Little Things

                  The date is the early nineties. It was the first game to be played in the new Chicago Stadium. The superstructure built for the 21st century cost $175 million. The first game ever played in the building was a basketball game between the Chicago Bulls and the Utah Jazz.

            As you might imagine, opening night was special. There were dignitaries and special guests. There were fireworks. 

            Finally, the moment arrived for the opening tip-off. The players took their positions on the floor, likewise, the referees. The crowd yelled with anticipation. Everyone was set. There was one minor problem. Someone forgot the basketball.

            The game was delayed for several minutes, while someone left to look for a basketball.

                 Now think about it: a $175 million arena, athletes making millions, 1000s of dollars spent on tickets, 1000s of dollars spent for uniforms…. Everyone-players, refs, coaches, fans, management-was in proper place. And, the game had to be suspended—for a ball.

            Sometimes, it's the little things that count. You can have a basketball game without fans, without a big arena, without players earning big money, without fancy uniforms, but you just can have a basketball game without a ball.

            In Christianity, you can have big, expensive church buildings, you can have sound Biblical doctrine, you can have knockout assemblies, you can have big offerings, but if you don't have a fundamental faith in Christ that is transforming you into His disciple, you cannot have Christianity.

            (Let me err on the side of caution--I may have found this story in an old bulletin article back in the nineties. If so, I apologize to the original writer for not giving proper credit.)

Setting Sights too Low

            Sometimes, we set our sights too low, don’t we?

            I’m reminded of the story of the father who said to his son, "Son, I'd rather you fail in school than cheat."

            To which the son replied, “If that's what you want, I guarantee results."

            The world needs people who have a vision—a vision that rises above the fallen creation. Who better to supply that vision than God’s people?

Protect the Criminals

            WORLD Magazine recently published a story about a movement in Great Britain. There, police are warning homeowners to remove all chicken wire from the windows of their garden sheds.

            Placed for reinforcement, there have been a number of injuries recently to burglars breaking into sheds, which are protected by chicken wire. Many of the injured have sued the property owners—and won.

            I have to admit, I am a fan of personal responsibility and facing consequences for one's behavior. I think Paul was too, “7 Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap. 8 For the one who sows to his own flesh will from the flesh reap corruption, but the one who sows to the Spirit will from the Spirit reap eternal life (Gal. 6:7-8.)” ESV

Water Down the Creek

            I have in my home library Connie Mack’s autobiography. It is an old book, published in 1950. It is a good book.

            Connie Mack was a Hall of Fame baseball manager. His career ranged from the late 1800s all the way to 1950.  Mack retired when he was 87!

            He won more games than any other manager in history; he lost more games than any other manager in history.

            I give this background to say that Mack offers a unique perspective on life. One area on which he is entitled to expound is worry.

            This is what Connie Mack wrote he learned early in his career, “I discovered that worry was threatening to wreck my career as a baseball manager. I saw how foolish it was and I forced myself to get so busy preparing to win games that I had no time left to worry over the ones that were already lost. You can’t grind grain with water that has already gone down the creek.”

            (For younger readers, back in the day, creek water was channeled to grind grain. If the water missed the channel, it was never going to be recovered.)

            Connie offers good advice for life. What’s done is done. Nothing past can be recovered. We have to move on.

            So why worry.

The Cheerleaders

            A quarter century ago, Richard Blaisden wrote a bulletin article that inspired me. He credited Knute Larson with the account of Bill Broadhurst. 

            Bill had love running; unfortunately, he became partially paralyzed after suffering an aneurysm. Gradually, he recovered enough to where he could run again, albeit it very slowly—more like a jog for most people.

            Bill looked up to the great runner, Bill Rodgers. Near Bill’s home, organizers were hosting a 10K (6.2 miles) race. Rodgers was slated to participate. Broadhust badly wanted to enter the competition and run with his hero, so he did.

            Not surprisingly, Bill Rodgers easily won the race. Everyone else finished the race within 90 minutes, except for Bill Broadhurst.

            Battling numbness in his left side, Broadhurst struggled to finish. He had fallen so far behind, boys began ribbing him that he had missed a good race. Bill kept running.

            Organizers began moving the barriers to the course. Some began to leave for home.

            Finally, Bill hobbled within sight of the finish line—at least where the finish line had been. The event’s banner had been taken down. No one seemed to be present, yet Bill pressed on until the end.

            As he completed the course, Bill Rodgers and other runners appeared from a nearby alley. Rodgers received Bill in his arms and hugged him. He took off the gold medal he had won and placed it on Bill’s neck.

            The article appropriately cited Hebrews 12:1 -  "Therefore since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off every thing that hinders and the sin that easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."

            I truly believe those in Christ, who have gone on before us, are waiting to receive us in glory. No matter how hard it is, let us run the race until completion.

The Craziest Language

           Someone sent me the following poem several years ago. It gave me a chuckle. The author is unknown:                

The Craziest Language

            We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes.

            But the plural of ox should be oxen, not oxes.        

            The one fowl is goose, but two are called geese.

            Yet the plural of moose, should never be meese.

            You may find a lone mouse or a nest of mice.

            But the plural of house is houses, not hice.

    

            If the plural of man is always men,

            Why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?

          

            If I spoke of my foot, and show you my feet,

            And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?           

           Then one may be that, and three would be those,

           Yet hat in the plural would never be hose.              

            When we say brother, we say brethren.

            But though we may say mother, we never say methren.           

            Then the masculine pronouns are he, his, and him,

            But imagine the feminine, she, shis, and shim.

            So, English I fancy you will agree

            Is the craziest language that you ever did see.

            English is my mother tongue; yet, like the author of this poem, I still find it challenging. That is why I respect the discipline of Bible study.

The Bible is a book written over a 1500-year period. It was written in three languages—none native to me. The final book in the Bible, Revelation, was written almost 2000 years ago.

I do not take for granted the understanding of the Bible, and I take seriously the study of God’s word.

NEWS!

            Back in the early nineties, the joke went around about the newspaper publisher who decided to retire. He had three sons. He wished to transfer leadership of the paper to one of his sons. To facilitate his choice, he declared a competition. The son who wrote the most sensational headline, using three words or less, would win.

            The first son wrote a pretty good headline: “Reagan Turns Communist.”

            The second son’s headline proclaimed: “Hussein Becomes Christian.”

            The third son, though, won the prize: “Pope Elopes.”

            I suppose to the world, the news of the gospel sounds sensational. But I am so glad it is true.