Feeling God’s Presence

            I read of a preacher who once ministered to young parents who had a baby isolated in the quarantine section of a children’s hospital in Los Angeles. The infant was dangerously susceptible to infection. To visit the parents, he had to don protective clothing and walk down a long hall constructed of plastic tarps.            

            The baby, a girl, had been placed in a small hospital bed, also surrounded by plastic, and cut off from the outside world. Her parents had not held or touched her in months.

            The preacher wondered how in the world baby could feel the love of her parents. The mother showed him. She inserted her hands and arms into a specially constructed plastic mold, which formed sleeves and hands. The mother then picked up the baby and cradled the child in her two arms. She leaned over, placed her lips on the plastic, and gave the tiny one a kiss. After the kiss, she rocked the baby back and forth. That mother’s flesh never touched the baby; still, the infant felt her presence and her love.

            It occurred to the minister that our relationship with God is like that. We can't see God, we can't touch God, but we can feel his presence and his love, just as that baby felt the presence and love of her mother.

Yearning and Regret

            Tim Archer shared a link on his blog today to the New York Times and an article concerning the fallout from adultery. Written by a woman who confessed that she knew all too well the consequences of an affair (she had one earlier in her life), this writer expressed clearly the pain resulting from such a poisonous decision.

            She frankly acknowledging that illicit sex, by its very nature, appeals to one’s carnal desires and is stimulating and exciting… in the moment. She adds, however, “What you don’t know, or perhaps what you don’t allow yourself to think about, is that your life will become an unbearable mix of yearning and regret because of it. It will be difficult if not impossible to be in any one place with contentment.”

            Her words serve as an experiential reminder that God’s way is the best way. He calls us to a lifestyle that is not meant to hurt us, but designed to help us. Adultery adulterates what is meant to be unadulterated. It mixes two people together in a relationship that should not be created.

            God designed and equipped us to focus on one person of the opposite sex to love emotionally, mentally, and physically—in marriage. That is all we can handle. To add another to that mix “blows our fuses.” It fragments what was to be unbroken. No one can find contentment under such circumstances.

            While it is true to say “it’s God’s way or the highway”, I prefer to say something equally accurate, “God’s way is the best way.”

  

Here’s a link to the New York Times story “A Roomful of Yearning and Regret”-- http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/12/fashion/12Modern.html?pagewanted=all&_r=3&

Baby Boomers: The 60's and revisited in 2013

           I thought this was a pretty humours look at my generation, which someone compiled:

Baby Boomers: The 60's and revisited in 2013
Then: Long Hair. 
Now : Longing for hair. 
Then: Acid Rock. 
Now : Acid Reflux. 
Then: Moving to California because it's cool. 
Now : Moving to California because it's warm. 
Then: Trying to look like Marlon Brando or Elizabeth Taylor. 
Now : Trying not to look like Marlon Brando or Elizabeth Taylor. 
Then: Paar. 
Now : AARP. 
Then: Rolling Stones. 
Now : Kidney stones. 
Then: Being called into the principal's office. 
Now : Calling the principal's office. 
Then: Parents begging you to get your hair cut. 
Now : Children begging you to get their heads shaved. 
Then: Passing the driver's test. 
Now : Passing the vision test. 
Then: "Whatever" 
Now : "Depends"

      All I can say is that time has flown by, and I agree with the writer of James: Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes (James 4:14. NIV)

“My Very Dear Sarah”

            When Judy and I traveled home for our first furlough, Ken Burns had just released his epic film series on the Civil War. As I recall, we rented the first episode from Blockbuster and took it to my mom’s house, where we were visiting, to watch.

            Of course, Burns captured our attention immediately with his groundbreaking effort. However, it was near the end of the first installment that we were hooked. The narrator read a letter written by Major Sullivan Ballou of the Union Army.

            Ballou was a young lawyer and politician who had served as Speaker of the House in Rhode Island. At the outbreak of the Civil War, he left politics and his law practice behind to volunteer.

            Ballou was anticipating a battle that we refer to today as the Battle of Bull Run. Aware of the dangers, he penned a letter to his wife, Sarah, to whom he had been married only a few years.

            I have copied the words and share them with you here. As you read, I hope you note the deep love Sullivan holds for Sarah and his two small sons:

My very dear Sarah:

            The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days–perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

            Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure—and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American civilization now leans on the triumph of the government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing, perfectly willing to lay down all my joys in this life to help maintain this government and pay that debt….

            Sarah, my love for you is deathless: it seems to bind me with mighty cables and nothing but omnipotence could break, and yet my love of country comes over me like a strong wind, and bears me irresistibly on, with all these chains, to the battlefield.

            The memories of all the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most deeply grateful to God, and you, that I have enjoyed them so long. And how hard it is for me to give them up, and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood around us.

            If I do not [return], my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless, how foolish I have oftentimes been….

            But, O Sarah, if the dead can come back to this earth, and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you in the gladdest day, and in the darkest night, amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours–always, always: and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath: or the cool air cools your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

            Sara, do not mourn me dead: think I am gone, and wait for me, for we shall meet again.

            As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters…. O Sarah, I [will] wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.

            Sullivan

            Major Sullivan Ballou died seven days later at the First Battle of Bull Run. Sarah died in 1917. She never remarried.

The Mighty Mesquite

            When I lived in West Texas, I hated Mesquite trees. For one thing, I was allergic to them. For another, I thought they were ugly!

            Having said that, James Dobson helped me appreciate one quality about them. He compared them to a tree in the rain forest.

            A typical tree in the rain forest has an easy life. Water is always available. Consequently, the tree does not have to grow roots very deep. Unfortunately for the tree, a mild storm can blow it over to its death.

            On the other hand, a West Texas Mesquite tree is lodged in that region’s dry and unwelcoming land. The adversity leads the Mesquite to drive its roots at least thirty feet down into the soil on a water finding mission. As a result, the most terrible winds of West Texas cannot force the tree to topple. It is anchored to the ground. Adverse conditions actually energize the tree to create a strong survival mechanism.

            Perhaps that is one reason God allows us to face adversity. Mull over what our brother James wrote, “Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way (James 1:2-4 THE MESSAGE.)

            Nothing like hard times to help us grow deeply rooted in Jesus.

  

Source: James Dobson, When God Doesn’t Make Sense

The Hands of Jesus

            I read about a city in England, which lay in ruins thanks to the destruction of World War II. Before the war, the city had previously enjoyed the blessing a large statue of Jesus in the city square. The statue had symbolized that Jesus was ever present and available to help. The war severely damaged the sculpture.

            The citizens of that municipality desired to restore the statue. Before the war, the sculpture portrayed Jesus standing in the city square, his hands reaching out and inviting the people to come. Beneath the statue, a sign repeated Jesus’ words, “Come to me.”

            City leaders brought in the best artists and sculptors to reconstruct the damaged artistic work. Unfortunately, the image has so disintegrated that workers could not find enough pieces in the rubble to reconstruct the hands of Jesus.

            A debate ensued. Several advocated that the sculptors create new hands on the statue. Others stated that they should leave the statue without hands.

            If you travel to the city today, you will see a restored statue of Jesus—without hands. But beneath are these words, “Christ has no hands but ours.”

            I appreciate the symbolism of that statement.

What a Pig Can Teach us About Federal Debt

            A parable tells of a pig who ate his fill of acorns under an oak tree and then started to root around the tree. A crow told him, “You should not do this. If you lay bare the roots, the tree will wither and die.”

            “Let it die,” said the pig. “Who cares as long as there are acorns?”

            I have known a lot of people who have had the same view toward life as that pig. I wonder how many of us think like that pig when it comes to federal spending and the federal debt.