LOVE FIRST…LOVE MOST

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

This is my bi-annual post on the political landscape of our time. It is just my observation.

If you are conservative or liberal or moderate, please do not read this. If you are “woke” or “far-right” on social issues, please do not read this. Same goes for you who are progressive or MAGA. There is nothing in this post which will convince you to change your political position. It might even make you mad (madder).

I am just talking to myself, and I do not have any hope that I can even persuade myself to embrace a different political mindset. This is only my perspective of our current politics. I do not claim I am right, but if you stop reading now, then I was able to change your mind.

Ha! “I love the thrill of victory and I also love the challenge of defeat” (New York Yankee legend, Lou Gehrig).

Here is my brief political resume. I took a picture with a Democratic governor. I worked in Washington, D.C. for a U.S. Senator. I shook hands with several Presidents.

I watched thousands of young men and women such as myself carry briefcases and submit unnecessary new laws and red tape regulations in order to justify their salaries. I imagine their mothers proudly posted their work on the homeland refrigerator. Following a large federal government gathering, I rode in a car with older political operatives I admired. Sadly, they turned into vulgar chameleons on their way to the post-victory celebration. I lost some confidence in our political leaders that night.

I unsuccessfully ran for a state political office, defeated in a landslide. I campaigned door-to-door throughout the district and only met one person who was honest enough to say she would not vote for me. I wish Mom would not have said that.

And I once lost a debate about climate control with my wife. In the spirit of unity amidst diversity, I was the one who rose from my chair and turned off the air conditioning.

Where did that illustrious political career begin?

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 had little 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. Their observations provided colorful, witty, and insightful commentary about the debate at the round table. Their entertainment was therapeutic relief for being denied the right to vote.

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. I am not sure anyone listened, but no one spoke when she had the stage.

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 heard, but internally discounted because of the liberal influences from his transplant to the West Coast.

Uncle Sherman and my mom were the loudest. Sherman’s commanding voice had been trained by his years as a football coach yelling at the officials.

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.

Uncle Curt 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 SUPERSEDES 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, even threats of civil war.

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.

There is not much wiggle room for discussion once a person has decided they have the truth and then they only listen or watch things that reinforce that position. There is no middle ground, no compromise, nothing we can agree on.

So, we decide we will debate the issues. No one changes their minds. We just cheer on our own position. And should I ever mention I do not like one side, people assume I have embraced the other.

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 change 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.

Can we minimize the “apocalyptic” rhetoric? Shouts and shots. Protests and propaganda. Taunts and threats. Political rivals engaged in name calling and cage fights.

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 have precedent over 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.

OVER TIME, YOUR CHARACTER EITHER ERODES OR GROWS.

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.

United in our diversities.

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.

Vote, but do not allow the outcome to change you emotionally. God will still be on His throne.

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. Let’s hug it out!

(Back by popular demand every baseball season…)

 

Take me out to the ball game,                                                                                                          Take me out to the crowd.                                                                                                              Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks.                                                                                         I don’t care if I never get back.

Let me root, root, root for the home team                                                                                       If they don’t win it’s a shame.                                                                                                 ‘Cause it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out                                                                                   At the old ballgame.  –Take Me Out to the Ballgame

It’s baseball season! So, it’s back! Back! Back! Gone!

It is out of here! But where did it go? Not the homerun baseball but those delicious cheese nachos! Someone took them!

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

Have you ever had something stolen where you see the likely suspect, but you do not have solid proof? Do you confront them? You know they will deny it no matter what. They might even be severely offended.

Little siblings go through this all the time in their appeals and denials to mother. Something is missing and someone must have stolen it. Teachers regularly deal with students making these accusations. The police investigate such things. Corporations sue over stolen ideas, secrets, and copyrights. 

I cannot think of any situation with higher stakes than when someone steals your cheese nachos. Follow this true story and the investigative revelation of the shocking suspect.

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

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

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

I loved watching my kids enjoying their baseball park hot dogs just as I did many years ago. Let the contest begin. They savored the hot dogs rather than snarfing them down like Joey Chestnut, the world record champion.

After all the food was distributed, I could not find the cheese nachos. I thought I had placed them at my feet below the seat. I asked each member of the family. I searched everywhere. I racked my brain.

Did I leave the cheese nachos at the concession counter? Did this guy next to me take them? His buddy was eating cheese nachos. They were both laughing. It looked very suspicious. Do I confront them? Cause a scene? Embarrass them and my family?

I whispered to my wife that the fans on our aisle had stolen my cheese nachos. She told me to let it go. I couldn’t.

IT WAS THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING. I COULD NOT LET THIS GO! 

WE ARE TALKING ABOUT BASEBALL PARK CHEESE NACHOS!

My fixation was momentarily halted as my favorite player was in the on-deck circle. A home run would change my mood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE IMPORTANT EVENT WAS THE SURPRISE DISCOVERY OF THE MISSING CHEESE NACHOS, UNEATEN BY THE RUDE FAN TO MY LEFT.

THE CHEESE NACHOS MAGICALLY REAPEARED WHEN I ROSE FROM MY SEAT TO TAKE MY SON TO THE RESTROOM.

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

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

MY BLUE SHORTS WERE COVERED IN CHEESE NACHOS!

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

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

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

My son was extremely embarrassed. He acted as if he did not know me.

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

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

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

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

In some moments, our well-intentioned love first and love most plans suddenly disappear from view. Our frustration grows as no one helps us. The other persons are more interested in getting their way or having their say.

SO, YOU GIVE UP THE PLAN TO LOVE FIRST AND LOVE MOST. INSTEAD, YOU BLAME OTHERS FOR THE MISSING LINK. THAT USUSALLY ENDS UP IN A MESSY SITUATION. 

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

We live in a culture of chronic complainers. There is always something to grumble and gripe about. The line is too long. The traffic is so congested. The gas prices are too high. The fast food is so bad. The ice cream serving size is too small. The day is too hot; Walmart is too crowded. The concert fan in front of us thinks we bought tickets to watch her dance and sing.

And would someone please tell that poor sucker that he has cheese nachos dripping from his blue shorts?

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

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

I WISH I SPENT AS MUCH TIME IN MY LIFE COUNTING MY BLESSINGS AS I HAVE SEARCHING AND BLAMING OTHERS FOR THE THINGS I DO NOT HAVE OR LOST…LIKE MY MISSING CHEESE NACHOS.

I am making progress. I truly desire to make a positive impact in this life. If that is my goal in ALL things, then I need to lose the negative attitude and words.

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

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

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

 ‘Cause it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out                                                                                   At the old ballgame. 

Customer Service Headaches! I have documented my frustrations several times. This one has a different resolution. It was shocking!

My exasperation with poor customer service usually involves the normal ruin-my-day suspects…phone companies and insurance agencies. Occasionally, a food provider messes up big time.

This week, it was my bank. I do not need to elaborate on the forty-six-minute call for assistance on a banking error I discovered in my monthly statement. I could fill the time with sarcastic humor regarding these serious faux paus.

I will just summarize the call for assistance to correct the matter: I talked/listened to the automated Annie (twice), one customer service rep disconnection, and then eight (Yes EIGHT) various “supervisors” in Customer Service, Claims, Personal Banking, Business Banking, Resolutions, Money Market Services, Escalation, and Research.

No one had the authorization or the understanding to help me.

Research finally understood the problem and transferred me back to Claims. As I explained the situation (again) to file an appeal, I made an interesting discovery. No, it was a shocking discovery!

This was not an “Eureka” shout of jubilation. Neither was it a “Watson, come here” communication breakthrough. I did not feel as if I were the Jeopardy contestant with a correct answer on the Daily Double nor the winning guest who solved The Wheel of Fortune puzzle.

I WAS WRONG!

The bank had already resolved the error. That line item had escaped my purview.

The conclusion hit me like a ton of bricks. My sarcastic frustration with the bank’s inability to understand and resolve my problem slowly shifted to personal embarrassment and panic.

Do I just hang up? Disconnect? Do I thank the last lady for her attempts at resolution while saying I will take care of the matter myself? Do I make a joke?

My mind froze, shocked by the realization of being wrong…for once.

“Sir…Sir…Are you still there? Are you still on the line?”

“Excuse me Ma’am. I believe I was wrong. The bank statement is correct. I just misread it. I am sorry for your trouble (and the other seven representatives who are having a worse day because of my subtle sarcasm about the inefficiencies of this bank’s resolution system). Thank you for your time.”

I WAS WRONG!

That happens far more than I admit. Family members, friends, co-workers, and enemies know I am wrong. Some tell me. Some cut off the relationship. Some put up with it.

I watched a movie this week where the star talked about how he argued with his now deceased wife but gave in on one issue about their child.

“We argued. For weeks.”

 And then one day she just said to me, “Why do you fight so hard when it means nothing to you?”

Why did you? “Because I thought I was right.”

And do you ever regret giving in?

“I regret…not giving in more often.”

Me, too!

I try to do what is right. I try to love and respect others. Sometimes, being right wins out over love and respect. I enjoy being proven right. Don’t you? Sure, you do. Why else do you continue the discussion, argument, debate, or fight.

But I have hurt too many hearts while insisting I am right.

That is Wrong!

In situations which take place in my “blind spots” of life, I just do not see that I am the one in the wrong.

And I do not like having that pointed out. I have always been embarrassed by corrections!

There have been moments where I had more egg on my face than this recent bank snafu.

In my world’s perspective, (1) people appear to be quick to point out where someone else is wrong, (2) ready to argue when their opinion or version of events is challenged, and (3) very reluctant to admit being wrong, even in trivial matters.

Adam and Eve set the tone for our natural reaction to our wrong action. Just as they did, I (we) make excuses and pass the buck. “It was not my fault…Do not blame me.”

Adam and Eve did wrong. They thought wrong and acted wrong. They became swamped with feelings of shame, loneliness, and the need to hide.

They were caught apple-red handed and stripped naked of all excuses. Adam was cornered hiding in the bushes. So, he sought to pass the blame…not once but twice (first to Eve and then to God).

Excuse #1: “It was the woman. It was what she wanted.… What was I supposed to do? Tell her ‘No’ and then listen to her pout and whine all night?”

Excuse #2: “God, you are the one who gave that woman…Eve…to be my wife. She was not my idea. I did not have this problem when it was just the animals and me.”

“It is NOT my fault.”

I believe that it is fairly universal for us to “see the sawdust in the eye of the other person while ignoring the ten-foot pole in our own eye” (#1 Textbook). We refuse to look in the mirror to see our own “blind spots.”

I think most of us do not like to be painted as being wrong. I certainly do not want to admit it.

And another thing…what about all those discussions, corrections, arguments, text battles, or world wars where you are right? Then you finally realize this is not going anywhere except to Disgust Corner or Depression Central? That is wrong. Stop. Learn to stop before it starts.

I read recently that some of the more destructive words in a relationship are, “All I said was…” I would add these words as a close second, “Maybe I messed up but you always…”

Exactly.

Some emotional experts say it is a sign of strength to admit when you are wrong. More importantly, Jesus said it was a basic and necessary element of love.

The only perfect one, Jesus, willingly died on a cross bearing “all our wrongs.”  He called it LOVE.

To all you out there and those close to me here, please forgive me for questioning, debating, arguing, or fighting when it was obvious to you that I was wrong.

I wish I had seen “my wrong” more often. I wish I had admitted “my wrong” each time. There are times I wish I had claimed “I am wrong” even when I was not.

“Whoever hides his wrongfulness will not be happy, but the one who admits his wrong and changes his attitude and actions will find a better life” (Proverbs 28:13).

I wish I had said more often, “I was wrong. Please forgive me.”

I hope to do better in the future.

Counsel to my soul:

I do not need to win every argument, debate, or discussion. I do not need to “prove” the other person wrong.

“A man convinced against his will…Is of the same opinion still.” (probably Samuel Butler used by Dale Carnegie and others).

Our difficulties in admitting personal wrong transcend our marital differences, political battle lines, and religious dogma tests.

Music, politics, diets, parenting, and medical advice are much more about preferences than correctness. Preferences are NOT persuaded by arguments.

Opinions are just…someone’s opinion. Their wrong opinion does not change my opinion; therefore, it should not make my day or life any worse.

Please Note: That is just my opinion.

My present becomes my past with each passing moment. Time is too precious to waste on trivial pursuits, trinket thoughts, or trashy debates.

The Kingdom of God with its love, peace, and joy is far more important than correctness on secondary matters, including my opinion, which is “always right” …(well, almost always).

Join me in praying to become more of a (1) conduit of LOVE, (2) instrument of PEACE, and (3) an overflowing vessel of JOY.

And why in the world do I feel as if my opinion needs to be defended?

I think it’s easier to just say, “I am wrong!”

Then I can just bathe my soul in the joy on that other person’s face!

Pray for me. I am still a work in progress!

Before I share some thoughts about loneliness, I want to comment on my middle brother who just recently retired from his successful career as a highly acclaimed football coach. I am extremely proud of him and the many awards. Bill was one of the innovators of the “no-huddle offense.” I was able to stand in the shadows and observe his remarkable mind for the game of football, and even more importantly, his vast positive impact on the lives of so many people.

Bill became a high school and college football coach, Hall of Fame stuff…a legend.

How did my little brother become one of the greatest coaches? Here is a peak into the real behind the scenes story.

While others pour accolades on his accomplishments, I tend to reminisce about the early years which shaped him into the man he has become. In the beginning of his football life, Bill was lonely…very lonely.

Although Bill played quarterback in college, he began his career as the “Lonesome End” in our family football games.

I loved playing football with my cousins in our grandparents’ yard. The field was only six to ten yards wide, but we were small enough that it provided plenty of room for us to run, pass, and tackle.

Jimmy was the oldest and he divided the teams. He was our Captain Hero. The big day came when little Bill was allowed to join in the gridiron fun. Actually, our mom told us to let him play or else we would all be grounded from outside sports. We chose Bill’s inclusion on the team over our joining him for an afternoon nap.

Bill was finally given a place on the athletic field. This induction followed his weekly rugged astronaut torture (I mean, training) overseen by my friend and me.

HARD! SMART! TOUGH! That was the challenge Coach Bill placed before his team at every game. It became the team mantra. Where did that phrase originate? Astronaut Training.

His astronaut tests focused on being able to navigate a straight course following the centrifugal force of the merry-go-round. He was required to show stamina by hanging on the monkey bars while being pelted with foreign objects.

The dangerous heights of the swing set challenged his fears. The claustrophobic experience of a space capsule was mimicked by burial in the pole vault sand pit. Every session concluded with the “Right Stuff” challenge of making good decisions while facing the pain and pressure from outside objects, specifically his brother and my friend.

What if the Klingons forcefully tackle you…again and again? Astronauts never quit! Never!

The isolated inaction of the side yard gridiron became a nice break from the regulated punishment schedule of our space agency.

Jimmy had a brilliant idea. He told Bill to be the “Lonesome End,” a new formation adopted from The United States Military Academy Army Football team. Their coach developed this innovative concept as part of his offensive strategy.

This was how Captain Hero explained the very important role to Bill. What was he supposed to do? There were four things to remember:

(1) Line up very wide, far away from the rest of us (on that small playing surface).

(2) Never come join in the huddle (just stay out there).

(3) Be ready to catch a pass (which will never be thrown even though no one ever defended against him).

(4) Switch sides when the other team gets the ball and play “Lonesome End” for their team.

Bill stood by the hedges, never came into the huddle to hear what play we were running, never had the ball thrown to him, and then turned around and faced the opposite direction while standing by the hedges.

I can still see him getting into his stance…every play. He ran out ready to catch a pass…every play. Alignment and Assignment and have a good Attitude…every play. (This is the real preparatory source for his future in coaching…and he was one of the innovators of the no-huddle offense long before it became the new norm of our gridiron pastime. Where do you think he got that idea?)

Give him credit. He never complained, which is something he learned in astronaut exercises. He even got in on the hand slaps when the team celebrated a touchdown.

Every night, Elvis Presley would sing tired little Willie to sleep. “Are you lonesome tonight? Are you sorry we drifted apart? You know someone said that the world is a stage, and each must play a part. Is your heart filled with pain? Will you come back again? Tell me, Bill. are you lonesome tonight?”

Welcome to Big Time Football. Is it any wonder that Coach Bill always called the plays when he was coaching? Kinda ironic. Just like wimping out over being an astronaut. Dad stopped the astronaut training after too many trips to the doctor.

Bill traded “The Right Stuff” for “The Legend of the Lonesome End.” He seemed happy.

I think he still practices that “look like you are a team player while doing absolutely nothing” for his wife, Angie. She has placed him back into astronaut training. How ironic. The Circle of Life.

The Army Football Team’s first “Lonesome End” was Bill Carpenter.

The team’s innovative tactic was to align Carpenter, their split-end receiver, near the far sideline and leave him outside of huddles. Today, most teams use wide receivers that way in the “no-huddle offense” while signaling the play from the sideline.

Carpenter played on an undefeated West Point team as well as being awarded All-American status. He was inducted into the College Hall of Fame. Carpenter was later awarded The Distinguished Service Cross for saving his unit during the Viet Nam War when he radioed for an air strike on his own position.

Bill was accepted into the Air Force Academy. Although he never served in the military, there were several July 4^th air strikes called in on his toys’ position. Sometimes, you must blow up the model airplanes in order to save a few of the toy soldiers.

Once, my best friend Mike launched a croquet ball strike right into the chest of Bill. He was warned and he saw it coming. I think he was confused about the rules of whether he was allowed to move or not. He did not move!

The loud thud was somewhat frightening. Fortunately, the severely inflicted pain punishment of the astronaut assignments paid off. The “Lonesome Croquet Player” standing near the hedges survived. He never let go of his mallet.

Bill was later awarded the Popsicle Purple Heart.

It was a little sad listening to the sound of the Bee Gees coming from his bedroom that night.

“How can you mend a broken heart? How can a loser ever win? Please help me mend my broken chest and let me live again.”

My mother once defended Bill to some football critics by claiming she did not raise any “dummies.” I believe Mom originated the famous quote by Colonel Jessup in the movie, A Few Good Men, when she punctuated the end of the discussion with those frightened fans.

“You can’t handle the truth.”

I never did win an argument with Mom, so I will just state the facts about the son she called Cool Breeze.

He went through months of weekly astronaut torture without complaint. He played Lonesome End on both teams for several hours. He watched our fireworks blow up the objects he had spent weeks building. He stood immoveable as a hard croquet ball traveling at a high rate of speed smashed into his chest. He married a Special Ed teacher.

I rest my case.

“Yes, Mom, I know you birthed him, and he is not a dummy. Yes Ma’am, I understand his underwear is not a matter of national security. No, I cannot handle the truth.”

Do you ever feel as if you are the “Lonesome End?”

Loneliness is the state of distress or discomfort that results when one perceives a gap between one’s desires for social connection and actual experiences of it.

Loneliness is much more than just feeling sad and isolated. It lies at the core of unhappiness, manifesting itself in anxiety, depression, envy, and a sense of unworthiness.

That sense of “there is no one else who cares about me” can cause us to withdraw even more or even shut down emotionally.

Loneliness can hurt. Feeling unloved. Loss of human contact.

It happened during the Covid quarantine, and it happens in times of sickness and death. Sometimes loneliness is self-imposed, but usually it is a dreaded companion to solitude. Loneliness can be generated by a long period of time or a vast measurement of distance.

The Beatles sang the depressing song about Elanor Rigby and Father McKenzie.

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?                                                               

All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

Of course, being alone and being lonely are not the same.

One can feel lonely because of new surroundings or different people. One can experience thoughts of loneliness while in a crowd.

Even with the increase of social media platforms to keep us connected to others, we can still feel “disconnected.” There can be a sense of feeling “left out” or “unimportant” or “rejected.”

Henry David Thoreau wrote that most people live lives of quiet desperation.

Do you have lonely nights filled with tears and fears? Do you sit alone at home and cry?

For some of you, the loss of a loved one has brought loneliness into your life. Someone is missing. Share those feelings with someone with a compassionate heart. Others have been where you are now.

For others, self-isolation might be a matter of preference. It can also be an environment for creativity and deep thoughts, enjoyment of reading and music.

Whether by choice or by circumstance, loneliness can be used to forge a deeper relationship with God and His Word. God never leaves you alone, even when you are unaware or unappreciative of His presence.

Only God can solve the loneliness issues in your life. You were created to have an intimate relationship with God. That closeness can expand to others in the circle of your family or friends.

All through the #1 Textbook there are reminders of God’s ever-present concern and compassion. Paul expressed it this way, “No one stood with me. Everyone forgot me…but the Lord stood with me and strengthened me” (2 Timothy 4:16-17).

Jesus promised to never leave or forsake you. “I will be with you always.”

Loneliness can also be a reminder to Love first and Love most. There are many lonely people out there. Send out a prayer, a text, a card, or a call.

Others are navigating through their wilderness solitude. You have been there; maybe you are still there. Reach out. What if they do not reach back? Give them space and send them love. Pray for them. They are just where you are.

Loneliness is real, but it does not have to be forever. It is the wakeup call that God has someone out there for you. If that special someone has passed, you will miss them to the point you might feel as if you cannot survive. That is a result of loving them.

A new season in life has new joys and love. Eyes up!

Solitude is different than loneliness. It does not have to be a lonely time. Engage your mind and heart in things that elevate your soul.

Our greatest relationships still lie in the future. Loneliness has an expiration date. If not here on earth, then in the next life where love will only increase in joy and capacity.

There might be moments or seasons of life where you want to be the “Lonesome End.” Maybe you feel as if you have been assigned that position by the rest of humanity.

Stay in the game. You have a choice. You have a standing invitation to join the huddle.

The loss of a person(s) or place will hurt, but loneliness can also be a pathway to greater joy.

Loneliness is a season in the journey. It can have a good ending. Someone is praying for you.

For the record, many athletes have been inspired by “Hard! Smart! Tough!”…the result of lonely astronaut training.

Many football teams enjoy fun and success with the “no-huddle” offense…the result of innovative thinking while spending time in a lonesome place.

So let me say it loud and clear for all the nay-sayers out there.

OUR MOM DID NOT RAISE ANY DUMMIES!

REWIND WINSDAY WISDOM for your July 4th entertainment.

SOMETIMES IT IS HARD TO LOVE.

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

You might even be on vacation with them. OUCH! Or watching Fireworks with them, both real and emotional. The climatic finish intended to be spectacular can end up in major disappointment.

Why is this “love first and love most” thing so hard? Why do others just have a knack for ruining your day? Mine started at the Jersey Mike’s sub-shop.

I really desire to be a person who Loves First and Loves Most. 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.

In fact, our July 4th celebration reminds me that I am FREE to love first and love most.

That commitment was greatly challenged when I went to Jersey Mike’s for some sub sandwiches. I have a regular order, but there was a different guy behind the counter. The place was not too busy; I was 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.”

Let the Fireworks begin!

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 spoke slowly and respectfully. The #1 Textbook says it is good to be “long-fused.”

“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? Or do I follow my instincts and light up the entire firecracker package?

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 or a well-placed bottle-rocket.

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?”

Yes, I felt the missile go right by my ear. He was aiming for the heart.

“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 a cherry bomb explosion, “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. Apparently, my lighter was not working properly.

I repeated my request and added a “Thank you.”

The line of customers began to look as if we were at a Fireworks stand having a sale.

People were getting impatient and angry. Those are usually the kind of sparks that blow up any celebratory function. Some grumbled. One couple walked out in disgust.

The sandwich maker was angry…angrier! 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.”

Yep, he shot off the loud mortar shell. The big bang got everyone’s attention.

Now the awakened 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 Roman candles’ 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 of your inflammable showstopper. Would you like to paint a bullseye on my back and pass out bottle rockets 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 anger.”

There were several more things I thought about saying. I even considered dropping the “Fireworks 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.

The Fireworks show was over.

You know how that feels. You leave the scene with unforgettable memories that burn your hide. You dwell on all the things you wish you had said or done. Your thoughts are filled with that hard to love person.

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 her first and most?

HOW DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE WHO IS HARD TO LOVE?

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.

What about you? What if you want to become more of a Love First and Love Most person?

Well, it is not easy. Sometimes, it is even hard. Sometimes, it appears impossible. 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 the challenge from the Rocky movie where the Russian-USA friction was set in the scenario of an inconceivable and irrecoverable nuclear fireworks display? 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 or Kum-ba-Yah kind of person. It sounds so noble, so kind, so spiritual.

If you are going to try that two-step dance with people during these times, 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.

You will need a very long fuse. God’s store is the only place where they are available. The good news is that they are free and fully stocked.

Loving yourself can be very difficult. Wait until other people are involved! It might be easier to jump over the moon.

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.

I was thinking of some people in certain circumstances that are just impossible to love first and most.

THAT IS SIMPLY NOT TRUE. Can you handle the truth?

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.

Progress. Not Perfection, but Progress.

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 “long-fused” love outlasts my bad days and bad attitudes.

Imitate Him. Get out the tracing tablet. Never 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 LOVE MOST TEST WAS NOT ABOUT THAT GUY AT THE JERSEY MIKE’S FIREWORKS STAND. 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 dance 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. We are FREE to 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.

REWIND WISDOM–THE BEAT OF A BIG HEART: Tribute to Curtis Davis & his Friends (part 2)

It was the night an aerial egg bombardment replaced the thrown snowballs which ignited the first Boston Massacre. Two hundred years separated this altercation which threatened a similar fate. I was frightened that the young people under my supervision might be the next victims before the night was over.

Let me set the stage for my feared repeat of the Boston Massacre. The opposing sides were different. The impending danger was real, much more so than I can describe. American and specifically Boston history proves that angry skirmishes can escalate to hateful actions and deadly force.

The first Boston Massacre was a deadly 1770 riot started when some angry American colonists pelted a British soldier with snowballs. The resulting street brawl quickly escalated to a chaotic, bloody slaughter of five Americans.

The next years recorded how the raucous conflict of the Boston Massacre expanded to the Boston Tea Party, “the shot heard around the world” at the North Bridge, Paul Revere’s ride, the American Revolution, and the Miracle of the United States of America.

I was back in Boston where I went to college. My grades could qualify as a Boston Massacre. It was a Boston Miracle that I was granted a university diploma! It cannot be historically validated, but there were rumors Harvard College relented to my graduation to avoid the threat of my mom’s impending Boston Massacre!

I played quarterback at Harvard University. While in Boston, I worked with some hardened young boys at the South Boston Boys Club. The interaction shocked my rural Oklahoma sheltered life.

The kids arrived with black eyes and bloody noses from fights with friends, enemies, and fathers. Their language would have embarrassed salty sailors. Their disrespect for authority had no limits. They were not Little Rascals. They were ruffians, scoundrels, and hooligans hidden inside kid bodies.

My heart was drawn to their plight. This trip was an opportunity to bring two worlds together in the bonds of God’s love.

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

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

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

The sharp contrasts and strong conflicts we encountered were much wider, longer, higher, and deeper than the cultural differences of the East Coast and Midwest. Chelsea is a highly industrialized city with the second most densely populated area in the state. Most residents identify as Hispanic or Latino.

At the time of our visit, racial tension and conflict were rampant. It was ranked the state’s poorest and most dangerous city. Yes. The poorest and most dangerous city. What was I thinking?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our well-intentioned, sheltered youth sat on the front steps of the church and started to sing as local gangs gathered across the street. The saccharine sweetness tasted bitter to the target audience.

Lyrics of love and peace were quickly silenced by shouts of profanity and protests of thrown eggs crashing on and around the singers. The kum-ba-yah moment transformed into war zone terror as the kids fled into the sanctuary for safety.

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

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

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

Inside, kids were sobbing hysterically, not just the girls. Bags were packed. The sounds of retreat were everywhere from sea to shining sea. Parents back home heard the assault accounts from their frightened children.

Social media was ablaze with horror stories, some true, mostly fake news. New England brogue expressing “she was hit by an egg” became translated in Midwestern twang, “she was shot in the leg?”

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

Things got worse!

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

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

Death threats filled the night air like cruise missiles aimed at our ears. We were reminded that the notorious Boston Strangler was still on the loose.

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

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

Yes, this was the place where the first projectiles of the Revolutionary War were snowballs, eggs, and English tea. We were not faced with taxation and tyranny, but the nighttime terror felt dangerously intense.

This is the city where, years earlier, I witnessed special law-enforcement riot units clad with masked helmets and shields take down student war protesters with pepper gas and batons. For the record, I am a grateful supporter of our men and women in blue who sacrifice their lives to protect us from harm.

I was not a protester that night in Cambridge, but I got teargassed while observing the confrontation from a nearby tree branch. Our present little skirmish was small Irish potatoes to these mob-tested, clam chowder cops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The potential Boston Massacre became a real Miracle!

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

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

IT WAS A BOSTON MIRACLE!

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

Our bus departed early morning at the end of the week.

It looked like a scene from a movie.

It was raining. Both sides of the street, for three blocks, were covered with people of all ages standing in the rain. A few had umbrellas.

Most were soaking wet. Waving goodbye, tapping their hearts, and blowing kisses to our kids. Some were brushing away tears. The gang walked alongside the rolling bus, a guardian escort of respect. Maybe love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love First. Love Most.

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

Addendum: Curtis Davis found Jesus at the beginning of that trip. These special friends of Curtis group still rock the world with the love of Christ.

Recently, a friend shared news about the drummer who unlocked the gate to the gang leader’s interest. About five years after the seeds of Christ’s love were planted into his heart on the Boston mission trip, our drummer found the MIRACLE of new life with Jesus.

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

I pray someone will hear the beat of your heart this week.

THIS IS A TRIBUTE TO CURTIS DAVIS WHO WENT TO BE WITH OUR JEHOVAH-JIREH GOD THIS WEEK. CURTIS HAD JUST CELEBRATED HIS 47th RE-BIRTH DAY OF FOLLOWING JESUS. THAT “WALK THE WALK” JOURNEY BEGAN IN A YOUTH HOSTEL IN NIAGARA, CANADA, ON A MISSION TRIP TO BOSTON AND WASHINGTON, D.C.

THE GREEN CANTEEN FAITH INCIDENT OCCURRED TWO MONTHS LATER. I PRAY WE ALL LEARN AND LIVE THIS LESSON OF FAITH.

“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.

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 did that all the way to the finish line.

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!

(Curtis shared a prayer when I told him about this coming story, “I hope it has HALF the effect on your audience that it had on ME! Even ONE TENTH will do! So blessed and thankful for God’s direction and instruction…and the green canteen still has ice cold water in it, right?!?”)

I do not know how (1) this green canteen (2) full of cold water (3) ended up under a bush (4) on the mountain (5) at exactly the spot we stopped (6) while we were discussing the “Jehovah-Jireh” story and (7) at the very 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

Pat Tilley wrote my name on a piece of paper that changed the entire course of my life, family, and ministry. In truth, it changed the lives of thousands of people for the better.

God’s ways are as mysterious as the pathway of the wind and as the manner in which a human spirit is infused into the little body of a baby while it is yet in its mother’s womb (Ecclesiastes 11:5).

William Cowper penned these lyrics:

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sov’reign will.

I treasure and share the same truth with these words:

GOD ALWAYS KNOWS…WHERE YOU ARE…WHERE YOU NEED TO BE…HOW… AND WHEN…TO GET YOU THERE.

So, trust God, be happy, and stay faithful where you are now.

I was happy where I was. God had moved our family to the Oklahoma Panhandle. Several well-known ministers warned me that it was professional suicide, similar to Moses being banished to the wilderness.

I loved the people in our Guymon church. I was content and blessed. The church allowed me to build an awesome staff whom I worked with most of my life. Jeff Segner, Derek Cox, Big John Flanagan, and Steve Sharp. I met college cowboy Mike Fanning, and a young Tim Gibson who is now my pastor. These men and their wonderful wives continue to impact the Kingdom.

Pat Tilley was an All-Pro wide receiver for the NFL St. Louis (now Arizona) Cardinals. His reception of God’s direction in leading me to where God wanted me to be ranks among the most important of all his spectacular pass catches throughout his career.

I was teaching the morning Bible study at the national Fellowship of Christian Athletes summer conference in Estes Park, Colorado. My main points roared through the Rocky Mountains in the reverberating shouts of hundreds of high school and college athletes. They continued to resonate through the subsequent years.

SIN NEVER WINS. FAITH NEVER FAILS. CHRIST CROWNS THE CHAMPIONS.

Pat Tilley was one of the evening speakers. My friendship with him began when his little girl fell and bumped her head on a rock.

Later that summer, Pat met some old high school friends at a Shreveport softball game. Bill Johnson had been a prep basketball teammate. Cliff Roberts mentioned his church was looking for a new pastor. Pat did not attend that church, but he recommended me.

Pat was told that the pastoral search committee chaired by Vernon Adams was searching through many resumes and would not consider any prospective pastor without one being submitted.

Later that next week, Pat went out of his way, stopped by the office of Sunset Acres Baptist Church, picked up a scrap sheet of paper, and wrote on it…Rex Blankenship…Guymon, Oklahoma.

That was it. One simple act of writing a name on a scratch sheet of paper changed everything in my life and in hundreds, if not thousands, of other lives.

God uses little things and flawed people like Pat and me to accomplish His purposes which are beyond our comprehension and control.

Rindy Stovall, Grady Luttrell, Cliff, and Pat Snipe flew to Guymon to listen to a sermon. Somehow, they convinced the others on the search committee to invite me to visit Shreveport. Their interest ended when I told the group I thought the church was divided.

I was right. They agreed. Even the pastoral search committee was divided. Once a thriving Shreveport church, Sunset Acres was now a transitional neighborhood in a racially charged town. The church had been without a pastor for over two years. Now they struggled to find a new direction and purpose.

Following our mutual closure of any future partnership, I continued to enjoy my ministry time in the Oklahoma wastelands. The Shreveport church offered their pastorate to a Louisiana man.

My next year would be filled with some surprising unsought opportunities (and no resume submissions).

A growing church in Oklahoma City asked me to serve as their pastor. The search committee was made up of five men my age and younger who were all successful millionaires. (I was not.) They had a vision for a great future work.

One of the largest churches in Georgia offered me a senior pastor position to preach to several thousand each week. The position included free education for my children. This was the church which later became known world-wide for its Christian themed movie productions.

In the same month, the national denomination recruited me to pastor a new church in one of the more upscale Houston suburbs. These all appeared to be awesome opportunities.

However, I just could not get a sense of peace about God’s direction. I went for a week to a summer church camp with the promise to my wife that I would spend much time in prayer and God’s Word for a clear understanding of God’s will.

I came home discouraged. I sensed God closing the doors to all those wonderful opportunities. I told my wife that I was no longer sure I even could hear God’s voice or figure out His plan for our lives. I think she agreed with that assessment.

Vicki asked about the Shreveport church. I replied it was divided over past leadership and would be a nightmare for an outsider. The location was in a very difficult area for ministry. The salary was much less than where we were. Most importantly, they already had a new pastor.

Vicki responded, “Well, if Shreveport ever calls again, we need to go there.”

The very next morning while we were still in bed, the phone rang. (I kid you not about the very next morning and this body’s location in the bed.) It was a call from Shreveport. We were asked if we would still consider moving there. The man they asked to be their next pastor turned them down “because there was such a dark cloud over the church.”

I hung up the phone and buried my head in the pillow. God always knows where you are, where you need to be, how and when to get you there. God’s ways are mysterious; His timing is perfect.

It was time to go charge the gates of hell. The obstacles before and after were monumental, each worthy of its own story of God’s mysterious ways.

The phone lines became disconnected by a fire. There was an important note lost in the mail for three months. The mouths of lions intent on firing me were closed by God in a business meeting. There was racial tension and a stolen truck. We dealt with gangs and their guns. There was a Sunday morning walk-out protest. Then came the smashed cake in my hand.

The threats. The turnover. The transformation.

Let me be crystal clear about this. This is not about my name and my story. This is about the hundreds of names in the mind of God associated with that one piece of paper.

Everything is directed by and connected to God and His strange ways. God uses little things to make big waves.

God sent a whirlwind of revival…genuine revival. God’s Word transformed all of us.

In my twenty-three-year pastorate, I served with the most wonderful people I have ever known. Women took their love to higher levels. A book was written about their faith. Men did not quit on their families or their God. These are only a few of the countless stories of grace.

My daughter met her lifelong best friend at that church. My older son met his lovely wife in that same city where he has been a successful college coach for more than a decade. My younger son won the school’s first state championship and discovered his creative talent for songwriting.

Many young preachers who trained in that environment now make their mark throughout the world. Teachers in seminary. Pastors throughout seven states. Missionaries spanning the globe. Former members have been scattered by God to other places where they have been used to energize churches and support new missions.

Some precious people remain in that church where an outside observer might write off as dying. Oh my, No! The torch still blazes with love and light as God’s Word continues to be preached and practiced.

Lives continue to be changed.

The third generation of those first Monday Night Club kids know about the love shared by that church. And when the last chapter is written, be assured that fathers will be coming down those streets carrying children on their shoulders, defying the gates of hell and marching into the glorious praises of the redeemed!

What happened? Pat Tilley hurriedly wrote a name on a scratch sheet of paper.

God often works in unexpected and inexplicable ways. Mysterious ways. Strange ways.

YOU ARE PART OF GOD’S LOVE STORY. EVERY EVENT IN YOUR LIFE, NO MATTER HOW SEEMINGLY INSIGNIFICANT, HAS A PERSONAL AND ETERNAL PURPOSE.

THAT IS OFTEN DIFFICULT TO IMAGINE, MUCH LESS BELIEVE.

You are a link in a divine chain. God has you on a mission assignment which connects to that of others. You might even be unaware of your role in the project. Sickness, sorrow, or suffering never change your purpose. They only serve to enhance God’s orchestrated plan to do good to others through your life.

Mysterious? Unexplainable? Look at a sample of Biblical history. Genesis tells of the rejected, abandoned, sold-out slave, and prisoner in a foreign land whose God-written last chapter story declared Joseph as a save-the-world leader. The ups and downs and outs of Joseph’s life showcased an example of what others intended as evil, God used for good.

The unconquerable city of Jericho saw its walls crumble from the soundwaves of trumpets. The book of Joshua records Rahab as a prostitute. However, in Matthew Rahab is listed as the great-grandmother of David and a family member of Jesus.

Abraham could not see the hand in front of his face and somehow found the Promised Land.

More than once, a woman gave a strange man a drink of water. Miracles followed in mysterious ways. Mary and Martha suffered premature grief. God used their loved one’s death to enlarge the faith of others for centuries.

At the peak of their missionary usefulness, Paul and Silas were imprisoned. Why? Mysterious miracles expanded the missionary efforts beyond their expectations.

Important letters of inspired Scripture were penned.

Just notes on scratch sheets of paper…millions of souls freed from the darkened prisons of hell.

IN GOD’S UNIVERSE, THE UNLIKELY, THE UNBELIEVABLE, AND THE IMPOSSIBLE HAPPEN.

Every person then and now, including you, has a story. It is a wild, sometimes almost unbelievable story where God always writes the last chapter.

The everlasting postscript of your last chapter is marked with a divine seal, “Planned by God before the foundation of the world to give you hope for today and a future of never-ending goodness.”

Every leaf falling to the ground ends up where it was intended to be. Every spray of water from the tidal wave smashing against the shoreline rocks finds its prepared place. Every voice of the redeemed from every tribe, language, people, and nation sings its song of glory to God.

Every breath. Every step. Every encounter. Every word on a scrap piece of paper.

How? God writes on an invisible note, “Let it be.”

Then every page of His #1 Textbook states, “It is done.”

I encourage you to take some time to reflect in awe and wonder at God’s story written in your life. His great eternal plan plays out in earthly moments of flawed human beings.

Write your name on a scratch sheet of paper. Just do it.

God loves that person. God is using that person in mysterious ways still hidden from human view. Your story is still being written in unexpected and inexplicable colors of ink on the parchment paper of the skies.

Read your name out loud. I dare you not to be amazed. It might even cause you to smile.

GOD ALWAYS KNOWS…WHERE YOU ARE…WHERE YOU NEED TO BE…HOW… AND WHEN…TO GET YOU THERE.

The journey is not over. Your life is linked to someone who needs you to trust God, be happy, and stay faithful where you are now.

BTW-God wrote your name on the palm of His hand! (Isaiah 49:16). That is all the resume you need to get to heaven!

God’s ways are as mysterious as the pathway of the wind.

WINSDAY WISDOM

This is not intended as entertainment. This is preaching for the soul when life feels unfair.

Have you ever wondered what if things were different in your life? Do you ever feel as if life is unfair?

Sure, you have. It might have resulted from the loss of a loved one, a health diagnosis, financial setbacks, emotional stress, a messed-up relationship.

I imagine fairness is somewhat a matter of perspective.

Perspective: a person’s point of view.

Illustration: How would you feel if your neighbor received news of winning the HGTV $2 million home sweepstakes on the same day you are served with a $3,000 IRS bill? Life is unfair?

What if the next day included the correction that the two notices were delivered to the wrong addresses? You are the grand prize winner. Would you feel as if life were unfair? Perspective.

In the Old Testament Book of Job, God calls our attention to the hippopotamus.

Does the hippopotamus ever feel as if life is unfair? Only when he looks at the other cute and happy animals on social media.

The hippo looks short and heavy standing next to a giraffe. It appears gray and bland in a picture with a colorful tiger. Its bulging eyes are no match for the eagle’s and its home in the muddy swamp will never be featured in Southern Living.

More appropriately to this writing, you would feel very healthy, wealthy, and happy…if there were no one else around for comparison.

Social media posts the physical beauty, big promotion, and dream vacation of your friends or acquaintances. All of a sudden, life seems unfair. You feel as if you deserve those things or better. Afterall, you are a good person.

God used the hippopotamus as an object lesson for the lamenting Job, questioning the fairness of the recently tragic losses in his life.

Just a quick refresher of Job’s story. He trusted God. God blessed him greatly. In the heavenly world, God praised the faith of Job. The great adversary, Satan, challenged the validity of Job’s faith as well as the genuineness of God’s goodness.

Satan declared that Job only pretended to trust God because of its benefits. He also accused God’s pretense of goodness was just a bribe to get people to worship Him.

God allowed those fallacies to be challenged.

SPOILER ALERT: Job’s life ends up as a masterpiece lesson of God’s inherent and limitless goodness.

At one time, Job appeared to be sitting on top of the world. He had everything anyone would desire. I imagine other people thought it to be unfair for Job to appear to be so much better off in life than they were. Then came the time that no one wanted to trade places with Job.

Unaware of events going on in heaven, Job’s earthly life fell apart. He lost everything in one day. His family. His possessions. His health. His reputation.

Surely, he wished things had turned out differently. This was not how he expected God to rule his life. He doubted himself and questioned God as his life went from sitting on top of the world to sitting on a big stinky pile of poop.

Is everything God does always right, wise, good? Was Job’s faith real? Is yours?

The #1 Textbook is clear that all these things about Job and others and even the hippopotamus were recorded to give us instruction for endurance and encouragement to hope in God’s goodness (Romans 15:4).

So, let us seek to learn something from God’s conversation with Job.

God knows Job is thinking God messed up his life. Life suddenly felt very unfair.

God asks Job several hypothetical questions which could easily be directed to each one of us wanting to be God for a day.

“If you ruled the world, what would you tell God to do?”

What if you changed places with God? How different would your life become? What would you change if you were God for a day? (Job 40:2)

It is understandable that you like Job, might have some questions of God. We want the Almighty to answer our questions about the apparent injustice and unfairness of human suffering, such as, “Why do good people suffer more than bad people?“

More to the point of interest, “Why am I suffering?”

Assuming you are still wrestling with the unfairness of life, God has some more questions for you. Instead of answering Job’s questions, God showed up with His own list of seventy-seven questions for Job. I will limit our reflection to a few.

God’s first question was, “Where were you when I laid the foundations of this world?” (Job 38:4)

Job was speechless. Do I see you raising your hand with an answer?

God continued to emphasize subjects far beyond our understanding. “How were the dimensions of this earth determined? Who surveyed its vastness? What supports its foundations and who laid its cornerstone? Were you around to hear the morning stars singing and all the angels shouting for joy?” (Job 38:5-7)

Well, that should shut us up! Job did not have a response, but in case he and you might still be thinking about the unfairness of your suffering, God continued the interrogation of the complainant.

Please do not rush through these divine questions presented for our consideration regarding the wisdom of God’s goodness to us.

God asked about the astronomy of the cosmos and stars. God added other questions regarding meteorology, oceanography, and the animal kingdom (Job 38-39).

God asked if Job ever commanded the sun to rise in the morning. Can you turn this world’s darkness into light and light into darkness? Do you control where lightning strikes or the tides stop? Do the winds, rain, storms, snow, and hail appear in the amount and at the place and time you determine?

How do you hold the solar system together while other galaxies are spreading apart? How did you make animals out of dust and how do you provide food for all of them, including the birds which fly around with no feeding grounds? How do you share wisdom with others who have no interest in how you rule the world?

So, you think life is unjust and unfair for you? Have you figured out the miracle of birth for humans and animals? Would you create the people God does? If not, how do you judge and explain that to them? Would you create the rhinoceros, or make the ostrich stupid enough to forget her young while strong enough to defend them from outside threats?

Did you make the horse with the strength, speed, fearlessness, and courage to charge into harm’s way during the heat of the battle? What about the eagle with the strength to soar into the highest places while having the keen eyesight to see food for its young in the lowest parts of the earth?

Those questions lead into the highlight of the hippopotamus. Do you think the hippo looks at the rest of God’s created things and considers the Creator to be unfair?

Since God knows you cannot control the tides or the weather or the cosmos, He suggests you move down into the lightweight division and rule the animal kingdom. God suggests you command the hippopotamus to move to a new location.

When the hippo refuses to cooperate, just grab it by the nostrils and pull it where you want it to go. Watch out for the sharp teeth! When that does not work, God suggests you use your one and only arm left to slap the hippo in the face and force him to move.

Apparently, God also uses sarcasm to emphasize his point. (I believe that might be one of my few spiritual traits.)

Then God points out that the lumbering load of lard with the bulging eyeballs is not an animal to pity. God declares, “The hippopotamus is one of the crowns of my creation. It is my pet.”

That is right. God designed and planned the hippo as a good thing. The hippo is God’s pet. It knows and loves its Owner.

Is life unfair? You and Job are not pets. Job was chosen by God for a planned life of abundant and unending goodness…before the foundation of the world. So were you (Ephesians 1:4).

You have been God-designed and God-planned to be God’s child, the recipient of immeasurable and limitless goodness. It will take all the coming endless ages of time for God to show you the greatness of His goodness to you (Ephesians 2:7).

The late theologian, Vernon McGee remarked, “If you want to rule the world, you need to get your own universe. God rules this one.”

God is the sole source and standard of goodness. Everything God does is perfectly wise, right, and good. His sovereignty guarantees that no one and no circumstance can stop, hinder, or even lessen His goodness to you.

Life is not easy. We live in a world of selfishness, sin, pride, wickedness, and hate. We have the same cultural characteristics churning inside. There will be suffering and sadness and sorrow.

I admitted last time that I do not know all you have to wrestle with or worry about or how you have been wronged. I am unaware of how much you have been hurt or how deeply you might be plunged into despair. Life is never easy; it might even feel unfair. But your suffering does not match that of Job.

Be careful when you drown in thoughts about the unfairness of life. That is the danger zone. Adam and Eve were the only humans to live in a perfect place with perfect people. However, they began to think that God’s one limitation to their freedom seemed unfair.

It is a Satanic suggested lie that you would be happier and better off with a different life or different spouse or different family or different home or different workplace. “There is a way that seems right unto man, but the end thereof is the way of death” (Proverbs 14:12).

A different path is not good for you. The end of that path is destruction.

THERE ARE NO “WHAT-IFS” WHEN IT COMES TO GOD’S PLAN.

There are no “what-ifs.” The all-knowing, all-powerful God of this world has already considered every possible alternative in your life and has ruled it out not to be in your best interest. 

Your present circumstances might not be easy; they may be very difficult, and appear to be very, very unfair. There are no “what ifs” to dwell on. Do not ever give in to the lie that somehow you would be better off if things were different.

PERSPECTIVE: God has a better view of your life and future.

God has not shortchanged you when it comes to goodness. “There is not one good thing that God ever withholds from us” (Psalm 84:11). No good thing has been kept away from you. There are no “what ifs.”

When God created you, He gave life. When God saved you, He gave His Son. In creation, God made something out of nothing. In salvation, God made a beloved family member out of an enemy.

Without a word, God laid the foundation of the earth. With the blood of the living Word, God laid the foundation of your eternal security.

In creation, the Creator hung the earth on nothing as He listened to the songs of the angels. At your crowning, God hung His Son upon the cross and listened to the curses of proud and wicked men who wanted to rule their own lives. Then the angels filled the heavens with songs of praise and shouts of “Glory!”

Do you really think life is unfair?

God is the God of adversity just as He is the God of prosperity. God sees good when you do not. God intends good when others do not. God causes good when others cannot. 

Our human nature desires the easy path where we do not have to exercise faith or practice fervent love or live with others where we have to give, give, and give some more.

I hope and pray we learn to trust when we do not understand. As Job declared, “Though God slays me, I will still hope in him” (Job 13:15). “I know that my Redeemer lives” (Job 19:25).

It is not important I understand the “Why” of my suffering? It is vital I learn to trust God.

After consideration of God’s questions and goodness, I do believe we can join Job’s declaration, “I have been talking and complaining about things I do not understand. God’s ways are far more wonderful than I ever imagined. I admit that I do not understand how ‘Life’ works. However, I now know God a little better; so, I will trust God more” (Job 42:2-5).

Change your perspective. Do not lower God down to your explanations about life. Raise your view of God.

THE GREATNESS OF GOD’S GOODNESS IS FAR HIGHER THAN YOU HAVE YET TO IMAGINE.

There is spiritual DNA inside you that knows God is faithful and His hope is real. Look to the heavens from where your help comes. Listen to God‘s Word. It will change your attitude regarding this earthly life.

BE THANKFUL YOU DO NOT RULE THE WORLD. BE THANKFUL YOU ARE NOT THE SOURCE NOR THE STANDARD OF GOODNESS.

BE THANKFUL FOR HOPE…EVEN WHEN LIFE FEELS UNFAIR.

“Oh, what a wonderful God we have! How great are his wisdom and knowledge and riches! How impossible it is for us to understand his decisions and his methods! For who among us can know the mind of the Lord or knows enough to be his counselor and guide? Everything comes from God alone. Everything lives by his power, and everything is for his glory. To him be glory evermore” (Romans 11: 33-36).

Living, He loved me

Dying, He saved me

Buried, He carried

My sins for away;

Rising, He justified

Freely forever,

One day He’s coming

O Glorious Day! (O Glorious Day, Casting Crowns, hymn by Wilbur Chapman)

REWIND Cassius

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. Cassius was a lover, not a fighter.

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.

The time came when Cassius was on his last legs. He became so old and so weak that he could scarcely 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. He pranced around the yard.

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 memories. 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.