LOVE FIRST…LOVE MOST

SESSION 25

Catastrophe–an event causing great and sudden damage or suffering. A disaster.

This was a catastrophe. The explosive surprise got everyone’s attention. The creamed corn looked as if it had been shot out of a cannon. It splattered everywhere…at least, everywhere it was not supposed to end up.

My wife and I took our grandkids to Rudy’s, one of their favorite barbeque restaurants. You wait in line to order and then eat family style at one of the long wooden picnic tables. Everyone was having an enjoyable time. The food was delicious. The youngest granddaughter declared this to be where she would like to eat every day.

Another granddaughter asked if she could have some more creamed corn. Our entire family loves Rudy’s creamed corn. It’s the perfect accent dish to the BBQ sandwiches. I passed her the creamed corn. That was the plan!

The creamed corn is served in a large Styrofoam cup, about the size of a Quik Trip Big Slurpee cup. I picked up the big serving and stood up. As I was handing the large cup to my wife, it slipped out of my hand.

The full container of creamed corn fell about a distance of two feet, from the height of my shoulder to the hard tabletop. It erupted like a volcano. It spewed into the air like a windblown dust storm. It was like the Star Trek starship Enterprise boldly going where no one has gone before.

The science of Physics has confirmed Newton’s three laws of motion. My Dummies version goes like this.

First Law: An object stays motionless until an external force is applied. The cup of creamed corn will stay where it is in my hand until I drop it, thus, setting it in motion.

Second Law: Force is created that is directly proportional to the weight of the object multiplied by its acceleration. The weight of the creamed corn cup times its acceleration due to gravity creates force. In this case, the force is about three times the impact of the full cup as it hits the table.

Newton’s Third Law of Motion: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. The cup goes downward and the triple force of the creamed corn’s impact has a reverse reaction in the direction from which it came. Any Dummy will be able to see that. The creamed corn went down and now it goes up at roughly three times the speed. One second of drop time and nanoseconds of flying creamed corn time.

Here is the kicker. The cup has only a slight bounce on the tabletop. Its contents have a reverse reaction, but no cup to hold it in place. The creamed corn boldly explores new frontiers of space.

The creamed corn ended up mostly on my wife. In her hair. On her face. On her clothes. On her arm. In her lap. I said it was an excessively big cup of creamed corn.

It was funny. Very funny if it happened in a movie. Our grandkids laughed. I chuckled, but only for less than a nanosecond. It would have been a classic comedy skit. But this was not I Love Lucy; this was real life. The hilarity did not land on my wife with the same force as the creamed corn.

My wife finally looked at me. That was after she used a napkin to wipe creamed corn out of her eyes. She did not see the humor. I thought her beautiful blue eyes matched well with the yellow corn. And it was creamy, so it probably did not hurt much.

I wondered if this is how World War III might start. I guess I should be thankful that Colorado has a No Gun restriction for eating establishments. My wife was dismayed. She made a funny face at the grandkids, but I considered crying. Begging for mercy would have been more appropriate. If there had been more creamed corn, I would have poured it over my head. I did ask if she thought I should go order another cup of creamed corn.

This was not one of my finest moments in marriage. Why didn’t I just pass the cup across the table instead of standing up and doing a fly by over our heads? Well, I never thought of that, dear. I also never expected the creamed corn to go kamikaze on us.

I still love Rudy’s creamed corn. I rarely get to order it anymore. The cost is too high. The memory carries too much baggage.

The whole ordeal made quite an impression on our grandkids. They bring it up at the oddest times. At Thanksgiving, a grandchild asked for someone to please pass the creamed corn. It was not even on the menu that day. Apparently, dry humor runs in the family.

The indelible image of my wife covered in creamed corn is seared into my memory bank. Honestly, I had no idea creamed corn could fly. That defies physics.

Circumstance: Webster’s Dictionary describes it as a fact or condition connected with or relevant to an event or action. Neither my wife nor I had prepared for the condition connected to this random action which set off some very unforeseen circumstances.

Circumstances never make us what we are. They should never define us. They might reveal what is inside us. A face and hair covered in creamed corn could be described as an unexpected circumstance. It did not happen because of a choice made by my wife. That is assuming we eliminate her choice of me as her husband which is the real source of most of her problems. Babe is not to blame for this fiasco. Things like this just happen to her when I am involved.

Each one of us is caught somewhere in the mid-story of messy circumstances we did not choose. We are left wondering how this situation in life might turn out. Where is the good God promised us? We don’t see it. It’s buried somewhere under the creamed corn of our circumstances.

When our circumstances are plummeting from bad to worse, we are often haunted by feelings that we should have been able to avoid or stop this from happening. Or our minds are bombarded by questions of why God did not stop this.

We wrestle with thoughts that we failed God or, worse, that God has failed us. We cannot fix every problem. Sometimes, we can only clean up the mess and learn from the experience.

What happens when some parts of your life do not turn out as you hoped? What happens when someone blows up your plans with a circumstantial creamed corn catastrophe?

Life can be interrupted by some mishap or mayhem. Hurt or heartache can blow in with some storm. Disappointment can make a sudden appearance to interrupt one of your carefree moments.

I like how K.J. Ramsay wrote her thoughts in her book on suffering, This Too Shall Last.

“I imagine we have all bought into the lie at some point that we could avoid suffering. Just be healthier or wealthier. Work harder. Live smarter. Control your diet, your exercise, your environment, your relationships. Guard your heart and save your planet…We march to the cadence of the culture…

You are part of a story much bigger than just yourself. You are an important part of that story. The purpose of faith was never about sustaining yourself. It is dependence on Another who is wiser, stronger, and better than you.”

God really does have everything under control. Even every drop of creamed corn lands precisely as He choregraphed it. God will clean up all your messy circumstances. He always writes the last chapter. The story will be beautiful.

Your true identity is defined by your character, not your circumstances. Those who walk in love imitate their Heavenly Father (#1 Textbook). Lowliness, kindness, longsuffering, enduring in love, and striving to do whatever it takes to preserve unity are traits of Christlike character.

Love First becomes our attitude. Circumstances might slow the process, but they are also used by God to refine our progress. Love Most translates into actions. God-orchestrated circumstances provide the greater opportunity to display character.

Legendary Basketball Coach and cancer victim, Jim Valvano declared, “If you laugh, and you think, and you cry, then you’ve had a really good day. If you can do that seven times a week, then you have something very special.”

Spilling creamed corn on your beautiful wife can make one laugh, think, and cry. What a day! I am praying your days will be filled with laughter, thoughts, and tears of love.

My wife laughed as well. I might have won her over when I sang my little twist on The Carpenters’ Close to You. I admit it would have sounded better with the sweet voice of Karen Carpenter.

On the day that you were born the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true. So they sprinkled creamed corn in your hair of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue.

Just like me, they long to be Close to You.

Oh! One last thing. Would you take part in a brief survey?

Don’t you think adding a few specks of yellow to blonde hair and blue eyes can be a very attractive look? Thank you!

SESSION 24

It’s baseball season!

America’s favorite pastime evokes images of The Boys of Summer, hot dogs, fireworks, and the Mystery of the Missing Nachos.

The major league baseball park was electric as we watched my kids’ favorite team. The summer vacation was punctuated with this big finale. A pro player tossed a baseball to my daughter. She was thrilled. My sons got pictures of the star players.

They all learned some new language not normally heard on our Sunday ventures. Two highly intoxicated fans had a shout-off contest. “Ken Caminiti is a weenie.” (The third baseman made a couple of errors.) “Mike Bielecki is a weasel.” (The pitcher had a rough outing.) Back and forth. The raucous duo found unity in an extended rant, “The umpire rocks,” or something like that.

In one of the middle innings, I took the kids to the concession stand for some mid-game snacks. I returned with my arms full and my wallet empty. I carried drinks and hotdogs and popcorn and some cheese nachos. As we repositioned our seating alignment, we passed out the refreshments. Lots of happy faces.

After all the food was distributed, I could not find the cheese nachos. I thought I had placed them at my feet below the seat. I asked each member of the family. I searched everywhere. I racked my brain. Did I leave them at the concession counter? Did this guy next to me take them? His buddy was eating cheese nachos. They were both laughing. It looked very suspicious.

I whispered to my wife that the fans on our aisle had stolen my cheese nachos. She told me to let it go. I couldn’t. It was the principle of the thing. My fixation was halted as my favorite player was in the on-deck circle. A home run would change my mood.

Suddenly, my younger son needed to go to the restroom. He said he could not wait. Seriously. Wait until this next guy bats. That was cruel enough, but then the opposing team decided to change pitchers. Apparently, the opposing manager could not wait either. My son was hopping up and down. It was time to go.

I had flashbacks of a similar incident years ago when I was a kid. My parents took me on a dream trip to see my first pro baseball game. My little brothers and two cousins completed the travel squad.

We went to Kansas City to see the Royals play the world champion New York Yankees. This was the Bronx Bombers, one of the legendary dream teams. We sat in the right field area, close to the outfielders. The homerun sluggers, Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle were almost close enough to touch. Future Hall of Fame pitcher, Whitey Ford, was on the mound and my older cousin Jimmy’s favorite player, Yogi Berra, was the catcher.

The game went into extra innings, The score remained tied as the tenth inning ended. My younger brother, Bill, needed to go to the bathroom. Jimmy offered to take him. I am not exactly sure about the details of their delay. Dad always thought Bill moved kinda slow. Mom said he was just not ever in a hurry to get anywhere, thus the nickname, “Cool Breeze.”

I do vividly recall what happened during their absence. Yogi Berra hit a home run over the right field fence which landed very close to us. I still remember Jimmy’s face when they returned and he asked, “What happened? I was helping Bill buckle his belt. (Did I mention “slow”?) I heard the crack of the bat and the loud cheers.”

Oh, no big deal. Your favorite player blasted a game-winning home run. The ball landed right near where you had been sitting. You would have caught the Yogi moon shot. Jimmy took the news like a major leaguer. It was Big League Heartbreak.

Sorry, Jimmy. I imagine this major disappointment contributed to Jimmy eventually switching his loyalty to the San Francisco Giants. A once in a lifetime experience was missed because a younger relative had bad timing.

The restroom trip with my son was not the best timing. However, it did not include a missed home run by my favorite player. He struck out while we were away.

The important event was the surprise discovery of the missing cheese nachos. We finally found them, uneaten by the rude fan to my left. The cheese nachos magically appeared when I got up from my seat to take my son to the restroom.

My wife tried to quietly get my attention. She kept pointing at me. Then shouting my name. Now that we have everyone’s attention, “What?”

Miss Marple had solved the mystery. This feline detective had unraveled the case. The super sleuth could not control her laughter as she continued to point in my direction.

My blue shorts were covered in cheese nachos. Yep, I sat down on the missing cheese nachos. They were stuck to the backside of my blue shorts!

Oh, it was quite the comical sight for all the spectators as I walked up the stadium steps. I dripped nachos and cheese sauce all the way. It was a real crowd pleaser. It brought new meaning to the seventh inning stretch. I am surprised the incident was not caught on the video Jumbotron.  

The crowd entertainment was not over. I spent the next inning standing in the restroom area in my underwear as I washed out my shorts in the sink. Yes, several people wish they could erase that image from their memory bank. Primarily, me. The blow dryer was helpful for this occasion. My son was extremely embarrassed. He acted as if he did not know me.

I tried to ignore the looks and the laughter from the exiting crowd of onlookers. Somehow, Mr. I Don’t Like to Talk to Anyone felt the need to explain to people what I was doing. “Sat on some cheese nachos. Just washing them off.”  

Guys started handing me their mustard-stained T-shirts as if I were the men’s room attendant. The jeers echoed through the place, “Caminiti is a weenie.”

I guess each of you has misplaced something at one time or another. It can be frustrating not to find the object where you are sure you placed it. You always put it there. Somebody moved it. Someone hid it from you. Hey, it could be worse! At least, you can keep your pants on!

Have you ever misplaced your Love First button? Maybe, you were engaged in some favorite activity when the interruption came. Perhaps, you were in the last stages of finishing a project or solving a problem when the other person insisted on your attention. Or maybe you just wanted to finish the movie.

In some moments, our well-intentioned love first and love most plans suddenly disappear from view. Our frustration grows as no one helps us. The other persons are more interested in getting their way or having their say. So, you give up the plan to love first and begin to blame others for the missing link. That usually ends up in a messy situation.

Egg on the face has a similar result to sitting on cheese nachos. Everyone notices. Embarrassment and hurt are not good buddies. Negative attitudes and angry words are never the best way to start the parade.

We live in a culture of chronic complainers. There is always something to grumble and gripe about. The line is too long. The traffic is so congested. The gas prices are too high. The fast food is so bad. The ice cream serving size is too small. The day is too hot; Walmart is too crowded. The concert fan in front of us thinks we bought tickets to watch her dance and sing. And would someone please tell that poor sucker that he has cheese nachos dripping from his blue shorts?

Here is a Love First classic for all of us looking for the cheese nachos. It comes right out of the #1 Textbook. Do all things without grumbling or complaining. Do not have a negative attitude and do not use negative words. In ALL things.

Love expresses gratitude and grace. Gratitude is thankfulness for all the many God-given cheese nachos blessings we tend to forget about. Grace is the God-given desire and power to love first and love most in ALL things…even missing cheese nachos.

I wish I spent as much time in life counting my blessings as I have searching for my missing cheese nachos. I am making progress. I truly desire to make a positive impact in this life. If that is my goal in ALL things, then I need to lose the negative attitude and words.

I want to expand my Love First and Love Most vocabulary. I am praying that gratitude and grace replace my grumbling and complaints.

“Play Ball!” Our family has heard that shout many times throughout the years. I can assure you that each season, someone remembers to shout, “Where are my cheese nachos?”

I confess I remain a little sensitive to the subject. I have nightmares about trips to the ballpark concession stand. The server looks at me and asks, “Would you like some cheese on your blue shorts? With chili or jalapenos?”

SESSION 23

Have you ever made a Donut Decision? I am not referring to some choice from a glass case of donut options. I mean the kind of decision that looks good at the start but later reveals a big hole of empty promises in the middle. This session is about both kinds of Donut Decisions.

Some decisions in life are bigger than others; some are smaller. Some decisions are hard, and some can be classified as no-brainers. Some choices have greater, longer-lasting consequences; some have minimal blowback. Some decisions are thrilling while some can be frustrating.

I recently stopped at Krispy Kreme to pick up some donuts for my grandkids. The decision was not too complicated. One dozen glazed, and one dozen chocolate covered glazed.

Only one car was ahead of me in the drive through. This would be a quick pick-up, resulting in an extremely popular surprise. Somehow this convenient stop at the donut place with the “Hot” flashing sign would turn into a glaze of frustration.

The lady in the only car ahead of me was obviously not in a hurry for donuts or any decision. I listened as the sound came from the speaker indicating the Krispy Kreme employee was waiting for her order. When there was no reply by the customer, they told her to just order when ready. Long silence. Repeat, ready when you are. Longer silence. Please order when ready.

Finally, the lady started an order; then canceled it. She restarted. Paused for what felt like twenty minutes. Added two specialty donuts. Subtracted two regular items. Then she abruptly canceled the entire order…again.

The lady began to ask questions about the menu. She deliberated. Then placed a call on her cellphone for suggestions. By this time, I am blocked in the drive-through line. No way out and no way through! I am stuck!

I am not sure whom she called. It might have been her grandkids. Maybe it was her daughter or husband. Perhaps it was the fire station or her church class.

Maybe she called her priest to confess her insensitivity to holding up the other customers. Was she requesting an indulgence for her insatiable desire to order more donuts than could be eaten by the multitude of five thousand? Most of the church people I know just stuff their faces with donuts and ask for forgiveness in the next life.

I understand the desire to please. She wanted to get the order correct and to someone’s satisfaction.

Of course, I was patient. Love first. Love most. This was just a test. Donuts can wait.

Then the store turned off the “Hot” sign. Wait a minute!

I would wait more than another minute. The lady began to read the entire menu to the person on the other end of the call. The phone recipient asked her to read the entire menu…twice. A few items were added to her order. Another was withdrawn. One icing flavored was changed.

Is that all? “Yes. No! No! Wait.” She just spotted the picture with special patriotic donuts. She wanted some of them. She inquired as to what kinds were available. The picture had patriotic “sprinkles” or choice of colored glaze (“red, white, or blue”). Thankfully, our national flag has only three colors. The special offers also came in regular or chocolate, which added complications to each decision.

How long does it take to say, “One dozen glazed, and one dozen chocolate glazed, please”??? Apparently, much longer than I assumed.

I tried to imagine that the lady could have been my grandmother. I would definitely want others to show her patience and kindness. Then it dawned on me that I am now the age of my grandmother. Heavens to Betsy!

The dear lady canceled her order and started over. I texted the home team about the delay. I mentioned something about the “witch of the west” ordering for all her munchkins. Well, sorry. At least I did not call her the Wicked Witch of the West.

Oh, the agony of her dilemma. Back to the phone. She repeated the patriotic options as she pointed to each picture, as if the person on the other end of the cell call could see the multi-colored choices. Yes, change the order. She began yelling at someone. I am not sure whether it was the employee or the voice on the cell phone.

Things took a turn for the worse when she arrived at the payout. I will spare the details since you have probably decided to stop reading/listening by now. All of you have a story to tell that would top this one.

Have you ever made a Donut Hole Decision? I am not referring to a selection of a donut from multiple options. I mean a decision that seemed very good at the start but somehow ended up with a big empty hole in the middle. Something was missing.

Most of my “hole in the middle” decisions were made on impulse. My self-centered selections deteriorated relationships that were important to me. Like so many people, I did not think through the potential consequences of my initial decision.

Our choices affect others. I am learning to think about others as I make my decisions. A resolution to love first and love most sets a precedent and parameters for our other choices.

Decisions can be difficult and waiting on others to make decisions can be…uuhhh…challenging.

For example, it took me years to learn that my wife enjoys reading the restaurant menu. You heard that right. Purveying the menu selections is more interesting to her than eating the advertised specials. It’s like shopping. The joy is in the journey, not the actual purchase.

 I used to think it was just difficult for her to choose from all the items on the menu. I realize now that reading the menu is pleasurable to her. Like patience is pleasurable to me. (Where is that sarcasm font?)

Since I do not drink alcoholic beverages, it is nice when there is a bowl of chips and salsa to accompany the menu-reading time. My preferences have no judgment or condemnation attached. I just enjoy a social time of chips and salsa now and then. There have been several occasions where I almost selected the Margarita option on the other side of the menu.

My wife is a fast reader, but any menu survey reduces her speed-reading into slow-motion. She even finds some menus worthy of more than one glance. What do I think about that avocado topped tilapia with the green chili sauce?

“Hey, let’s order it and find out.”

She replies, “No, this other item sounds like it might be good.”

“Well, let’s just order both of them.”

The smiling waitress returns…again. “Are you ready to order?”

“Not yet; we are still looking. Could you bring us some more chips and salsa? Can you bring us a sniff-n-taste sample of everything? While you’re at it, just bring a dozen or so margaritas…just for me.”

Seriously, the menu search is not a problem for me, not anymore. I love it that she enjoys the menu. Again, it is the window shopper in her. She looks at all the beautiful, mouth-watering options. Then she orders the least expensive. Gotta love it.

Love First and Love Most. That is a decision. It’s your choice, no matter what is on the other person’s menu. I wish I had learned that sooner in life.

To love first and most is always the best decision you can make in any relationship.

I have made far too many “donut hole” decisions because of impatience. Sometimes, I do not even wait for Siri to respond with the correct directions. I just turn and go.

That is not the best method for spiritual direction. Every decision you and I make, has a spiritual dimension. God’s Word is the sure and steadfast guide to every decision and direction in life.

Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go (#1 Textbook).

YOU ALWAYS FIND GOD’S WILL IN GOD’S WORD.

I believe every step of our lives is recorded in the #1 Textbook. God’s Word is like a lamp to guide my steps and a light that shows the path I should take. Some “next” steps come with a green light to go for it. Others have a yellow caution or red stoplight.

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you (#1 Textbook.)

Learn to walk with God. Ask His opinion about your life’s menu. Spend time in the #1 Textbook. Waiting on the Lord’s counsel is always a good decision.

Here are some guidelines for decision-making:

1) PURPOSE: Love God and love others. Establish that every decision in your life will be an expression of your ultimate purpose.

2) PREFERENCE: Love Yields.

For instance, if the decision is whether to paint the room off-white or taupe, you can yield. There is no “right” color. Yield, especially if one color makes the other person happier. You do not have to always be the authority, get your way, or make every decision. Preferences are never about right and wrong choices.

3) PLANS: Love is open to Change.

Consider your options. Listen to counsel. Adapt and improve to better your decisions and advance your direction.

4) PRINCIPLE: Love Stays the Course.

It is always right to Love First and Love Most. No compromise. No shortcuts.

5) PATIENCE: It’s a no-brainer Love test.

NOTE:

• Decide now to Love First and Love Most.
• You do not have to “wait in line” to love first and love most.
• You might have to “wait on another person” to love them first and most.
• See the “wait time” as a golden opportunity to love first and most.
• Do it with more joy!

I have to go now. The “Hot” sign is back on at Krispy Kreme.

SESSION 22

She was as pretty and sweet as any six-year-old girl who has graced the face of this earth.

Like too many precious children, her perfect world came crashing down upon her with the news that her dad was tragically killed in a traffic accident. A farmer’s tractor/combine fell onto the young veterinarian’s car.

She was the oldest of five children. That’s right. Her mom was raising five kids under the age of six. They had just moved to Minnesota, far away from family and friends. This was life-changing trauma…for all of them.

A best-selling book, beautiful movie, bouquets of flowers, thousands of testimonials, and many stars in a heavenly crown should await her mother. The devastating grief and shattered dreams drove her to an even deeper faith in God. She was pretty and charming, but she had five little kids. Most babysitters were “one and done” as were the interested suitors.

She did the parent thing alone. Her children and innumerable multitude of descendants are her earthly monument. She did well. As I said, it would make a good movie.

However, the subject of praise in this session is directed to that six-year-old girl. She suffered deeply from the loss of her hero father. She also had to take on a new role in the family as her mother eventually joined the workforce to support her handful of children.

This little girl became a responsible helper in the home. She became an excellent cook who had dinner on the table for the whole family when Mom got home. She was the head housekeeper of an immaculately clean house overrun by four little siblings just living a normal life. She learned how to do laundry from cleaning to ironing and folding. She became a skilled seamstress.

Her grown-up responsibilities did not prevent her participation in the neighborhood kid fun stuff. She enjoyed games, bike riding, and races. She was a happy little girl with a deep sense of fear always lurking inside.

She lost her father. She did not lose her sweetness. Neither would change with the passing years. She missed out on many of the father-daughter things that others take for granted. That absence in her heart has never been fully replaced. However, she excelled in school. She was smart, disciplined, responsible, friendly, and popular.

She will be embarrassed that I mentioned she was a lifeguard awarded the Presidential Merit of Honor for saving a life. She was declared the fastest woman in her college sports class. She was the star reporter in a movie. She worked her way through college to become an exceptional dental hygienist. She possessed the most beautiful eyes any patient ever looked into.

I married that grown-up girl. (If you missed it, read session 12, “Honeymoon Bliss.”) One of her teachers told me I got “the cream of the crop.” Yes, I did. She has greatly blessed my life and those of her three children and seven grandchildren. They call her “Babe;” I call her “My Girl.”

This WINSDAY WISDOM is dedicated to My Girl. Happy Birthday, Babe!

My Girl. That is a pretty bold statement from the guy whose girl’s favorite song at the time we dated was the Lesley Gore classic, “You Don’t Own Me.”

Don’t tell me what to do…Don’t tell me what to say                                                                And please when I go out with you…Don’t put me on display                                                 You don’t own me…Don’t try to change me in any way.                                                        

That song played often in our newlywed apartment, along with the flip side of the record, “It’s My Party and I’ll Cry If I Want To.”

God knew I needed her. I know that as well. She has helped make me a much better man than the one she married. I have learned so much from her, especially her kindness.

I watch her unselfishness as she serves others. She is truly content with less. Suffering and hurt turn her toward the Lord for comfort and restoration of her soul.

She reads the #1 Textbook and writes daily in her prayer journal. She records sermon notes almost word for word. Her patience with me goes beyond the definitions of longsuffering and perseverance. She loved me when I was young and self-centered. She loves me now when I am old and set in my ways.

I have failed her in many ways, but never in my heart. I have loved her since that first day I was introduced to this gorgeous young woman with those beautiful eyes. Yes, they are the bluest and brightest. Of course, I did not have much of a clue about true love. I did say, “Hello.” Sometimes in a movie, that’s enough to hook the girl’s heart. My understanding of love has grown. I loved her then, but not as much as now.

Love First and Love Most are not challenges when it comes to her. It is the joy of my heart to compete with her in this most important thing in life.

Through her, her children, and grandchildren, I have been truly blessed. She made us a Family. From cook to cheerleader, from prayer time to phone calls, in struggles and success, she has been there for them. They share with her their stories, jokes, and secrets. They find comfort in her presence. When she does their laundry, they feel as if they are truly home. Steadfast love awaits all of us.

Her faith in God is real; but so are her emotional struggles with fear of the future. How do those two opposite ends of the emotional spectrum exist in one person? Ask David, the composer of most of the Psalms. It is called honesty.

God can handle our questions, doubts, and fears. His faithfulness is not threatened. His lovingkindness never ceases.

Why does God’s Word tell us not to fear, worry, or drown in despair? Why? Because that is where our hearts and minds live in this earthly jungle. That is why we need the constant reminders to look up and trust, to live in hope.

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

In the most painful moment—God is with you.

In the bigger picture—God is for you.

Everything God does is wise, right, and good…even when you cannot see it that way and do not feel it could ever be that way.

Whether it is the little girl or my girl, 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 all suffering and circumstances.

Maybe, that is one of the reasons God joined us together as a team. She overflows with unselfish kindness in every relationship. I abound in hope in every circumstance.

My wife once described how she feels in the darkest moments of emotional struggles. “Have you ever felt you were hanging on by a thread? A thin, thin thread unraveling in your hands? But in that moment, you realized that there was Someone bigger holding on to that thread and He would never let you go under.”

In those times, I hope for both of us in the same manner her heart of kindness carries me and my heart deficiencies into the arena of life. God has not given up on her, and she has not given up on me.

I offer no pat answers or easy faith recipes for her or you. I do not pretend to tell that little six-year-old girl that the tragic loss of her dad was good. I would never dare tell you that your past or present or future hurt and heartbreak should be called good.

I do not intend to say you should just shake it off and act as though nothing hurtful has happened; neither do I suggest that I can forecast how your loss and suffering will turn out for good.

In all your hurt and heartache, I am pleading with you to look to the God of Comfort and Hope. He is still holding on to you. He suffers and cries with you. He has promised to work ALL things out for your good. It is indeed a divine mystery how the dark threads woven into our lives are there for a purpose–a mystery only God can unravel for us one day. 

God can and will fix you, but the process is lifelong. My precious wife is still a divine masterpiece in the making. So are You!

It will take time for you to see and feel differently, but healing can begin this very moment. I am convinced that God’s goodness and mercy follow us all the days of our lives (#1 Textbook) and that His goodness will eventually amaze you beyond anything you could have imagined.

Love First. Love Most. 

^“LOVE is patient and KIND…It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful…LOVE bears all things, believes all things, HOPES all things, endures all things. Love never fails and it never ends“ (#1 Textbook).

God gave me a promise from the #1 Textbook before I asked this beautiful young woman to marry me. “Enjoy life with the woman whom you love all the days of your fleeting life which God has given you under the sun; for this is your reward in life.”

I have a reward in this life:

I don’t need no money, fortune, or fame
I got all the riches baby, one man can claim
Well, I guess you’d say
What can make me feel this way?

My girl, my girl, my girl
Talkin’ ’bout my girl…My Girl.

SESSION 21

“It’s OK. I still love you. Let’s go home.”

My father’s declaration that night at the ballpark changed my outlook on life forever. My dad and my Heavenly Father would NEVER LOVE ME LESS….no matter what!

Another impactful statement affecting my life originated from the historical account of John Paton, the first missionary to the cannibal populated New Hebrides Islands.

Paton’s exploits were brave and adventurous. His commitment to the task was the stuff of legends. However, it is the statement by his dying wife which burned into my heart and soul.

“I would do it all again, only next time with more joy.”

That statement has renewed my vow to not let this world rob me of the joy of living. “I would do it all again, only next time with more joy.”

Paton and his new bride, Mary, left Scotland to embark on an ocean journey to the Pacific South Seas. They volunteered to be instruments of God’s love. Their lives would be in constant danger. Several years earlier, two missionaries survived only a few minutes before they were murdered and eaten. This was not the travel agency’s honeymoon paradise.

John and Mary Paton carried with them the most important thing in life, love for God and love for others. They were compelled to show hostile natives that love. Love always comforts; it never condemns. Love always continues; it never ceases. Love that always takes us home; it never closes the door.

In Robinson Crusoe fashion, John and Mary Paton established a residence along the shoreline of Tanna. Savages occupied the inner island untouched by western civilization. These violent natives were well versed in fear, hate, and hurt.

Difficulty, danger, and death awaited the newlywed missionaries. Somehow, they survived the sporadic attacks and inquisitive incursions of their hostile hosts. Ten months after the arrival, the Patons enjoyed the birth of a son. However, three weeks later, Mary died from a fever. The baby boy died seventeen days later. Paton dug the graves, buried his loved ones, and slept on the ground to protect their bodies from the cannibals.

We can only imagine the pain and heartbreak. Paton was overcome with sorrow and loneliness. Almost every day, he had to flee for his life, with breathtaking tales of escape, often hiding in a tree or the darkness of the forest. The unrelenting danger was real. Each crisis was like a scene from a movie thriller.

Although Paton often had to run for his life, he kept running in the right spiritual direction with his #1 Textbook. He never gave up his attempts to convince the violent natives of his loving intentions. After years of perseverance in love through threatening trials and miraculous escapes, the whole island population became transformed by the powerful love of God through the words and actions of this one man.

The converted chief later told Paton about the night they intended to attack and murder him but were stopped by the many guards surrounding him. Paton said he was alone. The chief objected, describing his frightened sight of the hundreds of armed soldiers in shiny garments surrounding the Paton campsite.

Paton had the courage to risk everything to do the most important thing. He loved first. He loved most. The story of his platform of influence has inspired thousands of young men and women to risk loving others in that same manner.

Paton’s precious wife, Mary, also risked everything to love others who identified themselves as enemies of that love. As she lay dying, her husband shared his sorrow and remorse for taking her so far away from home and family, from comfort and safety.

Mary affirmed it was also her choice to share love with these hostile people in that distant land. She did not resent her husband’s leadership, nor did she regret God’s guidance. Amazingly, she had no remorse over the soon to come ending.

She consoled her grieving husband with these words, “I do not regret leaving home and friends. If I had it to do over, I would do it with more pleasure, yes, with all my heart.”

I would do it all again, only next time with more joy.

There is coming a time for each of us where we will feel the same way. Life has felt hard, almost impossible at time because of encounters with hurt and hatred. There has been unwanted suffering and trials where the climb was harder, and the valleys were far lower than we anticipated.

Stop and think. Look back on your life. You cannot change what happened. There is no benefit to questioning or reliving your decisions about what you did or did not do or should have done. There are no “what-ifs” in God’s plan. The past is unchangeable.

If you knew this was to be your journey through life again, would you worry, grieve, and complain more? Or would you wish you could do it all again, only next time with more joy?

One day, I talked about the Patons’ attitude about life and the desire to do it all again, only with more joy.

That next week, my sweetheart daughter reminded me of those words. I was in the garage feeling very frustrated as I helped my son with his procrastinated science project. Then the door opened with the precious smile of my adoring girl. “Remember Dad. Someday you will wish you had done this with more joy.”

Parents tend to get upset when their children do not listen. Why do they listen to the parts that come back to bite us in the brain? Did I wish I had done that with more joy?

Yes, I do. I would love to be with my children now, involved in a late-night science project or a lengthy piano practice, just with more joy. I would give anything to look into that messy room or see that dented car again, just with more joy. I would embrace their defeats and the shared heartaches, only next time with more joy.

Some of my life adventures were tough like recycled test in college, eating the enemy’s cake with forgiveness, and heart crushing spiritual disorientation (mentioned in previous sessions). Other events were less challenging, but still needed a dose of more joy. One occasion involved strawberry pie.

Our family had recently moved to a different city. New friends invited me and my six-year-old son to a college basketball game. When the announcement was made regarding the halftime pie-eating contest, I was informed that my name had been entered. Funny joke.

As the game got closer to halftime, I became a little worried and then fearful. I do not enjoy being in the spotlight, especially in the role of a fool. There were several thousand spectators at the game, so rest easy my soul. What are the odds?

The halftime introduction of participants began. First, a ten-year-old boy excitedly dashed out of the stands and took his place at the table set up along the free-throw lane. A college guy dressed in home team apparel was named next, delighted to be in the competition. He celebrated as though he had won the lottery.

My fear was realized with the next announcement. The PA system loudly called out my name, several times. I was stunned. My son and friends stood and cheered with excitement, pointing to the selected party. Yes, the contest drawing had been rigged by my new friend who printed the tickets and strategically placed my name in the “random” drawing. Right! This was my initiation into a new band of brothers. Funny joke. Not to me.

I reluctantly sat in the middle chair between the two eager challengers. When the time clock started, I took on the strawberry pie in front of me. I was no match for the other two contestants who literally planted their faces into the pies. They ate like hogs freed from a hunger strike. I wilted into third place but was awarded the rest of the pie as a consolation prize.

When I returned to my laughing friends, I handed the pie box to my son. I have never forgotten his look of major disappointment as he opened the box top and stared at how much of the uneaten pie remained. “Are you kidding me? Is that the best you can do?”

There is no shame which compares to a dad disappointing the son who idolizes him. Our family motto is “always do your best and never quit.” How do you explain to your son that you did neither one? Not funny at all. This was a low point in my quest to be the greatest dad in the world.

I wish I had participated in that unwanted pie contest with more joy— yes, much more joy. Throughout these many passing years, my contest manipulative friend continues to surprise me with the gift of a strawberry pie, conveniently presented in the same packaging as that first one. I eat as much as I can with as much joy as possible. Then I share the rest with even more joy.

I would do it all again, only next time with more joy. That is true not only for the fun times and the family times; it is true for the challenging times and the rough times in life as well. I would do it all again, only next time with more joy.

How many times have I said those words at the end of a difficult chapter in life or in a relationship?

I have been cheated and mistreated, which sounds like a country song. I have messed up and seemingly missed out. I have failed, fallen, been forgotten, and fooled. I have grieved, mourned, wallowed in self-pity, and lived with anxiety, worry, and fear.

I survived crisis, conflict, and coronary challenges. I outlasted discouragement, discrimination, dismissal, debt, and defeat. I do not need anything changed in my past life. I only wish I had done it all with more joy.

How does a person live with more joy? Here is a #1 Textbook life lesson for us to share:

• Faith in God goes to the source of joy. “In God’s presence, there is fullness of joy.” “The joy of the Lord is your strength” (#1 Textbook).

• Hope in God fuels joy. “May the God of hope fill you with all joy. ”God has given you divine joy so that your joy might be full.” (#1 Textbook).

• Love for and from God is the expression of joy. “I showed you how to live with lasting joy: Love each other. Love others in the same manner and as much as I love you” (#1 Textbook).

God always knows where we are, where we need to be, how and when to get us there to maximize what is best for us. So be faithful, loving, and joyful where you are now.

The key to joy is awareness of God’s presence in all the different situations in life. When I look back over my life, both the delightful and the difficult circumstances, I wish I had been more aware of God’s presence.

TRAIN YOURSELF TO THINK IN TERMS OF GOD’S CHARACTER, NOT YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES.

The degree of our delight should not be determined by our circumstances. We need to focus our awareness on God being with us and for us in those circumstances.

Pain and suffering are momentary and limited. Love for God and others lasts forever. “Weeping may come for the night, but joy comes in the morning”  (#1 Textbook).

“Count it all joy when you go through many trials” (#1 Textbook).

“The sun comes up each morning to remind us to run the daily race with joy” (#1 Textbook).

God always loves first and always loves most.

I am still learning to love first with more joy. I am still striving to love most with more joy. What about you?

How do you love first and love most with greater joy?

Anchor your heart to love and remember the most important thing in life.

Love God. Love others. Love them first and love them most. Maximize the joy. Make your world a better place for others who live in it.

Yes, I would do it all again, only next time with more joy. These remaining seasons of life will be measured in hours, days, weeks, months, years. I intend to look to the source and empowerment and expression of more joy.

What about you?

Think in terms of God’s character, not your circumstances. That is not normal for us. It is supernatural.

Practice. Practice. Practice.

This is my prayer for you. “May the God of HOPE, fill you with all JOY” (#1 Textbook).

SESSION 20

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. No wonder my dad was saddened when the Highway Department placed the warning sign beside our family yard: Beware, Slow Children Playing. Apparently, the yellow caution sign became a necessity after the birth of my two younger brothers.

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.

Maybe next year would propel this rookie hurler to the Big Leagues to win the Cy Young Award for best pitcher, then on to the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown.

“There are heroes and there are legends; heroes get remembered, but legends never die.”

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 two-note “wah-wah-wah…who-who-who” classic melody sounds similar to the howl of a coyote. It is definitely one of the coolest, most iconic soundtracks in movie history.

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.

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.

What group of Aristotelian screenwriters thought it would be cathartic for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid to be gunned down by hundreds of Bolivian soldiers? Or Toy Story 3 to end with grown-up kid Andy sharing a final farewell with Sheriff Woody, Buzz Lightyear, and the other toy friends before he goes off to college? Who in their right mind would want to end a movie like that? People would bawl their eyes out.

(I still think there needs to be a special font for sarcasm!)

What about Rhett Butler leaving Scarlett in Gone with the Wind? Well, frankly my dear, I do not get that. 

What helpful emotional benefit is there to shooting Old Yeller?

What television producer decided it would be good therapeutic theatre for the Mets to win the World Series and rip out the heart of every Red Sox fan as they watch the slowly hit baseball roll right through the legs of Bill Buckner?

What’s next? No more milk shakes? Who in their right mind would think that it might be healthy for the heart to give up ice cream and doughnuts?

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. (#1 Textbook)

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.

What should you do now? Love first and love most, with more joy. (next session)

SESSION 19

My mom once called Dad, Mr. Derring-Do. That’s right, derring-do. The dictionary describes derring-do as heroic action, courageous, daring to be brave. And, yes, that is the correct spelling, derring with an “e,” not with an “a.”

The phrase comes from another generational era. It appears in the Walter Scott novel, Ivanhoe, where the knights joust in life and death charges. Previews of an old classic Errol Flynn movie promote “this swashbuckling hero and his tales of derring-do.”

Never heard that phrase? I can recall hearing the phrase only twice. Mom’s “Your dad is Mr. Derring-Do” comment was probably a little sarcastic, and my uncle Derwin’s remark “that our actions were a little derring-do” was most assuredly connected to some humorous adventure by his younger brother and him. It might have been the time they hid the family’s dead rooster on the roof from their mother. It seems the rooster did not survive being substituted for a flat basketball. Apparently, there was just one too many trips through the homemade basket on the side of the house.

I ask you, “Does this little boy in the middle of the porch look like a future Derring-Do?”

When my dad was studying post-graduate mathematics, he received a very unusual comment from his instructor. The teacher returned the weekly test with a large checkmark and comments scribbled in red, “Your math equation is correct, but the answer is wrong.” 

Although my dad worked the problem accurately, he ended up with the wrong answer to the question. How did that happen? He started with the wrong math formula. Therefore, he totally missed the whole point as well as the right answer to the problem.

Joey, one of the main characters on Friends, was like that. He was not dumb, just always incorrect. His answers were confident, but wrong.

We all have relationships that have gone wrong. It is easy to blame the other person as difficult or demanding or disappointing. We tried to make it work, but did we start with the wrong premise? A God-centered formula will always end up with the correct answer, Love First and Love Most.

Thankfully, Dad did not miss the answer to the most important thing in life. My dad’s real-life story had similar themes to the classic Christmas movie, It’s a Wonderful Life.

My dad and his three brothers were mistreated by an abusive, alcoholic father and raised in poverty by an uneducated single mom. Their past was less than ideal; their future looked bleak.

One night, the oldest son was horse-whipped for interfering with the physical abuse his drunken father lashed upon his mother. Under the cover of darkness, my grandmother and her four young boys left for safer quarters. Her five-year-old son would someday be my dad.

As the oldest brother carried the baby, the other three in this homeless caravan carried pillowcases with all their earthly goods. They followed the railroad tracks in the nighttime shadows. They climbed through fences and crossed fields. Soon, they had a new home in a chicken coup.

However, the boys had the courage and faith not to allow their past pain or present circumstances to define their future. Each brother was a derring-do. With God’s care, they changed the destiny of our family. They were helped along the way by their mother who kept them in church and caring teachers who kept them in school.

Three generations of our family namesakes are involved in coaching, teaching, and ministry today because our dad, his brothers, and godly mother would not allow the hate of one man to ruin their lives.

Dad could have used the excuse of his father’s uncaring absence, but instead, he embraced the love of a Heavenly Father. He passed that legacy on to us. As adults, he and his brothers traveled to the west coast in a Volkswagen to reconcile with their father.

What about you? What about your life? Excuses or courage? God is reaching out in love to say you are of great value.

Bad circumstances do not need to define you. Be strong and courageous. God is with you and for you to change your life and subsequent generations for the better.

All of life is a stewardship issue, whether the life belongs to my dad, George Bailey, or us. Tough days come to all of us, whether early or late in life.

No matter how painful suffering comes and how long it lasts, it is only temporary. Some days it does not feel that way; some days it does not look that way. Some days we want to quit, hide in the chicken coup, or jump off a bridge.

However, difficult circumstances should never define us; neither should our suffering. They only reveal what is inside of us.

When anything is squeezed, whatever is on the inside comes out!  It might not necessarily be what is on the label. I once squeezed an orange expecting orange juice but got surprisingly squirted with purple Gatorade which had been infused into the fruit. I have used that as a teaching illustration for my talks with football teams.

Sometimes, people wear slogan embossed T-shirts which are not representative of what is inside the shirt. I have been cussed-out by a lady in a God loves coffee shirt. I witnessed an older man wearing his Philadelphia Eagles outfit spew out hatred for the home team.

An individual does not lose his temper; he finds it when he gets squeezed.

When you get squeezed, what is on the inside comes out. So, fill up with love for others before they squeeze you with their hurtful words and hateful actions. Be prepared for a day in your Wonderful Life.

I never lived with an abusive, alcoholic father or called a chicken coup my home. Neither have my children or my grandchildren or my sibling’s families. Why? Because of God’s goodness to my dad through a “George Bailey” whose good deeds helped my grandmother’s struggling family. His kindness allowed them to move into a tiny shack. The boys earned money from farm chores.

My dad became a Hall of Fame coach and educational administrator. However, it was not the many victories on the gridiron and basketball court that made him a derring-do. Dad became the George Bailey of our small town. His acts of kindness became the toast of at-risk young men and women who experienced “generational change.”

I grew up in the days of school integration and the early part of the Civil Rights movement still going on today. My dad was on the front lines of the change that was coming. I realize these words are being written in the days of “woke” and “cancel” culture. There are social calls for the privileged to speak up when silent. Then the same critics yell for the speakers to be silent when they speak up, branding their words as “tokenism.” Although still unresolved, Civil Rights is not a new issue.

All I can do is tell the truth of what I saw and learned from my perspective as I watched my dad. It is certainly not the whole story, which is still being written. I saw my dad treat people of all colors with dignity and respect and love. He taught our family to do the same.

I saw Dad treat young men with different colored skin as if they were his own sons. Then I watched as those men became fathers and brought their sons to our house to meet my dad, their coach, their George Bailey. I remember their words, “Son, I want you to meet Coach. This is the man God used to change my life and yours.”

Those visits from my dad’s former players greatly impacted my life. He used his platform of influence to help others. He remembered what it was like not to have a father. He remembered what it was like to walk those railroad tracks in the darkness of night. He remembered living in a chicken coup. He never forgot the people who helped him.

I watched my dad lead his teams out of restaurants who refused to seat all his players in the same area. The plates of chicken fried steak and hot mashed potatoes were already on the tables. When the owner ordered some of the players to go to the back to eat, my dad ordered the whole team back on the bus to go home.

If the coach’s team played together, then they rode the bus together and they would eat together at the same table. I remember climbing back on the bus with the team as we left those hot rolls in the basket. More than once, angry café owners would loudly curse my dad before they relented in the face of lost revenue. Derring-do?

On several occasions, his team sat together side by side, black and white, in the balcony of movie theatres who assigned that place to people of color. The culture was wrong; but love for one’s brother, no matter his color, is always right. That should not have to be a tale of derring-do.

Culture does not have to define us or conform us, then or now. Love first. Love most.

My real life “George Bailey” dad helped many young men become the first in their family to go to college, young men who lived in poverty with unstable and dysfunctional families. Most suffered from an insufficient educational environment, poor community support, and adverse childhood experiences. Many struggled with feelings of abandonment, isolation, estrangement, and trauma.

As my brother wrote in a newspaper editorial,

“This world often defines individuals by the name of the street where they live. The haves and the have-nots. The ones like “Us” and the ones like “Them” are pitted against one another. Prejudices, websites, networks, and social media are full of news and fake news driving us even further apart.

It is fashionable and acceptable to unload on “them” and vice versa. Hate speech and name calling. Division, fear, hurt, and more hate. Us against Them.” –Bill Blankenship

If you start with the wrong formula, then you will end up with the wrong answer, even if you mean well. Life was not designed to be self-centered. All the answers will end up eternally marked as incorrect. A God-centered life in which we love like our Heavenly Father will always lead to the right answer for every relationship.

LOVE FIRST. LOVE MOST.

My nine-year-old grandson came home from school and stopped to watch the TV news coverage of the Capitol riots. As he headed to his room, he remarked, “I think if George Washington were here, he would be so embarrassed this was happening to our country.” 

We should all be embarrassed wherever and whenever there is hatred and hostility. Are you focused on those you hate? Or do you learn from your Heavenly Father who loves everybody? “We become like the one we behold” (#1 Textbook).

Justice is doing what is right. Remember the most important standard for what is right in life: Love God and love others. Follow Jesus and do what He does, wherever and whenever.

Justice equals Just-Us, treating one another the way we want to be treated. Love all others, especially anyone different from you. Love them first and love them most. Forgive first and forgive most.

LIFE CHANGE MATTERS. We can change, but the only one you are responsible to change is yourself. It is not too late for you to change for the better. Love First. Love Most.

LOVE IS COURAGEOUS. BE A DERRING-DO OF LOVE.

Love is highly contagious. It can infect the greatest and the least. We need a pandemic of heroic love which changes the landscape of our society and world.

Politics and protests talk about change. Laws and liberties promise change. ONLY LOVE CAUSES REAL AND LASTING CHANGE. Change in the lover and change in the one loved.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” Martin Luther King, Jr.

LIGHT UP SOME DARKNESS. DRIVE OUT SOME HATE. LOVE FIRST. LOVE MOST. It’s a Wonderful Life.

How do you love someone outside your circle of love?

Show them the heart of your Heavenly Father who loves first and loves most. (next session)

LOVE IS COURAGEOUS! Be a derring-do, Miss Landry!

SESSION 18

The classic Christmas movie, It’s a Wonderful Life, stars Jimmy Stewart as George Bailey. The movie chronicles a young man who gives up his career dreams to help his family. The script was developed from a short story, “TheGreatest Gift,” which could have been titled, “The Most Important Thing in Life.”

Bailey’s decision regarding the direction of his life would help many people in his community of Bedford Falls. His humdrum life in a small town is marked by a generous spirit. However, something happened worse than just a change of plans.

George slowly becomes embittered and angry at feeling trapped by the wasted potential of his choices and unappreciated by those he helped. Then he is falsely accused of theft when money gets misplaced at his business. With his personal and financial troubles too heavy to bear, Bailey plunges into the depths of despair, dangling on the brink of ruin.

George’s contemplated suicide jump from the bridge on Christmas Eve is interrupted by Clarence, his guardian angel. Clarence reviews all the lives touched by George’s kindness through the years and how worse things would have been for so many people if George had not touched their lives with love. Clarence quotes, “It is strange how each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he is not around, he leaves an awful hole.”

Enlightened and joyful, George races home through the snow to his wife, Mary, and little daughter. Upon arrival, he discovers the townspeople had rallied together to donate funds to replace the missing money.

His brother Harry, a war hero, makes a surprise Christmas visit and toasts George as the richest man in town because of all the people he has helped.

The movie concludes when a Christmas tree bell rings, and the daughter recalls a story that the sound of a ringing bell means an angel has earned his wings.

All of life is a stewardship. “Each person’s life touches so many other lives. When any person is not around, it leaves an awful hole.”

Tough times are part of life’s stewardship. Suffering and sickness and sorrow are things we all have in common. There are differences in who we are and where we came from, what we are like, and what we like; but we are all well-acquainted with rough patches in life.

F. Scott Peck began his best-selling book, The Road Less Traveled, by writing, “Life is difficult.” We all know what it feels like to be hurt or undergo loss. We might suffer from different things, in different degrees, in different ways, and for different amounts of time; but we all suffer. 

William Shakespeare’s Macbeth takes an indifferent view to the tough times and tragedies in this life. He sounds more like the man of futility who runs through life without God, chasing the wind. Listen to the words of Shakespeare’s Debby Downer.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,                                                                           Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,                                                                                To the last syllable of recorded time;                                                                                     And all our yesterdays have lighted fools                                                                              The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!                    

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,                                                                           That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,                                                                       And then is heard no more. It is a tale                                                                                  Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury                                                                         Signifying nothing.

Life is about Nothing. Macbeth speaks the words of Shakespeare which sound as if they were plagiarized from the biblical Solomon. Life is an actor running in circles around the stage, chasing the wind. The entire extravaganza signifies nothing. Futility. Vanity.

To Macbeth, all the world is a stage. Life just moves from scene to scene in some rhythmic beat of tomorrows laid end to end. Death seems more like the last act of an unbelievably bad play told by an idiot, full of melodrama, but lacking in substance and purpose. An illusion of shadows.

Why would God cause or allow or permit us to suffer? The #1 Textbook has a straightforward answer. To know God’s love better and to show God’s love better.

In some ways all the world is a stage, and we are actors. However, God is unseen backstage in real control of all that happens. Every scene has eternal purpose. Every act in life interlocks with divine conjunctions…And God…But God (#1 Textbook).

Every player has infinite worth. Every moment is divinely choreographed so “each and every tomorrow might be the most important and happiest day of our lives” (#1 Textbook).

The Author of our wonderful life will write the final chapter which will toast us as the richest man or woman on earth for living the “extraordinary’ life of loving God and loving others. Countless heavenly observers and many earthly lives we have touched will burst forth with thunderous applause on that day when a bell tolls for us.

No, we are not poor performers fretting away our moment in the spotlight of recorded time. We are God’s scripted stars who shine in hope and love as the glorious Lover of our souls choreographs our appearance in the Divine Dance.

Suffering and compassion are two sides of the same coin, side by side. Learn to turn the coin over. Love first. Love most. Even as you hurt. Love others who need comfort and hope.

Each of us, no matter how apparently insignificant in this big world, has the opportunity to make a positive difference. It does not require high position or great possessions or mighty power. It begins with purpose to remember the most important thing in life.

Start with one person today. What would it look like for you to love one person first and most? Tears flow the same way in every language. Put your arm around someone and take time to know his/her history, heartaches, heroes, and hopes.

We do not have to wait until Valentine’s Day to do something angelic or delay until the Christmas season to ring a bell. When we love first and love most, we always end up the most blessed. That is not a movie story. That is biblical truth about this Wonderful Life!

One day, my four-year-old grandson looked with his binoculars into the sky with its moving clouds, and declared, “It sure looks like Jesus is up to something today!”

Every difficult day, no matter what size, shape, or color, comes with instructions about God’s purpose for the most important thing in your life. God is up to something good for you and those you love.

You are always somewhere in the circle of God’s love and forgiveness. The main action inside that circle looks like a dance. Love first. Love most.

The greatest gift is the life God has given you to love others…to make their lives better. Expand your circle. That is a wonderful life!

Anecdote: I memorized this Shakespeare quote from Macbeth in my senior English class. Not by choice. My mother was a wonderful high school English teacher before becoming a college English professor. She insisted that I take another teacher for my senior English class. Mom instructed that teacher to push me to learn more. Mrs. Gardner assigned me Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment for my mandatory book report.

Crime and Punishment is a long, long, long, long, long Russian novel about who knows what. The character names cannot be pronounced and are just skimmed over in reading. Raskonikov, Razumikhin, and Marmeladov are followed by Zossimov and Zamyotove. Right. You get the idea. Somebody did the crime, and somebody got the punishment.

Mrs. Gardner would not accept my book report and told me to redo it. I insisted I had read the book and refused to resubmit another report, even under the threat of receiving an “F”. (Young people do stupid things. That failing grade would have jeopardized my college scholarship, but stubborn young minds do not think in those terms. My parents were not very sympathetic to my protest.)

Mom’s intervention meeting with Mrs. Gardner produced three breakthroughs: (1) Mrs. Gardner confessed she had never read the book. No wonder she could not make sense of my book review. (2) She offered to let me substitute a different book review. (3) I agreed to memorize a short passage from Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

This is my confession. That weekend I watched James Bond in the movie from the Ian Fleming novel, Thunderball. My report was awarded an “A.”  I did not learn my lesson about stubbornness or protests. I did learn some Shakespeare.

I have quoted my abbreviated version of Macbeth many times.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day and lights all our yesterdays the way to a dusty death. Life is a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

This Wonderful Life matters. Love First. Love Most.

Love Anchor 1: Remember the most important thing in life. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength; and love others as yourself.

Love Anchor 2: Love First. Love Most. God lives inside of you to lead you to others He intends to love through you.

Love Anchor 3: #1 Textbook. Love for God and love for others lasts forever. The instructions and directions are in the book.

Love Anchor 4: Right Direction. Life is about right direction, not perfection. Course corrections take just one step.

Love Anchor 5: Stay side by side. The only way to love God and love others is side by side.

Love Anchor 6: Be faithful and happy where you are now. God always knows where you are, where you need to be, how to get you there, and when to get you there. Be faithful and happy where you are now.

(Next session) How do you expand your circle of love?

Find someone who is not in your circle of love.

A big heart can do great things.

One of my favorite movies encouraged me to do what God purposed for my life. It was not a movie about love or drums. It featured a horse, the greatest racehorse of all time, Secretariat.

Secretariat was a horse with a big heart, literally and competitively. His heart was more than twice the size of a normal horse which aided his strength, stamina, and speed. Athletically, heart size is referred to as the X Factor in desire to win. Secretariat was the first horse in twenty-five years to win the Triple Crown (Kentucky Derby, Preakness, and Belmont), all in speed record times.

Wearing blue and white colors, Secretariat took on the challengers in the Kentucky Derby. Coming around the first turn, he began passing horses in front of him as he moved from eighth position to right behind the favorite Sham.

As they came into the home stretch heading for the finish line, Secretariat sprinted past the leader and won by 2.5 lengths in a new record time which still stands today, 1:59.25. The champion thoroughbred ran every quarter of the race faster than the preceding one.

The second race of the Triple Crown at the Preakness was even more brilliant. Secretariat came out of the gate last, but immediately engaged in a full sprint, ignoring the safety warnings associated with the tight turns. His win in record time catapulted him into a cultural phenomenon.

Praised as a super-horse, Secretariat gained celebrity status among the fans, even featured on a Sports Illustrated cover.

The third race at Belmont was the most challenging, a graveyard for speed horses. This longer race favored the bigger and stronger Sham. The opponent’s strategy was to force Secretariat to start fast but falter due to lack of stamina.

Secretariat sprinted right out of the gate; he never stopped. The race was as legendary as it was dramatic. Secretariat and Sham took the lead, leaving the other horses far behind. The movie captured the race announcer’s voice calling Secretariat’s lead at six lengths, growing to eleven.

The broadcaster shouted Secretariat was moving like a “tremendous machine” leading by 17 lengths as he came around the turn. Onlookers were not watching a machine. This was the showcase manifestation of a big heart.

Strength. Stamina. Speed.

The spectators were on their feet, their voices thundered, the stadium began to shake. The movie captured the moment in SILENCE as the camera looked back from the finish line to the final turn awaiting the appearance of the horses.

The off-screen narration reflected on life in the context of athletic contests.

This is about life being ahead of you and you run at it! Because you never know how far you can run unless you run.

Time seemed frozen as everyone waited in anticipation for the climactic end of the race. Could Secretariat finish as strong and as swiftly as he began? How big is his heart?

The theatre speakers began to vibrate with the thunderous sounds of galloping legs pounding the turf as Secretariat appeared on the screen, coming around the final turn, headed for home and victory. The horse with the big heart appeared all alone…fluid and fast…majestic and mighty.

Everything on the screen changed into classic movie slow motion as a voiceover narrated words from the #1 Textbook.

The horse rejoices in his strength and charges into battle. He laughs at fear, afraid of nothing. He does not shy away from the sword…In frenzied excitement he eats up the ground. He cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds.                                                                          

My favorite part of the movie comes next as the music heightens and beautiful choir voices stir the soul.

O Happy Day! O Happy Day! When Jesus washed my sins away. O Happy Day!

As the song continued, the race announcer’s voice filled the background. “Secretariat sprints toward the finish line…20 lengths in front, having run the first mile and a quarter faster than his Derby time. His lead increases to 25 . . .28 lengths.”

He taught me how to walk, fight and pray, And live rejoicing–everyday. O Happy Day!

Secretariat crossed the finish line in record time: 2 minutes and 24 seconds.  Winning margin: 31 Lengths.

As the famous sportswriter, William Nack, penned, “As rhythmic as a rocking horse, Secretariat never missed a beat, a stunning portrait of grace and wonder. No fading. No faltering. No failure.”

This life is not about horses, but it is about heart. There is a race aspect to our lives. It is not a rat race or horse race. It is not even a competitive race with others to climb the ladder or be king of the mountain.

THE ETERENAL GOAL IS TO ACCOMPLISH OUR GOD-CENTERED PURPOSE TO LOVE IN A LIFE VERSUS DEATH RACE AGAINST OUR SELF-CENTEREDNESS.

We learn to win that colossal race in life’s smaller things. The airport. A football game. Trash carryout. Handyman trials. Listening to directions. Playing drums to the beat of our heart.

The X Factor reveals itself in times of testing. Our heart grows to love more in moments of spiritual disorientation, soap opera drama, or sideline to spotlight tension. We discover limitless love for a spouse amidst changes from honeymoon bliss to vacation stress, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death and then beyond.

Use your God-given big heart to love wholeheartedly. Shortcuts never help. Mediocre or half-hearted efforts will fail. Insincere actions will always lose. Good actions from an insincere heart miss the mark. Love First. Love Most. Feel the Beat.

Chariots of Fire is a movie which covers the real-life story of Olympic Gold Medal winner and China missionary, Eric Liddell. He was a young man who remembered the most important thing in life: Love God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength and then love your brothers as yourself.

After Liddell won the Olympic 400-meter race in an all-out sprint, a reporter asked how he accomplished his record-setting feat against more highly favored competitors. Liddell’s humble answer carries a lesson for our races of love. “I run the first 200 meters as hard as I can. Then, with God’s help, I run the last half even harder.”

God gave you a big heart, bigger than you have yet to realize. A big heart can do great things. God lives inside of us to lead us to others He intends to love through us.

SINCE GOD’S LOVE IS INFINITE, WE CAN ALWAYS STRETCH OUR LOVE FOR GOD AND FOR OTHERS TO WIDER, LONGER, HIGHER, DEEPER LEVELS.

Our race of love in this life is about getting our practice to match our position in the next life with God’s family. Spiritually, we are simultaneously (or near simultaneously) in both places at the same time. Jesus is with us on earth, and we are with Jesus in heaven.

God’s Word teaches that by God’s grace alone, we are somehow positionally seated with Christ at heaven’s highest place of honor; while practically, we are finishing this earthly life side by side with others.

In God’s eyes, we are already there with Him; yet we are encouraged by Him to run faster, stretch wider, love longer, and rejoice more in this earthly race. However it works, we are living here and living there at the same time. How is that possible?

If we could see our earthly lives the way God does, we would be looking back, watching ourselves running side-by-side in every relationship and in every circumstance toward our heavenly place. We would be cheering ourselves on in the journey to run harder and faster than ever before.

Liddell also stated, “God made me fast. When I run, I feel His pleasure.” God made you to love. When you love big, you will feel God’s pleasure. Remember the motivation: Desire and Delight. The joy of the lover is in the joy of the one loved.

Make no mistake about this. The struggle to love is not caused by the other person’s selfishness, stubbornness, or stupidity. The greatest and only barrier to loving any other person is our self-centeredness.

This is a wonderful time to showcase a big heart in your relationships. Give more. Be more faithful. Never give up. Finish Strong. Love first. Love most. Then, with God’s help, love even more. Feel God’s pleasure.

OUR RACE IS DOWN TO TWO COMPETITORS. ONE IS A LIFE OF GOD-CENTERED LOVE FOR OTHERS. THE ONLY OPPOSITION THREATENING THE CHAMPION’S CROWN IS OUR SELF-CENTEREDNESS.

May we all learn to race against the Sham of our self-centeredness. Break away. Run as hard as you can and then, with God’s help, run even harder. Put some ever-widening distance between love for others and your selfish futility.

Small victories of love are extremely important. The goal is to win bigger. Leave the Sham of Self-centeredness behind in the dust. Let your heart race faster and farther than ever before. Let the beat of your heart be seen, heard, and shared by others.

Oh, Happy Day! Oh, Happy Day! When Jesus washed my sins away. Oh, Happy Day!

Cheer yourself to hear the beat of your big heart. Listen to the roar of the angelic crowd urging you toward the earthly finish line.

Finish Strong! No fading. No faltering. No failure.

Love First and Love Most. Love Faster! Love Farther! No limits! No exceptions!

How do you defeat your self-centeredness?

Expand your circle of love. (next session)

Love always makes a difference. It breaks down barriers and builds bridges. However, Love does not come easy, and that truth is more than a blast from the past song by Diana Ross.

Momma said, “Love don’t come easy, it’s a game of give and take. You can’t hurry love; no, you’ll just have to wait. You gotta just give it time, no matter how long it takes.”

I experienced that reality firsthand in one of my blasts from the past when I traveled with a youth group to help build a playground for a small, struggling ministry in Chelsea, Massachusetts. The city is directly across the Mystic River from Boston, along a peninsula of the Boston Harbor.

The sharp contrasts and strong conflicts we encountered were much wider, longer, higher, and deeper than the cultural differences of the East Coast and Midwest. Chelsea is a highly industrialized city with the second most densely populated area in the state. Most residents identify as Hispanic or Latino. At the time of our visit, racial tension and conflict were rampant. It was ranked the state’s poorest and most dangerous city. Yes. The poorest and most dangerous city. What was I thinking?

Our home for the next seven days would be a magnificently beautiful, historic church in the center of Chelsea, now boarded up and surrounded by a barbed-wired topped chain link fence with a locked gate. Once a crown jewel of church history, the architecture of the auditorium was representative of vintage New England glory days, but now covered in years of dust.

The small group of current church members met in a little classroom near the back of the building. The ministry’s leadership published a plea for assistance in the funding and erection of a neighborhood playground accessible to the community children. Why? To show love to people, especially young people, who were lost in a swamp of drugs and sexual exploitation.

Rock throwing left beautiful stained-glass windows broken and boarded up. During the previous year, the church steps became a place to sell drugs, safe from police intervention. The church basement became the hot spot for several illicit parties and underage orgies. Think about that! The church had become the safe haven for drug deals and orgies. What was I thinking?

Our youth arrived by charter bus, led by my trusted Jerry Lewis intern, aided by the structured planning of some very outstanding young women. I met them at the old church along with the local cigar smoking pastor. No judgment, just surprise; I think Spurgeon smoked cigars. Also surprised the intern was still on board! I had feared Castaway or Mutiny on the Bounty. He earned his stripes. He remains the Mount Everest on my horizon.

We moved into the large fellowship hall with our food supplies and sleeping bags. Our group walked around the block, but only once. Our hosts delivered strong safety precaution warnings forbidding anyone to go beyond the corner of the property. Danger lurked everywhere. Stay inside the fenced compound or we might not find your body. Or something like that.

Again, what was I thinking? I wish I had a good answer or at least a dollar for every time someone asked me that question. Confidence in my leadership quickly vanished.

I spent the first evening in the emergency room with one of our “watch me do something stupid” guys who broke his ankle trying to jump from the top of the fence. I returned to the church to find unimaginable chaos and panic. Yep. You heard that right. Unimaginable chaos and panic!

Our well-intentioned, sheltered youth sat on the front steps of the church and started to sing as local gangs gathered across the street. The saccharine sweetness tasted bitter to the target audience. Lyrics of love and peace were quickly silenced by shouts of profanity and protests of thrown eggs crashing on and around the singers. The kum-ba-yah moment transformed into war zone terror as the kids fled into the sanctuary for safety.

My arrival at the church stand-off was not a scene from the movie, Do the Right Thing. The intolerance had intensified. The sounds of “There’s a Sweet, Sweet Spirit” were drowned out by a boombox blaring Public Enemy’s mesmerizing “Fight the Power.” 

As I climbed the steps of the church, my head and back felt the crack of eggs as my body dripped with yoke and egg white. Sadly, it was not breakfast time, only cryin’ time.

To quote Butch Cassidy, “We seem to be a little short on brotherly love round here.”

Inside, kids were sobbing hysterically, not just the girls. Bags were packed. The sounds of retreat were everywhere from sea to shining sea. Parents back home heard the assault accounts from their frightened children. Social media was ablaze with horror stories, some true, mostly fake news. New England brogue expressing “she was hit by an egg” became translated in Midwestern twang, “she was shot in the leg.”

The parental social network demanded my immediate impeachment over mishandling their teenagers’ endangerment. One suggestion proposed I should be lynched for my misplaced and mistimed mission. The guillotine was not available. Now, years later and as a parent, I understand their concerns and agree with their sentiments.

Things got worse!

Our group was stuck at the besieged church for the night. The bus was unavailable, the police were dismissive, and the growing crowd of dissidents was frightening. We barricaded ourselves inside and the men slept against the doors.

Rocks, eggs, and tomatoes pummeled the entrance throughout the night, probably a clue to the neighborhood’s reported food shortage. The mob’s shouts demanded we send out the women or else they would storm the building.

Our kids huddled in prayer groups and pity parties. Our staff took up defensive weapons in case of attack. “Sticks and stones will break your bones, but your words say you plan to hurt me,” or something like that. Where is Braveheart when you need him?

I called the police three times. The officer chuckled the first time and suggested we should be happy it was an egg assault and not bullets. When I pressed him for whom to call, he suggested, Ghostbusters. Really? “Who you gonna call?” How about the Minutemen?

Afterall, we were camped in the place where the first projectiles of the Revolutionary War were snowballs thrown at a British soldier. I imagine some eggs were tossed as well before English tea got dumped into the Boston Harbor. We were not faced with taxation and tyranny, but the nighttime terror felt dangerously intense.

This is the city where, years earlier, I witnessed special riot units clad with masked helmets and shields take down student war protesters with pepper gas and batons. For the record, I am a grateful supporter of our men and women in blue who sacrifice their lives to protect us from harm. I was not a protester that night in Cambridge, but I got gassed while observing the confrontation from a nearby tree branch. Our present little skirmish was small Irish potatoes to these mob-tested, clam chowder cops.

After the third call (to the police, not Ghostbusters), they promised to conduct a routine check of the situation. The crowd dispersed and disappeared thirty seconds before the patrol car drove by the church, then reappeared thirty seconds after it turned the corner. The intimidating threats did not subside until 2 AM. Other than that, it was just a rainy night in Beantown.

In retrospect, our arrival frightened the local youth who were likewise threatened by our strange behavior and feeble attempts to break down long-standing barriers. We did not know them. We did not understand their culture. We did not speak their language.

I imagine the Massachusett Indian tribe felt that way when Samuel Maverick set up his 1624 trading post in what is now Chelsea. Who is this and why is he here? He looks, sounds, and acts differently.

Our first days were busy inside and outside. Inside work involved cleaning years of dust from the auditorium in hopes of a weekend concert available to the public. Outside projects prepared the ground for concrete supports for the playground equipment. Our more creative youth erected a graffiti wall for neighborhood art and a small garden, perfect for growing tomatoes. The taunting tantrums continued by day and the terrifying threats by night.

No, love don’t come easy; it’s a game of give and take.

On the third day, I granted our drummer permission to play his drum set from the top step of the church. Confidentially, our “drummer” was the last youth to gain my permission to join the group on this trip, mainly because of the pitiful pleas from our desperate choir leader. He was a nice kid, just a little strange and wired, which apparently are good traits for a drummer.

Drummer-boy beat the fire out of his drums, literally. He was smokin’ hot! Loud. Louder. Loudest. The kind of practice noise which drives parents crazy. The gang gathered. Their derisive shouts grew louder, but the drums drowned out their screams. Our percussion prophet pounded on the drums louder and longer. That was his crazy plan.

Suddenly, the opposition’s leader of the pack broke from their ranks. I met the kingpin at the locked gate. I anticipated his name to be Spike, Chainsaw, or Snake Eyes. Surprisingly, he was one of the smaller guys with an extremely high-pitched voice.

Dominic wanted to go up the steps to look at the drums. I reluctantly “welcomed” the Trojan Horse inside our safe zone. He walked to the top of the steps and watched silently as Drummer Boy pounded the sticks into the canvass.

At some point, Dominic asked if he could sit down and play. The two guys switched places and our visitor began lightly tapping the drums. He had rhythm. He quickly picked up the pace of the beats and the volume of the sound.

When he finished, the two young men exchanged some form of hand maneuver departure. Not a shake or a fist bump or gang signs. This ritual transcended my cultural hip-hop awareness. They acted like lifetime soul brothers exchanging some secret bonding ceremony.

God lives inside us to lead us to others He intends to love through us. Who would have thought drums would break down barriers of race and fear, walls of hate and distrust, prisons of pride and prejudice?

“Not I,” said the rat inside my body. The cosmos works in mysterious ways. God had a plan to love some young people who did not feel or think they wanted love. He used a little drummer boy to lead the parade.

You can’t hurry love; no, you’ll just have to wait; love don’t come easy.

The inner-city gang and their extended associates became friends with the invading foreigners. The neighborhood children, forced to stay home by fearful parents, were now allowed to enter the churchyard. Some participated in the graffiti, some helped with the playground development, and some just played the drums.

Our well attended weekend concert had a surprise guest musician introduced for the intermission entertainment. Dominic was magnificent, a standing ovation from his gang and ours.

We did not change the world that week, but the experience was life-changing for us. For some in Chelsea and in our youth group, it was eternity changing. Love does that.

Our bus departed early morning at the end of the week. It was raining. Both sides of the street, for three blocks, were covered with people of all ages standing in the rain. A few had umbrellas. Most were soaking wet. Waving goodbye, tapping their hearts, and blowing kisses to our kids. Some were brushing away tears. The gang walked alongside the rolling bus, a guardian escort of respect. Maybe love.

It looked like a scene from a movie. I cried. My eyes still tear up today knowing for one brief moment, with God’s help, we did it. This ragamuffin group of kids did it.

Our love stretched wider, longer, higher, and deeper than the differences which divided us from others.

I am still learning to love, with limitless love. No discrimination. No exclusions. No exceptions.

If all else fails in the relationship, I will beat on some drums until the other person surrenders to be loved…or decides to kill me to stop the annoying sound.

What are you doing to break down barrier walls of enmity and prejudice? If you cannot drum, then dance to the beat of God’s rhythm. Love First. Love Most. You can do better. You can do more.

May a wild drummer boy inspire you to do the most important thing in life. Love God and Love Others. Use your platform of influence to make large, lasting impacts on the lives of others as you love wider, longer, higher, and deeper than ever before.

A group of strange kids gave their hearts to some unknown people. They have grown up and continue to rock this world with the love of Christ.

Love First. Love Most.

One small step for Chelsea, one giant leap for mankind.

Addendum: Curtis Davis found Jesus at the beginning of that trip. Recently, a friend shared news about the drummer who unlocked the gate to the gang leader’s interest. He found a new life with Jesus about five years after the seeds of Christ’s love was planted into his heart on the Boston mission trip. Another one of that special group rocks the world with the love of Christ.

The beat of drums to the music of Christ’s love became the beat in his heart.

Why do you need a bigger heart?

Because the race to love others is against your own self-centeredness. (next session)