Casting Stones

I was driving to work yesterday, just a regular 80′s-music-induced drive. I drove the usual speed limit, dealt with the usual traffic not knowing how to merge, and then it happened.

I was singing along with the Cranberries (don’t judge), and I actually saw the white pebble slip out from under the truck in front of me. That’s how big it was. And even though I watched it shoot toward me, the impact on the windshield still made me jump.

I was angry. Even though there wasn’t yet a visible crack, I know that sometimes it takes time for those to appear and grow. I thought about writing down the truck’s license plate number so I could sue him when it comes time to paying for my windshield repair.

What a dumb thing to think, right? But all sorts of possible scenarios are permitted to play out in one’s imagination.

I thought about how this truck driver has absolutely no idea how angry he made me, and how he will never know that he totally destroyed my Toyota Scion. He’s just going to go about his day oblivious to his negative impact on my life.

What a jerk.

And then it happened.

I know it was a bird because I watched as a flock of them soared toward me from the bushes as I slowed down toward the end of the off-ramp. It wasn’t like the sound of a rubber ball on my windshield. It was softer – and more feathery-er.

It’s the first time I ever hit an animal that I know of. Even though in my younger days I actually tried to hit squirrels. I’m not very proud of that, and lucky for them I’m a bad aim.

Well, it was a bird this time alright. Just for confirmation I looked into my rearview mirror.

5…4…3…2…

Aaaand, thud. It landed right in front of another car, making it swerve a little. (“I swear, Honey! A bird hit a UFO and fell right in front of me as I was gettin’ off that dere freeway!” – I usually think of the average Ketuckian sounding like Mater the Tow Truck.)

Well, I thought about that bird. And the stone from just a minute before.

You see, I got really upset that someone caused a loud noise on my windshield, which never cracked, by the way.

But I had a negative impact on that bird’s life. So negative that I killed it.

I thought about that Bible verse that says God sees every sparrow fall to the ground. Matthew 10:29 I believe.

After I repented, I realized God was teaching me something.

Someone might cast a stone or two at me, and I have no reason to complain. Two reasons:

1) I probably (and I mean definitely) deserve to have stones cast at me.

2) Instead of complaining about the stones thrown at me, I should focus more instead on how I can avoid being the boulder that crushes someone else.

Honest Worship, Honest Life

A.W. Tozer once said, “Christians don’t tell lies – they go to church and sing them.”

Like you, the phrase caught me off guard. But when given to deeper thought, I realized it was true.

Let’s start with the basics. A popular verse found in many Christian songs is, “I lift my hands and I sing.” (If I cited that, I would run out of room on this post.)

I know I’ve never once had my hands in the air as I sang that verse.

Oh, we can justify it all we want by saying things like, “But it’s my heart that I’m lifting up.”

Bull. God knows the difference between your heart and your hands. He also knows the difference between security and insecurity.

What about song verses like, “I lay it all down for You.”

There aren’t many times I’ve repented from things after singing songs that make those bold statements. In fact, not sure if I ever have.

Here’s the thing. We’re so concerned with looking spiritual, we’re willing to live lies in order to come across as having it all together.

Not trying to toot my own horn here, but I don’t have it all together. In fact, I’m a mess. A spiritual, emotional, (sometimes) physical mess!

There are two types of places I’ve worked at. One was corporate. The other local.

In the corporate setting, these managers did everything right and by the book. They checked and double-checked everything off their lists that they were supposed to do. They dressed properly, they blushed if they cursed, they obeyed the rules.

Until they thought no one was looking.

First, they gossiped. (That’s how I learned about all the rules they broke on a daily basis.) Online shopping on the clock, not clocking off for lunch, “borrowing” some cash from store funds, engaging in inappropriate affairs with their employees, passing their jobs off to others, shirking duties, and the list goes on.

But you’d never know it by talking to them.

Then I’ve worked for a local place, where the “corporate office” isn’t but half a rung higher than the managers on the proverbial ladder.

These guys smoke weed, curse like sailors, cheat on their taxes, and I’d not doubt for a minute that a handful of them served time.

But you know which group I like better? That’s right – this right-winged fundamentalist Christian would much rather hang out with the rap-popping, weed-smoking, beer-happy “sinners” than the uptight, stiff-necked, hypocrites of the corporate place I worked for.

Why? Because at least these rough necks aren’t hiding anything.

They’re unashamed: “Here I am; take it or leave it… foo’!”

These guys are easier to witness to. They’re not going to get all over you for being politically incorrect or cry foul to the boss because you offended them. They might not admit they need help or change in their lives, but they’re also not likely to say nothing’s wrong with them and that every thing’s fine.

But I tell you. I’m such a mess myself. I do lie every time I sing, “I give You my all,” because honestly, I don’t. I just don’t give Jesus my all. That hasn’t happened before.

I’m not saying we shouldn’t worship. I’m not berating you for singing such songs, and declaring such promises. I’m just at a point in my life where I feel dishonest singing them.

I need to get to a place where I am actually doing such things as “giving my all,” and “taking up my cross,” and being brave enough to raise my hands (only for the attention of God), and then I’ll have a better, more honest, transparent worship time.

Then maybe it will make it easier for Jesus to come minister to me. Heaven knows I’m such a mess that I need it.

Pee, Puppies, and God

They had it. They had my trust.

Then they lost it.

And I had it.

I had had enough. It was time to start locking them up again.

We have three dachshunds living with us. One of them, the small red one, is Pixie. She’s ours, and just turned four.

The other two, Roxy (black) and Sydney (chocolate), are on loan from Sarabeth’s sister and brother-in-law who are missionaries in a country that frowns on dogs. So, for their mortal safety, they left their most cherished possessions in our care.

The neighbors think we’re nuts. And it’s not like these are timid, quiet pups. These dogs, all three of them, bark at every wind-blown leaf that crosses their path. Once they start, there’s no stopping them.

Not only that, but Pixie has a grass allergy, so to prevent rashes from growing on her tummy, she has to wear a onesie. (And a doggie-sweater for the winter).

Yup.

We’re those neighbors. Step aside, smelly old cat lady! The Toys have one-uped you!

Can you imagine just trying to get to your car to go to work each morning and the neighbor’s dogs are barking hysterically at you – some dressed in clothes, others simultaneously pooping – as if you were the freak?

Well, there they are. Our three Musketeers. The three Amigos. Larry, Curly and Mo. Ready to bark at a moment’s notice, then scamper away in terror if you get too close.

Ridiculous.

Well, every time Sarabeth and I left the house together, we’d lock them up. I hated doing that, especially when we all know the sun was about to shine through the windows. Man, how they love that sun beam! Who am I to take that away from them?

One day, I decided to leave them out of their cages for a trial run, and see how they do.

By and by, they had earned my trust, and we rarely, if ever, came home to pee or poop on the floor.

There was no more need to lock them up when we left the house. I declared them free dogs.

Until our schedules got a little different. Suddenly, we weren’t just leaving the house to go to work or to church. Other things came up, job schedules changed, I was needed for book tours and signings.

And the dogs retaliated.

Sometimes we’d come home to not one, but two or three separate pee spots. (And I prayed they hadn’t pooped and that it was no longer there to be cleaned.)

I had had it. They had lost their privilege. They could no longer be left out when we leave the house.

It breaks my heart every time I have to lock them up, because I know that they’re choosing this. It’s their decision to lose out on their freedom.

And every time I lock them up, I’m reminded: What kinds of freedoms and privileges have I lost because of my disobedience to God? In what ways does His heart break when He must discipline me?

We’re all locked up in some way or another, because we’ve left broken hearts and broken promises throughout our lives. We’ve abused power and our freedom.

But at least I know God isn’t giddy about our loss of freedom. He’s hurt.

I believe He’s willing to work with us to grow us and shape us and help us mature so that we just might be able to earn different blessings and privileges from Him.

Let’s start picking up after our own messes, and maybe we’ll regain trust with people and God.

Check out more of our dogs on Sarabeth’s blog, thedachshundblog.

The Best Post on SSM

With all the commotion and argument exploding around the country, and specifically in our nation’s capitol, over same-sex marriage, it’s difficult for either side to get a word in edge-wise.

(I appreciate you O’Riley, but just shush for a moment.)

And honestly, I’ve been scare to even speak up myself. For two reasons (and I’m being very vulnerable here):

1. I feel like it’s a lost cause.

2. I feel like we Christians have no other leg to stand on other than “God says so.” (Though my wife provided many other facts and statistics against SSM, thus proving that my little fear in null.)

In this long debate, feathers have been ruffled, feelings have been hurt, and neither side, as a general rule, can really claim that they’ve shut up and let the other side talk.

I ran across this blog post by a woman, Lindy Keffer, my wife and I highly respect from our days at the Focus on the Family Leadership Institute where we met.

I’m humbled that I didn’t write this post myself, but thankful that I found it. Lindy sums up everything I just couldn’t – or wouldn’t – write down and publicize myself. It’s a tad lengthy, but very much worth the read, no matter which “side” you’re on.

I’ve spent the past week thinking that social media is not the place to discuss the issue of same-sex marriage (SSM) because it perpetuates one of my biggest pet peeves: civil discourse being reduced to two opposing sides lobbing soundbites (or red equal signs, as the case may be) at each other, without actually havingany productive discussion.

I appreciated one friend who used her Facebook status to encourage folks to talk about these important issues face-to-face instead. That was going to be my sole approach, except tonight I’ve got some things weighing on my mind so heavily that I feel compelled to post them. Compelled, but nervous. Hence the title:

Hurt people hurt people…

click here to read the rest

Don’t Go to Church on Easter

Easter is just one week away.

Have you invited anybody to church?

Easter is a time for believers to gather together and celebrate the Lord’s resurrection from the grave and our redemption through Him.

But it is NOT an exclusive holiday.

When Christ returns a second time, it’s not going to be done in secret, quietly, behind the doors of a church, nor in the privacy of a stable.

No. Not this time.

It’s going to be loud and explosive and every knee will bow and acknowledge Jesus Christ as Lord of the earth.

Folks, Easter is a dress rehearsal for Christ’s second coming, and all the world will see Him. So what are we doing keeping Easter a private family affair? When we signed up to become Christ’s followers, we agreed to take His message to the ends of the earth. The least we can do is take His message to the other end of our workplace, or down the street.

So here’s my challenge, unorthodox as it may be.

Don’t make plans to go to church on Easter Sunday if you don’t invite a lost person to come with you.

Here’s why I make this challenge. First, it is a reminder that Easter is not about you. Second, how intimidating would it be to have to explain to someone that you didn’t go to church on Easter because you didn’t invite someone else join you?

Now, I may be wrong, but how much less intimidating would it be to just throw out a simple invitation?:

“Got any plans for Easter?”

“No.”

“Want to come to church with me and my family?”

“Naw, that’s fine. Thanks, though.”

Easy peasy.

Now you just need to keep praying for them and witnessing to them since they now know you’re a Christian. Cat’s out of the bag.

Now you can celebrate the Lord’s resurrection with a clear conscious, knowing that you did what you could (and by all means, if the Lord is prodding you to do more, do it). And who knows? The most unexpected thing could happen and they might accept your invitation! And maybe… just maybe they’ll accept the bigger invitation to accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior and there will be an even bigger celebration in the celestial halls of Heaven than we could ever dream of here on earth.

Don’t make Easter about you. Make it about Jesus. And the thing Jesus is about, is bringing people from death to life.

Note: I understand that some readers may have faced (or may face) persecution or insults or hardships, especially my international readers. I do not mean to make light of inviting people to church and passing it off as something that is easy to do. But that does not negate the challenge (not mine – Christ’s). All of us believers must pray for the lost as well as fellow believers that God may grant them courage and strength.

 

Always Wreckin’ It

Poor Ralph. He just wants to be one of the good guys for once. He’s tired of his big, clumsy fists, tired of always hurting people, tired of wrecking everything.

Peter would have liked Ralph. Peter’s problem didn’t lie in his fists, but in his mouth. Always spouting off an irrational answer, making promises he can’t possibly keep, cutting people’s ears off, spewing poison before the cock crows…

Always wrecking things.

In the Toy household, we have enough faith in Disney to forego the theater outing and just buy their movies when they come on video. From Meet the Robinsons to Bolt to  Tangled, I’m not sure we’ve ever been disappointed.

Now, to be sure, Sarabeth didn’t care too much about our newest addition, Wreck it Ralph, which came on video last Tuesday. The video game setting threw her off, and she couldn’t connect with it. Until she decided to watch the second half… she gradually got sucked in and said, “I’m sure I’ll like it more when we watch it again next week.”

Yeah. That’s what we do here. When we find a fun new movie, we latch onto it for weeks at a time and watch it till we’re tired of it. Kids would fit in perfectly in our home, don’t you think??

So the story goes, that Ralph, this video game character was programmed to be a bad guy, always destroying the Nicelanders’ beautiful retro-style buildings. That’s what he was made to do. That was his lot is in life.

Destroy the nice people’s buildings, then go home to your junk pile until the next day.

We’re no different than Ralph in one regard.

Since the Fall, we too were programed to mess up, screw up, act out, lash out, trip up, slip up, break this, wreck that…

Calvin asked Hobbs of the famed Waterson comic strip, “Are people born good with bad tendencies, or born bad with good tendencies?”

Since sin squatted down and defecated on the world and since we are descendants of the first sinners, the answer is that we are all programmed to sin from the start. We are all programmed to wreck it.

If we’re not wrecking someone else’s heart, we’re wrecking our own.

But our friend Ralph, just like our brother Peter, wasn’t happy with his lot in life. He wanted something more. He wanted to be respected as a hero, and liked as a friend.

He wanted to be good.

And don’t we all? I mean, even the worst of us, at some point in our lives want to be good. Even the most flamboyant liberal and most money-grabbing conservative wants to be good somewhere deep inside.

But we’re incapable of that.

“Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. ²² For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; ²³ but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. ²⁴ What a wretched man I am!” Romans 7:21-24

Most of us know this verse well. Many of us can resonate with it. The turmoil of ceaseless temptations, the slave driver of constant sin, the oppression of ousting God’s Word from our hearts!

We know this feeling! Ralph may not have voiced it, Peter might not have articulated it, but Paul gave words to our innermost groaning and shoved a bullhorn up to our hearts and exclaimed, “What a wretched man I am!”

Wretched. Always wrecking.

So what now? Just walk away with our heads down low, leaving behind a trail of wrecked hearts and broken promises?

“Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? ²⁵ Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!” Romans 7 cont.

While we may constantly wreck things, remember in whom you are to put your trust:

“Behold, I make all things new.”  Revelation 21:1

Maranatha, Lord Jesus. Come fix this mess we’ve made of Your world.

[Image Credit]

Dressing Up

This last weekend, I had the privilege of attending the famous Con Nooga Convention in Chattenooga, Tennessee as a guest author promoting my book, The Man in the Box, and serving on several different discussion panels giving advise to aspiring authors.

It was a great time. So a big thanks to my publisher Blackwyrm for sending me there on their dime and ticket.

The target crowd was mostly sci-fi/fantasy audiences. I was surrounded by Star Wars booths and replicated Dr. Who phone booths (no pun intended), and Walking Dead paraphernalia. There were a lot of life-sized, fully-working R2D2 droids gliding around. I of course put in a word for the engineers  to get a Wall-E robot next year so I’d feel a bit more at home. Regardless, I was still pleased to see that many people were interested in my book. I sold quite a few copies!

Anyway, I’ve always seen pictures of people dressing up to go to the opening night of certain movie franchises. Perhaps you’ve even stood in line next to an Elf as you waited to get in to see a Peter Jackson movie. I remember having to look over a pirate hat to watch one of the Pirate of the Caribbean movies.

I always thought dressing up was all just fun and games.

But apparently the people who dress up take it seriously.

Very, very seriously.

And I couldn’t figure out why for the longest time.

I had been asked more than once over the weekend if I ever dress up. (Apparently my ironed button up and fitted jeans didn’t convince them that I was of a different planet from them.) But one person asked, “Why not?”

I just sort of shrugged and said, “I was never one to even dress up for Halloween.” (I always liked Jim Halpert’s costumes the best.)

And then this person asked a question that made me realize why people dress up.

“You’ve never been so inspired by someone or something that you feel like if you can just look like them for one day, you might just get to feel like that person you most admire?”

I considered this, then thought that I probably wouldn’t be so cool dressing up as George Washington.

“Aren’t you just that passionate about anything?” This person asked.

That conversation got me thinking.

“Clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Romans 13:14.

We’re supposed to be dressing up like Him every day.

I might not ever don the cape of a Jedi or go grocery shopping dressed as Batman, but I am commanded to dress like Jesus every day. 

I’m supposed to act like Him. Talk like Him. I’m supposed to be “so inspired by Him that I feel like if I could just look like Him for one day, I might just get to feel like that Man I most admire.”

Don’t I admire Him enough to act like Him?

I don’t know that I do, sometimes.

A lot of times I want to be Andrew.

And more times than that I want to be somebody else. Like maybe Martin Riggs or John McClane because of their guts, or Bill Gates because of his money, or George Washington because of his character.

Sarabeth’s sister suggested a while ago that we all dress up as characters from The Hunger Games when we go to see Catching Fire this fall. And as out of our element as that is, we actually considered it for a second. (Imagine me, with blue lipstick and tinted blue hair and big shiny teeth!)

But how often do I get up in the mornings and think, “I’m going to be like Jesus today”?

I don’t think I do that very often. And that’s what usually gets me into a lot of trouble.

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.” Colossians 3:12

[Image Credit]