REWIND 5: The Biggest Race of Your Life

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.

MONDAY MOANING 8

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, Moan
ing
It’s here to stay
Oh Monday, Mo
aning
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)

WHY, OH WHY?

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 do I have to do this homework? Why?

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.

IHOP MELTDOWN

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?

REWIND LOVE: LOST and FOUND

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.

MONDAY MOANING 7

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

It was the worst Monday Moaning of my life (at least at that time).

I felt sorry for myself.

[Just for the record, Monday Moaning is usually self-focused.]

I was so down. Monday Moaning down in the depths of the sea down. Rock bottom down.

Down in the dumps. Down and out. Down for good. Down for the count. Down the drain. Down and done.

Talking to myself and feeling low. Sometimes I’d like to quit. Nothing ever seems to fit.

My thoughts piled up the negatives. [That is another prevalent trait of Monday Moaning.]

Surely, you have been to this place.

Disliked. Dismay. Disgust. Discouragement. Despair. Depression.

Pity Party. Blame Game. Excuses. Conflicts. Complaints. Questions.

I sat in my office and cried. 

My only word for God was “Why?”

I desired to lead a church to express love for others in an inclusive manner regardless of racial, social, or cultural differences. I underestimated the history behind that challenge.

“All conflict is caused by unmet or unrealistic expectations” (James 4:1). *[Keep this one on file for a future Monday Moaning.]

Anonymous hate letters included various fonts and four-lettered words. The local chapter of the KKK felt the need to send their greetings. There was a handful of late-night calls with death threats to my wife and children. No kidding. No exaggeration.

Lies, accusations, and rumors swept through the membership list like a wildfire.

A woman screamed at me in Walmart that I ruined her life. One man literally tried to run me over at the supermarket with a shopping cart. Another man chose the church parking lot to yell his expletive version of “I hate you!”

None of that was as frightening as the bullet that crashed through our patio glass door near where my toddler son was playing. (I think they were shooting at the dog).

One Sunday as I stood in the pulpit to teach God’s Word, more than half of the congregation rose to their feet in a mass protest exodus. The city paper even notified me of plans to publish an expose on why so many people were leaving our church.

I felt like the statue for the pigeons at the county courthouse.

There you have it in a nutshell.

I sat in my upstairs office alone and unhappy. There was a pity party going on, just no cake. I stared at the ceiling. I buried my head into my hands. My cries were muffled.

My thoughts were in a tussle for ‘king of the mountain.’ Fear and Anxiety dominated one side of the mental mountain, while Anger and Criticism were tag-team partners for the other side.

I shouted out to no one there.

“Why is this happening to me? Why? Why?”

It seems easier to shout that question to ourselves or to others as if God does not hear us.

God does not always tell us why certain bad things happen. He just promises He will turn it all out for our good.

However, in this case, God did answer my inquiry for some reason this particular Monday Moaning.

His words were audible to my heart. What did God sound like? This time His voice sounded like my lawyer friend in a closing argument to a befuddled jury.

“You told Me you wanted to be more like Jesus. Well, Jesus loved His enemies, so I gave you some real enemies. These people hate you; so, learn to love them.”

I had forgotten the most important thing in life. Love God and Love Others.

That seems to be an even bigger problem on Monday Moaning.

I was running in circles chasing the wind in the wrong direction, spiritually disoriented. I failed to pay attention to the directions in my #1 Textbook.

LOVE YOUR ENEMIES, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you (#1 Textbook).

How? Imitate God’s love.

“God showed His great love for us while we were still enemies, when Christ died on the cross to bring us side by side with God” (Romans 5:8).

To make enemies into friends requires forgiveness, which is the hardest, but greatest, demonstration of God’s love.

How do we love our enemies first and most? It starts with forgiveness. All forgiveness comes from the heart of God, which should cascade through us to others.

God lives in us to lead us to others He intends to love and forgive through us. “Forgive others in the same manner God has forgiven you” (#1 Textbook).

As I sat in my study bemoaning my misfortune inflicted by the hatred of enemies, I needed to be reminded of the most important thing in life. We love God by loving others, especially enemies.

It is an amazing thing when you pay attention to your purpose in life. It affects mood and motivation. It sharpens focus and strengthens faith.

This I call to mind (pay attention) and therefore I have hope (#1 Textbook).

From that moment on, my attitude changed; so did my actions.

I had not lost; I was about to win.

Love forgives first and forgives most. It eliminates the offense from the recycle setting in one’s mind and it releases the offender from any and all retribution. Clean record. No grudges. No bitterness.

Forgiveness treats enemies as if they never hurt you or hated you, even when they still do.

What? That’s impossible!

Why would we want to let the other person off the hook without the hate of revenge and the hurt of retribution? We don’t. God does!

At some point in life, every one of us will be given the opportunity to love those who have offended us. They might criticize, gossip, slander. Those who hurt us might even hate us. At their worst, they still need forgiveness.

Just like you and I need forgiveness, we need to forgive others.

That unforgiven person might be a spouse, parent, family member, enemy, or even yourself. Scripture told us thousands of years ago what science has recently discovered. Unforgiveness and bitterness decrease bone density and joy capacity.

Right now is a great time to turn the page and start a new chapter in your life.

Do you need to hear God’s voice? Listen. “LOVE YOUR ENEMIES, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you(#1 Textbook).

LOVE FORGIVES FIRST before the enemy ever says he or she is sorry…even if they say they are NOT sorry. Love is the first to set aside every difference and all divisions.

LOVE FORGIVES MOST by being unilateral, all-inclusive, undeserved, unconditional, and unlimited in its scope. Forgiveness is Free. Full. Forever.

Forgive first. Forgive most. You will be healthier and happier.

Oh, happy day
Oh, happy day
When Jesus washed
Oh, when He washed
When Jesus washed
He washed my sins away
Oh, happy day

He taught me how
To watch and fight and pray
Watch and pray
And live rejoicing every day
Every day

Oh, happy day (Oh, happy day)
Oh, happy day (Oh, happy day)
When Jesus washed (When Jesus washed)
Oh, when He washed (When Jesus washed)
When Jesus washed (When Jesus washed)
He washed my sins away (Oh, happy day)
Oh, happy day (Oh, happy day)

Oh, Happy Day! (Edwin Hawkins)

SPIRITUALLY STUCK

WINSDAY WISDOM 211 STUCK IN SPIRO MUD…AGAIN

Have you ever felt stuck emotionally? Spiritually Stuck? You are not alone.

It has some similarities to getting your car stuck in the mud. That can be a very frustrating experience. Even embarrassing. Trust me.

I love the sounds of a rainy day. Lots of rain can soften the ground. That is not a good time to drive a car through the mud. There is always a danger of getting stuck.

Stuck. Immoveable. Difficult to dislodge. Not going anywhere.

Long before my stuck on the beach sand fiasco, my car got stuck in the mud three times in two weeks!

I know what you want to ask me. Are you an idiot? Already heard that one. I was a teenager, so the answer is a given.

The first incident was at our house. Lots of rain for days. I planned to go out with friends that evening. Two visitor vehicles were parked behind my car in the driveway.

I was not patient. I was a teenager. I did not ask for help. I was a teenager. I decided to back up across the wet yard to get to the main road. I was a teenager.

The car quickly bogged down. I tried to extricate it from the mud. My spinning tires only sunk the wheels lower into the wet ruts. The noise alerted those inside.

My dad and uncle stepped out into the rain to check on me. Uncle Derwin was “aghast.” After a few questions regarding why I did not ask for someone to move the other vehicles or ask for help, my dad and uncle began the process of freeing my car from the mud pit.

They were covered in mud, head and clothes soaked from the rain. Both worked hard. Thankfully, Uncle Derwin lessened the tension with his sarcastic humor. Otherwise, I would have been grounded and my car would have stayed in the mud until the following day.

Only now do I fully appreciate the parental challenges of helping a teenager through a series of unnecessary crises.

Two days later amidst more rain, I backed my car out of the driveway next to the highway. I pulled along the shoulder, probably a little too close to the drainage ditch.

Our house abutted the main highway through our little town. A large grass-covered drainage ditch separated our front yard from the road.

As I slowly accelerated to move across the muddy shoulder, my car just slid sideways into the ditch. Of course, I made matters worse by trying to drive the car out of the ditch. The tires dug in deep.

Dad came to the rescue again. I do not remember him even asking how this happened. He just shook his head and told me to get out of the car. He took over the operation as he began to rock the car forward and back to get some traction.

Now this was embarrassing. I was a teenager. My car is stuck in a ditch in front of our house. Every passerby in town saw it and reported it to the Spiro Graphic, as well as the Bulldog High School rumor mill.

My best friend drove by and stopped on the shoulder. Mike had the newest and best car in town. A bright red Torino coupe, sports edition. Black leather roof with black interior. He was rightly proud of it. I was proud to be his friend and ride in the sweet machine with the modern 8-track stereo. It was the cutting-edge of music technology. (Google it.)

As I was explaining my situation to my laughing friend, Dad got the car moving…in reverse. The stuck car gained traction and speed as it began to climb the side of the ditch. Dad was coming out fast.

Mike’s eyes widened in fear. My look was even more desperate. I panicked. My car was about to crash into the back of Mike’s car. I did not think Dad noticed the arrival of the red automobile parked on the shoulder. Collision imminent.

We both yelled and jumped up against the back bumper of Mike’s car to cushion the impact. Mike valued his car. I valued our friendship. I was taking one for the team. Just not sure how that was going to be a buffer for the collision.

The ditched car raced backwards to the highway shoulder and Dad slammed on the breaks. There was a bumper…two sets of legs…and another bumper. No spaces.

Dad had seen Mike’s car. Our jumping in between the cars frightened him a bit. I think Dad called us ‘idiots.’ Only later did I realize how close I came to the end of any future participation in sports. Both legs would have been crushed. Mike would have become Dr. Ironsides.

Mike sped off without saying goodbye.

What was I thinking? I was a teenager.

It takes a few more years before guy teenagers realize they even have a mind. One of the primary reasons for a girl to marry a guy is so he can have someone to think for him.

God just made it that way. The first Adam said it long before Jerry Macguire’s girlfriend said it in the movie. “You complete me.”

The third incident happened the following weekend. It was more damaging and more embarrassing. I was still a teenager. An experienced stuck-in-the-mud teenager.

I agreed to babysit my two ‘overly competitive brothers’ while my parents went out to eat with friends in the nearby city of Ft. Smith. I say I agreed, but I doubt I had a choice. My parents said they would be back in time for me to meet my friends in Ft. Smith for a movie.

The time kept ticking away. Perhaps the raging storm might have delayed them. No excuse.

I was not patient. I was a teenager who needed to get to the movie.

As a dad and grandfather, I am quick to teach that “Patience is waiting with a smile.”

I doubt that I was smiling at the rainy conditions, or my brothers’ attempts to destroy the house beyond recognition.

My brothers were doing their typically annoying things. Bill wrestling Joe into a takedown hold. Only escape, “Say you are a big baby.” After much effort and energy were exerted, Joe would finally relent.

Bill: “Say you are a big baby.”  Joe: “Ok. YOU are a big baby!”

The next sounds were wails of more torture. It was always a classic contest of two strong wills. The comedic youngest brother, Joe, refused to give up, while Bill laid the groundwork for his post-graduate thesis, “The Art of Taking Agitation and Aggravation to a Higher Level.The university awarded him a doctorate.

I stood at the door staring at the headlights passing by our house. I was anxious and probably a little angry. Finally, the family car pulled into our driveway,

I ran through the wet grass to hop into my car. It would have been nice to run to my parent’s car with an umbrella for Mom. I was a teenager. As we passed in the yard, Mom asked if the boys were okay. I yelled that one was a big baby and the other was in a headlock.

The rain was pounding hard. My heart was pounding harder. I was in a hurry. As I exited our town, I accelerated down the straightaway. My car hydroplaned.

Hydroplane–to slide uncontrollably along the wet surface of the road. The tires lose traction. The car slides on a thin layer of water. Car surfing. It is dangerous.

I lost all control of the car. I was just along for the ride. I began to slide off the road.

MY CAR ROLLED INTO THE CITY LAKE.

That’s correct. The city lake. My car swerved off the highway, down the incline, through the weeds, and into the edge of the water. My car was partially submerged and stuck in the city lake.

I was so confused I could not even draw a blank. Fortunately, my rescue did not require a lifeboat. I waded through waist-deep water and rain-soaked weeds. My shoes sank into the muddy turf. I waved down a passing car.

Embarrassing? This was much more of an attention getter than my previous highway blunder. There were not a lot of really important things that happened in our town. This spectacle was better than the double feature at the drive-in.

I think the whole city showed up…in the pouring rain. I can still see them lined up along the highway, soaked, pointing at the lake.

There is something to be said about a time when there were no camera-equipped iPhones. The only social media we knew was the town gossip shared at the beauty parlor or barber shop.

Someone called Dad who had to call a wrecker service. The wheels were in the water and the A-frame was broken.

Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain
Telling me just what a fool I’ve been
I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain
And let me be alone again.
Listen to the Rhythm of the Falling Rain (The Cascades or Ricky Nelson’s version)

Just let me be alone. How many times do I have to say, “I don’t know what happened. I was driving east, and my car went south. Next thing I knew, I was in the middle of the lake.

My driving reputation took another hit. I was the talk-of-the-town, until our Barney Fife deputy backed his patrol car through the window of Jack Briley’s coffee shop.

For years, I had to drive by our city lake…even after I was no longer a teenager.

Getting stuck is not a thrill. Driving into a lake is not a life highlight. It can be stressful and exasperating. I hope you have not been there.

More likely than not, you can identify with the times when I felt trapped in a spiritual rut. Have you been there?

The world-wide evangelist, Billy Graham, stated, “It is not uncommon to go through a dry spell—a period of time when you are just trying to make it through the day and don’t have the energy, mental capacity, or interest in spiritual things that matter.”

The dictionary definition of an emotional rut is “something which has become dull, dry, or unproductive, but difficult to change.” If you are in a spiritual rut right now, you do not need a description; you know the feeling.

Life stuck in circumstances. Thoughts stuck on repeat. Spinning your spiritual wheels and going nowhere fast. Digging deeper ruts of discouragement. Sinking into apathy and despair.

Perhaps you are no longer living in the beautiful technicolor of life. You are stuck in the dull black and white version. Your spiritual life feels routinely blah. It often appears hopeless of recovery. Do not settle for spiritual mediocrity.

Find hope in the truth that God pursues you all the days of your life, even when you are not running after Him (#1 Textbook). God pursues you as if you are the only sheep in His flock (#1 Textbook).

God desires to deepen His loving relationship with you. Spiritual ruts are not a deterrent to Him. Even if this is not your first time stuck in some spiritual mud.

Spiritual stagnation can be as detrimental to your emotional well-being as spiritual drifting. This is not just a teenager thing. The most spiritual among us battle sliding into a spiritual rut. Biblical heroes of faith struggled.

Feelings can be as fickle as a teenager’s reasoning. You might need to get out of your “Autopilot” setting. It might help to actually ‘take a walk’ or ‘laugh’ a little.

Our Heavenly Father encourages us to “walk in love.” Walking is a simple action, but often complex in nature. Walking implies (1) Purpose, (2) Direction, and (3) Progress.

Go for a little spiritual progress today. Take a baby step. Read something from the #1 Textbook. Even if you do not “feel” like it. One suggestion is read Psalm 27 and preach to yourself the final verses. It will do your heart good.

Read Psalm 42. “Do not be discouraged. Hope in God.” When you are spiritually stuck, you need Hope. Keep praying that last verse.

Another suggestion is Psalm 19. God speaks to us through:

(1) the Skies (vs. 1-6)

(2) the Scriptures (vs. 7-11)

(3) our Soul (vs. 12-14).

God’s creation is a musical rhapsody preaching to us, both day and night, about the greatness and goodness of God. The cosmic music melody surrounds us whether we are sailing the smooth seas or stuck in the mud. It draws your mind and heart out of the spiritual rut of self-centeredness.

Go calm your soul with a beautiful sunrise or sunset. Lose yourself in the awesome magnitude and magnificence of the stars.

Look at the skies again and go look at the Scriptures again.

God’s Word is personal. It claims to be able to “revive the soul” and make the foolish-like-a teenager into a “wise person.” It can transform our lives in any situation, from mountain-top highs to spiritual ruts. God’s Word connects you to Hope. Give it a try.

Ask the Lord for help. Get out of the driver’s seat. Your Heavenly Father knows how to drive through your circumstances. Listen to God. Talk to God. You will start moving again, even if it starts slowly.

And before you get to moving on down the road, let me pass on another driving tip from my dad after another rescue mission for a stranded teenage son who ran out of gas.

“It costs the same to fill up the top half of the gas tank as the bottom half.”

Now that is some real WINSDAY WISDOM!

THEY CRUCIFIED JESUS

WINSDAY WISDOM 212

LOVE is the giving up of oneself as a sacrifice for the true good of someone else.

There is a spiritual danger that we become so familiar with the churchy words that we treat the cross as some history lesson or religious relic or holiday. The cross means much more than just salvation from hell and the hope of heaven. That is wonderful, but it is much more. The cross of Christ is the very power of God to change everything in your life.

When Christ died on the cross for sinners, he not only stood in my place, doing what I never could do (which is forgive my sin), but he also showed me and empowered me to execute/put to death my self-centered life to live a new Christ-centered life.

Jesus lives in me to lead me to others He intends to love first and love most through me.

The description of the most significant death in human history  is expressed in essentially brief words:  “There they crucified Him.” 

“At the place called Golgotha (the Skull), There they crucified Him.” (John 19:18)

The historical event is based on eyewitness testimony that was thoroughly researched by people like doctor Luke who interviewed eyewitnesses. Matthew, Mark, and John had some degree of personal witness to the event. The entire account is inspired by the God Himself who hung on that cross. 

At best, the description of it is restrained, even in its brutality, a restraint that is both purposeful and perfect.  It is given to us in a very simplistic manner, not to invoke sympathy, but to help us to understand the certainty of our faith.

The death of Jesus was real but unusual, much like His life. There was a strange coalition of haters who desired Jesus’ death. But Jesus was not a helpless victim; He was not overwhelmed by evil men or cruel circumstances. His own words described this excruciating death as a necessity. “I willingly lay down My life.” 

The gospel accounts of Jesus’ life and death and resurrection give us historical facts of what happened, but what does it mean?  What does it matter to our lives? 

The gospel accounts present the revelation of Jesus’ divine identity and mission. His name is Jesus, which means, “God saves.”  His teaching climaxed with the question to his followers. “Who do you say that I am?” 

When they answered, “You are the Christ, the Son of God,” Jesus responded, “God revealed that to you.” He began to explain to them it was a divine necessity for Him to go to Jerusalem, where He would be betrayed and condemned by the religious leaders and then handed over to the ungodly rulers. He prophesied He would be mocked, scourged, beaten, and then killed, murdered by execution, but rise again to life three days later.

Jesus explained His death would change everything.

Jesus went face to face with hell, our hell, so that we might go face to face with heaven. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus looked at the anguish, agony, alienation and aloneness of what it meant to drink the cup of God’s wrath against our sin and our wickedness. Jesus drank the cup and drained it so that we might be able to forever drink only from the cup of God’s blessings and still never be able to drain it. 

The soldiers spit on Him as they blindfolded Him and hit Him with their fists. Jesus was scourged, whipped. The pieces of the strands of the whip had sharp objects to dig into the skin and literally rip flesh and internal organs.

The early church leaders said the Romans stripped Jesus and tied Him to a column with His back exposed. Six specialists who were professionals at inflicting pain, scourged Him. The first two took long rods of thorns and cut His back, tearing away the flesh. They continued until they were tired. The next two used whips made with long ropes, beating Jesus until they tired. Two more torture specialists used something like chains to whip Jesus. Then there was another round of beating, ripping out the flesh.

Nobody knows how many stripes, wounds, or amount of skin was torn away. Some disciples estimated several hundred times. One follower described it in the thousands and one early church leader said five thousand. To hit God once is incredible.

God’s Word just says Jesus was scourged. He took it without a word because He preferred to have His flesh ripped off than lose your soul to hell.  

Jesus was left profusely bleeding, badly bruised, so lacerated, so cut up that He no longer looked like a man.

When Pilate said, “Behold, the Man!” he really did not understand what he was saying. This is THE Man. THE Man who perfectly showed how God planned for every man to live…loving God with all his heart and loving others as himself.

The Roman soldiers dishonored Jesus with a mock coronation, They placed a faded out scarlet robe on His back, and pushed a crown of thorns down on His head. They presented Him with a reed for a scepter before taking turns pounding the thorns deeper into his skull.

Each one of the six hundred guard detail bowed down in mock adoration with the greeting, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They rose to their feet and spit in His face. Six hundred.

The innocent Jesus was treated like a condemned criminal deserved to be treated. The guard escort led him and two condemned terrorists through the streets to a hill outside of the city of Jerusalem.

The hill’s Hebrew name was Golgotha.  In Latin, it was called Calvary. 

The word excruciating is the same root word for the word crucifixion. The painful torture was beyond human comprehension. They offered Jesus a medicated anesthetic which He refused. He would go through this clear-minded and feel all the pain due us. He was the Innocent One being treated as if He were a criminal, as if He had lived your life or mine. 

They crucified Jesus.

The Almighty God was treated as if He were powerless.

The Romans had perfected this torture. They regularly used it as an open example against insurrectionists. They made a public spectacle of executing terrorists. Crucifixions were not rare during that time. It had become so commonplace that people might gawk as they walked by, much like driving by a serious wreck where drivers slow down to see something as they continue on their way.  

However, the only individual who ever suffered this way and this much was the only one who never deserved it. Jesus suffered hell for all of us.

They stripped Jesus naked as part of the humiliation and public shame. The soldiers laid Him down on His back along the cross beam where they would drive a five or seven inch stake or nail into the wrist and then into the other wrist. Strapped to that crossbar, they would place it on the upright post and drop Him into place. They would cross His legs and drive another stake or two stakes in just above the ankles…so that He would literally be hanging by those two stakes on the wrists, with nothing to fall down upon except that stake between His ankles. 

The first recorded words of Jesus on the cross were, “Father, forgive them for they don’t know what they’re doing.” 

This was a ghastly, horrible death. The body was forced into unnatural positions to contribute to the intensified, increased pain. The arteries would swell, causing the head to throb. The muscles would ache and cramp. There would be a burning thirst in the throat walls that became intolerable. 

As the arms fatigued, the muscles knotted up. The lacerated flesh rubbed up against the splinters of the rough wood. Crucifixion was not designed to be a quick death; it was to be an agonizing torture. It was all designed to inflict the greatest amount of humiliation and pain possible. 

Crucifixion was considered the cruelest, most painful, most degrading form of punishment ever conceived by humans.

The most excruciating aspect was the struggle to breathe. The person on the cross desperately needed to breathe but did not have the strength necessary to gain a brief breath. When you cannot breathe, the pressure goes to crush your lungs. You fight to strain for the strength to gasp for air.  Every breath was based on the worth of the effort to delay the inevitable.

But breathing to survive is a natural instinct. The body, by its very nature, struggles. Even in drowning or waterboarding, one struggles for one more breath. Fluids gather around the sac of the heart as the compressed heart struggles to pump the thickening blood.  With every pressured filled gasp for oxygen and every painful exhale, the body gets weaker, and the pain becomes greater.

I do not want to make more of the physical suffering than what the Bible does, because that was not the main point of this most important humanly unbearable event in history.

God chose not to emphasize the physical torture. The execution of the innocent Jesus is simply but powerfully stated, “And they crucified Him.” 

But who is this Him? They crucified Him like He had no power whatsoever…and yet He was the Almighty God.  They crucified Him like He was a nobody when He was the King of kings who could have crucified them all with just one word to His majestic angelic army.

Why did Jesus’ heart burst on the cross? Why did He suffer beyond human comprehension that day? 

Before the glorious resurrection, there was an agonizing crucifixion. Why?

Someone had to pay for our sins. “God demonstrated His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”  (Romans 5:8).

For God so loved the world that He gave His only beloved Son that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life (John 3: 16).

GOD TREATED HIS PERFECT LOVING SON JESUS ON THE CROSS AS IF HE HAD LIVED YOUR SINFUL SELFISH LIFE IN ORDER THAT GOD MIGHT TREAT YOU FOREVER AS IF YOU HAD LIVED JESUS’ PERFECT LOVING LIFE.

There’s a spiritual reality behind the historical fact that they crucified Jesus. There was a great divine transaction…Your death is His. His life is yours. 

Here is the application. Jesus’ death on the cross is the most significant death in all human history. It is the pivotal point of life, both earthly and eternally. This Volunteer Substitute on the cross is the only Person who can change YOU.

All the problems you have in life, all the broken relationships or difficult relationships you have in life, are solved by going to the cross again and again and seeing the love of God shed for you in dying in your place, treating you as if you had lived Jesus’ life, and taking that love and using it to love others first and love them most.

It is a new love for your spouse, your family, the needy, the poor, the neighborhood, the nations. 

Every relationship, every problem, every difficulty you have is resolved by YOU BEING CHANGED. The only place to be changed is at the cross. 

If this story is so familiar that it does not affect you, then this account was wasted. It is not information or entertainment. It is a life-changing message.

The preacher, Charles Spurgeon said, “Jesus looked down at the people he was dying for, some cringing like cowards, some snarling like dogs, all clueless and blind to what He was doing. And in the greatest act of human history, He stayed on the cross.”      

JESUS STAYED ON THE CROSS.

The passersby and the people watching had no clue what Jesus was doing and, still, He stayed on the cross. Has that changed your life? Is it still changing your life for the better?

TESTIMONY: I was a little boy who heard this story, I guess, all my life. Somewhere, someday I began to understand that Jesus died in my place for my sinful selfishness. 

There was a series of church services at our church. I remember telling my mom and dad, “Next Sunday, I am going to tell the preacher I want to give my life to Jesus.” 

My parents asked me a couple of questions:  Did I think I was a sinner who needed a Savior?  Did I know that Jesus died for my sins? Did I know who Jesus is and what He did?  

I knew the information; I needed the reality. I will always be grateful that my parents said this: “You do not have to wait until Sunday to give your life to Jesus.”  That Tuesday night, I knelt down with my parents beside a little ugly, green, torn, vinyl footstool, and I thanked Jesus for being my Savior and my God.

These many years later, I am still sipping from the cup of God’s blessings with gratitude and hope. I know that there is a whole lot more sin in my life than what I knew at that age as a little boy. I do not love Jesus any less. I have all the reason to love Him more.

To anybody who does not personally know Jesus, you can ask Jesus to be your God and your Savior—right now, right where you are. It will change everything, inside you. The weight of your sin will be forever removed, and God will make you spiritually alive.

Jesus will come to live inside of you so that He might lead you to others He intends to love first and most through you.

Jesus proved He was our Savior who refused to save Himself.

Jesus also set for us a great example of how we are to live life. We will probably not be physically tortured but when we get hurt, it can feel like emotional torture.

There will be some days in your life that you are hurt beyond your ability to bear. What are you supposed to do? Follow Jesus. You don’t complain to God and you don’t quit; you never quit on God. 

In this life, there will be people who will taunt and make fun of you. There will people who snip at you and snap at you and scream at you, and stomp on you. Jesus gave us an example to follow. You do not revile in return and you never act unkind. 

When you are treated unfairly and unjustly, you do not retaliate. You do not try to defend yourself. 

Jesus gave us an example on the cross…When your faith is tested, you never stop trusting God, even if you do not see or sense God being with you and for you.

Jesus gave us an example. But that is not why He stayed on the cross. 

That subject captivated the old prophets. The greatest of minds cannot get their thoughts around the greatness and the glory of why Jesus stayed on the cross. It still calls the angels to explore and adore. The angels are a lot smarter than we are and have lived longer than we have, and yet they say this subject matter is inexhaustible and never boring!

The width, length, height, and depth of God’s great love is beyond our comprehension. That great love made Jesus stay on the cross to the finish line.

Jesus did not save Himself. He stayed on the cross to rescue us from the incomprehensible horrible punishment of God’s wrath which we deserved. Oh, the love of God!

Jesus would not save Himself because His love would not let Him. It was not a matter of the physical constraints or physical circumstances. It was a matter of love for His Heavenly Father in doing His Father’s will.

Save Himself or save us. Jesus chose you and me.

At the death of Jesus, the voice of the Roman centurion who supervised many crucifixions was heard to declare, “Truly this was the Son of God.”  Who died on the cross that day?  The Son of God.  Why did Jesus die on the cross?  Christ died for our sinful selfishness so we might be forever treated as if we had lived His perfect, loving life.

Jesus’ LOVE is the sacrifice of giving up Himself for the true good of you and me.

Does that matter to you?

BE SPIRITUALLY AWED BY A GOD WHO WOULD HANG ON A CROSS IN ORDER TO BRING YOU WITH HIM TO THE HIGHEST HEAVENLY PLACE OF HONOR, HAPPINESS AND HARMONY TO ENJOY LIMITLESS LOVE, INFINITE GOODNESS, AND INEXHAUSTIBLE JOY.

THAT WILL TAKE FOREVER AND BEYOND.

I hope we will both be more grateful today.

And when I think, that God, His Son not sparing;
Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in;
That on the Cross, my burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died to take away my sin.

Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art.
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art!

And when Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation
And takе me home, what joy shall fill my heart
Thеn I shall bow, in humble adoration
And then proclaim: “My God, how great Thou art!”

MONDAY MOANING 6

STUCK on the BEACH

It was Sunday afternoon. It caused a lot of Monday Moaning for a lot of people.

My family loves the Florida beach. This was one of our first visits. We were returning from morning church. My daughter and youngest son were with me in our gray van. I asked them if they would like for us to drive along the beach.

From our condo balcony, I had watched other cars driving along the wide, hard-packed sands. This would be fun and memorable.

I had visions of movie scenes where people enjoyed the wind, surf, and smells of the seaside as they drove along the beautiful beach. The ultimate scenic drive. Sand to the right. Ocean to the left. Dolphins jumping in the sea. Seagulls soaring overhead. Seabreeze blowing into your face.

I drove down the ramp access to the beach. I had not anticipated the unusually large crowd close to the beach entrance. This was a highly popular Sunday spot. Many more people than at church. They were packed closer together and acted happier.

That was not a deterrent since I was familiar with more desolate stretches just a short distance away. I had walked the beach several times, passing only a few dozen people scattered across the two-mile stretch.

As I turned onto the beach, I discovered (1) it was high tide, (2) the driving sand was soft, (3) there was only one driving lane shared by cars going both directions, and (4) the beachgoers were very close to the car path. They were so close one could high five the sunbathers while driving past them.

This was a mistake!

The high-tide ocean was at its closest distance from the dunes which made this time the smallest area of beach for the entire day. My biggest discovery was this was not a good time nor good conditions for a drive along the beach. In fact, it was absolutely the worst time, unless one were driving a four-wheel-drive jeep. I took it on in a large heavy van.

I was slugging through the soft sand until I found the one set of ruts which gave some traction to the few vehicles driving the beach. I was about 600 yards from the access road. I had not cleared the beach area filled with patrons’ chairs, towels, food, and drinks when a line of three jeeps closed in on my front bumper.

I am a nice guy who pulled over to allow the jeeps to pass. Big mistake to be nice at that point. Bigger mistake to move out of the ruts and into the soft sand dune. I came to a complete stop as my tires began to lose traction. That was the biggest mistake…at least up to this point of the story.

As I began to move back toward the ruts, my tires started spinning in the sand. The spinning tires only sank the vehicle deeper into the sand. The situation was deteriorating rapidly.

Biggest mistake plus one degree worse.

This was not going to work. I needed to get this van off the beach.

I watched as the sun-bathers popped up their heads to see the commotion. Someone would sit up, do a double take, and tap the person next to them. That dude would glance over at us, rise to his knees, and turn around yelling at the next person to gawk at the strange sight. Girls would pull down their sunglasses to look in disgust.

My kids informed me that everyone was staring and pointing at us. I acted surprised. Apparently, the Florida Welcome Center was closed this Sunday afternoon.

It was time to ‘exit stage right’ as quickly as possible. I turned the van toward the dunes so I could make a U-turn back into the ruts, headed to the safety of the paved road. There is a lesson in beginner physics taught to children. It is easier to gain momentum going downhill than up the slope. That is why skiers slalom down the mountainside, and rocks roll downhill. In fear of the water, I tried the latter.

This was a bigger mistake than the previously biggest mistake.

Now I was stuck. Really stuck. The tires were spinning. The wheels began to sink deeper into the soft terrain. It looked like a Sahara Desert haboob as the swirling winds and flying sand blocked out the horizon. (I just like the sound of that word–haboob. I never imagined I would share haboob in a public forum.).

It was raining sand.

The swirling sand had to land somewhere. Unbeknownst to me, it was spraying the beach crowd. Yep, I was throwing sand onto the people working on their tan lines and beers.

Can you imagine the scene? Can you imagine the outrage of the beach crowd? Can you imagine the fear of the gray van driver with the Louisiana car tag?

No, you cannot. It was much worse than you imagine. Try to envision it again. Still worse than that.

One would have thought Godzilla invaded the beach. The peaceful beach scene was now in terror mode.

Fists started knocking on my window and words my young kids did not need to hear filled the air. A mob had risen from their Sunday relaxation, shouting words of discouragement, and shaking sand out of their chairs, food, and swimsuits. Children building sandcastles were now crying in protest.

I do not recall anyone offering to help except for one guy who told me to throw away the keys and leave.

My kids were frightened. Kala was a young teenager without a driver’s license or any driving experience except bumper cars. Derek was a little kid ready to walk the beach to get away from the embarrassment.

I tried to stay calm. I had been a quarterback in front of a stadium packed crowd, a point guard shooting game-deciding pressure free throws, a future dad in the waiting room with a wife in emergency delivery.

People always say this is no time to panic. This was a time to panic. I just could not show it. I always taught our kids to stop, take a deep breath, and THINK.

No one in the history of mankind has ever calmed down because someone told them to calm down. My next plan proved that I was not as calm as I pretended. It probably proved that I was not thinking either.

I told Kala to get behind the steering wheel and drive, while I pushed the van towards the safety of the ruts. I planned to use my superhero strength to rock the sand-stuck van to freedom.

I crawled out of the van barefoot in my Sunday dress clothes. The sweltering sand was as burning hot as the sun. My first few steps had the familiar sound of sizzling fajitas. Apparently, my dancing feet were amusing to the scantily clad swimwear crowd.

A family philosopher once declared there was nothing as good for the soul as splashing ocean water on it. It’s pretty good for sand-burned feet as well.

The smell of the ocean breeze was prevalent. However, this beach paradise was far away from the peaceful rhythm of the sun-soaked waves on a secluded shoreline.

The sand glistened and the ocean waves roared as I barked instructions to my daughter. She looked so cute and so brave. I told her to hold on to the steering wheel and step on the gas pedal. Keep her eyes straight ahead.

I feared the van might begin to move too fast. I did not have to worry about that. It never budged an inch. No momentum. No movement at all, except for the sand and sweat running down the inside of my slacks.

Bigger than bigger than the biggest mistake.

I watched the sand fly into the angry crowd. Fortunately, it is very difficult to lynch someone on a beach. A few sand-covered beer cans buzzed by my head.

The van was too deep into the soft sand and too heavy to push. This was not going to work.

A couple of guys came to help, but quickly abandoned the rescue project. One told me to wait on a jeep to come by. There were some guys who had a tow chain.

I flagged them down. They offered to help…for twenty-five dollars. I was in no place to bargain.

They extricated my van from the seashore dilemma. They dragged me back into the ruts to the sarcastic applause of people with sand in their bathing suits.

Another lesson for the beach driver beginner. A large van might be able to slowly move through hardened sand. The momentum helps the traction. However, a stationary large van has an extremely difficult time gaining any acceleration without digging its own demise.

I was back in the driver’s seat. Kala was fighting tears while trying to encourage her troubled dad. I think Derek was halfway back to the condo.

We were stuck…again. I waited for the cool guys in the jeep to reappear. They came back by with another twenty-five dollars of beer in their cooler. Did I need another tow? Of course. Twenty-five more dollars!

This time, I bargained. Only if you tow my van all the way to the paved parking lot. My first good decision of the day. In the famous words of Scarlett O’Hara, “Let’s go home and I’ll think of some way to get back. After all, tomorrow is another day!”

I can only imagine the many Monday Moaning storytellers that next day talking about the idiot who ruined their weekend fun in the sun.

Good memories come in many packages. Thankfully, our family has a truckload of precious beach memories.

Here is a Monday Moaning thought. Your circumstances could always be worse. Get some perspective. Then get some eternal perspective.

Like my stuck on the beach moment, things felt pretty bad at the time. Lots of moments in life have felt that way.

If the beach stuff had been the worst thing that ever happened in my life, then I would have had a pretty good life.

Worse things have happened. I can honestly say, I have a lived a really good life. Fully blessed in every way.

God overcomes our big mistakes, our bigger mistakes, and our biggest mistakes.

“Count it all joy…Various trials will come and test your faith, but God uses them to produce growth in character and steadfastness” (James 1:2-4).

The word “character” comes from a Greek verb which describes cutting a groove or making a mark on something. Character is what marks your life. It defines who you are.

CHARACTER MATTERS!

You are not born with it. It is built into your life, much like the building of a house. The bricks are made up of faith, hope, and love. Trustworthiness, honesty, truthfulness, respect, responsibility become building blocks.

There are many life irritants worse than sand in your bathing suit. Most of us have something that rubs us the wrong way almost every day. We have daily interactions with irritating individuals, the sand in our shorts.

Remember that an oyster covers its shell-invader with layers of some altering substance until the irritating visitor becomes a beautiful, valuable pearl. Loving first and most covers the annoying people in your life. It might take some time, but it is far better than allowing their constant irritation to ruin your life.

God uses circumstances and other people to build character into your life. The building materials are pressed together by the various trials that you experience. Your mistakes only add more color.

Godly character loves first and loves most. Go for it! You might be sitting on the beach someday, enjoying the surf and sun, when some idiot drives onto the shoreline, sending sand into your face and swimwear.

Remember. It could be worse. You could be the driver.

GUARDIANS of the GRANDKIDS

WINSDAY WISDOM 210

Some of our grandkids are into Marvel movies. Guardians of the Galaxy featured an adventurer who must unite four misfits against a cosmic threat to destroy this whole galaxy. The crew found a higher purpose for their lives and saved the galaxy.

The sequels describe these superheroes as “without a plan, but they get the job done.”

That would describe my role as a grandparent.

Grandkids are the best. I will not use this format to make you gag over my prideful exuberance. Just substitute your kids and grandkids into this fable.

We recently had the joy of having our grandkids around for a while. That does not happen enough. It is fun, entertaining, enjoyable, and tiring. This old gray mare??? (I did not think I should use the more appropriate ‘Old gray stud’) just ain’t what it used to be.

I would not trade the precious and memorable moments for anything.

This Winsday Wisdom is devoted to Babe and Bubba as Guardians of the Grandkids. I usually do not have a plan, but I am very good at improvisation that somehow saves the day and keeps the time fun.

Our living area serves as a game room, performance arts stage, gymnasium, wrestling mat, track meet, sports complex, construction site, grandkids’ clothing drop-off center, movie theatre, a gathering place for coloring or reading, and command center for the snack bar to stay open.

It has occasionally served as a medical staging area to stop the bleeding before the trip to Urgent Care for stitches.

Somehow, Babe keeps everything neat, operational, and loving. Since the front of the fireplace serves as the main stage for performers and winners, it has been essential that I clear the area of Babe’s decorative pottery displays before the coming storm.

This protects the kids and the pottery and the blame Bubba for not being a good Guardian. Before the young company arrives, I move the decorative pieces to a safer area in the corner of the piano room. That space is sometimes used as a doll house or staging area for the next air raid.

The décor is usually protected unless one of our wild rock and rolling Jerry Lee Lewis imitators gets on the piano. Then Great Balls of Fire with a Whole Lot of Shakin’ Going On.

Chantilly Lace and a pretty face
And a ponytail hangin’ down
A wiggle in her walk and a giggle in her talk
Make the world go ’round

Ain’t nothing in the world like big-eyed grandkids

To make me act so funny, make me spend my money…

Last week, I forgot to move the large red plate and its stand located just left of the fireplace. I noticed a granddaughter leaning up against it as she looked at the family pictures on the shelf behind. At the same time, a bouncing ball and two diving bodies landed near it.

Calling 911 Rescue. I leaped to my feet and quickly salvaged the plate from imminent destruction. It was placed in the safety of the far corner in the adjacent room. It survived the visit just as it had for the previous ten years as each grandchild had his/her opportunities to take it down.

The Guardians of the Galaxy could not have accomplished a better rescue operation. I do feel like a Superhero at times.

After the families were gone and the tears were brushed away, we rested. At least I did until I realized Vicki was cleaning the house. It was time for the Guardian of the Grandmother to step into action.

I pulled out the vacuum cleaner and plugged it in. Vicki said not to do that now. It can wait.

I wanted to help and get everything done so we could both rest and reflect on the good pictures from the time with the grandkids. This was my chance to show how to love first and most. It is not just flowers and candy. Sometimes, it looks like pushing a vacuum cleaner. I did a good job.

As I was putting the vacuum cleaner away, I noticed the large pottery plate. It had survived another Invasion of the Body-Snatchers. This was a good time to get it back to its proper place.

We have a “family truism” that has been passed on to our kids and grandkids:

WHEN WE DISOBEY, ACCIDENTS HAPPEN OR SOMEONE GETS HURT.

There is a reason this saying has survived for subsequent generations. The list is long.

This day, another accident was added to the list.

As I carried the large pottery plate and its stand back to the living area, I bumped a bookcase in the entry way. The impetus started a chain reaction.

Impetus. What a strange word. A powerful force which sets something in motion.

In unstoppable slow motion, the plate fell forward and crashed onto the hardwood floor.

Not even a superhero could stop the cosmic damage that exploded my galaxy.

I watched the explosion of ceramic pottery bouncing off the wood floor. It went down in one piece and returned upward in several fragments.

In a nanosecond, I did what my grandkids failed to do in ten years.

Breaking something creates a plethora of thoughts and emotions.

I felt like WKRP radio newsman, Les Nessman, as he reported on the ill-fated turkey drop promotion, “Oh, my goodness! Oh, the humanity! Not since the Hindenburg tragedy has there been anything like this.”

In one of the all-time comedic moments in television history, live turkeys were dropped from a helicopter onto the mall parking lot as part of a disastrous radio station promotion. (Google it on YouTube.)

The pottery plate disaster was equally traumatic, but less funny…for me.

The loud crash echoed through the house.

I could not even use the excuse of the befuddled WKRP boss man, Mr.  Carlson, “Honestly, I thought turkeys could fly.”

This plate did not fly. It plummeted to the floor like a dive bomber on a kamikaze mission. I wished I could fly away. It took every ounce of my manhood not to run for the hills.

When we disobey, accidents happen.

I must disobey a lot. My home was not insured for “Mayhem like this.”

There was no hiding this disaster. There was no way it could be blamed on the grandkids. Trust me. I tried to think of some ways. The grandkids have a bigger storehouse of grace than I do.

The other three matching set pieces stood in motionless mourning for their fallen leader. They were playing Taylor Swift’s song, We are Never Ever Getting Back Together. Never, ever, ever, ever.

My mind was more into the Beatles. Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Now I need a place to hide away…

I wish I knew Kintsugi, the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold. It carries the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art. I could only hope that someone close to me would continue to embrace my flaws and imperfections.

I Googled kintsugi. The search suggested I try hari-kari.

I scrambled for a broom and dustpan…and a remote hiding place. Maybe the dog could take the fall for this mishap. She stood there watching with pitiful eyes and wagging her tail. She offered her doghouse for an asylum.

I did not break the law or break the internet. I did not even break the rules. But I felt worse than if I had.

Babe was gracious. Above Bed, Bath, and Beyond gracious. I lived to tell this tale.

She assumed I was carrying the plate and stand with two hands. I can honestly say I never thought of that.

I recently read the quote:

NO AMOUNT OF REGRET CAN CHANGE THE PAST. NO AMOUNT OF ANXIETY CHANGES THE FUTURE. BUT ANY AMOUNT OF GRATITUDE CHANGES THE PRESENT. (Mark and Angel Chernoff)

I wish it were as easy to drop one’s worries, stress, disappointments, and regrets as it was to drop that pottery plate. The longer you hold them, the heavier they get.

I am grateful for Babe’s grace. She showed me the love first and love most of forgiveness. “It is just a thing.” People are more important than things.

I have too many flaws to be perfect, but far too many blessings to be ungrateful. Every day, I become more and more a Guardian of Gratitude. God’s grace covers my past regrets and future anxieties. Most importantly, God has a plan to rescue and bless me today.

“God uses broken clouds to produce rain, broken ground to produce crops, broken grain to produce bread, and broken bread to produce strength” (Vance Havner).

“God does not break things so He can fix them; He fixes broken things so He can use them” to bless other people (Bob Goff).

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed (2 Corinthians 4:7-9).

Your life does not have to end up in shattered pieces. God turns those broken pieces into masterpieces. God heals broken hearts, broken dreams, and broken lives. You do not have a broken future.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

God’s grace overflows in your life. I hope you see and sense it. Undeserved forgiveness and unearned goodness. I hope you express your gratitude for it.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow
Blessings all mine with ten thousand beside

Great is Thy faithfulness
Great is Thy faithfulness
Morning by morning new mercies I see
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me

God’s grace is both Pardon and Power.

Pardon from all our selfish “disobedient accidents.”

Power to Love First and Love Most in every relationship.

You are a Guardian of God’s Love. You do not have to become a super-hero. But why not go for it?

You have been infused with the impetus of love. Let it flow!

I love being a Guardian of the Grandkids. I also imagine myself as superhero Guardian of their Grandmother Babe. I am just not very great at it…yet. But I never quit trying!

My tombstone will carry the inscription, “Here lies the Guardian of the Grandkids and their Babe…He meant well.”