JUST A FEW FEET

(NOTE: I have put off posting this blog for a few months, not wanting to alert those who may not know I have a past - to the fact that - yes, and it is somewhat checkered)


Last July, on a typically searing and stifling summer afternoon in Tampa, I purchased a couple of large, cold bottles of water.

With no air conditioning in my 92' pick up, I planned to drink them both before I drove back to my home in Oldsmar. My windows were down, of course, as I attempted to create even the slightest stir of a breeze.

As I pulled to a stop at a red light, about a mile into my six mile trip, I glanced over to the sidewalk. There, just a few feet from me, sitting all alone on a park bench, was an elderly black man. It appeared the Florida sun was taking a toll on him. I said, "Sir" and he looked at me. I held out a bottle of water and offered it to him. He immediately walked over to my truck and took the water from my hand. He said, "Thank you" and I said, "God bless you." As he was walking back to the park bench, I said to the Lord, under my breath, "Forgive me." I had had a flashback.

It was 1971, in Palatka. It was about midnight and I was with a couple of other fellow seniors, up to no good. We had just paid an after hours visit to some groves in Satsuma and the floorboard was filled with stolen oranges and grapefruit. We were driving around, throwing the citrus at signs, dogs, cats, mail boxes, etc.

On a lonely stretch of road, an elderly black man was walking on the edge of the grass. He was just a few feet from me as I leaned out the window and hit him square in the back with a grapefruit. He stumbled forward. We laughed and sped on.

Back to 2007, in Tampa: The light turned green and as I pulled away, the Lord spoke to me in that still, small, but strong voice that is uniquely His, "Forgive what?" In order to see the road clearly, I had to wipe my eyes several times on the way back to Oldsmar that day. Sort-of like I am doing right now, as I write this, three months later.

Of course, I understand the "as far as the east is from the west" and "I will remember your sins no more" references but what a struggle it is to truly comprehend God's great forgiveness.

We are often guilty of trying to cover past sins with our good deeds. Not to demean good works. But even to subconsciously feel that we are somehow paying God back for living a life of rebellion is an age-old trick of our adversary. Either our salvation is "through grace, not of works, a gift of God" or it is not.

However, good works hold a legitimate place in God's plan. Though we owe God nothing, due to the nature of a gift, we do owe our fellow man. Paul said "to owe no man anything but to love him." That statement is not just about staying out of financial debt but also staying in a debt of love to others.

The long debated "faith and works" issue between the writings of Paul and James becomes clear when we understand this concept. James was not saying that we are justified in God's sight by our works, pretty good bet he knew that it was by faith, not works. But he was saying that we are justified in the eyes of our fellow man by our works because, as Paul said, we owe a debt there.

I asked the Lord about the "debt" we owe. He said to compare it to a natural debt. Most of us have some debt, if nothing more than a mortgage. I know I have a whopper! Come rain or shine, that mortgage debt has to be paid on a regular basis. I cannot lose focus concerning that debt. If I have to get a second job to meet that obligation, so be it. It's that important! However, I don't lose sleep over it. I don't get anxious and let it control me.

I believe that is the way we should look at our indebtedness to others. We cannot lose focus and forget about those around us this month. We cannot shirk our obligation to love, but it needs to become a part of our nature, not just something we do. We need to avoid the danger of letting the need to express our love make us anxious and cause us to lose sight of Jesus himself.

As "the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost," let us be sensitive to and quick to respond to the needs of others. Those needs are not only in far off deserts and jungles but quite often - just a few feet from us.

BUSH PULLS TROOPS FROM IRAQ - INVASION OF MEXICO IMMINENT

(NOTE: Just to set the record straight - this article was originally written in 2005, with the exception of the "border wall" reference, which I added in the summer of 2007. Apparently, a movie came out in 2007 (Delta Farce) that bears a resemblance to my article. Hackers!)


(Washington) In a hastily arranged news conference held last night, President Bush announced the planned withdrawal of all American troops from Iraq. He then stunned the nation and the world by adding, “But the invasion of Mexico appears inevitable.”

The president’s explanation that Iraq was ready to control its own destiny met with widespread skepticism considering the current military and political climate in that country. Bush was quick to defend his plan, noting, “The fellas to our south are having troubles of their own, and we have a responsibility to share our expertise with the entire world, not just the Middle East.”

Bush confirmed that U.S. Army Rangers were already massing along the Rio Grande for what he called Pancho Villa II, an obvious reference to the unsuccessful search for the Mexican bandit during the last U.S. invasion of Mexico in 1916.

Some Washington insiders say the president’s decision was based on the report from the Office of Immigration Statistics in the Department of Homeland Security, which indicated that over 6 million of the current 11 million illegal aliens are from Mexico.

The president confirmed that in a hand-count vote over lunch last week, the White House staff gave Mexico a “dwarf” designation, eliminating them from the status and privileges of a bonafide country. That vote resulted in all land in Mexico becoming private property, and thus, subject to the 2005 Supreme Court ruling on annexing private land.

Bush stated that if his plan met with Congressional opposition he was prepared to produce reliable intelligence sources who would confirm the existence of WMD’s (Weapons of Mass Destruction) in Mexico.

The news conference did shed new light on the story out of Texas last week regarding the sudden suspension of all work on the border wall. An anonymous spokesman for Walls International, the sub-contractor currently constructing the wall between the United States and Mexico, reportedly told the Laredo Ledger that the company was told to cease all work immediately. The spokesman also said they were told to submit blue prints for constructing a wall around the White House, instead.

In a related story, the president’s brother and former Florida governor, Jeb Bush, has been on vacation in Mexico with his family for the last month. According to a close family friend, they have been looking at real estate in Mexico City.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, COVENANT WOMAN

Saturday, September 22, 2007. Thirty -four years of marriage. Not many times am I left struggling for words. Words have always come easy for me - too easy, some say.

But such is the case on this anniversary. People are always telling me how blessed I am and do I know how lucky I am to have a wife like Cindy. Duh, like I wouldn't know that! To quote a great man, " I ain't no physcikist, but I knows what matters."

For this year, I believe I will borrow the words of a song to express my feelings:

COVENANT WOMAN
Covenant woman got a contract with the Lord
Way up yonder, great will be her reward
Covenant woman, shining like a morning star
I know I can trust you to stay where you are

And I just got to tell you I do intend
To stay closer than any friend
I just got to thank you once again
For making your prayers known
Unto heaven for me and to you, always, so grateful
I will forever be

I've been broken, shattered like an empty cup
I'm just waiting on the Lord to rebuild and fill me up
And I know He will do it 'cause He's faithful and He's true
He must have loved me so much to send me someone as fine as you

Covenant woman, intimate little girl
Who knows those most secret things of me that are hidden from the world
You know we are strangers in a land we're passing through
I'll always be right by your side, I've got a covenant too

And I just got to tell you I do intend
To stay closer than any friend
I just got to thank you once again
For making your prayers known unto heaven for me
And to you, always, so grateful I will forever be.

Bob Dylan
Saved / 1980

PS In case you didn't get that earlier quote - it was from POPEYE, the 1980 movie. 1980 was a good year.

Bound for Life

Jesus, I plead your blood over my sins and the sins of my nation. God, end abortion and bring revival to America .

THANK YA'LL

Can’t help but feel a little nostalgic this morning. I’ve been giving some misty eyed thought to my conversion and the people involved in it. You see, it’s my birthday. Thirty-five years ago, August 11, 1972—I was born again. About 8:00 pm, to be exact. I’ve been thinking about all those who had a part in my salvation experience and how thankful I am for them.

First of all, there would have to be my heavenly father, who invaded my life of pleasure and persistently pursued me. Then, there’s my parents, who raised me in the Congregational Holiness Church, which I believe is the smallest denomination in the world.

It was in that little church that, as a child, I was exposed to the manifestation of the Holy Ghost. I was not a Christian but the exposure left a lasting impression on me.

I was attending Trinity Baptist Church, in Palatka. Florida, when I was saved. I was pushing twenty years old. The pastor, Buddy Hogarth, and the Trinity family were genuine Christians, accepting me but praying for me, as I had never claimed to be a Christian.

I liked to hang out with the youth group, which my good friend, Clint Johnson, was a part of. Oh, and there was also this really cute girl in the youth group, Cindy Green. Cindy would later give me the great honor of becoming my wife.

Cindy’s mom and dad were very special, an integral part of the little church. Clint’s mom and dad, Shot and Betty, were also pillars in the church and accepted me as a third son. But, again, I was not a Christian and never said I was.

There is certainly a lesson there! As a youth pastor, I see the danger of becoming gospel hardened-to be so saturated with the gospel that you build up a spiritual immunity to conviction. This is especially true with kids who are raised in Christian families, attend Christian schools and are in church every service.

You may be asking, “So, what is the lesson?” The lesson is to be honest with yourself. Your soul is too important for spiritual games. I never claimed to be a Christian because my lifestyle spoke volumes against any such claim.

As I tell young people, often, “You cannot become a Christian through osmosis.” God doesn’t decide, because you have hung out with Christians for years and worked on some outreach projects, that you now meet the criteria for becoming a Christian. You can sleep in your garage every night but you will never wake up in the morning as a Porsche. No, one becomes a Christian at a specific point in time, a point in time that can be marked. I realize that some folks were saved at an early age and remembering the date, etc. can prove difficult. But still, it was a point in time.

Anyway, Jay Johnson, Clint’s little brother, actually led Clint and myself in our salvation prayer, around a coffee table that night in 1972. As I recall, Clint was saved as soon as he asked Jesus into his heart. Having been raised a Baptist, Clint was oblivious to the Pentecostal concept that I was privy to, called “praying through.” Clint lived out of town but Jay and I subsequently shared many great times in the Lord together.

So, again, thank you to all who shared in my conversion, especially that cute girl from the youth group. You made August 11 and my whole life—special.

NO DR. DOOLITTLE

My record with the animal kingdom has been pathetic. From the time I was a child I just never had much luck with critters. But I was thinking that maybe, since I am now 54 years old, that things had changed. I was wrong. A short summation of my history with animals is probably in order.

But, before I begin, I feel a need to assure you that I never became a serial killer, as some statistics might suggest of someone with my history. I was never really sadistic. Not that it is a blanket excuse, but most of what I am sharing is just the old school, rural Palatka, Florida way of living.

In the early 1960’s, while I was in elementary school, I found a little squirrel, took him in and named him Jasper. I shelled pecans and fed them to him, lots of them. So many, in fact, my dad said that was what killed him. But I only had him for a week, so his parting was not traumatic for me.

When I was in junior high school, my parents bought me, and my five younger siblings, a $50.00 bargain nag. In horse years, Goldie was about 135 years old. She was extremely swayback and was winded, which meant you could hear her breathing about 30 seconds before you saw her.

I ran her into the ground, literally. Her breast was so small, the equivalent to a blue jay’s, her front legs knocked together when she ran, causing her to often stumble to her knees. Without dismounting, I would just slap her until she struggled back to her feet. I buried her in the pasture a couple of years later, never shedding a tear.

I was in high school when my uncle gave my mama a Chihuahua that he bought in Mexico. In those Palatka days, a Chihuahua was nothing more than a glorified cat—probably today, too. Missy had bulging eyes, was always nipping at your heels and ran on three legs, keeping her left rear leg up in the air.

Missy had a strange little quirk—she went into heat about every three weeks. My dad put her in the hay loft whenever she was feeling amorous, her leash tethered to a rafter.

Being the oldest of six kids, I inherited the responsibility of watering and feeding the demon dog every day. One day I climbed into the loft to find she had fallen, or jumped, over the edge, hanging herself. To this day my family, even my own mother, believes that I hung the dog. My lack of remorse didn’t help my case any. Of course, I did not, and have never purposely killed a domesticated animal.


But wait, there’s more! When I was 27, some friend’s asked me to watch their dog while they took a vacation. It was a hot July but I wouldn’t let their “house dog” in my house, an outside laundry room being her temporary home. She almost died before my friends returned, because I refused to take the dog to the vet when she started to stagger around the yard and urinate blood.

Amazingly, 10 years later, the same friends asked me to drop by their home and check on their dogs, cat and hamsters while they were on another vacation. Having personal knowledge of my history, it would seem that David and Barbara Mason were the sadistic ones for recruiting me a second time.

The critters were in a screened-in area on a back porch. On a visit one afternoon I found the porch door ajar and the hamster cage empty, the only hamster sign being some fur on the floor. I thought about it, but my wife insists that I actually did it—putting up some crime scene tape and drawing a couple of hamster outlines on the floor with some chalk.

When I was in my mid thirties, I relented to the incessant pleas of my children and picked up a little mutt for them, with the understanding that they would have to water, feed and clean up after him.

You guessed it, yours truly ended up performing those duties. I put him outside the fence when we took a family vacation, thinking he would relocate to a house where folks would take care of him. It worked.

Now, fast forward to July, 2007. A stray cat took up residence on our front porch toward the end of July. The grandchildren and some other kids my wife was watching for the summer became attached to the cat. But my wife and I both refused to let them feed or water the cat, fearing that it would never leave.

The stray would leave during the day but return every afternoon and stay throughout the night, meowing at the front door. This lasted for two weeks. Then, I decided to take the cat to another neighborhood, so it could take up with a cat-loving family who would feed and water him.

I coaxed him into my truck, drove a couple of miles from my neighborhood and put him out. As I drove away, I felt a sickening thud. The cat had darted under my truck and I ran over him, killing him. It was an accident, but apparently one befitting only me.

After the unfortunate accident, as I was driving to church, which is where I was heading when the idea to relocate the feline first came to me, I began to cry. Now, I can not adequately relate how confusing this was to me. Crying over a dead animal, stray or pet, accident or homicide, was totally alien to me—especially a cat.

As I was driving and wiping my eyes, I said out loud, “What is going on, I can’t believe this?” I wondered if I was just getting old and sentimental or if God was showing me something. And though I am getting more sentimental with age, the latter was the case.

The Lord showed me that I was feeling compassion. The compassion was not for the cat, though that in itself would seem to have some merit. No, the compassion I was feeling was for my grandchildren. I was hurt as I thought about the hurt Peyton and Jordan would feel, if they knew about the cat’s death.

My mind went immediately to the passage I had been studying on the “little ones” (see July 07’ blog) and how the organized church has a responsibility to embrace and assimilate the young in this current youth revival. The little ones, though obviously applying to children, also applies to the young in the Faith, the weak or the immature.

God further revealed to me that just as I felt compassion over my grandchildren’s loss, I should feel compassion for the losses suffered by the young in the Faith, the weak or the immature. The attack of the enemy of their souls should concern me, his theft of their dreams should arouse compassion in me, the destruction of their health should cause a righteous anger in me.

Those who know me can attest to the fact that God using a cat to teach me anything is nothing short of miraculous in itself. Who knows, maybe the Lord is opening up a whole new area in the animal kingdom for me. Nah.

THE LITTLE ONES

In the late 1960’s and early 70’s, God presented the organized church with a unique opportunity - to be a major player in the course of church history. The church failed.

Not to glamorize the sex, drugs and rock n roll scene, but those were exciting times. The hippie movement was sweeping the nation, the music industry was being revolutionized and an intersection (Haight-Ashbury) became synonymous with love.

But the most exciting product of that era was the tens of thousands of young people who were born again. The Jesus Movement, as it came to be known, was a movement that could not be ignored. Even Elton John sang about the "Jesus freaks out in the street" in his 1971 hit song, Tiny Dancer. I was, in fact, saved in 1972, myself.

But there was a problem – the inability of the organized church to recognize a legitimate move of God. Because the Jesus Movement was so closely identified with the hippie movement, many churches, ministers and Christians in general passed the Jesus People off as just a by-product of the times.

I’m not a prophet or a scholar, just a student of history. But I sincerely believe the organized church was judged, found wanting and punished in the 70’s. In Matthew 18:2, Jesus used a small child to illustrate a point. However, the message of Matthew 18 is clearly not restricted to children, as evidenced by the later referrals to little children when covering such topics as the lost sheep.

The little ones also include the newly converted, the weak and the spiritually immature. It is indeed a dangerous thing to offend or despise (verse 10) even one of the little ones, and the church offended and despised thousands.

The most obvious judgment was missing out on the great blessing that would have been the result of accepting and assimilating the Jesus People into the church. In Mark’s account (Chapter 9), Jesus wrapped his arms around a child in the presence of his disciples and told them that receiving a little one was the same as receiving Jesus himself. Again, I’m no scholar, but the obvious conclusion must be that rejecting the little ones is paramount to rejecting Jesus, which would pretty much guarantee judgment of some type.

Another judgment, at least to the mainline church leaders of the 70's, was the Charismatic
Movement. It came full bloom on the heels of the Jesus Movement and proved to be a real pew problem, leaving no denomination untouched. Again, the Charismatic Movement was a scourge to mainline churches, but a blessing to those who were desperate for fresh air.

However, I don’t want to give the impression that no one reached out to the Jesus People or that nothing really came of the movement. Let's not forget Chuck Smith and Calvary Chapel, The Vineyard, Johnny Herrin and the Resurrection Band & Jesus PeopleUSA, the Chicago based ministry still going strong. And of course, my man, David Wilkerson. I still have an old Jesus People Manual, that I got at a David Wilkerson crusade in Daytona Beach, at Easter, 1973. But, the window of opportunity did come and go for the organized church, the Jesus Movement just not fitting into its plans.

And now, forty years later, the church again finds itself in a very critical position. One would have to be living in a spiritual vacuum to not sense, or at least be aware of, this unprecedented global movement among young people. Even without the corporate gatherings, such as the recent Nashville Call '07, there is stll a righteous rumbling taking place in the hearts of young people everywhere.

The love beads have been replaced by rings and studs and the flowers are now tattoos, but my prayer, is that the church will accept the young this time around. But won’t they need a lot of nurturing? Of course, but no more than the middle-aged guy, sitting on the third pew, who can’t find Ephesians with a compass. But won’t they bring a lot of baggage? Sure, but no more than the soloist, whose having an affair with the choir director.

The bottom line is - to receive such a one is to receive Jesus and to offend, despise or ignore such as these is to do the same to Jesus.

We stand at a pivotal place in history, with not much time left to make history. God, grant the church the courage to accept the little ones and, in public, as Jesus did, wrap its collective arms around them.

HOLY GROUND HOG DAY

Ever talk to yourself? I don't mean calling yourself an idiot when you mess up. But talking to yourself spiritually. How about singing to yourself? You know, it is a very biblical principle.

The apostle Paul instructed the Ephesians (ch. 5), “Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord."

In Joshua 1:8, we read, “This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success.”

The Hebrew word for meditate carried the idea of: 1) to imagine, 2) to mutter under the breath and 3) speak out loud. God’s word is to so consume our thought process that it spills out into our speech, to the point we actually mutter, mumble and talk to ourselves like someone who others might consider “mentally touched,” which would actually be a fairly accurate assumption.

In I Samuel 30 we read where David found himself in, what Everett told Pete and Delmar, was a "tight spot." Verse 5 tells us that, “ …David encouraged himself in the Lord his God.” David spoke to his soul (Ps. 42). Not only did he speak but he actually asked his soul a question: “Why art thou cast down, O my soul? And why art thou disquieted in me?” He followed the question with a statement to his soul, “Hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance.”

The discipline to encourage yourself when there is no one else around to do it, or sadly, when there is no one else who will do it, can prove invaluable to your spiritual and even physical well being.

In the spring of 2006, I began preaching to myself on the way to work every morning, the same exact mini sermon every day. Lots of days I don’t feel much like hearing it but I make myself preach it anyway. It is based on Psalms 118:24 and has had such an impact on me I thought I would share it, just as I preach it to myself.

This is the day the Lord hath made: I will rejoice and be glad in it. It’s not yesterday and it’s not tomorrow. It’s not some day in the sweet bye and bye. This is the day, not another. And it’s not a day – it is the day, a specific day. This day didn’t just happen by chance. God made this day. It took a creative act on his part to bring this day about. Just as he made the heavens and the earth, he made this day. Before the workings of man, in eternity past, God made this day with me in mind.

And not only did God make this day for me, he filled it with opportunities for my good. Today, I have the opportunity to hear a little louder his voice concerning my purpose. Today, I have the opportunity to see a little clearer his vision for my future. Today, I have the opportunity to grasp a little tighter, a little piece of my destiny. “Behold, now is the accepted time. Behold, now is the day of salvation.”(2 Cor. 6)

What happened to me yesterday has no bearing on today. Paul said in Philippians 3, “...this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.”

Paul didn’t say ten things or five things, but "this one thing I do." The value of developing an ability to forget the past is of great importance. Well, that sounds stupid, of course, I can't forget. The Bible says that God forgets our sins, remembering them no more. But God is God and He can remember whatever He wants. The point is God "chooses" not to remember our sins.

Paul certainly had some things in his past that could have had a bearing on his future, but he chose to forget them. He did some horrible things, like hunting down Christians and turning them in for punishment, even execution.

Context of scripture is important, and Paul had just spent several verses listing his great accomplishments in the Jewish faith. Paul was saying, and I now say, that I will forget those things which are behind, both good things and bad, and focus on today. I have done nothing so bad as to cripple my future and I have done nothing so good as to cement my future.

Messing up today has no bearing on my future, either. Why? Because when I get up tomorrow morning it will be TODAY all over again. The Bible says that His mercies are new EVERY morning.

So, today I do confess that the favor of God is upon me. Today, God’s favor will go before me and open doors that no man can shut. Today, I will seize every opportunity He places in my path.

PS: Ulysses Everett McGill, Delmar O'Donnel and Pete Hogwallop (O Brother, Where Art Thou?).

THE COSMIC PAWN SHOP

She had risen early to squeeze in a light devotion before preparing breakfast for her family. Her devotions usually consisted of reading a few Bible verses, some moments of quiet meditation, followed by a short prayer, usually asking God to bless her family. But for the last week she had been having an unusual desire to know God more fully, sensing an urgency to serve him.

After her husband left for his job and her teenager had been picked up for school by his friends, she drove the two younger ones to school. She kissed them and waved as they walked from the car to the school entrance. That’s when things started to get out of control, or at least, out of her control.

She was still in the school parking lot when the phrase shot through her mind – redeeming the time. She didn’t recall the phrase from her devotional readings, but having been raised in church, she knew the words were not new to her, or were they? She had heard them in sermons before, or had she? She had to admit the phrase was, at best, vaguely familiar.

There was a Christian bookstore nearby and she decided to drop by on her way home. There it was, in Ephesians 5:16, “Redeeming the time, for the days are evil.” She became a little uneasy after reading verses 14 and 15. She wondered aloud, “How many years have I been asleep, and is God revealing his light to me?” She left the store and started home, tears beginning to flow freely. A short distance from the bookstore, a severe thunderstorm hit.

The rain was blinding, prompting her to pull off the road. Now, she was sobbing uncontrollably. She wasn’t big in stature, but her hands seemed to have acquired an unknown strength, as she gripped the steering wheel. She wondered if this was some sort of epiphany, like when the “the just shall live by faith,” was revealed to Martin Luther, after he had read the same words hundreds of times before.

Was God calling her to be a modern day Martin Luther and lead a Reformation? Was He calling her to be a missionary to Africa, to stand outside the Supreme Court with a sign? Thoughts flooded her mind. She had children and a husband – what about her family obligations?

Then, on the side of a lonely road, in a blinding rainstorm, the voice of the God of the universe spoke to a little housewife: “I’m not calling you to some place, I’m calling you to someone—me.” Immediately she knew what was required of her. She would have to replace her complacency with commitment, exchange her interest for intimacy, her time for His time.

Maybe some day she would have to step out of her little piece of the world and into a bigger arena. But not today. As of this moment, she was willing to do and be whatever her Lord needed her to do or be. She was now screaming the word “YES” over and over at the top of her lungs, for the first time in her life experiencing total surrender.




Miles from nowhere, the stifling heat seemed to suck the very air from the atmosphere. The few people wandering the streets on that lazy summer day did so in a hauntingly lethargic stagger.

In a rocking chair on the front porch of the general store, an old timer tried, to no avail, to refresh himself with some lemonade. A rope swing hung limp from a giant tree limb down at the swimming hole — not a single ripple on the smooth surface of the warm water.

The old pawn shop, which sat on the corner of Destiny and Carpe, had not seen a customer in what seemed like weeks. The old-timers had always considered it a strange little business anyway. No one seemed to know much about the shop, other than they all agreed it had been sitting in the same spot since before dirt.

And if the locals knew little about the shop, they knew even less about the shop’s owner, not even his name. They all did agree, however, that he had been around longer than any of them. He never left the store, evidently sleeping in a back room. Some even said he never slept at all. Occasionally a brave soul, usually a visitor, would drop in for a quick browse and chat, only to find the shelves mostly empty and the proprietor strangely aloof for a businessman.

A few blocks away, the form of a stranger appeared in the street. As the visitor drew closer, it became apparent that the form was that of a small framed woman. She was shielding the blistering sun from her eyes with one hand, while the other was closed into a fist. Her steps were slow but steady.

On she walked, as though on a mission, not even glancing at the old-timers, as she made her way further downtown. Then suddenly she stopped, turned and walked straight through the front door of the pawn shop. Every eye in the town was now fixed on the little pawn shop at Destiny and Carpe.

It was as suffocating inside the shop as outside. No one appeared to be manning the store, as the stranger gazed upon the shelves and behind a glass cabinet. She was startled as the old man walked through a back door and stood, staring at her. His eyes were dark and beady, his skin wrinkled, and his hair, long and white as the driven snow.

She reached out her hand and introduced herself. He just grunted something and shuffled behind the counter. He noticed the ring on her finger and asked what a little housewife like her might be looking for, a nice set of cutlery, some antique china, maybe?

She said, “No, I am here to redeem something that you have of mine.”

“And just what might that be, young lady?”, he replied.

“Time”, she said.

The old man gasped and grabbed the counter top with both hands. “Whose time?” he asked sheepishly.

“My time,” she stated.

The old man replied emphatically that a person can’t just get time back, that it is forever lost. She looked him sternly in the eye, pulled the redemption ticket from the hand that had been clutching it, and slammed it on the counter top. The old man staggered backward.

“He told me you would be hard to deal with, but you don’t have a choice because I have a redemption ticket and I’m here to redeem my time” she proclaimed. He reluctantly agreed and went to the back room, returning with her item.

"You know, it's gonna cost you quite a bit, you sure you're willing to pay that kind of price?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm prepared to pay any price!" she exclaimed. She embraced her precious gift and started for the door, pausing for a moment to look back. She said, “You’re Old Man Time, aren’t you?”

He smiled and replied, “I don't get many folks in here looking for what you came for, least not many willing to pay the price. Go now little lady, and make your gift count.”

Upon exiting the shop, she noticed a refreshing breeze had begun blowing. The birds were chirping from trees whose branches were gently swaying. In the distance, she could hear splashing sounds coming from the swimming hole. As she entered the street she noticed that every eye was still ominously on her.

Her first steps were lively, not sluggish as they had been when she came into town. She began her return walk and much to her surprise, the old-timers all began standing. From sidewalks, store fronts and porches, the entire town was cheering her on as she passed by.



The rain storm and her sobbing was now subsiding, and her hands no longer grasped the steering wheel. She wondered what had just happened.

She started the car and began the drive home, though she wished she could have run.

A DREAM, A CALL

Last week I listened to a Lou Engle message regarding the history of The Call ministry, and specifically, The Call Nashville, to be held on July 7, 2007. He related how the church would be divorcing itself from the world and re-marrying the Lord on that historic day.

Well, I assume the message prompted the dream I had that same night. I was sitting toward the back of a church for a wedding ceremony.

The church was filled with people. Suddenly, at a distance in front of me, someone stood up in the crowd. He pulled a shotgun from under a cloak and shot the person next to him. I realized that I too, had a gun. I raised it and drew down on the assailant, who had his back to me. I had him in my sights and squeezed the trigger. The gun made a clicking sound but did not fire. I remember looking at the gun and noticing that it was new and an expensive model.

I quickly raised the gun and again had him in my sights, his back still to me. I squeezed the trigger once more and again, nothing but a click. This time he heard the click, wheeled around, stared at me and raised his weapon. I froze for a second, then started to run. Two shots barely missed me as I ran through the back door.

When I awoke, the dream's message was so very clear to me. The gun looked good, was in good shape, had all the parts, was bright and shiny. But it lacked the one thing that makes a gun a weapon - ammunition!

I immediately thought of Ephesians 6. In the past 33 years I have taught and preached on the full armor of God countless times. In verses 11 and 13, Paul admonishes us to put on the "whole" armor. Then, in verses 14 -17, the armor is listed; loins girded about with truth, breastplate of righteousness, feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace, shield of faith, helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit. We think, man, if a person had all of those weapons, they could really show the devil how the cow eats the cabbage. Wrong!

The weapons in Ehpesians 6 are as useless as the gun in my dream, unless you have what makes them work. I encourage you to not stop at verse 17. Verse 18 is the key to victory in our warfare. Yes, prayer was the missing ammunition in my dream.

"Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perserverance and supplication for all saints;" (Eph. 6:18)

God is calling me (us) to a deeper life of prayer. I was in that church service for a purpose, a purpose that I could not fulfill. The enemy of our souls is present to disrupt the holy union. The saints in my dream and those in our midst today, represented by verse 18, need to know that someone has their back. Lives hinge on the prayers of those who know how to touch God.

I am returning to the church of my dream and the enemy won't be glad to see me. Next time I will be more than armed - I will be armed AND dangerous. Will you join me?

Math, What Is It Good For?

Disclaimer: The following is not intended to promote reckless student behavior. It is simply, the telling of a true story.

I recently read a newspaper article outlining the Board of Education’s vision for the future of Florida high schools. Evidently, the plan includes a four-credit math requirement instead of the current three. Now, that sounds like “cruel and unusual.” I hate math, have no use for it. Math and I have a history.

It was 1968. I had just finished ninth grade, posting what I thought was quite a remarkable “C” average in general math. I was looking forward to the summer, playing baseball, fishing and swimming at Silver Lake.

However, my parents saw something menacing on the fall horizon—algebra. I would have to take it in the tenth grade. I thought, so what, I’m an educated kid. After all, I made a “C” in general math. But though they were pleased with my outstanding accomplishment, they must have secretly thought it was a fluke. How else could you explain their signing me up for summer school so I’d be better prepared for algebra in the fall?

Now, I have been embarrassed a few times in my life. Like the time when I was a junior and my coach left me sitting in the bleachers in my football jersey after having called all the other football players down onto the gym floor, individually, by name, during the season’s first pep rally. But this was a pretty big one, too.

Everybody in that summer school class had just failed algebra. Neither the teacher, nor the other students, believed that I was in summer school just to get a jump start on “next year’s” algebra. But my parents’ plan worked. I finished my sophomore year with a “B” in algebra, an achievement that led to visions of a career in mathematics.

I entered that eleventh-grade geometry class a cocky little whiz kid, but by the end of the first week I was more lost than a Republican thumbing a ride outside Baghdad. I flunked in a major way. My parents were devastated. Their son was not math prodigy they had supposed. Heading into my senior year, I needed another math credit in order to graduate.

But alas, I was rescued by a class called Senior Review. Everyone received a paperback workbook that reviewed basic math concepts. No, not theorems and angles and such, but addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. The class was taught by a coach, and since all but two students were athletes, I surmised it was a course specifically designed for athletes. Now, how could I mess this up?

There was only one rule – no homework was allowed. Every day, before leaving, we had to stack our workbooks on a shelf. The coach (teacher) would then check our names, which were written on the book binders, to make sure no one was taking books home.

Now, 1971 was a time of protests, and I went to one of those dress code demonstrations one fine day…during school…very late in the year. The administration, evidently not understanding the coolness of the times, promptly suspended me for two weeks, which brought my suspension total for the year to three full weeks. I was a misguided youth.

Upon my return to school, I realized I didn't have enough time to catch up my missed work before school ended. I shamelessly begged the coach to let me take my book home for one night, to catch up. He just smiled. So, I did what any desperate young man in my position would have done. I put the real book in my gym bag, wrote my name on the binder of a fake book and slipped it in the stack. I was home free…until a "fellow athlete” (I'll call his name John Beck)ratted on me.

Coach Brock was red in the face when he said, “Robert, come with me to the office.” I replied, “Coach, I can’t get suspended again, I've already missed over three weeks - I won’t graduate.” Coach said, “You’re not getting suspended, I’m giving you three licks.” I told him he must be smoking some tainted stuff, that I was eighteen and whipping me was not an option(we actually did have a good relationship).

When Coach walked toward me I ran into the hallway, disappearing into the crowd. Coach was surprised when I appeared outside his room during his next period class. I was standing in the shrubs, looking through the open windows.

The class was being thoroughly entertained as we carried on our verbal exchange. He said, “Robert, you’re not getting back in my class unless I give you three licks.” After more passionate begging, I reluctantly agreed. That despot was so excited about the prospect of whipping me, he hustled down to the office, leaving his class unattended. None dropped, but big tears filled my eyes. Coach Brock did end up passing me. Did I mention I was an athlete? Disgusting, isn't it?

Now, maybe you understand why I hate math so much. Math kept me from a summer of fun, it destroyed my parents’ dreams, it raised and subsequently crushed my self-confidence and it put marks on my behind that I believe are still there.

So, I’ll borrow, and tweak a little, from a famous man of that era, Edwin Star: Math, huh, yeah, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Uh-huh math, huh, yeah, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Say it again, ya’ll, Math, huh, good God. What is it good for….

Special Note: In an effort to maintain literary integrity, I sent for my high school transcript, which confirmed my senior year absences to be 3 ½ weeks.

Leave it all on the Field

I have worked with youth, either directly or indirectly, for pretty much all of my adult life—and that goes back four decades. Having said that, let me assure you that these are truly special times for the youth of the church.

God, in His grace, is touching the lives of young people in ways the church hasn’t experienced in some time. In small groups and large gatherings, the young in the world are responding to His call by the thousands. We tend to limit our thinking to our little piece of the world, but be assured—the power and presence we are experiencing in 2007 is nothing short of global.

I believe we are right now in the midst of the greatest move of God since the Jesus movement of the late 60’s and early 70’s. This is not a time to be timid, not a time to shy away from commitment, not a time to be controlled by the opinions of peers, not a time to play it safe. The youth are not the church of tomorrow, they are the church of today!

I played football in high school, and though I wasn’t that good, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. One of my most poignant memories was of the field itself. Our home field was the envy of all high school teams in northeast Florida, always lush green and meticulously manicured. When the team first ran onto the field on Friday nights, the newly painted stripes and the smell of the freshly cut Bermuda grass was intoxicating.

Of course, at the end of the night, it was all torn up and had blood and maybe someone’s supper on it. You could tell something momentous and significant had taken place there.

There is a saying in athletics: Leave it all on the field. In other words, when the game is over, make sure you don’t bring anything back to the locker room that could have been used on the field of competition. All your energy and skill should have been expended in the contest.

But, you know, there are other fields in life, and those fields are infinitely more important than football fields. In John 4:35, Jesus said, “Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest…” I encourage you to “leave it all” on those fields. Don’t walk away from this time without having given 100% of your passion, desire and talent to your own personal field.

There will come a time when Jesus will again look on those fields that were ready for harvest in John 4. It will be a sad day if the fields are full and the grain is still standing tall, having been untouched. But, what a thrilling day if Jesus looks on our field, and seeing stacks of harvested grain exclaims, "This field is all torn up - something momentous and significant has taken place here!"

One day, we will all look back on this time in the history of the church. Down the road, with three kids, a dog and a Lincoln, will you have regrets? My prayer is that, at that time, you will be able to truthfully say to your friends, your God and yourself, “I left it all on the field.”

Dick Cheney Gunned Down in Texas Duel

Armstrong County, TX—Just a little over a year since Vice President Dick Cheney wounded his friend, Harry Whittington, in a quail hunt, Cheney himself was fatally shot on the same sprawling Armstrong Ranch.

A news conference held this week by Republican power broker, Katherine Armstrong, confirmed earlier reports that movie legend Charlton Heston killed Cheney in an old west style gun fight during an armadillo hunt.

Heston, former National Rifle Association president and life-long member of the NRA, is a frequent ranch guest but had never been paired with Cheney on a hunt. Armstrong said that Heston started the day a bit edgy after drawing Cheney as a hunting partner.

But just as the dogs got on a ‘dilla scent, that uneasiness apparently prompted Heston to launch into an unsolicited gun safety lecture directed at the vice president. According to Armstrong, the lesson rapidly deteriorated when he grabbed Cheney's shotgun to demonstrate proper technique.

One eye witness said Cheney called the 82-year-old Heston “old man Moses” as he put him in an old-fashioned headlock. Another witness said it then appeared that Heston reverted to one of his former movie roles and yelled back, “Get your stinkin’ paws off me you #@%$ filthy ape!”

But all witnesses confirmed the final scene. The two, wrapped in deadly embrace, rolled on the desert floor until being separated by fellow hunters.

Cheney then challenged Heston to settle their dispute Texas-style, with a gunfight. They strapped on side arms and squared off. Cheney cleared leather first but he was reportedly no match for the seasoned Heston.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, President Bush and his advisors have flown in from Washington to discuss a possible successor. Inside sources have leaked a shocking development, indicating that Bush is leaning heavily toward Chuck Norris.

Satire & Stupidity

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