LOVE FIRST…LOVE MOST

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 40

(I borrowed this Winsday intro idea from my pastor, Tim Gibson.)

We have a young Boxer dog named Jada. She has worked her way into my heart only because she falls into the Love first and Love most challenge group. This hyper canine has maxed out my tolerance scale.

She has one quality fairly common with most dogs. Anxiety! She becomes highly anxious about sounds, silence, visitors, and solitary confinement. She has exceptional hearing. Every noise makes her jump. She paces in fear. She whines with every need which is a good way of communication. But she also whines just to annoy me.

Jada is depressed when we leave her alone. She becomes full of anxiety just watching us prepare to leave. Her life is best when everything stays the same.

We humans are very similar. We are more comfortable with the routine. We can become anxious at the drop of a pin. We fear the unknown and the unexpected. The possibility of anything that changes our sense of “normal” fuels our fears.

We imagine the worse. It robs us of peace. We exchange the pleasant moment to buy shares in future fears. Most fears never come to fruition. They dissipate faster than stock market gains.

Unexpected news or anticipated fears can cause us to pace through the day and lose sleep through the night. We jettison joy. We forfeit peace.

We feel anxious! Anxiety is the mind and body’s reaction to stressful, dangerous, or unfamiliar situations. It arrives with a sense of uneasiness, distress, or dread you feel before a significant event which may or may not happen.

I am sure you are aware of how anxiety feels without this description.

The siren sounds. The clock is ticking. The kids are crying. The relatives are coming. The stove is smoking. The crowd is bigger. The clouds are darker. The bank account is empty. The medical report is pending. The choices are confusing. The deadline is looming. The spouse is waiting.

And all that happens while you try to decide what to order from the restaurant menu.

Most life events cause pressure.

You feel nervous. Your heart races. You hyperventilate. A full panic attack leaves you numb, unable to concentrate, paralyzed in thoughts and actions.

What causes anxiety? Anything! Everything!

Changing circumstances. Health issues. Loved ones. Unloved ones. Possibilities. Impossibilities. We all get anxious. Maybe through different causes or for different amounts of time, but we all battle anxiety.

That is why the #1 Textbook encourages us not to be anxious. Do not be anxious about anything…God has given you peace for every situation and every future event. Do not be afraid.

Why? We have hope. Hope: the confident certainty that we will experience all the goodness and joy God has promised…somehow…someway…sometime. Guaranteed.

Why do we have hope? We have a God who loves us. We have a God who controls all events for our ultimate good. We have a God who cannot lie. We have a God who encourages us to cast our anxiety on Him, and He will take care of us.

“For we are all dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending” (Herman Melville, Moby-Dick). Does that describe how you feel?

The great heroes of faith in the #1 Textbook battled anxiety. The future frightened them. They were flawed and broken. They fell and failed. They paced and lost peace. They became weak and depressed. They were restless and sleepless.

Somehow, they found hope. That same hope is available to each of us. We remember them because they faced their anxiety and fears with faith, hope, and love.

In order to learn how to avoid anxiety, we must first know the feeling of anxiety and identify what brought it on. It can paralyze us if we do not move past it. Hope can push us past our anxious thoughts into the realm of peace.

Learn to preach to yourself the truth about God and your circumstances. We spend too much time listening to ourselves thinking anxious thoughts. Worry and anxiety do nothing to help. They find their origin in “uncertainty.” They do not change any of our circumstances or our life’s quality or its longevity.

Anxiety is not sinful; it is natural, just like fear and worry. Uncertainty is connected to distrust of God. The antidote is faith in God. God loves you and controls all things for your ultimate good. Strengthening your faith is part of His plan.

“Lift up your eyes to the mountains. You will see your help on the horizon. Your help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth. He still controls everything in it” (#1 Textbook).

Trust in God is the best way to cope with anxiety. TRUST IS A LEARNED HABIT.

“God plans everything for your good” (#1 Textbook). We prefer the routine. However, change is part of God’s plan.

Anxiety does not go away because someone suggests that you stop being anxious. But you can learn how to better deal with it. For example, it still gets dark. That never changes. But you learn how to turn on a light. In the same way, you can learn how to turn on the light of faith which dispels anxiety.

What can you do to learn to preach to yourself about the antidote to anxiety?

1. Read the #1 Textbook and observe how the examples of faith struggled with anxiety and overcame fear and anxiety through trust in God.
2. Watch the birds. I was recently reminded to trust in God by a sparrow on my fence. Last week, I drove down the street and observed thousands and thousands of blackbirds sitting on the overhead wires. Not one of them was worried about the future. Who takes care of them all? The same God who says that you are more valuable than all of those birds.
3. Do some stargazing. There are more stars in the universe than all the grains of sand on earthly beaches. More than all the words ever spoken by man or woman since the time of Adam and Eve until the latest newborn. God knows every star by name. The God who created, controls, and names every star loves you. That is an awesome thought! You are of more value than all the galaxies in this universe.

Routine can be comfortable. Change is real and will interrupt your routine. Most of the unknown and unexpected will never happen. But that does not stop us from battling anxiety.

Give yourself a break from anxiety today. Trust God. He knows and controls what is about to happen. God loves you. God is with you and for you. That is a certainty.

I encourage you to throw your anxiety into the wastebasket. Let the city crew take your anxiety trash to the dump. You really do not have to pick up the anxiety litter.

Go look at the #1 Textbook. Look at the birds. Look at the stars and tell yourself that everything is going to turn out OK. I did not say that. God did!

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 39

I recall an incident from my pre-parental days. I was sitting in my car eating lunch and catching up on some study in the McDonalds’ parking lot. My reading was interrupted by loud arguments from a family exiting the fast-food restaurant. The mother and father were screaming at their crying little four-year-old girl. I discreetly rolled down my window so I could hear better.

The precious little girl definitely did not enjoy her Ronald McDonald playtime. Both parents were using strong language to scold her recent actions and attitude. Threats were made about future discipline. I tried not to look as if I were eavesdropping with my head leaning out the window.

Their family car was parked right next to mine. The mother opened the back door of the car and yelled for the little girl to never act like that again or she would never have another Happy Meal. Then the mom ordered the sobbing daughter to get into the car. Both parents slammed their car doors as they took their places in the front seats.

I felt so sorry for this little, sniffling, teary-eyed, beautiful girl. Her parents were so mean. How could any parent be so impatient or cruel? She needed someone to care about her and her plight. I thought she had the worst parents in the world.

This girl needed some encouragement. The entire world was not against her. This was an opportunity to love first and most. So, I leaned out the window and smiled at her. “It’s going to be ok.”

She looked up, stomped her feet, and stuck her tongue out at me with the sound of a Bronx cheer. “NYAAH.”

Her defiant tone was not cute; she was rude.

I immediately thanked the Lord for the wise parents of this little brat.

Parenting is not an easy no-mistakes endeavor. It also is not free from advice. Some parenting advice is helpful. Most is unsolicited. You will get advice from parents, in-laws, grandparents, siblings, relatives, friends, church members, and people who do not know you.

Child psychologists and talk shows cover the subject. Family conferences, parenting workshops, books, and magazines offer parenting insights. I am not sure any of that really matters.

It seems as if everyone else knows exactly what and how to raise your child. The advice ranges from encouragement to condescension. Applause to condemnation. Helpful to humiliating. Well-meaning to hidden meaning.

Most parental advice makes you feel like a sad and bad person. Really sad and really bad.

I appreciate the lady who offered her unsolicited “candy” suggestion. for the birthday pinata. Why did she feel that was necessary? Did she really think I was going to fill the piñata with broccoli bites?

Almost every parent tries to do his/her best. Certainly, the ones who might read this article. We all want the best for our kids. We make mistakes in our methods and manners, but not mistakes of the heart.

We tend to be judgmental of other parents and very blind to what might be in store for us. We do not know what the other parents are dealing with. We need to toss our presuppositions and misunderstandings in the wastebasket. Let’s also ditch our unwelcomed advice.

Before we were blessed with children, my wife and I went out to eat with a young couple and their young children. We were embarrassed for them as the toddler ran screaming around the restaurant. He ignored their commands and pleas. Even bribes did not corral the chaos.

We were shocked when the one-year-old started eating everything with his hands. His mouth and face were covered in mashed potatoes and gravy. So was his hair.

The parents seemed oblivious. The highchair tray had food floating around before it was scattered on the floor.

We left there vowing that our kids would never be like that.

Sometimes, you get to eat your words. The egg on your face is just as messy. Eventually, it becomes funny when your grandkids do those things you frowned on. You even take pictures of the cute darling and post them on Facebook.

Why do kids act like little saints in the church classroom and then change teams on the ride home? Or why do they play together at the house, but fight like bitter enemies as soon as company arrives? I have no idea. I have only heard of such things. (Where is that sarcasm font?)

Let’s face it. No parent really has any idea what they are about to get into. Not at birth or in the nursery days. Not in the terrible two’s or the frightening teens. I once foolishly thought that when your children grow up and leave the house that your worries would decrease. I was clueless and mistaken!

Every child is different. Every parent is naïve. You just keep hoping that you will do better on the next one. Until you find that the next ones were divinely designed to be more challenging. Oh, the immeasurable wisdom of God! He knows exactly what we need to learn how to really love.

I knew I loved my wife…until that first moment that my newborn daughter wrapped her hand around my little finger. That is when I experienced a love willing to die for another person’s welfare. That is when I learned to love my wife better and take my love for her to a higher level. That is when I signed up for a journey to love first and love most.

You have a story. Some of it is still being written. God always writes the last chapter, and it will be wonderful.

Give yourself some grace. We are not perfect. We learn and grow. We would like to do some things over and better. That does not make you a terrible parent. It defines you as a real person.

There is no such thing as a non-dysfunctional family. Do not judge your parenting skills by someone else’s social posts and pictures. Do not condemn your efforts based on some current challenge in your son or daughter’s life.

Learn to love first and love most. Pray and work to get better at understanding how to do that. The #1 Textbook has it covered.

Love your kids (whatever their age) in the same way that Jesus loves you. When you mess up, you are forgiven. When you fall down, you are lifted up. When you feel discouraged, you are praised. When you fail, you are taught.

God gave you that child or children. God knew exactly where you would be strong and where you would be weak. Where you would shine and where you would mess up. God knows exactly what you and your children need to step into a higher plane of love.

Do what you think is best. Your children grow up way too fast. You will have to learn how to install a car seat and erect a swing set. You will need a truck load of batteries and an even bigger supply of patience. You will watch Frozen or something like it for thirty-five days in a row. You will answer questions and shout instructions until your voice retires for the night.

About the time you learn how to change a diaper and burp an upset stomach, you are chasing a wild screaming toddler around the room. It will feel like a blender on full speed with the top off. Before you can make a couple of laps through the cluttered house, you are carpooling to school and racking your brain through homework that you vowed never to do again. Once the routine sets in, it is disrupted by school activities which lead to more friends and longer texts and fewer talks.

You figure out a plan that works for the whole family, but there are not enough days on the calendar. Then the calendar keeps changing years every time you check it. Before you blink twice, the kids are headed off to college or work or a new family. Time moves too fast to analyze and improve your parenting skills.

You just adapt and get better. You do the best you can at the time. Wisdom comes later. Maybe, that is why so many insist on interjecting their opinions into your situation. They wish they had a do-over.

All of us wish for that. Not just to erase mistakes, but to cherish the moments of joy and love. You are left with memories and pictures and notes. Maybe a text. I suggest one technique I borrowed from the sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond.

It’s called editing. Edit out the bad moments. Do not dwell on the mistakes. Focus on the good memories. I am pretty sure the idea comes from the #1 Textbook. “Love covers a multitude of mistakes.”

God loves you. The mistakes are covered. The messes have been forgiven. Cherish the good moments.

Yes, if I could do it again, I would do it all better. More importantly, I would do it all with more joy. However, the past is gone, and the present is fleeting by too fast. We need to make today count.  

Hug your kids, whatever their ages. Brag on them. If you are physically separated from them, text or call. Above all, pray for them. They need your prayers more than your parenting advice.

You invested in their lives. Trust God to produce good dividends. Hope that they will take your love to an even higher level with your grandkids. It’s the cycle of life.

I offer no advice and certainly share no criticism. I know you have done and are doing and will do the best you can. I applaud you and cheer you on.

Look to the One who loves you first and most. Imitate God, as beloved children. And walk in love just as Christ loved us” (#1 Textbook).

I love you. I love my wife who has done far better than she gives herself credit. I love my children and grandchildren. I’m still trying to do the best I can and with God’s help, I will do better.

I wish the same for you.

If you wish to correct me on something in this post or desire to enlighten me on a better way, then “NYAAH!”

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 38

That’s right! Mary, Martha, and Silas! Two sisters and a beloved brother, just like the siblings in the Bible.

They were older and lived in the same house. None had married. They were godly and loving.

I met them when I went into the youth ministry at Sand Springs. They attended every church function. They were as kind as anyone could be. One could not help thinking about the Mary, Martha, and Lazarus in the gospel story who were so loved by Jesus.

The Biblical trio served, cooked, and soaked up the teachings of Jesus. They loved Him and their story has impacted countless multitudes.

The modern-day siblings had the same kind of heart. Their impact on my life was substantial. I was the new kid on the church staff. I had much to learn.

Mary and Martha were just what one might imagine of their Biblical counterparts. The two older sisters took care of Silas. Silas appeared much different than my images of the resurrected Lazarus, but now I think Lazarus might have been just like Silas.

Silas had some disabilities. He struggled to speak, stuttering with a lisp. He always had a smile and handshake for everyone. The pastor told me that Silas was like a fourth grader in his development. He needed the constant care of his sisters.

Yes, Silas had some visual and audio disabilities, but he had no disability of the heart.

Silas became ill and was confined in the hospital. I am sure the sisters sent for Jesus and their prayers were answered. In the meantime, the pastor sent me. I made a couple of hospital visits during Silas’ time at the hospital.

Mary and Martha were always there. Mary would be reading her Bible or praying or singing. Martha would be up serving some need. If it was not doing something for Silas, then she would help the nurse or offer assistance to the doctor.

Several weeks later, they all returned to church. As we met in the hallway, I paused to welcome them back. Each one greeted me with a hug. As they headed into their Bible study class, Silas grabbed my arm. He had something he wanted to say.

“B-B-Brudder Rex, you…you…you tame to…to see…see me. You tame to…to see me at…at…da…da h-pital. You…you payed…you payed for me. T…T…Tank you…Tank you.”

“That’s right, Silas. Glad you are feeling better.”

Silas held onto my hand with both of his hands. His eyes glistened. His lips trembled.

“B-B-Brudder Brudder Rex, I…I…I…pay…I pay…pay…I pay for you.                   

I…I…I…I pay…p…p…pay for you…….every…….everyday…..everyday.”

Then Silas pointed at his chest and then at my heart as he continued.

“I…I luv…I luv you.”

Now I know why Jesus wept. I went home and cried like a baby. I prayed for Silas a few times at the hospital. Silas prayed for me every day. Oh, that’s a huge differential in love.

No wonder Jesus loved Lazarus so very much! No wonder Jesus loved Silas so very much! And Jesus used Silas to remind me how much He loves me…everyday!

Tears come to my eyes now as I recall that moment with Silas. It was as much of a teaching moment as the time Lazarus walked out of that tomb into new life. I needed my love resurrected. Praying is not some church duty or emergency need. Prayer is about love.

Love is not some occasional pastime activity. Love for God and love for others is a lifetime endeavor. Everyone…All the time. That is the most important thing in life and throughout eternity.

I read about this great love in Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. I saw it in Mary, Martha, and Silas. Jesus came into their house and hearts. They were never the same. They learned to love just like Jesus.

IF YOU NEED YOUR LOVE RESURRECTED, THERE IS HOPE FOR YOU!

Jesus lives inside of us to lead us to others He intends to love through us.

Thanks, Silas, for loving me first and most.

I pray that same love might touch someone else today.

Thank you, Mary, Martha, and Silas!

I want to be more like you. Others might see in me some emotional and physical shortcomings, but I pray there will never be a disability of my spiritual heart.

So, I will ask myself the Winsday Wisdom application questions.

Rex, who will you pray for today? Who will hear you tell or read a text that you love them?

Who will be on your heart and in your prayers today? 

Everyday!!!

Come on, Rex. Keep your eyes on the goal. Finish strong.

I hope you will join me.

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 37

Politics! Now, that is a dirty word for some. For others, it is a religion.

My early exposure to politics was two-fold. As a baby, people in our church would call me “Ike” after President Dwight D. “Ike” Eisenhower…we both had no hair. Secondly, my mother and her five siblings would spend the holiday gatherings arguing politics. Passionate. Heated. A little chaotic. It was frightening and hilarious. Their loud and varied opinionated discussions were more of a gang fight than a game night.

Their father was a staunch Republican coal miner from Kentucky. He transplanted his family to Tahona, Oklahoma. Their hard-working mother did not have much formal education and waited until she was fifty-five before getting her driver’s license. However, she could solve any crossword puzzle and watched every episode of As the World Turns. What other education does a person really need? She outsmarted six children and made sure they stayed and succeeded in school.

The four sons and two daughters became Democrats for assorted reasons. My mom was a closet Republican because of loving loyalty to her dad. Since she lived in a heavily Democratic part of the state, she had to register as a Democrat in order to vote in the local and state elections.

My mom lived for the moments to be with her sister and four brothers. All of them shared an intense sense of the importance of family. They were all smart, educated, and independently opinionated. These siblings were critical thinkers. They never took the social norm as the only way things could be.

“Some men and women see things as they are and say why. I dream of things that never were and say why not” (Robert Kennedy).

Each of the six family members would have flourished as a king or queen or dictator. They knew how to run this world. Every night, they gathered at the round table for the political fight to begin. Their spouses had to find another place to eat or fellowship. Mainly, in-laws just rolled their eyes as they witnessed the entertainment. Sometimes, they provided behind the scenes commentary on the political convention. This was therapeutic relief.

This was CNN vs. Fox News in a two-hour debate in a time before either network existed. It was Beyond Bias (a book written by my talented son-in-law, Scott Krzych). No one really listened to the other persons. No one ever changed their political position because of someone else’s point of view or truckload of facts.

As the big sister, Auntie Jo could command the table with her straightforward talk and pointed finger. Whenever she held up her hand like a stop sign, everyone yielded. The table group also listened to Uncle Ray explain the political nuances as only a NASA scientist could. Raymond was brilliant and his opinion was respectfully listened to, but internally discounted because of the liberal influences from his transplant to the West Coast.

Uncle Sherman and my mom were the loudest. Sherman and Uncle K.P. were older than their little sister. Bea grew up idolizing these brothers. She also felt the need to boss them. I imagine that had been a lifelong endeavor.

When Mom got her turn (translation: injected her strong opinion into the debate), voices would get louder until Sherman would stand up from the table, hitch up his pants, and declare he was going to get another cup of coffee. That always signaled it was halftime intermission. Coffee refills and a restroom break. As Sherman strolled away from the table, he would fire off his best round at my mother. It was usually sarcastic in tone.

K.P. (at least he was royally named King Philip) was the target of Mom’s response because he was the only one smiling or listening at that point. He would tout the same political verbiage as his twin-like brother, only with more humor, more sarcasm, and less decibels. Those two brothers knew how to agitate their little sister and they enjoyed it immensely.

Uncle Curt was the youngest and, most likely, shared the wisest insights because of his educational and business experiences. His outlook seemed to be more balanced and broader-minded. More metropolitan. He respectfully waited for his turn which seldom came before there were more empty chairs at the table. His best audience came on those rare occasions he would admit that my mom had made a good point. She would yell for the others to listen to Curt. He never escaped the “baby brother” tag. That is almost like not having the right to vote. Only the youngest in a family can understand that.

My biggest takeaway from this family political dispute was that it always ended the same way. Always. Everyone hugged and said, “Goodnight. I love you.” They would hug several times. Smiles and laughter and love filled the political debate room. The siblings might have stayed awake thinking of their first comeback shot at breakfast, but there was no doubt that family love trumped political loyalty.

Love trumps political loyalty! What a concept!

Oh, if only our national politicians shared that same sentiment! If our religious dialogue would embrace that endeavor. If our cultural masses and social classes would follow the soap box debates with sincere concern for the welfare of all.

I witnessed my parents’ interest in politics as it related to education. I was raised by two Christian educators in a small community in eastern Oklahoma. Life was about God, church, family, and education. For our family, sports were intertwined with education.

My parents were always supportive of the next political candidate promising to commit more government funding to education and teacher salaries. The struggle repeated every two years after the newly elected official went the way of the former elected politicians. In other words, throughout their lifetime, school support never got fixed as Oklahoma wallowed at the bottom of educational funding.

Side note 1: The volatile oil industry, horse racing, casino gambling, and the lottery were supposed to “fix” the educational funding. Instead, they “fixed” the politicians’ pockets and pet projects.

Side note 2: In my ego-centric opinion, my lifetime best photograph was taken with the Oklahoma Governor. I was a young man, tanned and lean, nice head of hair, dressed in coat and tie. The governor looked happy as well. He claimed it was one of his favorite photographs. That governor went to prison for bribery and extortion. Somewhere, on a prison cell wall, hangs a picture of a happy, handsome, young man standing next to a crooked politician.

Does any mention of politics cause your family get-togethers to be messy or spoiled? Does the subject of religion heat up the room? Do some feel the compulsion to comment on others’ parenting skills?  Those all can spill over into a need for climate control.

It seems to me that our country is seriously divided by our political arguments. The fringe elements of both parties appear to be intent on causing a split in our nation. No one person or one political idealogue should ever dominate the outcome of the lives of others. That is dangerous. Even varied interpretations of the #1 Textbook can lead to divisive arguments.

It seems as if “We the people” has been replaced with “Me and the people like me.” Where is the greater concern for “We” when it negatively affects “Me”? Each of us acts as if we expect and demand the world changes to please us. It is alright to work and vote for your opinion, but a loss should never break up loyalty to the greater good of a family, nation, or even the football team fan base.

When two people or political parties believe in their complete correctness and the other’s egregious error, they inherit the wind (#1 Textbook). Debate is followed by Hate. Poison is infused into the soul.

What comes next in the political divisiveness? “A weariness of contest, and an extinction of benevolence” (Samuel Johnson 1750. My college roommate insisted I take a class on the writings of Samuel Johnson).

Nothing should ever trump the law of love. The law of love has structure and guidelines. It is not a moral free-for-all. However, it is never meant to be suppressed or used as a sledgehammer by political or religious denominational rhetoric. Most political, church, business, or family leadership failures are rooted in flawed character.

There is a worship issue at the heart of all flawed character. When one worships self or worships a political position or religious concept rather than worship of God, the moral compass becomes broken.

IN THE LAW OF LOVE, CHARACTER MATTERS.

“Do not lie, cheat, or steal” is the bedrock principle of legendary UCLA basketball Coach John Wooden’s character principles which form his Pyramid of Success. I am pretty certain this comes straight from the #1 Textbook.

Do not lie, cheat, or steal. 

That ideal is supposed to be included in the vows of every politician, minister, and marriage partner.

In the law of love, character development is a lifelong journey. Throughout this earthly journey, character either erodes or grows. Stay the course. No detours and no deviations. Finish the race…steady and swift.

It is always right to do what is right. I have fought the fight…I have finished the race…I have kept the faith…I look forward to what lies ahead (#1 Textbook).

The best way to help others is to love them first and most. You do not need a political position or church ministry to do that. Character development is personal.

Kindness is not just something you do until kindness does not work. We do not transgress moral virtues in order to gain advantages for our social and cultural agendas.

Politics is a necessary part of government. There will always be uncertain political answers to complex social questions. Political debate evolves. The virtues of character are timeless.

“Character is, in the long run, the decisive factor in the life of individuals and of nations alike” (Theodore Roosevelt).

The #1 Textbook emphatically declares that Jesus is the means and model for true character which is the evidence of God at work in and through your life. Suffering produces endurance which produces character which produces hope. That is the evidence of God’s love inside you (#1 Textbook).

Far too often, we want to engage in social media debate regarding church, politics, climate, or parenting techniques. Debates on those subjects always carry baggage of presuppositions and misinformation. Who is listening? Who changes his/her mind?

Wisdom is not learned through education, politics, law school, seminary, charm school, or social platforms. The #1 Textbook is the only foundation for wisdom. Integrity and judgment are virtues of wisdom-formed character. Respect and gratitude are wisdom-fruit that is always in season.

Today is a reminder to value whom Jesus valued and to serve those whom Jesus served. Let’s cast our vote and our allegiance to love first and love most.

Perhaps you enjoy political debates with family, friends, and foes. I feel certain you have some ideas how to straighten out our country and world. I offer my mantra for political and spiritual progress:

Debate less. Judge less. Condemn never.

Do not let your fears hold you back from pursuit of your hopes.

Whatever you say and do, finish the interaction with “I love you.”

OK. I am coming down from my soap box. I love you……….Uh, I’m waiting.

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 36

A parking ticket can be frustrating. This specific parking ticket was from the red-light district of downtown Nashville. It created a firestorm of questions, accusations, suspicion, intrigue, and a blockbuster revelation.

My uncle and his family lived in Gallatin, Tennessee, just 30 miles from Nashville. For several summers, they were like a second home for me. Cousin Kay and I are about the same age. I love the three boys as if they were little brothers.

However, I was unaware of the drama caused by one specific big-city parking ticket. My uncle received a notification of a past due parking fine from the City of Nashville Transit Authority. The description identified his car and license plate. It also noted the location of the parking violation. It was downtown Nashville. In fact, the car had been illegally parked in an area infamously noted as the city’s red-light district.

My uncle sat at the kitchen table reading the violation notice. It allowed thirty days to pay the fine or be subject to a summons. My uncle interpreted “summons” as the possibility of law enforcement officials arriving at his house to handcuff him or one of his family members. He was determined to get to the bottom of this problem.

Uncle K.P. had not been to Nashville in the past year. He would never have a reason to park in that part of the metroplex. He contacted the city. It was no mistake. There were photographs of his car with the license tag registered to him, parked at an expired meter in the heart of Nashville.

The location of my uncle’s car next to an expired parking meter was very specific. It was not parked by the Grand Ole Opry. Not next to the Ryman Theatre or Country Music Hall of Fame. Not near the Johnny Cash Museum or the Nashville Pantheon. It was definitely, undeniably, the Nashville red-light district.

The history of the locale was well-known to citizens and visitors. The two-block area was initially called “Smoky Row.” The red-light designation historically went back to the Civil War times where it became recognized as the place for this country’s first system of legalized prostitution.

In more recent times, the extended corridor east of Broadway was noted for honky-tonk bars and a haven for prostitutes and drug dealers. It was definitely not part of the family-friendly tourist attractions. Any visit to that area would not have an honorable purpose.

There might have been hope that the misdeed could be overlooked in the darkness of the night. However, the crime had surfaced in the daylight. To make matters worse, Dad knew, and he told Mom. Worse is not a bad-enough word to describe the rising cloud of suspicion. A storm of something worse-than-worse had enveloped the house. “Uh-oh! Worser!”

Who was responsible for the parking ticket? Uncle K.P. lined up the suspects. Kay was exempt. Why? Well, she was Kay, his beloved daughter. Besides, she had her own car. Bill David was too young to drive. That left teenagers, Mark and Neil, as the only two suspects for this investigation. They would face some very passionate parental questioning. No mercy.

The grilling examination was intense. The stakes were raised as well as the voice levels. The CIA has banned some of those interrogation techniques. The strong-armed Mafia methods were no match for this shakedown. Gallatin, we have a problem!

These were the facts. Someone had taken the family car without permission. He went on his secret joy ride to Nashville. He drove to the wrong city for some unwholesome purpose. There was an overdue, unpaid parking ticket near a place that was prohibited for under-age participants. A continued lie would only make it worse.

The inquisition continued. The older Mark drew most of the suspicion. The parents felt sure Neil could not find his way around Nashville then or now. His sense of directions was notable confusion. The family often said Neil could not find his way out of a phonebooth. (To the younger generations: Google it. There was a time when there were phonebooths, parking meters, payment by check, and asking for directions from someone not named Siri.)

The voices continued to get more passionate and much louder with the continued interaction. As the accusation continued, Mark and Neil vehemently denied any guilt. They definitely did not go there together. Neither one threw the other under the bus, but they left open the possibility. They were questioned separately. “It must have been him because it definitely was not me.”

Uncle K.P. was convinced one was guilty and possibly both could be incriminated. Mark was suspected of lying, which was worse than the parking ticket offense. Neil might have had a late-night excursion with some friends. The secret run-for-fun had been exposed. Their dad’s face was flashing red. It looked more like the police car lights than the wrong-area-of-town lights.

He would make sure that no one in his family was going to be led away in handcuffs in their small town.

Trust had been damaged. The penalty for the unconfessed violation was steep. Both boys would pay for the overdue ticket. Both would be grounded from driving any car. Maybe forever.

The boys did the time for the crime. They paid their dues. Their transgression would find its way into subsequent conversations regarding privileges and requests. They never confessed. In fact, for the next three years, they declared their innocence. But the damage had been done. The clouds never cleared.

But wait…

A startling revelation would throw new light onto the red-light district parking ticket. New evidence was discovered. It had been hidden away for three years. The cold case would finally begin to unravel.

That is where I came into the picture of this car caper catastrophe. Clueless about the three-year-old suspension associated with this embarrassing family episode, I was able to shed light on the guilty party. I found some important evidence, hidden from the prosecution and defense teams.

It happened at Christmas time when Uncle K.P. and family visited our family home in Oklahoma. They had no expectation that new information would break the case and exonerate the penitent pair.

I interrupted the family festivities with an announcement. I had cleaned out my briefcase the previous month. I discovered an unpaid parking ticket. As I examined the document, I realized the violation had occurred three years prior in Nashville.

The parking ticket occurred when I borrowed my uncle’s car to go to a church conference at the denominational headquarters in downtown Nashville. I could not find any public parking, so I parked several blocks away. The meter expired before I returned from the meeting. I placed the ticket in my briefcase with the intent of paying it when I got home. Needless to say, I forgot about it.

Three years later, I confessed to my uncle that a parking ticket occurred when I borrowed his car.

My revelation brought Mark and Neil out of their chairs. They shouted in celebration of the new evidence which supported their innocence. They yelled at their dad, “We told you we did not do that.”

Then they told me and the rest of the family the whole parking ticket story. The unpaid violation notice from the City of Nashville. The accusation. The interrogation. The judgment. The punishment. The cloud of distrust. It was a wild, crazy, sad but often funny story.

My uncle confessed he had misjudged them, but he offered little remorse. He just smiled and declared the false charges made up for all the stuff the boys did that he did not know about.

Now my mother insisted on clarification for why I was in that vicinity. As Ricky Ricardo from I Love Lucy often said to his wife, “Lucy! You have some ‘splainin’ to do.”

I had no idea that the downtown area was anywhere near a renowned red-light district. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!

Have you ever been falsely accused? Have you ever paid the price for someone else’s violation? I imagine you have a story to tell. I have a greater story. It is not an entertaining story about my parking ticket being paid by falsely accused cousins. This story is life-changing to its readers.

The most important thing in life is to love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength…and love others as yourself (#1 Textbook).

That is the greatest commandment in life. All of us have come short of expressing that love all the time…to everyone. The meter of opportunity has expired on many occasions. The violations have piled up. So many trespasses, that we have forgotten about most of them. BUT GOD…

But God, being rich in mercy because of the great love in which He loved us, made us alive together with Christ, even as we were dead in our transgressions…unresponsive and undeserving (#1 Textbook).

We were spiritually dead. We were unresponsive. Doing right was not in our playbook. Not if it cost us something we wanted. We went where we wanted and parked where we wanted for as long as we wanted. We partied with the other wrong doers as if we belonged in the wrong city. Guilty with no remorse. We were going the wrong direction in life and headed for the wrong destination in the next life. But God…

But God showed His great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners (#1 Textbook).

The innocent Jesus took our place and our deserved punishment. He was falsely accused. He was arrested and led away with his hands bound, while we warmed our hands at the red-light fire of His enemies.

We did the crime and Jesus experienced the consequences. He suffered physical pain, emotional torment, and spiritual agony.

The physical pain included the horrific torture of scourging. Jesus stood with his hands tied to a post. A skilled military professional used a whip made of leather cords wrapped in pieces of bone and metal. Its purposeful design inflicted as much pain as possible as it cut into the body and ripped out pieces of flesh with each lash. The goal of scourging was to cause the maximum amount of pain and loss of blood. 

Jesus would later be beaten and bruised on His swollen face and body by fists and hard objects. A crown of thorns was rammed onto his head, causing blood to run down his face. His weakened, beaten, battered body still had to make the long trek up the hill carrying a heavy cross.

Crucifixion was considered the most painful execution possible. It was a death reserved for the worst of the worst. The vilest. The lowest. The most despicable. The most hated. The most humiliated.

His hands were nailed to the horizontal wood, then his feet fastened to the vertical bottom. The hanged position was designed to cause slow suffocation. The end result would feel like being water-boarded as the criminal struggled to gasp for air. Sheer, unadulterated agony. A long, slow, tortuous death.

The emotional trauma made it all the more distasteful. Jesus was rejected by the religious leadership. He was rejected by the government. He was rejected by the crowds who had previously adored him. He was abandoned by his closest friends. He was disowned by most of his family.

There was sustained stress and monumental pressure. His name was dragged through the mud. His reputation was ruined. His face was spit upon as bystanders hatefully called him vulgar names. The lowest of the low looked down on him in disgust.

The spiritual agony would be beyond our comprehension. He felt alone, ashamed, betrayed, abandoned. He battled the unleashed forces of hell. He sensed He was forsaken. While knowing He was doing God’s will, He saw no heavenly help on the horizon. Jesus looked to where He had always looked for strength and comfort and assurance only to see absence. He could feel the presence of evil. And death! The voluntary mission to save the world would mean physical, emotional, and spiritual death. There was no one else to save us.

What happened? On the cross, God treated the perfect, loving Jesus as if He had lived our sinful, self-centered lives in order that throughout eternity God might treat us as if we had lived Jesus’ perfect life of loving God and loving others.

Jesus paid the price for all our tickets and transgressions. It was not a mistake. It was a voluntary act of loving first and most. “No one takes my life from me. I gladly lay it down for your spiritual welfare.”

Jesus carried our griefs, our sorrows, and our troubles. He was wounded, bruised, beaten, and executed so that we could go free. The guilt of us all was placed on Him (#1 Textbook).

Our Brother gladly accepted what we deserved. The hateful accusations. The mocking ridicule. The brutal interrogation. The derogatory condemnation. The embarrassing shame. The horrible punishment. The excruciating execution.

Years later, you and I would receive a notification letter that we are the guilty parties. However, the letter also contained good news. BUT GOD…But God paid the debt for all the ticketed violations. The slate is clean. There is no condemnation. Not now. Not ever.

When was the last time you told Jesus thank-you? This parking ticket is just a reminder!

Do you remember why Jesus stepped into your penalty box?

A great exchange took place. In love, Jesus gave His life for your life. In gratitude, you give your life to Jesus.

How? Why?

It is no longer I who live, but Jesus lives in me. The life I now live, I live by faith in Jesus. Jesus lives in and through me because He loved me and gave Himself up for me (#1 Textbook).

Jesus lives inside you to lead you to others He intends to love through you.

Jesus loves first and loves most. Imitate Him and walk in love just as He loved us (#1 Textbook).

Who will be your love target this week? Do not let the meter expire on the opportunity.

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 35

“Jehovah-Jireh”—the LORD will provide. This was not the first time that phrase was used on a mountaintop. But this one was an unforgettable reminder of that first Biblical utterance.

Was it a Mountaintop Miracle? Or was it just a lesson about how God provides for us every hour of every day in His special way?

It happened on a hot summertime day on Glorieta Mountain in New Mexico. The event was unforgettable. The lesson was priceless.

My witty wingman and I made a late-night trip to join the church youth group in New Mexico. I borrowed my little brother’s new baby blue Grand Am. The long overnight drive was sweet and fast. I awoke long enough to lean over to look at the speedometer. Jeff just smiled and said he was following a speeding semi-truck down the interstate.

As the sun came up, we stopped at a roadside diner for breakfast. Jeff pulled out the Olivia Newton-John eight-track tape that had been on replay through the night. It was literally too hot to touch.

The waitress was strangely friendly as she literally watched us eat our breakfast. The post-breakfast check-out was even stranger. There were samples of our food order on the messy check: a spot of egg, drop of gravy, speck of biscuit, and bacon grease. Jeff commented that the food-stained check might be necessary if the cashier were illiterate. Charge by the picture.

The third day at the Glorieta campgrounds included the challenge for four of our group to climb the local mountain. It was more of a long, steep walk than a climb. Jeff and young Mark struck out ahead, while Curtis Davis and I were more on an adventurous stroll.

Curtis was one of my favorites. He was a highschooler, member of the choir, and natural leader. He possessed a charming personality and inquisitive mind. Most importantly, he was a new follower of Jesus. Our walk would be pleasant and memorable.

Curtis was full of questions about life and the #1 Textbook. We paused to tee up some pinecones and launch them with our golf branches. I enjoyed the journey and the company. We climbed what we perceived as the last rocks to the mountaintop plateau, only to discover that we were barely halfway up the mountain. The peak had been hidden from view by our tree-lined path.

The sun beat down on us with its threatening heat. The mountain top towered over us, but it was not insurmountable. Curtis commented that we should have brought some water. Duh! I replied with a nonchalant phrase from my treasure cove of responses to impending disaster or inept planning.

“Jehovah-Jireh.”

Curtis asked me to repeat what I said,

“Jehovah-Jireh—the LORD will provide. If we need water, I am sure God will provide some.”

I truly believe in the Lord who provides. I have experienced many occasions of awareness of His gracious intervention before and since this mountain-journey outburst.

Curtis was intrigued in the name and concept as he repeated the phrase, “Jehovah-Jireh. That would be a miracle!”

Let me set the stage for the miracle. First, I should have thought about bringing some drinking water. Second, my response was more casual than theological in its intent. It also crossed my mind that maybe the park rangers had some water fountain or spring at the top of the mountain.

We needed water. I said that the Lord would provide. The uttered phrase was a normal response for me. This was not a ‘Name it, Claim it’ kind of statement of faith. It was just something I say. I trust God.

However, I was not prepared for what lay ahead for this memorable mountain climb. The next thirty minutes ascending the mountain were filled with me telling the story from the #1 Textbook about the revelation of God’s name as “Jehovah-Jireh.”

The name “Jehovah-Jireh” appears in Genesis of the #1 Textbook when God miraculously provided a ram, hidden with its horn stuck in a thick bush, as a substitute for the sacrifice of Abraham’s son, Isaac, on Mount Moriah.

Abraham called that place. “Jehovah-Jireh” — the LORD will provide. The #1 Textbook records that the place would perpetually be described as, “On the mountain of the LORD it will be provided.”

God had chosen Abraham to be the prototype for the future family of faith. His life lessons give us hope, not only from his steadfast trust in God, but also because of his frailty and failures on that journey to growing stronger in faith. He was far from perfect and not always trusting of God. He was often selfish and independent in his plans of action. He was fearful, impatient, and impulsive. But he became the friend of God (#1 Textbook).

That gives me hope.

God chose Abraham and gave Him great promises, which included divinely guaranteed family and land. Abraham believed God. That’s it! That is what this earthly life is about. Believe God. The most important commandment is to love God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength…and to love others as yourself. Believe God and do it.

Believe God for who He is and what He promises. For Abraham and us, it is a journey, just like a walk up a mountain.

Abraham and his wife, Sarah, remained childless. They became too old to have a child. The Lord provided. It was a miracle. Isaac, the son of promise, was born. God provided a son when all hope was gone. All the earthly hopes of family and land were identified with Abraham’s son.

Then came the big test of faith, which is what pleases God (#1 Textbook). God told Abraham to take Isaac on a walk, up Mount Moriah. He was to sacrifice his son. I can only imagine the questions, anxiety, fears, and debate raging in Abraham’s mind. The #1 Textbook (Hebrews) states, “Abraham obeyed God, believing that God would somehow raise Isaac from the dead if that became necessary.”

God desires loving obedience, not human sacrifice. This journey of faith, like all our walks through life, carried a life lesson. The LORD will provide.

God uses the obedience of faith to open our eyes to His provision of new life. Isaac questioned his father about their act of worship. Abraham replied that the Lord would provide what was needed. God already had the provision ready. There was a ram, with its horns locked in the bush. It remained hidden from view until the moment it was most needed.

Abraham named the mountaintop, Jehovah-Jireh, the LORD will provide.

Curtis and I were on another mountain far away from the one walked by Abraham and Isaac. We were not far away from the same God as we talked about that first mountaintop miracle. I talked about the importance of trusting God in all things and shared a few examples of how the Lord had provided for me.

Faith feeds the thirsty soul, but it does not quench the desire for water. We paused our trek up the mountain at another plateau. We rested our weary bodies on a huge rock. Curtis stretched out on the rock with a sigh, “Jehovah-Jireh.”

Curtis expressed the hopes of both of us. Maybe there would be a source of water somewhere on this mountain. Curtis really believed that! I was just teaching a life lesson to a young man who would make a huge impact in the lives of many young people in the years to come. He is still doing that. I hoped he would not be disillusioned.

What happened next? If it had been a movie, a bright light would have appeared with the sounds of angelic music. However, this was real. Only the sounds of silence. I looked across the path at the nearby bush. There was a green canteen underneath the bush.

A green canteen. Do you think it could be possible? No, it must have been discarded by a previous hiker. I walked over and picked up the green canteen and showed it to Curtis. I twisted the cap. The canteen was completely full of water…cold water!

I yelled out, “Jehovah-Jireh!” Curtis echoed the phrase. I handed the green canteen to Curtis. He took the first drink. His expression is forever recorded in my memory. I have never had a drink of cold water which tasted so refreshing. The mountain miracle made a lasting impact on both of us!

I do not know how (1) this green canteen full of cold water (2) ended up under a bush (3) on the mountain (4) at exactly the spot we stopped (5) while we were discussing the “Jehovah-Jireh” story and (6) at the moment Curtis said he believed God would provide us water.

How? That does not matter! It happened. God arranged all the circumstances for the green canteen to be there when we needed it. The Lord always provides what we need at the moment most needed.

It was an unforgettable experience for two young men. The Jehovah-Jireh green canteen, hidden under the mountain bush, has remained a keepsake on my bookshelf. It is a constant reminder that the LORD provides.

Provide—to supply something that is seen as needed. God sees the need and acts. The theological term is “the providence of God.” God is actively involved in giving us all we need.

GOD ALWAYS GIVES THE PERFECT SUPPLY AT THE PERFECT TIME. ALWAYS!

However, God is not our table waiter who can be ordered to satisfy our every desire. He does not work according to our timeline. Neither is He some cosmic slot machine where you gamble for the big bucks. He is not the god of Press Your Luck. Nor is He some heavenly handkerchief that you can pull out and put away according to your latest whim. Neither is God bound by whatever you Name and Claim. You do not and cannot control God.

We tend to think of our needs as some toy, trinket, or earthly trivial pursuit. We tend to place our hopes to supply our needs in stocks or upgrades. Sometimes in emergencies, we resort to prayer requests. As one woman in crisis lamented to my suggestion to pray, “Has it come to that?”

Most of us who are children of this same faith have some experiences where we recognize God provided a real need. It might have been a child, a car, or a cure from sickness. It could include the provision of a home, a job, or an ability.

In the first Jehovah-Jireh story in the #1 Textbook, the Lord’s provision was in the context of facing the loss of life. God sees the need for a substitute. That is also the context of God’s ultimate provision. We face the loss of life both earthly and eternally.

Jesus is God’s perfect and complete provision to our earthly and eternal needs. He is literally “Jehovah-Jireh,” the Lamb of God provided as our substitute sacrifice. Then God raised Jesus up from the dead because all our promises are in Him.

Trust God.

The lesson of God’s provision for Abraham is the same faith lesson taught to the Moses-led Israelites who miraculously crossed the Red Sea, only to find themselves in a desert wilderness without water. Amidst their complaints, God provided an abundance of water from a rock (#1 Textbook–Exodus). That’s right, a flood of water from a rock!

The water was an important spiritual lesson for life in the desert and on the mountain.

The people needed God, not water. Curtis and I needed God, not water. We all need God, not water. Our other needs are all wrapped up in our need for God, first and foremost. Learn that lesson well.

The Lord’s provision for our eternal well-being certainly includes all our earthy needs. Our God has promised to provide for all our needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus (#1 Textbook—Philippians).

Do you trust God? How do you become personal friends with Jehovah-Jireh? We learn the LORD will provide, most often in connection to our faith being tested. Tests of faith come with thoughts of fear, anxiety, and impatience. (I have been there.)

The faith tests might be partnered with personal flaws, frailty, and failures. (I have been there.) Those are the moments that test us…and teach us.

Jesus told His first team of faith followers what they needed to pass on to us.

Do not be anxious or fearful about your life or about what you will eat and drink. Do not worry about your body’s health or clothing. Look at the birds in the air. They do not plant or harvest or store up things. The Lord feeds them.

Consider the flowers of the field. They do not work or have a clothing allowance. The greatest and wealthiest king of all time was never more gloriously clothed than they…You are of far more value (#1 Textbook–Matthew).

God cares for the smallest and weakest animals. God cares for the most beautiful and the least attractive inanimate things. You are of far more value to God than these. Trust God to provide for all your needs.

Open your eyes. Look at the cross. Jehovah-Jireh.

Since God did not spare even his own Son, but gave him up for us all, won’t he also surely give us everything else? (#1 Textbook–Romans). God did not hesitate to lay everything on the line to provide new life to us. God gave us Himself. He not only can provide but will gladly and freely provide everything else we need.

It does not matter whether you are wandering in a scorching desert wilderness or scaling a steep rocky mountain. The LORD will provide.

Do not fret or fear, my friend. Trust God. Go ahead. Keep walking. Love First and Love Most.

YOU MIGHT HAVE TO WAIT, BUT GOD”S PROVISION WILL NEVER BE LATE!

Jehovah-Jireh—the LORD will provide. Sometimes it looks like a Green Canteen.

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 34

Christmas time was always special at our house. The anticipation of Christmas morning was the highlight. Our parents splurged to make our dreams come true. Later years revealed the sacrifices they made to create lifetime memories for their three sons. Their created tradition continues in all our families.

The most notable Christmas gift for me was an official NBA basketball. Bright orange. Genuine leather. Special edition. Expensive. It had the NBA logo and the signature of Bob Cousy, point guard for the champion Boston Celtics.

I was thrilled. A new basketball. Official NBA. Autographed by a player from my favorite pro basketball team. It could not get any better than this. But it did!

All the gifts had been opened. It was time for breakfast. As I bounced the ball through the house, Dad opened the curtains to the backyard. A new basketball goal had been erected overnight. I shouted and leaped into my dad’s arms. Then I hugged my smiling mom on my way out the door to shoot some hoops.

The “swish” of a basketball going through the goal and net remains one of my favorite sounds. The special noise of a perfect shot is pure sweetness. I played basketball the entire day and into the evening shadows. I cleaned off the basketball and placed it on the washing machine. In hindsight, I should have slept with it.

The next morning, the basketball was flat. The NBA logo was dented inward. The ball would not bounce. Not even a little. I cried. Dad got an air pump, but the ball would not hold the air. Faint hissing sounds came from several places on the ball. I cried again.

There was no joy in Mudville that day. I was heartbroken. I could get another basketball, but not like this one. This special edition basketball was not available in the sports store. It could not be reordered. Dad had made special arrangements with a sporting goods company to obtain it for the holidays.

What happened? That was a mystery. Dad’s inspection revealed that the basketball had numerous tiny little holes in its cover. Maybe a dozen or more punctures. The deflated basketball did not have a blowout. It was more like the slow death of a thousand leaks.

Our Sherlock Holmes mother discovered the missing clue. She found a thumbtack on the table. She raised the question. Could this be the cause?

Mom was famous for her detective prowess. She could call out a cover-up lie before you had finished your first sentence. She once busted a drug ring at school. Some kids in her English class were passing around white pills. She confiscated the evidence and marched them to the principal’s office. The subsequent interrogation revealed the “little white pills” were actually Tic-Tac fresh breath mints. Her sons gave this silver-haired sleuth the nickname of Starsky and Hutch. (For the younger crowd, Starsky and Hutch was a popular television show about two Southern California undercover police detectives and their confidential informant, Huggy Bear.)

Given time, our Starsky and Hutch mom would have used Bill’s science kit to obtain fingerprints, but intense questioning was more her style. It produced quicker confessions. She rounded up the usual suspects. She served as prosecutor with Dad serving as judge and jury.

Could my little brother have done this? Surely not.

Dad pushed the thumbtack into the ball. It took some effort. He concluded it would be too difficult for a little boy, even if the tiny tyke had the inclination. It would take a lot of strength.

I immediately suspected little brother. He was never a mean kid, but he was mischievous. He could agitate with the best of them. Still does, only with more sarcasm. My youngest brother was not much bigger than the basketball, so he was not a potential defendant.

So, we had a suspect and a weapon. Was there a motive?

Bill wanted a Fort Apache toy set for Christmas. It had the big tin fort, the plastic soldiers, Indians, horses, and cannons. He did not get his wish. Mom said that his older brother had one and did not take care of it. Interpretation: I left it all over the floor.

Bill wanted another gift for his birthday earlier in the month. I think it was an Erector set (pre-Legos). He was persuaded to change his mind. Reason: His older brother had the game and did not like it. The Alamo set with Davey Crockett, coonskin hat, and the Mexican soldiers was out of the question. There was one boxed-up in his brother’s bedroom.

Fortunately for Bill, I was not into science. Mom decided to have a science son in the family since her oldest son had no interest in those things. He got a science kit for his birthday and a telescope for Christmas. Those were great gifts and he loved them. Dad gifted the fledgling scientist with a football jersey in hope of a future quarterback.

I am just saying there was a plausible motive for little brother taking down the bouncing ball. Pent up resentment. Revenge. Jealousy.

I do not think his inquisitive mind needed a reason. This early action was just a clue to his need to marry a special ed teacher to harness the potential. There was a sharp tack and there was a shiny basketball.

What would happen if……? Curiosity killed the cat.

The parental discussion continued as the family sat around the table. Dad said he was sure the thumbtack was the cause of the ball’s deflation. I might have accidentally bounced the ball on the tack, but that would not explain the multiple punctures. The younger boys were not strong enough to push the thumbtack into the hardened cylinder.

As Dad rotated the ball in his hands, Bill identified himself as the cause of the flat basketball. His revelation was not really a confession. It was more of a proud announcement that he was strong enough to push the tack into the basketball.

Oh No! Little Bro!

Our dad challenged him to prove it, knowing it would be more difficult for the tack to penetrate the flattened leather surface than the inflated one. Cool Breeze was always up for a challenge. The guilty culprit proved he could do it. In fact, he was extremely pleased with his completed experiment. With each new puncture, his smile got bigger.

Somehow, little brother failed to comprehend the magnitude of his destructive nature. Maybe he was doing a science experiment.

If agitation had been a college science course, then Mom had the doctor she always wanted in the family. (She eventually adopted a future doctor into the family, but it never lessened the agitation.)

My first sight of that backyard basketball goal will always be one of my precious childhood memories. The feel of that new basketball and the sound of that first “swish” remain vivid nostalgia. The loss of that official NBA basketball evokes smiles, not tears. Honestly, the imitation leather replacement basketball was more suitable to the backyard court.

NBA basketballs are replaceable. Little brothers are priceless! So are the memories! Some days you think they will never grow up. Some days you are amazed at how big of an impact their grown-up lives have made in this world.

All of us have lost something special to us. It probably made you cry or angry or depressed. You might have considered the “thing” a valuable possession, cherished gift, sentimental keepsake, family heirloom, disputed inheritance, memorable souvenir, or precious picture. Maybe it was broken, stolen, misplaced, damaged, or ruined. It might have ended up in the trash or a Goodwill box.

A grandchild might accidentally drop the expensive smartphone into the toilet. The spouse might back one car into the side of the other. A child might knock the baseball through the window. A family friend might habitually knock over his tea glass at the table like a burst of the Hoover Dam. You might get knocked down in a crowd and lose a shoe. These are only hypothetical.

“Things” do not ultimately matter. People do. That lesson is so hard for us to learn. Even more difficult to embrace. We love our toys, trinkets, and trivia. As we grow older, we cherish our big-people toys, trinkets, and trivia. We might keep them on the wall, on the fireplace mantel, in a display case, a box in the attic, or a safety deposit box at the bank. We might wear “the thing” or drive it around.

The loss of our beloved “thing” might cause sadness, anger, hurt, or remorse over its absence. We miss it, but we were never going to be able to take it with us into the next life.

There is no timeline or finish line for grief of loss. Adjustment to loss just takes time, and that amount of time is different for every person. Time changes one’s perspective. Go at your own pace. Be patient with yourself. You will never forget but you will heal.

I cannot offer a satisfactory answer as to why any loss happens. Whether by accident, theft, or neglect, loss never comes as good news.

It is understandable for your vision to be clouded by sorrow or anger for your loss. Your mind might become flooded with questions concerning why these things happen. If you feel bad and bitter, I want to give you a break today. I ask others to do the same. This is not easy. I am sure your loss is greater than a genuine leather NBA basketball.

The loss of anything cherished is a bitter pill to swallow, and its aftertaste can linger long. In the short term, you do feel “empty.” You are not alone. God is with you and for you. Holding on to that promise is easier when the difficult loss belongs to someone else.

There is a thin line between sweetness and bitterness. In cooking, it could be the amount of sugar. In spiritual things, the difference is hope. In a multitude of unanswered questions seasoned with blame and bitterness, you can still hope in God. When hope gets fully mixed into the recipe, you cannot see it; it just makes everything better.

God purposes to use these earthly life losses to transform us to live and love like Jesus. “Things” come and go. No one gets to drag a U-Haul into the next life.

We live in a fallen, broken world that is the polar opposite of our heavenly inheritance. In this world, things perish, spoil, and fade in value and substance. Something we treasure can be taken from us and defiled. Our best dreams and greatest successes fade, but that also describes our sufferings and losses in this world. They will all perish, spoil, and fade. (#1 Textbook)

The common element of all these various multicolored trials is the experience of grief. The #1 Textbook is very honest about the reality of losing earthly treasures. It never promises we will have loss-free lives. Instead, it guarantees a living hope that is so real and so powerful it shines brightest in the face of trials and loss.

Grief has an expiration date; so do trials. They remain for a little while, if necessary (#1 Textbook).

• Your heavenly inheritance is imperishable; it will never be used up.
• It is undefiled; it can never be messed up.
• It is unfading; it will never lose its value.
• It is unending; it is resistant to death, sin, and time. (#1 Textbook)

There is NO THING that is worth damaging or losing a relationship…NO THING!

Learn that lesson well. You will need it for every year of every relationship.

I am not saying that facing any kind of loss is easy. Sometimes you have to climb up on the mountaintop of pain to see the foretaste of glory. Sometimes being plunged into the depths of darkness provides the best view of just how great and glorious God’s love for you truly is.

Sometimes it takes a thumbtack to put the bigger picture back together.

I still love my brothers. They are worth more than any NBA basketball.

Let’s all love first and love most. That kind of love lasts forever.

Wait! You have a special edition NBA basketball signed by LeBron James?

Let me think about that...and please do not tell my little brother!

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 33

It was so unexpected. I did not see it coming. I was not prepared for it. My reaction was one of shock, not pleasure.

Uncle Fester kissed me. Right on the lips!

Well, it was not really Uncle Fester from the Addams Family TV show. It was his doppelganger. His twin from another time and country.

There are kisses that rock your world. That electrifying unforeseen first kiss. The forever sweetness of that marriage kiss. That fantastic baby-breath kiss of your child. This kiss was unlike any of those.

Let me set the stage for becoming the kissing booth for Uncle Fester and his twenty lookalikes.

I am not a world traveler. My trips east to Boston and west to Honolulu are vast excursions for a kid who grew up in the rural Midwest under the shadow of Cavanaugh Hill, the highest hill in the world.

I moved my family to Louisiana. We ventured south among the Cajuns. Their food is outstanding. Their language and accents are incomprehensible. I once stopped to ask four individuals for directions to the local basketball gym. The only thing I understood was “go back to the road.”

I was called a “couyan.” Someone translated that as a “fool or crazy person.” I think it might actually be more of a vulgar expletive. I adapted with the times to learn ick-cri-vis refers to crawfish and shaud means hot. It might have been a better experience if I understood that before the meal.

I met the Uncle Fester clone in Moldova, the poorest country in eastern Europe. The country is sandwiched between Ukraine and Romania. The nation was a former part of the Soviet Union. It still had the presence of Russian police and the evidence of Communism in all its buildings and impoverished people.

The church I pastored became involved with some special people from Moldova. We supported future Kazakhstan missionary, Kairat, as he studied in a Moldovan college. Annie was an accomplished pianist who became part of our church family in Shreveport. Nicolae and Svetlana Sili are two of the most precious people on the planet. They carry God’s love to orphans and women’s prisons, as well as organize camps for youth and senior citizens throughout Moldova.

Our concern for the homeland of these world-changers led to an invitation for our staff to visit Moldova to conduct a conference for church leaders from around the country. Steve, Derek, and Gabe would depart two days prior to allow them some additional stopover time in Rome.

I repeat. I am not a world traveler. It is kind of like cooking. I do not mind doing it; I am just not very good at it. It seems to end up in a mess.

The travel highlight for me occurred because of a travel snafu. The airline mistake allowed me to engage in a one-day solo walking tour of Rome, the City of Seven Hills. Maybe all roads do lead to Rome. The Eternal City was described by the Italian painter Bondone as “the city of echoes, the city of illusions, and the city of yearning.” American novelist Hawthorne called Rome “the city of all time, of all the world.” I would love to return.

Somehow, I covered most of the three-day and five-day tour features in a fast-paced jaunt from morning into the night. The City of Fountains did not disappoint. I saw St. Peter’s Square, the Vatican, and the Sistine Chapel with Michelangelo’s’ ceiling masterpiece. I experienced the Roman Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Roman Forum, the downtown shops, and outdoor cafes. I was captivated by the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps, and the site of Paul’s imprisonment.

Those were the highlights. The lowlights would include travel problems. My flight from America found me seated next to a sick, crying two-year-old. She never stopped whining and sniffling. The green stuff from her nose was running down her chin. Her tired and unresponsive mother remained conked out for most of the transatlantic journey. Occasionally, a stewardess would stop by to offer a sucker. I told the stewardess I preferred the cherry ones.

I was stranded in the Rome airport, unable to get to Romania or Moldova. Apparently, the airline agent considered my ticket as unacceptable. Invalid. Counterfeit.

Travel advisory: Be cautious about suggestions to use Gorilla International Discount Tickets. It looked as if the Leonardo da Vinci terminal might be the location of my Last Supper. No wonder Mona Lisa was not smiling. She missed her flight waiting on the airport gate attendant to return from a cappuccino break.

The airline was unhelpful. Western Union was shut down. Language problems dominated every attempt to resolve the situation. My only alternative was to get a hotel room in the city.

On the twenty-five-minute trip from the terminal to the city hotel, the taxi was intercepted by motorcyclists who hammered their fists on the car windows and hood. It was similar to a scene from The Lincoln Lawyer, starring Matthew McConaughey. These biker gang members rode mopeds instead of big Harley-Davidson hogs and the passenger carried no resemblance to the movie star.

Apparently, the taxi driver owed some money he lost on some soccer match bets. He ended up outside the car in a stereotypical Italian argument. Loud language. Passionate differences. Demonstrative hand gestures which included verbiage that needed no translation. Maybe this was why Rome was not built in a day. The Italian police arrived with sirens and lights to disperse the fight scene and free the flow of blocked traffic. Welcome to the Homeland of Pizza.

I encountered another police intervention in Moldova, a nation filled with political unrest. Russian police interrupted the hotel meeting. They suspected the clandestine meeting involved some criminal activity. They insisted on checking our passports with threats of imprisonment. They lined our group up against the hallway wall. I was a little nervous since my passport was still at the airport under review. I avoided being carted down to the police station when the Gestapo-like enforcer stopped his passport check at the person standing in line next to me.

There were food challenges. The Sili family went to great efforts to provide fruit and muffins for breakfast. The rest of the time, every meal involved POTATOES…in every form imaginable and in some ways unimaginable. Everything was boiled, so we were never served French fries or a baked potato.

There was one major exception to the Potato-fest. Kairat’s family made a huge sacrifice to feed us a delicacy…HORSE MEAT. Originally a nomadic people, the Kazakhs considered the horse as a proud feature of the Kazakh culture. Horse meat is served at special occasions to honor the guests. The mother was so proud and so happy to host us. I insisted that we were not honorable guests, but the horse was already on the table.

I could not understand any of their language except for Kairat. I eventually learned zhylky minezdi referred to “horse” and  blctblk tamak meant “hot food.” As the platter was passed to me, the hostess said, “Beshbarmak.” That is the name for boiled horse meat served on a bed of noodles.

Have you ever eaten hot horse meat?  

Anthony Bourdain, the celebrity chef and travel documentarian, advised to “eat without fear, whether it was an indigenous stew, grilled fish head, or mystery meat.” How do you eat mystery meat without some measure of fear?

The Kazakh delicacy smelled like…well, like boiled horse meat wafting into my nostrils. It looked slippery. I picked up a small piece to show my appreciation. As the horse meat neared my mouth, my gag reflex kicked in.

I paid Gabe to eat from my plate. He was discreet. I just smiled and expressed my appreciation for such a delicious old nag.

The hosts insisted on a second serving of the steaming steed. The Kazakhs credit the heavy protein source with making one faster, stronger, wiser, and more virile. You will need to ask Gabe. I am indebted to him. He took one for the team. Thankfully, Gabe took two for my team.

When we sought to leave the country the next week, my passport was flagged again as the rest of the staff departed for home. I appreciated Steve’s concern. (That is a little sacrcastic.) He asked me to let them get on the plane and leave for home before I tried to straighten out the problem.

My three amigos departed for home. Security interrogated me for hours in the Chisinau airport dungeon. The loud woman and mean man looked as if they were members of Spectre who stepped right out of a James Bond movie. Their heavy Russian accented English only added to their villain imagery. They kept me in a tiny room and threatened imprisonment for espionage. Really?

Did they really suspect I was smuggling out the recipe for beshbarmak? They demanded a lot of money to bribe the officials. Later that night, finally convinced I had no money and was worth no ransom to anyone else, they deported me to Romania.

My most memorable day in Moldova was a road trip to the country’s southern rural area. The President of the Baptist church association invited me on a day long trip to visit several churches. He hired a chauffeur and a sports car. We were cramped in a small, fast car with a wild kid who envisioned himself as a Formula One Grand Prix driver. Maybe he was.

Our race car driver drove fast. Extremely fast. We were not on interstate highways. These two-lane rural roads without any shoulders were barely paved. Mario took every curve at breakneck speed with total commitment that there was not another car coming toward us. He swerved to dodge potholes at the rate of one every two seconds. He would occasionally squeal to a head jerking stop to avoid plowing into the back of a mule driven cart.

I stared at the wasteland and thought about how long it would take for the news of the wreck to get to my family. God promised to be with us even to the ends of the earth. This desolate area must be near there. My nerves were on edge from the blind curves and innumerable potholes. It did not help to be told the president’s travel credentials had expired just as we came to an armed security roadblock. At the moment, imprisonment seemed preferable to car crash.

We visited a church involved in a business meeting that needed no translation. Hearts are the same in any language. The heated arguments sounded like some American church disagreements and covered some of the same subjects. Without any translation, I completely understood the divisive decision requiring the oversight of the neutral leader.

At another stop in a muddy rural area, the entire village came out to see the sports car and surprise visitors. I was the first American ever seen by any of the younger generations. I was a curious celebrity. They stared at me, touched me to see if I were real, and asked for my autograph. I smiled and obliged, signing anything placed in my hands. I might have given away the rights to the Louisiana Territory.

One teenager asked if I were an astronaut who landed in the wrong country? One small step for man, one giant leap for American graffiti.

The coup de gras of the one-day trip was next, following another harrowing drive as our car raced around sharp curves and deep potholes. We occasionally bounced through some of them which realigned my spine.

The church building was fairly large. The outdoor restrooms were …what one might expect. I am old enough to have used an outdoor restroom. My grandparents had one during my childhood before plumbing was installed in their house. The early years of our church camp offered similar facilities. This one was different. It was larger. Multiple holes. No stalls or dividing partitions. It was just cheek to cheek.

The horrendous odor set off my gag reflex. I was gasping for fresh air. As Roberto Duran, the welterweight boxing champion known as the Tasmanian devil with hands of stone, cried out in his defeat to Sugar Ray Leonard in the Louisiana Superdome, “No mas.”

The president presided over the ordination of a young preacher being installed as the new church pastor. The men sat on one side of the church and all the ladies on the other side. I sat on the platform with the president who asked me to speak and pray. Next came the confirmation ceremony. The young pastor knelt on the platform while the church leader, the president, and I stood beside him.

The older men lined up against the wall in preparation to kneel in prayer next to the young man. I thought the first man looked like Uncle Fester. He was friendly, fat, bald, and mostly toothless. I noticed that the next twenty men resembled the first. What were the chances they were all related?

Uncle Fester #1 prayed for the young man. Then he embraced the president and the church leader. As he approached me, I stuck out my hand to greet him. He did not notice. He placed his hands on my cheeks. He held my face in a death grip, stared into my eyes, and flashed his toothless smile.

I had no clue what would happen next. He kissed me…on the lips…for a long time. When the slobber-fest ended, he pulled back, patted my cheek, and smiled. It looked as though there was one less tooth. Apparently, he enjoyed the moment.

I was in shock. And, no, I did not enjoy the PDA. I began to shake. I needed to wipe away the dribble. I have never been able to read the Textbook’s admonition to “greet one another with a holy kiss’’ without this flashback.

Then, I realized that Uncle Fester #2 through #20 were headed my way. We were on the verge of an international crisis. Do I shove the next guys away? Do I run? Or just scream?

I offered a cheek to the next two uncles. It was not easy to free my face from their vise-like grip. But where there is a will, there is a way. They puckered and aimed for the lips, only to graze the side of my face. As the platform became more crowded, I declared, “No mas.”

I quietly stepped back from the greeting party. I was imperceptibly out of the line of fire. Maybe I could slide back in place if the other side of the church came to express their gratitude for my visit.

The meeting was followed by a Potato-fest dinner with some drink that must have been fermented Orange Crush. I shivered as each man approached to offer me more potatoes. Was this one Uncle Fester #1 or a relative wanting to finish the kiss? Was the kiss a custom or a joke on the foreigner?

Uncle Fester’s kiss made the “horse meat” the second worst part of the trip.

This was not my best moment in my Love First and Love Most crusade.

I do not travel much anymore. I love kissing my wife. I cherish the kisses from my daughter and grandkids. I hug my sons. I embrace all the football players on our team. I am very free and prevalent with expressing, “I love you.”

I will respond better the next time I greet Uncle Fester in heaven.

Pray that I do better at loving first and most.

The currency of love and gratitude never runs out and is recognized in all countries and ethnic groups. We just have to learn not to gag on the opportunities to share the precious commodity.

Practice gratitude until it overflows in every encounter. Be thankful for kind people, as well as those very different from you. Be thankful for our American freedoms and blessings. Be thankful for your family.

Be less critical of potholes. Give thanks for the minimal indentions in the road. It could be much worse. Be grateful for the “potholes” in your life which make you more dependent upon God.

There are people in impoverished countries who appear to be much happier than most Americans. They have far fewer “things” but show far more gratitude. Learn from them to count your blessings and not your complaints.

Be more loving to the less fortunate. Greet them with loving actions. Be more understanding that every person has a need to be loved. Smile more. Embrace when appropriate. Say, “I love you” often.

The #1 Textbook encourages us to be mindful that whatever we eat or drink, do it all for the glory of God.

I once ate Sunday dinner in the rural home of a large family. They served seven dish variations of turnip greens. It was the best they had. I am not a fan of turnip greens. I smiled and gave thanks it was not horse meat.

Appreciate the sustenance God provides with your daily bread. Be grateful for a potato or Happy Meal. Be thankful when you see a horse still standing on four legs.

Whether you are homebound or a world-traveler, find a way to love first and love most.

One kiss can rock the world.

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 32

Sometimes things happen in our lives that could be very humorous if they did not cause so much pain. It will be a long time before this incident is funny. If only you had been there. You would have seen the humor. You would have felt the pain.

It felt as if I had been run over by a truck. In reality, it was a football player running full speed into my chest.

There is an old saying, “What does not kill you, will only make you stronger.”

Another saying could be, “What does not kill you, can really make you feel bad.”

I hurt all over. Granted, I am not as young as I used to be, Who is?

I had just been bulldozed on the gridiron sidelines. I played football in another life several centuries ago. I now help our high school football team as a voluntary coach. That gives me close access to the game action. My goal is to example and teach the young men how to stand for God in this crazy world, not how to take down a rumbling running back.

The last time I took on a direct hit that had this much force was many moons ago. I was a sophomore quarterback in high school. I rolled out to the left where a huge Notre Dame-bound defensive lineman had an unobstructed and uncontested run at me. He launched his helmet and shoulder pads directly into my chest. My little body went airborne backwards for over five yards before crash landing on the turf. I was shocked and shaken.

I have been tackled many times since. Sometimes very hard. I have even had at least one concussion from a head-pounding impact with the football turf. Since working with college and high school football teams as a coach, I have been knocked over several times.

The sideline collisions can become unpredictable as to collateral damage. I am pretty adamant about aligning myself many yards behind the direction of activity. It prevents random tests of my declining agility to avoid hurtful impacts.

This past week, I was stupid. STUPID! As the game was grinding to its conclusion, I began to mingle with the players along the midfield sidelines. Then it happened. In seconds, I would be lying on the ground, surrounded by dozens of players and coaches asking if I were okay.

In retrospect, the entire incident would be a primetime candidate clip to show on America’s Funniest Videos. Except for the personal pain, it was hilarious. The greatest damage was to my pride.

Our running back broke a tackle and headed downfield. An opposing player chased him towards the sideline. He was still a good fifteen yards away from where I was standing. I knew enough to pay attention and be ready to reposition myself in case his running direction got rerouted.

There were more than ten players standing on the sideline between us. I felt protected but instinctively stayed alert. Then it happened. The running back was forced to the sideline. He took additional steps down the boundary which brought him closer to my proximity.

Suddenly, the running back was pushed from behind which accelerated his momentum. It also hastened my demise.

The players on the sideline parted like the Red Sea. They acted like matadors waving their arms as the charging bull aimed its horns at my red cape shirt.

The runaway train was full steam ahead. I had nowhere to go. I was hemmed in.

One word described the impending impact. Unavoidable.

One word described the post smash-up. Painful.

The collision was straight on. His helmet and shoulder pads crashed into my chest. My aging years and added weight prevented me from going completely airborne. Instead, I just got plowed over. It was a trainwreck. My body was violently knocked backwards. My cap went flying.

It was one of those moments described in car accidents where everything appears to go into slooooow motion. At the moment of collision, I stared into the eyes of my attacker. As my body collapsed, I knew I had no control of what would happen next.

My silence shouted, “This is bad.”

My mind radioed the distress signal: Mayday! Mayday! Houston, we have a problem!

I had time to think this might be a career ending injury. Thankfully, my teeth were still intact and there was no indication of concussion. Concussion protocol questions would be difficult to evaluate since I was already maxed out on the stupidity test.

In the famous words of TV sports announcer Howard Cosell during the George Foreman championship fight, “Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!”

My name is not Frazier, but I went down hard. Very hard. I landed first on my rear end and lower back. At least there was some padding there. At some point, my head bounced off the hard ground. I never lost consciousness …except for that period my spirit was floating somewhere above the stadium.

The young players showed great compassion as they quickly reacted to my prone position. If they had only been as quick to react to protect me from the impact. Take one for Uncle Rex. At least you have on football pads.

I heard many voices asking if I were ok. One voice in my head whispered, “It is not your time, you stupid man.”

Several players reached out to pull me up. Some tried to lift me. I told all the concerned players that I was ok. I asked them just to let me lie there a moment. I repeated that at least five times. I needed some time for my body to do an emergency inventory evaluation of which body parts actually planned to get up with me. Surely, some appendages had separated or permanently retired from active duty.

Sometimes, it feels as if life has thrown you under the bus. This felt more like being the bug splattered on the bus window.

• I was violently knocked down, BUT I STILL HAD BOTH SHOES ON.
• I DID NOT LOSE MY SOLE.

Eventually, Coach Cherry reached out to help me up after the referee had finished the ten-count. I was surrounded by well-wishers. It’s comforting to know that some people will love and miss you when that time comes.

I slowly limped away from the remaining action on the gridiron. I did my best to do the macho thing. I acted like it was no big deal. I asked if I had hurt the running back. Afterall, he ran into my brick wall body. A brick wall made of Playdough!

I acted as though I would fully recover while, inwardly, I wondered if I could get my body back to my car. I hoped to get home in time to take some Aleve before the crescendo of pain arrived.

Here is another quote from the one and only sports commentator, Howard Cosell, who described himself as arrogant, pompous, obnoxious, vain, cruel, verbose, and a showoff. “There is still a higher type of courage—the courage to brave pain, to live with it, to never let others know of it, and to still find joy in life; to wake up in the morning with an enthusiasm for the day ahead.”

I ignored Cosell’s caricature of bravery. I did let others know about the pain. I informed the head coach, my brother, that I would be on the injured reserve list for a few days. I told my wife that I expected to be sore all over the next day. I underestimated.

Yes, I underestimated the amount of soreness and the number of recovery days. I did not wake up the next morning with enthusiasm for the day ahead. I hurt all over. Where did I hurt? Do you have time for an organ recital? The only place I did not hurt was when I had that out of body experience where everything gets dark. The trainer told me it was just the stadium lights being turned off.

God always uses suffering to expand our usefulness. Subsequent days revealed an even stronger bond with the young athletes. Our love has reached a higher level.

What is the spiritual lesson regarding this strange smashup?

Show compassion and feel sorry for stupid people like me. Stupidity can be very embarrassing when it goes public. Forgive us, Lord, for we do not know what we are doing.

Seriously, sometimes life can feel like a trainwreck. That happens in relationships and workplace activities. It occurs in career or health changes. It may or may not be caused by stupidity. Sometimes, it is unavoidable. Always painful.

You are not alone. Difficult life circumstances happen to all of us. Sometimes, like a rushing locomotive, life goes careening off-course. It might rumble over you or carry you over a cliff.

Your life might have collided with unforeseen circumstances. You might have been run over by unconcerned people. That can leave you flat on your back weighing your insecurities, low self-esteem, or self-worth.

A life crisis or calamity can knock you off your feet. You might even lose your spiritual bearings. Maybe you are trying to get back on your feet. Or you might still be assessing the damage, whether you even want to get back up and take another go at life. You might not be ready for others’ help.

Life has its ups and downs. We rarely see the crash coming. This world does not provide safety barriers and flashing signals to block us from hurt. Do not blame this world. Do not curse God in the day of your calamity. This world does not possess the answers to the great questions in life. God does.

Embrace grace. God loves you. He knows where you are and how you feel. He knows how to use the trainwreck to make your life better.

There might be times when your body cannot get up, but your heart can still rise to new heights of love. When knocked down in life, press in closer to the Lord and press on stronger in the race.

How? Start with a change of perspective. Focus on your blessings, not your circumstances. As heartbroken Job declared in the #1 Textbook when faced with the series of calamities that rocked his world and faith, “Shall we welcome the good things from God and not the hard knocks?“

When his world was falling apart, the lamenting, distressed Jeremiah considered a different perspective. God has a purpose for the circumstances and plans for your good. He wants you to see your future with hope (#1 Textbook).

Comfort and calamity come from God. He even uses “stupidity” to advance His kingdom. My witness and love to these young men have been enhanced by the trainwreck.

You do not have to be flat on your back to count your blessings. But it might help you get a better perspective of life. Every moment matters. Every person matters. Every additional morning is precious.

If you are flat on your back and wondering what happened or what comes next, do a quick inventory. You and I are not the only people getting knocked down in life. If you need to cry, then cry. That is not a lack of faith. But focus on God through your tears.

Life is not just about you. It’s about loving those around you. Let us all weep with those who weep (#1 Textbook). Pain is pain, no matter who or what causes it.

What about you? Are you loving? Are you lovable? Are you looking upward? Are you encouraging? Are you lifting others up?

When others have been knocked down in life, they need a caring heart and a helping hand. They do not need criticism or condemnation. They need hope. If they are void of hope, then hope for them. God restores trainwrecks.

Where do you learn that? Flat on your back, run over by life’s undesirable but unavoidable circumstances.

The classic movie, Casablanca, climaxes when Rick (Humphrey Bogart) heroically persuades a tearful Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman) to leave him behind and get on the plane with Victor, because the work Victor was doing to defeat the Nazis was too important.

“Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble. But it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that.”

In the big scheme of things, getting run over at a football game does not amount to a hill of beans. It hurt and I confess I got a little teary-eyed. But our mission is to love others first and most. That work is too important for us just to give up. So, get up!

It’s still the same old story
A fight for love and glory
A case of do or die.
…As Time Goes By (Herman Hupfeld)

Here’s looking at you, kid!

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 31

Oh, the thrill of trout fishing! This session is for all of you. Those who know and love the thrill of Field and Stream and those of you who fail to see the point, much less the fun of the hunt or cast. I can identify with both parties, mainly the latter.

I am not an outdoor sports kind of guy unless you’re referencing football or baseball. Occasionally golf or some tennis. I am just not good with a gun (which makes me a dangerous participant on hunting trips) and not skilled with the rod and reel (which makes me a very frustrating partner on fishing expeditions).

My wife comes from a family of expert sportsmen in the world of hunting and fishing. They are extraordinary in their exploits. I admire them. My wife grew up riding, hiking, and fishing the Colorado territory. I grew up playing ball in an Oklahoma gym and athletic fields of competition.

I watched friends hunt pheasant in the wheat fields of the Oklahoma panhandle. When a pheasant flew up in front of us, I sensed the excitement. I thought I could never shoot that beautiful bird, but I am confident I could knock it out of the air with a football throw.

My greatest love about fishing is the enjoyment of the flavorful fish fry by friends like Tommy and Charlie. They know what they are doing both in the catching and cooking of the fish. Mark and Big John can fill their boat to overflowing like Peter and the gang in the Bible. Mike and Tarre take fly fishing to another level of success, unless she trips on the rocks. If only there were a doctor somewhere around!

My dad taught me how to fish. We started at his uncle’s pond. The long hike through weeds and the pond’s prevalence of water moccasins probably diminished some of my enjoyment. Dad loved fishing. I loved going with him when the sand bass were running at Kerr or Tenkiller Lake. (I was a novice, but I was pretty sure the sand bass were swimming, not running.)

On those trips, you just put your line in the water and pulled up a fish, as many and as fast as you wanted. It was all action. I loved it. However, I lacked the patience and endurance of the big bass anglers. I spent most of the time unraveling my fishing line from the tree branches, weeds, or fellow fisherman. I would sit there thinking about how many free throws in a row I could have made during this time.

My water experiences were more of a nightmare than adventure. I flipped a small sailboat on the lake, dumping the contents (lunch basket, tennis shoes, and girl) into the water. I recovered the girl. That happened twice, next time with a different girl. You would think I would learn. The girls did. Sayonara.

My floating the Illinois River in a canoe was even more treacherous. I bravely sponsored a youth group for some summertime fun. The rushing river was beautiful.

Our Eagle Scout took off in the lead canoe with most of the group lunch items. He arrived quickly and safely at the intended destination nearly two hours before I showed up in the last canoe. He was Native American. I do not mention this as a stereotype or racial slur. I am just pointing out that, unlike me, his ancestors had been navigating this river for centuries. In hindsight, it might have been better for him to escort the struggling squaws and little chieftains down the river than to do the scout thing from the old western movies.

I did not enjoy the trip. I just wanted to return everyone home safely. Most of our youth group had embarked on the rapid river journey. I arranged for two of the youngest girls to paddle their canoe right before I brought up the rear with another novice. I wanted to safeguard them. They quickly flipped twice. We recovered everyone and continued down the river.

As we turned the bend, another canoe had flipped, and the youth were standing on the banks of the river. As the empty canoe continued down the rushing stream, it impaled itself on a large branch from a partially submerged tree. The branch went over the bow and then under the first seat. The wood was too big to break. The canoe was stuck.

Superman flies to the rescue of the damsels in distress. I took a deep breath and submerged into the river. I used all my strength and breath trying to dislodge the canoe. Obviously, I lacked the superhero’s abilities. When I let go, the strong river current swept me down and away. I was no Aquaman either. I bounced along the rocky bottom until I surfaced at the next corner of the river. I emerged from the water a bruised and beaten young man.

My repeated attempts proved I also lacked any Solomon-like qualities. That rocky riverbed punishment happened four times before a park ranger showed up with a chain saw. My clothes were torn. My body bruised. My heart and mind wearied from exhaustion. My ego had been swept downstream by the strong river current. I never scheduled another canoe trip.

I am definitely not belittling those who love these things. I bemoan that I am just not particularly good at them and, thus, lack the same enjoyment. I only share these examples of my Fishing World shortcomings to set up the thrill of my trout fishing experience.

When our family vacationed along the Rio Grande in Creede, Colorado, it was no surprise that my attempts at fly fishing were futile. I tried for two days without any success. I looked the part. I had the hat and the waders and the fly rod. I became skilled at whipping that line through the air and sending the fly across the flowing waters. My style exhibited the rhythmic grace and beauty of the fly fisherman’s cast. Poetry in motion. I just never caught anything. Not even a bite.

As I made my way back to the cabin in the late evening, I stopped to look at the river from a crossing bridge. I saw a fairly large trout swimming in an area near the bank. Apparently, some larger trout will stay in a pooled spot that provides plenty of food. Their size allows them to withstand the flow of the river stream.

I went down near the sighting and began to toss my line into the water. Several times. I was not fly fishing; I was just dropping my fly and hook into the water and reeling them back in. The sun set and the skies began to darken.

Suddenly, the line moved, and the rod bent. The fish was hooked. I wrestled him to the shoreline. It was a large rainbow trout. Beautiful and big. I was thrilled. Mostly in shock. I looked around for someone or anyone. Every fisherman needs an audience for moments like this.

This trout was much bigger than all the brown trout I had witnessed others catch. It was the largest fish I had ever seen…of course. Isn’t that what a real fisherman always says?

Then I remembered seeing a posted sign warning about some kind of fish that had to be catch and release only. Was it this one? I was clueless. I knew my relatives and the game warden would frown on me breaking the law. I was too far from the cabin to carry the fish home to ask my wife. The rainbow trout would not survive. I needed a picture of the fish, but there was no camera.

Was this a keeper or a throwback? I panicked. I waited. I looked for someone to ask. The fish was in jeopardy. I reluctantly threw the large rainbow trout back into the water.

Catch and Release. Real fishermen go for the thrill, not the food. Someone told me that.

I returned to the area the next evening after going hitless for another day of fly fishing. I could not see the fun in this sport. A thunderstorm broke overhead, and I was getting drenched. I started the long trek to the cabin. A voice called out to me to get shelter under his roof. It was Wallace Johnson, the father of my wife’s best friend in school.

Mr. Johnson welcomed me into his cabin to dry out by the fire as I waited for the storm to pass. He said he had seen me out by the bridge. He told me there was a big rainbow trout swimming around in one of the side areas. People had been trying to land it for two months. It would look great mounted on his cabin wall. What??? Do I dare tell him???

What I learned in those next thirty minutes changed my life. Well, my fly-fishing life. When I confessed my ineptitude at catching trout, the expert kindly taught me the basics.

You whip the line through the air to keep the fly dry. The rhythmic beauty of a skilled fly-fisherman’s cast was not about the length of the throw but the dryness of the bait so it could float on top of the water. Then you wait for the silver streak. What? I had no idea what he was talking about.

My guru told me to watch for the silver streak, a flash of silver in the water. The silver flash signals the trout is moving toward the surface, going for the fly. That is when you set the hook. I could hardly wait for daylight.

I was out in the water along the edge of the river. Suddenly, I saw the silver streak. I set the hook and pulled. I missed it. But now I was hooked. I knew what I was doing. The next sighting of the silver flash landed my first brown trout. By noon, I had a bag full. Fresh trout was on the dinner menu.

Trout fishing was thrilling. I had become…an Angler, the future cover of Outdoors magazine. I made lasting memories fishing with my daughter and sons along the Rio Grande. I understand why this can be so enjoyable, almost addictive.

Learning to love first and love most is also enjoyable and addictive. It also has to be learned because it does not come naturally. Have you ever experienced that thrill? Yes, it is a thrill when done correctly with an unbiased and unharnessed enthusiasm.

Maybe, you have tried and failed. Perhaps you think you are just not very good at it. You might have had some poor experiences trying to learn what others describe as a joy-filled endeavor. I understand the frustrations and the fears. And the failures. I’ve been there.

I just did not know about the “silver flash” in loving others first and most. Loving others is not about going through the proper motions or using the right techniques. It is not about needing to be fully equipped or sufficiently trained.

For me, the “silver flash” is associated with the eyes of the other person. Do I really see them? Do I notice their needs? Or do I just try to “love” because they are in the vicinity. Maybe I can just do the long cast and keep them at a distance. Too many of us just go through the motions.

I am not an expert on this matter, but I have heard and seen the Master of Love at His best. I have witnessed how He loves me. I have experienced how He loves me when I am down and out amidst the darkness of despair. I felt His love when my mind was imprisoned by stress and anxiety. I remember how He loved me through grief.

I have watched the Master take his disciples and us to that outcast Legion, alone and ostracized in a scary world. We saw He loved that loveless and hopeless man. We listened in as he talked to the woman at the well, the whore of Sychar. We watched him welcome Zacchaeus, the corrupt and hated government official.

We observed how he took note of the importance of children and how he gave hope to the suffering. We watched him walk through life as the friend of sinners. We viewed him as a breakfast cook for the working men, thrilled with their latest fish story. He did not just talk a good game; He lived it.

He looked into the eyes of Jairus, the distraught dad of a dying daughter and into the weeping eyes of two sisters mourning the loss of their brother. He noticed the blind beggar and the sick elderly woman. He calmed the storm raging fear in the eyes of the men in the boat. He paid attention to the misguided pride of friends arguing about levels of importance. He saw the little boy with his sack lunch. The multitudes were countless. He saw the “silver flash” in each of them.

Jesus lives in you and me to lead us to others He intends to love through us. He will love them first and love them most. Where are they? Look into their eyes! “The eyes are an entrance to the heart” (#1 Textbook).

Their eyes show signs of suffering, sickness, sorrow, stress. They expose confusion, concern, loneliness, and despair. They weep; they laugh; they worry. They just need someone to care enough to listen, to comfort, to help, to pray.

Jesus told the first disciples what He says to us today. “Come, follow Me. I will make you fishers of men. Love them the way I have loved you” (#1 Textbook).

Imitate God’s love. Your home is the practice field. Get better. Take your love out into this world. Every person you see is fighting some hard, and often hidden, battle.

Look for the “silver flash” in their eyes. Be kind. Be caring. Love them first and love them most. Little by little, love them a lot.

Loving one person first and most reveals a thrill beyond description. The heart pounds. The clouds rumble. The skies flash. The wind roars. The trees sway. The mountains shake. The stars dance. The angels set all heaven ablaze with shouts of praise…when one set of eyes has been loved first and most.

Oh the thrill!