Dirt

Dirt! I’m writing about dirt today. We have had a fence installed in our backyard to keep our Yorke, Rosco, from running off. The guys did a great job with the installation, but they do not remove the excess dirt from the holes they dug. The home owner is responsible for that. I’ve tried to give my dirt to my neighbors, but no one wants my dirt.

Dirt is one of the most important products in the world. And we have always been told that dirt is very inexpensive. You’ve heard the saying, “Cheap as dirt!” God made more dirt than anything else he created. The earth is made out of dirt. We are made from dirt! Dirt floats around in the air. We breath dirt every day. I’m not sure about today’s kids, but all the kids I knew growing up ate dirt, occasionally. Who hasn’t eaten a delicious mud pie? If you grew up in the country, one of your toys was actually dirt. Remember going into the kitchen and sneaking one of your mothers big spoons out so that you could use it to dig dirt? We carefully fashioned roads for our little cars and trucks. We dug holes for no apparent reason, and we enjoyed doing it. Digging in dirt kept us busy.

I enjoyed running bare foot down a long dirt cow path, every once in a while stomping on one of those soft pockets of dirt. It felt so good between my toes. Of course sometimes that soft pocket I stepped in was a fresh pile of cow manure. That actually felt good too. In the summer my friends and I played hard, and we got very dirty. I’d walk to the house late in the afternoon, open the back porch door and take off my britches. Then I’d walk into the bathroom and prepare to wash up. When I looked in the mirror I would see a black circle around my neck. My mother called it a sweat necklace or sweat beads. I think the girls called theirs angel necklaces. Girls got dirty and gritty too. Dirt was and is good for kids.

I don’t know why some scientist hasn’t given dirt the distinction of being a vitamin. We have vitamins A, B, C, and D that are necessary for good health. There is already a vitamin D, so we need another letter for dirt. Maybe Vitamin T would work, T standing for Tierra. Everyone knows that children who have gotten to play in some good old nutritious  dirt are much healthier than those who haven’t. It stands to reason, if God made us out of dirt should we not need more dirt in our bodies to be healthier?

Romans 8

God Interceding for Me

1. God’s Victory for Me

We know and understand this victory because of the Holy Spirit.

References - Romans 1:1 ff and Romans 1:37-39

Law of the Spirit set us free from sin and death - 2

Jesus condemned sin and death in us. - 3

His righteous requirement is fulfilled in those who walk in the Spirit - 4

He who sets his mind on the Spirit has life and peace - 6

The Holy Spirit dwells in us - 9

The Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead will give life to the mortal bodies of those who have the Spirit dwelling in them -11

Those led by the Spirit of God are sons of God - 14

We receive the Spirit of adoption and call God “Abba Father!” - 15

The Spirit bears witness with ours that we are children of God - 16

We become heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ - 17

We are more than conquerors - 37

Nothing will ever separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord - 39

2.      The Spirit Prays for Me

         For we do not know how to pray as we ought - 26

         (victory may come from endurance, not escape)

         (victory may come  from courage, not comfort)

         Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness, 26

          God is never surprised about anything that happens to us.

          God’s intercession never fails.

          God’s perspective about our problems and the dark places

          we find ourselves should become our perspective because

          his Spirit lives in us.

          We are never alone in our praying.

          We never pray by ourselves.

Old School Toughness

I watched a comedian yesterday talking about the difference in the way kids today are raised from the way he was raised. He was an older guy, about the age of one of my former students, Andy Foster, who has a Birthday today. Kids today are overly protected in certain areas, like the playground. This guy said when he was a kid the sliding board was about six stories high, and it was made of metal. He said in the summer that the surface of the slide was about 230 degrees, but you went down it so fast you didn’t get burned. On the other hand the sliding boards today are about 4 feet high and made of plastic. A kid scoots a few inches and stops, scoots a few inches and stops. He said it should be called a scoot board.

I remember my elementary school playground. The  equipment included, two huge metal slides, a self propelled merry go round, maybe five swings supported by large  frame metal posts and the seat was a block of splintery wood held in place by log chains. I think there may have been a set of monkey bars. At recess we were turned loose to use that equipment at our own risk. The teachers usually huddled under a shade tree and talked. Boys were sliding down the sliding board head first. Others were standing up on those monstrous swings gathering momentum back and forth until they were parallel with the cross bar at the top of of the swing’s frame. About 25 little kids would get on that merry go round and hold on for dear life while a bigger boy would push it around as fast as he could. That thing went so fast that those second and third graders were a blur as they twirled round and round.

We had a great time at recess. I don’t remember even one kid ever getting seriously hurt during my years of elementary school.

When I became a freshman we no longer had recess, but we had PE. There was a new PE teacher my first year of high school. His name was Coach Bob Birdwhistell. It was his first year as coach and teacher, a tall skinny guy who had an ATTITUDE. One of his favorite activities for the boys was boxing, especially if two of us were having a squabble. Everybody had to box, which was a dilemma for some of those who would do anything to avoid a fight. Coach’s rules made it pretty safe. We wore head gear, the boxing gloves were those big ones that were so heavy some of us had a hard time lifting our arms. And we had to fight on our knees. That doesn’t sound too bad, but the mat we spared on was made of canvas. I think the one we had was from World War 2. It was army green and was so coarse that as we twisted and moved during our bout our knees were scratched and most of the time bleeding when we finished. Just as the days on the playground no one ever got hurt too badly. There were a few bloody noses and some swollen bloody lips.

As far as I know parents didn’t come to school belly aching about how poor Johnny was mistreated, no law suits, and no whiney kids going home to mamma complaining about Coach or the teachers at recess. If they did they were told to stop being a baby and man up. I think the way things were back in the day made us tough, and better prepared us for a world that is hard, unfair and dangerous at times. We learned to be respectful, to work hard, and not to depend on hand outs to get us through life. Yep, a bloody nose and a split lip goes a long way to prepare a person for life.

The Memory Shelf

I saw a young man running up the street this morning. He glided along effortlessly in a steady pace up the steep grade in front of our house. I thought how I wished I could do that again. I was hooked on running for many years, and then about seven years ago back surgery derailed my ability for that activity. Walking has become my substitute for running, and occasionally when I’m out walking I begin thinking, ‘I believe that I might be able to jog down this hill.’ I take off attempting to regain that stride and form that once was so easy for me. After less than half a mile I realize that what once had been a joy for me would become an experience of burning agony and bitter defeat if I continued.

Age is the culprit that causes us to reluctantly give in to the voice of better judgment, and discontinue doing things that we are no longer capable of doing. Little by little we place activities, relationships, traditions and all sorts of other things that become past experiences into a mental album and store them away in our mind’s library on the shelves where fond memories rest. The older we get the more often we go to our  memory shelf, pick up that memory album, dust it off and recall some event with a friend or a spouse, but most likely we just sit by ourselves during those lonely moments and wish for just one more time that we could glide along in a steady pace up and down the hills and valleys still having many miles to go.

The Reason To Go To Church

I am going to begin getting dressed for church as soon as I finish writing what’s on my mind. I go to a Baptist Church. I have always gone to Baptist Churches, and I have never found one that is perfect. There have been imperfect people in all of them. I have been hurt by someone in almost every Baptist Church where I have been a member. I’ve probably hurt others myself. Once I was hurt so badly I stopped going to church. But over time I went back.

Why did I go back to church? I realized that the purpose of going to church is because of Jesus. If I belong to him and believe that he is the reason I am going to heaven the very least I can do is to go to church and worship him—worship him in song, in giving, in serving, in Bible study, in fellowship with others, even those who may have hurt me. If I truly love Jesus I must obey the Word of God and meet with other Christians to worship him. I don’t care what someone else has done to hurt me, they cannot keep me from going to church if I love Jesus and honor him.

Some people don’t like church. Some people don’t like Baptist Churches. When there is a scandal in a Baptist Church they are so excited and like a little old gossipy woman they spread the word because this makes their day. There are many people like that in our world who feel the same way about any church that names the name of Jesus. The Bible says that there will be people like that. Jesus said, They will hate you because they first hated me.” Don’t hate any church. Don’t hate Jesus. Follow him and obey him in everything you do.

Playing With Fire

When I was a toddler I burned my hand on the oven door of our kitchen stove. My mother was taking something out of the oven, and before she could set it down I ran over and plopped my hand down on the inside of that piping hot door. My hand was badly burned. I still have a scar that reminds me never to stick my hand on something that will burn me.

There are many harmful opportunities that will burn us. Unfortunately we have to go through some painful, difficult experiences to learn how to avoid being burned. Poor decisions have left individuals scared for life. Most of the time we are given many chances to learn when we are getting too close to the flame. Some figure it out and step back. Others never heed the warnings that they are about to be burned again. They get burned and walk away in anguish saying, “I will never make this mistake again.”  Sadly they do return to the fire, and very often their repetitive mistakes not only hurt them, but others as well.

Bad habits, addictions, selfishness, uncontrolled anger, trying to be God are only a few factors that result in getting a person  burned over and over again and again. So what is the answer? Self help books? Grit and determination? Believing and trusting in yourself? I don’t think so! What about believing in Jesus, trusting in the power of God’s Holy Spirit? Try living a holy life. Try helping others, living for others and considering everyone better than yourself. Or you can go ahead and jump in the fire like you have done so many times before. Continuing to go fire jumping will get you nowhere except to prepare you for the day when your last leap will be into an inferno hotter than anything you can imagine.  There will be no more chances after that.

When You Can’t Remember

If you are nearing the age of sixty remember these words, ‘delayed recall’. The term delayed recall will help you feel better about not being able to remember something that you should easily remember. I’m talking about things like the names of a good friend, your pastor, one of your physicians or maybe a grandchild. I don’t know how many times I have been embarrassed because I could not remember a name of someone, or a  key juncture when I am telling a story, giving directions, or making a point about something I read in a good book. I really don’t forget, but for that very important moment it is simply lost somewhere in my mind. When I have these lapses I have learned that I am experiencing delayed recall. I will be able to tell you the name, but not right now. Those directions will come to me if you can just give me a little time. The name of that book will be retrieved from my memory bank, but maybe not for another hour or two. I don’t know when but, when it does I will let you know.

There are times when I experience delayed recall when someone asks me a question. “Where did you and Sherri eat last night?” I know exactly where I ate, but when I am asked a question out of the clear  blue without warning, I panic and go blank. There again the curse of not being able to remember strikes me, and I stand there staring into space as though the name of the restaurant will appear somewhere out there on a celestial billboard. When this happens I can easily explain that I know where we ate, but at the moment I am experiencing delayed recall. “The food was very good, and I do recommend the place. As soon as I recall the name I will certainly tell you.”

Years ago when this delayed recall thing began to affect us, Sherri and I were going out to get something to eat one evening. As we drove toward several eating places we were discussing where we wanted to dine.

Sherri said, “Why don’t we eat at Ben Thomas’?”

I drew a blank. “Ben Thomas! I don’t think I have ever heard of Ben Thomas! Are you sure that is the name of the restaurant?” Then, all of a sudden, it came to me. I can’t explain why it came to me, but for some reason I understood which restaurant my wife was trying to remember.

“There is no restaurant named Ben Thomas. Do you mean Bob Evans?”

“That’s it! That’s it! Bob Evans is what I was meaning to say!” She was so excited that I was able to figure out the restaurant she had in mind. Luckily, we've been together long enough that we know what the other is thinking.

No need to fret when you can’t remember something that is very obvious to most normal people. The loss of memory is only temporary. You are not the only person who cannot remember something as easy as your own name. You are just having a moment of delayed recall. If you are a senior citizen you will feel more at ease and more confident by remembering those two little words – delayed recall. Get used to it. Delayed recall will be your constant companion. I just hope I don’t come to the point where I can’t recall the words delayed recall!

Throw Away the Bible

Mr. Joe Blow decided to start reading the Bible. He opens it to the first book, Genesis, and begins by  reading the very first verse, “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.” He stops, already he is puzzled. He wonders how some being, even a god, could create something that he is sure developed over millions of years by chance. But he continued. He reads the entire first chapter of Genesis, and he has a bunch of doubts. This God created everything in only six days. Already Mr. Joe is thinking that he is wasting his time reading something that sounds like a fairy tale. However he goes ahead with chapters two and three.

In chapter two he learns that a woman is made from the first man’s rib. In chapter three there is a snake talking to this woman Eve about eating some forbidden fruit. God had told Adam, the first man, that if anyone ate this fruit they would die. Anyway the woman listened to the snake and ate the fruit. Then Adam ate some, and God was so angry that he kicked them out out a beautiful garden called Eden. Because these two didn’t obey God every person born there after would be cursed and condemned to eternal death. They were called sinners. Joe Blow thought, ‘Does this make me a sinner?’

Mr. Joe Blow closed his brand new Bible, walked over to the trash can and threw it away. He turned shaking his head saying, “Who would believe such things as this. Many others like Mr. Blow have read bits and pieces of the Bible, or someone told them what they had read, and they all came to the same conclusion, “The Bible can’t be my guide. I cannot live the way it says I should live.” Or they conclude that they will believe the parts that will serve their purpose in life.

It seems that the majority of people today will not believe what God told the Israelites, “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination. Leviticus 18:22  

If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them.” Leviticus 20:13

“Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural sexual relations for unnatural ones. In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed shameful acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their error.” Romans 1:26-27

The Bible clearly calls homosexuality an abomination, a shameful act, yet the world disagrees. If a man loves another man or if a woman loves another woman in a way that they become sex partners and/or marriage partners then so be it. Never  mind what the Holy Word of God says. Never mind that the Almighty God says that those participating in these acts are condemned and will have no part in the glory of heaven. Throw the Bible in the trash. Make it legal. It is a person’s right with whom they sleep or marry. Enter the left wing liberal politicians. Pass ungodly laws to allow people to do what they view as their God given rights.

For he (John the Baptist) will be great in the sight of the Lord; and he will drink no wine or liquor, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit while yet in his mother’s womb. Luke 1:15

41 And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb. Luke 1:41

The popular opinion today is that that thing in a woman’s womb is not a baby. It is a fetus. The pregnant woman says, “This is my body so if I don’t want it I’ll get rid of it. Don’t tell me I am murdering a baby. I don’t care what God says. He’s wrong! That was not a baby in Elizabeth’s womb.” Throw the Bible in the trash! So again our left wing liberal politicians knock themselves out advocating for and passing ungodly laws to protect a woman’s right to kill her baby.

Mr. Joe Blow and Miss Joetta Blow some of that stuff in the Bible causes some problems for you doesn’t it? What to do about the things you don’t like is your big question. So maybe you agree with Satan when he tempted Eve in the garden when he said, “Did God really say?” Give me a break, you don’t care what God said. You intend to do what you want to do regardless of what is printed in the Bible. Go on, try to convince yourself that you are right, that you will go to heaven when you die, or at the very least you won’t go to hell. It probably doesn’t exist any way. The answer? It makes things easier for you to just thrown God’s word in the trash! Live the way you want to live. God just gets in your way, doesn’t he?

Where I Want To Be

In late October 1948 my mama started taking me to church. Just the two of us went because my dad didn't go to church back then. I was only two or three weeks old. For almost 5 years, until my brother was born, it was my mom and me making that trip every Sunday. My mother made sure that Mike and I were in church, and involved in Sunday school. I grew up having instilled in me that attending church was essential.

As I got older there were other things that I had rather be doing than going to church. By then my dad had started going with us, and he was as determined  as my mother that church was the place I would be on Sunday morning. In my college days I went through a period where I didn't go to church every Sunday. Later in my early forties I went through a dark time when I stopped going to church. I'll have to say that was the worst time of my life. I thank God that he got my life redirected, and back on track.

For 70 years I have been going to church. Sherri and I have moved several times, and we have been members of many different local churches. That's the life of many pastors. I look forward to attending church on Sunday. There is no way I can explain why church is so important to me because most people would not understand. I think that I enjoy going to church because I am with people who love the same way I love. They love the same person I love, and his name is Jesus. We all have a desire to worship our God, and praise him not just because of what he has given us, but because who he is. Yep, I'm excited about going to church tomorrow.

A Horrible Merciless Thief

The man in this pictures with me is Walter. He is in his early nineties. Walter was a research scientist in the horticultural department at NC State. He and his team developed a way to keep fruit, raised in North Carolina, and I suppose anywhere else, from spoiling so quickly. Because of Walter’s discovery fruit can be shipped to stores and sold so that consumers like us can enjoy delicious fruit, so I am told.

Walters speciality was blueberries. Blueberries are a very important crop in North Carolina ranking 6th in national production. Production value of North Carolina’s blueberry crop was 67 million dollars in 2016, and the production of the crop was 46 million pounds. Walter is noted for his expertise in developing blueberries that thrive and produce better crops for farmers that raise them.

I try to see Walter as often as I can. He and his wife are members at our church. He has been in a nursing home for about four years. Walter has Alzheimer’s. He has tried to tell me about raising blueberries, but as he does his mind begins to wander, and I hear about his daddy raising a garden, about his time in World War II, and many other topics far removed from his speciality he loved so much.

I love going to see Walter. He doesn’t remember who I am, but he does seem to know that I am someone who comes to see him. Walter loves to have guests. He is a very happy man. Yesterday when I went to see Walter he was not able to put words together to carry on even those wandering conversations. His wife, Ellen who is in her 80’s told me that the only time he is able to put words into sentences is when he offers thanks for his lunch. She thinks God is giving him the ability to do that because of the love he has always demonstrated for his Savior. I liked to hear Walter offer thanks although his prayers were lengthy and sometimes wandered like some of the talks I had with him. I missed yesterday’s pray because lunch was a little earlier. I hope I get to hear him pray again.

Walters best friend at the nursing home, Bob, died recently. Bob also had Alzheimer’s. His disease was much more advanced than Walters. I never heard him say a word. His wife had to feed him. He just sat with a pitiful blank look on his face. Bob held several patients with IBM. One of the things he did, in the early days, was to come up with the touch screen for the technology we use today. The last couple of times I saw Bob, for some reason, he looked at me and smiled the biggest smile. His wife was tickled. I don’t know why, maybe he thought I looked funny. I was saddened yesterday when I found out that Bob had died. I am sad to watch Walter decline. It won’t be long before he will not be able to communicate at all.

I am remembering two brilliant me who have had their minds tragically stolen by a horrible disease. It is so sad for anyone to have their lives end this way.

What’s A Dog Thinking

He had finished his walk. As soon as my wife, Sherri, released him from his leash that diminutive 8 pound bundle of fur ran straight to my chair, jumped into my lap and began licking my face. I loved on him a few minutes,  and then he curled up in my lap and went to sleep. It had only been about thirty minutes since he had left, yet his response toward me was as though he had been gone for days. I wondered, “What is this dog thinking?”

Rosco has been a member of our family for six weeks. You might say he is a rescue dog. Rosco was a breed dog. The real pet in his previous family was the little female Yorke. Rosco didn’t get much attention, and it shows by the way he reacts to everything Sheri and I do for him. We treat him like a king. It’s nice having a sweet little dog like Rosco around after five years not having one. We are happy that our daughters insisted on getting Rosco for us. 

So what was Rosco thinking this morning? I think when he jumped into my lap he was saying, “I’m so glad to be with you again! I have missed you although I’ve only been gone a short time. I feel safe with you and I love you.” I may be wrong, but I like to think that Rosco was expressing something like that as he snuggled there in my lap. I believe dogs really love their masters.  

Now what am I thinking? I’m thinking that if a dog loves it’s master that much because of a kind word, a treat  and a pat on the head how much more should we love our Master? How quickly should we run to the One who loves us even though we fail him so often? Should we not be excite each morning to speak to our Savior and say, “I’m so glad to be with you again! I have missed you since I last spoke to you.  I feel safe when I am with you and I know you will never leave me. I love you, Jesus. Thank you for rescuing me and providing me with a forever home in your presence”

What’s s A Dog Thinking

He had finished his walk. As soon as my wife, Sherri, released him from his leash that diminutive 8 pound bundle of fur ran straight to my chair, jumped into my lap and began licking my face. I loved on him a few minutes,  and then he curled up in my lap and went to sleep. It had only been about thirty minutes since he had left, yet his response toward me was as though he had been gone for days. I wondered, “What is this dog thinking?”

Rosco has been a member of our family for six weeks. You might say he is a rescue dog. Rosco was a breed dog. The real pet in the family was the little female Yorke. Rosco didn’t get much attention, and it shows by the way he reacts to everything Sheri and I do for him. We treat him like a king. It’s nice having a sweet little dog like Rosco around after five years not having one.

We are happy that our daughters insisted on getting Rosco for us. So what was Rosco thinking this morning? I think when he jumped into my lap he was saying, “I’m so glad to be with you again! I have missed you although I’ve only been gone a short time. I feel safe with you and I love you.” I may be wrong, but I like to think that Rosco was expressing something like that as he snuggled there in my lap. I believe dogs really love their masters.  

Now what am I thinking? I’m thinking that if a dog loves it’s master that much because of a kind word, a treat  and a pat on the head how much more should we love our Master? How quickly should we run to the One who loves us even though we fail him so often? Should we not be excite each morning to speak to our Savior and say, “I’m so glad to be with you again! I have missed you since I last spoke to you.  I feel safe when I am with you and I know you will never leave me. I love you, Jesus. Thank you for rescuing me and providing me with a forever home in your presence”

Love, Forgiveness, Judgement

Almost four years ago Dylann Roof, a 21-year-old white supremacist, went into an African American Methodist church in Charleston South Carolina where a prayer service was being held, and he shot twelve people killing nine of them. Those people who had gathered to study God’s word and pray were terrorized and killed because this man hated blacks. Those who survived will never be the same. There was something that happened afterwards that did not make sense to the world. The families of those who were brutally murdered let it be known that they had forgiven this one who had committed such an evil act against them and their loved ones.

What these saints of God did was far greater than any magnificent feat that humans can achieve in their own power. The forgiveness they expressed goes all the way back over two thousand years ago when Jesus Christ, the One and only Lord, just moments before he died from the evil act by his executioners said, “Father, forgive them.” From that cross Jesus was demonstrating the reason he had come to this world—to forgive. He even expected his followers to forgive. One day as  he was teaching he made a statement that echoed within that African American congregation in Charleston two thousand years later, “But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” He taught that we must love those who hate us and do bad things to us, and then he demonstrated to us how to forgive when he died on the cross. It is hard to forgive sometimes, but if we belong to Jesus we must do it.

Our reasoning is those who hurt us need to get what they deserve. But we have to remember that if we got what we deserved we would never set foot on those golden streets of heaven. But there will be a day of reckoning. Jesus forgave those who killed him, but that forgiveness only went until the day his killers died. It continued only if they believed that he was the Son of God and became his disciples. Those today who hate Jesus, who hate Christians, who are even now devising their plans to prevent Christians from expressing their faith have until they die to turn to Jesus. Judgment will come upon them and all who refuse to accept Jesus as Savior.  

Judgment will bring a terrible eternal punishment on all who continue to hate Jesus and refuse to accept his love.

“...when the Lord Jesus is revealed from heaven with his mighty angels in flaming fire, inflicting vengeance on those who do not know God and on those who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. They will suffer the punishment of eternal destruction, away from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might,” 2 Thessalonians 1:7-9

A Threat To Our Faith

When I was a boy I was taught about the triune God, the Heavenly Father, His one and only Son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit.

I was taught that the Bible was God's Holy Word. I was taught that Jesus Christ was sent to us to save us from our sins so that we would be able to have an eternal fellowship with our Father because of his love for us. I learned that our dear Savior sacrificed himself on a cross where he died, then he was placed in a tomb and after three days he rose from the dead conquering death. I was taught that the worst part of his sacrifice was taking our sins upon himself. He, who knew no sin, became sin so that we might live forever.

I believed every bit of what I was taught and still do. I asked Jesus to forgive me of my sin and to come into my life. I received his Holy Spirit, and my life was changed. I have lived most of my seventy years with no threat to my Christian faith. But now I am seeing that some within the institution that I have trusted to guarantee that I would have the right to express my faith, and worship my Heavenly Father is in fact trying to take that right away from me. These people hate Jesus. They actually hate the America that I have always known and loved. They have the power, the money and the backing of evil individuals all over the world to eventually silence anyone who speaks the name of Jesus Christ our Lord.

Never before in America has there been a time when Christians must stand strong in their faith and band together to proclaim that Our Jesus is Lord and the only hope for eternal life. Those Christians who have separated themselves from a local church must put aside their differences and unite with other believers to stand strong against this threat on Christianity. We must come together to worship our God and ask him to intervene when the enemy comes against us. Our prayers must increase and be specific about healing our nation which has become very wicked. Pray that we might see the Mighty hand of God sweep across our nation to quel this threat against his faithful followers and against his Son.

“Yet for us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist.” 1 Corinthian 8:6

Our fight is not with weapons, nor with threats toward those who wish to kill us. Our Fight is found through our faith in the One God, and one Lord Jesus Christ who created all things and all people. He is sovereign and he is able to win the victory. He can and will destroy those who hate Jesus, and who provain his Holy name. For those of us who are strong in the Lord and those who are willing to stand against the ones who are a threat to our faith we should boldly proclaim that God is the one true God and that Jesus is one Lord. If Christians all over our nation would tell this to the world every day I think it would be a huge step to deter the forces of Satan. If we remain silent now, our children and grandchildren will be forced to remain silent or die.

Who Is The Mighty One

“The Mighty One, God, the Lord…”That is the way Psalm 50 begins. There is no mistake about who the Psalmist speaks. He knew exactly who his God was. To most of the people in the world today, God is not the Mighty One. He definitely is not the Lord in their lives. He is not One to be feared. I suppose for the majority of the population he is not One that has anything to do with the way they live.

The psalmist goes on to say of God, “He speaks and summons the earth from the rising of the sun to where it sets. Our God will not be silent; a fire devours before him and around him the tempest rages. He summons the heavens above, and the earth, that he may judge his people.” 50:3-4

If this is so God is not One that we should ignore or be flippant. He is like a devouring fire and a terrible storm that rages. He has the power to summon everyone of us so that he might judge us. And guess what, one day he will do exactly that.

Who is God to you? I can tell you Nancy Pelosi is not God. Donald Trump is not God. These arrogant, young female Congresswomen are nowhere near being the Mighty One, God, the Lord. Not a single person in our nation’s capital is God.  Our hope does not rest on these who are so self centered, anger driven, and are seeking all the glory for themselves. They are just humans like everyone else in the world. They are making the most ungodly decisions which go against everything that God’s people hold sacred. Go ahead and worship these people. Sell your souls to them, and allow them to legislate their evil ways which come straight from the pit of hell. Continue to be fooled and swayed by their promises, and you will face the same judgement as they.

Today people, these people, do not even know the Word of the Lord. They laugh and scoff at those of us who speak His word, yet they have no idea what is between the covers of the inspired holy word of God. When the Mighty One, God, the Lord speaks they do not fear him, because the one god they know, their lord, is the only one they listen to. They listen only to themselves.

Now before you assume which political faction God sits on his throne and applauds, let me tell you what I think. He applauds neither. God applauds only those people who know him as the Mighty One, God, the Lord. He applauds only those who worship his Son, Jesus Christ.

Our Second Mothers

Lewisburg Kentucky was a nice little southern rural community. There were some small grocery stores, a hardware store, a bank, a drug store, a gas station or two, a doctor’s office and a school, home of the Coon Rangers which housed grades one through twelve. And there were about four churches—Presbyterian, Methodist, Church of Christ and Baptist.

Lewisburg was my town although I lived on a farm eight miles away. I spent twenty four years in Lewisburg school. Twelve of those years was as a Jr. High teacher. I also attended the Baptist Church, Mt Pleasant. I was saved in that church and was taught about Jesus by some wonderful men and women.

My friends and I called the ladies who taught us at Mt. Pleasant Miss, whatever her first name was—Miss Pauline, Miss Hattie Ruth, Miss Virginia, and my friends called my mother Miss Louise. I mention these dear women because they were the mothers of my childhood friends. We played baseball together in little league, pony league, and high school. There was also Miss Mary Alice who didn’t go to our church, but her boys played ball with us and were our friends.

Another reason I mention these ladies is because all of them were our second mothers. They loved us, their  boys, encouraged us and took care of us when we needed help. They weren’t afraid to discipline any of us when we needed to be corrected. The funny thing about our second moms is that they had our little brothers at about the same time.

As I wrote these names, Miss Pauline Kees, Miss Hattie Ruth Shelton, Miss Virginia Sheffield, Miss Mary Alice Kees, along with my mother, Miss Louise, I became that little boy again who played baseball on those hot summer days. I can almost hear them yelling words of encouragement, “Come on Gary, come on Stanley, come on John Steve, come on Guy Lewis, come on John Paul, hit that ball!  Come on boys you can do it!” Every game they were there supporting us. They were proud of us win or lose, our moms, our second mothers. Sad for me tonight as I type these words. Our moms are gone, all of them except Miss Hattie Ruth. Only she remains. So I say to her and all of our dear mothers in heaven, Happy Mothers Day! I love you all!

I wish Miss Hattie Ruth could know that that many like me consider her a Second Mother and wish her a very Happy Mother’s Day. Her love and kindness touched hundreds of children during the many years she was secretary at Lewisburg School. If you live in or near Lewisburg and are able give her a call or stop by to visit and wish her a Happy Mother’s Day.

Coloring Inside the Lines

What is a mother to do? Raising two sons! Call them daylight and dark! That was my mother’s dilemma with my brother and me. Give us each a coloring book picture to color, and our approach would be very different. I would look at it, size it up and painstakingly, color inside the lines. I would be very upset if I violated the bounds of those lines and colored into the forbidden space. On the other hand, Mike would look at whole page, perhaps color inside the lines that defined the picture, but he would also use the rest of the page to create his own story by using the crayons to express whatever he wanted the whole picture to be. I was always careful to live inside the lines of what I perceived was expected of me. Mike lived inside and outside of those boundary lines to test the expectations of those who drew those lines.

For instance...

There once was a problem at the Brady grocery store in the late 1950’s. My dad discovered that someone was taking packs of Camel cigarettes. He knew this because he smoked Camels. For some reason my mother thought I was the guilty one. My dad, however, was sure that Mike was the one stealing the Camels although he was only seven years old.

So a trap was set. Our daddy began watching Mike closely. Finally, after lunch one day Mike made his move and took off down behind a grove of locust trees at the back of the store. I was summoned to sneak through that grove of trees, hide so I wouldn’t be seen by Mike, and watch to see what he was up to. He had climbed up onto a stack of straw bales. He reached in between two of those bales, pulled out two packs of Camel cigarettes, and a box of matches. Just like a pro he took one of those cigarettes, struck a match and lit up. He leaned back against one of those straw bales and like the Marlboro Man began inhaling that cigarette like it was the best thing he had ever tasted.

He had been caught red handed. I jumped out from my hiding place and yelled, “I'm telling daddy!” I turned and took off toward the store. I don’t know how he did it, but that fat little smoking machine almost caught me before I spilled the beans to our dad. I don’t remember what my daddy did to Mike, but whatever it was it didn’t stop him from smoking. That’s the way my little brother was put together; he always colored outside of the lines. He still does.

My mother was a color inside the lines person. She worried that Mike was not making a good impression on others. But as it turns out, his unconventional way of coloring his life’s picture has made a good impression on hundreds if not thousands of lives. Yes, my brother and I are very different. We are proof that God uses inside the lines people, and he uses outside the lines people. God had a plan for both of us, and he has blessed us and our families. If our mother were still alive she would be proud of us, but she would continue to worry about us, especially Mike because he most certainly does not color inside the lines.

I want to congratulate my little brother because in about two weeks will be retiring from teaching. That will be a sad day for Tates Creek Middle School in Lexington Kentucky. Students, teachers and the administration really love him, and they will hate to see him leave. I love the way you color little brother!

A Mother’s Sacrifice

When my high school days ended I was ready to do anything except sit in a classroom for four more years. My mother and my dad were determined that college would be my next priority. Neither of them had the opportunity to go to high school. So they were going to make sure that my brother and I were going to get a college degree. A few weeks after graduation a coach from a junior college in Lebanon Tennessee stopped by our store and offered me a small scholarship to play baseball, and promised me a chance to play basketball. With that carrot dangling before me I grabbed the chance to continue to play the sport I loved. There was one problem with my decision; my decision was to play baseball, not to study.

I had a great season. There were a couple of coaches from four year colleges that talked to me about playing baseball for them after I finished my two junior college years. However, at the end of my freshman year my grades were so bad I was ineligible to play baseball the next year. My mother and I decided that I would go to a school closer to home. Western Kentucky University allowed me to enroll on academic probation as a freshman. I really enjoyed my second year of college. As a matter of fact, I enjoyed it too much. My grades were not a bit better. A couple of weeks after that year ended I got a letter from Western that broke my mothers heart. I was not going to be allowed to return for the next year. I had flunked out.

I will never forget how hurt and disappointed my mother was. I watched her as she sat with that letter in her hands crying because her dream for me had been destroyed. I had failed academically, but worse than that I had failed my mom and dad. I had given up, but my mother was not about to throw in the towel. She called Western and got an appointment for the two of us to meet with someone that might give me another chance. The next week we met with Dr. Brown.

Dr. Brown was an African American man, and probably the only person that would have given me a second chance to earn my way back into school. I could tell my mother was nervous. It was the first time for her to be on a college campus. Her voice shook as she told  Dr. Brown about her desire for me to get the education she and my dad never got. She told him about how hard it had been for her to even get that eighth grade education. By the time she finished she was crying. Dr. Brown looked at me, very sternly, and began telling me about the struggles endured by him to become Dr. Brown.

The day of our meeting was in June of 1968, and I was listening to a black man, with a PhD. in education working for the president of a southern university.  For Dr. Brown to get to where he was, professionally, was almost a miracle. Those of us who grew up in the fifties and sixties remember how times were for blacks in those days. Dr. Brown didn’t say much about that. He didn’t even tell me how hard it had been for him, but he did tell me how hard it had been for his mother who had worked two or three jobs to make sure he got an education. He told me about her struggles, and her hardships. He told me about how his mother had sacrificed because she loved him and wanted the best for him.

I don’t remember the exact words that Dr. Brown used, but he said something like this to me, “Look at your mother! I don’t know her, but I do know that it took courage for her to come here today, and ask that you be allowed to come back to school. I can tell she has made sacrifices for you. She loves you and wants the best for you just as my mother did for me. You don’t deserve to come back to our school, but I’m going to give you another chance to prove to me and to your mother that you are finally ready to to do what you should have done two years go. I’m not doing it for you, but for your mother. You need to man up and do what a man should do. Do it for your mother, but more importantly do it for yourself. “

I was allowed to go back to school if I could complete a correspondence class and make at least a B before the fall semester began. I did take that course and was allowed back in school again on academic probation. My girlfriend, Sherri, who was later to become my wife, also enrolled at Western. It was her first year in college. My academic habits changed. I actually went to my classes. Sherri and I went to the library to study almost every night, I took my books, and I studied. The most amazing thing happened, I began getting good grades. I had over a three point grade average that semester, and for the first time in two and a half years I was off academic probation. I continued to get good grades for the rest of my academic career. It took me five years to get my degree because I had wasted those first two years. It only took Sherri three years.

I’m sure the key to my success had something to do with attending my classes and studying. Dr. Brown’s lecture helped. But the biggest reason was what my mother did. I did not want to hurt her again. I did not want to watch her cry because I had failed. I finally realized how much she had sacrifice for me, not just so that I got a college degree, but her everyday sacrifices because she loved me. I thank God for mothers who love their children so much that they are willing to do anything for them.

My Mother’s Lap

I was a first child and received a lot of attention. I loved it when my mother held me in her lap, and read stories to me. I remember sitting in her lap listening to the radio. She would rock me in an old rocking chair which my brother has now. There were many long nights when my mom cuddled me in her lap when I was sick or had an earache. Looking back I understand that the special place in her lap those first five years of my life was a place of bonding that assured me of my mother's love.

Not long before I turned five years old my little brother was born. I didn't even know that I was getting a brother until he had already arrived. I wasn't very excited at first, but when my parents brought him home I decided having a little brother might not be too bad. They let me hold him. In fact the first time I held him was in the rocking chair in which my mother held me. 

What I didn't know was that my little brother, Michael Lee, would also be getting lap time. This meant my lap minutes would be cut way back. A fellow can't be too happy when his lap time is reduced. I became very jealous.  I’m sure I was not able to express vebally what I was feeling, but I imagine I concluded that the new kid was honing in on my mother's love for me.

Of course my mother loved me as much as she ever had, but this new arrangement was something that was difficult for a little kid four and a half years old to understand. I eventually worked through the trauma of getting a little brother, and accepted Mike about 10 years ago. Just kidding!

My little mother's lap was not big enough to hold both Mike and me at the same time, but her heart was. There in my mother's lap the assurance of her love for me was firmly established. A mother's lap which holds her children in those early years, her arms that hold them close to her breast, and her soft voice whispering to her frightened child in the darkness of a stormy night that all is well points to a love far greater than her own.

Our Father created the love that is found within a loving mother's heart, her arms and her lap. The Heavenly Father who holds the whole world in his lap (if I might change hands to lap) has enough room to accommodate all of his children at the same time. Our Heavenly Father’s lap is indescribably large.  Oh if we could only understand the enormity of God’s love for us. I’m thinking the reason our mother's laps were filled with so much love is because they themselves spent a great deal of time in the lap of the Father whose love has no end.

Oprah and Me

In the early 1970’s a young black woman was given a chance to begin her career in broadcasting. While in college in Nashville Tennessee, Oprah Winfrey, at age 19 co-anchored the evening news on a local television station. I can remember her because in those days it was very rare for a young black woman to have such a prominent position. She was very good, and it wasn’t long until Oprah began making her rise to stardom. As a talk show host in Chicago her fame skyrocketed. Eventually, she became something of a goddess as her fans elevated her to that lofty position. This poor little girl from humble beginnings in Mississippi has become very wealthy with an estimated worth of almost 3 billion dollars.

In the early 1990’s my wife, one of our daughters and her husband, and I had an opportunity to go to one of Oprah’s shows. I won’t go into how it happened, but I was chosen to be interviewed by Oprah. We were given seats on the front row, a mike was placed on me, and I got my two minutes of fame on National TV with Oprah. She asked me some questions and I answered them. That was about it. I was not one of the people who worshipped this lady. My daughter’s husband and I were not too excited about going in the first place. The point I am trying to make is that I met Oprah, talked to her very briefly, and went on about my life, never seeing her in person again. To this day I occasionally see her on TV, I hear things about her because she is famous. She is known worldwide. But I don’t know her personally.

How many famous people do any of us really know? I doubt if very many of us know someone who is famous, or who is worth millions of dollars. Yet, there are many people in our nation today who have met someone famous who they adore. The sad truth is that they treat those people like they are gods. They worship them. People in our society are star struck. Professional athletes, movie stars, musicians, political figures and others are placed on pedestals. They are given a status they don’t deserve. Most of these fame seeking people don’t care anything about their fans except the money that comes from them. They are not our friends, nor will they ever be.

There is only one person that we should worship. His name is Jesus. He is our friend, and we can know him personally. We can talk to him anytime. He will always be with us. He cared about us and loved us enough to die fo us. Oh if we would, as a nation, give Jesus the honor and adoration that we give someone like Oprah, Lebron James, or some movie star who seeks the praise of their fans! Just think how God must feel as he watches us devoting our time, our money and our lives in the pursuit of following and worshipping those who are just people like us. All praise, and adoration, and glory, and honor to our Lord and King, Jesus Christ. Worship the Lord your God and only to him bow the knee.