A little water won't hurt

It's always interesting to see how informal groups quickly fall behind a person.  There's always somebody that has the magnetism and the drive that others recognize. Every group needs a leader, otherwise it will quickly fall apart.


The ragtag group called "the disciples" were obviously led by Peter. Full of vim, vigor and bluster he seemd to be the first one to make the leap. He wanted to show the world that he was a true believer.


He stood in the courtyards and tried to keep the mobs from trampling his Lord. Running the security detail, he was the one who pulled the sword in the Garden. When times got tough, he rallied the troops. He was the muscle behind the message. 

So it's no surprise that he was the first one out of the boat.


Oh. The boat. The one that Jesus sent to the other side and a storm kicked, threatening to capsize the boat. And then suddenly, walking on the water, He appeared. The disciples were relieved and simultaneously scared out of their wits.

Not Peter. "Let me walk," he said. "I can do this."

He actually did -- but then, the reality of the situation gripped him. There's no ground, nothing solid to stand on. He realized that he wasn't supposed to do this and he began to sink.

And I think that was a good thing. It still is. So what if you sink. So what if your nostrils fill with water and you push up with all your flailing strength just to get a gasp of air. So what if you feel like this time, it's the end.

Photo by  Whitney Thorne

We could all use a little sinking in our lives, in order to build reliance on the unsinkable One. We all could stand to go hungry for a day, to lose a little sleep, to miss a paycheck, to lose a friend.

When you're in the middle of adversity, when you miss a breath, you feel like it's the end. It isn't.

What if we didnt know where our next meal would come from, if we would have another hour, if we couldn't be sure of the next breath. Utter reliance isn't such a bad thing.

We could all stand to lose something, in order to gain everything.

I'm not afraid to sink, and I won't drown.

Can we ever trust again?

Trust is a critical component -- in the workplace, in the home, in churches and in politics. Nothing will derail good intentions faster than a lack of trust.

Many of our societal ills come from a lack of trust. Government manipulation of data to support the Vietnam War, capped by Watergate started the modern-day distrust of authority. Investigative reporters became a standard at most newsrooms.

And before you knew it, every authority figure was looked at askance, as if anything they said was a lie. Suddenly, liars were everywhere – or so it seemed. Prominent church leaders, politicians and journalists have all fallen from their precarious perches. Companies crumbled and took their shareholders and pensioners savings down with them.

Can we ever trust again?

Does a Christian have more credibility than a non Christian? I think we need to be clarions of truth, never stretching the truth for our own benefit. Our word means nothing when we say one thing and then do another. "Let your yes be yes."

Trust isn’t complicated. It’s earned through words and backed by actions. I've learned this lesson the hard way, as I reap daily the bad fruit from lies told long ago.




What are your feelings on trust? Are you cyical, jaded and distrusting everyone? Do you find that your lack of trust causes you to limp along? What would life be like if you trusted again?

"Uphold me in the common strife
Give me the grace to work and plan
And in the marketplace of life
O keep me, Lord, an honest man.

—Bayliss

How to Find an Upside in This Down Economy

We all know people who have been laid off, fired or whose jobs have disappeared altogether. For millions, months have now turned into years of unemployment or under-employment. Maybe this is you.

I have a friend -- John -- who lost his job. His attitude was amazing. With a wife and children at home, he could have, he should have gotten angry. But instead his very first reaction was of expectancy. "I don't like it. I don't understand it. But I look forward to seeing the hand of God in our lives," he wrote in his journal on the day he was laid off.

In the same position, I probably would have said things and done things that were far less holy. I might have even given God—and my boss—a piece of mind. But John immediately saw the possibility of an upside in his down world.

While the world sees brokenness, we (should) see blessings. While the market sees chaos, we see order emerging. While friends and family see despair, we can find hope. That's who we are.

Read the rest of this article about my friend John which is featured this week over at Christianity Today, Men of Integrity.
How are you faring in this down economy? What lessons have you learned?



Photo by David Rupert



Going back to the rubble

(Photo credit: OldOnliner)

Have you ever opened up a desk drawer and promptly closed it because it was just too messy to deal with.

Some of us have chapters of our lives that we wish weren't part of our history. There is abundant counsel and books that go to great lengths to help us “deal with it.” The problem is that there seems to be so little to deal with.  For me, when I look back at those years, when I survey the landscape, all I see is rubble.

It’s a tangled, twisted mess . Worse of all, I can’t change history, especially the actions of others. I'm not alone in dealing with yesterday. I bet there are days, or months, or years you wish you could just rip the pages out of the  calendar of time and throw them away. But you can't.

There’s an African concept called Sankofa. If your village burns down, you go back to it and pick through the rubble, rescuing what you can. You then leave, simple possessions in hand, to your new home. "It's not wrong to go back for that what you've forgotten".

There’s an acknowledgement of trial and tragedy, and a simple thankfulness for what still remains.

Going back is problematic, because I do have to face certain truths about others – and myself. But within that rubble of relationship and circumstance are some diamonds, some precious things that survived the heat and the flame. There are things that cannot be destroyed that can go with me.

When I focus on the circumstance, it’s all too easy to play the victim, to rub the soot on my face and wait for others to give a little pity. But By doing so, I drag them, unwittingly, to the ruins, to the scene of the crime.

So I have a few precious things that I have recovered, memories that I cherish.

And I have a Rock that survived the flame. In my new home, I select an even spot on the ground and place it, tamping it down so it doesn't move. I then find another rock to stack. And then another. 

We draw lessons from the past, but we cannot live in it -- Lyndon Johnson
But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead," Phillipians 3:13

One Brilliant Show

(This is a repost from last year's Mother's Day article. When I printed it off and showed it to her, she cried. I didn't know it would be her last Mother's Day)

She was always a good sport. Amazing sense
of humor. "Mom, hold this broom and smile"

Mom has always had a passion for flowers. She believed they could brighten any drab room, liven any conversation, and change any dour mood. For 20 years, she took this vision earnestly each Sunday at the First Baptist Church. As the flower coordinator, she turned the plain wood altar at the front of the church into a dazzling display of God’s creation. 

A negligible budget prevented floral shop arrangements, only provoking the creative mind of this resourceful woman. Every Saturday we would search the mountain countryside for willows and lilacs and wild flowers. Old dirt roads, creek beds -- and even abandoned graveyards-- were sources we would use. 

The cold winters limited our natural flower gathering, so Mom utilized her for dried collections, pulled from boxes stacked high in the garage. Her delightful displays, no matter the season, were often the subject of talk after church more than the sermons.

During the winter, Mom raised daffodils in pots that lined her kitchen window. Each day she watered, fed, and fertilized -- all in preparation for one brilliant show on the church altar. Mom would always pick a spring day when the snow was deep, but the sun brilliant. With tender care Mom would clip the daffodils from her pots in the window. The shoots were full and ready to burst, their tops still wrapped tight in the leafy envelope. 

The buds were placed in a simple glass vase full of warm water, placed on the altar hours before anyone else arrived. As the time drew near, the church members traipsed through flowing gutters and slushy sidewalks, and ducked streaming icicles from the roof edge as they entered. 

The best looking 78 year old woman I've ever known

The service began as had a hundred others, with the usual announcements and welcomes to visitors. Imperceptibly at first, then with amazing swiftness the buds began to open. By time the service was over, the daffodils had exploded into a panoply of color. The miracle of flowers, generated by an eternal God who did not leave us in a drab, cold world, was on full display.


Her children have all progressed long ago to adulthood, her long labor of love finally fulfilled . With dirt on her hands, this blessed woman places her children on the altar, an offering to her Maker.


Here are some reflections about her final days. Here and here.


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Brain Freeze

"Iron rusts from disuse; stagnant water loses its purity and in cold weather becomes frozen; even so does inaction sap the vigor of the mind."

-- Leonardo da Vinci, The Notebooks
  
 What do you do to keep fresh?

Photo by Justified Sinner

Tomorrow's Legacy -- Today

What will our children remember?

We all treasure memories. At most of my family gatherings, more than one conversation begins with the expression, “remember when?”

The term is sometimes used to provoke a story, to spur the conversation. But in a deeper way, it’s a tool to help us never forget, to perpetuate the memory. If you don’t keep telling the story, the details get fuzzy – or exaggerated. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard about the root beer on the carpet, or the sledding incident with the dog, or the fishing trip that ended with no fish and a canoe at the bottom of the lake. I know the details, but I want to keep hearing them, so I never forget.

In ancient times, legends were passed on through crude drawings on walls; verbal stories told around the fire and values passed from generation to generation through carefully scripted tradition.

The Bible reminds fathers to teach their children, for the young women to learn from the older women and for the young boys to be taught from their elders.

It’s particularly critical for the sandwich generation – those adults stuck in the middle of two generations. I was there, until both my parents died within 11 months of each other. Suddenly, their children were charged with the family legacy.

Passing it on

We sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by thousands of photos. My sister and I were awed by these collected images from the generations of our family. Mom had trunks and boxes of pictures, stored in shoeboxes, crumbling albums and plastic bags. They were from both sides of the family tree, with many protruding branches. The busy redhead had the best of intentions to organize them, but she simply ran out of days.

And now, there is no one else left to sort them out. We couldn’t just leave it in boxes for our kids, without instructions, without any historical context. It was disorganized, almost hopelessly so. The photo locations, age and bloodlines were all mixed together in a cosmopolitan mix that was almost like a random time machine.


There were lots of pictures of Grandma and Grandpa Rupert on the farm in Lark, North Dakota. They were always smiling, surrounded by horse-drawn farm equipment, covered in dirt and joy. But all of that changed in the 1936, when they put up the farm for auction. No crops. No water. The final photo shows a Chevy pulling a small trailer and the penciled caption, “last day in North Dakota.”

I can’t imagine leaving the life’s work. But they did, trusting God to provide. And He did.

Behind every photo is a story. Some I know, but most are lost to the sands of time, perhaps forever.

Just because it’s old, is it important?

There were pictures of fishing trips and camp meetings, fields in harvest and babies in ornate cradles with lace hats. It was all interesting, but what did we need to keep? Was it right to throw away a 110-year old photograph? Many of the people in the photos we simply didn’t know. Perhaps they were acquaintances or distant family, but someone thought them important enough to photograph and to keep. Is that what memories should be, preserving what someone else felt what was important? Or do I get to choose?

The digital age means that many photos will be lost to scratched compact disks or nonfunctioning hard drives, the smiling faces forever lost to technology.

So what is the legacy that I will preserve for the generations, bottling them up for discovery one day by the curious time travelers? What will we wash away with the spin cycle of time, chalked up to that was yesterday?

The questions are far more numerous than the answers. I hope the memory I give my children, and grandchildren is one of righteousness and truth, one that goes beyond mere pictures or words.

I wonder what they will need to know to survive through their deepest struggle. Will they seek out the memory, and will it be there?

Join, "I live in a Hotbed" for more ruminations on how our impacts our families"

I should have seen it coming

Photo by Andy Arthur

When personal tragedy hits, we often are shocked to the core.


Where did that come from?

When we are hit with a failed relationship or a big bill or the loss of a job, we go into a nerve-rattling state of unbelief. 

Who could have seen that one coming?

But the truth of the matter is that there really is no such thing as “all of sudden" When we objectively look back at our past, we can see the missteps, the disobedience and the bad choices that led to the current predicament.

There things in my life that need to be fixed – right now before they get to crisis. And I’ll bet you have similar issues. Gathering steam, these unresolved issues are pulling together and looking for escape. They could be under the surface. They could be right in front of your face. 

Ignorance isn't bliss. It might even be tragic.

These issues might include an unchecked sin. David’s sideways glance which turned into a lingering stare at the bathing Bathsheba led to adultery, deception and murder. He lost four of his sons and almost his kingdom over an unchecked passion.

It might an angry word that was left hanging, unconfessed and unresolved. Like an alien seed in a prize crop, it can sprout at the worst time. 

It might be a relationship that needs to be patched up. A friend. A brother. A Coworker that you wronged or that wronged you. It doesn’t matter. 

I have ignored things in the past and left them unresolved. They gnawed away in termite-like determination, felling my once strong oak tree person. And I crashed under the weight of my own neglect.

I’m learning my lesson. 


Slowly.