One At A Time

Part 2

Our company had just departed. The evening was fun; our hearts and stomachs were full. The pile of dishes waited like an impatient boss as they sat on the countertop next to the sink. Ugh!

Cathy and I both went into "task mode." This wasn't the time to check email, watch TV or write tomorrow's blog post. It wasn't the time to prop up with a good book. It was time to do dishes and clean up the kitchen. We set about doing the chores quickly, yet methodically. In less than twenty minutes we were done!

Yesterday's story, about a lady who was down in the dumps as she procrastinated about some simple tasks, was true. But it was also a parable. And it gives significant understanding to my recent realities.

I have been under incessant deadlines and pressures. You could say that the week I am behind in sermon preparation (I'm usually 3 weeks ahead; right now it's only 2) is like an unwashed plate on the cabinet. Then there's the planning for dinners we will host as part of a special project -- like a dirty glass. Then the planning for a giving emphasis for our future campus development -- like a crusted baking pan.

Add in the sickness that has at times compressed our staff -- like a dirty bowl. And the death in my assistant's immediate family -- like a stack of silverware. And the associate pastor away for a much-needed vacation -- like a another dinner plate.

Oh, I need to mention the day and a half away for my wife to undergo outpatient surgery (in Phoenix, difficult recuperation, but she's getting much better now) -- like a greasy skillet.

And, to top it all off, we are approaching our largest outreach event of the year this Saturday (Family Fall Festival) -- like a whole stack of dinnerware.

You see, my life can get stacked up just easily as that lady who called her pastor. Yours can, too. And, if we don't stop what we're doing to take care of business, we will probably be "down in the dumps."

Doing of the dishes. Putting life into perspective and avoiding the blues.

That's why I haven't written much on Dwell and Cultivate lately.

Tomorrow, I want to share about it from one more angle; that as a leader.

One At A Time

It's surely oversimplified, but a story I heard has fused itself on my brain for about a quarter century. A pastor I knew told about a lady in his congregation.

The lady struggled with being down in the dumps. Notice that I didn't say "depression" -- I'm certain her ailment was not depression. At least not the clinical type.

Anyway, this lady asked the pastor to come to her home and pray for her. He walked in (I hope he wasn't visiting alone, but that's another story.) and saw that her house was trashed. The lady was very low and she wanted a listening ear.

After a time, he told the lady that he knew how to cure her blues. "How?" she asked.

"I won't tell you unless you promise to follow my instructions."

"I'll try," was her reply.

"Then I won't tell you."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Have I ever given you anything to do that is impossible for you to do?"

"Uh, no," said the lady.

"Then I give you my word that the cure for your problems is within your ability and I will tell you what it is if you promise to do it."

"I'll try," she said again.

He arose to leave. "In that case, I won't tell you."

"But I'll try!" Pleading in her voice.

"No. I won't tell you unless you promise."

Finally, she gave in.

"When I leave, get up and go into your kitchen. Clean up that pile of dishes stacked in the sink. Tonight, call me and tell me three words: 'I did it.' Then I will give you the next step."

Fortunately, the lady followed through with her promise. The pastor gave her a series of small projects that, one-by-one, got her life manageable again. Within a few days, her blues were gone.
...........
In case you're wondering, I haven't been in the blues. However, this story relates to something I can tell you about my recent absence here at Dwell and Cultivate.

I will do that tomorrow.

More Heat Than Light

It has been over thirty years since I opened the door to our little, two-bedroom house. The lady who had walked in kindly invited us to a Bible Study. A series of questions and answers brought several facts to the surface:

1. She was from a church whose beliefs were significantly different than ours.

2. Her church tended to think that they were the only true believers.

3. The fact that I was already a Christian, already an experienced church staff member and finishing my education toward the pastorate meant nothing. I was wrong because I wasn't a part of her brand of church.

I was incensed. I was defensive. In the end, I was rude. I showed her the door and never saw her again.

Today I'm ashamed that I got so angry and acted with such arrogance. If I met her again, I would apologize.

I thought of that lady after yesterday's post. I wondered if I might offend some of you by showing it. I tried to guess your thoughts as to why I included it in my blog.

The truth is that I am not angry at the pastor who will be burning books and Bibles on Halloween. Neither do I think it funny. I just think it's sad.

We live in a world that needs hope. They need the unconditional love which God offers through Jesus Christ. Yet, when some of them think of Christ and His followers this month...

...they will pull out a mental picture of a church burning books.

Drivin' Back The Enemy!

It's rare, but I need to communicate in a different way, today...

Do you think they will want to burn this blog?

Less Than

In a perfect world, people wouldn't show up at my office to ask for financial help because they had misspent their money on things not necessary.

In a perfect world, people would not choose to be lazy, then expect others to pay for them.

On the other hand...

In a perfect world, people who have been blessed with opportunity, ingenuity, and creativity in perpetuity would not hoard their money and spend it all on themselves.

...........

The poor would work hard.

The blessed would give generously.

Everyone would have enough.


In a perfect world.

The Man With The Shining Eyes

I read yesterday that Rev. Bill Watkins passed away over the weekend. Bill was almost 84 years young and had been scheduled to perform another man's funeral in a few days. I first got to know Bill in the early 1990s when we worked together on a Billy Graham associate crusade. He taught me more that he ever imagined about having a positive, loving spirit. He worked hard on that project and helped bridge the gap between otherwise disconnected churches.

Bill taught me something else he couldn't have known. I'm a bit ashamed to tell you the lesson, but I must. You see, Bill was a Presbyterian.

"So what?", you ask.

I grew up a Baptist.

Baptists were right. Therefore, we were right. Everyone else was...uh, not right!

We had the best Bible Study literature, the largest seminaries and the hugest protestant denomination in the country.

We sent out one of, if not the biggest missionary force in history.

Did I say we were right?

Everyone else -- including Presbyterians -- was suspect. If they were right, they would be Baptist.

(God, please forgive my arrogance!)

I met Bill Watkins, a man with shining eyes, a great sense of humor, a mature love for Christ and a deep well of compassion for people. He lived his sermons.

He helped open my eyes and change my heart.

I will forever be grateful to Bill. When I get to heaven, I can't wait to thank him personally!

Here are the keys.

My young family was scheduled to head to the California coast for a nine-day trip which was mostly work-related. It was June and the heat rose in waves off the Interstate 10 asphalt. As we made preparations, I kept worrying about the first afternoon of travel.

Our son's last day of first grade was to end at noon and we planned to drive off across the desert in 110 degree heat. Our 8-year-old Ford station wagon had shown signs of wear and tear and I was growing concerned about it overheating. Long before cell phones, a person could get stuck out on the side of a highway for hours before someone stopped to help. I knew. It had happened to friends. One man lifted the hood of his disabled car and waited as hundreds -- perhaps thousands -- of vehicles passed him on that crowded freeway.

I felt that we didn't have any choice but to leap out in faith and start the drive that last day of school. We had booked a room in San Bernardino that night and were due up in the Monterey area the next afternoon. I took care of what maintenance we could do and hoped for the best.

Those were our circumstances on Sunday, a few days before we left. Church services went on asusual that day, but afterward I was approached by Mark and Sue, a couple in our church. They asked about our trip, including a question about our old car. I told them the plan and they looked at me with smiles on their faces. "Would you accept it if we lent our our van?" Sue asked.

I was taken aback. They had a brand-new conversion van, loaded with every option you could imagine. "We want you to take it," added Mark.

A few days later, our little family climbed into a beautiful, cool, spacious van. The kids all fell asleep in the back. Cathy joined them. I set the cruise control, sipped on a large glass of iced tea and listened to the stereo as we crossed the desert.

It wasn't the last time we experienced the generosity of that wonderful couple. Mark is in heaven now, but I smile fondly when I think of his kindness to us.

I'm preaching on generosity this month at Stone Ridge. Could you help me? Tell us about someone whose generosity you have personally experienced.