I have a big nose. There. I said it. It' snot a family trait. Oops. It's not a family trait. It isn't big because I wiggled it too many times. It isn't a compensation for big fingers. My nose is big because of a diving accident.
In my early teens, our community swimming pool had an awesome diving board. It was so limber, it would almost touch the water when you pushed off. Like most pools, this one had a deep end, a shallow end, and a slope bridging the two.
Back in those pre-frivolous lawsuit days, it was no big deal if the lifeguard forgot to put the rope across the pool with the little white and blue kegs on it to mark the division between the deep and shallow ends. The day my nose got bigger, the rope was curled up, taking a nap in the pump house.
The broken-nose dive was quite a beautiful swan dive. I hit the board hard, sprung high, spread my wings, pointed my toes, threw my head back, and flew...and flew...and flew. Beyond the deep end. I entered the water and met the upward slope of the bottom of the pool.
Concrete met bone. Concrete won.
I pug-nosed the bottom of the pool. It was bad. I looked like I had been chasing parked cars.The nose bone broke, flattened, and widened. The bleeding eventually stopped. The swelling and bruises slowly disappeared. But the bone has remained the same.
I considered surgery until I found out what it was called: Rhinoplasty! Really? Is that necessary? Isn't it bad enough to have a big nose without having to be compared to a rhinoceros? If they are kind enough to come up with "liposuction" and "tummy tuck," instead of...nevermind. You get the point.
I'm comfortable with the scenter of my face...no matter how much facial real estate it occupies. Besides, it was a beautiful dive worthy of an ESPN highlight reel... If only we'd had film back then...or TV...or electricity.
That dive taught me some important lessons: 1) Feel free to dive, but remember there's a bottom. 2) Keep arms extended upon entry and hands ready to meet the bottom of the pool.
Unless...
Unless you are soul-diving into the pool of God's grace. In that case, feel free to spring high and dive straight down with no concern for the bottom. There isn't one. Same with the pool of God's love. No bottom. Dive deep!
How do I know? I've been to the cross and found grace and love immeasurable. The more you realize the amount of love and grace it took for God to send His Son to die for your sins, the easier it will be to convince you of the infinite nature of it.
It's as plain as the nose on your face...or even mine.
Perry Crisp
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Same Difference
When I pastored my first church, I was very young. Mid-twenties. Full of ideas. Most of my ideas were shot down by the much older congregation. The most memorable was when we were discussing ways to make ourselves visible to our community and I suggested we have "dinner on the grounds" after church one Sunday. An old, moss-backed deacon stood up and said, "Preacher, we tried that back in '65 and it rained."
The stunned look on my face froze in complete disbelief for a solid two minutes. What was the old guy saying? He was saying, "We're tired of trying and failing."
Same road. Same results. That's how we think. It's logical enough...usually. You don't talk to certain people because you have tried and tried and they continue to snub you. You don't expend tired energy on something when you've already tried and failed.
Peter understood. He had fished and fished all night long and caught nothing. I feel his pain. Someone defined insanity as "doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." The guy who said that may have been in the boat with me at the time.
There is a lot of truth in that. But it isn't a hard and fast rule. It's a general observation. What if you do the same thing over again, but this time you do so with a different attitude, a renewed motivation, or utilizing the strength and energy of someone else's enthusiasm?
We tried it again in '85 and it didn't rain. It was an enjoyable and successful experience. As people drove by, we waved them in as an invitation to eat with us. And they did!
Peter fished all night and caught nothing. He was tired. His enthusiasm for fishing gone. His hope of catching depleted. But he had Jesus in his boat this time. And it was Jesus who asked for a guided fishing trip.
"Master, we have toiled all night and caught nothing; nevertheless at Your word I will let the down the net" (Luke 5:5).
The legend of tall fishermen tales was born. They caught so many fish, their nets were breaking. They had to bring in a reinforcement boat. They filled both boats so full of fish that they were starting to sink.
Same lake, same boat, same nets, same fishermen. Much different results. Why? This time, they had Jesus in the boat.
Jesus once said something we need to remind ourselves of at least once a week: "With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible" (Matthew 19:26).
Let's try this again...with Jesus on board.
Perry Crisp
The stunned look on my face froze in complete disbelief for a solid two minutes. What was the old guy saying? He was saying, "We're tired of trying and failing."
Same road. Same results. That's how we think. It's logical enough...usually. You don't talk to certain people because you have tried and tried and they continue to snub you. You don't expend tired energy on something when you've already tried and failed.
Peter understood. He had fished and fished all night long and caught nothing. I feel his pain. Someone defined insanity as "doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." The guy who said that may have been in the boat with me at the time.
There is a lot of truth in that. But it isn't a hard and fast rule. It's a general observation. What if you do the same thing over again, but this time you do so with a different attitude, a renewed motivation, or utilizing the strength and energy of someone else's enthusiasm?
We tried it again in '85 and it didn't rain. It was an enjoyable and successful experience. As people drove by, we waved them in as an invitation to eat with us. And they did!
Peter fished all night and caught nothing. He was tired. His enthusiasm for fishing gone. His hope of catching depleted. But he had Jesus in his boat this time. And it was Jesus who asked for a guided fishing trip.
"Master, we have toiled all night and caught nothing; nevertheless at Your word I will let the down the net" (Luke 5:5).
The legend of tall fishermen tales was born. They caught so many fish, their nets were breaking. They had to bring in a reinforcement boat. They filled both boats so full of fish that they were starting to sink.
Same lake, same boat, same nets, same fishermen. Much different results. Why? This time, they had Jesus in the boat.
Jesus once said something we need to remind ourselves of at least once a week: "With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible" (Matthew 19:26).
Let's try this again...with Jesus on board.
Perry Crisp
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Catfish Christians
My daily route to the office and back takes me by a series of beautiful homes, ranches, pastures, and across portions of Lake Fork. It is a beautiful commute.
With one exception. A catfish. A large catfish. Hanging on a fence post. He's been there quite a while. Apparently, the owner of that property caught a nice big catfish and wanted us all to know it. So he slipped the bottom jaw of the catfish over the top of a t-post and left him there.
And left him there.
And left him there.
Some people hang wreaths on their doors. Others have ornate signs decorating their driveway to inform us that "The Hendersons" live there.
But this is Texas. We're liable to hang anything from a prized catfish to a freshly-killed coyote over our fences. We even pull up to the local diner with our tailgates down, facing the highway so everyone can see the deer, hog, or snake we kilt (that's how we say it...not killed...kilt...don't tell a Texan that a kilt is a man-skirt unless you want to wind up on our tailgate).
Back to the hanging catfish. It's July. Not July in Ontario. July in Texas. The catfish has been there so long, I can't even remember when I first saw it. But it's been months. Catfish aren't supposed to be brown. But they get that way when they've been out of the water and in the sun long enough.
It really doesn't even resemble a catfish any more. There's not much left but bones and fried dried fish flesh. Jerky anyone? Sorry.
Do you know what I've noticed about myself? Even though I know the catfish is gross, I still look. I even anticipate it. "Here it comes...here it comes...there it is...ewwwwww..."
Half a million dollar homes to look at, and I barely see them. The most beautiful lake in Texas with the most awesome-looking bass boats on it, and my thoughts are elsewhere. But I notice the catfish.
That catfish got me to thinking about Christians. The same thing that happens to a catfish out of water happens to a Christian out of fellowship with Christ and His church. We get dry. Crusty. Hardened. It's hard for a leathery soul to feel much. Christ will never leave us nor forsake us, but we can take leave of and forsake our call to follow Him.
What kind of Catfish Christian are you today? Are you enjoying the cool waters of an ongoing swim with Jesus? Or are you flopping around on dry ground, starving yourself of what you most need to truly live?
That cafish didn't turn brown overnight. Your heart won't harden toward Christ overnight, either. It happens gradually. We need fellowship with Christ as regularly and importantly as we need oxygen. But we let so many things get in our way.
Something the preacher or the Sunday school teacher or the deacon said... The way sister Lulu looked at you... Whatever tries to get in your way, do me a favor. Try to imagine a catfish swimming itself right out of the lake onto dry ground and climbing up to the top of a t-post because of what Mr. Bass or Miss Perch said...
Sound ridiculous? Sure it does. That's the point.
Off the Fence Post, Into the Fish Pond...
Perry Crisp
With one exception. A catfish. A large catfish. Hanging on a fence post. He's been there quite a while. Apparently, the owner of that property caught a nice big catfish and wanted us all to know it. So he slipped the bottom jaw of the catfish over the top of a t-post and left him there.
And left him there.
And left him there.
Some people hang wreaths on their doors. Others have ornate signs decorating their driveway to inform us that "The Hendersons" live there.
But this is Texas. We're liable to hang anything from a prized catfish to a freshly-killed coyote over our fences. We even pull up to the local diner with our tailgates down, facing the highway so everyone can see the deer, hog, or snake we kilt (that's how we say it...not killed...kilt...don't tell a Texan that a kilt is a man-skirt unless you want to wind up on our tailgate).
Back to the hanging catfish. It's July. Not July in Ontario. July in Texas. The catfish has been there so long, I can't even remember when I first saw it. But it's been months. Catfish aren't supposed to be brown. But they get that way when they've been out of the water and in the sun long enough.
It really doesn't even resemble a catfish any more. There's not much left but bones and fried dried fish flesh. Jerky anyone? Sorry.
Do you know what I've noticed about myself? Even though I know the catfish is gross, I still look. I even anticipate it. "Here it comes...here it comes...there it is...ewwwwww..."
Half a million dollar homes to look at, and I barely see them. The most beautiful lake in Texas with the most awesome-looking bass boats on it, and my thoughts are elsewhere. But I notice the catfish.
That catfish got me to thinking about Christians. The same thing that happens to a catfish out of water happens to a Christian out of fellowship with Christ and His church. We get dry. Crusty. Hardened. It's hard for a leathery soul to feel much. Christ will never leave us nor forsake us, but we can take leave of and forsake our call to follow Him.
What kind of Catfish Christian are you today? Are you enjoying the cool waters of an ongoing swim with Jesus? Or are you flopping around on dry ground, starving yourself of what you most need to truly live?
That cafish didn't turn brown overnight. Your heart won't harden toward Christ overnight, either. It happens gradually. We need fellowship with Christ as regularly and importantly as we need oxygen. But we let so many things get in our way.
Something the preacher or the Sunday school teacher or the deacon said... The way sister Lulu looked at you... Whatever tries to get in your way, do me a favor. Try to imagine a catfish swimming itself right out of the lake onto dry ground and climbing up to the top of a t-post because of what Mr. Bass or Miss Perch said...
Sound ridiculous? Sure it does. That's the point.
Off the Fence Post, Into the Fish Pond...
Perry Crisp
Monday, July 6, 2009
Dropping Like Celebrities
Roll was called recently and a great number of celebrities went from "here" to absent: Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Ed McMahon, Billy Mays, Karl Malden, Fred Travalena, and Steve McNair. All of them died within days of each other.
We could categorize their deaths with various adverbs: Some died valliantly. Others died mysteriously. One died tragically. But the adverbs we most often hear at this time are "expectedly" and "unexpectedly."
The world may have expected a few on that list to die. Farrah, Ed, and Fred battled long illnesses. Karl was pushing 100. But the others were a complete shock. Michael died in bed with a doctor nearby. Billy died a few hours after receiving a slight bump on his head. Steve was brutally murdered.
But is death ever unexpected? Everyone dies...eventually. None of the founding fathers of our nation are still getting mail. All the old Pharaohs have entered their mummy clothes and pyramids. The Huns have all ended their pillaging. Any sign of Billy the Kid? Sir Walter Raleigh? Julius Casaer? Even George Burns eventually smoked one too many Sir Walter Raleighs.
Death is never unexpected. The date and time of a person's death may catch us by surprise, but death itself is written into everyone's calendar.
The Bible makes an exclusive claim: "It is appointed unto men once to die..." (Hebrews 9:27, KJV). The Psalmist asked a rhetorical question: "What man can live and not see death?" (Psalm 89:48). We know the answer.
Death is an inevitable chapter of life. But it isn't the end of the story. There have been a lot of soft words and phrases attached to death to make it more palatable. My least favorite one is "expired." Sounds too much like a gallon of milk or a credit card.
"Passing" is a better word for death. Not just because I will finally be able to "pass" something, but because "passing" paints a more accurate picture. Since death is not the end, it is then a transition. It is a passing from one place to another. It is leaving the land of clocks, calendars, and aging to enter the land of eternity.
Death itself may not be optional, but the route you take after death is. While your loved ones are asking, "Why?" you'll be facing a different kind of "Y." You will go in one of two directions.
Before you die, you have a choice to make. There are important plans you need to make. I'm not talking about funeral arrangements or cemetery plots. I'm talking about reservations.
Where you will spend eternity is a choice you need to make before your name is called. Your choice is heaven or hell. If you want to go to heaven, you have to choose Jesus Christ while you're on earth.
Everyone will want Jesus after their first second in hell.
In spite of what Oprah and Obama say, the Bible says there is only one way to heaven --- through Jesus. Jesus had this to say about that: "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me" (John 14:6).
I only shared half of each verse from Hebrews 9:27 and Psalm 89:48. The Hebrews passage finishes by saying, "...but after this, the judgment." Judgment is as inevitable as death. We are all guilty because we've all sinned against God. The rest of Psalm 89:48 asks, "Can he deliver his life from the power of the grave?" The answer is --- you and I can't, but Jesus can!
Jesus is the only one to conquer death. He died in our place to pay for our sins. Having finalized that payment, He then rose from the dead. Death couldn't hold Him. And now...death can't hold those who've placed themselves in Jesus' hands by faith in His atoning death.
Fred Travelena may be the least recognized name on the list of celebrities who have recently died. Fred was a celebrity impersonator. You and I will one day impersonate these celebrities, too. We, too, will die. Expectedly.
Shouldn't you make the necessary arrangements?
Author Relatively Unknown,
Perry Crisp
We could categorize their deaths with various adverbs: Some died valliantly. Others died mysteriously. One died tragically. But the adverbs we most often hear at this time are "expectedly" and "unexpectedly."
The world may have expected a few on that list to die. Farrah, Ed, and Fred battled long illnesses. Karl was pushing 100. But the others were a complete shock. Michael died in bed with a doctor nearby. Billy died a few hours after receiving a slight bump on his head. Steve was brutally murdered.
But is death ever unexpected? Everyone dies...eventually. None of the founding fathers of our nation are still getting mail. All the old Pharaohs have entered their mummy clothes and pyramids. The Huns have all ended their pillaging. Any sign of Billy the Kid? Sir Walter Raleigh? Julius Casaer? Even George Burns eventually smoked one too many Sir Walter Raleighs.
Death is never unexpected. The date and time of a person's death may catch us by surprise, but death itself is written into everyone's calendar.
The Bible makes an exclusive claim: "It is appointed unto men once to die..." (Hebrews 9:27, KJV). The Psalmist asked a rhetorical question: "What man can live and not see death?" (Psalm 89:48). We know the answer.
Death is an inevitable chapter of life. But it isn't the end of the story. There have been a lot of soft words and phrases attached to death to make it more palatable. My least favorite one is "expired." Sounds too much like a gallon of milk or a credit card.
"Passing" is a better word for death. Not just because I will finally be able to "pass" something, but because "passing" paints a more accurate picture. Since death is not the end, it is then a transition. It is a passing from one place to another. It is leaving the land of clocks, calendars, and aging to enter the land of eternity.
Death itself may not be optional, but the route you take after death is. While your loved ones are asking, "Why?" you'll be facing a different kind of "Y." You will go in one of two directions.
Before you die, you have a choice to make. There are important plans you need to make. I'm not talking about funeral arrangements or cemetery plots. I'm talking about reservations.
Where you will spend eternity is a choice you need to make before your name is called. Your choice is heaven or hell. If you want to go to heaven, you have to choose Jesus Christ while you're on earth.
Everyone will want Jesus after their first second in hell.
In spite of what Oprah and Obama say, the Bible says there is only one way to heaven --- through Jesus. Jesus had this to say about that: "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me" (John 14:6).
I only shared half of each verse from Hebrews 9:27 and Psalm 89:48. The Hebrews passage finishes by saying, "...but after this, the judgment." Judgment is as inevitable as death. We are all guilty because we've all sinned against God. The rest of Psalm 89:48 asks, "Can he deliver his life from the power of the grave?" The answer is --- you and I can't, but Jesus can!
Jesus is the only one to conquer death. He died in our place to pay for our sins. Having finalized that payment, He then rose from the dead. Death couldn't hold Him. And now...death can't hold those who've placed themselves in Jesus' hands by faith in His atoning death.
Fred Travelena may be the least recognized name on the list of celebrities who have recently died. Fred was a celebrity impersonator. You and I will one day impersonate these celebrities, too. We, too, will die. Expectedly.
Shouldn't you make the necessary arrangements?
Author Relatively Unknown,
Perry Crisp
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Set Free for Freedom
The 4th of July is a blank box on my calendar. No plans. Yet, even that is symbolic of Independence Day. Freedom means we can make our own plans. We can even make our own un-plans. I love the 4th of July!
What bothers me is the health of all that the 4th of July symbolizes in this country. Independence Day used to shine like chrome at a Barrett-Jackson auction. Maybe it's just me, but there's a dimness to this date that wasn't there before. Do you sense a slight absence of some of the majesty of it's former glory? Has a layer of neglect covered our nation's holiday of freedom?
Soldiers are on their way back home to this fertile soil of freedom having handed freedom to the citizens of another country at a great personal cost. Shouldn't there be more people at the airports welcoming THEM home than people at Never Never Land saying "good-bye" to a bizarre and deeply-troubled soul?
The story of substance in this country will be the men and women in fatigues laying down their duffel bags to hug their spouses, children, parents, and siblings. But that's not where the helicopters, cameras, and reporters will be. They will be focused on a lifeless being who used to dance and sing.
Freedom should be celebrated with gratitude for those who purchased it and defended it, and a commitment to keep freedom intact.
Have we yet realized how much freedom we've forfeited to people we know nothing about in Washington? People who've never fought FOR our nation's freedom continue to grab more and more freedom FROM us.
We let them take from us rather easily what has been purchased for us with great difficulty.
I'm proud to be an American and grateful to live in this great country. I am grieved by what I see happening to it. But my true permanent citizenship is in a country not found on any map or planet. Heaven is my home. God is my Father. Jesus is my Savior and Supplier of my eternal freedom.
The joy and hope of being a believer in Christ can be found in the security of our soul's freedom. It's an eternal joy and an un-iffy hope. The same One who purchased our spiritual freedom by His sacrificial death on the cross of Calvary came back to life to guarantee that our freedom remain untarnished and eternally secure against all enemies.
No one can snatch me (nor the freedom Christ purchased for me) out of my Father's hands.
The freedom purchased by Christ cannot erode, wane, dissolve, or be diluted in any way. It's a forever freedom that never needs polishing.
Because I am an American, freedom runs through my veins. But because I am a Christian, freedom goes deeper than my flesh. It's in my soul. As much as I love the Constitution of the United States and the Declaration of Independence, my passion for freedom runs deeper than the documents of man. I stand and stake my life and eternity on the Bible, which is the Word of God.
In fact, I don't think the tenets contained within the documents of American freedom would have ever been written without the truths found in the Word of God.
Arguments can be made back and forth as to whether we are or are not a "Christian nation." But one thing is undeniable. The content and character of these United States of America and her place in history would have never been what they've been apart from the truths of Christianity or the Christians who founded this nation.
It was that freedom of the soul purchased for them by the blood of Christ that drove them to forge a free land. A freedom so valuable they were willing to purchase it with their own blood.
Celebrating Independence Inside and Out,
Perry Crisp
What bothers me is the health of all that the 4th of July symbolizes in this country. Independence Day used to shine like chrome at a Barrett-Jackson auction. Maybe it's just me, but there's a dimness to this date that wasn't there before. Do you sense a slight absence of some of the majesty of it's former glory? Has a layer of neglect covered our nation's holiday of freedom?
Soldiers are on their way back home to this fertile soil of freedom having handed freedom to the citizens of another country at a great personal cost. Shouldn't there be more people at the airports welcoming THEM home than people at Never Never Land saying "good-bye" to a bizarre and deeply-troubled soul?
The story of substance in this country will be the men and women in fatigues laying down their duffel bags to hug their spouses, children, parents, and siblings. But that's not where the helicopters, cameras, and reporters will be. They will be focused on a lifeless being who used to dance and sing.
Freedom should be celebrated with gratitude for those who purchased it and defended it, and a commitment to keep freedom intact.
Have we yet realized how much freedom we've forfeited to people we know nothing about in Washington? People who've never fought FOR our nation's freedom continue to grab more and more freedom FROM us.
We let them take from us rather easily what has been purchased for us with great difficulty.
I'm proud to be an American and grateful to live in this great country. I am grieved by what I see happening to it. But my true permanent citizenship is in a country not found on any map or planet. Heaven is my home. God is my Father. Jesus is my Savior and Supplier of my eternal freedom.
The joy and hope of being a believer in Christ can be found in the security of our soul's freedom. It's an eternal joy and an un-iffy hope. The same One who purchased our spiritual freedom by His sacrificial death on the cross of Calvary came back to life to guarantee that our freedom remain untarnished and eternally secure against all enemies.
No one can snatch me (nor the freedom Christ purchased for me) out of my Father's hands.
The freedom purchased by Christ cannot erode, wane, dissolve, or be diluted in any way. It's a forever freedom that never needs polishing.
Because I am an American, freedom runs through my veins. But because I am a Christian, freedom goes deeper than my flesh. It's in my soul. As much as I love the Constitution of the United States and the Declaration of Independence, my passion for freedom runs deeper than the documents of man. I stand and stake my life and eternity on the Bible, which is the Word of God.
In fact, I don't think the tenets contained within the documents of American freedom would have ever been written without the truths found in the Word of God.
Arguments can be made back and forth as to whether we are or are not a "Christian nation." But one thing is undeniable. The content and character of these United States of America and her place in history would have never been what they've been apart from the truths of Christianity or the Christians who founded this nation.
It was that freedom of the soul purchased for them by the blood of Christ that drove them to forge a free land. A freedom so valuable they were willing to purchase it with their own blood.
Celebrating Independence Inside and Out,
Perry Crisp
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Hope Beneath the Rope
A man sat broken in the pew next to me last night after church. A stranger, yet a brother. He spilled his life out to me in raw clarity. Anger, hurt, emptiness, and regrets outlined his life.
He described himself as barely clinging to a knot at the end of his rope. Ever been there? Yeah. Me too.
He talked of how things used to be. Things used to be great. At one time he was walking with God and had even enrolled in a Bible institute with plans of becoming a preacher of the gospel.
Life took an unpredictable bounce. Bad news left a bad taste in his mouth. Like Job, this man's religious friends laid a load of blame and guilt on him. The bad taste left his mouth and settled in his attitude. His attitude toward God, the church, and life grew worse and worse.
He has spent years living on poisonous bitterness and rebellion. Every time he drove by our church, he felt drawn to go inside. Last night, the arguments against walking into a church house filled with strangers lost out to a deep desire to come home to God.
I told him to let go of the knot. He looked up at me with fear. "As long as you're holding onto that knot, you're not giving God control of your life," I said. "Let go. God will catch you before you know you're falling."
The man released his grip on the knot and landed instantly in the grip of God's grace.
After repentance came regret. He looked at me and said, "I wish I could go back to where I was...to the way I once felt."
With that statement, he had no idea how much we had in common. Regrets have a certain flavor to them that lay long on the tongue of our memory. Yet, as much as we'd like to go back and do things better or different, we can't.
We can't travel back in time. People named Garmin or Tom-Tom may adjust easily to your wrong turns, but others won't. Board games may let you go back ten spaces, but life doesn't.
There is one exception. God has allowed one moment in history to which we can all go back. The cross.
We can all go back to that moment on Calvary's hill when the Son of God hung on the cross to pay the bill for our sin, guilt, and regrets. The outstretched arms of Christ are infinite. They stretch around the world and across human history. They reach to the beginning and end of time and cover the sins of us all. Forgiveness drips from the cross.
We sat together on that pew last night equal in God's eyes. Equally sinners. Equally forgiven. Peace covered us because our pasts are covered.
It was pretty awesome to see a man who was at the end of his rope only moments before, take his first steps toward a new beginning. That's what God does...when we let Him.
I look forward to seeing my new friend Sunday and introducing him to his new family and his new future.
"We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand --- out in the wide open spaces of God's grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise...
"Christ arrives right on time to make this happen. He didn't, and doesn't, wait for us to get ready. He presented himself for this sacrificial death when we were far too weak and rebellious to do anything to get ourselves ready...God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him" (Romans 5:1-2, 5-6, The Message).
He described himself as barely clinging to a knot at the end of his rope. Ever been there? Yeah. Me too.He talked of how things used to be. Things used to be great. At one time he was walking with God and had even enrolled in a Bible institute with plans of becoming a preacher of the gospel.
Life took an unpredictable bounce. Bad news left a bad taste in his mouth. Like Job, this man's religious friends laid a load of blame and guilt on him. The bad taste left his mouth and settled in his attitude. His attitude toward God, the church, and life grew worse and worse.
He has spent years living on poisonous bitterness and rebellion. Every time he drove by our church, he felt drawn to go inside. Last night, the arguments against walking into a church house filled with strangers lost out to a deep desire to come home to God.
I told him to let go of the knot. He looked up at me with fear. "As long as you're holding onto that knot, you're not giving God control of your life," I said. "Let go. God will catch you before you know you're falling."
The man released his grip on the knot and landed instantly in the grip of God's grace.
After repentance came regret. He looked at me and said, "I wish I could go back to where I was...to the way I once felt."
With that statement, he had no idea how much we had in common. Regrets have a certain flavor to them that lay long on the tongue of our memory. Yet, as much as we'd like to go back and do things better or different, we can't.
We can't travel back in time. People named Garmin or Tom-Tom may adjust easily to your wrong turns, but others won't. Board games may let you go back ten spaces, but life doesn't.
There is one exception. God has allowed one moment in history to which we can all go back. The cross.
We can all go back to that moment on Calvary's hill when the Son of God hung on the cross to pay the bill for our sin, guilt, and regrets. The outstretched arms of Christ are infinite. They stretch around the world and across human history. They reach to the beginning and end of time and cover the sins of us all. Forgiveness drips from the cross.
We sat together on that pew last night equal in God's eyes. Equally sinners. Equally forgiven. Peace covered us because our pasts are covered.
It was pretty awesome to see a man who was at the end of his rope only moments before, take his first steps toward a new beginning. That's what God does...when we let Him.
I look forward to seeing my new friend Sunday and introducing him to his new family and his new future.
"We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand --- out in the wide open spaces of God's grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise...
"Christ arrives right on time to make this happen. He didn't, and doesn't, wait for us to get ready. He presented himself for this sacrificial death when we were far too weak and rebellious to do anything to get ourselves ready...God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him" (Romans 5:1-2, 5-6, The Message).
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Dashing Dad
My first "hawg" looked more like a baby pig. It was a mini-bike and I was the only mini-bike kid in my neighborhood. If you're not sure what a mini-bike is, just think of it as the Mini-Me of Motorcycles. It's a Sit 'n Spin with an engine and wheels.
My mini-bike was an eclectic gathering of various parts from deceased mini-bikes in my neighborhood. There were two parts missing on my mini-bike: a kill switch and a throttle cable.
The kill switch wasn't a problem since there was a piece of metal hovering over the spark plug wire. You simply pushed down on the piece of metal and it killed the engine.
The missing throttle cable made riding the mini-bike an adventure because it gave you only one free hand for steering. Your other hand was busy holding the throttle wide open with your fingers on the swivel cable stop (which was located on the side of the engine). This was a great hand warmer for your left hand since the cable stop was close to the muffler.
A few of my friends had bigger bikes. Dirt bikes. "Real" motorcycles bought in "real" stores. Their bikes were three and four times the size of my mini-bike. Their bikes had "real" kickstands. My kickstand was a parking curb. I would pick up my mini-bike and balance it on the parking curb. It was so short, the frame sat on the concrete and the wheels didn't touch the pavement.
We rode our bikes in the church parking lot because the asphalt drive made a circular track around the buildings. I'm sure it was quite a sight to see five motorcycles speed around the church followed by a putt-putting mini-bike. Those guys could make three laps to my one. Imagine seeing five people riding thoroughbred horses through a pasture followed by a guy on a miniature pony. That's about what it looked like.
It worked out great for me, though. For some reason, there was always a biker buddy who wanted to trade rides. So I spent most of the time on a "real" dirt bike while a friend slummed on my motorized Sit 'n Spin.
One mini-bike memory stands out high above the rest. I was riding Bruce's dirt bike and he was riding my mini-bike. Bruce was the cool kid. He had the longest hair and the newest and biggest dirt bike. I came up behind him at one end of the parking lot, ready to zip by him. He was hunched over with one hand on the handlebar of my mini-bike and one under the seat holding that tecumseh engine's cable stop wide open.
I zoomed past him and glanced back at him. He was all smiles. Seconds after I had turned my head away from Bruce to see where I was going, I heard a loud boom and a louder scream behind me. I jerked my head back around just in time to see Bruce let go of the mini-bike and jump off. The engine was covered in flames.
Bruce was holding his left hand and blowing on it. The flaming mini-bike kept it's balance and continued rolling through the parking lot. I spun back around to check on Bruce.
My dad was at our house working in the garage and heard the boom. The house was 200 yards away. By the time my buddies and I got to Bruce, Dad was already running toward us. Bruce wasn't hurt. A minor burn on his hand. With his good hand, he pointed at my sprinting father.
I remember how stunned we all were at that moment. Dad was the preacher. Preacher's don't run. Dude, was my dad running! We were amazed by three things: 1) How far a flaming, riderless mini-bike can roll, 2) how fast the old guy could run, and 3) how perfect Dad's hair looked at 100 miles per hour. It didn't move. It was like watching Flash Gordon without his costume.
The mini-bike was doing the wiggle motion as it started losing momentum. It passed the asphalt and bounced through the open field between the church and our house.
Dad ran straight to the church, stepped inside, grabbed a fire extinguisher, ran back to the flaming mini-bike that had finally fallen over, and put the fire out before it could spread across the field.
To this day, I don't know how Dad covered that much ground that quickly. If I were to call my buddies to the witness stand, they would corroborate my testimony.
Every time I think of how quickly God comes to the emergency needs of His children, I visualize that mini-bike moment. I love my earthly father and I'm so grateful to have had a Dad who cared for me and provided safety and security for me. I'm thankful for all of life's emergencies that he has rushed toward, ready and eager to help his children and grandchildren.
I'm also gratefully, sometimes to the point of tears, for the times my heavenly Father has been on the scene so instantly in my life. Whether in times of loneliness, injury, crisis, confusion, or depression, our Father is a good Father. He rushes toward us and never leaves us.
"Turn your ear to me, come quickly to my rescue" (Psalm 31:2, NIV).
Slightly used mini-bike for sale...charcoal color.
Perry Crisp
My mini-bike was an eclectic gathering of various parts from deceased mini-bikes in my neighborhood. There were two parts missing on my mini-bike: a kill switch and a throttle cable.
The kill switch wasn't a problem since there was a piece of metal hovering over the spark plug wire. You simply pushed down on the piece of metal and it killed the engine.
The missing throttle cable made riding the mini-bike an adventure because it gave you only one free hand for steering. Your other hand was busy holding the throttle wide open with your fingers on the swivel cable stop (which was located on the side of the engine). This was a great hand warmer for your left hand since the cable stop was close to the muffler.
A few of my friends had bigger bikes. Dirt bikes. "Real" motorcycles bought in "real" stores. Their bikes were three and four times the size of my mini-bike. Their bikes had "real" kickstands. My kickstand was a parking curb. I would pick up my mini-bike and balance it on the parking curb. It was so short, the frame sat on the concrete and the wheels didn't touch the pavement.
We rode our bikes in the church parking lot because the asphalt drive made a circular track around the buildings. I'm sure it was quite a sight to see five motorcycles speed around the church followed by a putt-putting mini-bike. Those guys could make three laps to my one. Imagine seeing five people riding thoroughbred horses through a pasture followed by a guy on a miniature pony. That's about what it looked like.
It worked out great for me, though. For some reason, there was always a biker buddy who wanted to trade rides. So I spent most of the time on a "real" dirt bike while a friend slummed on my motorized Sit 'n Spin.
One mini-bike memory stands out high above the rest. I was riding Bruce's dirt bike and he was riding my mini-bike. Bruce was the cool kid. He had the longest hair and the newest and biggest dirt bike. I came up behind him at one end of the parking lot, ready to zip by him. He was hunched over with one hand on the handlebar of my mini-bike and one under the seat holding that tecumseh engine's cable stop wide open.
I zoomed past him and glanced back at him. He was all smiles. Seconds after I had turned my head away from Bruce to see where I was going, I heard a loud boom and a louder scream behind me. I jerked my head back around just in time to see Bruce let go of the mini-bike and jump off. The engine was covered in flames.
Bruce was holding his left hand and blowing on it. The flaming mini-bike kept it's balance and continued rolling through the parking lot. I spun back around to check on Bruce.
My dad was at our house working in the garage and heard the boom. The house was 200 yards away. By the time my buddies and I got to Bruce, Dad was already running toward us. Bruce wasn't hurt. A minor burn on his hand. With his good hand, he pointed at my sprinting father.
I remember how stunned we all were at that moment. Dad was the preacher. Preacher's don't run. Dude, was my dad running! We were amazed by three things: 1) How far a flaming, riderless mini-bike can roll, 2) how fast the old guy could run, and 3) how perfect Dad's hair looked at 100 miles per hour. It didn't move. It was like watching Flash Gordon without his costume.
The mini-bike was doing the wiggle motion as it started losing momentum. It passed the asphalt and bounced through the open field between the church and our house.
Dad ran straight to the church, stepped inside, grabbed a fire extinguisher, ran back to the flaming mini-bike that had finally fallen over, and put the fire out before it could spread across the field.
To this day, I don't know how Dad covered that much ground that quickly. If I were to call my buddies to the witness stand, they would corroborate my testimony.
Every time I think of how quickly God comes to the emergency needs of His children, I visualize that mini-bike moment. I love my earthly father and I'm so grateful to have had a Dad who cared for me and provided safety and security for me. I'm thankful for all of life's emergencies that he has rushed toward, ready and eager to help his children and grandchildren.
I'm also gratefully, sometimes to the point of tears, for the times my heavenly Father has been on the scene so instantly in my life. Whether in times of loneliness, injury, crisis, confusion, or depression, our Father is a good Father. He rushes toward us and never leaves us.
"Turn your ear to me, come quickly to my rescue" (Psalm 31:2, NIV).
Slightly used mini-bike for sale...charcoal color.
Perry Crisp
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