LOVE FIRST…LOVE MOST

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 207

Do your Valentine cards end up in a scrapbook or a trash bag?

My wife never knew we had a Trash Problem until the day I shared this story with several hundred people. Can you imagine her shock to hear the intimate details of a private situation of which she did not know existed until her husband publicly spilled his guts in church and social media?

In the early days of our marriage before our boys grew older, it was my responsibility to carry out the trash to the receptacle bin in our alley for the late Saturday pick-up. My usual method was to use the commercial time during my sports TV viewing to hurriedly carry out this manly assignment. Somewhere along the way, the whole process became an irritant to my soul.

Hefty never made trash bags large enough for all our trash. I was very efficient at cramming them full. I would have the bag stuffed full and closed, ready for the garbage bin when my precious wife would notice “one more thing” for the trash. I would suggest she throw the item into the trash basket underneath the sink, but each time, she responded it would be better for it to leave the house in the trash sack I had closed and tied in a knot.

My memory listed them in my black book of spouse irritants.

An empty coke can. A magazine. A paper plate. A Kleenex. A toothpick. Yep! A toothpick. Are you kidding me? One time, it was literally a scrap of paper, a two-inch piece of scrap paper!

Now, good counseling and even good sense would suggest it might be better to gently explain my growing agitation about how this messed up my timing to be back in my chair for the next play in the sports contest.

However, in appreciation of my wife as a wonderful mother-housekeeper and because I wanted to act as if I were a fine Christian husband, I answered not a word. I simply stared a holy hole through her.

My recollection is that nearly every time I reopened the stuffed trash bag, something would spill out, causing a mess which called for a clean-up on Aisle Three. My lips were sealed, but my blood would boil. Again, my lovely wife never suspected the degree of my aggravation. How hard can it be to carry out the trash on your day off?

My usual reaction became a rushed trek to the alley, talking to myself about the idiosyncrasies of the lady who had enough courage to marry me. One day, the Trash Problem became bigger than my Hefty ego.

I reopened the sack. Cleaned up my spilled mess. Tied up the sack. Threw open the sliding patio door. Slammed the door. Yelled and kicked at the dog. Burst through the backyard gate. Lifted the garbage bin top. Hurriedly hurled in the Hefty bag. Banged the lid down. Slammed the gate. Stared down the dog hiding in the bushes. Forcefully opened and closed the patio door. Finally, flopped into my easy chair with mutterings which did not sound like cheers for my favorite team.

It was then that I experienced one of those moments when I heard God speak to my conscience or spirit. “What is wrong?”

I pointed in the direction of the kitchen. Just in case, God could not see that far or failed to recognize the one person occupying that space. God can hear everything, so I whispered, “My wife.”

“You know, the One you gave to me. She has a problem.”

Some people wonder if God really speaks to us or how He might sound. Well, in this instance, He sounded familiarly like my mother; but I do not think God needed to borrow her notes. He was prepared and His words were unforgettable.

“She is not the problem; you are. You are selfish and impatient. You are not loving and kind to your wife.”

That hurt!

If I intended to practice what I preached, then change needed to come quickly and permanently. I was ready for the next week’s challenge. It was Saturday morning; the game was in the first quarter. The Mrs. reminded me the trash needed to go out in time for the city pick up. I sprang into action, filled the sack, smiled, and sweetly asked, “Is there any other trash?”

I was disappointed when there was no response. I closed the sack and headed for the door, a little disheartened. However, God is in the miracle business. My Girl found the lunch soup can on the counter. When she called out there was one more thing, I stopped, quietly opened the sack, dropped in the can, smiled, and kindly asked if there might be anything else.

Cleared for take-off, I closed the sack, slid open the patio door, waved at the dog hiding in the bushes, routinely opened the backyard gate, raised the lid on the garbage bin and dropped in the Hefty bag. As I gently closed the garbage container, something happened. Another miracle? A praise song unexpectedly emerged in my mind and out my lips.

I reentered the yard with strange sounds and a skip in my step. I eventually coaxed our camouflaged dog from under the bushes into my waiting arms. He wagged his tail to my humming beat. We danced together before I returned to my front row seat for the sporting event.

I have never had a Trash Problem since. In fact, after hearing my trash tale, my loving wife started saving items to throw into the basket under the sink. Sometimes we dance.

God dances and so do all those who love God and others. Have you ever seen the Divine Dance of Love?

God’s Word reveals that each of the divine persons centers upon the others. None demands the others revolve around him. Each voluntarily circles the other two, pouring love, delight, and adoration upon them. The other-centered movement creates a dynamic pulsating dance of infinite joy and everlasting love.

The early leaders of the Greek church had a word for this—perichoresis which is the root of our word choreography. It means literally to “dance or flow around.”

God is love but without another person, there is no love. At His essence, God is relational. God desires and delights to dance with us. “I will always desire what is good for you…I delight in doing you good” (#1 Textbook).

Loving God and loving others imitate that same Divine Dance. When we see the joy of God and others, it becomes the center of our ultimate joy.

What do we learn from the illustration of the Divine Dance we are invited to join?

LIFE IS NOT ABOUT YOU FIRST AND FOREMOST. Why? Self-centeredness never works. It only messes up relationships which creates a Trash Problem.

We are all selfish and self-centered. It is not a matter of childhood immaturity. It is in our human nature. People do what they do because they are what they are. Selfishness lives in us, and we live among selfish people in a selfish culture selfishly embraced by all of mankind. As the trash overflows, the mess grows.

We are all infected with the pandemic disease of Selfishness. The virus variants plague our culture. We live among people who are difficult and different.

The only antidote is to Love First and Love Most.

However, few people look for the cure; even fewer accept it, refusing to limit personal freedom and fun for the welfare of others. Our fears, anxieties, and frustrations are highly contagious; but we feel immune to this self-sickness force which weakens and kills other relationships.

Why? We live in a Selfie world where we do not agree on the most important thing in life for us to survive the threat of self-destruction: Love first. Love most.

The opposite of love is not hate; it is selfishness which demands others orbit around us. Therefore, self-centeredness becomes the enemy to the dance of love.

Everyone desires to talk about me. We are not interested in considering someone else’s views on anything, just mine.

Is that not our reason for social media fascination? Facebook, Twitter, Tik Tok, and blogs are primarily about self and selfies.

We naturally desire for everyone else to do what we want, when we want, and the way we want in our self-centered world. We seek to use God and others to serve selfish goals.

We even sacrifice the joy and interests of others to satisfy self’s desires and delights. We mark dislike, correct, block, or trump card their post. The problem is exacerbated by our own Selfie worldview on a certain collision with everyone else’s self-serving demands.

The God of love is completely different. God gives instead of takes. He serves rather than waiting to be served. He sacrifices so others can benefit. Other-centered love creates a dance of joy, each revolving around the other to the beat of ever-increasing joy.

Sharing our love needs to become more important than sharing our opinion. How does that happen?

The Divine Dance of Love begins with a basic two step.

(1) Love First.  (2) Love Most.

Copy Jesus’ example like a child with a tracing tablet. Watch how He positions others into the spotlight as He always loves first and loves most. Learn it well. Practice it often.

Never worry about missteps; you have a Perfect Partner. God’s Spirit becomes ONE with you, united in your body; you can make the dance visible to others.

God LIVES inside of you,

to LEAD you to others

He intends to LOVE through you.                                                                

God’s Love has power to transform people—both the one loving and the one loved.

Learn to preach to yourself in every situation: This circumstance is NOT about me. This moment is about loving others. Be kind, tenderhearted, forgiving just as Jesus has loved you.

Choreograph your love at home. Position the other person in the middle of your love circle. Practice, practice, practice.

Love First. Love Most.

Trash problems will be resolved.

What I’ve got they used to call the blues
Nothin’ is really wrong.
Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

—Rainy Days and Mondays by The Carpenters

It was Monday Moaning during my freshman year at college. I was in Boston, far away from home and family. I was lonely, sad, and bored.  I had just returned from an early Monday Moaning French class.

How do you say Monday Moaning in French? Lundi gémissant.

Whatever the language, it was a rabat-joie Debbie Downer Day. The three roommates to whom I was randomly assigned were at class or the library. They had drawn the short straw in the university’s apartment groupings. Their prize was the athletic hick with the Oklahoma twang. None were impressed.

One roommate from Maine was the most organized guy I had ever met…and one of the nicest. The roomie from Tacoma, Washington, was the most aloof guy, which is really saying something coming from me, a great proponent of the Isolation Policy. He perpetually hid his face behind the spread sheets of The New York Times as he judged the rest of us. Those two became lifelong friends. I roomed with the latter all four years of college.

The fourth roommate was different. Very different, which is really saying a lot when one considers the social, economic, educational, and emotional diversity of our university’s students. Thomas did not like me. That did not make him different. He could join the club. He just seemed peculiar, possessive, and problematic to any free-wheeling never-been-out-of-Hicksville kind of guy like me.

His most prized possession, besides his cokes in the fridge, was an antique mirror he hung on our wall. It was a family heirloom from the 1880s. Even I could tell the craftmanship was exceptional.

This Monday Moaning found me gazing into that mirror. I must have been infatuated with what I saw. For some reason, I began to imitate the batting stances of some of the most popular Major League baseball stars. This was a practice I began back in junior high school. I could copy the best of them.

I saw a hammer sitting on my desk, so I picked it up to serve as my baseball bat. I was looking fine as I went down the list of impersonations. I began to follow through with the swing of the hammer in imitation of those sweet home run strokes.

Now, if you are thinking at all, you probably guessed that I took out the antique mirror with one of my practice swings. That did not happen, but only by the grace of God. I would not be here today telling this story if that had occurred.

My favorite player was Stan “The Man” Musial, Hall of Fame outfielder for the St. Louis Cardinals. He had a funky, slightly slouched, relaxed stance that exploded upon contact with a fastball.

My mom and dad took me to St. Louis to see my first professional baseball game. Our family did not vacation at amusement parks. We went to ballparks. The game against the Cincinnati Reds was tied when Musial came to bat in the bottom of the ninth inning. I knew he was going to hit a home run and win the game.

Stan “The Man” struck out swinging. He went down like Mudville’s Mighty Casey. I was crushed, but not for long. In the twelfth inning, Musial sent one out over the right field wall for a walk-off homer.

I was imitating that perfect swing in front of the antique mirror. I went through the slow motion facing the mirror. Then I turned sideways to get a better view of my copycat swing.

As I watched my smooth swing in the mirror, the head of the hammer went flying off. Thankfully, not into the family heirloom mirror. The hammer head crashed through our second story front window and onto the pavement below. What a relief that it did not knock out some student passing by.

The loud crash of glass and the tumultuous clap of the steel hitting the pavement got everyone’s attention. People in the Yard began pointing upward to the second-story window as if they had just spotted the JFK shooter.

There I was. Standing right behind the shattered window. Staring at the mayhem. Holding the wooden end of the hammer.

Yep. It was Monday Moaning time. I crawled under my desk…staring at the antique mirror and then the shattered window.

We all have our Monday Moaning stances. What is yours?

Some go for face in the hands. Or hands on top of the head. Rubbing the head or wringing the hands is fairly commonplace. Pacing the room. Flopping back into bed is a personal favorite.

Staring at a cup of coffee or hot tea. Mindlessly watching TV. Reluctantly checking texts and emails, hoping for nothing stressful.

Maybe you prefer to just look into the mirror and stare at the reflection of the antique in the room.

We all have our go to Monday Moaning stance and standard phrases that mark the beginning of another week. We hope to get out of the batter’s box and take that initial step in the direction of first base. Just get through to Tuesday.

Hopefully, the clouds clear in the mind and the eyes brighten a little in anticipation of the day ahead. This might be a glorious day.

Here is another verse that I love to recite on Monday Moaning. It is from Psalm 121.

I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth…

The Lord keeps His eye on me as I come and go and will always guard me …even on Monday Moaning.

This is a good stance to imitate. Keep your eyes looking to the horizon. There is a glorious day coming. It might be on Monday Moaning.

Living, He loved me

Dying, He saved me

Buried He carried my sins far away

Rising He justified freely forever

One day He’s coming,

Oh Glorious day.

–O Glorious Day, Casting Crowns, Bleeker and Hall

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 205

Love First. Love Most.

It is as easy as slipping on ice or falling off a ladder. 

Sometimes it comes with heartaches and pains.           

I share some Winsday Wisdom with you today, not only a little older, but with a whole lot more aches and pains.  This cold weather finds me a little more cautious, not so much from my added years, but from my compounded stupidity.

About this time last year, I fell on the ice and cracked my hip. I suspected it to be worse. I was being careful as I scraped the ice off my car windows. Everything was going fine…until I stepped to the north side of the vehicle. Both feet lost their contact with the driveway as I slipped on the ice from the northerner that came in the night before.

I landed on the side of my hip. My first thought was I hope none of the neighbors saw this. My second thought never made it into my mind because of the horrific pain. The hurt increased as I assessed the damage. I slid to the end of my driveway, and I could not get up. I needed help.

I grimaced and moaned as I grappled to get the cell phone from my winter jacket. My loving and adorable and kind and caring wife was inside on the couch in front of the fireplace. I called for help. There was no answer. Maybe she was on the phone talking to someone else. I tried two more times with no response.

By now, I wished a neighbor had witnessed my slippery demise. I cried out for help. All in vain as the strong wind whistled into my ear, “You stupid man!”

That’s right; I might be stupid, but I am a “man.” I can handle this. I tried to rise to my knees. Nope. I need to crawl. Can’t. I will slide up the slope. Wrong direction for sliding. So, I slithered like the snake that I am, inch by inch.

Eventually, I pulled my aching body into the edge of the garage where I rolled onto my back. That way, I could feel the pain better. I tried another unanswered phone call, even a text for “Help!”

I called my daughter in Colorado. She might be able to get to my aid before my wife wondered about my disappearance for several days. There was no answer. I realized they were talking to each other. I began to yell. I called out for Vicki. I screamed for help! All to no avail.

Finally, after what felt like hours of pain intolerance, the garage door to the house opened. Vicki was on the phone. She told our daughter, “I think your dad is hurt. I will call you back.” Yes, injured people need help. Stupid people need to be shown sympathy and patience.

I am sure you have fallen at times. It might have resulted in a serious injury. As I compose this, I vividly remember one of the four times I have fallen off a ladder.

For many years, I accessed the roof of my house without a ladder, using the fence, a pole, and a leap. It was just sheer athleticism is all I can tell you. I finally purchased a ladder to cut some limbs off a tree.

As I was trimming the timber (that sounds more manly), my chain saw ran out of gas. Why did I not fill it with fuel before I went up the ladder to the roof? It’s the same answer I give to most of my wife’s questions regarding my actions. “I did not think of that.”

As I came down to refuel, I took the wrong route. As I stepped onto the top of the ladder, my foot slipped. In a nanosecond, I had to make a reactionary decision:  Either let my head hit on the brick wall or allow my body to crash through the window of the house. 

In that nanosecond, I chose another option. I went into the “imaginary world of not” and thought it better to just jump backwards and use my athleticism and nimble, cat-like reflexes to land on my feet somewhere in the driveway. It worked…badly. 

Somehow, my head avoided being splattered across the cement driveway. However, my pride had taken a big pounding. I fell twelve feet onto the concrete and landed on my back, not my feet. I looked up to see the ladder falling on my face and chest.

Yep! It was a scene right out of the Roadrunner cartoons where Wiley Coyote falls and then something falls on him.

Did it hurt? Well, yes! But I did the manly thing. I acted as if I were not hurt just in case Mrs. Kravitz was spying on this horrific, but humorous accident. [Note: Gladys Kravitz was the extremely nosy neighbor on the Bewitched TV series. She frequently peeked through her window curtains to observe the strange and unusual events going on at her neighbor’s house. She would yell for her husband Abner.]

As I discarded the face-planted ladder, I jumped to my feet. But I lost my balance and stumbled backward into the bushes. This cat gave up four of his nine lives in that stupid endeavor.

There was nothing left to do, but slowly roll my way into the garage. Lying in the unbearable pain of stupidity, I yelled for my wife. The only response was the startup sounds of the vacuum cleaner. This was going to take a while.

That night, so help me—I had survived with nothing more than aches and bruises—we went to my son Derek’s out-of-town baseball game. I dropped Vicki off at the door of the hotel. I parked around the side of the building. Backed the car into a parking spot. Raised the cargo door to get the luggage. I had hanger clothes in one hand, two travel bags in the other hand.

As I reached up to close the cargo door, I stepped back, stumbled onto the parking curb, and landed on my back. The hanging clothes fell across my face. The two bags fell on my chest. What a man! What a funny, stupid man!

You might conclude from this that I am a clumsy, unathletic good-for-nothing. Not true. I am just directionally insensitive.

Obviously, I have fallen many times. It really is not difficult to fall into stupidity! Even then, God was with me. God was with me on top of the house. He was with me when I was down on the concrete. God was with me in between, in those nanoseconds, saying, “You idiot.” The actual scriptural phrase from the #1 Textbook is, “You foolish man and frail creature of dust.”  

You have experienced some physical pains this past year. It may have been disease; it may have been surgery; it may have just been something minor. All of us have experienced a little more physical pain than a year ago. Much of that pain is emotional pain like grief, loneliness, or stress.

As a precious friend recently said in response to his family’s unimaginable grief, “The Lord is with us. We have great grief, but we are so grateful to God. He used our grief to witness His greatness to so many hurting people.”

In the moments of pain and grief, we all have reason to take our gratitude to God to a higher level. 

My physical injuries could have been worse. The emotional pain that you have been through this year could have been worse. We may be a little worse off, but we are here.

Are we falling into gratitude? 

It is very important that we live out what we are learning about God’s presence and care…even when we are falling, or our life is falling apart.

Psalm 139 begins, “God knows what I do and wherever I go. He knows when I sit and when I rise, when I go out and when I lie down. He is familiar with all my ways. He knows all my thoughts. Before there is a word on my tongue, he knows even the secrets of my heart…God holds my right hand.” 

Somehow, our lifelong journey falls into place.

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.

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.

What can you learn from falling?

You are never, ever—no matter whatever is going on in your life—you are never out of the sight and the care of your Heavenly Father. He is holding your hand, even when you are falling.

“Even when I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, Thou art with me…You hold my right hand.  You hold me tight” (#1 Textbook).

“I am the Lord Almighty God who is with you and for you. Do not be afraid” (#1 Textbook).    

When the Biblical patriarch Jacob kept falling again and again, he moaned that “all these things are against me.” He later came to realize that all these things were used by God for his good. Surely, you have those moments when you feel as if all these things are against you. God is orchestrating them for your good.

As Jacob’s lost son, Joseph, later declared about all the bad things done to him by bad people, “They meant it for evil, but God intended it for good.”  And God will use all the bad things done to you by bad people to bring you greater good.

Jacob and Joseph fell into gratitude. So can we. Even in great grief there is greater gratitude.

I am praying for me, and you that we will be awakened into a greater awareness of God’s presence in every area of our lives.

 I am praying that we fall into greater gratitude.

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 204

LAUGHTER IS GOOD MEDICINE FOR THE SOUL (#1 Textbook).

Embarrassment. It happens. I still don’t like it. Maybe it feels worse when you have embarrassed those you love. My wife deserves a gold medal for what she has endured because of my goof-ups.

I was a real embarrassment to my oldest son when he was in the second grade. Occasionally, I would pick him up after school. One day he got into the car with a sad face.

I kept asking him what was wrong. He finally mumbled that his classmates made fun of him because of me. Now he really had my attention. “What did I do?”

He shrugged. Then he asked if I could park farther away from the school whenever I picked him up. “Why?“

The kids asked him if I were his grandfather. “Why would they do that?” 

“Because of your gray hair.”

My hair was prematurely gray, and I was also ten years older than most of the other kids’ fathers. “What did you say to your friends?”

“I just told them my dad was not as old as he looked, but they kept making fun of me.”

I guess I could have dyed my hair or parked in the back of the line. That might have been helpful, even wise.

Instead, I arrived early the next afternoon and parked near the school’s door. I wore a Toucan nose mask. The toucan is the colorful bird on the front of a Fruit Loops cereal box.

That’s right. I had on a bright colorful red and yellow two-foot-long Toucan nose, like that of a giant parrot. I thought the vibrant colors blended well with my gray hair.

As my son’s friends passed by, I waved and announced, “Hi. I’m Kyle’s dad.”

I was hoping the conversations would move to “Wow, your dad is funny” or “Your dad is cool.”

Instead, the next day’s remark that was relayed by my embarrassed son was, “Is your old dad crazy?”

Yep. I think they even called his dad, “Old Fruit Loops.”

This week, I encountered another embarrassing incident at the bank. I went inside to request a cashier’s check. What should have taken a few minutes turned into a twenty-minute wait.

It is embarrassing when you do not have enough funds to cover a check or debit card purchase. I have been there. However, that was not the case with this transaction. I was being helped by a new teller who had great difficulty providing this service.

That was frustrating, but not embarrassing. In the first few minutes of my wait, a woman teller appeared from around the corner. As she took her place at the drive-thru window, it was obvious that something was not right.

Her short skirt was caught up in the back, tucked inside of her somewhat large panties. Apparently, she made a hurried exit from her bathroom break without checking the mirror.

The coup de gras of the wardrobe malfunction was the three-foot-long white toilet tissue paper following her. It appeared much like the tail of a kite waving in full flight.

For some unknown reason, my thoughts recalled the opening lines from Charles Dickens’ famous novel, A City of Two Tails…I mean, A Tale of Two Cities. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

As my mind raced to erase the image of what I just saw, the memory chip noted the undergarments did not appear to be panties. They resembled biker compression shorts…with a tail. I know that is too much information. That is exactly what my mind was thinking. How do I delete this image?

Have you ever been where you wish you had not seen something?

Have you ever seen something and wish you could erase it from your memory?

Have you ever seen something you wished you had never seen and then, you look again? Just to make sure that you saw what you thought you saw?

Have you ever looked more than twice just to see if what you saw had changed?

Note, there was absolutely nothing sexy or erotic or even pretty about this picture. I was embarrassed for her strange, oversized undergarment with skirt tucked inside and toilet paper stuck backside.

“It was the winter of despair…we had everything (behind us)…in the superlative degree of comparison only” (more Dickens).

My mind produced my associate in ministry and crime chasing Jeff Segner’s often quoted line from the late-night talk show host, Johnny Carson, doing his Carnac the Magnificent skit. The ‘Mystic from the East’ could ‘divine’ unknown answers from unseen questions sealed in an envelope.

His classic answer was, “Sage. Soothsayer, and Kate Smith.”

The revealed question was, “Name two mediums and an extra-large.”

I tried not to look. I kept looking around to see who else noticed.

The lady with her dress stuck in her ‘xxxx’ was working the drive-thru so she had her backside turned towards me and the growing line of customers at my incompetent teller’s window.

Who was going to tell her? The other tellers were guys. The woman manager walked right by her and asked if she needed help with the drive thru. Did she not notice? Was this standard dress for that woman? It was not even Casual Friday.

Part of me wanted to gawk and point out this fashion faux pas to others. Did you see that? Part of me acted like nothing was amiss in the teller’s garments and maybe no one else would notice.

I tried to think up conversation starters. “How’s your day going? Have you seen anything interesting today? Have you watched Stuck in the Middle?

The young lady was extremely cordial with the drive-thru clientele. She was much more efficient than the young man assisting me. He was fixated in some death stare at his computer screen. He never moved for several minutes which only heightened the temptation to see if the woman with the dress dilemma had reacted to the strange breeze flowing up her back.

I noticed several of the lady customers behind me whispering and occasionally glancing her way. Surely, one of them would discreetly help her correct the situation.

The half-dressed banker turned to help the woman in line behind me. The customer made her deposit and exited the bank without a hint or clue to the exposed teller.

What if I had mistakenly placed underwear on my head instead of my winter beanie? Would anyone try to lessen my embarrassment? Not anyone in this crowd.

I kept reminding myself this was not MY problem.

The smiling flasher returned to the drive-thru window. It was impossible not to look. I tried not to look. Every time I stole a glance, I regretted it.

So how does one tell a woman her skirt is tucked into her underwear? Should I pass her a note? Would they mistake it as a bank robbery? What do I write?

“You need to check your assets.”

“Do not say a word. Just turn around and put your hands behind you. “

“You made a deposit in the wrong place.”

“Can you make a withdrawal of your skirt from your panty account?”

“Whom should I ask about temporary cheeks…I mean checks?”

“Do you always wear your fanny-pack that way?”

“When was the last time you looked at the security camera footage?”

I even thought of leaving my comatose teller and going around to the drive-thru while loudly playing the song Stuck in the Middle. “Well, I don’t know why I came here tonight. I got the feeling that something ain’t right.”

I could pass her a note, “I know you are busy, BUT would you please look to see if there is anything caught in the backside of your drawers?”

Maybe I could tell her a joke. “Do you know what they call it when a teacher assigns homework to the bottom of the French class? A derriere-check.”

How and when do you help someone caught in an embarrassing situation?

We have all been there on both sides. Sometimes, we are the one in an unknown but embarrassing moment and, at other times, we are the one watching a relative or friend unaware of their embarrassing event.

It might be green stuff caught in their teeth. Or green stuff dripping or hanging from their nose. Or green stuff stuck to their hair, fingernails, or clothes.

Do you tell them or just act like the green stuff is not there? Do you rub that area of your body, hoping they will imitate you and unknowingly knock it off their body?

Do you try to lead them in front of a mirror? Or just let them wait until they get home to discover their embarrassment and wrestle with the question, “I wonder how long that has been there”?

Last week, my wife and I were with a friend who missed her mouth with the dipping sauce. It slowly dripped down her cheek. She continued with her storytelling while I tried to look away. But I had to look again. I glanced at my wife in wonder why she did not say something.

We should have handed the lady a napkin, but we both tried the “wipe our own face” routine, hoping she would take the hint. I was embarrassed for her, but I also enjoyed monitoring the slow progress of the dip moving down her cheek.

On another note, have you ever mistakenly missed the mute button on your phone or computer while you yelled at your kids or vented to your spouse about the people on the other end of the call? The next critical moments following your unmuted words heard around the world are filled with thoughts of what did I say, and do you think they heard me?

Embarrassment is the feeling of humiliation, shame, or awkwardness witnessed by others. You’ve acted like a fool, hopefully unintentionally.

Vicarious (secondhand or empathetic) embarrassment is the feeling of embarrassment for another person’s embarrassment.

Embarrassment is unavoidable. It should not destroy us for days or weeks or years. We should never be embarrassed about embarrassing situations.

Most of us carefully construct our lives so as not to be caught looking like an idiot. That is much more difficult for some of us than others. Alas, we just do stupid things!

Love endures all things…Love believes and hopes the best for others…Love conquers all things (including embarrassment) —#1 Textbook.

Love covers a multitude of stupid things. So does laughter.

Laugh more, even at yourself. It would be good if we could laugh at our own stupidity the way we can howl with delight at the unfortunate events in someone else’s embarrassing moment.

Be compassionate. You do not have to mock. Minimize the shock.

Let it go. That embarrassment does not have to haunt you throughout life. My son got over the toucan nose. He embarrasses his kids at a higher level. So does my daughter. They roll with the flow and chronicle the memories.

I could write a book. My kids probably will.

I really wanted to be there when the teller realized her embarrassing situation. Don’t we all want to enjoy embarrassment at someone else’s expense? I resolved not to look again. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak…Okay. I stole another glance.

I quickly turned to see if anyone noticed my illicit look. Why did I feel so guilty? This was not pornographic. If anything, it should have been WARNAGRAPHIC!

Hey kids! Do not look over there at the bank teller with her skirt up her underwear. I watched as other customers noticed the wardrobe malfunction. One gasped and covered her mouth as she continued to stare. One woman looked and then turned to her husband with silent head nods and eye movements to move his attention to the drive-thru window. She became frustrated when he whispered, “What do you want?”

She pointed. His expression went into shock as he muttered, “Oh my.”

Another lady saw the incident and quickly looked away to see if anyone saw her. Our eyes met. I smiled. And looked again…for the last time.

I rushed out of the bank. I did not want to stay around to see THE END.

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 203

William Borden was a young man who believed that Jesus lived inside of him to lead him to others Jesus intended to love through him. He inspired his generation and subsequent ones to passionately love first and most.

As the heir of the Chicago based Borden Milk Company and the family fortune from silver mining in Colorado, he was already a millionaire when he graduated from high school. 

For his high school graduation present, his parents gave sixteen-year-old Borden a trip around the world. As he traveled, he felt a growing burden for the world’s hurting people. Finally, he wrote home to say, “I’m going to give my life to prepare for the mission field to help others know about Jesus Christ.”

More than one friend expressed surprise that Borden was “throwing himself away.” Shortly after he renounced his fortune in favor of missions, Bill wrote these words in the back of his Bible: “No reserves.”

Even though young Borden was wealthy, he arrived on the campus of Yale University in 1905 trying to look like just one more freshman. Very quickly, however, Borden’s classmates noticed something unusual about him and it wasn’t his money.

One wrote: “He came to college far ahead, spiritually, of any of us. He had already given his heart in full surrender to Christ. His classmates learned to lean on him and find in him a strength that was solid as a rock.” 

During his first semester at Yale, Borden started something that would transform campus life. He began meeting with two friends to study the Bible. That small group gave birth to a movement that spread across the campus and changed many lives.

Borden wrote in his college journal, “Say ‘no’ to self and say ‘yes’ to Jesus every time.”

Borden loved others first and most. During his time at college, he cared about widows and orphans and cripples. He rescued drunks from the streets of New Haven and founded the Yale Hope Mission to house and rehabilitate them.

No Reserve. 

While in college, Borden heard a missionary appeal for volunteers to reach the most unreachable people on the planet. It would necessitate a high price. “Of course, it will cost life. It is not an expedition of ease nor a picnic excursion to which we are called…”  William Borden was hooked.

In one of his notebooks, he later wrote: “In every man’s heart there is a throne and a cross… If Christ is on the throne self is on the cross… If Jesus is on the throne, you will go where He wants you to go…”

Borden’s missionary call narrowed to China as he prepared to live among Muslims in Northern China. Once that goal was in sight, Borden never wavered. He also inspired his classmates to consider missionary service. “He was one of the strongest characters I have ever known, and he put backbone into the rest of us at college.”

Upon graduation from Yale, Borden turned down high paying job offers. When his father told him that he would never work in the company again if he chose mission work, he wrote two more words in the back of his Bible: “No retreats.”

Before he left, his father died and people asked him to come back to run the company and he said, “God’s got me for a higher cause. No retreat.”

No Retreat. 

When he finished his post-graduate studies at Princeton, Borden sailed for China.  Because he was hoping to work with Muslims, he stopped first in Egypt to study Arabic. While there, he contracted spinal meningitis. Within a month, 25-year-old William Borden was dead. He never made it to the mission field. 

News of Borden’s death was cabled back to the USA. The story was carried by nearly every American newspaper. “A wave of sorrow went around the world.  Borden not only gave (away) his wealth, but himself, in a way so joyous and natural that it (seemed) a privilege rather than a sacrifice.”

Was Borden’s untimely death a waste? Not in God’s plan. Prior to his death, Borden had written two more words in his Bible. Underneath the words “No reserves” and “No retreats,” he had written: “No regrets.”  

No Regret. 

He forsook all and followed Jesus, Kindly affectionate with brotherly love,                                     Fervent in spirit serving the Lord, Giving to the needs of others,
In honor preferring others. Apart from faith in Christ,
There is no explanation for such a life.                       

— Epitaph of William Whiting Borden (1887-1913)

William Borden became a reflection of the life and love of Jesus. No Reserves. No Retreats. No Regrets.

What about my life and your life? What do we reflect? What is our passionate purpose for this God-given, God-graced earthly life?

Our purpose in life is about Direction, not Perfection.

Am I all in to follow Jesus with No Reserves?

Am I full speed ahead with Jesus living inside of me to lead me to others He intends to love through me with No Retreats?

Am I steadfast in Purpose to love God and love others with No Regrets?

Again, this life is about Direction, not Perfection. We will fight selfishness until this earthly race is finished. We will battle fear and worry with every step of faith. We will wish for do-overs for those moments we missed out or messed up in a relationship.

No Reserve, No Retreat, and No Regret relate to Purpose, not Perfection.

I have chosen to be all in, always looking forward and not backwards. I have no regrets about following Jesus. He has never, never, never, never, NEVER forsaken me. He is always Faithful and True.

As I look back on the road I’ve travelled,
I see so many times He carried me through;
And if there’s one thing that I’ve learned in my life,
My Redeemer is faithful and true.

My heart rejoices when I read the promise
‘There is a place I am preparing for you.’
I know someday I’ll see my Lord face to face,
My Redeemer is faithful and true.

And in every situation, He has proved His love to me.
When I lack the understanding, He gives more grace to me.

My Redeemer is faithful and true.
Everything He has said He will do,
And every morning His mercies are new.
My Redeemer is faithful and true. –Stephen Curtis Chapman

Keep your eyes on Jesus and keep pressing on to the goal.

LOVE FIRST and LOVE MOST.

If you live your life for the value of knowing and showing the love of Jesus, your life will have no regrets. That is never a wasted life! You might not accomplish all the things that this world would have you do or have all the worldly pleasures, profits, and possessions but you will have no regrets.

I pray it may be said of you and me, “They loved first and loved most. Apart from Jesus, there is no explanation for such a life.”

WINSDAY WISDOM REWIND 1: THE AIRPORT

The strange sight was even more unforgettable than the frantic sounds. I was among the startled bystanders witnessing a most unusual event as the early morning solitude was interrupted by rumbling steps and piercing shouts.

I was staring out the large airport window at the sun peeking over the eastern horizon. The passengers in the adjoining gate area had just boarded the first flight out. The gate attendant delivered the final passenger count to the flight crew, hung up the phone, and closed the entry door.

The floor began to vibrate, and the corridor was filled with desperate screams; but it was not an earthquake.

Stomp and shout. Stomp and shout.

The thundering steps became louder and closer. The distraught cries went from indistinguishable to understandable.

“Wait! Wait! Stop the plane! Hold up!”

Suddenly, the loud stomps and louder shouts were united in one man racing toward the closed gate.

The desperate passenger appeared from the terminal concourse on a dead sprint toward the
agent’s counter. The mayhem was visual and audible.

The thirty- something, slightly overweight man was breathing heavily as he hurried toward his departing plane. He was dressed in a green blazer worn over a gray t-shirt. A striped tie was
 loosely wrapped around his neck, hanging down his back. His early morning ensemble included brown winged-tipped dress shoes. No socks. They dangled from the sport coat side pocket.  A toothbrush protruded from the front pocket.

The stunning blue gym shorts were the highlight of the fashion show. It placed a different spin on Casual Friday office attire. Straight from the bed to the plane kind of look. His uncombed hair seemed appropriate to the occasion. It does not take Sherlock Holmes to conclude this man overslept.

Dress shirt and slacks were rolled and tucked under his arm like a football. One hand carried a brown briefcase and flailing belt, the other an extendable poster tube used as a carry-on case for architectural drawings, artwork, or large documents.

Fortunately, the airline agent called the pilot and stopped the plane’s departure from the gate. She held up her hand in consolation and graciously explained to the man he would make his flight.

As she processed his ticket, the thankful passenger explained the reasons for his late arrival. However, it was his panting anxiety over the danger of missing the flight which occupied most of his animated conversation.

His gasps for air were interspersed with expressions of gratitude. “Thank you! Thank you! You saved my job! You saved my life!”

As he lifted the cylinder carton, he struggled for words to emphasize his predicament. “If I don’t get this to the ten o’clock meeting, I will be fired! This presentation is my one responsibility. It’s the most important thing in my career.”

The gate attendant encouraged him to calm down and catch his breath because the plane was waiting for him to board. Overjoyed with the outcome of avoiding his near disaster, he continued to relate his future employment and marital happiness to the importance of getting his project to the meeting.

As he entered the sky bridge to the plane, he turned and waved at the agent and all the gawking onlookers. He did the two-arms-raised victory dance to signal his triumphant departure. He looked like the iconic statue of Rocky in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

“Yo Adrian! I did it!”

I could almost hear The Eye of the Tiger soundtrack playing.

The door closed and the airline worker stood next to me as we watched the plane back away from the terminal and head for the runway. I sighed and spoke what many were thinking, “That was wild!”

The attendant smiled in reply, “It was close. I am so glad he made the flight, especially happy for his wife.”

As the plane lifted off on its journey, I returned to my view of the sunrise, just a little more grateful for the brief peace. Suddenly, there was a scream! The gate agent shouted, “Oh, No!
Oh, No!”

I turned to watch her hold up the elongated poster tube left behind.

Our entertaining passenger made his flight, but his most important thing did not. I wondered about when he would discover his error and the horror of his misery.

I could only imagine his cries of anguish as he thought about the shouts to come from a displeased boss and the endless screams of a distraught wife.

HE FORGOT THE MOST IMPORTANT THING!

There went up a muffled roar,                                                                                  

Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore…                     

Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,    

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,

But there is no joy in Mudville—

Mighty Casey has struck out.  

(“Casey at the Bat” by Ernest Lawrence Thayer)                    

Our beleaguered traveler made his flight but left behind the most important reason for his flight. I felt empathy for him, but his ill-fated adventure taught me a vital lesson regarding our precious lives.

How many of us live that way? I dare not condemn the guy.

Missed wake-up call? I missed a business meeting and several college classes because I overslept. Usually, it was unintentional. I have experienced not hearing the alarm as well as clock malfunctions, once from an electrical outage and another due to my miscalculation.

Fashion faux pas? I made more than a few. I have engaged in public speaking with my blazer wrongly buttoned, so I appeared to be shaped like the Hunchback from Notre Dame.

I have worn mismatched socks, a chocolate-stained dress shirt, brown belt with black suit, ripped pants, and the coup-de-gras…the open fly.

Forgotten items? I left behind some important things as I headed to meetings. My billfold, cell phone, speaking notes, even a co-worker.

Life can feel hectic. Time can seem short or stressful. Deadlines become problematic, and pressure packed. Difficult people test our best intentions.

No condemnation from me. However, I have learned from Airport Andy’s mistake. What is the most important thing in life?

Much dialogue, discussion, and debate regarding this critical issue involve so-called experts who cite education, health, and wealth. Popular writings also include happiness, career, security. Serious consideration must be given to Time. Could it be Faith? Family? Friends? Freedom? Fun?

Some people are entrenched in their opinions. Others change choices as often as the tide turns.

What do you think is the most important thing in life? 

One day, the wisest man who ever lived was asked that intriguing question regarding the most important thing in life. Jesus answered, “The most important thing is to love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength; and love others as yourself. Everything else in life hangs on that” (#1 Textbook).

Love God and love others. That is the most important thing in life, in faith, in family, in friendships. In fun or work. In freedom or bondage. In health or sickness. In career or retirement. In prosperity or adversity.

Are you in danger of missing the most important thing in all of life? It should become inseparable from your life’s purpose and practice and pleasure.

Love God and love others.  Everything else depends on that.  Any other thing is vanity.

In a foreboding sense of déjà vu, we try different experiences, but we remain stuck in a perpetual prison where nothing has changed. We awake each morning to run in circles, chasing the wind.

Nothing gained. Just the same-day emptiness.

We desperately rush to catch a plane to our intended destination but leave the most important thing behind on the counter. What we anticipated to be great joy and success ends up in major disappointment. Sounds depressing.

The proven disappointment is supposed to draw and drive us to the truth. Love God and love others.

How do we miss that? Why do we complicate that? Why do we try anything and everything else?

Life is a gift from the Creator God who designed love as the key to maximum and lasting happiness. That echoes the answer of Jesus to the question regarding the most important thing in life.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, all your strength and love others as yourself.”

What is love? Total commitment to the best interests of the other person, unconditional in attitude and unselfish in actions, whenever and wherever.

Love always looks like limitless self-sacrificial service.

Love with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength…all the time.

Jesus treats us that way and calls us to follow Him in loving others in the same manner.

Our life is a gift from God to be enjoyed. The greatest enjoyment comes when we discover the greatest thing to do with that life.

Do not oversleep or miss out on this. Do not rush through life unprepared. Do not engage in premature victory dances. Do not move from place to place, from relationship to relationship, without the most important thing in life.

Anchor your life to purposeful significance and lasting happiness on this maxim: Love God and love others, whoever, whenever, and wherever.

How do you love others?

Love First. Love Most.

Session 1

MONDAY MOANING Session 1

What I’ve got they used to call the blues
Nothin’ is really wrong
Feeling like I don’t belong
Walking around
Some kind of lonely clown
Rainy days and Mondays always get me down

—Rainy Days and Mondays by The Carpenters

Welcome to Monday Moaning. Monday Moaning is my intent to share a brief thought along with a word of encouragement from the #1 Textbook as we begin a new week in our earthly timeline.

Some of you might be looking forward with excited anticipation to the week ahead. Others could be dreading it like the plague. For some, it marks a new beginning. For some, it signals a return to the same old routine.

Whether you are up with high hopes or dragging around in low despair, my goal for Monday Moaning is to spend a few minutes to regroup and refocus on the most important thing in the week ahead, as well as in all of life.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength…and love others as yourself.

Love them the way the Lord loves you. Love first and Love Most.

Sounds good on Sunday. Looks rough on Monday.

There are times my Monday Moaning feels much like an episode I encountered at a restaurant on the first day of the week. I entertained my staff friends with getting some soft serve ice cream for me and enough to share with Feed the Children.

My post lunch dessert was to take advantage of the free ice cream. Take a cone. Pull down on the lever and fill up your cone with vanilla or chocolate soft serve. Push the lever back into place to stop the process.

It is so simple, even children do this unsupervised. I filled my cone with the swirling ice cream until I had the perfect size and shape. I pushed the serving lever back into place. The machine did not stop. Ice cream continued to flow out.

I stayed calm as I continued to rotate my cone with the steady flow of additional ice cream. It grew larger and top-heavy. I kept punching the lever to stop.

By this time, my friends noticed the dilemma. They chose to laugh and point instead of help.

By now, the soft serve was dripping over my hands. I asked for assistance. Instead, my dilemma worsened. The floor became an ice cream boat. We just needed some bananas.

Finally, an employee thought to unplug the serving machine. I stood there with a pathetic, overfilled cone while my hand and arm dripped with ice cream.

A little girl standing in line began to cry as she complained to her mom. “He used up all the ice cream.”

I made a mess, broke a kid’s heart, and became an ice cream joke to my associates.

Do you know how embarrassing it is to anticipate staff friends asking if you would like for them to make you an ice cream cone? Just skip restaurants with that goodwill feature.

Sometimes, my Monday Moaning looks like that ice cream incident. Too much to handle. Too messy a situation. Too depressing to anticipate. Too embarrassing to repeat. Too many things not working correctly.

Just not sure if I want to get back in the arena.

Fear and worry can land knockout punches early in the week. Despair and dark thoughts can tie you to the bed or cause you to mope into the week ahead.

Here is my go-to verse for Monday Moaning.

I would have despaired unless I certainly believed that I would still see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; Be strong and let your heart take courage. The Lord is on His way to help you. –Psalm 27:13-14

Hang in there, dear friend. It’s only Monday!

Look around you. This is a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue,

and clouds of white
The bright blessed days,

dark sacred nights
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world

Yes, I think to myself
What a wonderful world

–Louis Armstrong, Songwriters: George David Weiss

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 202

Cassius. That was the name of my dad’s prize bird dog. Cassius lives on forever in family lore, but not for the dog’s hunting prowess.

Dad loved to hunt. Because of his busy coaching schedule, hunting was more of a pastime than a passion. It offered an occasional break from the grind of athletic contests and immature athletes.

Dad admired his friends and relatives who excelled as outdoorsmen. They hunted deer, ducks, turkeys, and pheasants. For Dad, the occasional adventure was hunting quail.

One year, he decided to take it up a notch. A year-end bonus gave him the opportunity to purchase a champion bloodline bird dog. I don’t know if mom ever knew how much this dog cost. It was a small fortune for their budget.

This was his non-professional dream, a return to his childhood days with his best friends, brother Derwin and their dogs.

Dad brought the prize pup home and asked me to name him. I chose the name Cassius. That was the original name of the greatest heavyweight boxer of all time before he changed his name to Muhammed Ali.

Subsequent dogs would follow with boxing monikers: Tyson, Sugar Ray, and Rocky. We also owned a George Foreman grill.

Cassius Clay. Swift and strong. Float like a butterfly. Sting like a bee. “I am the greatest. I said that before I knew I was.”

Dad had high hopes for the pup. The seller told him this pup would be a world-class hunter, the envy of all his hunting buddies. The training went well. Cassius was obedient and a quick learner. He was fast and fierce. He would go and stop on command. He showed off as an excellent retriever.

Unfortunately, Cassius had an Achilles Heel. It was not a bad leg. It was a fearful fright of the sound of a shotgun. With one loud shot, the champion-bred bird dog sped into the background. AWOL.

Yep. Cassius was a pacifist. A conscientious objector. Maybe he wanted to change his name. Dad would find his scaredy-cat prize champion bloodline bird dog waiting back at the truck.

This fear of loud noises was never remedied. Things got to the point where Cassius would hide whenever he saw his owner loading the car for the hunt. Eventually, Cassius stayed home with me while Dad went quail hunting.

Dad’s Best Buy Bird Dog was a Bust.

My friends, Bo and Cliff, had their own hunting dog story. They were more involved in hunting than my dad. Their eyes were on a much bigger prize. They had an opportunity to purchase a top-of -the-line raccoon hunting dog.

A Treeing Walker Coonhound. Don’t let the name fool you. The sweet-faced Walkers are runners. The full stride of their long, muscular legs is propelled by powerful hindquarters, and their streamlined frame helps them cover maximum ground with minimum effort.

“Treeing” describes the dog’s ability to chase its quarry up a tree and then stand below barking loudly and vigorously. They are high-energy. High speed. High endurance.

This dog was sired by a top-of-the-line champion. Grand Knight bloodlines. Expensive. Very expensive.

The brothers were young family men who worked hard to make a living. A world champion Treeing Walker Coonhound would seem like an unnecessary luxury to the wives. The cost was so high it would necessitate a loan.

That left them with only one possibility. Their best friend, Randy, was the new vice-president of a local bank. Nothing wrong was done, but Randy was probably the only person in the world who would grant this loan for this purpose to these two guys.

The prize dog had to be the collateral for a three-year note. Bo would make the loan payment one month and Cliff took care of the next. All was well in the raccoon hunting business venture. Raccoon hunting was profitable as well as fun. The meat was good for food, distributed among friends, and the raccoon hides were highly marketable.

Mother MayBelle was everything she was hyped to be. She sped through the woods in the dark of night. She embarked on the chase with high energy. She treed and spotted the frightened raccoons for her master. She retrieved them in championship style.

One night near the end of the first year, Mother MayBelle’s midnight run ended with a heart attack. Bo had to break the news to Cliff in a 2 AM phone call. They had a dead dog and were in deep debt.

The next day, the brothers appeared in front of the desk of the bank loan officer. They had a question. “What happens if someone cannot pay off their loan?”

Randy answered, “The bank takes back the collateral.”

Bo replied, “Well, I was hoping that was the case. Mother MayBelle is in the back of the truck.”

(Note: I am obligated to report that the loan was fully repaid. The friendships remained steadfast. Mother MayBelle’s memory became a lore of laughter.)

Cassius was not in the back of the truck, just on his last legs. He became so old and so weak that he could barely stand. He spent his days in the backyard dog pen. He could barely crawl away from his own poop. My family allowance job was to feed Cassius and clean out his pen. I shoveled and gagged while Cassius dragged his body to a new area.

Dad expected to find Cassius dead every morning. Crawling over to eat his food was about the only exercise the old bird dog would get.

One morning. Cassius was gone. Not dead. Not in the dog pen. Gone. Vanished. He was not worth stealing. That would have been a blessing in disguise.

A search of the neighborhood revealed no clues. Cassius had disappeared. The next morning, Cassius was lying beside our back door. The rejuvenated bird dog jumped up and walked to his pen for some breakfast. What happened?

Well, whatever happened, would reoccur several times each year for the next three years. The weak-legged, shotgun-fearing champion bird dog looked as if he could not survive another night. We expected Bird Dog Heaven at any moment.

But then, Cassius would mysteriously disappear and then unexpectedly reappear like a frolicking pup. No lie. No exaggeration.

Dad was determined to find out how Cassius escaped the dog pen. There was no evidence of a hole in the fence. No indication of Cassius digging a hole under the fence. Cassius could not jump the six-foot fence because he was so feeble he could not hop over his water bowl.

One morning, Dad looked out the window to watch Cassius climbing the fence. Yes. Climbing. One weak paw into a square piece of wire followed by another until he ascended to the top of the fence. As he wobbled at the top, he eventually fell out into the yard on his face.

Dad put Cassius back into the dog pen. The old pet could barely stand. As soon as we were out of sight, he began another climb. This time, our entire family stood in amazement at Cassius’ weak but determined adventure.

As Cassius recovered his senses following his fall from the top of the fence, he hobbled out the backyard, down the alley, and headed for the next block. Dad got into his car to follow and retrieve the wayward canine.

The pursuit ended with a revelation of the motivation that moved Cassius from the wings of the undertaker to the fancy prancing return of a conquering hero.

Cassius found Bird Dog Heaven here on earth! He had a girlfriend just three blocks away!

I will just leave it at that.

Cassius may not have been a champion bird dog, but his legend lives on in our family lore. Cassius has left the building!

What does Bird Dog Heaven have to do with our mission to love first and love most?

We can make excuses for how bad we feel or how hard it is. We can complain about circumstances and criticize others. We can crawl in a hole and wait for everything to be over.

Or…we can find some motivation that is greater than our weaknesses and problems!

For most of us, we do not lose the desire to love. We do not quit. We just become complacent.

Complacency—a situation of unaware or uninformed self-satisfaction. We feel content with our spiritual condition while unaware of our deficiencies and dangers.

Our spiritual danger is not being overactive or getting older. We are all in danger of becoming casual about love for God and others. We intend to follow Jesus. We plan to implement the directions in the #1 Textbook regarding loving first and most.

Instead, our spiritual complacency results in us drifting back into selfishness and worldliness. We go through the spiritual motions of loving others, somewhat satisfied if we do not love worse than others on this journey.

Complacency loses sight of the goal. It no longer responds to motivation.

Love needs motivation to pursue its goal.

Motivation—your reason for behaving a certain way; your influence, incentive, or stimulus for action. It is the driving force for a desired goal.

Whatever your situation, you are not too old or too weak or too poor to love others. You just need some motivation.

Keep your eyes on Jesus, our leader and teacher. He loved us enough to die a shameful death because of all the joy to come later (#1 Textbook).

Jesus’ amazing love for us is our motivation to love others. This is no time to be casual or complacent about loving God and loving others.

We are all nearer to Heaven than we would like to admit. There is a Heavenly Love awaiting us.

How about some Heavenly Love now?

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

Now is the time to Love First and Love Most. Little acts of love can rejuvenate your heart.

Follow our leader. There is someone to love first and most today.

Climb the fence. Get back in the game. Pick up the pace.

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 2.1

You know exactly who that person is in your life. Maybe several names spring to mind

Why is this “love first and love most” thing so hard?

I resolved to start the new year with a renewed awareness to Love First and Love Most. It wasn’t really a Resolution, just a good intention. I want to do better. I want to be better. I want to Love first and most before I have ignored or blown the initial opportunity.

First week of the year, I go into Jersey Mike’s for some sub sandwiches. I have a regular order, but there is a different guy behind the counter. The place is not too busy; I am ahead of the lunch crowd.

I was greeted with a smile, “How’s it going?”

“I’m good, how are you?”

“Can’t complain. What you havin’?”

“I would like two mini sandwiches on white bread. I want a #3 (ham) with no cheese and a #8 (club).”

For those unfamiliar with this sub shop, they freshly slice the meats and cheese in front of you, place the cut slices on the bread, then return the large meat back into the refrigerated case before starting another order. The young butcher did his part and then slid the meat and bread down the counter for another attendant to dress it with condiments. The customer can choose to have the savory sandwich “Mike’s Way” or with whatever vegetables and condiments he/she prefers.

I looked at the two sandwiches as the “veggie” attendant asked me what I wanted on them. One was ham with cheese and the other was turkey with cheese.

I said, “Sir, excuse me. That is not what I wanted. I do not want any cheese on the ham.”

I intended to say, “Just take off the cheese.” Before I could finish my sentence or stop his reaction, the sandwich maker tossed the ham and cheese into the trash. He quickly made me another sandwich and slid the two meat-covered mini breads to the other attendant at the condiment section.

I stared at the two sandwiches. The new mini sub looked like turkey, not ham. Now I had turkey on both sandwiches. I remarked, “Excuse me, sir. That’s not correct.”

The butcher never looked up as he countered with, “That’s a #3 and #8, just like you ordered.”

I replied, “That looks like two turkey sandwiches. One with cheese and one without cheese, but I am kinda sure they both look like turkey.”

Yep, I was definitely staring at two turkey sandwiches and possibly one turkey server. He stared at the sandwiches and then glared at me. “So, you don’t want two turkey sandwiches?”

My server tossed one mini turkey into the trash as I interrupted, “It’s ok if you just add ham to the one with turkey and cheese.”

He was visually agitated but quickly fixed another ham with cheese and shoved it down the line. We were now back to the way he started my order. One ham with cheese and one turkey with cheese.

“There you go.” Now he started with the next person’s large order. The next few minutes would produce a growing line of customers in a hurry to grab some lunch.

“Sir, I just want a #3 with no cheese and a #8. Please.”

His response, “Don’t confuse me with the numbers. Just make up your mind and tell me what you want.”

For the record, at Jersey Mike’s, the #3 is a ham sandwich and the #8 is a club sandwich with ham, turkey, and cheese. The original Jersey Mike’s opened in New Jersey in 1956. It began franchises in 1987. I am fairly certain that the #3 and #8 on the menu have not changed over the last thirty-five years.

“I would like a ham with no cheese and another sandwich with ham, turkey, and cheese.”

“Ham and no cheese?”

“Right.”

He set me up with a ham with cheese and a pastrami with no cheese. No kidding. The meat-cutter was busy piling up four sandwiches for the next order.

What do I do? Do I just walk out? Do I make a scene? Do I just pay for the sandwiches and chalk it up to a wrong order?

I kept shifting my weight back and forth from left foot to right foot. My mind was in whisper mode. Love First. Love Most. It’s a two-step dance. Lean with your weight shifted to the left foot and say to yourself, “Love First.” Lean right and say, “Love Most.” Repeat as necessary.

Now, I have to admit that I also thought of another place to put my foot.

While I danced and deliberated, the guy looked up at me with frustration and asked, “What’s wrong now?”

“That one sandwich looks like pastrami.”

“Yep, that’s what you ordered. You said you wanted a Number Three.”

I thought I was right on this one, but his insistence rattled my confidence. I looked up at the big menu board. Number Three still read “Ham.” Maybe I could fix the misunderstanding.

“Keep the ham and cheese. Could you just add some turkey to it? That will work. And then, fix another ham but with no cheese. That would be perfect.”

He angrily threw both sandwiches into the trash. We wasted enough food to feed a good part of China.

He asked the next two customers what they wanted to order. Thankfully, they did not order a Number Three. Then he stared at me. “What do you want?”

“I would like a ham without cheese. Just ham. Nothing else. Then I want another sandwich with turkey, ham, and cheese. It really does not matter if it has cheese or not.”

He countered with, “That is what I fixed you. One ham and one turkey. That’s what you said.”

I faked a laugh. “I see where you could have thought that I ordered a ham sandwich and a turkey sandwich. I should have been clearer with my order.”

Please note that I was saying something extremely different than what I was thinking.

“I would like the turkey and ham on the same sandwich. Then another sandwich with ham only. No cheese. Thank-you.”

The line of customers was getting angry. Some grumbled. One couple walked out in disgust. The sandwich maker was angry. As he threw more food into the trash, a co-worker walked by and said to him, “Are you alright?”

His loud reply, “No, this guy cannot make up his mind what sandwich he wants. He keeps changing his order.”

Now the counter crowd is muttering and whispering. One older man yells out, “Let’s get this line moving. People are in a hurry.”

Another waiting customer entertained us with his take on the situation. “I could have gone home and showered and still been back in time to get my sandwich.”

Ha. Ha. Really?

A young couple was the newest addition to the end of the waiting line. A lady turned and offered her loud condolences. “They are usually very fast here, but this one guy is holding up everyone. He keeps changing his order.”

Are you serious? Thank you, Karen. Thank you for your delicate discretion so as not to be overheard by anyone out on the street. Would you like to paint a bullseye on my back and pass out darts to everyone?

The wild mob was growing in numbers and impatience. I am staring at two more wrong sandwiches. You have to be kidding me! Is this Candid Camera or an episode from What Would You Do?

WHAT WOULD YOU DO? Exactly. Me too. That person is too hard to love first and most.

The little voice inside of me wanted to scream at everyone in the store. “I just want a ham sandwich without cheese and a club sandwich. Please hold the criticism. Please hold the sarcasm. Please hold the disgust.”

There were several more things I thought about saying. I even considered dropping the “F-bomb.”  My version of the “F- bomb” is “Forget it.” My uncle’s version was, “Kiss foot.”

The cat did not get my tongue, but, thankfully, the Lord stopped the words in my mind from making their way to my mouth.

I will spare you and the other customers the rest of the details. The fiasco got worse. The guy was having a bad day. Something was a little fried and it was not my ham sandwich.

The guy made me eight different versions of my order. That’s right. Eight. Seven were completely wrong and the eighth was partly correct.

I walked away muttering, “Thank you.” Some in the crowded line broke out into applause.

I am not trying to make you think I am some kind of saint. I thought of many things to say to embarrass the guy or cause him to get fired. I thought of several things I could do to make a scene and show how unhappy I was with the service. I even resisted the urge to storm out.

Most of you are probably thinking exactly what the impatient, hungry customers in the lengthy line were thinking. Just go, Mister. Either take the sandwich or leave. We don’t care.

I paid the cashier. Then I took the sandwiches and left. With no condiments. No Mike’s Way. Just some mini bread, meat, and one piece of cheese. I was too afraid to ask for a bag of chips. The trash bin was already overflowing.

How do you love first and most in a situation like that? How do you love a guy having a bad day? How do you love him when he is making your day worse? How do you love the upset bystanders first and most? What about the angry wise cracker? How do you love him first and most?

I hope you have the answer. It was a dilemma for me. A real pickle. Or as my trusted colleague, Jeff Segner, so often stated about my situation, “It’s a real conundrum.”

Conundrum: a confusing or difficult question. It is a puzzling problem, a paradox of conflicting resolutions which might even be impossible to solve.

Jeff resides in the State of Conundrum. He has to pay taxes to support the court system overwhelmed with his unresolved cases.

What about you? What if you want to move to the Love First and Love Most State?

Well, it is not easy. Sometimes, it is even hard. Why?

Because people are difficult to love. And that is what others are saying about me! I can tell you where to find one sandwich maker who thinks I am the most difficult person he has ever encountered. And I was trying to be nice!

Do you remember my year-end challenge from the Rocky movie? I do. “If I can change, and you can change, then we all can change.” Play the dramatic music.

Love First and Love Most resonates like a good exhortation for any Tip Toe Through the Tulips kind of person. It sounds so noble, so kind, so spiritual.

If you are going to try that two-step dance with people, then you will have to be tough. Not mean. Not hard-hearted. Tough. Determined. Not easily provoked and not easily stopped.

You will be tested. You will be challenged. You will be questioned. All of that will take place standing in front of a mirror. It’s hard to love that person looking back at you.

Wait until other people are involved! It might be easier to fly to the moon. At least, then, most of the difficult people would be over two hundred thousand miles away.

As I contemplated the sub shop scenario, I wanted to write that there are times when we cannot love first and most. Times when people are too difficult. Times when circumstances are too tense. Personalities that are too hard to crack with a love first gesture.

THAT IS SIMPLY NOT TRUE.

There are some people in certain circumstances that are just impossible to love first and most.

THAT IS SIMPLY NOT TRUE.

There are people we are not prepared to love first and most. There are people who make us too frustrated to keep on trying. There are people who cause us to give up because loving them first and most is hard. Very hard.

I would make a Baptist bet that you have written off someone who is difficult. They have crossed you or cursed you. They have disappointed you more than eight times. They are just hard to love.

My Winsday Wisdom for this week is “Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.”

If I can somehow get out of Jersey Mike’s with eight different variations of my simple order without a blowup or blowout, then there is hope. Even if everything did not go perfectly on the inside, there was progress.

I was aware of the goal. I did not lose sight of the goal. I did not give up on the goal.

I just realized this is much more difficult than learning to do a two-step dance. It goes perfectly when dancing with the Lord. However, there are a lot of stumbles when you engage another person.

The #1 Textbook has it all there in its easy to understand instructions. Be imitators of God. Use a tracing tablet. Walk in love just as Christ loved us. Follow His example.

Wow! That’s the ticket. The Lord dances with me. Sometimes I start out on the wrong foot. Sometimes I dance on the wrong foot. Sometimes I put the wrong foot in my mouth. I mess up over and over. Much more than eight times.

How does the Lord keep love-dancing with me? He never gives up.

He never embarrasses me. In fact, He covers up my missteps. He never ridicules me. He is longsuffering beyond immeasurable. He never tells me to forget it. He patiently encourages me to try again.

I stumble and fall. I complain and criticize. The Lord’s steadfast love picks me up. Over and over again.

Loving me first and most is no easy endeavor. Somehow, it is a joyful undertaking for our Lord. His forgiveness and patience exceed my miscues. His love outlasts my bad days and bad attitudes.

Imitate Him. Get out the tracing tablet.

I do not have to forget it. I never have to give up.

The Lord lives in me to lead me to others He intends to love through me. Put the lesson on repeat.

Did the Lord lead me to Jersey Mike’s so I would encounter a guy having a bad day? So bad that he could not get a Number Three order right?

Maybe the Love First and Most test was not about that guy. Maybe it was about me. Maybe the Lord was reminding me that I don’t always fulfill His requests correctly.

Maybe the Lord intended to push me out of my comfort zone to teach me that I could love someone as difficult as myself. Maybe the sub sandwich fiasco was about teaching me that loving first and most can be hard; but it can still be joyful.

I did not get the right sandwich order this week, but I practiced the two-step in a hard place. It was not really that hard. It was kinda comical.

The right response to “Hard Love” is to “Love Hard.”

How do you “Love Hard“?

Love first and most BEFORE you mess up or miss the opportunity.

Pray for me and I will pray for you as we walk in love. Let’s imitate the rhythm of that glorious two-step, Love first and Love most.

Be prepared for “That Hard Person to Love,” especially if you run into me.

I might order a Number Three…without cheese.
 

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 48

The Jeopardy game show category was “Adverbs.” The clue was “Starship Enterprise’s (Star Trek) 5-year mission included a famous split infinitive between “to” and “go.”

What is “to boldly go?” That is the correct answer.

Split infinitives. I already lost most of you except for a few English majors. Please hang on past the brief introduction. I believe there is a valid word of encouragement for all of us. You can substitute thoughts about healthy diet or exercise or anger control or any New Year’s resolution instead of split infinitives.

I have split infinitives all my life. My mother, my English teachers, and my editorial advisors have corrected and instructed me not to split infinitives. It is a lifelong habit. That is just how I talk and how I write. I have never changed. I really have never cared about changing…Until now.

WHY WOULD I CHANGE NOW? AND WHY SHOULD YOU CARE IF I CHANGE NOW?

Split infinitives: a grammatical construction in which an adverb (modifier) is placed between the preposition “to” and the verb. It is commonly used in our speech but is frowned upon by traditional educators in our writing.

Example of infinitive: “to go” or “not to go.”

Example of split infinitive: “to NOT go” or “to really go.” (The adverb has been placed in the middle of the infinitive.)

Perhaps, the best-known example of a proper infinitive is Shakespeare’s “To be or not to be.”

Best example of cultural use of the split infinitive is the Star Trek introduction, “To boldly go where no man has gone before.”

To split or not to split. That is the question.

The issue matters to some people. It never really mattered much to me. Most of you would shut this session down if it is really about grammatical construction of sentences.

I hope to just keep you around or just to keep you around for a few moments regarding why I mentioned my split infinitive dilemma.

The split infinitive has great relevance to my Love First and Love Most challenge.

Most of us are aware that the #1 Textbook provides a trusted guideline for our use of love in words and actions. However, we pay little attention to its suggested corrections or encouraging instructions on how to love first and love most.

When it comes to others, we love or not love in the manner we choose. We prefer to split the adverbs and replace the word love with self. Self-first and self-most.

In fact, our cultural acceptance of using love for self-benefit has influenced us all into mediocrity. We discount wholehearted devotion as a minor correction which can go unheeded. No need to change now.

We no longer strive for the more excellent way (#1 Textbook).

When it comes to loving others, I am a split infinitive. Set in my ways. Not planning to change. I might read a blog or listen to a sermon about loving first and most. I might even acknowledge that my words and actions do not meet that standard. But that is understandable. Even acceptable in my world.

This world understands. That is the way everyone talks. That is the way everyone loves. Our culture splits wholehearted devotion into fragmented sentences. First and most are modifiers used in reference to ourselves. We have always lived that way. No reason to change now.

I asked the rhetorical question earlier, WHY WOULD I CHANGE NOW?

BECAUSE IT IS RIGHT! BECAUSE IT IS A BETTER WAY TO LIVE (#1 Textbook).

Listen to the experts:

Mary Poppins said, “When you change the view from where you stood, the things you view will change for good.“

Spiderman declared, “Our choices make us who we are. We always have the choice to do what is right.”

Author Leo Tolstoy wrote, “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”

Rocky Balboa shouted encouragement to all of us at the end of Rocky IV, “If I can change, and you can change, everybody can change!”

Most importantly, the #1 Textbook declares we can change. It is always right to do what is right. That has been true since the beginning of time. It is still the true test of character today.

God says it is right to love first and love most. When it comes to loving God and loving others, there are no split infinitives.

There is an aged adage which states, “You cannot teach an old dog new tricks.” Who says? Dogs are smart and are instinctively good learners. It is the dog owner who sometimes lacks the patience to teach.

Our Teacher has not given up on raising our love to a higher level. We are not old dogs. Some of us might be old and stubborn and set in our ways. However, the reason we remain here on earth is to learn how to love others without split infinitives in our hearts.

I can learn to Love First and Love Most. You can learn.

Nobody learns to love better by trying harder. Love flows from our heart’s attachment to God. God is love. We cannot become loving without the source.

God’s love is a life-changing power. God’s love changes our character.

Character is about who we are. Love is the fruit of character.

Love is not a to-do-list. It is a heart change.

Here is the APPLICATION of that truth for me.

If I can change my writing of split infinitives, then I can change my words and actions to love first and most.

Here is hope for you and those lives you touch with words and actions. If I can change, you can change.

1. Let’s start caring about whether we live and love in a more excellent way.
2. Let’s listen better to our Teacher gently correct and instruct us. Maybe we can take notes from the #1 Textbook.
3. Let’s recognize when our words and actions convey less than wholehearted devotion.
4. Let’s make a choice to change. We can even race toward the finish line.
5. Let’s learn to trace God’s love into our love for others.

“TO BE OR NOT TO BE” A LOVE FIRST AND LOVE MOST PERSON.

                                          THAT IS THE QUESTION.

People can change. I can change.

Even if no one else changes, I can change.

WITH GOD’S HELP…I WILL CHANGE!

I invite you to join me in loving first and loving most. Our mission is to boldly go where we have not gone before!

What the world needs now is love, sweet love
It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of
What the world needs now is love, sweet love
No, not just for some but for everyone.