making a difference

She invited us to her house to light candles, sit on bean bag chairs and read poetry.

Sound lame? Maybe to you, but not to me. Mrs. Fields single-handedly changed my life. She was more than my 10^th grade English teacher—she was the person who inspired me to write.

Inviting the whole class to her house for a poetry reading is what I call going beyond the call of duty. She wasn’t content to just impact her students at school—she went out of her way to inspire us any way she could, even if it intruded on her personal life.

But that’s what she was like: An encourager with a capital “E.”

I saw her many years later, well into my 30s. I can still remember how she beamed when I introduced myself and told her what an inspiration she had been.

Why do I share this story?

First of all, to encourage you to take the time to contact and thank those who have made a difference in your life. In these days of Google and Facebook tracking people down is easier than it’s ever been.

Call, email, write a note or become a Facebook friend. Do whatever it takes, but let the person know how much you appreciate what he or she did for you.

Trust me, you’ll make somebody’s day. And how cool is that?

Second, could you make a difference in someone’s life? A child? Family member? Friend? Co-worker? Is there someone you could encourage and inspire with a little bit of effort?

While some of you may find it challenging, I’m betting some of you are natural encouragers. In fact, the Bible tells us about a man who was given the nickname of Barnabas. The name means “Son of Encouragement.” The strong implication, of course, is that Barnabas was a natural encourager.1

That speculation is confirmed later when the church at Jerusalem needs an encourager. And who’s their go-to guy? Barnabas, of course.

They “sent Barnabas to Antioch. When he arrived and saw the evidence of the grace of God, he was glad and encouraged them all to remain true to the Lord with all their hearts. He was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and faith, and a great number of people were brought to the Lord.”2

So how about it? Are you a closet Barnabas? Are you a natural encourager like he was? If so, someone needs you, probably more than you can imagine.

I know you’re out there, so what are you waiting for? Make a difference in somebody’s life. Encourage them and inspire them.

Who knows? You could be the next Mrs. Fields!

Note: Candles, bean bag chairs and poetry are optional.

1  Acts 4:36-37

2  Acts 11:22-24

reaping and sowing

The concrete floor was cold and hard, but there’s no way I could walk. And the pain, oh my, the pain.

My dad heard me scream and came running to my rescue. The look of sympathy on his face changed to anger, however, when I explained how it all happened.

It wasn’t an accident as he had assumed—I had stupidly tried jumping down the entire flight of basement stairs. I almost made it, too—missed it by an inch or two.

But that last inch or two messed up my ankle big-time: a fracture and a torn ligament.

My dad made sure I got the medical help I needed, but made it crystal clear he wasn’t happy with me. After all, my pain and suffering was self-inflicted. There’s no way I could shake my fist at God and say, “Why me, Lord, why me?!”

Duh. This is what happens when you try and jump down an entire flight of stairs. Duh again.

As a minister, sometimes I want to share that embarrassing story with others who, in my estimation, have misplaced anger with God over something bad that’s happened to them. The purpose would be to point out the obvious: Your problem appears to be self-inflicted, so why bring God into it?

All of them, to one extent or another, were angry and bitter at God for allowing these bad things to happen to them. And all of them had trouble accepting blame for their situations. Instead, they wanted to blame their Creator.

For instance, how could a long-time smoker not connect the dots when he or she gets lung cancer? What about an alcoholic who’s puzzled over ongoing liver problems? Or how about a woman who sleeps around but is then surprised—and devastated—when she gets pregnant?

It never ceases to amaze me how some people refuse to accept responsibility for their actions and instead blame the Lord.

A verse comes to mind. It’s probably the same one that occurred to you.

“Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows.”1

We reap what we sow. For instance, if we try and jump down an entire flight of stairs, well, we shouldn’t be surprised if we mess up our ankle. And we certainly can’t blame God for the choices that we, ourselves, have made. We own the consequences. Period.

What about you? Before you shake your head in amazement over those who are apparently blind to the negative consequences of their actions, I encourage you to make a quick life check.

Are you involved with things that may turn out bad? Are you taking foolish or unnecessary risks? If so, make sure you have your eyes wide open and recognize that things might not turn out well.

And if and when they turn sour, please don’t blame God.

After all, we reap what we sow.

1  Gal 6:7

regrets

Peeking through the blinds in the living room, he insisted the mafia was watching him.

That’s when I first knew something was wrong with my brother, Ken. It wasn’t long after that when he was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic.

Things were never the same as hallucinations, voices in his head and general paranoia became a part of daily life. Treatment included hospitalizations, group homes and, of course, lots of medication. Since there wasn’t—and still isn’t—a cure for this devastating mental illness, his quality of life wasn’t much to speak of.

While Ken struggled in ways that I cannot imagine, the whole family did as well. My parents carried the load, of course, a load that no parent should ever have to carry.

As for me, I didn’t deal with it very well. The brother who shared a bunk bed with me for so many years was, for all practical purposes, gone. Having a coherent and meaningful conversation with him became impossible, and so the secrets we had shared over the years became my secrets and mine alone. If Ken remembered them or treasured them he never let on. Or couldn’t let on.

Over time I distanced myself from him, a decision I would live to regret when he died in his early 30s from a heart attack.  

Filled with guilt at abandoning my brother when he needed me most, I shared my story several times—complete with regrets—with families and friends of other schizophrenics. Each time I would tearfully plead with them not to distance themselves from their loved ones, to remain by their side no matter how difficult it may be.

My regrets also compelled me to pour my life into a high school friend who got leukemia. I visited him almost every day after work for several months and was there at his side when he died. I can picture his face to this day.

Why am I sharing this with you? Because I’ve learned a few things about regrets that I’d like to pass on. They may be painfully obvious to you, but, unfortunately, I had to learn them the hard way.

First the obvious: Regrets never go away. While time has lessened the pain of how I treated my brother after he got sick, I’m convinced it will never fully go away. It stinks, but that’s the way it is.

But there is an upside to regrets. If we let them, they can fuel necessary life change. I’d like to think that at least one family member stuck by their schizophrenic loved one rather than pull away. And I’d like to think I was a comfort to my friend as he slowly succumbed to leukemia.

Maybe, just maybe, God took my regrets and did something useful with them. Maybe, just maybe, it was a Romans 8:28 thing:

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”1

It’s obviously better not to have regrets, so if there’s something you need to do that you’re not doing, please correct the situation right now. As in, stop reading and do it.

Now.

But if you already have regrets, please let God turn it into a positive. Please allow the Lord to channel your painful memories into something good, for both you and others.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.”

That includes your regrets.

1  Rom 8:28

mourning the past

“Me and you and a dog named Boo”?

You’ve got to be kidding. I’m officially pathetic.

Pity me as I mourn my youth, as every song from the late 60s and early 70s nearly brings me to tears. Even the stupidest songs remind me of precious memories from long ago. And yes, that includes the classic tune by Lobo released in 1971.

Darn it, I miss that old Boo.

Actually, I miss a skinnier and more energetic Chris, a younger version of me with his whole life in front of him, not behind him. While I don’t miss the acne, it’s depressing to have to pluck hairs that crop up overnight in places where they’re not welcome. Like on and in my ears.

Sorry. Too much information.

Fortunately, the Lord rescued me from my most recent obsession with youth and the past.  He rescued me by reminding me of two things. First, I’m not on this earth very long. Maybe not a pleasant thought, but a fact.

“As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more.”1

In other words life is short, so quit mourning the past and get back to living in the present. That reminder should have been enough, but the Lord must have figured I needed a second push in the right direction.

Not only is my time short, I need to be busy doing His work instead of feeling sorry for myself. After all, Jesus is coming back some day.

“You also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him."2

So there it is. It’s apparently okay for me to listen to music from my youth, but I can’t let it paralyze me or keep me from being spiritually productive. The past is the past and it’s gone forever. The present is what matters.

Time is short and there’s a lot of work to do. I get the message.

But just between you and me, I still miss that old Boo.

1  Psalm 103:15-16

2  Luke 12:40

preaching the gospel

I’m numb and can barely keep my eyes open. Another sermon come and gone.

Each Sunday it’s pretty much the same. I preach, God does His thing, and then I feel like collapsing afterwards. I love preaching, but wish it didn’t take such a toll on me.

At first I wondered whether my exhaustion was a result of getting old. After all, I’m not a spring chicken anymore. But I’ve concluded that it just goes with the territory. To preach passionately and enthusiastically just takes a lot out of me.

Yet, I can’t help wondering if other pastors feel the same way as I do, or am I somehow defective? And what about the biblical prophets? If I’m spent after preaching a sermon, they must have been on their deathbeds after saying what they had to say to an often hostile audience!

And then, inevitably, a familiar question pops into my head, most of the time on Sunday afternoons:

“Is it worth it?”

Is it worth preaching to the point of exhaustion week in and week out? Is it worth the headaches that I get on Sunday nights and Mondays? Is it worth the physical and emotional toll that it takes?

Yes, it is.

You see, I’m convinced God has called me to do this. More than that, nothing gives me more joy and fulfillment than ministry, especially the preaching and teaching part. It’s what I was designed to do, what I’m supposed to do, and what I’m driven to do.

And so, next Sunday after preaching I’ll be numb and barely able to keep my eyes open.

Again.

But that’s okay—I’m cool with it. You see, it’s what I’m called to do.

“Yet when I preach the gospel, I cannot boast, for I am compelled to preach. Woe to me if I do not preach the gospel!”1

1  1 Cor 9:16

dealing with disappointment

“I’m very disappointed in you.”

The words of my dad still haunt me today. He never raised his hand to me and didn’t need to. I was cut to the heart.

I had given him my word that I would stop breaking the law (and his heart), but hadn’t. Worse still, I had dragged my brother into my world of sin. I was a 16-year-old who was rapidly spinning out of control and on a path to ruin both my life and the lives of others.

Fortunately, my dad’s words were just what I needed. Though they wounded me deeply, they were necessary and did the job of getting a rebellious teenager’s attention.

Thinking back to what was said almost 40 years ago, I can’t help but wonder if my heavenly Father has ever been tempted to say the same thing to me now. I’m guessing He has.

I don’t want to sin, but I do. And when I tell Him I’m sorry, I mean it. And when I tell Him I don’t want to sin, I mean it. But then I do it again. And again. And again.

I’m maddeningly evil.

It’s during these times that I take solace in the words of the Apostle Paul, arguably the greatest follower of Jesus to ever live:

“I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do-this I keep on doing.”1

Knowing the Apostle struggled with sin just as I struggle with it is comforting. It doesn’t let me off the hook, but it helps to know that we share a common frustration. It helps to be reminded that both of us are merely human.

Am I the only one who feels crushed when I disappoint my holy and sinless God? My hunch is there are others out there. In fact, maybe you’re one of them.

If so, be encouraged as I’m encouraged: Our sins are covered by the blood of Christ because of our faith.2 Even sins we haven’t committed yet.

“Though you have not seen (Christ), you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls.3

Be encouraged, my friend, because if your faith is the real deal you have nothing to worry about. While you may disappoint your heavenly Father from time to time as I do, it is well with our souls.

In fact, at this very moment, we’re “receiving the goal of” our “faith, the salvation of” our “souls.”

Pretty cool, huh?

1  Romans 7:18-19

2  1 Peter 1:18-21

3  1 Peter 1:8-9

moving in or just visiting?

I’m not sure which was worse, the pounding inside my head or the ongoing urge to throw up. Fortunately it only lasted a few hours.

Welcome back, migraines. It’s been a while. Hope you decide not to stick around very long.

They’ve been mostly gone since about three years ago when I quit my multitude of migraine medications and caffeine. Picture a heroin addict writhing in pain in a fetal position on the kitchen floor and you get the picture. Not a pleasant memory.

But the results were outstanding. With the help of daily protein shakes and several natural supplements, the migraines have been few and far between ever since. Praise God.

“Regular” headaches are still around of course, but they don’t count. I get them like clockwork on Sunday evenings and Mondays because of the energy and emotions required for preaching. Don’t look forward to them, but they’re not the same as the “M” headaches. Those puppies are downright debilitating.

Are they back to stay, or did they just stop by to remind me of how bad things used to be (and thus how good things have been)?

I may be foolish, but I choose to believe the latter. I choose to be optimistic, hopeful and grateful.

While I’m very good at playing the “woe is me” game, the reality is God has been incredibly good to me. Much better than I deserve. To be largely free of migraines for the last three years has been absolutely wonderful, a gift of God.

Thank you, Jesus.

But if they’re back…

Heavenly Father, in my weakness may I not sin against you. If they are, indeed, back please give me the attitude of your servant, Job, who said,

"Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised."1

1  Job 1:21