Anger and Hatred

The History Channel has been rocking it with their line of miniseries lately. Recently we watched one of their newest ones, Hatfields & McCoys on Netflix.

If you’re unfamiliar with the true story, it’s about two families divided by the border of Kentucky and West Virginia, who commit one crime after another against each other like a tennis match gone foul. The crimes are usually murders and each one intensifies with hatred, heartlessness, and malicious intent.

Though the story never falters nor grows dull, you end up throwing your hands up in hopelessness for these mad Appalachian Mountain people who seem to have nothing better to do than to plan their next vengeful act to fan the flames on their family rivalry.

(I’d like to point out that the huge shocker is that Kevin Costner, who stars as the patriarch of the Hatfield clan actually can act! – Who’d have known??)

But as you throw your hands up in disgust over these people, you have to stop and wonder – am I like this? Even a little?

Is there anyone you hate, or even dislike a tad? Maybe your boss, an old friend, a coworker, or family member?

I know I’ve got my list of people whom I’d rather not associate with either because of something they’ve done to me or simply because I just can’t stand them.

And there I am, suddenly. Stepping foot on the same trail as the Hatfields and McCoys blazed 150 years ago. You need only to watch the news to see that this same thing still happens today. Sandy Hook, 9/11, Dark Knight shooting…

I’m not talking about family feuds, but unmanaged anger festering inside inconsolable individuals or groups of people.

Here’s the thing. There is no limit to what evils people will commit. And it all starts with anger, hatred, a carelessness for God.

I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I have temper issues in the car. I prefer the streets to be empty when I’m driving so I don’t have to deal with anyone else. (Guess I didn’t learn much about sharing when I was little.)

But who’s to say that anger doesn’t translate into the home when Sarabeth or one of the dogs causes a minor infraction against me? If I can’t control my anger in the car, by myself, then how can I control it at home? At work? At Target, when someone crashes into my cart after turning the corner?

When we give in to anger, at anytime, we carve out a stepping stone for the devil to place his foot into our lives. And he will take that step, and we will likely carve out another, and another, and we are simply inviting the demons into our hearts, our mouths, and our lives whenever we give into anger. And because we’re human, born with evil tendencies, there’s no telling what we will do in our anger.

I’m sure if you had asked the Hatfields or McCoys what sort of legacy they would want to leave behind, neither of them would say that they dreamed of being remembered as insane villans who dedicated their lives to a mini civil war in the backwoods against their neighbors.

Yet, because they couldn’t – or wouldn’t – let go of their petty anger issues, that’s what they’re remembered for today. And we’re hard-pressed to pity any of them, save the women and children who were the victims.

What about you? Do you want to be remembered as someone who was able to stay in control when opposing circumstances got in your way? Or would you rather be remembered as having a loose tempter, a short fuse, and being a bear to be around?

I have to work hard at keeping my temper under control. And I don’t always succeed, and I’m ashamed of it. But watch this mini series, and you’ll learn a valuable lesson on the topic, as I did. Be advised that the three-episode miniseries contains frequent violence and brief, censored, sexuality.

“In your anger do not sin”: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry,  and do not give the devil a foothold.  He who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with his own hands, that he may have something to share with those in need.  Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.  And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption.  Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice.” Ephesians 4:26-31

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.

Doors, Dogs, and Doubt

So it has finally begun. I realize I’ve been quiet on the topic of our adoption journey since I’ve first started this blog early last year.

Well, with our classes out of the way (not much to blog about there), the paper work filled out (most of if), and house made as child-proof as can be (the picture here is of our future child’s room), I am thrilled to say that we had our first home study visit yesterday evening.

We’ve been worried sick over this visit for the past couple of months. When we brought it to the attention of the foster-to-adopt class that we live in a loft – a home without doors – we were practically laughed out of the program.

It was humiliating, for sure. But it only angered me. First off, Sarabeth had drawn a perfect blueprint of our home (as instructed) showing that the two bedrooms are completely separate – each at the end of our U-shaped loft. There’s lots of privacy.

The second thing that angered me was how quickly the minds of our fellow classmates – prospective foster-to-adopt parents – sunk into the gutter – hence all the laughter.

We could put up a door, separating the nook and bedroom from the living room, but it would significantly devalue the worth of the loft. So, in the interest of financial planning, that was not feasable.

The second thing we were worried about was our three dogs. Dachshunds. And if you know dachshunds, they’re known for four things: cuddling, sensitive backs, barking, and lots more barking.

It’s stressful having people over knowing the dogs are going to spend the first ten minutes barking their fool heads off. So, over time we’ve learned different strategies of keeping them at bay (locking them up) and shortening the length of barking time (bribery with treats that require perseverance and time to get through).

So needless to say, we were prepared for the home study visit to end with, “Call me when you get some doors up, and you get your dogs under control.”

I won’t bore you with the details, but let me just say that last night’s visit couldn’t have gone any better. The case worker, who was a wonderfully nice person – to our surprise – didn’t see any problem with us having no doors as our bedrooms are indeed very separate from each other.

…And she was a dog lover! She had two of her own – a collie and a something Shepherd (Australian, German, I forget – either way, the kind of big dogs I would like to have one day).

So all this to encourage you, if you’re living in a world of worry, or anxiety is keeping you up at night, and you don’t have the strength or faith to pray about it (like me), keep your friends in the loop and they’ll pray on your behalf. Many of our friends and family members prayed for us, and we’re so thankful.

So, with just a few more things to check off our list, we’re almost approved to be foster-to-adopt parents – and so, so excited, and shocked, and simply thankful.

Yeah, despite all the worrying, things are starting to fall into place. I bet it’s that way for most other people as well.

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]

If I Were Noah

You know what the most fascinating thing about the true-life story of Noah’s ark is?

It’s not that all the animals were able to co-exist on one vessel for a long period of time.

It’s not that it took just a handful of people to build such a large ship all by themselves.

It’s not even that Hollywood was able to find a way to dumb down the story with Evan Almighty. 

Fascinating as those things are.

But the thing that catches my attention the most is that Noah didn’t argue.

There is no recorded mumbling or groaning or complaining by Noah, his wife, his kids, nor his kids’ wives.

Let’s put this in perspective, and you’ll see why I find it so fascinating.

Take my lead and put yourself in Noah’s sandals and feel the heaviness of the moment weighing down on you as you hear God speaking to you:

Then God said to Andrew, “The end of all flesh has come before Me; for the earth is filled with violence because of them; and behold, I am about to destroy them with the earth.” 

So at this point I’m thinking, “Sounds fair. It’s what I’ve been thinking should happen all along what with the 50 Shades and Twilight phenomenons.” 

But then after thinking about it, I realize my earth is going to end. My world. Keep in mind that I’m only 29, and Noah was around 600 years old. His memories, his childhood homes, his whole world was about to be destroyed. Family friends, relatives, cousins he’d grown up playing sticks and stones with. All were going to be destroyed. Six hundred years worth of friends, memorable places, favorite restaurants and other comforts.

The trees he once climbed, the meadows he once flew in, the bridge he shared his first kiss on, the alter where he made his vows. All of it destroyed.

Then God continues, “Make for yourself an ark of gopher wood; you shall make the ark with rooms, and shall cover it inside and out with pitch. This is how you shall make it…”

Noah either had a great memory at 600, or he was smart enough to jot these divine instructions down. I would smile and nod as I usually do, but somewhere in the back of my head I’d be thinking, “This is a lot of work. I barely have time to clip and sell enough wool to sell in the market to make ends meet, and now you’re expecting me to take on a whole new vocation as a carpenter?”

Maybe Noah already had blessed hands and worked well with wood, so it’s hard for me to fathom being handed such a task. Just yesterday I couldn’t even drill a hole correctly to hang the curtain rods up without screwing it up (pun).

It’s overwhelming.

So between the Doomsday prophecy and the extra work load, I’m fascinated that Noah didn’t complain.

But maybe that’s why God chose him.

But then again… Moses talked back, and he was only told to pass a simple message along to the Pharaoh.

… Jonah ran away and he was only asked to evangelize in God’s name.

… the young rich man was only asked to throw a yard sale and give to the poor.

… I’m only asked to pray faithfully for my wife and future kids.

What is God asking of you?

It’s not likely that He’s telling you to quit your job to build a bomb-shelter for the upcoming nuclear fallout and wave adios to your friends and family for forever.

Heck, it’s probably not even likely that He’s asking you to lay down your life for the sake of the Gospel.

Though that day may be coming.

Noah was ready to do all that God had asked him, and he didn’t complain. He was ready. True, he had 600 years to prepare, but he also had 600 years to mess around.

I heard on the News this morning that life expectancy is supposed to go up to 111 years in our generation. If you’re my age, that means you roughly have around 82 years to get ready for what God might be preparing to ask of you. But probably a lot less time that that, because realistically most of us will be lucky to live past 82, so we can now recalculate that we will only have 53 years left to live.

Genesis 6:9. Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his time; Noah walked with God.

Could that be said of you now? Could it be said of me? Because if we’re righteous and blameless now, not taking part in the corruption of the world that’s daily laid out before us on a silver plater, it may just be that we might not have a reason to complain when God asks us of things.

Just have your tools ready for when He does. And no complaining.

[Image Credit]

Of Silverfish and Prayer

“Honey, don’t look up. Just slowly get up and go to the bedroom,” I said as I eyed the giant silverfish sitting on the wall about seven feet above my wife’s head.

It was yesterday. Sunday morning. And we were just finishing up breakfast on the couch. Buttered chocolate-chip bread for her, and that plus a bowl of breakfast candy (Cocoa Puffs) for me.

I don’t know what made me look up, but I did. And there it was. Images from my book The Man in the Box flashed into my mind. I must be a prophet, I thought to myself. Except, this wasn’t a centipede as the characters in my book are apt to encounter. This was a silverfish.

A silverfish is similar to a centipede, and honestly, I don’t know which one is grosser. I had never even heard of a silverfish until I moved to Kentucky, but I learned quickly that they blend in more, so they’re harder to spot, and they’re quicker than centipedes, so they’re harder to catch.

I don’t suggest Googling them. Just imagine a centipede with larger legs and long curly antenna.

“Go to the bedroom,” I told Sarabeth. She grabbed the dogs and did as I said.

This was my moment to shine. I grabbed my sword (fly swatter) from the storage room and returned to the wall above the couch where the silverfish remained, eying me. Daring me. Taunting me.

I had to climb up onto the backside of the couch to get a good swat in. And that’s where I met my dillimma. The silverfish was close to the corner of the wall, and you know that that’s the worst place for a bug to be when armed only with just the face of a fly swatter.

You must meticulously graze the adjasent wall with the edge of the swatter at a rapid enough speed to stun – no, disable – the offender. Yet if you swat too hard, you run the risk of chipping the paint off the wall or making a long, bug-gutted scratch.

The other threat that was posed to me was that if I didn’t kill my opponent on the first try, it would fall twelve feet onto the carpet below, behind the couch, and could scurry any which way.

And we all know that a lost bug really is a phantom bug just waiting to strike – especially when you’re on the couch enjoying the latest episode of Downton. (Poor Matthew, right?? And, I’m sorry, but Thomas is absolutely detestable, so they might as well not try to redeem him.)

So there I stood, precariously on the back of the couch, clad in my jamie-jams, hair disheveled, bright green $2 plastic weapon in hand. A true knight.

I strike.

My foe is stunned, and furiously clutches to my weapon. I lose my footing, possibly due to a premature celebratory jig. But as I fall, I lose hold of the fly swatter, but manage to fling my assailant into the bowl lamp standing behind the couch. The bug is trapped, and I continue to fall and my foot lands on the soft cushion of the couch

and twists. Ker-Rack!!

Words are scattered into the air that Sarabeth attempts to rebuke from the bedroom. This is not a very good way to prepare for church which starts 45 minutes.

I would have gotten up much quicker if I hadn’t made sure the silverfish was trapped in the lamp.

With sweat dripping from my brow and the bones clanking in my right foot, I manage to get back up and find the silverfish curled up by the bulb in the lamp, just as stunned as I am.

I should have just turned the light on and let it burn. But this job had to be finished sooner rather than later. Plus, I don’t really want to know what burnt bug smells like.

So, having convinced myself that the silverfish is either dead or too injured to move, I scooped it out of the lamp with my fly swatter – you know, because the laws of nature will just work out in my favor: the bug will stick to it, and I’ll have no problem carrying it over the couch across the room, open the window and fling it out -

and it falls.

Down behind the couch.

And it runs.

I didn’t know which way it ran. Heck, I didn’t even know if ran or limped or skipped away with glee and giggles. All I know is that it was not where it had fallen.

“I’m not sitting back on that couch until you find it,” Sarabeth said.

Now our lazy Sunday afternoon plans were at stake.

This. Just. Got. Serious.

So I searched far and wide for the little brute. I felt like Tom Hanks searching for Private Ryan. It was going to be a long day. And the little devil would have a long morning finding the perfect hiding spot while we were at church. Maybe it would even find a mate and have babies by the time we got back.

Church. Oh, yeah. And I remembered the book we are going through as a congregation in our small group. Paul Miller opens up his book, A Praying Life with a story about his daughter losing her contact outside in the grass on a camping trip. After searching for it, they pray. And they find it.

To be honest, I rolled my eyes at this story, because that always happens to someone else.

I could do with a little more faith in my life. And I didn’t pray to find the silverfish as a ploy to test God. I didn’t even have faith that I would find the silverfish, because so much time had passed and at this point it could be anywhere.

But something very, very deep inside me had just enough faith in the One to whom I was praying. And just like Jesus told the fishermen to cast their nets on the other side of the boat, I went to the other side of the room where I honestly didn’t believe I would find it.

And there it was. Under the love seat waving a little white flag.

Our lazy Sunday afternoon was saved.

But more importantly, my faith in God went up a notch. And you know what? It was worth twisting my foot for.

[Image Credit]