I AIN'T AFRAID

A little humor on this post-Valentine's Day....

 

One Sunday morning, everyone in a bright, beautiful, tiny town got up early and went to the local church. Before the services started, the townspeople were sitting in their pews and talking about their lives, their families, etc.

Suddenly, Satan appeared at the front of the church. Everyone started screaming and running for the front entrance, trampling each other in a frantic effort to get away from evil incarnate.

Soon everyone was evacuated from the church, except for one elderly gentleman who sat calmly in his pew, not moving, seemingly oblivious to the fact that God's ultimate enemy was in his presence. Now this confused Satan a bit, so he walked up to the man and said, "Don't you know who I am?"

The man replied, "Yep, sure do."

Satan asked, "Aren't you afraid of me?"

"Nope, sure ain't," said the man.

Satan was a little perturbed at this and queried, "Why aren't you afraid of me?"

The man calmly replied, "Been married to your sister for over 48 years."

 

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

1 Peter 5:8

Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well.

Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII. Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs and drug activity.

When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up.

He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened. He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, "Would you like a drink from the hose?" The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a malevolent little smile. As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.

Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running out to help him. Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop it. "Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet. Carl just passed a hand over his brow and signed, shaking his head. "Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday." His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.

Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?" "I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately," came the calm reply. Satisfying himself that Carl really was alright, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.

A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before, their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose. This time they didn't rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water. When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done. Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering.

The summer was quickly fading into fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack. "Don't worry old man. I'm not going to hurt you this time." The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl.

As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl. "What's this?" Carl asked. "It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet." "I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would you help me now?"

The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. "I learned something from you," he said. "I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate." He stopped for a moment. "I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back." He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say. "That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess." And with that, he walked off down the street.

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.

He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather. In particular, the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church. The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, "Do you best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden."

The following spring another flyer went up. It read: "Person needed to care for Carl's garden." The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister's office door. Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. "I believe this is my job, if you'll have me," the young man said. The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of Carl's garden and honor him."

The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done. In that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, "My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home on Saturday." "Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?" "Carl," he replied.


- AUTHOR UNKNOWN -

   

But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,

Matthew 5:44

 

An Untitled Story

After a few of the usual Sunday evening hymns, the church's pastor slowly stood up, walked over to the pulpit and, before he gave his sermon for the evening, briefly introduced a guest minister who was in the service that evening. In the introduction, the pastor told the congregation that the guest minister was one of his dearest childhood friends and that he wanted him to have a few moments to greet the church and share whatever he felt would be appropriate for the service.

With that, an elderly man stepped up to the pulpit and began to speak. "A father, his son, and a friend of his son were sailing off the Pacific Coast," he began, "when a fast approaching storm blocked any attempt to get back to shore. The waves were so high that, even though the father was an experienced sailor, he could not keep the boat upright, and the three were swept into the ocean as the boat capsized."

The old man hesitated for a moment, making eye contact with two teenagers who were, for the first time since the service began, looking somewhat interested in the story. The aged minister continued with his story. "Grabbing a rescue line, the father had to make the most excruciating decision of his life: to which boy he would throw the other end of the life line. He only had seconds to make the decision. The father knew that his son was a Christian, and he also knew that his son's friend was not. The agony of his decision could not be matched by the torrent of the waves. As the father yelled out, 'I love you, son!', he threw out the life line to the son's friend. By the time the father had pulled the friend back to the capsized boat, his son had disappeared beneath the raging swells into the black of night. His body was never recovered."

By this time, the two teenagers were sitting up straight in the pew, anxiously waiting for the next words to come out of the old minister's mouth. "The father," he continued, "knew his son would step into eternity with Jesus, and he could not bear the thought of his son's friend stepping into an eternity without Jesus. Therefore, he sacrificed his son to save the son's friend. How great is the love of God that He could do the same for us. Our heavenly Father sacrificed His only begotten Son that we could be saved. I urge you to accept His offer to rescue you and take hold of the life line."

With that, the old man turned and sat back down in his chair as silence filled the room. The pastor again walked slowly to the pulpit and delivered a brief sermon with an invitation at the end. However, no one responded to the appeal. Within minutes after the service, the two teenagers were at the old man's side. "That was a nice story," politely said one of the boys, "but I don't think it was very realistic for a father to give up his only son's life in hopes that the other boy would become a Christian."

"Well, you've got a point there," the old man replied, glancing down at his worn Bible. Sorrow began to overtake the old man's smiling face as he once again looked up at the boys and said, "It sure isn't very realistic, is it? But I'm here today to tell you that I understand more than most the pain God must have felt to give up His only Son. For you see, I'm the man who lost his son to the ocean that day, and my son's friend that I chose to save is your pastor."


- AUTHOR UNKNOWN -

The spirit shrieked, convulsed him violently and came out. The boy looked so much like a corpse that many said, “He’s dead.”  But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him to his feet, and he stood up.

Mark 9:26-27

The Pastor's Cat



Dwight Nelson recently told a true story about the pastor of his church. He had a kitten that climbed up a tree in his backyard and then was afraid to come down. The pastor coaxed, offered warm milk, etc.

The kitty would not come down. The tree was not sturdy enough to climb, so the pastor decided that if he tied a rope to his car and pulled it until the tree bent down, he could then reach up and get the kitten.

That's what he did, all the while checking his progress in the car. He then figured if he went just a little bit further, the tree would be bent sufficiently for him to reach the kitten. But as he moved the car a little further forward, the rope broke.

The tree went 'boing!' and the kitten instantly sailed through the air - out of sight.

The pastor felt terrible. He walked all over the neighborhood asking people if they'd seen a little kitten. No. Nobody had seen a stray kitten.

So he prayed, 'Lord, I just commit this kitten to your keeping,' and went on about his business.
A few days later he was at the grocery store, and met one of his church members. He happened to look into her shopping cart and was amazed to see cat food.

This woman was a cat hater and everyone knew it, so he asked her, 'Why are you buying cat food when you hate cats so much?' She replied, 'You won't believe this,' and then told him how her little girl had been begging her for a cat, but she kept refusing.

Then a few days before, the child had begged again, so the Mom finally told her little girl, 'Well, if God gives you a cat, I'll let you keep it.'

She told the pastor, 'I watched my child go out in the yard, get on her knees, and ask God for a cat. And really, Pastor, you won't believe this, but I saw it with my own eyes. A kitten suddenly came flying out of the blue sky, with its paws outspread, and landed right in front of her.'

Lesson learned... Never underestimate the Power of God and His unique sense of humor.

"When I was waiting quietly for the Lord, His heart was turned to me, and He gave ear to my cry." Psalms 40:1

Drug Problem



The other day, a man standing next to me at a store in our small town read that a meth lab had been found in an old farm house in the adjoining county, and he asked me a rhetorical question...
Why didn't we have a drug problem when you and I were growing up?

I told him I did have a drug problem when I was a kid growing up.
I was drug to church on Sunday... morning and night.

I was drug to church for weddings and funerals.

I was drug to family reunions and community socials no matter the weather.

I was drug by my ears when I was disrespectful to adults.

I was also drug upstairs to my room or the woodshed when I disobeyed my parents, told a lie, brought home a bad report card, did not speak with respect, spoke ill of the teacher or the preacher. Or if I didn't put forth my best effort in everything that was asked of me.

I was drug to the kitchen sink if I uttered a profane four letter word or smoked a cigarette (I do know what soap tastes like).

I was drug out to pull weeds in mom's garden and flower beds and to clear cockleburs out of dad's fields.

I was drug to the homes of family, friends, and neighbors to help out some poor soul who had no one to mow the yard, repair the clothesline or chop some fire wood, and if my mother had ever known that I took a single dime as a tip for this kindness, she would have drug me back to the wood shed.

Those drugs are still in my veins; and they affect my behavior in everything I do, say, and think. They are stronger than cocaine, crack or heroin, and if today's children had this kind of drug problem, America would be a better place to live today.
Author Unknown

Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.

Proverbs 22:6



Our Days Are Identical Suitcases--All the Same Size--But Some People Can Pack More Into Them Than Others

Mary Smith went to church one Sunday morning and winced when she heard the organist miss a note during the processional.  She noted a teenager talking while everybody was supposed to be in prayer.  She also couldn't help but notice that several blooms in the altar bouquets were wilted.  She felt the usher was scrutinizing what every person was putting into the offering plate, which made her angry.  She counted at least five grammatical errors made by the preacher in his sermon.  As she left the church through the side door after the closing hymn, she thought, What a careless group of people.

Amy Jones went to church one Sunday morning and was thrilled at the arrangement she heard of "A Mighty Fortress."  Her heart was touched at hearing a teenager read the morning Scripture lesson.  She was encouraged to see the church take up an offering to help hungry children in Nigeria.  The preacher's sermon answered a question that had bothered her for some time.  She felt radiant joy from the choir members during the recessional.  She left the church thinking, What a wonderful place to worship God!

Mary and Amy went to the same church, on the same Sunday morning.

Be very careful, then, how you live--not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity.

Ephesians 5:15,16

God Bless America

Words and music by Irving Berlin
© Copyright 1938, 1939 by Irving Berlin
© Copyright Renewed 1965, 1966 by Irving Berlin
© Copyright Assigned to the Trustees of the God Bless America Fund
International Copyright Secured. All Rights Reserved.
Used by Permission

"While the storm clouds gather far across the sea,
Let us swear allegiance to a land that's free,
Let us all be grateful for a land so fair,
As we raise our voices in a solemn prayer. "
God Bless America,
Land that I love.
Stand beside her, and guide her Thru the night with a light from above.
From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans, white with foam
God bless America, My home sweet home. 

The minister at the church I work for came to my office door yesterday and asked me the strangest question, "Do you suppose I'd get in a lot of trouble if I had the congregation sing God Bless America during the service on Sunday?"   I must have looked at him strangely because he grinned at me and said that it had become politically incorrect to not only sing this song in church, but to have it in our hymnals as well.  I must admit that I haven't paid a lot of attention to the hymnals over the past twenty years or so, and I guess, when I think about it, I haven't heard many of those patriotic songs sung anymore, but I didn't realize it wasn't politically correct.   I just thought someone had chosen not to, or I'd not been paying attention.

Really?  How is it not correct, in a church, to ask God to bless America?  Even now, as I think about it, I cannot process this information.  Try as I might, this just makes no sense to me. 

I am certain that there are an abundance of people in the world who would be happy to try to explain it to me but, you know what?  I don't even want to hear their explanations.  There is nothing that they could say to me that would make this alright in my world. 

The pastor and I decided that we will be singing God Bless America in both church services on Sunday.  We may well face some tongue-lashings over it although I doubt in this small, rural Nebraska town that there will be much adversity over it.  And, just for the record, I brought the music for it.  Thank you, Mr. Berlin!  And thank you, Kate Smith!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r26_CSzk3Xw&feature=player_detailpage





   

A Day in Harbor is Safe

But that is not what ships are built for.
William Shedd

I'd like to talk about comfort zones a little bit.  If you follow my blog, you know that I work with youth at a church.  I've done this before, but it's been a few years.  OK, it's been twenty years.  This afternoon I will take a group of eighth graders on an overnight trip to begin their confirmation class.  I know these young people.  We've been together in youth group for the past six months.  They are good kids and I'm certain that we will have fun while we begin to learn about what it means to be a confirmand.

Here's the issue:  it's been twenty years since I've taken a group of kids on a trip like this so I'm feeling a little out of my comfort zone.  Isn't that interesting?  It's not that I don't think I can do it.  I have done it before.  There's nothing especially difficult about it.  It's just that it has been a while and I had sort of settled into a routine that was safe and predictable.  There is nothing predictable about eighth graders, especially when you have them overnight! 

Have you noticed that comfort zones are always changing?  You move from a smaller comfort zone to a larger one.  Your next comfort zone is larger than the last one.  In each new zone, you feel the same amount of safety or threat, but your zone has grown. 

Comfort--You feel safe and secure.  Discomfort--You feel unsure and fearful, sometimes overwhelmed and ready to give up.  And then Comfort again--you feel exhilarated and grateful.  And the cycle keeps on going.  What we don't realize is that each time this happens we grow a little more.  You've seen it play out in your life in various ways:  athletics, music, socially, or professionally.  At each stage, you moved through discomfort to comfort--and became a prime candidate for discomfort again as you cycle through your life of learning.

I'm feeling discomfort right now, as are the parents.  I have already had two calls this morning.  You see, I know the young people pretty well, but the parents and I don't know each other well yet.  We will.  As we proceed through the year we will have several of these cycles and we'll all stretch our boundaries and grow together. 

Comfort zones...by tomorrow evening I'll be there!   

My Kids, Part Two



I am the leader of a group of middle school aged youth who attend the youth group at our church.  Some of these kiddos are church members, but many of them are not.  In a time when everyone seems to believe that our young people are totally lost and will inevitably be the downfall of the world, I'd like to share with you what these young people are doing this summer.

In case you don't know, we're in the midst of a flood here in southeastern Nebraska.  Those of us in my community are high enough that we will be safe, but only a few miles away, our water treatment plant, our electric plant, and our friends are in BIG trouble.  And this trouble is expected to last throughout the summer and into the fall.  Our food pantry, which normally sees 5-7 people every other week, had 37 applicants this past Monday.  Even if their homes are safe on the other side of the Missouri River, their employment may be in jeopardy if they work on this side as there is no way across unless you travel north to Omaha or south to St. Jo.  People who were hurting already from the economy are now devastated by this latest disaster...and we're just in the beginning phases of it.



The middle school youth group at our church normally meets only during the school year because of vacations, ball games, and other summer activities.  This year, though, the kids wanted to continue to meet, when they could so I've been eating lots of pizza and ice cream delights...and listening to them.  These kids have helped family members and friends move out of their homes and into their basements or garages.  They have watched as whole communities have been closed until further notice.  And they want to do something.

This week they changed their group name to HOPE.  And their first action under this new name was to create a fund for victims of the flood.  They have no idea what the funds will be used for, but as the needs come to light, they want to address them.  They identified possible needs of gasoline for people who's trips to work will now be more than three hours one way, or items they can't get at the food pantry like food for their pets, or extra childcare costs while the parents are commuting.  These are just some ideas they talked about the other night.

Their second action was to begin to work with the mission organization of our church to provide layette kits for babies in need.  They not only want to continue meeting one evening a week to move these projects forward, they asked if they could come two other days of the week, during the day.  They want to take action, not just a little action, but massive action to do something to help others. 



Of course, there was also a little talk about some fun things they could do, but I was impressed that the fun also included a little mission work.  As an example, they talked about contacting a church in Omaha and asking how they could help them...painting, cleaning, childcare, food pantry.  Once the work was finished, then perhaps a trip to the zoo, or a concert.  But I was very impressed that they planned the work part first, and then the fun.  They even talked about getting some fundraisers underway to pay for all of it.

Now, tell me again about how bad the young people of today are.  As someone who has worked with young people for many, many years, I am well aware that our young people are under fire from all sides.  Parents are less and less able to care for them, teachers seem to have given up and are so busy teaching so that "No Child is Left Behind" that they're not getting much help there, and our churches have either cut out youth groups or have forgotten how to reach them.  Kids are no different than they were when I was young.  They want to know that they count.  They want to know that they are important.  They want to do something important. 

Well, they are!