman

I have experienced the good. I have tasted God’s kindness.

Therefore, I embrace all things in my life from adversity to prosperity because I better understand God’s purpose to use all those things to work together to make me live and love like Jesus. I am imperfect now with the hope of becoming the exact representation in the future.

I am convinced that God is for me. In His Son Jesus, He has given me all He is and all He has. Jesus stepped in as my substitute on the cross to be treated as if He had lived my sinful, self-centered life so I might never be condemned.

Others may try to judge me, but there is no condemnation from my God. His Word convinces me of that glorious thought.

No condemnation!

I want to cry! I want to shout! I want to join hands with you and dance! No condemnation!

I am convinced of my adoption by God in which I am fully and forever treated as if I had lived and loved like His perfect Son Jesus. Why? God considers me His loved child.

MY ACCEPTANCE IS UNDESERVED AND UNEARNED, BUT BY GRACE, IT IS UNCONDITIONAL AND UNENDING.

Do you think I am convinced of God’s unfailing love? I am convinced that nothing can tear me away from God’s embrace. Not life or death. Not space or time. Not anyone or anything. Not the supernatural, not even my own wrong decisions and actions.

No separation from God’s love! How can I keep from singing as I stand amazed in His presence?

When with the ransomed in glory

His face I at last shall see.

It will be my joy through the ages

To sing of His love for me

O how marvelous!

O how wonderful!

Is my Savior’s love for me!

—“I Stand Amazed in the Presence,” Charles H. Gabriel

For I am convinced that nothing can separate me from God’s love; therefore, I have hope. I am absolutely convinced I will experience all the goodness God has promised me in this life and the endless ages to come.

I will live and love in that hope, suffer in that hope, and die in that hope. And when I awake in the eternal reality of that hope, I will shout with joy and be lost in wonder at the wisdom of love as I run into the arms of the God who caused all things to work together for my good.

I continue to preach to myself with the same confidence spoken by Job in the midst of his greatest suffering, “Though God slays me, yet I will hope in Him.”

I am absolutely convinced that I will still experience all the future goodness God has promised me…somehow…someway…sometime.

I am convinced! Are you? Come on, sing with me!

 Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father;
there is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not;
as Thou hast been, Thou forever wilt be.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
STRENGTH FOR TODAY AND BRIGHT HOPE FOR TOMORROW
blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
all I have needed Thy hand hath provided:
GREAT IS THY FAITHFULNESS, LORD, UNTO ME!

Winsday Wisdom 228

Smells can remind us of particular people and places.

It happened again last Sunday in church. As we sang an old hymn (which has become far too rare), I could smell my grandmother. She was not there, only a pleasant memory of the times I stood beside her in church as a six-year-old boy and sang this hymn: When We All Get to Heaven.

When we all get to Heaven                                                                                                 

What a day of rejoicing that will be!                                                                                     

When we all see Jesus,                                                                                                            

We’ll sing and shout the victory.

I closed my eyes as I softly sang the words. I was back next to my grandmother. Her smell was distinct, some strange concoction of her love of onions mixed with an old lady’s perfume. But it was her aroma of love for Jesus and love for me that filled my head with sweet memories and my eyes with tears.

She is now singing in heaven with my dad and her four boys. She probably had the quartet singing while she played her organ. All in heaven, happily singing Beulah Land or Leaning on the Everlasting Arms. I could see it with eyes of faith. I could smell it with the nose of love’s memories.

Certain smells can ignite nostalgic memories. Other scents can evoke association with specific experiences.

I imagine you have moments like that, where the fragrance of a beloved person or special place wafts into your memory. You sense them there with you again. Your body momentarily transports to a wonderful time and place associated with that odor.

Music can have that same effect. Songs can take our mind and heart back to people and places. I will save that for another Winsday.

This is about distinctive smells and what they do to our mind and heart. Favorite smells. Fragrant smells of a special person. Recognizable aromas. Even hideous odors can resurrect dead memories.

One time on a family road trip late at night, the smell of smoke from burning leaves drifted into our car. My wife remarked that was her favorite smell.

About thirty minutes later, our air was interrupted with another outside odor. Our younger son prematurely spoke up that this was his favorite smell. Then we all quickly recognized the stink from a skunk. It takes a while for that smell to evaporate. The story associated with that trip has never dissipated.

My grandkids will remember the smell of Babe’s fresh baked cookies.

I love the scent of clean sheets. The smell of the ocean breeze.

I remember the aroma of loved ones. Family scents of a spouse and each child.

We often associate smells with people and places.

The pleasant smells of a newborn baby. Burning wood in the fireplace. Scented candle. Beautiful flowers. Freshly brewed coffee. Pleasant perfume or cologne. Fresh air after it rains. Baked bread. Cool mountain breeze. Freshly cut Christmas tree. New car. Popcorn. A whiff of cinnamon rolls in the oven.

The stinky smells of a baby’s diaper. The sweat from a sports’ locker room. Sour milk. Filthy rags. Burned toast. A skunk. Sewage. Stinky feet.

Onions, garlic, eggs, bacon, bonfires, lavender or citrus potpourri, marijuana, or cigarette smoke are pleasant or odious depending on the nostrils of the smeller.

Scientific research claims that vanilla is the most universally preferred odor. Fresh peaches were also high on the list. Preferences turn out to be based more on personal likes than cultural influence.

A specific scent linked to a pleasant memory of a loved one can boost your mood. In some circumstances, it might elicit a few tears from their absence.

Sometimes the sweet aroma lingers. Sometimes the stinky stench stays for a while.

Some people go through life always smelling the roses. Others always smell a rat. Sport competitors often smell blood as they sense the opponents’ vulnerability.

God’s #1 Textbook has a lot to say about how we smell as we go through life. The fragrance of Jesus in us is a sweet aroma to others (2 Corinthians 2:15).

Jesus LIVES in us to LEAD us to others He intends to LOVE through us.

When we Love First and Love Most, we leave behind the pleasant aroma of Christ’s love. We are the fragrance of Jesus wherever we go.

The most important part is how we smell to God. We can become a sweet-smelling fragrance of love to God and others (Philippians 4:18) or stink things up to the highest heaven (Jonah 1:2).

For whatever reason, sometimes we really stink up a relationship.

How do you smell to God and others this week?

Keep loving first and most. Love covers a multitude of stink (1 Peter 4:8).

Our love is a Jesus-like fragrance rising up to God (2 Corinthians 2:15). The previous verse describes us as surrendered to God, led by Jesus, and purposefully living to love others first and most with the same love Jesus shows us.

What aroma are you spreading around and leaving behind? What fragrance will remind your loved ones of your presence?

You probably share the same thought I have. I need to do better.

However, the key to that is the word surrendered. When Jesus takes control of us, He cleans up the stink, changes the sheet coverings, and uses us for His sweet-smelling purpose. Then Jesus loves through us.

It is God who is at work in you, giving you the desire and the power to live and love like Jesus (Philippians 2:13).

Therefore, WALK IN LOVE JUST AS CHRIST LOVED US, and GAVE HIMSELF UP for us as a FRAGRANT offering and sacrifice to God (Ephesians 5:2).

This love is a sweet aroma-filled “walk” through life. Walking implies purpose, direction, action, and progress.

What is your part in this heavenly fragrance? GIVE YOURSELF UP. Give yourself up to God. Give yourself up for the good of others.

That is the aroma of love that lasts. It will last beyond your lifetime. Someday in the future, a song or smell will remind a person of you…and heaven.

Then we can join not only in the pleasing fragrance of Jesus’ love, but also the chorus singing, “When we all get to Heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be…”

Rejoicing to be with those we so dearly miss now. To be with those who will follow the path strewn with our sweet aroma of Christ’s love.

I cannot say it enough to myself and to those of you who might listen.

Jesus LIVES in us to LEAD us to others He intends to LOVE through us.

Smell the sweet aroma of Christ’s love. Take it with you wherever you go. Give yourself up to love someone else first and most!

There is no sweeter smell on earth or in heaven!

WINSDAY WISDOM 226

My twelve-year-old grandson, Cooper, recently went on a three-day middle school “bonding trip.” The hiking and camping also included all kinds of fun things to do for the students to get to know one another better. The group participated in games, rock climbing, zip lines, and a ropes course.

Cooper was very excited. His youngest sister, six-year-old Madisyn, was not. Madi teared up as she hugged her big brother good-bye.

She became so sad when Cooper left school with his backpack. Madi went to her first-grade teacher to inform her of the reason for her tears. The teacher gave Madi a hug and a stuffed animal to hold.

Madi returned to the teacher’s desk a short time later. She told the teacher she was still sad. “I think I need to go talk to the school counselor.”

She is in the first grade. My life experiences of talking to the school counselor were always connected to accountability for some wrong action.

I feel quite certain the counselor was compassionate and very entertained by the talkative Madi.

Do you ever feel like Madi, needing to talk to someone about your feelings?

Maybe you are feeling sadness, grief, loneliness, depression, anger, or anxiety. You might be seeking advice, sympathy, or encouragement. Some people seek counsel for legal, medical, financial, marital, or spiritual concerns.

The definition of counselor is someone who gives advice. You might be surprised that there are over one hundred specific references to “counsel” in the Bible.

More importantly, the entire #1 Textbook is profitable for counseling. Its author is referred to as the Wonderful Counselor. His Words advise us what to do and what not to do in all situations. It also includes what to do when we did what we were not supposed to do.

My mother was that kind of counselor.

My mother loved to debate – particularly with her brothers and sister (The Floyds – as they were affectionately known around our home). She loved to get in discussions on tough subjects with her three boys, her best friends, or students.

She saw these discussions (which sometimes seemed like arguments) were great teaching tools. MOM WOULD OFTEN ARGUE ABOUT A POINT SHE DIDN’T REALLY BELIEVE.

She wanted her students and particularly her sons “to think.”

“Don’t settle for the pat answers or buy into a system of thinking – think for yourself” she would say. She pushed us to think and argue beyond the simplistic. (Borrowed from the writings of my younger brother, Joe)

None of her sons really know how well we learned her lessons, but we are all immensely thankful for her attempts.

God’s #1 Textbook teaches all of us HOW TO THINK RIGHT ABOUT LIFE.

I believe most people LIVE A LIFETIME WITHOUT EVER THINKING that the GOD who created, redeemed, and adopted them into His family might have PROVIDED COUNSEL FOR HOW TO LIVE A SPIRITUALLY PURPOSEFUL AND PROFITABLE LIFE.

They ask others for counsel, but never listen to the Lord’s counsel about life and love. They never think about God’s counsel.

You do not have to do what everyone else does. That is not just counsel from my mom. That is counsel from God. This culture’s counsel is wrong. God teaches you to think differently and walk a different path.

God’s Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path (Psalm 119:105). God has numbered all my steps (Job 31:4).

“I know the good plans I have for you.” (Jeremiah 29:11). Do you really think God intends to keep His plans secret?

None of us need to go through life guessing about God’s plans. Many of us have memorized the well-known verses from Proverbs 3:5-6. Yet, we fail to honor them when we need counsel. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and never lean on your own decisions. Lean on God and He will always point you in the right direction.”

I find it strange that many church leaders will quote and tag those verses, but not use their counsel in real life stuff.

Years ago, I was invited to attend a Church Growth Conference in Houston sponsored by the denomination’s experts on that subject. I had been offered to pastor a new church in the Houston suburbs.  

The conference was enlightening. The four well-prepared motivational leaders shared all the important geographical information, marketing research, and social surveys. They talked at length about their church marketing strategy which included purpose, values, communication, age-group involvement, resources, and evaluation techniques.

The leaders presented specific examples from some secular companies. They even had a back-up strategy to guarantee the new church would grow and thrive.

I raised my hand to ask a question, “If you are recommending a church follow the growth strategy of the Pepsi company, then why would you need to seek the Holy Spirit’s counsel and leadership?”

I guess I listened to my mom about learning to think for yourself by reliance on the #1Textbook.

The response was dead silence. I kid you not. Almost ninety seconds of awkward quiet. Finally, with no acknowledgement of my question, the speaker went on to her next point about marketing.

She remarked that their studies revealed there was a real market for “ME” churches. The surveyed people were seeking a “What about ME” church.

Since that time, many seeker -friendly churches have grown up and thrived. I was not asked to pastor one because of my last question.

In question time, I was reluctantly called upon again. “Did you ever consider that when a person begins to follow Jesus that he/she becomes less of a “ME” person and begins a journey to becoming a person more concerned about “LOVING OTHERS”? I don’t think the Bible would ever describe a true church as filled with “ME” people.

They cut off my microphone as I quoted, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me as I live the life of faith in the One who loved me and gave Himself up for me” (Galatians 2:20).

For those of you who might listen, Jesus LIVES in us to LEAD us to others He intends to LOVE through us. To love them first and to love them most.

God’s #1 Textbook is full of training in wisdom about purpose, values, strategies, and decision-making. It is far superior to the Pepsi Co Super Bowl marketing strategy and even supersedes Coca-Cola, in case that is your soft drink preference.

God’s Word specializes in preparing you for greater happiness and usefulness in loving others first and most.

If you need help, talk to the One who declares Himself to be your Wonderful Counselor.

Do you know you do not even have to ask for permission to talk to the Wonderful Counselor? I hope Madi and each one of us learn that lesson well. The Counselor’s door and heart are always open. He already knows your situation. He never turns you away. There is no difficulty beyond his expertise.

The Lord directs our steps (Psalm 37:23). I will instruct you and teach you the way you should go; I will counsel you and watch your progress (Psalm 32:8).

God cares and God understands and God counsels. His counsel is wonderful and perfect. It is also all-sufficient.

The counsel of the Lord stands forever (Psalm 33:11).

God’s Word is the only mirror for your soul which can unscramble your mixed-up thoughts. God’s #1 Textbook is absolutely sufficient for every decision you will make in life.

Lord, teach us to number our days that we might have a heart of wisdom (Psalm 90.12).

The next time you have those feelings, just whisper, “I think I need to go talk to the Counselor.”

Well, I am going to sign out of this session in full agreement with the Psalmist (Psalm 73:23-25). I hope you will join me in that same endeavor.

God loves me and always holds my hand. God will keep on guiding me (and Madi and you) all my life with His wisdom and counsel, and afterwards receive me into the glories of heaven! Whom have I in heaven but my Wonderful Counselor? And I desire no one on earth as much as Him!

LOVE YOU!

Another football season has begun. That means thrills for many and groans from others. This is the account of my first college football experience which includes a WInsday WIsdom spiritual application for all of us.

A capacity crowd filled the football stadium as my university team battled a Top Twenty opponent. The game was not going well, at least not for our offense. While that unit struggled, the defense competed valiantly to keep our team within fourteen points, aided by a blocked punt for our only score.

Four minutes remained in the game when our team received possession of the football, eighty yards from paydirt. Surprisingly, our offensive coordinator told me to go into the game as the new quarterback.

Why would I be described as the new quarterback and why might that be surprising? Glad you asked.

I was a new quarterback for the team because this was my first year on the varsity squad and new because I was the fifth string quarterback, behind the starter who quit the team three weeks earlier, behind the second stringer who broke his ankle the prior week, and behind the third and fourth quarterbacks who had been embarrassingly ineffective throughout this game.

This was a new quarterback experience for me as well. Not because of the game pressure, but because of my lack of a tightknit relationship with my head coach. We barely knew one another. His job demanded greater involvement with alumni public relations than player development. Dressed in his fedora and overcoat, his demeanor always appeared aloof and authoritative. I was a fifth string newcomer raised to respect authority, even from a distance. To my own detriment, I kept my distance.

I grew up a coach’s kid. My dad was my high school coach. Of course, we were close on and off the field. He was my hero, a future Hall of Fame coach. Our hearts competed with the same fervor; our minds thought of the same strategy and play calls.

We were side by side in the locker room, on the sidelines, at church, at home. Every night, he told me he loved me. He always believed in me while my college coach had no confidence in his new quarterback.

I used the word surprised because when the offensive coordinator relayed the call for me to go into the game. it was totally unexpected, by me and everyone else who knew anything about college football. Suddenly, I had to take off my headset, find my helmet, then quickly add some eye black so I would not look like a scared fifteen-year-old.

Surprised would also describe my head coach. Actually, he appeared shocked that I was standing beside him waiting for instructions. He glanced at me, then looked away and quickly returned to staring at me as if I were waiting for his postgame food order. Stunned, maybe even traumatized, that I asked what play to call, he reached for his hat and thought about throwing it to the ground. Have we come to this?

My surprised coach offered these fiery words of encouragement as he pushed me onto the playing surface for my first college gridiron experience, “Oh (expletive)! Go on in. You can’t possibly do any worse.”

Surprised would also describe the players huddled on the field who barely knew me. I had never taken a snap with the first team offense in a game or practice. I was known as the scout team quarterback who practiced on a different field against our first team defense. The senior starters had never shared the same dining table or the same huddle with me.

As I entered the huddle for my first collegiate participation, the captain of the team raised up, backed out of the huddle, stretched both arms out wide, and greeted my arrival with a screamed expletive. “Who the (blank) is this?”

I simply shrugged my shoulders and blurted out, “Surprise!” 

Excited? Yes! Was I nervous? Of course not! I stepped into the huddle, called out the formation, the play, and the snap count. As our team moved into position, I surveyed the defense, seemingly scattered all over the field. Some were growling like dogs after new meat. Some were bent over in laughter.

I did not see my first pass launched on the big stage because I was quickly buried under an avalanche of big, mean, defensive linemen. The wide receiver came back to the huddle and muttered that the pass was too high. He went on to say the football landed in the second row of the stadium. I thought that was excessive commentary.

I had clear view of the second pass hitting a player right in the numbers on his chest, but he dropped it. The fans of both teams cheered, gasped, and moaned, all in one breath. It turned out to be a blessing. “Bad Hands Greene.” who could not hold onto the ball, was wearing a different colored jersey than my team. It should have been an interception, the pick six variety. Instead, my mother’s favorite quarterback lived to try again on third down.

Is uncontrollable shaking of one’s body any indication of nervousness? What about stammering so badly the captain had to translate the next play-call to the rest of the players? Yes, my confidence had been somewhat rattled by seeing our team managers packing up the equipment and our coaches throwing their headsets on the ground in disgust. The home fans began a mass exit from the stadium with thoughts of a lobster roll and brewski dancing in their heads.

As the legendary Yogi Berra so poignantly stated, “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over!”   

Our football game was still in progress. My third pass was a completion to our tight end along the right sidelines for a first down. The next pass found the halfback in the flat. He evaded a defender and advanced the ball to midfield.

Cheers, some genuine and some sarcastic, erupted from the remaining fans. Players were excited. Our captain shouted expletive-laced encouragement. Coaches repositioned their headsets. This was what I was created to do.

The subsequent play was a pass completion to our wide receiver running deep across the middle of the field until he was tackled at the twenty-yard line. There was still time to score, maybe even tie the game.

Suddenly, everything stopped. The opposing team called timeout. I imagine our brief success shocked their coaches. Who was this new guy hurling spirals down the field, marching his team toward the endzone? They definitely did not have a scouting report on this new quarterback.

If they paused to read info on this new quarterback in the game program, they would be surprised. They were chasing the wind. There was nothing about me in the publication. No picture. No bio. Nada. My name and number were buried somewhere in the team roster.

The next few minutes would become surreal and memorable, even more so than the previous ones. As the opponent sought to regain composure and reestablish their dominance, I did what every quarterback should do in any and every situation. Look cool. I think the current generation of players call it #swag, baller or dripped out. It is all about style. Look cool.

Look cool jogging onto the field for pregame warmups. Look cool in the huddle calling the play. Look cool standing in the pocket to throw a pass while the defense swarms around you. Look cool in success or adversity. Look cool especially during time-outs like this one, because the television camera might be on you.

I knew how to do “cool.” I was definitely dripped out. I practiced this since I was a kid. I had studied the great ones and imitated their movements until I perfected the look. I might not read directions for how to use Great Stuff, but I had quarterback cool stuck all over me.

I slowly unbuckled my chinstrap. I did the walk, the quarterback walk. All the great ones walk the same way. Brady. Namath. Montana. Aikman. Manning. Rodgers. Mahomes.

The cool quarterback walk. Head down, but eyes up. Helmet slightly lifted so the facemask is above the eyes. Shoulders slightly slouched forward. Shuffle toward the sidelines to talk with the coach. It should resemble more of a stroll than a walk. Not too fast, not too slow. Just chill, as if there are no concerns in the world.

With many hours in front of a mirror, I had it all down perfectly. Except, there was a concern. As I turned and looked at the sidelines, I could not find the coach. The whole scene was reminiscent of a Where’s Waldo puzzle.

Where was the coach? I could see a hundred excited crimson-clad teammates moving around. I saw hundreds of special guests with their sideline passes crowding the areas on both sides of the bench. I saw trainers, doctors, cheerleaders, and security personnel. No coach.

I immediately went into “cool protection” so I would not look like some spooked dog searching for his owner. That would not look cool.

I made a quick decision. I decided I would stroll directly down the twenty-yard line until I arrived at the sidelines and then turn right towards midfield. Surely, I would encounter the head coach somewhere along that path.

My head was steady, but my eyes kept moving as they scanned the masses along the way. It crossed my mind I might not recognize the coach since we were not extremely familiar with one another in this type of setting. As I crossed the forty-yard marker, an arm reached out and grabbed me from behind. It happened! I walked right past the coach! Video replays captured his stunned look as the new quarterback passed by oblivious to his presence and instructions.

Wow! Just a little embarrassing. And he thought I could not do any worse? I proved him wrong.

Later that night, I recounted the events of the game with my friends as I described the emotions of my first experience as a collegiate quarterback.

Suddenly, the irony and sadness hit me like a ton of bricks. The difference between the casual relationship with my college coach and the side-by-side one with my high school coaching dad mirrored my present spiritual condition.

In my prep years, I made the decision to stay side by side with God. No more running in circles chasing the wind. No more failures of searching for fleeting happiness in the imaginary world of not. No more free-falling. However, in college, I had become extremely casual toward God and my #1 Textbook.

I had not run a wheel off…yet; but I had drifted into the imaginary world of not, where I was NOT HAPPY with the coach and NOT HAPPY with my life and NOT HAPPY with my school and NOT HAPPY with others around me.

The sideline search turned out to be a much-needed spiritual wake-up call. I played in the game and the newspapers learned my name, but I forgot to love God and love others, first and most. That is the most important thing in life whether you are the star player in your world or the fifth-string flunky in someone else’s universe.

Where are you…really? Spiritually and emotionally? Are you side by side with God? Or are you on a casual spiritual jog through this life?

Do you need a spiritual wake-up alarm to check your direction, alignment, and progress?

This is no time to be casual about loving God and loving others. The #1 Textbook is the only reliable spiritual compass. It is relevant to every circumstance in your life. It is wisdom for every decision and every relationship. You can even look cool while reading it.

Stay side by side with God so you can Love others First and Most.

WINSDAY WISDOM 225

Seventeen. Do you remember? For some of us, it was a very long time ago. Life was simple yet becoming more complex. We were a blend of naivety and guilt. We were no longer kids and not yet as grown up as we might hope to become.

Frank Sinatra sang reflectively, “When I was seventeen, it was a very good year.” Diana Ross and The Supremes could get you dancing to their harmonious sounds, “He’s Seventeen and he loves me.” But it was Paul McCartney and John Lennon who sang on my radio the Beatles’ hit, I Saw Her Standing There.

She was just seventeen, and you know what I mean                                                           

And the way she looked was way beyond compare                                                                 

So how could I dance with another?                                                                                       

Oh, when I saw her standing there.

Some years went by, but I was not too old to rock to ABBA’s upbeat Dancing Queen.

You were the dancing queen,                                                                                             

Young and sweet, only seventeen.

For you, the younger set (the rest of you), Avril Lavigne’s 17 nostalgically recalls:

Those days are long gone,                                                                                                       

But when I hear that song                                                                                                            

It takes me back.

Janis Ian won a Grammy for the saddest, feeling unloved At Seventeen, song of all.

I learned the truth at seventeen                                                                                              

That love was meant for beauty queens.

Well, this Winsday is about the sadness, not the singing, that comes with being seventeen.

Did you have some sad moments at seventeen? I imagine everyone did. I am certain your sad seventeen experiences were worse than mine. Some might have been tragic. I’m sorry.

Sadness is relative. My worst seventeen moments were losing the football playoff game in the fall following the spring playoff loss in basketball. A blocked punt interrupted our undefeated pigskin season. I cried. No, I sobbed uncontrollably for twenty minutes. The sadness remained for four days until our first basketball game.

As to the previous season’s basketball loss, I just teared up. It was sad at seventeen. it did not help to hear a hometown businessman say to my dad, the basketball coach, in my presence, “If Rex had made that free throw, you still might have won the game.” (Ouch! Thank you very much for that observation.)

At seventeen, a girl broke my heart for about the tenth time (It was the same girl). Appropriately, that was about the time the Beatles released their Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album.

The last episode of the four-year-long TV series, The Fugitive, made Tuesday nights less enjoyable. The Graduate movie did not make me aspire to the sad, meaningless future of Dustin Hoffman’s character. Even the iconic closing scene of true love rescued was haunted by the slow guitar acoustics of The Sound of Silence.

Hello darkness, my old friend.

I’ve come to talk to you again

With the sound of silence (Paul Simon & Garfunkel)

I did not escape on a bus with a pretty girl, but I ran out of gas twice in two weeks. Thus, the famous dad quote, “Son, it costs the same to fill up the top half as it does the bottom of the tank.” The sound in the background was my mom’s opinion. It was not the sound of silence.

Sadness is relative.

Obviously, I did not have a rough seventeenth year. I know of others whose trauma involved family divorce, car wrecks, death of loved ones, paralysis, and other life-changing events. For them, seventeen was a horrible year. For others, it might be remembered as one of the best years. Whatever seventeen was like, it can never be redone. Hopefully, you have grown stronger over the years.

Recently, I posted about the trauma and hope of Joseph, recorded in the last chapters of Genesis (Genesis 37-50). My thoughts keep returning to his story that highlights the steadfast love, great wisdom, and providential purpose of God to use his life to love others (even his enemies) first and most.

Maybe you can benefit from the lessons of sadness at seventeen or whatever year sits at the top of your crying mountain.

For Joseph, the tragedy burst into sadness at seventeen on the day his brothers threw him into a deep pit and sold him into slavery, headed for a foreign land.

The eleventh of twelve sons, Joseph was his father’s favorite. That made him the object of his brothers’ hatred. At the age of seventeen, his father sent him to check on the welfare of his brothers who were shepherding the family’s sheep. Jacob, the father, had not been a very good role model for his sons. He was a liar, cheat, and thief. The great “trickster” even wrestled with God.

How does God forgive, change, and use a man like that? God gave”the deceiver” Jacob the new name, Israel, “the prince who struggled with God.” The lying and fearful Abraham would be called “the friend of God” and the adulterous, murdering, David, “a man after God’s own heart.” Surely, there is hope for us.

Joseph left his father’s hug and home with no thoughts that he would never see them again. This little errand would have a twenty-year hiatus of no hope for a reunion.

Joseph left home in search for his brothers and their flocks. They were not where he expected. He inquired of a man who said they had moved on to Dothan. He walked and wandered in search of them, filled with thoughts of his dreams.

He had no idea what was about to occur that would lead to the fulfillment of his dreams. Sometimes that journey begins with sadness. In Joseph’s case, sadness at seventeen.

When Joseph found his brothers, they were not happy to see him. The brothers saw him at a distance, headed their way dressed in that unique multi-colored coat given to him by their father. This was not the cool Fonz arriving on his motorcycle in a black leather jacket. And it was definitely not Happy Days for Joseph.

The brothers shrugged and sarcastically said, “Here comes the dreamer.” They did not greet this seventeen-year-old with hugs or high-fives or even cold shoulders. Instead, the brothers planned to “kill him” and lie about it to their father. They could blame it on an accident or wild animal attack.

They hated Joseph. You might have had some haters at seventeen. I did. Others who are jealous of you, maybe for no good reason. Perhaps, some group gossiped about you or ostracized you. Were there people who said bad things about you or wished bad things would happen to you?

I am not trying to stir up bad memories. There is a point to revisiting sad times, even if they were not from your seventeenth year.

Rejection hurts at any age, but that sadness at seventeen can have long-lasting effects. It did for Joseph.

Upon his arrival, his brothers tore off his beautiful coat, tied up Joesph, and threw him into a deep pit to let him die a slow death in the sound of silence. There was no food, no water, no way out. He was abandoned to die of dehydration, starvation, or wild beast attack.

That is reason for some legitimate big-time seventeen sadness. There would be no phone call to a father for help. His mother had died years ago. There was no friend to call or Lean On.

Sometimes in our lives, we all have pain

We all have sorrow

We all need somebody to lean on. (Lean on Me by Bill Withers)

His brother, Reuben, who was no angel when Joseph was seventeen, hoped to secretly rescue him. That did not prevent the sadness Joseph felt as he sat in that darkened pit. He was hated and abused, misjudged and mistreated. He was alone with no help on the horizon.

The brothers piled on the sadness at seventeen. The ones who had just acted to get rid of their younger brother forever, sat down to enjoy the food Jospeh delivered as if nothing sad had happened.

Joseph was seventeen and felt his life and dreams were shattered. Have you been in a similar pit and time?

Can you see what Joseph could not see at seventeen? It’s probably similar to what you could not see at seventeen.  God was “working all things out for your good” (Romans 8:28). How can that be? Isn’t that what we ask in our sadness?

At that moment, some traveling Midianites passed by on their way to Egypt. Why them? Why now? Why does brother Judah suggest they make “a few shekels” of profit by selling the younger brother they wanted dead?

This is right out of the movie scripts for A Fistful of Dollars or The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. What can they gain out of their jealousy, hatred, and bad deeds? Here is the opportunity to sell Joseph for twenty shekels of silver and send him away forever.

Two shekels apiece. No one loved first or loved most. Why? Selfishness. Love was not as valued as two silver coins. Joseph’s sadness was off the charts. The brothers saw he was distressed as he pleaded for his life and then begged them not to send him away into slavery.

Joseph cried. Bound and broken. Joseph cried more. No family and no home. Joseph cried some more. Bitter pills and shattered dreams. Cry me a bucket, Joseph. No one cares.

Where was God when Joseph was seventeen? God was orchestrating all the people and circumstances to get seventeen-year-old Joseph to where he needed to be to impact this world for good.

Joseph involuntarily left everything he knew and loved, bound for a life he never dreamed so that he would be where he would live the life of his dreams. Sadness at Seventeen, do you know what I mean?

There is no jealousy, no hatred, no rejection, no deep pit, no transfer to another place that can stop the blessings God has in store for you. Nothing and no one can hinder, hold back, or sidetrack God’s plans. Every sadness, no matter what year in life, guides us to future blessings and happiness and, ultimately, where there will never be sadness again.

How did Joseph get through his seventeen sadness? He never forgot it. He learned to trust God and accept it as part of the process of growing up.

“God turned into good what others meant for evil… my good and the good of many others. God brought me to the place I am today” (Genesis 50:20).

GOD ALWAYS KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE (even at seventeen), WHERE YOU NEED TO BE, HOW AND WHEN TO GET YOU TO YOUR PLACE OF GREATER HAPPINESS AND USEFULNESS. ALWAYS.

It just happened Joseph was born a dreamer. It just happened he ended up in the pit, the prison, and the palace. It just happened…Or did it?

“You do not have to worry like the other seventeen-year-olds and the rest of the self-centered world. There is no bird left without food, and there is no sparrow that falls to the ground without God watching over it. There is no flower in the field not beautifully clothed. You are of far more value than all these. Do not live in the sadness of seventeen or worry about tomorrow. Live one day at a time. God will take care of you…Always and Forever” (Matthew 6).

Joseph trusted God when his life was in the pits, in prison, and in the palace. You can too.

Maybe you are going through some Seventeen Sadness at another age right now. Trust God for what you cannot see at the moment.

You fearful saints, fresh courage take                                                                                 

The clouds you so much dread                                                                                                 

Are big with mercy, and soon shall break                                              

In blessings on your head                                                                                                         

(Light Shining Out of Darkness by William Cowper)

Can you sing with the Psalmist? “I would have despaired and given up in this life, except I believed I would still see the goodness of the Lord” (Psalm 27:13).

I had some moments of sadness at seventeen and more in the passing years…”But surely goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life and I will live in the house of the Lord forever” (Psalm 23:6).

Sadness at Seventeen. An eternity of happiness and love awaiting me.

“The center of God’s will may be for us the very eye of the storm” (Alistair Begg).

All your heartaches and hopes are orchestrated by God into the beautiful symphony of your blessed life. God means it all for good.

Come on Dancing Queen or Saturday Night Fever Guy. So what, that you are no longer seventeen?

Dance with the One who loves you first and most. How can you dance with another?