LOVE FIRST…LOVE MOST

WINSDAY WISDOM 218

What’s love got to do, got to do with it?
What’s love, but a second-hand emotion?
What’s love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?

(What’s Love Got to Do with It?   —Sung by Tina Turner, written by Terry Britten and Graham Lyle)                                                                                            

The hit song by Tina Turner topped the charts and became the theme song for her biopic documentary. Her recent death has revitalized interest in this tune and her famous versions of The Best and Proud Mary. My friend, Kay Johnson, suggested the use of this title for a future WINSDAY.

What’s love got to do with it? In Tina Turner’s song, nothing. Love is an unwanted second-hand emotion which can only lead to a broken heart. Many people agree with her cynicism. Tina experienced an abusive relationship with Ike before she found solace in Switzerland.

I think most people hope love will fill their void in life.

“Do you love me?” is probably the most asked question in relationships.

The hope and thrill of love revives the heart and changes our outlook on life. Love has everything to do with life now and forever. Love keeps us together now and forever.

As Captain & Tennille sang,

Just stop!
Cause I really love you
Stop, I’ll be thinking of you
Look in my heart
And let love keep us together

(Love Will Keep Us Together, sung by Captain & Tennille, written by Neil Sedaka)

The greatest news is God’s Love for us. Unconditional. Unlimited. Unending.

All of God’s World and all of God’s Word shout for us to “STOP, LOOK, and LISTEN to God’s heart…always thinking of us…always holding us together.”

GOD LOVES YOU FIRST AND MOST.

GOD’S LOVE FOR YOU STARTED BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF TIME AND CONTINUES THROUGHOUT THE ENDLESS AGES.

God created you. What’s Love Got to Do with It? EVERYTHING!

God saved you. What’s Love Got to Do with It? EVERYTHING!

God adopted you. What’s Love Got to Do with It? EVERYTHING!

God sustains you. What’s Love Got to Do with It? EVERYTHING!

God has given you every spiritual blessing and has promised to provide every genuine need you have in this life. What’s Love Got to Do with It? EVERYTHING!

God has prepared a place for you in a heavenly home filled with the highest honor, harmony, and happines…forever. What’s Love Got to Do with It? EVERYTHING!

In the meantime, God will work all things out for your ultimate good. All things. What’s Love Got to Do with It? EVERYTHING!

“God works all things according to the counsel of His will” (#1 Textbook).

What’s included in all these things? “All things” means all things! Everything!

All the majestic big plans of God. Every star in every galaxy in the humanly immeasurable universe has been named and numbered. All the miniscule parts of those intricate plans. Every tiny sparrow, each hair on your head, and every part of your DNA are named and numbered.

You can be sure that there are no “maverick molecules” in this universe!

What’s Love Got to Do with It? EVERYTHING!

Love is much more than a second-hand emotion. Every thrill and every heartbreak find its source in love.

The fear of being unloved or losing love pervades our emotions. Each week carries news of another failed relationship. More importantly, each week records the earthly loss of someone’s loved one.

Hearts are broken. What’s Love Got to Do with it? Everything. Loving someone unites your heart to their heart. It cannot be undone without pain and scars. It cannot end without tears and emotional emptiness.

There is a legitimate threat of assimilation to our culture’s self-centered misuse of love and a danger of annihilation by our culture’s skepticism and rejection of godly love.

LOVE MATTERS! It makes the world go around. It makes life worth living, even when you lose a loved one. Love lasts longer than this earthly life. No expression of true love is ever wasted. Every thought, every word, every act of true love leaves a lasting impact.

What’s Love Got to Do with It? Express love according to God’s definition: giving up yourself for the welfare of the one loved.

God’s love always loves first and loves most. Our imitation of that same love necessitates (1) purpose, (2) direction, and (3) progress. Never forget the importance of loving first and loving most.

When the music fades and your heart is broken, God’s love will still be rollin’. That thrill will last forever, just like the big old paddlewheel riverboat, Proud Mary.

So, get up from your chair, and let’s get rollin’!

Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’

Left a good job in the city
Workin’ for the man ev’ry night and day
And I never lost one minute of sleepin’
Worryin’ ’bout the way things might have been

Big wheel keep on turnin’
Proud Mary keep on burnin’
Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on the river 

—(Proud Mary, sung byCreedence Clearwater Revival, covered by Tina Turner, written by John Fogerty)

WINSDAY WISDOM 217

I received a late-night call from the police. A body was found in the backyard of the missionary house adjacent to our church parking lot. A neighbor had called 911. The person was either drunk or dead. The law enforcement asked me to be there as quickly as possible to ID the person.

What did I feel at that moment? Shock. Apprehension. Worry.

That hot Louisiana August night became unforgettable.

I arrived at the church parking lot within fifteen minutes of the alert. It looked like a crime scene. Police cars, flashing lights, yellow tape barriers, officers with flashlights inspecting the backyard area of the missionary house.

A policeman stopped me to confirm my identity. The officer explained that a neighbor had called the emergency hotline reporting a lifeless body in the darkened backyard next door. Upon investigation, the police startled a young man outside the house. As he sat up, guns were drawn. The suspect was ordered back to the ground where he was handcuffed and questioned.

The police suspected drunkenness or drugs. They inspected the surrounding area for corroborating evidence. They also searched for another body.

I watched from a distance as the police put the arrested man through the field sobriety test. They checked his balance, coordination, and attention span. The officer ordered the handcuffed man to gaze at a moving flashlight, walk a straight line with a turnaround, and stand on one leg.

When the field test was completed, I was escorted to where two police cars faced each other. In the midst of their headlights, a shadowy figure stood in handcuffs, surrounded by several officers. The young man was barefoot, dressed in blue jean overalls with no shirt.

The lead officer asked if I knew this person. As I approached, the shackled young man grinned and spoke, “Hey, Brother.”

The center of suspicious attention was Jim. Jim McCarty was one of my preacher school interns. Oh, my!

Under intense questioning, Jim explained he was lying in the backyard, gazing at the stars, and contemplating the greatness of God’s glory while reciting Bible verses. He was shocked to find his explanation rejected as insanity,

The officers thought this was delusional or drug-induced hallucinations.

I quieted the policemen and freed the handcuffed Jim with a simple statement. “This is Jim. I can assure you that his testimony is absolutely truthful. As strange as it sounds, this is not unusual for him. Jim is different, in a good way.”

The officer responded, ” I would have sworn he was in a dope daze. It only goes to show that you don’t judge a book by its cover.”

Jim was part of our first group of preacher school interns. Each guy was unique and yet similar in his big-hearted love, courageous faith, and God-honoring usefulness to the kingdom. I love them all like sons.

God sent Jim to us by way of a suggestion from my brother who pastored a church in Texas. He had a young man whom he thought could benefit from being in a new environment. Jim had recently dropped out of college for the second or third time. Joe was concerned about Jim’s social development, his aversion to education, and his lack of direction in life. Would we consider taking him under our wings?

Jim arrived in his trademark overalls. He did wear a shirt underneath and, for the church greeting, wore shoes. Jim was a “yes sir, no sir” young man. His slow Texas drawl was noticeable in this Deep South environment. He was polite but slightly socially challenged. He could appear quiet and cautious in his surroundings.

Let me just lay it out there with no intention of alienating anyone. This is just an observation, not a cancel culture comment.

Jim looked and talked like a country boy from Texas. He would definitely not be mistaken for a sophisticated city slicker.

This is not an insult, just a meet-and-greet characterization. His appearance reminded me of Captain Kangaroo’s sidekick, Mr. Green Jeans. Since that childhood TV show would be unfamiliar to most of you, think of Festus (Gunsmoke), Gomer (Mayberry), Jethro (Beverly Hillbillies), Woody (Cheers), Hank (King of the Hill), Darryl, Darryl, and the other Darryl (Newhart).

These television characters were not dumb. Old-fashioned to a fault, they were innocently naïve, out of touch with the bad stuff in this modern world. Most of these characters were noted for being friendly, loyal, and philosophical. Their insightful wisdom usually sounded comedic in its simplicity. Jim fit the part, but it was no act.

Social Development? Jim quickly endeared himself to our church family. He was a regular weekly dinner guest for several families. He mowed lawns and made house repairs for widows which, in return, kept him well-stocked in food. No one in our city ate more desserts than Jim. Pies, cakes, pastries, and cookies. He could have opened a Sweet Shop. Somehow, he retained his lean frame.

Jim ran errands, dug ditches, and put-up fences. He was not afraid of work. He joined the ministries to the homeless and neighborhood outreach. Everyone loved this young man in overalls.

Aversion to Education? Jim was an eager and quick learner. He studied the Bible and asked thoughtful questions. His looks and demeanor were different, but he fit right in with the other preacher interns. Deep thinkers. Sensitive hearts.

My goal for the preacher training school was to deepen their devotion to the Lord Jesus Christ before they embarked on more intense theological studies or careers.

We put them through rigorous reading assignments and challenging discussions. We explored Scripture in-depth. We engaged the young men in ministry to at-risk youth to expand their love for others. Then we tested them.

The tests would cover the latest Biblical book. The interns would need to recall verses and passages and expositional points. These were the best and brightest young men I had been around. The tests were challenging.

Something interesting was revealed during the testing time for the Gospel of John. As the preacher guys recalled Biblical references, Jim’s test recited large passages of the text, word for word. On further investigation, Jim admitted he had memorized the entire book of John, all twenty-one chapters.

I have been to school with all kinds of students. Some were very smart and some were educationally challenged.

Carl did not know which way was right and which was left. He was a very fast running back who scored a lot of touchdowns because this quarterback directionally pointed when I called out the play, Right Twenty-Eight Quick Pitch. Our co-captain, Daryl, was greatly disappointed in his English assignment when he discovered that Shakespeare’s Hamlet was not about football. No, Hamlet is not the same as Helmet…so close and yet so far away.

I also attended college with guys who had perfect college admission scores, but no common sense. One knew Latin and Quantum Physics but failed the basics of etiquette. Another could not organize a dorm function but became our country’s Vice-President.

However, this version of Mr. Green Jeans was the most impressive student I have ever known.

As I continued to quiz Jim, he stated he had memorized the other Biblical books we had studied. At one point, Jim memorized the entire New Testament.

As I got to know Jim better, he revealed why he quit college several times. He would register for the classes, buy the books, and read them all before the first class. When the professor began with an overall introduction and slowly waded through chapter one, it left Jim bored and uninspired.

Jim confessed he saw no reason to continue to go to class to listen to something he had already learned! That certainly bested all my reasons for skipping classes.

Jim read all of the #1 Textbook only to discover he had only begun to mine its truth and treasure. This Book cannot be judged by its cover. It is the Word of God. Its supremacy and sufficiency are unfathomable. Its value and worth are immeasurable.

Life Purpose? The country boy was brilliant. However, the most impressive hidden characteristic was the size of his heart. He was also missionary-minded. He traveled with Charlotte Norman and a church group to Oaxaca, the poorest area of Mexico.

Miss Charlotte was a former Garden Club Society member who gave her heart to Mexico missions, inner-city Porch Church, and women prison ministries. Charlotte’s big heart had a huge impact on Jim.

Jim returned to Oaxaca to spend some extended time helping Victor Castanon with missionary work to the outlying mountainous regions. Victor will someday lead the rejoicing of multitudes of the Mixe Indians gathered around the heavenly throne.

The next time we saw Jim, he was accompanied by his new bride, Maria, Victor’s daughter. Maria is the sweetest, kindest, hardest working young lady anyone could meet. God used Maria to focus Jim on his life’s calling.

Jim came back determined to become a doctor. He and Maria planned to return to Oaxaca to open up a medical clinic in the village, as well as provide assistance to the thousands in the surrounding area without medical care.  

This required Jim to finish his college studies which he did in eighteen months. Then he had two months to study for the medical school entrance test, the MCAT Exam.

The time and the educational challenge seemed impossible, unless you were Mr. Green Jeans with an arrest record for loitering in the backyard gazing at stars.

Jim knocked it out of the park. He finished in the top one percent of all applicants. He could get into any medical school. However, Jim thought it best for him to study medicine in Mexico.

So, Jim passed the medical exam again, only this time in Spanish. Medical education is brutally challenging, even more so in a second language. Jim even attended his classes. Upon the successful completion of his training and intern practice in Mexico. Jim and Maria returned to her hometown where they opened a medical clinic for the poor people of that area.

That Mixe medical clinic was just the book cover. Exploits, dangers, drug cartels, late night medical emergencies, long journeys by burro and on foot, and training preachers are all storybook stuff. They are all written in the heavenly journals.

Jim traveled throughout the mountainous area preaching and doctoring. He once preached one of the best Psalms expositions I have ever heard. I imagine he memorized all of it.

Since those early years, Jim has gained physician certification in the United States. The patients have no idea that this “country doctor” in the big city has one of the most brilliant minds and one of the biggest hearts they will ever encounter. They certainly do not know this doctor was once arrested for stargazing.

There is an old saying, “Do not judge a book by its cover.” It is a metaphorical expression which suggests one should not judge the worth or value of someone or something by its outward appearance alone.

You can’t judge an apple by looking at a tree,

You can’t judge honey by looking at the bee,

You can’t judge a daughter by looking at the mother,

You can’t judge a book by looking at the cover. 

(Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover, sung by Bo Diddly, lyrics by Willie Dixon)

Oh, how often we fail to heed that advice. We look at someone’s outward appearance and quickly form some judgment regarding their character or motives. We check off our social media “like” or “dislike” without listening, without learning, and without loving. That is not how the Lord loves us.

“The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” (#1 Textbook).

Judging others is not a spiritual calling. Loving others is our universal challenge.

Whether Jim’s steps lead him over sparsely populated mountainous regions or crowded and bloodied emergency rooms or church parking lots, he will most likely greet you with a smile and a “Hey, Brother!” I can guarantee you he will not judge you by your cover,

Let us all be better at not judging others by first impressions. Misjudgments arise when we focus on the color of someone’s skin, their outward dress, or their dialect.

“We must never forget this as a nation: there are no gradations in the image of God. Every man from a treble-white to a bass-black is significant on God’s keyboard precisely because every man is made in the image of God. One day we will learn that. We will know one day that God made us to live together as brothers and to respect the dignity and worth of every man.” (Martin Luther King, Jr.)

“The Gospel is the power of God to change water to wine, death to life! The whole story is about Him. We just get to be vessels carrying the divine glory!” (Dr. Jim McCarty)

Join me in the march to love first and love most. We are vessels carrying the glory of love. When we love like Jesus, we discover a glorious and defining truth. If every human being were a book, every book would have the same book cover. It would say, “Made in the image of God.”

Life is not about outward appearances. It is about love and character and integrity and faithfulness. A heart will tell you much more about a person than appearance.

May we all work more on our inner resources than our outward appearances.

May we give greater value and worth to the inner beauty of others.

And may we find some time in our busy lives to gaze at the stars as we contemplate the greatness of God’s glory, goodness, and love to us.

WINSDAY WISDOM 216

The funeral service had just been completed at the cemetery when, suddenly, a fight broke out. Flailing fisticuffs. Chokeholds. Shouted hostilities. Screamed expletives. 911 calls. Sirens. So much for the loved one resting in peace.

This was the Tombstone Showdown.

Why do we still fight?

The answer to that question has eluded many relationship partners.

Some people come out of the mother’s womb fighting, as Jacob did with his brother, Esau. Some fight throughout life and some go to the grave still fighting.

Some fight over the grave.

The Tombstone Showdown was real. Jeff, my associate in War and Peace and Crimes of Endearment, oversaw this funeral fiasco. I was a bystander, there for support and protection. The fight breakout was shocking, but it was no surprise to Jeff to see me backing up farther and farther from the skirmish.

I hope I was praying. I know my mouth was as wide open in astonishment as my eyes. I had never witnessed something like this before. At least, not in a cemetery.

Let me set the tone of the scene. Bagpipes. That’s right. Bagpipes.

The elderly husband had been bedridden at home in a coma for several days. The doctor said the end of earthly life was near. His loving wife arranged for her own version of last rites for her beloved husband.

Jeff was there to read Scripture and pray. Another man showed up with bagpipes. He looked as if he had just come down from the hills of Scotland. He was in full Highland Dress. Plaided kilt, tartan bag cover, braided silk chords, and the feathered bonnet.

He played Amazing Grace on his bagpipes. The sound was loud. It sounded like…bagpipes. It can be music to one’s ears or an irritant to one’s senses. Sometimes, the slow dirge can move people to tears.

In this case, the bagpipe sounds awakened the dead. Not literally. This dear man was almost dead. The low ceiling in the small bedroom amplified the noise. Somehow, it startled the comatose patient. He sat up, looked around, and then fell back asleep.

I wondered about the effects of the loud ruckus that interrupted his peaceful rest at his funeral.

We were aware of some family unrest. Much to the chagrin and disapproval of their children, the elderly couple had welcomed a stranger into their home. This man, a druggie, began to take on the self-proclaimed role of “stepson.”

There had been several shouting matches between the son and so-called stepson. Threats were made regarding his presence at the memorial services. The tension was prevalent. The danger of disruption was anticipated. A police officer was hired to provide security for the event.

The two daughters flew in from California. The stepson appeared as well. The son refused to come to the cemetery, but his two sons were more than capable stand-ins for the revenge tour.

As Jeff finished his closing prayer at the graveside, he declared that this concluded the memorial service. He went to shake the hand of the grieving widow. As the stepson expressed his condolences, chaos broke out.

The grandsons completely ignored Jeff’s closing declaration of “Peace be with you.”

As my uncle would often whisper in his fake dismay, “I was aghast.” Aghast–to be filled with horror or shock.

The two young adult grandsons literally leaped over their grandmother and into the hated fall guy. Grandmother was knocked to the ground. Her head missed a tombstone by inches, or things would have been much worse.

The two grandsons began to pummel the unwanted family intruder. The security officer pulled away the bleeding and bruised victim. As the police officer held the screaming man in a headlock, the two grandsons continued to pound away at his face and body.

The officer had called for backup. I was doing my part. I backed up. Four gravediggers were standing nearby. They rushed into the skirmish and literally wrestled the two grandsons to the ground and held them there until help arrived.

The daughters were in tears as they cared for their mother. She appeared to be in shock. As Jeff struggled to help the knocked-down grandmother, he nearly fell back into the open grave.

Jeff’s wife had blood all over her. Jenny had offered aid to the bloodied stepson. She had to go for shots once she learned that the bleeding drug addict had hepatitis.

Sirens filled the quiet solitude of the cemetery. Four police cars, an ambulance, and a firetruck raced to the scene. I have never witnessed a funeral like this one. I have the highest respect for my associate and longtime friend as you can tell by my next comment. If you are expecting a fight showdown in Tombstone, call Doc Segner.

Why do we still fight?

At some point you and your partner are going to fight. Fighting does not mean you are with the wrong person, or that your relationship is doomed. Conflict is an inevitable part of any longstanding human relationship, especially ones that involve the most intimate parts of our lives.

Marriage is the union of two kingdoms into a better one. King George and Queen Mary must lay down their crowns at the feet of the King of kings. It is always better to surrender to a better way to live. Learn to love first and love most.

Most of us will not succumb to fisticuffs or physical harm, but we fight with words or social media. We cause emotional damage. We sever relationships, causing others to unnecessarily choose sides.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but your words will never hurt me. Yes, they do. Kind words bring life, but cruel words crush the spirit (#1 Textbook).

The cause of all conflict is unmet, unrealistic, and, sometimes, unexpressed expectations (#1 Textbook).

We expected the other person to say something or do something. We expected them to know what we wanted, even when we never expressed it.

That might lead us to be discouraged, to feel disrespected. We feel hurt, unloved, unappreciated. So, our response might be a barrage of loud shouts or sounds of silence.

The other person might express hostility, but it takes two to fight. The #1 Textbook says for us not to retaliate or seek revenge. Listen. Understand, Repair the relationship.

Little fights can feel as horrific and damaging as bigger fights. They are all big to us at the time.

A young man whom I had the pleasure of officiating his marriage several months earlier sought me out for counsel. He was distraught. He and his wife had been fighting over some unmet and unexpressed expectations. He did not think their marriage could survive.

He explained the problem clearly. His wife left the dirty pans and dishes in the sink overnight. He could not understand why she would wait until the next morning to wash them. This was serious. He was not sure their marriage would survive.

I tried not to smile. Many couples would trade their devastating problems with him in a heartbeat. Here was a sweet, kind young man who did not want to fight, but the battlefield of dirty dishes in the sink overnight would not go away.

I say yes and amen to all you women out there. He could have washed the pots and pans himself. Men do not think that way, thus causing unmet expectations to arise in you women. Do not expect what you will not express. Even then, you might be disappointed, but it should not become conflict.

I asked this young man if his mother used to put away all the dirty pans and dishes each night after dinner or before bedtime. He replied, “Of course.”

I followed up with a question regarding his mother-in-law. Did he know if she cleaned up her kitchen at night or waited until the morning? He responded, “She leaves them in the sink, just like her daughter.”

He still did not get it. I said, “Do you think that maybe your wife thinks she is doing it the right way because of how she was raised?”

“But it is not the right way.”

“Right, because that is not how you were raised. There is a solution to the problem. You do not have to fight about this. Ask her if she would do the dishes at night. If she refuses, you can do them if it bothers you this much.”

I do not know how the dirty dish saga was resolved. I know they have been married for over thirty years with wonderful kids and grandkids. No fight is worth interfering with that.

On a slightly larger scale, I counseled a couple engaged in verbal warfare. Some shouts. Some sounds of silence. They were on the brink of separation. As part of getting to the root problem of selfishness, I asked each one to prepare a list of the things the other person needed to change.

The next week, the husband began. He pulled out his three-by-five card and emphatically read the three things which she needed to change to make their marriage work. I think they are the universal list for men. Food. Cleaning. Lovemaking.

Yes, we men are narrow-minded…and unreasonable in our expectations.

When it was the wife’s turn, she pulled out a full-sized yellow notepad with five pages of single-spaced problems her husband needed to change. Yes, you women have the memory of elephants. Mistakes are not forgotten. Never. He was in shock. He had no idea of the magnitude of her grievances.

Unmet, unrealistic, and unexpressed expectations. That is the source of all conflict.

Unmet expectations become the foundation of all conflict, not only in marriage, but in every relationship. Learn to be a peacemaker.

Communication without fighting is not easy. It is doable. A great place to start is with God. Tell him your expectations. Much of the time, we are really fighting with God, much like Jacob’s wrestling match. We just do not want to admit it.

God will tell you to love first and love most. That is the place to start and finish any communication.

This is the verse from the #1 Textbook that got my attention and changed my heart:

Treat the other person with longsuffering, enduring one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace (Ephesians 4:2-3).

I had to learn how to endure and be eager. But first, I had to want to be a love first, love most person.

Please, do not take the fight to the grave. Forgive and ask for forgiveness. Be the first to renew your love and love the most.

God will show you a better way to live (#1 Textbook). Give the other person the best of your love.

EMOTIONALLY DROWNING IN THE STRIP PIT OF LIFE

It was a horribly hot summer day. I was eight years old when I almost drowned in the cool water of the strip pit.

My family and my uncle’s family went on a swimming adventure to a strip pit. A strip pit is a large hole in the ground eventually filled with rainwater. The scar in the earth’s surface was caused by strip mining, the removal of long surface strips of soil and rock which cover a mineral deposit, in this case coal.

Once the mining was completed, the empty hole was neglected. Over time, it would fill with rainwater, providing a site for swimming and, in some cases, good bass fishing.

My dad and his brother did not spend their childhoods floating around in some sweet swimming pool. Neither did my mom and aunt. They swam in ponds and creeks. The strip pit water was a great place to take me, my cousin, and our little siblings.

I remember the rocky hill surrounding the area and the small gravel under our feet as I waded into the cool water. Dad and Uncle Derwin would lift and throw ‘Sis’ and me back into the water. Mom and Aunt Dot played with the little kids on the shore.

It was a fun day in the summertime. I watched as Dad and Uncle D.O. carried the little tykes into the water. As I backed up, the gravel bottom gave way. I was in deep water, and I did not know how to swim.

I know. I was eight years old and did not know how to swim. I was a late learner. The lessons from the previous twenty minutes were quickly forgotten. In my defense, I do not recall that I had ever been in any water deeper than the bathtub.

Some of my preschool years were spent out on Tenkiller Lake in a boat. I remember the feeling of fresh air and waterdrops blowing into my face as the boat raced around the lake. I have many fond memories of Tenkiller Lake, but I do not recall swimming there as a young kid.

I was playing in neck-deep water when the strip pit’s small pebble base disintegrated. Suddenly, I was underwater. I panicked as the sight of the family and shoreline was replaced by nothing but water. I flailed around as gulps of water filled my mouth.

I popped up, struggling to catch my breath. I saw everyone, but apparently no one saw me. I fought to swim but submerged again. This time I held my breath as I plunged downward and then floated back to the top of the water.

As my head barely emerged from the surface, I saw that my uncle was looking in my direction. I could not yell for help. Surely my eyes signaled I was in distress.

I actually recall that I had some kind of flashback or memory moment. I remembered hearing the phrase “going down for the third and last time.”

The “third time” phrase refers to approaching failure. It was used to describe a boxer being knocked down three times in one round, which signaled he lost the fight. In my teenage years, Diana Ross and The Supremes sang about “going down for the third time” in a relationship which had her “drowning in tears.”

My wife, Vicki, was a teenage lifeguard. She was awarded the Presidential Honor of Merit for saving a life with CPR. If she had been my lifeguard, I would have gone for the classic fake drowning that the bespeckled, toothy Squints pulled off in The Sandlot to get the attention of the girl of his dreams.

Squint’s brave venture resulted in a mouth-to-mouth kiss from the pretty lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn. As his pal, Smalls, narrated, “He had kissed a woman…and he had kissed her long and good.” Squints ended up marrying Wendy.

If I could duplicate that feat, I could run away from the scene with the smile of victory dancing to the sound of the Drifters singing This Magic Moment.

This magic moment
So different and so new
Was like any other
Until I kiss you

Wake up! Wake up! I am drowning! At this point in my strip pit dilemma, I had no hope of reaching those teenage years. I was going down for the third time. My frightened mind believed it was the last time and the last glance of my dad and uncle.

As I continued to sink into the strip pit abyss, two big hands reached under my arms and raised me high into the sky. My Uncle Derwin saved me. I want to cry as I tell this. He saved me.

Later that year, I realized I was drowning in my sins. I remember the moment God’s love lifted me into a new life. I learned firsthand that God loves first and most. He is always there…at all times…in all things.

Some Monday Moanings might feel as if you are drowning. You have more of something than you need, want, or can handle. Maybe, you are drowning in debt or drowning in sorrow. You might be drowning in your troubles, or depression, or self-pity.

Maybe you just need to drown out these Monday Moanings.

To be consumed by negative emotions can become a horrible feeling. It creates a sense of desperation and hopelessness. I have been there as well. Sometimes it felt as if I were going down for the third and last time. If only there were someone to save me.

Emotionally drowning is not just the feeling of losers. The Psalmist David, a man God commended for having a good heart, often felt the same way.

David compared his negative circumstances to drowning in a dreadful pit filled with mud and mire: “The Lord brought me up out of a horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock” (Psalm 40:1-2). His only hope was for the Lord to save him.

Again, in Psalm 62:9, “Deeper and deeper I sink into the mire; I can’t find a foothold. I am in deep water and drowning in the flood.” David felt helplessly and hopelessly trapped. His only hope was for the Lord to save him.

David’s poetic and metaphoric expressions are connected to experiences we can relate to.

The cards were stacked against him. The stars were not aligned in his favor. The breaks did not go his way. He was going down for the count.

Do you ever feel that way? Certainly, almost every Monday Moaning.

Our only hope is for the Lord to save us.

David encourages us to learn from his experiences. “Trust in the Lord at all times. Pour out your heart before him. God is a refuge for us” (Psalm 62:8).

When you are going under, you need someone to save you.

The hardest times in my life became my best learning times. I do not wish them on you and do not wish to trade with those in worst experiences. I do hope you learn from my experiences.

The greatest security and greatest joy come with the reassurance you can trust God…at all times…in all things.

I am thankful my uncle saw me. I am eternally grateful the Lord saw me and saved me.

You can trust God…at all times…in all things.

Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else would do
Love lifted me!

Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help
Love lifted me! (Love Lifted Me, James Rowe)

WINSDAY WISDOM 215

This Winsday Wisdom begins with an observation about hummingbirds. Do you know why they are called hummingbirds? Because they do not know the words to the song (drum rim shot–‘ba-ba-boom’).

It was a cool summer morning in the Colorado mountains. The gorgeous sunrise unveiling the beautiful countryside revealed the residue of the nighttime’s fine mist.

A beautiful hummingbird flew by the window and began to hover over the feeder. There is something special about seeing a hummingbird zipping through the sky or hovering in place.

Hummingbirds can fly in all directions, including backward, forwards, and even upside down. They are the only vertebrae capable of hovering for extended periods of time while in flight.

Although tiny birds, hummingbirds can fly over 60 miles per hour and flap their wings 53 to 70 beats per second. That is fast. They also have the potential to fly nonstop for nearly 1200 miles. That is stamina.

I stood there mesmerized as I watched the grandeur of God’s creation. So small. So fast. So versatile. So…mean! What?

Yes, this hummingbird was mean. He had all the sweet nectar his little body could contain, but the abundant supply was not to be shared with others. Three other hummingbirds attempted to get a drink of the bright red mixture. Pure sweetness.

Pure sweetness would describe the liquid in the feeder dish. It could not be used as a descriptive characteristic of this specific hummingbird. He attacked each incoming bird as if it were the D-Day Normandy Beach Invasion.

The little Nazi-bird with his big ego aggressively fought off each bird, once taking on two in one dive-bombing swoop.

Apparently (based on a little Google research), it is not uncommon for some male hummingbirds to be very territorial. They sometimes claim one feeder as their own and aggressively defend their sole possession of the nectar enjoyment.

I watched in amazement as this hummingbird protected his supply chain from all challengers during a span of thirty minutes. Obviously, I did not have a lot going on that day.

I felt sorry for the other birds seeking some nourishment. They were persistent. While the boss bird chased away a potential drinker, another one would seek to sneak a sip.

There was plenty for all four hummingbirds and many more, but only one tasted the prize. I tried to show him there was an abundance to share. Unconvinced and unafraid, he acted as if I were an intruder on his mountaintop oasis.

I tried to knock him away with a broom. He was too fast. He mocked me as if this were Muhammed Ali toying around with George Foreman. He dipped and ducked, flapped and flittered. He used his wings to pretend he was a helicopter, then a dive bomber, then a stealth jet.

I reached for the feeder, and he attacked me. I might have lost that day, but I lived to write about this bully hummingbird. They are not all as cute and sweet as the nectar they drink.

Why would a hummingbird not share the abundance of supply with others in need?

Sometimes I am too much like this selfish hummingbird. I think only of myself. Even some of my good deeds are like a hummingbird’s flight. They disappear very quickly. I also seem to share the same attention span of the hummingbird. It is measured in micro-seconds.

When my kids were just little children, my daughter asked her younger brother for some of his M&M’s. When he refused, she reminded him that God said we are supposed to share.

Kyle responded with, “Well, He never told me.”

Do you ever act as if God never told you to share?

God told each of us to be unselfish and considerate of others, to be kind and giving.

I learned one of the basic principles about life many years ago regarding God’s generosity.

WHEN GOD BLESSES SOMEONE ELSE, IT NEVER MEANS FEWER BLESSINGS FOR ME.

Think about that again. It is true. The sweet nectar of God’s goodness never runs out. We do not have to fight for our taste of His goodness and then protect it from anyone in need.

Though this is true, it is difficult to practice because we all feel as though we have been bypassed by the latest showers of blessings. We resent others. They don’t deserve that blessing; they don’t need it as much as I do.

Can we rejoice in the blessings of others? Yes, by faith in the promises of our God. It never means fewer blessings for me. It might mean different blessings when there is only one scoop of chocolate ice cream left and it goes to the grandchild. But the dessert buffet always comes back around in some other time and dimension.

I confess that when it comes to sharing, too often my actions look more like that of the possessive hummingbird. I hover over the decision like some prima donna hummingbird craving his next sip of the red stuff.

Do you ever question or second-guess the godly impulse to share? Do you act like the bad boy hummingbird?

Being a lover of self is a characteristic of worldly people. Others can see how God has blessed us, but sometimes we live in fear of losing our things or losing our spot in line.

Sharing is not a normal lifestyle. Yet, it is the essence of God’s glory to share His goodness with us. And in the coming ages, God will show us the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness to us (#1Textbook).

Immeasurable. Unlimited. Unending. Goodness galore.

God shares with us so we will point others to the feeder of infinite pleasure. Do not continue to live in the whirl and blur of worry and anxiety over what you have or do not have.

Consider the birds in the air. They do not sow seeds or harvest or work, but they never go hungry. There is always another source of nectar in abundance. God takes even better care of you.

Do you remember the Biblical story of the widow from Sarepta (Zarephath)? The prophet Elijah was unsafe in Israel. The people had turned away from God. They threatened to kill God’s spokesman.

Elijah sought refuge in a strange place. The providence of God led him to the heathen land of Sarepta, the home base of his most powerful critic, the evil Queen Jezebel. She placed a price on the prophet’s head.

Elijah was a man on the run. He found a hiding place in the home of a starving widow and her little boy. Famine struck and the impoverished woman did not know where the next meal could come from to keep the two of them alive.

When Elijah met the widow, she was gathering sticks for a fire to cook the last meal for her and her son. Then they would hold each other until they died. They were out of food and out of hope.

Elijah asked her for a drink of water and a bite of bread. What did she do? Did she chase him away? Did she ask him for a handout? No, the widow offered shelter and food for God’s prophet.

Elijah told the widow to continue her last meal endeavor, promising her that there would be enough for all three of them to share.

Faith is the evidence of things not yet seen, the substance of things for which we hope (#1 Textbook).

The widow served Elijah first. Amazingly, there was plenty for her and her son. This was not the last meal from the minutia of cooking ingredients. The same amount was miraculously available for each meal for the next two years!

“Little is much if God is in it.”

Can you imagine the amazement as she checked her pantry which had just been emptied for their last meal? Can you share in that same hope?

The widow from Sarepta and her son were dying from starvation when God used her to rescue and revive Elijah.

The barrel of cornmeal never diminished, and the small jar of cooking oil never failed. They lasted until the rains came and the famine ended…just as the Word of God stated.

What did God prove with this story of the widow’s last meal?

“I know the Word of God is truth.”

Sharing never impoverishes your life. It only enriches it. You never end up with less. Always more. That is God’s law of sharing.

God multiplied the substance of the widow’s last meal just as Jesus did with the five loaves of bread and two fish from the little boy’s basket. He shared it with God, and it fed a multitude of thousands. They ended up with more baskets of food than they started with.

Sharing is never forgotten by our Lord. Hundreds of years later, Jesus stood one day and praised the widow of Sarepta (Luke 4:26). God used her as an example of how God shares His grace to those in need. God’s goodness never runs out.

Dearly beloved, surely, God will take care of you…until the heavenly showers wash away every need.

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.

Above all, keep loving one another earnestly.

By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers.

Above all these, put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.

Let brotherly love continue.

Let all that you do be done in love.

And may the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another.

As you wish that others would do to you, do so to them.

It is far better to give than to receive.

Love is patient and kind; love is never selfish.

Put away all selfishness, if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good.

God has told you to share. Do it with joy. Do it with faith. Do it with hope. Do it with love.

EVEN WHEN YOU SHARE A FEW OF YOUR M&Ms, IT IS REMEMBERED IN HEAVEN FOREVER AND RETURNED WITH IMMEASURABLE BLESSINGS WHICH CAN NEVER BE EXHAUSTED!

And learn the words to the song…Your humming is annoying! (drum rim shot)

Do you realize you are in a race that will define your life? Are you running to win? Are you aware of the only opponent who can stop you?

A BIG HEART CAN DO GREAT THINGS.

This weekend was the running of the Kentucky Derby, my mother’s favorite sporting event because of her childhood memories watching this annual race with her dad. I watch the Derby every year with memories of my mom. She would tear up with the singing of My Old Kentucky Home.

One of my favorite movies featured the greatest racehorse of all time, Secretariat. This year marked the fiftieth anniversary of Secretariat winning the Kentucky Derby in record time.

My recollection spurs more than just visions of athletic grace and greatness. It has encouraged me to be better at what God purposed for my life, loving first and loving most.

A BIG HEART CAN DO GREAT THINGS.

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 which still stand fifty years later.

SECRETARIAT TRIPLE CROWN WINNER

The legend began at the Kentucky Derby. Wearing blue and white colors, Secretariat took on the challengers. 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 the horses raced 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…mighty and majestic.

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 as a choir’s beautiful 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.

OUR LIFE VERSUS DEATH 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.

Self-centeredness is an untiring fierce competitor. The internal opponent will never quit. It must be defeated by a heart overflowing with God’s love. The bigger the heart, the greater we distance ourselves from this great adversary.

We learn to win that colossal race in life’s smaller things.

The X Factor reveals itself in times of testing. 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. Our heart grows to love others more in moments of spiritual disorientation, soap opera drama, or relational tension.

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.

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.

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.

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

Small victories of love are extremely important. The goal is to win bigger. Leave the Sham of Self-centeredness behind in the dust. 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.

Let your heart race faster and farther than ever before. Let the beat of your heart be seen, heard, and shared by others.

Listen and love to the beat of your big heart. Hear the roar of the angelic crowd urging you toward the earthly finish line as a stunning portrayal of grace, love, and wonder.

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

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

HIGH TIDE HARRY’S

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

Every other day
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
But whenever Monday comes
But whenever Monday comes
You can find me cryin’ all of the time

Monday, Moaning
Can’t trust that day
Monday, Moaning
It just turns out that way

Whoa, Monday, Moaning
Won’t go away
Monday, Moaning
It’s here to stay
Oh Monday, Moaning —Monday, Monday (The Mama’s and The Papa’s, lyrics by John Phillips)

It was Monday Moaning and there was a lot, I mean a whole lot, of moaning going around.

Our family was finishing up an awesome vacation at the beach. We enjoyed the sun, sand, swimming, and seafood. The only complaint was it had to end. We drove to Orlando on Sunday evening to catch an early flight out the next morning.

Our family added one new member for this trip, my son-in-law, Scott. He is a brilliant college professor and awesome chef. Those admirable traits extend to being a great connoisseur of movies and restaurants.

Our last vacation meal was a coin-flip situation. Time for a great steak or some delicious fresh seafood? Scott researched the websites for options and suggested the highly reviewed High Tide Harry’s.

Lobster, crab legs, shrimp, fresh fish, oysters. There was even a steak, chicken, or burger option. It is good to have a son-in-law willing to contribute. I felt the pressure on him and admired his initiative as he volunteered to make his first family suggestion.

I am not sure what happened. Apparently, there are many people who rave about this restaurant. It was not anything like our family’s favorite shrimp shack in St. Augustine.

The atmosphere was dismal.

The service was terrible.

The food was horrible.

Our reviews were unfavorable.

Our never-ending jokes were critical.

Scott’s decision was indelible. The venture became an unforgettable experience he will never live down.

We abandoned the generous leftovers along with the management’s unending excuses. We departed with High Tide Harry’s being forever linked with Scott’s Low Tide.

Monday Moaning started early and often. Everyone was sick. Sicker than a dog.

Lower than a snake’s belly. We looked like something the cat dragged in. We felt like death warmed over.

We moaned and groaned and bemoaned.

How can one not-so-good decision leave such a bad taste in one’s mouth and memory? Join our family. Love covers a multitude of wrongdoing, but a poor restaurant choice carries a lifetime of unforgettable sarcasm.

Bad choices and bad experiences are tough to handle on Monday Moaning. You wish for a re-do. You dread a do-over.

Others are looking to you for a decision. It might be your kids. It could be your coworkers. It feels as if the whole world is watching and waiting to critique and criticize.

You want to cry…or scream…or curse…or cover your face until Friday.

Here is my Monday Moaning go-to verse for decision times.

God promises, “I will instruct you in the way you should go (and guide you along the best path for your life). I will counsel you with my eye upon your progress” (Psalm 32:8).

God always knows where you are…where you need to be…how and when to get you there.

Do not moan and groan and bemoan your next decision. Search God’s Word, not the web network. God will lead you to make the best decision.

Go with it! Live with it!

Please Note: God’s Word has not posted a current review for High Tide Harry’s.

You gotta go where you want to go

Do what you want to do

With whoever you want to do it with

You gotta go where you want to go…

          —Go Where You Wanna Go (Mama’s and Papa’s/lyrics by John Phillips)

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 214

WHY? That is my wife’s most asked question directed to me.

WHY DID YOU (fill in the blank)? WHAT WAS YOUR REASON?

It happened again today after she found the wet clothes piled on top of the dryer.

[Note: This Winsday Wisdom is meant to be comedic, not criticism or complaint. If anything, it should generate compassion and condolences for my precious wife.

I think this observation of marital dynamics is an exaggerated view of something of which most of us have some familiarity. “Why?” This was also my mother’s go-to question right before, “Why didn’t you stop and think?” Any similarity in this story to someone’s wife or mother is purely coincidental.

This presentation is obviously from a man’s perspective. Duh! Women might wish to jump to the brief two-word summary review submitted by my wife and sister-in-law: “Why? Idiot!”]

WHAT WAS MY REASON FOR DOING THAT?

My wife just discovered the wet clothes I piled on top of the dryer.

Oh, my Google! Are you kidding me?

I retreated to the garage trying to come up with a loving, or at least reasonable, response. I certainly could not think of a wise answer. I was not angry. I was not fuming or cursing. I was in ‘murmuration.’ My garage was filled with murmuration, the continuous low volume noise which can be mistaken for suppressed complaints.

Mostly, I was just wondering.

Wondering why women think so differently than men. How can we be polar opposites on the spectrum of reason? Is every woman born with this interrogative curiosity? My granddaughters exhibit this characteristic.

Why does a woman inquire about a man’s reason for his actions when she has already decided:

(1) He does not have a good reason.

(2) He could never make up a good reason because one does not exist.

When your spouse or boss asks, “Is there any reason?” you can pretty much assume at that point that whatever reason you share, it will not be satisfactory to the inquiring mind. You immediately realize you are trapped. Your reason is going to be shot down like a drone in a war zone. There will be a barrage of endless follow-up questions: “But why?“

I hear all you men out there. I have thought the same thing. So, guys, just sing along!

Hey! Hey! Hey, hey, hey!
Macho, macho man
I’ve got to be, a macho man
Macho, macho man
I’ve got to be a macho man!

To paraphrase the Mexican bandit’s famous quote from The Treasure of Sierra Madre and revised in Blazing Saddles, “Reasons? We don’t need no reasons. We don’t have to show you any stinkin’ reasons.”

Doesn’t that kind of prove my point? We do not have a good reason.

Is there any reason you do what you do?

For most people, the answer would be yes. It might be a good reason, a bad reason, a foolish reason, a stupid reason. It might have been a well-thought-out reason or a spontaneous reaction reason with no thought to the consequences; but there is some reason.

I have a reason for this non-sensical rant about my wife questioning my reason for moving the wet clothes. So, hang on while I bounce a few reasons off you.

I wonder why women reason so differently than men. Maybe it is connected to how God created us.

I love the God-made differences in men and women. Viva la difference! I appreciate the completion a woman gives to an imperfect man. I admire the feminine roles of a sister, wife, mother, and grandmother. I am in awe of their emotional strength. I am grateful for the uniqueness of their beauty, mind, heart, and talents.

Men are created with physical, biological, and emotional differences which find their balance, their complement, their completion in a feminine helpmate.

My wife, like most women I have known including my mother, is just naturally inquisitive. It would be far easier to sit in the witness box of a pressure-packed courtroom facing a barrage of rapid-fire questions from the world’s most renowned prosecution attorney regarding indisputable evidence of my guilt compared to answering a woman’s simple, “Why?”

Perhaps women were created with investigative instincts. After all, God had already taught Adam the basics of this world like a father would a son. Adam knew everything a man needed to know in this life except how to live with a woman.

Then along comes a wife to question his learning retention.

And God made woman. She was created instinctively inquisitive with her independent GPS system. Just ask Siri.

“Adam, what was your reason for naming that thing a hippopotamus?”

“Why is that blue? It would blend better with its surroundings if it were a neutral color.”

“Where on God’s green earth have you been?”

“Why are you trying to kiss me all the time?”

Why do you think Eve took a bite from the forbidden tree? I imagine she asked Adam for a good reason why he shopped at all the other trees but avoided this particular one.

All Adam said was that God told me not to eat from that tree.

I am pretty sure the next question was an inquiry as to Adam’s reason for believing God said that to him. Maybe it was just part of a dream. After all, he had been asleep. He also lost a rib. Maybe that affected his mind. Who knows where a mind is located in a man? Lots of sociologists believe a man’s thoughts come from below his waist.

God said man was incomplete without a woman. Maybe man does not have the ability to independently think or listen. Eve was the first woman to question that. Surely, she was not the last.

The #1 Textbook exhorts the husband to understand his wife. It also clearly states that some things are impossible to a man. That would include understanding woman stuff and living without sports on TV. Those are impossible to man; but with God, all things are possible.

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW THE FEMALE MIND WORKS. There, I said it. I admit it.

That confession did not stop my wondering. Why did I place all the wet clothes on top of the dryer?

I was trying to think of a good reason for why I did what I just did. I needed to hit a home run with my answer. I stepped into the batter’s box and took my chances. My first three reasons struck out. The questions were too fast for my mind to catch up. I went down swinging.

My next three reasons were sacked by the other side’s strong defensive rush. There was no hope of completing an answer. My only option was to punt.

As you might guess, my reason usually includes some sports analogy.

I discovered early in marriage that math or simple physics never suffice as a reason. Logistics never has a chance. Any reference to tried and true navigational tools is wasted. Just words in the wind. That reminds me that meteorological information is also tossed aside when reviewing reason for choice of clothing.

Once I tried to use the English language as an explanatory reason. “You see, honey, I was caught in a conundrum.” Conundrum--a confusing and difficult problem which might not have a clear or correct solution.

My wife who has taught English replied, “I think the correct word is “cretinous”–a wrong and poorly thought explanation for something. It is a synonym for stupid.”

We compromised with irrational–without logic or reason.

I have often relied on the Adam reason. “God told me.”

Here is a quick Winsday suggestion to any man out there who identifies with what I am saying. When asked for a reason, do not say, “Because God told me to.” God will join your spouse in rolling His eyes at that one. God would never leave the wet clothes on top of the dryer.

That thought startled me. I was still standing in the garage staring at the car. I did not want to give a reason for that. I decided to mow the lawn and distract my thoughts from this age-old dilemma. Which came first, the wife’s question or the husband’s wrong reason?

The lawn mower did not drown out my troubled mind. My thoughts continued to wonder and wander. You will soon understand what I mean by that.

My body was murmuring and mowing. My mind was wondering and wandering. What was my reason for doing that?

When a wife asks that question, I believe it is joined with the unspoken thought that the man acted without any reason. It always catches me off-guard. As I grow older (and somewhat wiser, although that is debatable), I think the best answer is for us men to admit we had no reason whatsoever.

It does not free one from the entrapment of his error, but I still believe it remains the best manly response. Just confess to having no reason for what you say or do.

“Dearly beloved woman, I do what I do and say what I say with absolutely NO reason at all. I was NOT thinking just as I was NOT listening. Frankly dear, I am an idiot.”

That position is easier to defend than the obvious wrong action.

My reasons get lost in some quantum physics black hole that swallows up every male explanation. I thought I was helping…I thought you would like that…I thought you would not notice…I thought I would do something just to agitate you.

The bloom is off the rose. The truth has been revealed. I am just an annoying person…irrational…unreasonable…moronic. On the psychological Binet scale, ‘moron’ which means foolish is one step up from ‘imbecile’ and two steps up from ‘idiot’. Seriously.

My little boy came inside the house to tell me the neighbor’s kid had just called him a ‘moron.’ Then he asked me if a ‘moron’ was a football player for BYU. No, son, that is a Mormon. ‘Moron’ is what your daddy yells at bad drivers.

My moronic mind was racing as fast as the whirling blades. I did not look where I was mowing. I stared into my soul. There are some dark weeds in there.

What is my reason? Could I interest you in some ‘sarcastic’ comments?

Why? I wanted to take a longer route along a bumpier road so we could get stuck in rush hour traffic.

The store had a sale on husband-only snacks and soda.

I intentionally selected the ugliest and most uncomfortable shirt I could find to wear to church.

Maps and GPS are overrated. I do not trust Siri. I don’t like her voice, either.

I did not tell you that I broke your favorite lamp because I did not think you would discover that I hid it.

I thought you wanted an honest answer about that dress.

I scratched it because it was itching.

I like burnt toast.

Your family and reunion should not share the same sentence.

All sarcasm that never made its way out of my mind maze.

What is my reason for piling the wet clothes in the forbidden zone?

Why? What reason? Some reasons are baffling, my dear.

Why did Washington cross the Delaware? Why did the chicken cross the road? Why did the inventor of the alphabet cross the ‘t’?

Reasons are overrated. Any fool can have a reason.

I might be a fool, but I have ten-thousand reasons for loving my beautiful, kind, sweet-hearted wife. Let me count the ways.

What about our reasons to love first and love most? Look to Jesus. Count the ways He loves you in every season of life.

Whatever you do, give thanks to the Lord (#1 Textbook). Count your blessings.

Let’s love Jesus more. With His help, let’s love others more.

Say it more. Show it more.

John Gray wrote the classic, Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. They came from their different backgrounds, fell in love, and discovered greater happiness because of the beauty of their differences. They relocated to earth and developed relational amnesia.

One example from the book suggests that men complain that if they offer solutions to problems that women bring up in conversation, the women are not necessarily interested in solving those problems, but mainly want to talk about them. (That is from the book. I have no reason to dare say that.)

God’s creation has the truthful story. The differences of the man and the woman were designed to complement and complete one another. Any amnesia of love is due to mutual self-centeredness which demands the spouse and the rest of the world orbit around what we want, when we want it, and how we want it.

God designed the cure to self-centeredness. Love is patient, kind, longsuffering. Love does not demand its own way. It is not irritable or resentful. Love gives and then gives more. Love forgives and then forgives more. Love hopes. Love endures. Love is understanding and works to understand even better (#1 Textbook).

Appreciate the differences!

Seriously, I love my precious wife, even her inquisitive exploits into the depths of my mind searching for some logistical reason for why I do what I do. Most of her questions are rhetorical. She knows I am void of reason.

She asks about my reasoning not as a complaint. She is just curious about how the male brain works…and why it is so dysfunctional.

Macho, macho man
I’ve got to be a macho man!

We don’t need no stinkin’ reasons!

My wife ought to have a good handle on that by now. Surely, she knows that I am missing a rib and have lost some marbles.

Do I have a reason for what I did? Yes! I needed a subject for Winsday Wisdom that might brighten your week just a little.

Whether you are deep into ‘explanation’ or ‘murmuration,’ I hope you can smile today. You do not even need a good reason.

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 213

We live in a social world where unhappy people boldly express their dislike of other people as well as their disgruntlement of life. How should we interact with those whose lifestyle and values are vastly different, even hostile to ours?

The story I am about to share is the TRUTH, the WHOLE TRUTH, and mostly NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH.

The circumstances were real. The people involved are real. Their descriptions are real, only slightly altered to minimize the outrage of the current CNN liberal cancel culture. The language has been slightly edited to minimize the outrage of the FOX News religious right-wing critics of those with whom they disagree.

Judge Judy’s decision was final.

My younger son, Derek, and I took a spontaneous overnight trip. We drove through the night from Nashville to Florida, just to sit on the sand of Crescent Beach and watch the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean. The beach is secluded, and the beauty is breathtaking.

We arrived in Jacksonville tired and hungry. We had time to eat. We were less than an hour from the beach with sunrise still almost four hours away.

We found an IHOP close to the freeway. IHOP…Back in the day, it was International House of Pancakes, a great place for pancakes and breakfast.

‘International’ would be a fair description of the crowd descending on this breakfast place that early morning. It was a microcosm of our social world.

The primary parties included a Hells Angels biker gang, an African American church party, a Baby Boomer couple, two Middle Eastern guys speaking Arabic, a patriotic party of four wearing red caps and American flag designs, some not-so-secret druggies, and a few persons dressed in rainbow-colored attire. We all shared the same experience.

What was missing? There was no service and no food. The restaurant was open, but the kitchen was in disarray.

I do not want this to sound as if I want to compound the biases which are so prevalent in our culture. We all need to be slow to judge and even slower to condemn.

Just last week, my six-year-old granddaughter warned her mother against making snap judgments. “Mom, when you hear me singing upstairs, you might think you hear me say a bad word…I’m singing ‘finish it’ but sometimes it sounds like I’m saying the ‘s’ word.”

I heard a lot of singing ‘finish it’ this particular night at the Florida IHOP.

Our memorable IHOP encounter began as two large Harley-Davidson motorcycles followed us into the parking lot. Before we exited the car, two more cyclists arrived. Each bike had a male driver with a female rider clinging to his waist. Each biker revved his ‘hog’ in a contest to announce his arrival to the sleepy neighborhood behind the restaurant.

After a brief pause to reassess our level of hunger and danger, we decided to enter the pancake place. In full stereotype fashion, the heavily tattooed men lit cigarettes while the women pulled off their helmets and shook their long hair in the wind before taking their own nicotine puffs so the guys could cough.

This necessitated us walking between two of the parked bikes through the cigarette smoke and biker lingo not normally used at the convent. Somehow, ‘babe’ and ‘booty’ and ‘beer’ and ‘b-ritches’ were used in one sentence. The second biker’s reply identified an eternal destination and an exclamatory affirmation.

No judgment here. Just a description. People can ride whatever they want and smoke whatever they want and pretty much say whatever they want. I am immune to language adaptations, but allergic to cigarette smoke.

The hostess seated us in a booth next to three young people. The restaurant was not very busy. There were two other groups in the far side of the restaurant. The patriotic patrons chugging water identified with MAGA. The rainbow coalition feeling neglected identified with a name that sounded like it came from playing scrabble without vowels.

It just felt like a protest march was scheduled for a High Noon showdown.

The strange vibe was accentuated when there were no servers in sight. No waitress. No busboys. No one. We sat for over ten minutes without seeing any worker besides the hostess who had now seated the biker gang crew of eight at a long table in the middle of the restaurant.

Fortunately, we were not in a hurry. We had nowhere to be until daybreak. That was good because our waiting time in that IHOP would set new personal records.

Finally, a young waitress appeared from the kitchen with some drinks for the two guys and girl seated next to us. Apparently, from the lengthy and loud conversation, the waitress was part of their social circle. They had all gone to high school together. I gained additional information through investigative listening.

One of the three customers had just supplied some ‘weed’ for the IHOP waitress to share with her co-workers. She reported the three waitresses and two cooks had been out back on a ‘break.’ Everyone was happy to share the ‘joint.’ She took their order and then turned to get our request for pancakes.

Into this mess entered another large group, an African American church entourage, topping off a night of praise and spiritual teaching with some heavenly pancakes. That’s right. A group of twelve finely dressed churchgoers joined the scene. Talk about church going long. This was a post-midnight celebration.

The group was seated at a long table next to our booth. Bright colored clothes, big hats, and jewelry were not exclusive to the women. The gold chains looked eerily similar to what two of the bikers were wearing. Apparently, there is a jewelry store that caters to angels from both eternal spectrums.

Several more couples were seated. The biker gang got loud and demanding. The leader, in his sleeveless Hells Angels’ t-shirt and gold chain, banged his fist on the table while shouting threats at the non-existent wait staff.

A Lady Gaga wanna-be entertained the clientele with her version of “Tequila Sunrise.” That ended when her beau shoved her into a chair and announced they would settle for some beer. Their Mama Cass lookalike stepped into the spotlight, shouting obscenities before belting out a few bars of California Dreamin‘.

The Dreaming of Heaven group did not see a waitress either. During the chaotic Hells Angels commotion, the church leader and his wife stood up from the table with a comment about the greater blessing for the ones willing to serve. They returned with twelve glasses and two pitchers of water. Somewhere, Jesus must have been feeding the multitudes.

Did anyone see the little boy with the basket of pancakes?

Derek and I were feeling the anxiety. The disgruntled clamor was contagious. It was on the verge of slipping into a pandemic of complaints. My exit strategy appeared as dangerous as staying.

The Al-Qaeda looking pair left. It was a big sigh of relief when we saw them take their backpacks. The millennials stormed out with comments about the poor service and the shaky stock market. The elderly Baby-Boomer couple just gave up. They did not say a word. At some point in married life, conversation is unnecessary. One darting glance of the eyes can synchronize all movements.

All these groups entered the restaurant after us. They departed before us. We stayed because I enjoy observing people. I retained some small measure of hope that a short stack would arrive soon.

OK. The TRUTH. I was scared. How do I get my son out of this clash of the titans?

The one with the biggest mouth at the right-wing table yelled, “I had time to go home and shower and then get back here before my pancakes. Come on! Make America great again.”

The pastor quieted his whispering congregation and suggested they join hands, bow their heads, and pray for the nice people in their bandanas and tattoos. I thought prayer was a great idea, but there was no way I was going to close my eyes. I hoped they would add a request for some pancake manna to fall on our table.

Prayer does work. The biker gang stormed out with a few profanity-laced threats. Once the motorbikes roared into the darkness, the church group parted without ever seeing a waitress. “Help us, Lord” and “Amen” floated into the same atmosphere where the Hells Angels’ choir departed singing, “Finish it.”

Derek and I began to slide out of our booth when the waitress reappeared with the food for her three friends. She apologized to us and said our food was ready. She would be right back.

We had nowhere to go and no reason to leave now. Pancakes were on the horizon even if the sun was still a few hours away.

The next moments ended my IHOP fascination. The girl in the next booth shouted a loud announcement as she held up the long hair mixed in her eggs. Gag me.

Derek is faster than I am. However, I was not far behind him.

We traveled closer to the beach. We still needed to kill a couple of hours and some breakfast would be a bonus. All the restaurants were closed. So were the fast-food places. Apparently, Sunrise Grill does not even get up that early.

We found a Denny’s near the beach. Its lights were on, and a few cars were out front. We entered and the lady said to sit wherever we liked.

There was a man in the corner booth with a cup of coffee and a computer. It seemed as if he was working on his taxes. It would have worked better for him if curse words counted as business deductions.

A drunk sat at the bar flirting with the bar tender. I am not judging, just reporting. He said he was drunk and also announced he was flirting with the woman.

We sat there waiting…waiting for a server…waiting for food…waiting for the sunrise.

Please forgive me if Denny’s is on your bucket list. My best experience with Denny’s was with my dad.

We were in Kansas City for over a week, chasing the basketball team coached by my other son, Kyle. They were playing in the national tournament and made it all the way to the Final Four.

Dad wanted to go to Denny’s for breakfast…every morning. I assured Dad that there were some really good restaurants in Kansas City. Some were famous for their delicious breakfasts. Pancakes, eggs, sausage and bacon, biscuits and gravy. The ‘gravy’ almost won him over, but he always insisted that Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast and very hot coffee would be fine.

Derek and I were ready for Denny’s finest or just pretty good stuff. We did not need a Grand Slam breakfast. At this point, we would have accepted a ‘Bundt’ cake or a ‘single’ slice of toast.

After waiting for about twenty-minutes, the hostess came to our table to inform us that the restaurant was closed.

Closed? You just welcomed us to the restaurant. The lights began to dim. I seriously wondered if the heavens were going to open with an angelic announcement that the sunrise had been canceled.

The sunrise was gorgeous. To share it with Derek is a memory only made better by an IHOP story that no one would ever believe.

Let me offer a quick but important observation about this culture’s chaos, political protests, and social media frenzy in light of God’s Word about love and truth and hope.

People are different. Some are really different from you. Some have cultural, political, and religious views vastly different from yours. Our differences are much more serious than preferences for IHOP or Denny’s or Sunrise Grill. We have problems which run much deeper than skin color, slogan chants, or social media slurs.

We live in the depths of a “Hate” problem. People hate those with whom they disagree. It seems as if it is not enough to express different views on religion, politics, social causes, or sexual preferences. We want to win the debate, which is impossible since no one listens.

Anger suppresses reason. Hate destroys peace.

Most of us live on Stressame Street where every corner intersects with people who see, and live life differently than we do. Do we shrink to avoid or shout to confront? Or do we treat others the way we wish to be treated, even when it is not reciprocated?

“The most important thing in life is to love God and love others…Everything else depends on that…Walk in love” (#1 Textbook).

In every situation and with every person, we should love first and most.

Every person. Every time. No limits…No ending…No exceptions.

We love people who look differently, act differently, think differently, believe differently. We accept people for who they are. That is what Jesus did and still does through His true followers.

Listen carefully.

Loving someone DOES NOT mean we have to agree with them or accept their cultural values It also DOES NOT mean that we should be their Bible-thumping, hell-bent judges.

Jesus loved us when we believed and acted differently. Some of us were very vocal and hostile to His ways…identifying ourselves as independent protesters of a different kind of lifestyle.

Jesus loved us while never changing what He believed was the Truth. Jesus just showed the difference in how He could love someone adamantly defiant to His teaching.

Jesus lives inside of us to lead us to others He intends to love through us…people who look, act, and believe differently than us. We love them in spite of the differences.

Acceptance of another human being DOES NOT require acknowledgement or assimilation into their wrong belief system.

Freedom to disagree or promote a different view of life should go both ways. You can and should express your different view from this culture. That DOES NOT mean to use forceful rhetoric or dismissive attitudes or flame-throwing missiles.

I know what it looks like and sounds like and feels like to have a barrage of short-stack self-centered ideologies crammed down your throat day after day. I know how I want to react in kind, only from a higher platform and with more forceful language and actions.

We are fighting for our families, and country, and way of life. Most importantly, we fight on behalf of a kingdom whose righteousness is the width, length, height, and depth of its love.

We DO NOT fight with hatred. Never. We fight in Love…always.

We will not win the fight with counter protests or legislation or clever debates or biased TV networks or bigger hammers or louder shouts.

WE WIN WITH BIGGER HEARTS. I can love someone while in total disagreement with his views and lifestyle.

“God, forgive them because they do not know what they are doing.” That should not look or sound like judgmental fire and brimstone. It should always be an expression of compassion and kindness and respect.

To quote my preacher friend assigned by God to keep me loving and laughing, “Our culture is going to H-E Double Hockey Sticks in a handbasket.” Our culture is deteriorating into disaster. That should not shock us!

But understand this, in the last days it is going to be very difficult to be a Christian. For people will love only themselves and their money; they will be ungrateful, heartless, hardheaded, and never give in to others; they will be constant liars and troublemakers. They will think nothing of immorality. They will mock and look down at those who try to be good. They will be hotheaded, puffed up with pride. They will go to church, but they will not really love God or believe anything they hear from God’s Word (2 Timothy 3:1-5).

How do we get their attention when our religious, political, educational, and social agendas clash with theirs?

What about following the game plan from the #1 Textbook?

Do not get involved in foolish arguments, which only upset people and make them angry. God’s people must not be quarrelsome; they must be gentle, patient teachers of those who are wrong. Be humble when you are trying to teach those who are mixed up concerning the truth. For if you talk calmly and courteously to them, they are more likely, with God’s help, to turn away from their wrong ideas and believe what is true. (2 Timothy 2:23-25).

You might want to look at those instructions again about what love looks and sounds like with people who disagree.

No arguments…Gentleness…Patience…Humility…Calmness…Courtesy…Total dependence on God to change a heart.

Accept others as human beings and show them a better way to live. Walk in love for every person…no limits…no ending…no exceptions....no short stacks.

We do not need to argue. We just need the TRUTH, the WHOLE TRUTH, and NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH of God’s love in our words and actions.

“Lord, help me to be better at loving first and most.“

I suffer from IHOP PTSD. Watching Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune can be helpful traumatic therapy.

Pat, I would like to buy another vowel, please. Are there any Double-Hockey-Sticks?

WINSDAY WISDOM REWIND 4

This story was stored in a closet for over thirty years in order to protect the innocent and guilty parties from embarrassment. Now it is on Rewind.

My Saturday morning lawn mowing trance was interrupted by my wife’s wildly waving arms. I immediately suspected it was another warning to stay away from the flowers which once were victimized by my inattentive swerve to the left.

I descend from a long line of errant mowers. My grandfather once mowed down my grandmother’s daffodils and tulips. Our family debated over the years whether it was accidental or strategically planned, because he was never asked to mow again. My dad clipped my G.I. Joe and the duct taped water hose, more than once. My lawn mower chopped up an extension cord, dog chain, and Barbie’s gown.

This interruption was not about the flowers. My wife’s news was alarming. Bessie Adams called and needed to talk to her pastor immediately. Something terrible had happened.

She sounded hysterical and the news was not good, every word cloaked in fear and sadness. She urged me to pray. Her husband and brother-in-law had been kidnapped. She and her sister were safe in the custody of the state police who rescued them at the truck stop, the scene of the crime. I did my best to calm her down so I could understand the magnitude of the tragic events and how I might be of help.

D. K. Adams and Ernest Waldrop were two of the nicest gentlemen I have ever known. They married sisters, Bessie and Lucille, two of the kindest and most generous women in the world. I was blessed to be their pastor for several years when they were all at least eighty-five years young. The couples loved to travel, and their adventures were legendary.

D.K. and Earnest wore hearing aids which played an important role in the dynamics of their marital relationships because both sisters tended to talk incessantly. Everyone in the foursome understood the sound was turned up or down dependent upon the men’s interest in the subject. So, hand gestures and loud repetitions were commonplace to any conversation.

To think anyone might kidnap these easy-going AARP members was almost unthinkable. Bessie sobbed as she shared what she had witnessed. The couples were returning eastward from a Colorado trip, when they pulled into a rest stop near Clayton, New Mexico. When the ladies returned from their restroom break, they saw their car speeding out of the parking lot with their husbands inside. Shock and panic ensued.

This was no joke. The car and the men were gone. The ladies immediately notified the highway patrol of the harrowing abduction. A sheriff interviewed the women to get a detailed description of the missing men and the stolen vehicle. Bessie also gave a detailed description of a suspicious man she had seen earlier in the truck stop. She suspected he was a member of “Al Kinda.”  

The ladies were transported to a local police station to file an official missing persons’ report. When Bessie called me, I promised to pray and be quickly on my way to bring the ladies back home. My mind raced through the various possible scenarios. Would the police set up roadblocks? What if the hostages were held for ransom? What if the men could not hear the kidnapper’s demands?

I hurriedly developed plans to rescue the damsels in distress. As I was leaving town, Bessie called again to share good news. D.K. and Ernest were safe, the law enforcement would unite all of them, and they would drive home that evening.

I thought I could hear the old classic Peaches and Herb song playing in the background, “Reunited and it feels so good.”

Later that night, I received the details of their harrowing escapade. What happened would make a good story… someday. The men were tired from the trip and needed a restroom break. When they pulled into the truck stop area, the women were asleep in the back seat.

The good husbands did not want to disrupt the peaceful solitude; so, they did not disturb their sleeping beauties. Despite the men’s discreet thoughtfulness, the sisters awakened in the parked car and went inside to shop and use the restroom.

Meanwhile, the men quietly returned to the car with the assumption the deficiency of sound was because of their wives’ slumber party, not physical absence. So, the kind and thoughtful men continued their trip home.

The refreshed ladies walked outside to see their car speeding out of the parking lot. Now, D.K. walked slowly but was known to drive fast. However, the ladies suspected a hijacker forcibly commandeered the vehicle and was holding their husbands at gunpoint. They reported the kidnapping and stolen vehicle to the police.

An emergency alert was issued. A multi-state search for the hostages was launched. The odd couple victims were soon discovered at a Dairy Queen forty-five miles away. What happened sounds unbelievable unless you knew the couples and the vital role the hearing-aids played in their marital bliss.

How did this kidnap plot begin? D.K. and Ernest reentered their car at the New Mexico rest stop. They assumed their wives were still asleep in the back seat. So, they drove forty-five miles without hearing a word. Yep! Forty-five miles!

The story gets worse! The men were thirsty, so they stopped at the next town’s Dairy Queen. They went inside and ordered four (FOUR!) cokes. I said they were nice gentlemen. They never asked the wives if they wanted a Coke or at least, they never heard their response.

It was when the men returned to the car with the refreshing soft drinks that they could not find their lifetime companions. First, they assumed the ladies had gone inside to the bathroom. As time passed, they began to search for their wives. Ernest suggested the possibility the wives had been kidnapped!

The mystery began to unravel when the local sheriff spotted the men and the vehicle at the fast-food diner. The Mayberry deputy reported the location and carefully approached the car with his gun drawn. The men locked inside the car never heard his warnings or commands.

As Barney Fife crouched near the vehicle with his shaking gun, he radioed information to headquarters. He reported the elderly men as engaged in suspicious activity, moving around backseat blankets in possible cover-up of weapons or drugs. They remained unresponsive to his shouts for them to surrender. There was no sight of the kidnapper, but he might be the man eating a hamburger inside Dairy Queen.

The Three Stooges could not have filmed a more hilarious scene. When passenger Ernest finally noticed the nearby officer crouching near the vehicle, he began to excitedly shout for help. This spooked the sheriff who called for back-up. The cop motioned the suspects to put up their hands as the men wildly waved their hands to get his attention.

The lawman shouted louder, and the hostages turned to higher volume levels on their hearing aid devices.

Communication became miscommunication, more like the Abbot and Costello routine of Who’s on First? (Please google it if you are not familiar with this classic baseball comedy routine about Who’s on First, What’s on second, and I Don’t Know is on third).

The sheriff shouted, “Where is he?”

“Who?”

“The kidnapper.”

“What?”

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Your kidnapper.”

“What?”

“Who is your kidnapper?”

“I don’t know.”

Eventually, D.K. and Ernest peacefully surrendered. I repeat; they are truly some of the quietest and nicest men on this planet. They would soon be reunited with their true loves. I would love to have been a fly on the wall of that car ride home. I suspect the backseat volume remained high while the hearing aids were extremely low, or off.

It was early the next morning at church when I saw D.K. He was a longtime usher who greeted everyone with a welcoming smile and hug. When he saw me at the other end of the foyer, he lowered his head and began a slow walk towards me. He looked like a sad, little puppy who spilled the trash.

I intercepted him halfway; he spoke softly, “Oh, Pastor! Oh, Pastor!” I put my arms around him as he buried his head into my shoulder. I did my best to console and encourage him. I think I even said it could happen to any of us. I wanted to laugh.

He said he was so embarrassed, and I responded it would be a funny story someday. His reply, “I don’t think Bessie and Lucille will let us live to see that someday.” They all did.

As years pass, I can better identify with D. K. Adams’ chagrin at his misfortunate travel adventure which left his talking bride behind in fear of a kidnap caper. I did not forget my wife at a truck stop; I just needed to find a better way to love first and most.

Hearing is not the same thing as Listening. I am much better at hearing than I am at listening. Listening is a communication skill that enhances a relationship. It expresses value, respect, and interest in the other person. Listening is a tool of understanding the other person…who they are, what they like, what they want.

Too many times I hear the words but fail to grasp their importance. I tend to assume that I already know what the person is about to say. Most of the time, I “listen” while thinking about my reply. (I am listening to all of you out there who are shouting, “Amen” to this. Well, at least, I hear you.)

My wife once stated, “You were not even listening to me, were you?” I thought that was a strange way to start a conversation. Then I realized she had been talking for several minutes. When she asked me to repeat what she had said, all I could come up with was, “You were not even listening to me, were you?”

Marriage requires commitment…so does insanity.

I am not a good listener, but I have not given up hope. Listening deliberately attempts to understand the message of the speaker. It requires effort, no interruption, and an affirming non-judgmental response.

Listening requires me to pay attention. That means I need to change my focus away from the television or computer. It means putting down the cell phone and stop texting. I can hear and process several things at the same time. However, that is not listening. Listening requires a choice of where I place my attention. I have to put away what divides my attention. (I said I am still learning.)

Can I share what is helping me become a better listener? Deciding I want to become a person who loves first and loves most. Preoccupation with self is a detriment to listening.

What drives listening? Love. Listening is primarily a spiritual connection based on love.

“Being heard (listened to) is so close to being loved that most people cannot tell the difference.” (David Augsber)

Love listens. Learn to listen to God first and most. Others will benefit. Listening to God’s Word is a great place to start. “Quick to listen; slow to speak” (#1 Textbook).

Listen better to creation as birds sing, winds whisper, waves crash, and thunder roars to the glory of God’s love for you.

HOW DO YOU FIND LOVE? LISTEN. LISTEN. LISTEN.

One of the best things you can do today is to listen to someone share his/her heart…until it is poured out completely.

Love listens first. Love listens most. That can be challenging. I am a very slow learner, but I do understand the goal.

Remember the most important thing in life. Love God and love others. Also, remember those special people in your life.

I offer this paraphrase of the prominent scripture invoked at many weddings for beautiful brides and their dumb and dumber men. Love is patient, love is kind…Love never leaves a loved one behind; love listens first, and love listens most…love never fails. (#1 Textbook)

Remember to listen first and listen most; it a vital part of the built-in Survival Guide.

FYI: For those who do not like Alexa or Siri listening in on your conversations, there is now a male version…he does not listen to anything.