Perryphrase

Resting on His Easel

2011-12-15T09:48:00.000-08:00

I’m not smart enough to understand or explain all the things that happen in life. Some of life’s details puzzle me because my view is limited. While I don’t understand all the details, I believe I have a solid grasp on the big things - the really important stuff. I believe there is a God. But more than that, I believe He is a personal God who created us with a purpose and part of that purpose is to have a relationship with Him through love and faith. I also believe that a personal, loving God who creates with purpose and a desire to know His creation would send a message loud and clear to those He loves.

He did.

Short version? God has revealed the big things to us through His Son, Jesus Christ and His Word, the Bible.

The things that matter – the big things - are all covered in the life and message of Jesus and the Bible. Things like life, death, faith, hope, peace, forgiveness, grace, love, commitment, and eternity are all in the book. Above and behind all those things that matter is God – the Architect, the Artist, the Engineer – whatever metaphor works for you.

Today, let's think of God as the Artist. The world is His canvas. His brush moves with purpose. Included within that canvas is the heart and life of every one of God’s children. You are there. So am I. Somewhere on that enormous canvas, you'll find my portrait as only God can paint it. What you see in the God-painting of me depends on where you stand. If you narrow your focus into my life and see only a few details, you miss the big picture. But you not only miss the big picture of my life, you miss the bigger picture of God’s purpose.

Some of you have known me all my life. Others knew me in my childhood years. Many of you have known me just a few years or months. If you only see a few years or months of me, you stand too close to the canvas. If you focus only on what you’ve seen, you miss the greater understanding. It all depends upon what part of my life you have seen. You may have been in God's art studio while He was splashing my life with bright and brilliant colors. Or, you may have witnessed brush strokes of darker colors. Or both. Some of you have witnessed the good. Others, the bad. And those who have witnessed the ugly and remained friends? God bless you. God's paintbrush has dabbed from all corners of His palette while painting me.

You too?

If you talked to others who were in God's art studio of my life at a different time than you, it would be like zooming out from the canvas a bit. You would see with greater clarity. More importantly, the larger picture would come into view. The most important brush strokes on the canvas of my life occurred when I was a teenager. Against the backdrop of dark colors, I opened the canvas of my heart freely to God and surrendered my life to Him. I asked God to forgive me of my dark colors. I invited God to paint a cross across my heart and autograph the name JESUS into my soul. God dipped His brush into a blood-colored cup and swept it across my life. I went from a cheap "paint by numbers" future to a masterpiece in that moment.

I can’t explain some of the brush strokes. Some of the darker colors. Some are there because of my own selfishness and foolishness. Others are there mysteriously. If they have a purpose, I'm unable to figure them out.

But I don’t have to...because I trust the Artist.

Even when I know there’s a bigger picture that I haven’t seen and things I may never understand, I choose to trust and believe that He has a purpose. And I've never tried to make Him answerable to me. He's the Artist. I'm just the canvas.

Step back even further from the canvas of my life and you’ll see that God didn’t paint me separate from the rest of the painting. No. Some of the paint from my life bleeds into what God has painted and is painting into yours, and vice-versa. Influence lingers. Integrity stands in bold colors.

Our colors touch.

Like I said, my view is limited. None of us can explain all of the brush strokes God has painted into our lives. But there’s One whose view isn’t limited. God knows what He's doing. Even when those final brush strokes are made - just before our portion of the canvas is finished - there are liable to be many dark, undiscernible splashes where God's hand pushes hard on the brush. Sickness. Accidents. Loss. Failing health. Losing the struggle to breath. Where we might see tragedy, God sees majesty. In fact, the Bible says so. Psalm 116:15 says, “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.”

I have a picture in my mind when one of God's dear children dies. It’s a picture of God setting the brush down, stepping back, looking at that portion of the canvas dedicated to the earthly life of that precious loved one, and smiling a smile of satisfaction that says, “Well done, Child. You are a good and faithful servant.”

Precious in the sight of God…

I’m not an artist nor the son of one and you may not be either, but we are a canvas. And there is an Artist. Brush in hand. Purpose in mind. Grace, love, and beauty in heart. Would you surrender the canvas of your heart to Him and trust Him? It makes all the difference in the world.

Resting on His Easel,
Perry Crisp

Fuzz Buster

2011-09-21T09:24:00.000-07:00

God. Truth. Choice. Consequence. What do we do when words and concepts become fuzzy to us? We need to do some soul-searching. We need honest, painful, gut-check, reality checking.

Why? Because this stuff matters and matters forever. If God is who the Bible says He is and not just whatever you think He is, then this isn't a game. It's real. The real question when words and concepts become fuzzy to us is this: Are the words and concepts fuzzy in and of themselves or is it my vision that has become impaired?

The Bible is quite unfuzzy about God and truth. God doesn't change. Period. Do not try to adjust Him when He appears to gets fuzzy or when others try to convince you He's fuzzy. Genesis 3 tells us who is behind all attempts to make God and His word seem fuzzy. If God appears fuzzy to you, you're wearing Serpent glasses.

What about truth? Truth is truth. It doesn't change, either. Even when your society, your culture, your favorite talk show host, and your most esteemed and highest educated tongue-waggers tell you that truth is relative, it doesn't change the truth about truth. There is right and wrong. Period. The same God who isn't fuzzy has given us His unfuzzy and unfuzziable truth. Man can't tell God who God is. God tells man who God is.

Nor can man tell God what God should accept from man. Cain tried that. God wanted an animal sacrifice. Cain showed up with a vegetable tray as if to tell God, "I think this is better." Cain was dead wrong.

That leaves us with a choice - the third one in the list above. If God isn't fuzzy and God's truth isn't fuzzy, then how fuzzy are our choices? Not very. We have a choice to believe Him, His Word, His ways, and His promises (promises of what will happen to those who obey His truth and those who do not), or we can choose to disobey. There's no "Choice Purgatory" where we can bargain for a lesser degree of obedience or punishment. There isn't a court of appeals at the corner of heaven and hell.

We either choose to take God at His word and obey or we choose to disobey. After we make our choice to obey or disobey, we are then introduced to the consequences that tag along behind each choice. The consequences can be numerous. One consequence is that every sin I commit and refuse to repent of leads me to commit an even worse sin which leads to an even worse sin, and the tilt continually only leads me further from God and deeper into misery, emptiness, and loneliness.

Cain's anger led to the premeditated homicide of his brother and a curse upon him that was more than he could bear.

There are other consequences, as well. My sin hurts more than me. It hurts others, especially those close to me. As my selfishness rises, my view of their worth diminishes and the ego I feed becomes a beast who devours those who truly care about me.

Some consequences cannot be altered. If I stole a car, was arrested, and in jail asked God to forgive me, God would forgive. Would that cause the deputy to unlock the doors or the judge to dismiss the case? Not likely.

But...

(Aren't you glad there's a "but"?)

But God is a God of grace, mercy, love, and forgiveness. There is always a turning point with God. God doesn't condone what we do nor give us permission to continue what He says we should not do, but He does forgive us when we stop doing things our way and start doing them His way.

We ask. He forgives.
We pivot. He guides.
We stretch out our hand toward His to find His waiting on ours.

Cain found that God was merciful even to repentant murderers. I never killed my brother, though my thoughts on the subject came dangerously close a time or two. But I've made messes of my own. And I've found that God is merciful when I repent of my messes, too.

God. Truth. Choice. Consequence. It all starts with how accurate your vision of God is. There's a very accurate eye exam that starts in Genesis and ends in Revelation. Take it. If you see a cross with tearful clarity, you pass.

The Eyes Have It,
Perry Crisp

A Dad's Broken Heart in the Father's Blessed Hands

2011-08-31T07:10:00.000-07:00

Six months ago, a fifteen-year-old FFA student named Skylar went to her home in heaven after an accident. She was in a suburban with other students and a school teacher heading to an FFA event when the accident occurred.

Last night, her dad, David, spoke to a house full of men about the journey of his family's loss. To say that it was touching is an enormous understatement. Yes, every man in the room was touched to see the grace of God at work in the life of a man faced with such grief and heartache. But more than that, we were challenged to live for God like never before.

David spoke from the raw, yet deep experiences of his six-month journey and came to some very sobering decisions. He said that when you go through something like what he and his family are going through, you have two options: "fall back on God or push God away." I am so thankful to have witnessed what happens in a man's life when he decides to fall wholeheartedly back on God. Everything changes. Especially your focus and your purpose.

David goes to bed at night and asks two questions: 1) What did I do for God today, and 2) what did God do for me today? He said the second one is always easier to list than the first. God always does more for us than we do for Him, but why don't we do more for Him than we do?

I didn't know Skylar until last night. I can honestly say I know her now because I've seen her through her daddy's heart. Her relatively short time on this earth was well-lived for her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Because of the way she lived her life for Christ, others have come to accept Him as their personal Savior, including a young girl whose route to school every day goes by the scene of the accident where Skylar died. That young girl and her family learned about Skylar and the way she lived her life for Christ, and she wanted to know Skylar's Savior personally.

I am challenged today by a dad whose love for God is helping him walk through the darkest nights of his life with a light that helps others find, believe in, and cling to our heavenly Father. The heart of that dad reminds me of the heart of that Father. God, our heavenly Father, gave His only Son willingly to die on the cross as an eternal payment for your sins and mine. That's an awesome Father, an amazing gift, and an incredible love!

Wherever you are right now -- whatever you're going through -- would you stop for a minute and make a decision to fall wholeheartedly into the arms of God? Pushing Him away only leads to darker darkness, lonelier loneliness, and emptier emptiness.

Darkness needs light. Loneliness needs presence. Emptiness needs substance. God gives all three generously to those who seek Him.

What can I do for You today, Lord?
Perry Crisp

War Against Words

2011-06-27T09:20:00.000-07:00

"This is war!" Three words shouted by a madman just before he opened fire on the people gathered at First Baptist Church, Daingerfield, Texas in the summer of 1980. His "war" came without warning and was unleashed with tremendous fury on the innocent.

It was a war no one knew existed until it erupted that June morning. It was a war I will never forget. It has left permanent visual images on my mind. Since that day, there have been similar one-man acts of war that have ambushed innocent people on college campuses, churches, schools, and other public places.

There are wars we know are wars, and there are wars we remain unaware of until we're under attack. There are visible, strategic, correspondents-on-the-ground wars and invisible, surprise, no-one-knew-this-was-coming wars. Pearl Harbor and Nine Eleven rank high on our nation's memory of surprise attacks.

There are at least two ways to be invisible. One is to fly under the radar so that no one sees you. The other is to be so cleverly disguised that no one sees you even when you're right out in the open. There is an invisible war taking place right now. It is not flying under the radar. It is out in the open. Yet, few see it.

Even though it is a war on all fronts, it continues to go unnoticed. The reason it continues to go unnoticed is because its strategy is one of slow erosion. The outer defenses have been systematically removed with intellectual sniper fire. Yet, it is not a war against man, though man is a casualty. It's a war against paper. Paper? Paper. Documents. Parchments. Scrolls. It is a war against the authoritative documents once respected and obeyed in this land.

The strength of this nation is directly linked to the principles, values, and Divine guidance found in written form. The primary source of the U. S. Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, our nation's authoritative documents, is the Bible. Those who question that fact wear a darker blindfold than Lady Liberty. Not for the sake of justice, but for the sake of defiance against the notion of an involved God in the affairs of man.

The content of our conduct contained in those parchments of liberty and law are reflective of that which is contained in God's Word. State Constitutions are an even greater reflection of a Biblical foundation. Yet, we now live in a day when all the authoritative documents of our land, especially the Bible, are under fire.

Liberties are being squeezed into handcuffs. Laws of God-ordained human conduct and decency are being court marshalled. Man has assumed an editing role over what God has written and drawn red ink X's over sections that do not meet with their approval or desired lifestyle urges.

When men elevate themselves above their authoritative documents, there is anarchy. When men tell God who He can and cannot be and what He can and cannot do or say, the insane have truly taken over the sanitarium.

We have mislabeled arrogance and called it wisdom. We have substituted pride with what we were told was enlightenment. We have forced nature to accept what is unnatural. We have become so subnormal that the normal is now seen as abnormal. We celebrate homosexuality and mock celibacy. We fight vociferously to save whales in icy waters and send scalpels into hearts beating with human life inside human wombs. We have decided humans are evolved monkeys and then wondered why our children act more like monkeys than humans.

This is a war that is fully engaged and rapidly gaining strength. We need to be students of history. When Israel behaved similarly, turned her back on God's Word and God's ways, allowed man-made gods equal status to the God who made man, the God who made man removed His hedge of protection and allowed peoples of distant lands and purveyors of pagan religions to cart them off as conquered enemies.

To engage this battle for the soul of this nation, let us return to the primary document of true faith which includes the following directive: "If My people who are called by My name, will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land" (2 Chronicles 7:14).

The hope of healing for this nation is real. You have just read the prescription needed to bring healing. Will we fall to our knees...or be brought to them?

On the Battlefield of Prayer,
Perry Crisp

Homeless No More

2011-06-22T07:29:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday, Max Melitzer's life and world changed. Max started out the day the same way he had for at least four years - pushing a shopping cart that contained his few possessions, roaming the streets of Salt Lake City, Utah, eating at rescue missions, and sleeping outside.

Max had no home and no hope...until Saturday. As Max pushed his shopping cart through Pioneer Park, a man approached him and asked if they could sit and talk. Max sat down on a park bench and received the news that his brother who had died of cancer last year left him a significant amount of money in his will. Max knew that his brother had died, but had no idea that he had been included in his brother's will.

David Lundberg, the private detective hired by the Melitzer family to find Max, told the Associated Press, "He'll no longer be living on the street or in abandoned storage sheds. He'll be able to have a normal life, and be able to have a home, provide for himself, and purchase clothing, food and health care."

Last Saturday, Max sat down a poor man and stood up a rich man. He had done nothing to improve the status of his life. Nor was it blind luck that reversed his course. Max's life changed because of a generous gift from someone who loved him more than he realized.

Max knew that his brother had died. But he didn't know that his brother's death turned the tumblers that opened a vault that would change his destiny.

You probably have some level of knowledge regarding the person named Jesus of Nazareth. The Christ. The Messiah. It is also quite likely that you have been informed that Jesus died on a cross 2,000 years ago.

But did you know...

•Jesus loves you more than you realize?

•Jesus was heaven's generous gift to you that opened an eternal inheritance you could never earn or repay?

•Jesus' death turned the tumblers that opened heaven's vault that could change your forever destiny if you will accept Him by faith?

Max received an inheritance from someone who loved him. An inheritance that came only after death. Max has a choice. He can either accept or refuse the gift. But how could he turn away from that sacrificial gift of love without rejecting the giver? I'm sure that Max feels unworthy and humbled by the gift. But I'm also sure that he loves his brother now more than ever because he knows how much his brother truly loved him.

Your response to Jesus is the same. You have the same options Max has, yet with eternal implications and consequences. I yearn to testify that I have accepted the sacrificial gift from Jesus, though no one is less worthy of it or more humbled by it.

Jesus loves me, this I know - for the cross tells me so.
Perry Crisp

You've Got Sole!

2011-05-11T08:37:00.000-07:00

Conception. Birth. Infancy. Childhood. Adolescence. Adulthood. Death. Seven stages of your life and mine. Most of us have used up the first five and transitioned into the sixth. Unlike the others, there's not a chronological mark that tells us when we're going to the next.

Some of you are just getting used to the sixth. Like breaking in a new pair of boots, you are learning who you are as an adult. Others of us have thoroughly broken into the sixth and settled into a well-defined pattern of behavior and thinking. Life at this point is about comfort. Our boots may not have the shine they used to, but they're comfortable. Still others of us are not just broken in, we're breaking through! The boots are getting so worn, they're falling apart. We're not sure how much longer they will last. Soon enough, there won't be anything left but the --- sole.

Look at those seven words at the top of the page again. Is there anything missing? Of course there is. Even if the whole world is a stage, life is more than stages. While there's so much more to life than those seven words, there's one word missing that is the most important of all: Purpose.

Purpose answers the question, "Why?" Why life? Why the stages? Why did I start as a twinkle in my parent's eyes and end up as a tearful memory in the eyes of my children?

What's the point of going through those seven stages? Surely you've thought about this. Please tell me you've wrestled internally with this and not just accepted what others have told you.

What is your purpose? What is mine? To be another human on the assembly line of human history? Here I come. There I go. That was fun. Really?

Whatever your honest answer is to the purpose question will naturally and logically lead you to the existence of a personal Creator. If you say, "My purpose is to love...or make a difference in this world...or help others...or observe and appreciate life and beauty..." ---- you've led yourself naturally to see that you are expressing a reflection of the nature of your Creator.

Since there is a Creator, who is He and what is His purpose in creating me and you?

Come on. Keep going. Don't stop. Even if it goes against everything this world has taught you, you owe it to yourself to wrestle with the purpose question and follow it's trail until it leads to the pot of gold known as "truth."

Even if you've been taught there is no such thing as tangible truth, don't let other people put stop signs on a trail when your heart says there is more beyond. Your boots are wearing thin. You've got a sole to think about.

You and I both know people who went on to stage seven early in the sixth stage while the boots were still new. Others have skipped some of the other stages and gone to the seventh. There are no "Seventh Stage Two Miles Ahead" exit signs.

It's a dangerous thing to get comfortable short of the truth. Keep going, please. And be honest.

The sole may die, but...

A Soul Lives Forever.
Perry Crisp

Lynn, May I?

2011-05-02T07:45:00.000-07:00

Did you ever play “Mother, may I” as a child? I remember playing this game a few times. Each time, it was with my big sister, Lynn – the mother of all “Mother, may I” contestants. She was the oldest and the only female among us three children, so she felt it fitting that she should always be the first mother in the game of "Mother, may I."

My brother, Mark, and I never ever made it to the finish line to dethrone Lynn as top mama. Occasionally, she would feel generous and say, “Yes, you may.” Unless you asked for giant steps. As long as Lynn was big mama, it was baby steps or nothing. By far, her favorite answer was, “No, you may not!”

She was cute and always smiled when she said it, but there was something sinister about the whole thing. Thankfully, the cute part of Lynn has stayed with her and the sinister part has eroded over the years…I think! (I guess we’ll never know until or unless we have a “Mother, may I” rematch!)

Other than recalling the goofy eyeglass frames of the 60's that Lynn and Mark both wore back then, I don’t have fond memories of “Mother, may I.” But there is another game I absolutely LOVE to play – “Father, may I?” Actually, it’s not a game at all. It’s a way of life for the believer. “Father, may I” is the greatest conduit to the largest supply of resources in this world or any other.

Our Father has unlimited resources to match His unlimited love and grace. His only begotten Son, Jesus, taught us all about “Father, may I.”

“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened” (Matthew 7:7-8, NKJV).

I’ll get us started and let’s all make it a daily part of our lives to say, “Father, may I?”

“Father, may I see Your mighty hand of revival sweep across this continent again?”

“Father, may I have the privilege of sharing your love and grace-message to one more person?”

“Father, may I sit near You for awhile and tell You I love You over and over again?”

What better month than the month of “May” and what better week than the one which holds the National Day of Prayer (this Thursday) to renew our zeal to ask, “Father, may I?”

Yes, You May.
Perry Crisp

Is It Just Me or is There a Rough Draft in Here?

2011-04-07T08:21:00.000-07:00

I am only a co-writer in the story of my life. God is the true Author. He's the Editor-in-Chief. He writes the events, characters, the timing of things, and the circumstances of my daily environment. He schedules appointments and disappointments. I can only write in response to what He writes. My feelings. My faith. My lack of either. He sets the stage. He writes in advance. He knows what's in chapter 24 while I'm still in chapter 12. I walk onto today's stage without script or preparation. My life-writing is impromptu. My responses reveal who I truly am. But I know I'm not writing alone. He has a plan and His plan is good. So, I take what He writes and hope that I gain wisdom, but so often I lose character. I do respond with wisdom...sometimes (occasionally maybe? Okay, so it's more like occasionally-bordering-on-rarely). Most of the time I react emotionally and regret what I write with my words or my actions. Yet even then, God gives me opportunity to rewrite. What feels like permanent red ink boiling out of me in one instant is touched by His eraser of forgiveness the next. He allows for rough drafts. His Spirit lends gentle correction to my outbursts. He calms my trembling hand. He soothes my broken heart. I'm given a second chance to right what's wrong with what I've written. An example from a past manuscript of my life is in order. Please understand -- I'm not proud of some of the things I've written into my life. I usually don't let people see the rough drafts. But I feel compelled to revisit an important chapter. Perhaps you have a chapter comparable to mine. This particular chapter began May 14, 1993. It was a day that I had scheduled for celebration, but it took an unpredictable bounce into a night filled with tears. I was an inexperienced life-writer. I wrote as if life bounced like a basketball. The bounce of a basketball is predictable. You learn the feel of it and know where it's going to be when it bounces back up. Your fingertips can anticipate a basketball so well that your eyes never have to look down. The bounce is in the script. Everything goes according to script. Like I said...I was inexperienced. I looked forward to May 14, 1993. I worked hard for years to get to May 14, 1993. When it finally came, the joy, exhilaration, and adrenalin I felt holding that piece of paper that certified a 92-hour Master's degree is hard to describe. My family and church family were in the audience standing and applauding when my name was called...just like I had written into the script. We celebrated with a graduation party, gifts, and cake. In the script. All was right with the world. The basketball of life was bouncing according to my anticipated desires. Somewhere between the last bite of cake and bedtime, the basketball turned into a football. My life took a very unpredictable bounce. I learned that night that the only thing predictable about life is that it is predictably unpredictable. Life bounces like a football. Ever tried dribbling a football? Try it. You'll understand. Late that night, after the kids were in bed, my mom and dad said they had something to tell us. Mom was in a rocking chair. She was rocking that chair hard. She licked her lips a couple of times as she struggled for words. Something inside me knew I wasn't prepared for what she was about to say. I knew everything I had written had been said. I didn't write what was about to be said. Her cancer was back. This time, it was bone cancer. This time, short of God's powerful, yet fully capable intervention, it would take her life. Suddenly, all that was right with the world vanished into the shadows. My hand hung in the air waiting for the basketball to bounce back up. It never did. A year later, Mom finished her fight, completed her race, and received her crown. I pretended I was still dribbling a basketball. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know how to grieve. I should have put the pen down and stopped writing. It wasn't a fairy tale. It was real. It hurt. Unresolved hurt leads to anger. I tried to resolve it with my resolve. Just keep dribbling. Just keep dribbling. Maybe no one will notice there's no ball there. Maybe if I just kept dribbling, the ball would find its way back. It didn't. Anger has many expressions. Internally, I began to write in invisible ink. Under the surface. A new me. An ugly me. Not for publication. The roughest of rough drafts. Subconsciously, I was angry at the Author. Deep inside me, I fired the Editor-in-Chief and took over all the publication duties of my life. The anger got ugly. Jesus once said, "Apart from Me, you can do nothing." He's right. But in that chapter of my life, you could add one word to the end of His sentence and it would still be true: "Apart from Me, you can do nothing GOOD." I did nothing good. I tried. I took tools too big for my hands into my hands and tried to build my own kingdom. How silly. I'm not an ancient Chinese, but I came up with a proverb: "He who cannot build bird house has no business building a kingdom." It didn't stand. It fell. So did I. Through a process outlined below, I quit playing editor-in-chief of my life and humbly welcomed the authentic Editor-in-Chief back into His rightful place in my life. Life still bounces like a football. I can't predict it. But wow --- you ought to see God dribble a football! It's no problem for Him. How to Rewrite Life - A Process Learned the Hard Way by Perry Crisp: 1. Be Ready. It will happen to you. The predictability of the unpredictable in your life is my prediction. Go ahead and accept it. Count on it. Be ready for anything. Make sure you have more than a fair-weather faith while the weather is still fair. 2. Be Confident: (a) in the power of prayer (Do you realize that Jesus prayed? Jesus would not have prayed if prayer were powerless), and (b) in the presence of friends. Friends may not always understand. In fact, they may even seem clumsy, insensitive, and unthinking at times. But the truth is, they care -- else they wouldn't be there. 3. Be Real. Life isn't a fairy tale. It doesn't go according to our script. While you grapple with accepting that, also give yourself permission to be real with God about your feelings, your hurt, your loss, and your anger. He's a big God. He can handle it. 4. Be Right. With God. The temptation when life takes an unpredictable, unfair, and painful bounce is to let go of God and give up on your faith. I've been there. That path only leads to a dead end of misery. Resist bitterness. You must decide: Do I want to be bitter or get better? It's an either/or choice. Accept what can't be changed. Focus on what's left, not what's lost. Hang on. Cling tighter. Cry louder. Lean harder. Surrender more. His anchor holds through the fiercest storm. 5. Be Renewed. You can't force or fake this part. It's a work of God's grace. Renewal comes through surrender. "God, take what's left. Take what I've made a mess of. It's all in Your hands. I'm in Your hands. I thought I had control. That was just an illusion. I have no control. You have control...as it should be. Renew Your Spirit in me." 6. Bless Others. I know it sounds crazy. But God has wired the universe so that we get better by reaching out to meet the needs of others in spite of our own neediness. Do you need to feel loved? Love someone. Do you need hope? Extend hope to another. Do you need a second chance? Give someone else a second chance. Trust me. It works. "Father, here is a crumpled, worn, tear-stained rough draft. I submit it to You in hopes that You will use it today to speak to my fellow struggling life-writers." Amen... Perry Crisp

A Tearful Cast

2011-03-21T08:14:00.000-07:00

Two of us will remember that Spring day in 1970 for the rest of our lives...but for very different reasons. It was my first fishing tournament and my first fishing trophy. I was eight years old and yes - I still have the trophy. Fifteen or twenty of us boys from our church group were camping and fishing on the Sam Rayburn Reservoir. None of our adult sponsors had a boat, so we all had to fish the RA (Royal Ambassador) Invitational Bass tournament from the bank.

My Zebco 33 reel was on a brand new Ugly Stick rod and I was chunking a black and chartreuse H&H spinner bait. The night before the tournament we all took turns bragging about who was going to catch the most fish or the biggest fish. I don't know about the other guys, but I was determined to make my words come true. When the time came to start the tournament, I was pumped up and ready to go. With every cast, I gave it all I had. I pushed the button on the Zebco reel, reared that rod back, and rocket-propelled that H&H as far as it would go.

I had two strategies: 1) Cover more water than anyone else. 2) Throw into the brush and stumps where the other guys were afraid to throw. It paid off. Melvin was my only competition and we were both about even when I saw a fallen tree about twenty yards out. I landed my spinner bait right in front of that fallen tree time after time and came back with nothing. To toss over the tree was a risk even I didn't want to take because it meant I would definitely get hung up and lose my lure. The only way I wouldn't get hung up was if a fish hit the lure before it got to the tree. Even if a fish hit it, the chances of dragging a fish over a fallen tree were very slim.

Then Melvin caught another fish.

Before I knew it, my H&H was flying over that fallen tree. No sooner than it hit the water, a four pound bass wrapped his lips around it. My line was zigging and zagging across the bark of that fallen oak. I gave the line a great big yank and two miracles happened. The fish came clear out of the water, over the tree. That was miracle number one. Miracle number two, he didn't spit the hook out. I still had him. My skinny eight-year-old frame fought that bass like he was a marlin. I landed the fish. But before I could celebrate, I noticed Melvin was fishing again. He was chunking over fallen trees.

I gave my prize catch to one of the sponsors so I could get back to fishing. I figured there might be another fish on the other side of that fallen oak. Some of the boys on that fishing trip had never seen a four pound bass, so they were all gathered behind me admiring the fish I caught. But I was worried about Melvin.

I settled my feet into the muddy bank, pushed the button on the reel, reared back, and tried to chunk that spinner bait to the same spot, but my lure got caught in something behind me. I didn't look back to see what it was. I just kept yanking.

At first, I thought it was a tree limb above me, and if I just yanked hard enough, it would break loose. Then I noticed something. Every time I yanked, Macky yelled. I turned around to see that the hooks of my H&H were caught in the top of Macky's head! He had been behind me admiring my recent catch -- only to become my next one.

I never got another chance to toss on the other side of that oak because the sponsors called an end to the tournament while they dug my hooks out of Macky's head with their pocket knives.

I got a trophy. Macky got stitches. Neither of us will ever forget that day. But for different reasons. It was a moment of pride for me, but pain for him.

There's coming a day the whole world will never forget. A day that will cause some to rejoice and many others to regret. It will be the day to end all days. The day all days end. Then, according to Jesus in Matthew 24-25, there will be a separation. Some will inherit a glorious eternity in the presence of God. Others will begin an eternity of unspeakable sadness and pain.

All will be fair. All will be final. The good news of God's love and His grace-gift of eternal life through faith in Jesus Christ is within your heart's grasp. Trust Him or turn away from Him. It's your choice. But it is the biggest decision you'll ever make with the longest lasting results you'll ever experience. It'll be a day none of us will ever forget.

I pray it won't be for different reasons.

Perry Crisp

Think Again

2011-03-07T06:45:00.000-08:00

You Thought...

...You were indestructible.
...You were incorruptible.

...You would never make THAT mistake.
...You would never be in THIS situation.

...Life lasted forever.
...Love lasted forever.

...You had everything figured out.
...You had everyone figured out.

...He/she was your friend.
...She/he/it wouldn't change.

...YOU wouldn't change.

*********

You Didn't Think...

...Yesterday would shape and distort today.
...Tomorrows would decrease and yesterdays would increase.

...The kids would grow up so fast.
...You would grow old so soon.

...Emptiness would be this hard to fill.
...Loneliness could be this deep to fall.

...Truth is absolute.
...God is involved.

...The culture was wrong.
...The Bible was right.

...You needed to change.

"Seek God while He's here to be found, pray to Him while He's close at hand. Let the wicked abandon their way of life and the evil their way of thinking. Let them come back to God, who is merciful, come back to our God, who is lavish with forgiveness. 'I don't think the way you think. The way you work isn't the way I work,' decrees God." ~ Isaiah 55:7-8 (The Message).

Think Again,

Perry Crisp

Knowin' vs. Guessin'

2011-02-21T11:38:00.000-08:00

A quick check of current bass fishing lures at a major retailer lists 937 types. With each type, there are size and color variations on the average of 22 per type. Multiply those together and you need a tackle box that can hold 20,614 items.

What's a fisherman to do? Unless he is on speaking terms with a largemouth bass (and I know a few people who ARE), he is forced to guess. There are, however, different levels of guessing.

Take Homer and his wife, Etta, for example. Being the romantic husband that he is, Homer decided to take Etta fishing on Valentine's Day. Actually, he had planned on taking her to the Dairy Queen but it wasn't his fault the bass began their pre-spawn activity on Valentine's Day!

So the two lovebirds hopped into the john boat and headed to the north end of the lake. Being the generous and loving husband that he is, Homer rigged Etta's pink and purple female-type fishing pole with a Texas-rigged, super killin', hog smashin' craw-worm. He told her to chunk it on out there, let it hit bottom, and then slowly crank it in, giving the rod an occasional pop. Even though Etta never said, "Huh?" - Homer knew the look. Being the patient husband that he is, he chunked it out there for her and demonstrated his prior instructions.

After a long ten minutes of fishing and catching nothing, Etta went to fiddling around in Homer's tackle boxes.

"What are you doing, sugar muffin?" asked Homer.

"I'm looking for something else to fish with. Something with a little bling to it," answered Etta. She looked up at him with her one good eye and grinned that gorgeous, albeit toothless, grin that always melted his heart. He returned the grin with a nod and a half smile, then turned where she couldn't see him smirk.

Homer thought to himself, "Bling? Did she say bling? It's a tackle box, not a jewelry box. She ain't gonna catch nothin. And when I catch me a hawg on this here craw-worm, she'll be sorry she didn't listen to the master!"

Homer prided himself on knowing exactly what the fish were biting. He even bragged to his buddies that God blessed him with a fish's brain and he "knowed what they were thinkin'."

Etta pulled a ten-inch worm out of the bottom of Homer's tackle box and held it up. "Can I try this one?" she asked.

Homer had no idea how such a worm ever made it's way into his tackle box. That worm was a sight! It looked like a mardi gras parade puked all over it. It had every bright-colored, glittery speck you could imagine imbedded into it's black and motor-oil colored body.

Homer spit. Then he spoke. "Apparently, that old worm has set too long on the bottom of my tackle box," he said. "And all the glitters and sparkles from other baits melted into it. That's the ugliest thing I ever saw! The fish ain't gonna hit that thing. In fact, it'll probably scare 'em all away...honey pie."

She batted her eye, squared her jaw, and tried to stand up in the boat so she could put her hands on her hips (a posture Homer knew all too well). "But, but, but, if my four-leaf clover darlin' wants to fish with that," Homer corrected himself. "Then, by golly, she's gonna fish with it."

Etta sat back down and grinned like a giddy school girl. Homer took the bling mardi gras puke worm from her hand and put it on her hook. It went against every fiber of his being and he hoped no one could see him. Etta cast the worm about two feet, making an awful splash as that big worm hit the water right next to the boat.

While Homer was shaking his head and whispering his good-byes to all the bass in a two-mile radius, Etta's pole went to bending and Etta went to screaming, "I got one!"

"No way!" Homer shouted before he could stop himself.

"Yes, way!" Etta yelled back. "Stop standin' there gawkin'. Get the net!"

"You sure it ain't a stump or a gar or a trot line?" Homer asked and instantly regretted asking it. Before that sentence got to "trot line," Homer knew the answer. A bass so big it would be a wallhanger in Jimmy Houston's house (pause for a moment of silence at the mention of his name) jumped straight up out of the water, did a hula dance in mid-air with five inches of puke worm hanging out of her mouth, and headed straight back down.

"Hang on, Etta! I'm gettin' the net. Give her some slack or she'll break your line," Homer shouted.

Etta leered at him and said, "I got this! You just get the net."

Homer did the husband hunker that all men are familiar with. The one that says, "Yes ma'am" without the words.

The fish was longer than the mouth of the net, but they managed to get her into the boat. After a dozen high fives, a thousand hoops and hollers, and a couple of pictures with the polaroid, Etta turned to the crowd that had gathered at the bank and held her lunker hawg big momma bass up like Jay Yelas at the Bassmasters (another pause). She could hear the folks whistling and shouting.

When she turned back around, Homer, being the humble husband that he is, was digging in the bottom of his tackle box for a ten-inch black and motor-oil worm with some bling on it.

The lesson of Homer and Etta is three-fold: 1) Take your dog - NEVER your wife - fishing on Valentine's Day. 2) If you DO take her fishing and she catches a bigger fish than you, DON'T go to the Dairy Queen right after that. 3) No matter how good a guesser you are when it comes to fishing -- everyone occasionally guesses wrong, and anyone can occasionally guess right.

Fishing is guesswork. But you can improve your chances of guessing right by learning patterns, studying the seasonal behavior of fish, discovering what is and is not working from other experienced fishermen (and knowing whether they are lying to you or not), and by following the three P's: practice, practice, practice.

However, even a first-time fisherman can crawl into a boat or stand on a bank and be in the right place at the right time with the right bait. The guesswork factor in fishing is what makes it fun.

Unless you're fishing for answers to life's questions.

Life was never meant to be a guessing game. The Creator of life did not create haphazardly. He created with purpose, design, and compassion. He not only planned YOU, He has a plan FOR you. You don't have to guess. You just have to search.

Where do you begin searching? The first place to search for God's plan for your life is in the Bible. It is God's instruction manual for man. In it, you will find truth. Truth is the guide of life that we all need. Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father but by Me" (John 14:6).

The truth of the Bible also tells us that "God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life" (John 3:16). That's not a guess. That's a guarantee from the Manufacturer.

A second place to search is in prayer. Prayer is simply opening your heart to God and talking to Him. You can tell Him how you feel. You can ask Him to show you what He wants you to know. You can ask Him anything. He longs to hear from you. A third place to search is in a healthy church. Being around other followers of Christ gives you people just like you to talk to, lean on, and learn from.

This life and the one following is too important to leave it all up to chance. God wants you to know. He hasn't put 20,614 options in front of you. Just one. His Son. I pray you will accept Jesus as, not only the Savior of the world who died for the sins of the world, but as YOUR personal Savior who loves you and died for you.

Googling Really Large Tackle Boxes,
Perry Crisp

The Game of Life Isn't

2011-02-10T09:39:00.000-08:00

Life, for a lot of people, really is like Monopoly. People have their preferences. Some like the race car. Others want the thimble. Everyone has a niche. A thing. A game piece molded into a tiny idol. They go around and around trying to win more stuff than their neighbors while also hoping to avoid penalties and prison. When the game is over, they want to be the one who owns the bank and the board.

What then?

It's still a lot like Monopoly. The game ends. The board is folded up and placed in a box. All the houses and hotels slide off the board and into a bag. All the property cards are rubber-banded together and placed in a plastic holder. The winner realizes all that he or she has won is fake. All that paper money and all those property cards mean nothing in the end. You can't take them with you.

The luck of the dice and the legs of skilfull ability can only take a person so far. Then comes the end. And in the end, it will not matter what you've accomplished or accumulated. Your lifeless arms will be folded and your body will be placed in a box. Game over.

Or is it?

Have you ever played a game with someone who changed the rules for his or her own benefit? Penalties that applied to you did not apply to them for some obscure reason. Rewards that advanced them did not advance you.

Funny how people like to shape their own realities with nothing to go on but their own selfishly-shaped perceptions. It is most obvious when you talk to them about "Game Over."

Ask them what happens when you die and you will hear about heaven, nirvana, reincarnation, and a few who believe you just stop existing altogether.

They've created a monopoly world and changed some of the squares. They don't like the idea of hell, so they cut and paste "Free Parking" over it. They don't like some of the truths in the Bible, so they remove those verses from the card pile.

Oh, but they like heaven. So, all four corners of their board lead to heaven.

How would you feel if you were the creator of the game, the writer of the rules, the placer of the squares, and you made your game public only to find everyone else manipulating your monopoly?

Probably the same way Elizabeth Maggie Phillips felt. Lizzie, a Quaker, invented a game board in 1903 and called it "The Landlord's Game." The purpose of Lizzie's game was to teach people how monopolies end up bankrupting the many while giving extraordinary wealth to one person. It was intended to illustrate the negative aspects of greed.

People started playing her game and it had the opposite impact on them. Instead of teaching them to beware of greed, it fed their greed. They liked winning. They enjoyed taking everyone else's property and money. Others took her idea and redeveloped it into Monopoly. Wikipedia calls Monopoly "the domination of a market by a single entity."

Can you imagine how Lizzie felt?

God can.

God made life, created the players, wrote the rules, and placed the truths of eternity squarely into reality. He put the cards in the pile that say, "Do not..." He filled the board with good things and gave clear instructions on how to find them and how to avoid the bad things. And even when bad things were inevitable and the players needed a helping hand, God put His own Son into the game. Jesus is the "Get out of hell free" card of life.

But we keep trying to change His rules. We keep editing what He has written. We keep sticking temporary labels over permanently etched facts.

There is an enormous difference between Lizzie and God that you need to know about. Lizzie was powerless to stop the manipulation of her creation. In fact, she even succombed to it and republished her game to take advantage of everyone's greed and accumulate her own.

God is not powerless. You can try to rewrite the game all you want. You cannot erase what He has written. Cancel hell on your board. But it will still be on God's board. What God calls sin on His board will still be punishable no matter what you've called it on yours.

God loves you. Because He does, He wants you to know the truth. And it doesn't matter if your name is Rich Uncle Pennybags with your little moustache, smoking jacket, walking cane, and top hat --- Only the truth can set you free.

This isn't a game.

What Was I Going to Put Here for a Title?

2011-01-17T09:56:00.000-08:00

Reminders. I'm amazed at how many I need. God, in His sovereignty, allowed someone in the past to invent Post-it-Notes because He knew I would be born! I live in a yellow-sticker world.

I drive a pickup truck that has a yellow sticker on the windshield put there graciously by the oil and lube folks who hope it will remind me that my oil needs to be changed. When my truck gets low on gas, an annoying noise dings and a yellow light comes on to remind me to get gas. When my tires need inflating, my dashboard flashes a yellow icon that looks like a flat tire. My truck is filled with electronic Post-it-Notes!

Why do I need to be reminded of so many things? Maybe I'm ADD. I don't know. I've made a few (34) appointments to get tested, but something else always came up and I missed the appointments. I understand why I need to be reminded to do routine tasks. They're minor. It's the important stuff that shouldn't require a hai-karate slap. I shouldn't go fuzzy on the big things.

But I do. We all do.

Many of the most popular phrases of our existence, whether they are on bumper stickers or in our Bibles, are reminders of important stuff.

"Seek first the kingdom of God..." is the key to having our priorities right. It's the motto that should drive our motor. Do we? Do we wake up every morning locked in on what God wants? Or do we need reminding?

"Live, laugh, love..." are words that decorate our homes and color our imaginations to remind us how we ought to redeem every moment we've been given. Do we? Do we truly live, savoring every moment of every day? Or do we frequently coast, occasionally trudge, or set our mental gauges on "Just Get Me Through This Day"? Do we laugh? Really laugh. Unrestricted laughter that makes squeaking or snorting noises. The kind of laughter that doubles us over and barely stops long enough to let us breathe. Do we love? Love isn't words or feelings alone. Love is action. Love loves. Love lets others know we thought enough of them to do something unexpected. We should never need a reminder to love.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart...and your neighbor as yourself." The Bible is obsessed with this one. From Genesis to maps, we are reminded to love God and each other. God is crazy about love because He's crazy about you. Do we? Do we love Him and each other? If love is action and not words or feelings alone, how much love is God getting from you? From me? How about that neighbor? Is he/she feeling the love? Oh, how oft we need reminding.

"Don't worry. Be happy." Four words. Two statements of two letters each. We know them, sing them, and are familiar with the two dots of eyes, the upward smiling curve in a circle of....YELLOW (another Post-it-Note) that symbolizes the saying. But are we? Are we happy and worry-free? Some of us are medicated with happy pills and still can't find our sweet spot. We are like the camel who said, "I don't care what anybody says, I'm thirsty!" In spite of the "don't-worry-be-happy" montra, we do worry and we aren't always happy. So we need reminding.

These reminders have become familiar to us through repetition. They are necessary for us because we lose focus. We all need occasional reminders more than occasionally.

So, what's the point of all this? I don't know. I got distracted. Let me scroll back up and read. Oh yeah. We need reminders of the important because we are easily distracted by the urgent. I'm not advocating the need for group meetings. Even if we organized an RA group (Reminders Anonymous), I'd forget to show up.

Just consider this a Post-it-Note of the important in your life. I don't know the details of the most important notes of your existence, but I'm sure it involves love. Consider yourself reminded!

Perry Crisp

Four Big Days

2011-01-13T08:14:00.000-08:00

"So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom" (Psalm 90:12).

The Bible speaks often of the number of our days. Even if the Bible didn't tell us, we would still know that our days are numbered. An afternoon walk through a cemetery, reading tombstones, would provide us with the sobering news that a number will be placed on the other side of our dash. We also know that the number of days rarely reaches 36,500.

Let's be gracious and say that you and I live 36,510 days. We both reach and barely pass 100 years. I've already used up nearly half of mine and it really seems to have gone by fast. Life has a heavy foot. The days in the rearview are mostly a blur. Job called them a shadow and said they move faster than a weaver's shuttle. The Psalmist and James describe life as a vapor that appears for a brief time and then disappears.

Depressing? It can be. Especially when you read about Job's life and then check out his philosophy, "We were born yesterday, and know nothing because our days on earth are a shadow" (Job 8:9).

So much for our frequently used line of self-defense, "Do you think I was born yesterday?"

Job's answer? "Yup."

Compared to eternity. Compared to God. We were born yesterday and will die tomorrow when you compare our life to His. No wonder our dash is so small. We aren't even a hiccup on the timeline of human history. On the chart of eternity? No microscope could find us compared to the God who has no beginning, no dash, no expiration date, and no tombstone. A grave tried to hold His Son once, but failed.

Speaking of His Son...

Of the days numbered on the chart of human history, there are three that are significant to the world: The day of Christ's birth, the day of Christ's death, and the day of Christ's resurrection. Those three days changed everything!

You don't have to count very high to "gain a heart of wisdom." Once you realize the significance of those three days, you are on your way to a very important fourth day. Your day of grace. Your spiritual birthday. Mine came in the fifteenth year of my life. A couple of months after my 5,475th day of oxygen, I confessed to God that I was a sinner and invited Jesus Christ to be my personal Savior. God forgave me. Jesus saved me. That day became the center point of the pendulum swing of my life. No matter how many ticks of the clock I have left on this earth, everything changed that day.

My soul was moved out of time's control and into eternity's vault. The promise from God's Word is that I now belong to Him and will spend eternity with Him before the tombstone carver can chisel the date on the other side of the dash.

Three days changed history. The fourth one changes eternity. Today is a great day for your fourth. I pray you will accept God's gift of eternal life through Jesus Christ and invite Him into your life today.

Briefly Yours, Eternally His...
Perry Crisp

That Wasn't Ferry Nice!

2010-12-14T12:24:00.000-08:00

*Rated U-PC (Un-Politically Correct): Reader Discretion is Advised. Liberals, most news agencies, most college professors, and the politically correct WILL be offended.

A Staten Island Ferry removed the baby Jesus from their holiday display but left the "holiday" tree and the menorah. One official said the baby Jesus was "a religious symbol and they didn't want to offend anyone," so they removed him. What an intolerable toddler! Isn't it ironic that a baby can strike such fear in the pc police?

There are only a few thousand problems with the logic of those who booted the baby from the display, but let me focus on three. First, the menorah is a Jewish "religious symbol" dating way back to the days of the Tabernacle (Exodus 25). But let's not let faulty logic stand in the way of an official statement. Surely, we have learned THAT from our government by now.

Second, the "holiday" tree is, and always has been, a Christmas tree. Only recently have some hypocrites, who want to celebrate Christmas without Christ, come up with the whole "holiday" replacement word. I'm not saying you have to be a Christian to enjoy Christmas. I'm just asking you to stop butchering reality with lunacy.

I don't like asparagus, but I would not disparage you from enjoying it nor would I attempt to make up another name for it simply because of my personal preference. And if thereis ever a date on the calendar that celebrates Asparagus Day where lovers of asparagus exchange gifts or decorate their homes, I'm not going to take what I want from their celebration, strip it of it's meaning, and call it Chocolate Chip Cookie Day!

If Christmas offends you this much, George Costanza from Seinfeld has come up with an alternative for you called Festivus. You can get together with your family and friends, stare at your silver pole, try to pin one another with feats of strength, and air your grievances with everything you hate about Christmas. It's the perfect alternative.

Third, Christians in this country are not considered to be "anyone" by the politically correct. They "did not want to offend anyone," so they adiosed Jesus. When was the last time someone punted Buddha off a stage? Ever hear of Mohammed being yanked from the public's eye? No one else is fair game. Christians are the only ones untolerated by those who scream from their arrogant platforms of tolerance.

It is a most unusual form of persecution. It pales significantly and substantially from the persecution our brothers and sisters face in China and other parts of the world. But since I have "freedom of speech" and "freedom of religion" (at least in document form) in this country, I'm fixin' to use it.

There is an ongoing blatant hypocrisy that poisons political correctness. For example, the department stores all want us (especially Christians) to go shopping to buy gifts that will be exchanged on December 25th. They want and beg us to buy the latest toys, gadgets, cars, computers, lights, tinsel, bows, food and candy for the 25th. They cannot survive without our dollars.

It's all for the same date: December 25th. None of this stuff is for Hanukkah or Kwanzaa. It's all for Christmas. But each and every one of their employees (Christian or not) and each and every sign on their windows and ads in their papers all say, "Happy Holidays" instead of the horrifying sound of "Merry Christmas!"

They smile as they swipe our cards. They grin as they stuff their "Happy Holiday" stamped plastic bags with our purchases. They are swiping more than our cards, folks. They are essentially trying to rob Christians and Christmas of Christ. And we let them...even though they could not survive without us. And if we question this unbelievable treatment of intolerance, the same people whose own survival depends on our shopping sprees release public statements offensive to no one but us. It's incredible!

They want to take Christ out of Christmas but could not survive if we took Christmas out of the calendar.

They are so hungry and greedy for our money that they even begin decorating and advertising long before November. Thanksgiving has become a speed bump they hurdle. They can't wait for the third Friday of November so they can gorge themselves on our credit cards.

Now, as to the big question: Why? Why is a manger scene offensive and a sacrificial atoning Savior so repulsive? Again, there are a few thousand reasons, but most of them boil down to one --- pride. Man is so full of pride that he will even shake his finger in the face of God if God tells him he's a sinner.

The same pride that fell Satan from heaven stirs bad tidings on earth. If anyone were to take an honest look at the whole issue, they would find this very situation to be compelling evidence in favor of Christianity. There must be something sinister and evil behind a movement that wants to hush the singing of "Silent Night" or toss into a dumpster the display of a tiny baby resting in a feeding trough.

Mohammed can call for infidels (non-Muslims) to be killed and is met with toleration and acceptance. Statues and temples made of pure gold adorn Buddhist communities while the worshippers of Buddha starve in poverty. Not a voice is raised in protest from the pc. Name a religion and you'll find a fault, an injustice, an inconsistency, but you won't find anyone in this government trying to wipe it out or remove it from the public's eye (with the occasional exception of Judaism, which is the root system of Christianity).

Tax-funded schools are not allowed to pray to the God of Christianity while accomodations are made for Islamic prayer times in tax-funded schools in predominately Islamic communities. The point is: One is persecuted in this country while the rest are tolerated and accomodated. Why? Because there is one true God and He has an enemy.

The enemy only wishes to keep ONE message silent. That message is this: "For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord" (Luke 2:11).

Think about it. And while you are thinking about it, dwell on the irony of the name of the Staten Island Ferry that tossed Jesus overboard. The ferry with the baby Jesus phobia is named the St. George!

Who is St. George? A Christian officer in the Roman military who refused to sacrifice to pagan gods after the Roman Emperor Diocletian, in AD 302, ordered every Christian soldier in the army arrested and every other soldier to offer a pagan sacrifice. George objected and, with the courage of his faith, approached the Emperor.

George loudly renounced the Emperor's edict, and in front of his fellow soldiers he declared his worship of Jesus Christ. Diocletian attempted to convert George with bribes of land, money and slaves if he would make a sacrifice to the Pagan gods. George would not cooperate with the attempts to renounce Christ, so Diocletian had George decapitated on April 23, 303.

George's witness and martyrdom were so powerful that the Empress and one of the pagan priests converted to Christianity and were martyred as well.

George's body was returned to Lydda for burial, where he can currently be found rolling over in it.

Merry CHRISTmas,
Perry Crisp

Free Indeed

2010-11-29T12:08:00.000-08:00

Shon Hopwood was not a particularly sophisticated bank robber. His bank-robbing strategy was not well planned. Listen to the strategy of someone assuming one of the most difficult tasks to get away with in this country: “We would walk into a bank with firearms, tell people to get down, take the money and run.”

Brilliant, right? Wrong. Shon pulled off 5 robberies in rural Nebraska in 1997 and 1998 that only brought in $200,000 in cash and resulted in over a decade-long vacation in federal prison. Yep. He got caught and went to prison.

No one was hurt in Mr. Hopwood’s bank robberies, but, according to the judge who sentenced Shon to prison in 1999, he and his accomplices “scared the (inserting Baptifanity* replacement word) heck out of the poor bank tellers.”

The judge was skeptical about Mr. Hopwood’s vow that he would change. He had heard it over and over again from those caught and convicted of crimes. After Shon's pledge to change, the judge said, “We’ll know in about 13 years if you mean what you say.”

Getting caught has a way of changing us. The honesty of it all is this: We get caught every time. There is never a time, never a crime, never a sin, never a slight of hand or eye that is not both seen and recorded. God sees. God knows. When I miss the mark, He doesn’t miss noticing that I missed the mark.

Ironically, getting caught is sometimes the door to true freedom. You’ll find that out about Shon Hopwood in a few minutes. You can see it in a nameless criminal in the gospel of Luke 23, beginning at verse 32 right now.

"There were also two others, criminals, led with Him (Jesus) to be put to death" (Luke 23:32). Criminals. The King James Version calls them "malefactors." The word in Luke is a combination of two words: "evil" and "work." Luke called them evildoers. Matthew and Mark were more specific and called them robbers. Luke wasn’t concerned with the flavor, just the poison. Sin is sin regardless of the label.

Matthew says that both men joined in the sneering and mocking of Jesus at first. But somewhere between verses 37 and 39 of Luke’s account, one of the criminals began to have a change of heart. After the other criminal screamed at Jesus to save Himself and them if He truly was the Messiah, the other criminal rebuked his partner in crime. He confessed that, of the three hanging on a cross that day, only one didn't deserve to be there. Then he turned to Jesus and said, "Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom" (v. 42).

How is getting caught the door to true freedom? To receive the forgiveness of God, you have to first admit you failed. Our conscience is supposed to weigh on us. And it usually does, but not always. When we continue on and push past our conscience, a hardness begins to set in. If left to harden and callous, we can become our very own hardened criminal. Sometimes, the only hope we have left is to get caught.

Had this criminal not been caught and punished on that very day, he may have never looked within himself nor to the Man on the Middle Cross who died to pay the price for his own evil work. But he did get caught. He did hang on a cross to pay humanity for his evil work. Yet simultaneously, the Man next to him hung on the cross to pay the debt owed to God by that evil worker…and this one.

One word made the difference… “Lord.” Jesus, by His own reply to that man in verse 43, opened a door no one ever thought could be opened for such a man. “Today, you will be with Me in Paradise."

No one would have ever picked that cross-hanging criminal to be the Valedictorian of Redemption. If he'd had a high school yearbook, the only thing written in it would have been, "You'll never amount to anything." Had we interviewed the old men from his neighborhood, they would have spoken of him in disgust, "That boy has been trouble since the day he was born."

But that boy was escorted by Jesus to the kingdom of heaven as the first trophy of God's amazing, redeeming grace.

Shon committed the crime and was forced to do the time. Once behind bars, Mr. Hopwood quickly began soul-searching. Prison has a way of getting a person’s attention. Shon said, “I didn’t want prison to be my destiny. When your life gets tipped over and spilled out, you have to make some changes.”

I would like to say that Shon turned to the Lord. He didn’t. Instead, he spent much of his time in the prison law library, and it turned out he was better at understanding the law than breaking it. He achieved something rare at the top levels of the American bar, and unheard of for someone behind bars: Shon Hopwood became an accomplished Supreme Court practitioner.

He prepared his first petition for certiorari (sir-she-o-rari) — a request that the Supreme Court hear a case — for a fellow inmate using a prison typewriter in 2002. Since Mr. Hopwood wasn’t a lawyer, the only name on the brief was that of the other prisoner, John Fellers.

That year, the court received 7,209 petitions from prisoners and others too poor to pay the filing fee, and it agreed to hear only 8 of them. One was Fellers v. United States .

Seth Waxman was the United States Solicitor General at the time. He had argued more than 50 cases in the Supreme Court. Of Shon’s petition, Waxman said, “It was probably one of the best cert. petitions I have ever read. It was just terrific.”

Mr. Waxman agreed to take the case on without payment. But he had one condition: “I will represent you,” Mr. Waxman told Mr. Fellers, “If we can get this guy Shon Hopwood involved.” Mr. Fellers agreed and they both felt good that Shon was there to quarterback the effort.

The former solicitor general showed Shon drafts of his legal briefings. The two men consulted about how to frame the arguments, discussed strategy, and tried to anticipate questions from the justices.

In January 2004, Mr. Waxman called Mr. Hopwood at the federal prison in Illinois to tell him they had won a 9-to-0 victory. Mr. Fellers’s sentence was reduced by 4 years.

The law library changed Mr. Hopwood’s life. Mr. Hopwood helped inmates from Indiana , Michigan and Nebraska get sentence reductions. Mr. Hopwood was released from prison in the fall of 2008. Mr. Fellers, the fellow inmate who was first assisted by Shon, was out before Shon, and owned a thriving car dealership in Lincoln, Nebraska .

“Here,” Mr. Fellers said, presenting his jailhouse lawyer with a 1989 Mercedes in pristine condition. “Thank you for getting me back to my daughter.”

Mr. Hopwood now works for a leading printer of Supreme Court briefs, Cockle Printing in Omaha . “What a perfect fit for me,” he said. “I basically get to help attorneys get their cases polished and perfected.”

His boss at Cockle said she had some misgivings about hiring Mr. Hopwood. It was hard to believe his story to start with, and it was really odd to see an aspiring paralegal driving around in a Mercedes.

But she called Mr. Hopwood’s references, including the former solicitor general, and was not only surprised to get right through to Mr. Waxman, but to hear his glowing endorsement of Shon. Did you catch that? Shon got through on the recommendation of a higher authority. So did the man in Luke 23. So do we.

Mr. Hopwood, who is 34, hopes to attend law at the University of Michigan. Mr. Hopwood’s personal life is looking up, too. He is married, and he and his wife had a son on Christmas Day.

A professor at Michigan who had worked with Shon in previous court cases said, “His gratitude for the quality of his life is that of someone who has come back from a near-death experience.”**

I know someone like that. Several someones. The man from Luke 23, the man who wrote what you are reading, and quite possibly the person now reading these words. Ours wasn't a "near-death" experience. It was a "true-death" experience. We were truly dead in our sins and needed the life-giving power of the blood of Jesus to make us alive to God. When you've been brought from death to life, you can't help but be grateful.

Excerpts from my favorite current writer are quite fitting here:

"The past doesn’t have to be your prison. You have a voice in your destiny. You have a say in your life. You have a choice in the path you take."

Remember this. Jesus, from the cross "saw you cast into a river of life you didn't request. He saw you betrayed by those you love. He saw you with a body that gets sick and a heart that grows weak. He saw you in your own garden of gnarled trees and sleeping friends. He saw you staring into the pit of your own failures and the mouth of your own grave. He saw you in your own garden of Gethsemane and he didn't want you to be alone ... He would rather go to hell for you than to heaven without you."***

Free Indeed,
Perry Crisp

*Baptifanity - replacement words used by Baptists instead of cusswords.
**Shon's story was published in the New York Times, February 9, 2010, and was written by Adam Liptak.
***Max Lucado

The Search is On

2010-11-04T08:46:00.000-07:00

Abel Madariaga saw his 28-year-old wife, Silvia, being forced into a car by Argentine army officers on January 17, 1977. That was the last time he saw his pregnant wife. Silvia, a victim of evil politics as part of the 1976-1983 "dirty war" against political dissidents, was kidnapped and killed after giving birth. Some Argentinian rights groups believe that about 400 children were stolen at birth during this time from women who endured the same fate as Silvia.

Abel made it his life's ambition to find out what happened to his wife and child. When Argentina returned to democratic control, Abel lobbied the government to create a DNA database and dedicate judicial resources to the effort.

Abel's efforts paid off. After years of searching, he was able to find out what happened to his wife, though the details were sketchy and heartbreaking. Abel learned that his wife, Quintela, gave birth to their son in July of 1977 while imprisoned in a notorious torture center in Buenos Aires. The newborn, whom the couple had planned to name Francisco, was taken from his mother the day after he was born. Quintela was never seen again.

Abel's son, with umbilical cord still attached, was taken by a military intelligence officer, Victor Gallo, to his own home and his own wife, Ines. They named him Alejandro Ramiro Gallo and never told him anything about the circumstances of his birth or his adoption. But Francisco knew that something wasn't right. He never felt that he belonged to the Gallo family. He looked nothing like his brother and sister.

The marriage between Victor and Ines didn't last. Victor was a violent man. As the Gallo family fell apart, Francisco found a way out as a professional juggler touring Europe. Meanwhile, Victor Gallo was convicted of murdering a couple and their child during a robbery in 1994 and was sentenced to prison for ten years.

Eventually, Francisco worked up the courage to confront his "adoptive" mother, Ines. She broke down and told him what she knew. She didn't know who his parents were or where Victor got him. But she told the young man she knew and loved as her son, Alejandro, that he had been adopted. The news was a welcome relief to the increasing doubts that had haunted Francisco.

Francisco forgave Ines and the two of them determined together that they would try to find Francisco's family. Finally, some friends encouraged Francisco to get a blood test. On February 3, 2010, over 33 years after his mother was kidnapped, Francisco's blood was sent for DNA testing to a database set up by his own father, Abel Madariaga. A couple of weeks later, the DNA results arrived.

The test results told Francisco that Victor and Ines Gallo were not his parents. Gallo was not his real name. His real name was Madariaga and his father, Abel, was alive and searching for him. On Friday, February 19th, 2010, father and son embraced for the first time.

"When he came through the door that night, we recognized each other totally," said Abel to a large gathering of media cameras and microphones. "The hug that brought us together was spectacular. Hugging him that first time, it was as if I filled a hole in my soul," he said.

At age 59, Abel had never stopped believing that he would one day find his child. For 33 years, he searched the faces in the streets of Argentina, hoping to see his son.

At another news conference, Francisco, who had learned his real name only a few days earlier, said, "For the first time, I know who I was. Who I am."

The only time Francisco stopped smiling during the news conference was when the name Alejandro, given to him by the Gallos, was mentioned. Francisco stopped smiling and said, "Never again will I use that name. To have your identity is the most beautiful thing there is."

My soul identifies with the life story of Francisco Madariaga. Something inside me was missing. I wasn't complete. I wasn't whole. I was filled with holes.

Then I met the Father who never stopped searching for me. The Father who created a means by which I could find the identity He purposed for me. It wasn't through a blood test, but through a blood gift. He and His Son created a plan to help me find my way home. He gave His own Son as a willing sacrifice and substitute to purchase my invitation to come home.

Like Francisco, I now know who I am. I have my identity. I'm a child of God through faith in Jesus Christ, His Son. And I must agree with Francisco -- to have my identity is the most beautiful thing there is.

I must also agree with Abel -- the holes in my soul have been filled.

Home Where I Belong,
Perry Crisp

Open For Business

2010-10-11T08:30:00.000-07:00

A mysterious stranger arrived at a New England seaport town from somewhere across the ocean. He opened an office with a sign that simply read, "Recovery of Lost Things." At first, no one entered the stranger's office, but everyone was curious.

The stranger put an ad in the paper to further explain his business, "I will help you find anything you have lost." The explanation did not satisfy all.

"So he's a detective?" asked one villager. His question received only shrugs of uncertainty.

Yet, the explanation was enough for a woman who had lost a great deal of money. She slipped into the stranger's office under cover of night. A few nights later, another person asked for the stranger's help because he had lost his great-grandfather's Bible.

Eventually, many of the villagers felt drawn to this stranger. The more comfortable they felt with him, the more they truly opened up to him about other "things" they had lost. An aging lady with wrinkles and sadness wept before the stranger, yearning to recover the beauty of her younger days. A young man of barely twenty was filled with regret and asked the stranger if he could help him get his innocence back.

After a few weeks, the stranger sat in his office late one night with a list of grand requests:
1. Bring back opportunities that were missed.
2. Restore tarnished reputations.
3. Replace sadness with joy forfeited long ago.
4. Renew relationships destroyed by selfishness, hatred, pride, and greed.
5. Resurrect loved ones buried both recently and long ago. Many asked only for one final moment to express feelings of love, or to apologize for things said or things not said.
6. Return the accolades, fame, popularity and praise of years past that has now faded and been replaced with continual silence.
7. Remove the effects of aging, smoking, drinking, and hard living and restore health, fitness, and vibrance.
8. Replace bitterness, emptiness, loneliness, and callousness with love, joy, forgiveness, and peace.

The stranger shook his head in disbelief. He only meant to help others find lost luggage, cargo, or other tangible items left behind on nearby ships. Yet, just as these hurting souls felt drawn to him to express the loss of their truest valuables, he felt the depth of their pain, listened to their requests without clarifying his intentions, and assured each one, "I will do everything I can."

He became a praying man, a compassionate man, a broken man, and a man of great understanding concerning the importance of valuing relationships and redeeming the time.

These requests were neither returned nor recovered by the mysterious man. But at least the longing of each visitor to his office was addressed. At least the pain was confessed. At least someone listened. Someone cared.

What each villager did not know was the trail of pain and heartache from which this stranger from across the ocean had fled. He came to their village to escape. Each of their longings reflected the longings of his own heart. His wife had died giving birth to their first child. The child followed his mother into eternity an hour behind her. He dealt with the pain of his loss with great anger and drunkenness. He boarded a ship with his few possessions in hopes of getting away from the painful memories. Upon arrival at the village, the ship's crew could not find some of the belongings he had stored below deck.

As the weeks turned into years, many who had once visited his office met him along the sidewalk or in the market. They met him with smiles, hugs, handshakes, and expressions of gratitude. With renewed hope and lifted spirits, they thanked him for all he had done. What had he done?

Only what each of us can do for one another. He gave them permission to grieve, promised to get involved, and prayed on behalf of their woundings. He did so unwittingly. We can do so intentionally. In helping others with their wounds, he found healing for his own.

This morning, let's go into business together. You grab a hammer and a nail. I'll hold the shingle above our business door that says, "Recovery of Lost Things."

Perry Crisp

Doggone?

2010-09-15T12:07:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, we had an outdoor expo at Lake Fork Baptist Church. Among the many activities over the weekend, we were blessed with three performances of Hank Hough and his Amazing Dogs (www.kingdomdog.com).

The dogs truly were amazing. Hank wasn't bad either. At the 1 o'clock show last Saturday, we gave away an AKC Registered Lab puppy (valued at $600) named Lucy. Hank and his dogs visited some of the area schools on Friday and we promoted the puppy giveaway to hundreds of children.

There was a big crowd at Lake Fork Baptist at 1 o'clock Saturday. Lots of little boys and girls were praying to win the puppy while quite a few moms and dads were praying NOT to win a puppy! But this wasn't just ANY puppy. This was Lucy.

Lucy is a black lab puppy that stole all of our hearts with her sweet, gentle disposition. Lucy was given to us by a generous donor who believed in what we were doing. We received Lucy on July 29th, but the Expo wasn't until September 11th. Someone had to take Lucy in and care for her for 45 days.

Bob and Charlotte Orr took Lucy into their home. Lucy took the Orr's into her heart and snuck into theirs, too. Bob was the overall team leader of the Expo. He didn't have to take on this additional responsibility. But the burden of caring for a pet melted away and quickly became a labor of love. Lucy became a part of their family.

As the Expo drew near, we were able to secure twin yellow lab puppies a little younger than Lucy. They were both AKC Registered from a great bloodline as well. We had planned on giving one puppy away at the 1 o'clock dog show and another puppy away at a men's dinner, but now we had three puppies.

The temptation was strong for the Orr's to celebrate the addiontal dog and keep Lucy for themselves. But they decided to give all three puppies away. They began to pray for Lucy to be given to a little boy or girl who would love her, play with her, and be able to afford the best care for her.

September 11th came and the Orr's were overextended with all the duties of the Expo events. They were physically exhausted. But more than anything else, they were emotionally exhausted. It was a gut-wrenching day because they knew Lucy would be given away. They wanted her to go to the "best person" possible. They prayed to that end over and over all morning.

Charlotte sat on the back row as the drawing for Lucy took place. I could tell she was praying. I could tell she was struggling.

Finally, the name of the winner was called out. We all knew the name. We know the boy who won Lucy very well because he is at church every time the doors are opened. He and his brother started visiting Lake Fork Baptist about a year ago. A retired couple in our church invited them, picked them up from their small home, and brought them every Sunday and Wednesday.

These two boys didn't have much in the way of earthly possessions, but they certainly had a way of grabbing our hearts. We have helped the family with food and clothes, but not because they asked or expected it. We saw the need and wanted to help.

The boy who won Lucy was the first of their family to invite Christ into his heart. He was saved in the fall of 2009. A short time later, his brother accepted Christ, too. Both boys were baptized together on a Sunday night. Their dad and grandparents came to the baptism. We presented the good news of God's plan of salvation the night of their baptism and we began praying for the boys' dad and grandparents.

This past Easter, our children's department put on a play written by one of our church members. Those two boys were in the play. Their dad was at church again to see his sons in the play. The children in the play shared God's plan of salvation with the audience as clearly as I've ever heard it. They even led the congregation in a prayer to receive Christ. When the play was over, I reminded the congregation of that prayer and led them in it again.

After the play was over and the kids were taking down the set and removing their costumes, I was on the platform trying not to get run over by all the excited children when the dad of those two boys walked up onto the platform, shook my hand, smiled, and said, "I prayed that prayer just now."

We hugged and cried and I began to look for his boys. They had already made their way to the Family Life Center to eat ice cream. Their dad and I went looking for them. We found both boys and their dad told them that he had just accepted Christ as his Savior.

Both boys smiled real big. The boy who won Lucy pumped his fists and said, "Yes!" He told me time and time again that his dad was going to get saved because he had been praying for him. He was right.

We all know the boy who won Lucy. We know his family. We know their financial struggles. We've helped them. We've prayed for their dad to get a job and God gave him a job. The dad has become quite a testimony. He tells people they ought to come to Lake Fork Baptist because "those people will love you no matter what."

Before the Expo and just before the 1 o'clock show, many of us heard that boy say, "I'm gonna win the puppy." We just smiled and patted him on the head. When his name was called, there were quite a few jaws that dropped. But not his. His arms went straight into the air and he did the same fist-pumping motion he did when his dad got saved. He ran onto that stage as quick as lightning, fell on his knees, and wrapped his arms around Lucy. It was a sweet embrace.

I must admit, I had my concerns that the boy and the family would be able to afford to provide the care Lucy needed. Charlotte was more than a little concerned about the same thing. She was confused and upset. Not because of anything she had against this boy or his family. Not at all. She was concerned that they wouldn't be able to take care of Lucy. Quite frankly, Lucy had it made at the Orr's. She lived there in a beautiful home in a beautiful neighborhood with lots of neighbors who had dogs who were well cared for. To know the Orr's is to know that Lucy was loved and cared for by the sweetest of people.

After a couple of days of personal mourning, anguish, and prayer, Charlotte and Bob decided to buy Lucy some food and medicine and take it to her. They called the Children's Minister and asked her to go with them to Lucy's new home so they could see Lucy and take her the food and medicine. The Children's Minister agreed to go with them. Charlotte then called the number where Lucy now lives and spoke with the boys' grandmother to get permission to come by on Thursday (tomorrow).

I'll let Charlotte tell the rest from an email I received from her this morning:

"My conversation with her (the grandmother) is one I will never forget. She said that today started with she and the grandson and Lucy on the front porch waiting for the school bus. Lucy's new proud owner got on the bus after saying good-bye to Lucy and her tail was just wagging. After the bus left, her tail quit wagging. She was already missing him. When her new owner came home she (Lucy) was so excited to see him. They were playing with her when I called. We had told the boy who won Lucy that Lucy needs to go out in the morning by 6:30 am . The grandmother said her grandson cannot normally get up in the mornings, but now he gets up at 6:15 am , gets dressed, and takes Lucy out. He also takes her out at 9:00 pm before he goes to bed. Lucy has not had an accident in their home. I told her we would see her Thursday and she said ok. I hung up the phone and told Bob the conversation and we both cried."

Charlotte then came to the following conclusions: "God knew what He was doing when that boy’s name was drawn. All the 'things' that we all have do not generate the most important thing and that is Love. I am convinced that the boy who won Lucy loves Lucy. The family may not have a lot of 'things', but when I hung up the phone I knew that Lucy was cared for and loved. I have cried most of today and I have had many talks with God. I prayed and asked Him to take care of Lucy and He did. I tried to control the situation and all the time God was in control. I know this, but I continued to try to help Him. Only now have I given everything back to God."

Charlotte knows that the family will need help with Lucy because the food, medicine, and veterinarian bills can get costly, so she has started the “LUCY SOCIETY’ to help provide for her and to give whatever help she can to a truly needy family.

After reading Charlotte's email and wiping away a ton of tears, I began thinking about all of these events. Things we often can't see when prayers aren't answered "our way" can become clear when we give them up to God and trust that He knows what He is doing.

Maybe God's plan is two-fold: 1) To let Lucy love a young boy who will return her unconditional love. Anyone who knows this little boy knows his heart is filled to overflowing with love. 2) To find a way -- a way named Lucy -- to help us truly get involved in helping a needy family. Yes, we have already helped them in the past. But have we loved them like God loves them? Have we gone the second mile? Has God sent this family to us as an example of how His love for us should be imitated by us toward them?

There's a deeper meaning -- a parable, if you will -- for all of us in the story of Lucy and the boy she loves.

Wiping doggone - correction - dogSHARED tears because Lucy is shared, not gone.

A MUST Read

2010-08-25T10:36:00.000-07:00

What if I'm right?

In an instant, the levy broke. It wasn't a slight breach. It was a wide, gaping break that emptied an entire lake in a matter of hours. Within minutes, a wall of water forced its way over and through trees, homes, streets, and towns. The water was so powerful, trees snapped and houses crumbled and disappeared. Dozens of people were swept away in an instant.

Dozens. Not hundreds. Not thousands. Dozens. The dozens swept away were the ones who refused to believe the warnings and heed the voluntary and eventual mandatory, evacuations. The Corps of Engineers had warned the public of the likelihood of a pending breach or even complete failure of the levy. Warnings and precautions had been public for three months. Officials went door to door insisting that residents evacuate.

Many heeded the warnings and evacuated. Some who evacuated early decided the authorities were wrong and snuck back into their homes after a month or two. Others grew impatient and held rallies in their towns to protest the evacuations, angrily shouting insults at the public officials and engineers who kept them from returning to their homes.

Then the levy broke.

Just as the engineers predicted, the water runoff from the rain miles away from the lake eventually made its way to the lake and increased the already tremendous pressure on the weakening levy, and it broke open with the same force as if detonated by a bomb.

Dozens died instantly. The anger of those who once protested the intrusion of the evacuation turned to tears of sorrow, disbelief, humility, and gratitude. Those who had been the objects of constant verbal assaults comforted and cried today with those who had cursed them yesterday.

Once the initial force of the water passed and left the area flooded, rescue teams manned dozens of boats and several helicopters to search for those who might have survived. The helicopter pilots guided the rescue boats to people in trees, on rooftops, and hilltops. The "eye in the sky" (via radio communication) also warned of unsafe areas so that the rescue boats would not get swept away in dangerous currents or their motors entangled in power lines. The results of the search were not as positive as everyone had hoped. Less than twenty people were rescued.

One rescue boat came upon a man in a boat tied to a tree. When the waters initially swept the man from his front porch, he managed to grab onto a tree limb and hold on. Within an hour, an empty boat came floating toward him. He swam to it and climbed inside. He drove the boat around for a while, but could not tell where he was. Afraid of running out of gas or getting completely lost, he tied the boat to a tree and waited for help.

The rescuers pulled their smaller boat next to his and instructed him to get into their boat, but he refused. "This boat saved my life and I'm gonna keep it," he insisted. The rescuers tossed the man a rope and told him to tie it to his boat so that they wouldn't get separated. He tossed the rope back to them, shook his head, and motioned for them to go on. He would follow.

He followed. For a little while. Apparently, the man eventually recognized where he was. Once he got his bearings, he sped up, passed the slower rescue boat, and took off. The rescuers shouted and tried to wave at him to stop, but he kept going. They tried to catch him, but he was quickly gone. A rescue helicopter followed above him for a few minutes, but lost him in the trees.

Two hours later, the helicopter pilot spotted the man's boat. The hull was severely compromised. Water filled the boat. The man was nowhere in sight. His body was found a week later.

As sad as this story is, it reaches infinitely greater depths of sadness when you realize it is a modern-day parable of those who refuse to heed the teachings of Scripture; and instead, believe the popular modern-day myth that there are many paths to heaven.

I believe the Bible is the true Word of God with the same depth of conviction that you believe oxygen is vital to the survival of your body. I believe what Jesus said when He said, "I am THE way, THE truth, and THE life. NO ONE comes to the Father, but by Me" (John 14:6). Jesus, in His own words, excludes Himself from the argument that there are many ways to heaven.

I believe Acts 4:12, "Nor is there salvation in ANY other, for there is NO OTHER NAME under heaven given among MEN by which we MUST be saved."

I believe what the Bible reveals. And the Bible doesn't argue about it. It states it as fact. Jesus said He's coming back and this world will one day end. I believe Him. The signs provided in the Bible to help us know when the end time is drawing near have never been more contemporary than they are now. The end could be closer than any of us realize. The levy is swelling.

Jesus said there is a heaven and there is a place of eternal torment called "Hell" and I believe Him. I also believe HIS description of hell over your favorite joke or country song about hell. There will be no partying. There will be no friends. There will be no escape.

Back to my first question: What if I'm right?

What if Jesus IS the only way? What if God gave us ONE way and the devil manufactured twenty alternatives to deceive those who preferred a different way than God's way? What if the Bible is 100% accurate?

What if I'm right?

I know what you're thinking at this point: What if the narrow-minded, holier than thou preacher is dead WRONG? Good question. What if I'm wrong? That would mean you are right.

What if YOU'RE right and there are many ways to God and/or heaven? Then I've lost nothing and gained everything. In that case, I am ON one of the so-called "many ways" to heaven. Why do I feel like I've gained everything? I have lived as both a non-Christian and a Christian, and I'll take the Christian life of joy, peace, grace, forgiveness, and love over the life of emptiness, ambiguity, uncertainty, emotional-roller-coaster-living ANY DAY...even if I'm wrong. But I know I'm not. How do I know? Faith. Faith confirmed daily. I know because I know Him experientially.

What if I'M right and you're wrong? You lose everything and gain an eternity in hell. Your shouts of anger and defamatory name-calling toward those of us who are trying to help you find the truth in Jesus place you in the parable as those who foolishly rally against and curse the ones who have saved your life before you realize it. If I'm right, then your perception of my intentions toward you are wrong. If I'm right, you might also be the man in the boat who felt he had a superior boat and knew a better way to safety only to find out that the other ways lead to disaster. If I'm right, I'm in contact with the "Eye in the Sky" who is trying to lead you in the right way.

Shouldn't that be a sobering enough thought to send you into an honest inquiry of the truth about Jesus? Not a quick googling of websites that agree with your presuppositions and prop up your opinions. I'm asking you to take an honest heart journey. I'm challenging you to drop your argumentative anger and face the issues of your soul without bias.

If I'm right, or even have a ten percent chance of being right in your mind, then what would it be worth to you to find out? And if YOU are so right, why not take my challenge, read the Bible, attend an evangelical church faithfully for a few months, and listen. Really listen. Not just to what the preacher says. Listen to what you hear inside your heart.

One more sobering question for you to think about today: If there were many ways to God and/or heaven, why would Jesus claim otherwise, and then believe it enough to die for it, knowing that man could reach God through lesser means? In other words, there's no wiggle room. You have to decide whether Jesus was/is the Son of God or whether He was a misinformed, delusional liar.

I'm just a man in a boat who is in contact with an eye in the sky who knows the way. And I'm begging you...

...please take the rope.

Perry Crisp

Ya Reckon?

2010-07-28T09:51:00.000-07:00

Bobby crouched behind a thicket of bushes in the southeast Texas woods, waiting for his target to appear. He heard the crunching of leaves and twigs to his south and waited to see if it was an animal or his enemy approaching. Armadillos make a great racket in the woods, but not nearly as much as an eight-year-old boy.

This was the sound of an eight-year-old boy. Bobby lifted his rifle -- a wooden stick to an adult observer -- but a sniper's rifle to a boy's imagination. Within seconds, a skinny, blonde-haired eight-year-old boy wearing only cut-off jeans came into Bobby's line of fire.

As Bobby squeezed the invisible trigger, he yelled, "Pow, pow, pow, pow!" (Imaginary rifles require vocal sound effects).

Bobby's enemy ducked behind a tree, apparently unharmed.

"I shot you! You're dead!" shouted Bobby.

"Nu- uh! You missed! I dodged your bullets before they could get here!" I shouted back. (Yes, I was the noisy eight-year-old playing army in the woods between Bobby's house and mine. And yes, I've had an overactive imagination all my life...but I really was fast, so he DID miss).

The argument continued. He claimed victory. I claimed stealth. He said I was dead. I said I was alive. The war within the war was never settled.

So it is with the soul and flesh of the believer. The soul tells the flesh to die. Sometimes the flesh dies, but dies slowly; like a black-hatted cowboy in an old western movie who's just been shot. Sometimes the defeated flesh should just go ahead and die, but won't; like a white-hatted cowboy in the same movie who's been shot four times center mass and calls it a flesh wound. But most of the time, the flesh dies like J. R. Ewing: Dead for a season, but makes a comeback.

The Bible tells the believer to die to his old sinful nature. A new nature is in town. "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new" (2 Corinthians 5:17, NKJV).

"But you are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God dwells in you. Now if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he is not His. And if Christ is in you, the body is dead because of sin, but the Spirit is life because of righteousness" (Romans 8:9-10, NKJV).

Good stuff. What does it mean? Perhaps an imaginative translation will help: "So don't you see that we don't owe this old do-it-yourself life one red cent. There's nothing in it for us, nothing at all. The best thing to do is give it a decent burial and get on with your new life" (Romans 8:9-10, The Message).

Earlier, Paul wrote, "Reckon yourselves to be dead indeed to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 6:11, NKJV).

If ever a truth were a challenge, this is it. How do I "reckon" myself to be dead? The principle is solid. The fact is, from heaven's perspective, what Jesus did on the cross buried sin's power to destroy us. But we need to transition from principle to practice. How?

First of all, it may surprise you to know that this kind of thinking is psychologically sound. What we think usually translates into conduct. The thought gives birth to the act. But it isn't mechanical. It can't be ritual. There's no going through the motions or chanting a magical set of words. You have to truly desire to be free from sin and alive to the desires and wishes of God for your life.

Being dead to sin and alive to Christ must become the constant conviction of your heart and mind. Everything you think, do, and say must sift through the filter of this truth. You are no longer what you used to be.

"Sin speaks a dead language that means nothing to you; God speaks your mother tongue, and you hang on every word. You are dead to sin and alive to God" (Romans 6:11, The Message).

Let's go literal for a minute. As a pastor, I've stood beside the casket of many a brother and sister in Christ. I've seen the families of the deceased lean over caskets and whisper words of affection and faith. Nothing ever said, no amount of dripping tears ever shed, have altered the reaction of the deceased. It isn't that the deceased is deaf, blind, or uncaring. He's dead. Conscious elsewhere? Absolutely. The soul lives on. Conscious of earthly noise? Nada. A twenty-one gun salute in a cemetery disturbs none of its occupants.

Oh, that we could respond to temptation's noise the same way!

Paul's words in Romans 6 are strengthened by Paul's words in Colossians 3: "If then you were raised with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ is, sitting at the right hand of God. Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth. For YOU DIED and your life is hidden with Christ in God" (3:1-3).

A Christian is camouflaged in Christ. Time means nothing in heaven. So when God sees the Christian, He sees the result of Christ's death, burial, and resurrection. From heaven's view, I died when Christ died. His victorious resurrection was mine, too.

I Reckon So,
Perry Crisp

It Pains Me to Say This...

2010-07-14T08:41:00.000-07:00

"There shall be no more pain" (Revelation 21:4). I have no fondness for pain. Not a single happy painful memory. Sure, good things have often risen out of pain. But neither the pain itself nor the memory of it bring a smile.

Jesus said we will always have the poor with us. The same is true of pain. Pain is always at hand. If not our own, then someone we know. Can you think of someone you know right now who is suffering? I can.

A grieving family a few miles north of me struggles with a pain I cannot imagine -- the drowning death of their three-year-old son.

A dear couple in our church family brought a sack of fresh vegetables from their garden to give to their daughter yesterday...only to be met at the door by the son-in-law saying, "When I tried to wake her up this morning, she was dead."

Parents burying their children flies high off the pain chart.

We know where pain originated. Genesis. The book of beginnings tells us. Adam, Eve, and the serpent had the first committee meeting in human history and decided one of God's rules was suspect. They decided God didn't have their best interests at heart, so they deliberately dined on a forbidden fruit.

God punished each of them with pain. The serpent's mode of transportation went from whatever it was to belly-crawling. If you don't think that's painful, try it. Along with the belly-crawling, the serpent's sin earned him dust-eating and head-crushing.

The woman's punishment was two-fold: Greatly multiplied sorrow and pain when having children, and having to submit to the authority of the dumber of the two genders. Why childbirth? Probably for more significant reasons than I, the dumber of the genders, will ever know. But childbirth had not yet occurred in human history. Chapter 4 of Genesis hadn't been written yet. So, childbirth, the next event in Adam and Eve's lives, was going to be more unbearable (pat yourself on the back if you recognized the pun) than originally planned.

The man obviously took one for the team when the punishment was handed out, though. One could argue that the woman's punishment would be enough for both genders due to the fact that the woman's punishment would naturally be transferred onto the man. Thus, the phrase, "If momma ain't happy, nobody's happy" was born.

Not only that, a man standing next to a woman during the birthing process, FEELS her pain if he is dumb enough to be within reach of her fingernails or teeth. We usually are. One bite has led to a billion more. The woman's second punishment lands in the man's lap as well. Things like heavy sighing, rolling of the eyes, tapping of the foot, hands on the hips, etc., have all evolved from this punishment.

But wait...there's more! For the man. Man had to go out and work the uncooperative fields. The woman and kids needed food. Food came from the ground. But the ground was as cooperative as the clamped jaws of a baby refusing a spoonful of medicine. Thorns, thistles and sweat awaited the man every day until he dropped dead.

Pain.

Isn't it interesting that the Bible introduces us to pain's birth in the first book and then points to pain's death in the last book? "There shall be no more pain."

What happened between Genesis and Revelation that led to the promise of a future in heaven without pain? The answer is not a what, but a who...

Jesus.

Jesus happened.

Genesis even predicted Jesus would happen. When God was doling out the serpent's punishment, He said, "I will put enmity between you (serpent) and the woman, and between your seed and her Seed; He (Jesus) shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise His heel" (Genesis 3:15, parenthesis mine).

Seems to me the winner of that battle is the one with the bruised heel. My, what a bruise it was. Are you with me? Between the birth of pain in Genesis to the death of pain in Revelation, Jesus was born.

Jesus was born.

The cure came via the curse.

Jesus came to pay the price for the sin of humanity. He gathered up all the rotten apple cores that have ever fallen from the sin-dripping lips of mankind, toted them to the cross, and paid for them with His life. Through pain.

More pain than any human has ever known. Through His own excruciating pain, He paid sin's penalty with His pure life's blood. The pain was meant for us, yet He stepped between it and us and took it upon Himself.

We still feel pain. Though the penalty has been paid, though forgiveness has been settled, we still live with pain...for now. But there is coming a day when there will be no more pain.

That's something worth knowing. And worth sharing.

Advil until then...
Perry Crisp

A Man Four All Seasons

2010-07-07T09:22:00.000-07:00

A man had four sons. He wanted them to learn not to judge things -- or people -- too quickly. So he sent them each on a quest, one at a time, to go and look at a pear tree that was a great distance away. Each son was to view the same tree.

The first son went in the winter, the second in the spring, the third in the summer, and the youngest son in the fall. When they had all completed their individual journeys to the pear tree, the father called his sons together to hear a description of what each one had seen.

The first son said that the tree was ugly, bent, and twisted. The second son quickly disagreed, "No! It was covered with green buds and full of promise." The third son corrected the second as he described a tree that was laden with blossoms, sweet-smelling, and beautiful. "It was the most graceful thing I have ever seen," he said. The last son disagreed with all of them. He described the tree as ripe and drooping with fruit, full of life and fulfillment.

The father explained to his sons that they were all correct because they had each seen but ONLY one season in the tree's life. He told them that you cannot judge a tree, or a person, by only one season. "The essence of who you are -- and the pleasure, joy, and love that come from your life -- can only be measured at the end, when all the seasons are fulfilled."

If you give up when it's winter, you'll miss the promise of your spring, the beauty of your summer, and the fulfillment of your fall. Don't let the pain of one season destroy the joy of all the rest. Don't judge your life by one difficult season. Persevere through the difficult patches. Better times are sure to come in time.*

What season of life are you in? There are more than four seasons of the soul. How would you describe this season of your life? Productive, blossoming, barren, dry... There are so many options. I can assure you, there is no way to avoid occasional harsh winters. But there is a way to enhance, lengthen, and strengthen the feeling of spring in the roots of your soul.

"His delight is in the law of the Lord (the Bible), and in His law he meditates day and night. He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf also shall not wither; and whatever he does shall prosper" (Psalm 1:2-3).

Allow your soul to drink from the Fountain of Life that is the Word of God and feast on the Bread of Life who is the Son of God, Jesus Christ.

I've never stayed at the Four Seasons, but I've lived a few of them,
Pear-y

*Adapted from "Seasons of Life." Author unknown.

Seeing Triangles

2010-06-30T09:08:00.000-07:00

Three Old Testament passages completed a triangle in my heart as I studied the Bible this morning. When all three came together, I felt a significant peace. But not until I saw them side by side.

Something was there, but I didn't understand it until I saw the three passages next to each other. Let's see if you see it.

Genesis 39:2, "The Lord was with Joseph."

Psalm 46:1, "God is...a very present help in trouble."

Jeremiah 29:13, "And you will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart."

Do you see it? "The Lord WAS." "God IS." "You WILL."

Past. Present. Future.

That's MY story. That's YOUR story. That's OUR story. A story the way it should be and could be written, if only we would let go and believe.

PAST. "The Lord was with Joseph" becomes huge when you know Joe's story. He was loved by his father, but hated by his brothers. He had a lot of brothers, so there was plenty of hate to go around. Some of his brothers wanted to kill him. Others just wanted to dump him in a hole and leave him for dead. But Joseph had just enough brothers that one of them planned to come back later and get him out of the hole. Then again, Joseph had just enough brothers that one of them wanted to make a profit off of him. So, they agreed to sell their brother as a slave.

Joseph went from being a treasured son to a dust-eating slave dragged behind a caravan of foreigners and eventually sold at First Monday Trade Days in Egypt. That is when the Bible says, "The Lord was with Joseph."

In spite of your past, God is with you. In spite of your pain, God is with you. In spite of all wounds, self-inflicted or otherwise, God is with you. No matter who you are, what you've done, what's been done to you, or where you've been, you can rise above your beginnings. God can make a masterpiece out of the ashes of your past. God can help you build a new bridge to a new life and new relationships even when you have done your best to burn all bridges.

Have you been rejected? So was Joseph. Have you discovered that the people you thought loved you really didn't? So did Joseph. But "the Lord was with Joseph." Those words change everything! With God, yesterday doesn't have to poison tomorrow. Take your focus off of those who hurt or mistreated you. Put your focus on the God who never will.

PRESENT. "God is...a very present help in trouble." Don't buy the lie. Becoming a Christian doesn't turn you into a problem-free, unsinning saint who never has a bad day, a bad thought, bad breath, or never makes a bad decision. Becoming a Christian means Christ has forgiven you of your sins and moved into your life. He will never leave you nor forsake you.

You ARE going to mess up. You ARE going to find your way to an occasional pit of trouble. God IS a very present help when you do. Pit-dwelling doesn't have to be permanent when you know a guy with a rope. God has the rope, the strength, and the desire to pull you out if you will call out to Him.

When you do mess up, Satan is going to quickly write out your grade, and it will be an "F." The devil loves giving out "F's" to Christians:

"You Failed! That makes you a Failure!"

"How can you call yourself a Christian?"

"God is going to drop you like a hot potato now that you've done that!"

But God doesn't. He is a VERY PRESENT HELP! When your clock strikes "trouble" or "failure" or any other point on the darkest hours of your life, God is very present. When God says He will never leave you, believe it. You might FEEL abandoned because guilt says you deserve it. But the opposite is true. At that very moment, you are more than ever the object of His love, concern, and attention.

FUTURE. "And you will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart." There is no greater guarantee. There is no greater Guarantor. It is so simple, yet we so often miss it. Our future, yours and mine, is as great as our ability to pursue God honestly. Tell God all that is in your heart. Tell Him your troubles, your dreams, your weaknesses, your wounds, your prejudices, your shallow fears, and your deep thoughts. Open up and let it out.

He doesn't listen only to King James prayers filled with lofty oratory. In fact, He may not liketh those very much. He listens to the crying kid in us who needs Dad to protect him, love him, accept him, and guide him. Ohhhh, how He loves childlike prayers!

So there you have it. The triangle completed. God was with us. God is with us. God will be with us. I can face the day and sleep through the night with that in my heart. Can't you?

Triangled by God,
Perry Crisp

Bleeve It!

2010-06-16T07:39:00.000-07:00

"As you have believed, so let it be done for you" (Matthew 8:13). And so often it is.

These words of Jesus were for a specific situation where a man with an ailing servant asked Jesus to intervene. Jesus commended the man's faith as the best faith He'd seen, even among the Israelites.

But even outside of that context, Jesus' words bring a universal truth to light: As you have believed, let it be done for you.

Some people say we get what we pay for. But then I see my tax dollars at work and beg to differ. By watching today's children in Wal-Mart, I'm tempted to think we get what we cry for. In our miserable excuse for a justice system, it appears we get what we sue for. At the doctor's office, we get what we are insured for...sometimes. In politics, we get what someone else was bribed for.

But honestly...don't we so often get what we "faith" for? The hypochondriac's tombstone reads, "I told you I was sick" for a reason. What we believe impacts what we receive. (I'm going to type that sentence again in it's own paragraph and I'm going to type slow because I want you to see it and let it sink in).

What we believe impacts what we receive.

And what we believe is not always what we say we believe. Church folk love to hear a good message on a variety of subjects they have no desire to practice. Many "a-mens" on Sunday are not followed through on Monday. "Name it and claim it" is not nearly as effective as "Believe it and step toward it." Most churches are where they want to be right now, not where they SAY they want to be. As we have believed, thus it is being done.

Everywhere God shines light, the devil makes shadow puppets to shed a little darkness over the truth. So every time Jesus tells us of the simplicity of faith and the greatness that can be accomplished if we would only believe, the devil brings in his red-suited lawyers to pick truth apart with deception and lies.

This devotional is done, but our meditation on this truth from Jesus should stay stamped upon our minds for a long time: "As you have believed, so let it be done for you."

You have an outstanding chance of receiving tomorrow what you believe today.

"And his servant was healed THAT SAME HOUR..." (same verse)... I guess Jesus was telling the truth, eh?

What you believe can happen can happen,
Perry Crisp

Little Debbie

2010-06-10T07:53:00.000-07:00

Debbie T. returned to her one bedroom apartment with the words "four to six months" boldly emblazened into her mind. A few weeks earlier, a shadow appeared on one of her test results. That shadow, her doctor discovered, was a fast-growing form of cancer. Deb was faced with the news that she had only a few months to live.

Deb had lived her life without really giving her own eventual demise much thought. Now, it was all she thought about. "But it was just a shadow," she kept repeating through her tears. "How can a shadow kill?"

Eventually, Deb began to take inventory of her life. She looked at herself and her situation. She was a divorced, 57 year-old woman with no children. Her parents had both died before she was 50. Her sister, twelve years ahead of her chronologically, was now 50 years behind her mentally and emotionally, spending her remaining years in a care facility for alzheimer patients. Deb worked as a cashier at a small, family-owned grocery store in rural Louisiana since her divorce fourteen years ago.

The first phone call she made was to her boss, Randy. Through her tears, Deb let Randy know that she would not be coming back to work. In spite of his many efforts to find out why she was crying and quitting her job, Randy soon heard the line go dead. A strange, illogical fear kept Deb from telling anyone that she was dying. It was as if, by saying it aloud, it would make it true.

The second phone call Deb made came two days later. She called her bank to find out how much money she had in her checking and savings accounts. The amount surprised her. She had hoped to have enough money to get away for a few days. She wanted to sit on a beach and watch the sun rise and set. Instead, she had enough money to go practically anywhere she wanted for a week! Upon further investigation, she discovered a sizeable deposit into her account the previous day. Randy.

Randy and his wife and family had always been good to her. She knew she had to tell them what was going on, but she decided she would wait until she returned from her trip. She had to get away. But where? Deb wanted to see at least one place on earth that she had always dreamed of seeing before it was too late.

Deb knew what that one place was --- Hawaii! For years, she watched game shows and dreamed of being a contestant and winning a trip to Hawaii. But it had only always been a fantasy. With Randy's help, she had just enough money to get to California for a week.

A plan developed in Debbie's mind. She would go to California, get on a game show, and win a trip to Hawaii. It seemed simple enough...until she tried to apply as a contestant. The waiting lists did not fit her limited calendar. The tryouts, application forms, and the odds of being selected were not in her favor either. The only game show she could get tickets to immediately was the one she had watched all her life: "The Price is Right."

"The Price is Right" is the one game show that pulls contestants from the audience. She knew the likelihood of being selected as a contestant was a long shot. She knew the chances of winning a trip was an even greater long shot. And the odds of her winning a trip specifically to Hawaii? Just this side of "not-a-chance." But what did she have to lose? At least she would die knowing she finally took a risk on fulfilling her dreams.

To her surprise, an ad on "The Price is Right" website inviting people to be a contestant on the show had a sample contestant name tag that read, "Debra!" It was all she needed to point and click her way toward contestanthood.

With great fear and enormous butterflies in her stomach, she booked a seat in the audience and one on an airplane. She then found the big, luxurious hotel that they always advertise on the game show and booked a room for three nights. The fear of the shadow was driven away by the excitement of going to California and being in a television audience.

This was a huge step for Deb. Her flight left in four days and she didn't sleep for the next three nights. She packed and packed again a dozen times, ignoring all phone calls, emails, and knocks at the door.

Deb felt totally out of place in Los Angeles. She tried to act like a seasoned traveler, but knew she was failing miserably. In spite of her anxieties, she forced her way through LAX, baggage claim, and an unforgettable cab ride to the hotel. As she checked in at the snazziest place she had ever seen, she looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Richard Gere, only to discover that everyone was looking at her. They had obviously never seen anyone from the other "LA"!

When the door closed behind her in her immaculate hotel room, she let out a gigantic sigh of relief, flung herself onto the soft bed, and let the emotions flow. It was an odd demonstration of grief, laughter, sorrow, satisfaction, disbelief, and relief.

The next day, Debbie sat in the studio audience of "The Price is Right" with a big tag on her shirt that read, "Deb." The process of getting to her seat was all a blur. She vaguely remembered filling out paperwork and going through security, but it was mostly a fuzzy series of events that didn't find a home in her memory.

Deb enjoyed the entire show, but her name wasn't called...until the second half! "Debbie T, come on down! You're the next contestant on 'The Price is Right!'"

Deb couldn't believe it! She didn't jump up and scream. She floated down the aisle in shock. It didn't seem real. When she reached her place in the contestant line-up, tears began to flow down her cheeks. The host of the show saw the tears and tried to help her laugh it off, "Wow. She's crying. That usually only happens backstage BEFORE I go to makeup."

Everyone laughed. Everyone except Deb. She cried harder. The place went silent. Fear gripped Deb like never before. Barely discernible words crept out of her for the first time about her diagnosis and her dream. Before she could stop herself, she blubbered to a studio full of strangers what she had kept from close friends: "A shadow...cancer...four to six months...Hawaii..."

People in the audience gasped. Producers began to whisper. Deb saw their reaction. "What are you DOING?" she thought to herself. She suddenly felt foolish and alone. She ran as fast as she could out of the studio. She didn't stop running until she got to the hotel.

Deb hid in her room for the next two days until time for her flight home. She was miserable. She felt like a total failure, having stood at the plate of "the oppurtunity of a lifetime" and struck out.

When Deb entered her home, the sound of the door closing behind her seemed like the closing of the casket on her hopes and dreams. She went straight to bed and slept for ten hours. "Why wake up?" she thought to herself. "What's the point?"

Deb laid in bed staring at the ceiling fan for another hour before getting up and fixing herself some toast and coffee. She had two messages on her answering machine. One number she recognized. Randy. The other number must have been a telemarketer. She didn't recognize the area code. Deb let both messages sit and blink while she ate her breakfast and started the bathwater in the tub.

While in the tub, the unrecognized area code bounced around in her head until it finally found a home. In Deb's mind, there was almost a "ding, ding, ding" sound that went off. The area code was the same as her hotel in Los Angeles. Deb knew that she had paid her bill before leaving, so she decided to finish the relaxing bath before checking the message.

BEEP. "Debbie T? This is Adam Sandler, producer of 'The Price is Right.' Would you please give me a call? I have something I would like to discuss with you."

BEEP. "Deb? Hey, it's Randy. Listen, I need to talk to you. Can you please call me back?" BEEP.

"The Producer is calling ME?" Deb was shocked, scared, and embarrassed. She had replayed her incident on the show over in her mind ten million times and it always left a painful hole in her stomach. She knew they simply edited her out of the program and called another contestant to take her spot. So, why was Mr. Sandler calling?

Three slight raps on her apartment door jolted Deb out of her attempt to understand Mr. Sandler's message. Deb went to the door and looked through the peep hole. Randy and some man in a business suit. Both smiling.

"What do you want, Randy? And who is that with you?"

"This is Mr. Sandler, Deb," answered Randy. "He's a big Hollywood producer. Would you please let us in? We would like to talk to you."

Debbie stood silent, trying to process the situation. "I know about your cancer, Deb," said Randy. "Mr. Sandler tracked me down from the paperwork you filled out to be on the show. He told me what happened. You have nothing to be ashamed of. We know there's nothing we can do or say to change what you are facing. But please, give us a chance to change how you face it."

Tears flowed down Deb's cheeks. Her heart was broken, but her will was stubborn. "Randy," she answered. "You and your family have been so good to me. But this is something I have to deal with alone."

"I apologize for interrupting, Mrs. T," said Mr. Sandler. "If you wanted to deal with it alone, why couldn't you stop yourself from telling a theater full of strangers? I don't think 'alone' is working for you. We'd like to help if you would be kind enough to let us in so we can talk."

"You came all this way to talk to me?" Deb couldn't imagine such a thing.

"I did," answered Mr. Sandler.

A brief silence followed. With trembling hands, Deb unlocked her apartment door, opened it, and buried her face in Randy's embrace. The three of them sat in Debbie's apartment and talked briefly about her cancer, treatment options, and grim prognosis. Few conversations fill a room with as much heaviness and sadness as this one did.

But the heaviness and sadness didn't last long. Through Mr. Sandler's travel connections and sponsors, as well as sizeable donations from businesses and banks in Deb's small Louisiana community, Deb was going to Hawaii for four weeks! All expenses were paid. Reservations and flights were already booked. Randy handed her an envelope with all her ticket and hotel information and enough spending money for a family of twelve, and said, "I hope your toothbrush is still in your suitcase. You have a plane to catch tomorrow evening."

Did you catch her name? Deb T. Put them together. Debt. We all face Debbie's dilemma. We live in bodies cursed by sin and sentenced to death. The hope of our soul is to gain an envelope of grace that grants us a ticket to Heaven.

We can't earn it. Our debt is higher than our ability to pay. But there is One to whom our value is higher than our debt.

God loved us so much that He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, into the world to pay the cruel price and purchase our fare to Heaven. Jesus came all this way for YOU!

Debbie didn't go to Hawaii until she reached her hand out and accepted the envelope from Randy. Any gift involves a willing giver and a willing receiver. God has willingly given you the gift of salvation. Jesus willingly gave His blood to pay for your sin's penalty. Have you willingly, personally received that gift?

You can. Here's how: Admit to God that you have sinned against Him. No excuses. No comparisons to anyone else. Just acknowledge that you are a sinner in need of His gift of salvation. Then, ask God to forgive your sins through the sacrificial death of Jesus on the cross. Then, by an act of your will, heart, mind, and soul --- turn away from sin and turn toward the Son of God, Jesus Christ. Invite the resurrected Christ to enter and change your life forever.

Have you? If so...believe. Stand on your soul's liberty through the promises of God's Word, the Bible, that you are forgiven and redeemed by the blood of Jesus. You invited Him into your life by faith. Now, live by that same faith.

If you just prayed to receive God's gift of salvation through Jesus Christ, I would like to know about it so that I can pray with and for you, and help you take your next steps as a born-again child of God. Please email me and let me know of your decision. I look forward to hearing from you.

Indebted,
Perry Crisp
perryphrase@yahoo.com

School Daze

2010-05-17T07:51:00.000-07:00

Pick a grade. It doesn't matter which one. Third grade? Yep. Seventh grade? Ah-huh. Eleventh grade? That one, too. You can even count my four years of college and six years of seminary. My feelings never changed. It was always the same: I COULDN'T WAIT FOR THE BELL TO RING!

The coolest thing about school was the bell. Kids today are cheated if they don't get a real bell. Don't give them a wimpy electronic ding. Don't shortchange them with a beep or a buzz. The bell is the best! It inspires the fireman in all of us. It shoots kids out of the cannon of semi-consciousness.

When I was younger, the bell was a wonderful daily surprise. I was ADD before they had the initials, so I was lost in my own little world the first few years of first grade. But when that bell rang -- hot dog -- I sprang to action! Slam the book shut. Grab the Big Chief tablet (google it, kids) and the Green Hornet lunchbox. The bell has sounded! It's time to go home!

As I got older, I gradually learned to expect the bell. Somewhere along the way, I became a clock watcher. I knew the bell was coming. I knew WHEN it was going to ring. I'll be honest. I liked it better when I didn't know. Even the smug satisfaction of counting down the final ten seconds and synchronizing my "NOW" whisper-shout perfectly with the ringing of the bell was not as exhilerating as the former days of being surprised by the bell.

But still, the anticipation was there, even in seminary. The knowing. The waiting. Stealthily watching the clock like a professional spy without anyone knowing that I knew time was about to run out. Slowly, methodically, unnoticed, I would gather my books and my Green Hornet lunchbox (the seminary bookstore didn't sell Big Chief tablets) and lunge for the door when the bell sounded. The thrill of the bell never left. It never let me down, unless it was a fire drill. But even that had it's own adrenalyn rush.

What could be more awesome than a bell to end school? A trumpet and a high-volume shout from the sky to end the world. Oh yes. It's coming. Just as I knew the bell was coming in school, I know the trumpet will one day blast and the angel in charge of shouting will let her rip. The only thing I don't know is...when. No one knows.

A few morons guess. Jesus predicted they would. But Jesus said, "No one knows" (Matthew 24:36-37). No one knows when it will but happen. But the Bible assures us that it most definitely will happen.*

When the bell in school rang, I was always ready to go. School was not my home. School had moments of pleasure. Thank God for recess, lunch, good friends, and nice teachers. But as good as the good in school was, it couldn't compare to home.

This world is the same. It has great moments. I'm thankful for the blessings of God in this life. But this isn't home. Heaven is. I don't watch the clock because there's no clock to watch. But every once in a while, I see signs that make me think the angel in charge of trumpet blowing is about to pucker!

I'm ready. Are you?

*"The Master himself will give the command. Archangel thunder! God's trumpet blast! He'll come down from heaven and the dead in Christ will rise --- they'll go first. Then the rest of us who are still alive at the time will be caught up with them into the clouds to meet the Master. Oh, we'll be walking on air! And then there will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words" (1st Thessalonians 4:16-18, The Message).

Home is Where the Hard Is

2010-05-12T09:38:00.000-07:00

Where do you go when your life's been changed? According to Jesus, you go to the hardest place there is to live a changed life --- home.

Jesus and His disciples hopped in a boat and went across the Sea of Galilee to Gadara. They were met by an unwelcoming committee of demons who had taken up residence in a man's life. They didn't want Jesus near their man-hotel. They liked living inside him and enjoyed torturing him. But he didn't like it so much, so he ran toward Jesus for help.

He got what he hoped for. Jesus evicted the unwelcome gang of demonic thugs from the man's life and sent them into a more fitting host --- a herd of pigs.

The man who had terrorized nearby villages with his screams of demonic torture was released of that evil, and the Bible described him as "sitting and clothed and in his right mind" (Mark 5:15).

The people of the village saw the man sitting there like a normal man and it scared them. It seemed they were more afraid of him now than when he acted like a raving lunatic. People untouched by God's grace don't understand it. They don't trust it. They don't know where to put it or what to do with it. They will "amen" a sermon on grace, forgiveness, and restoration, but they will "oh me" someone they know who used to be a hellion and now claims to be permanently altered by that grace.

Some will even pretend to accept such a person with a hug, a handshake, or a wink. Yet, the wink stays permanent and becomes an attitude of --- "I'm keeping my eye on you." Which is another way of saying, "I believe God can change people, but I'm not sure God can change YOU."

The former host of the demonic tormentors knew this. He took one look at the fear and scowls on the faces of his homies and ran to Jesus a second time. This time he was hoping for a ticket on Jesus' boat so he could get far away from his hometown.

"Jesus, can I please go with you? I'm not welcome here. They won't believe that I've changed. I'll always be the ex-maniac here. They'll never trust me or accept me."

Jesus' answer is hard: "Go home to your friends, and tell them what great things the Lord has done for you, and how He has had compassion on you" (verse 19).

The hardest place to live a changed life is at home. Friends and family are the hardest people to convince that you are a new person. No one knows the old you like they do.

But Jesus knows this... If your family and friends can see a difference in you, then everyone else will, too. If it's real, it can pass even the hardest test.

My friend, the world might forever label you as a former this or that. Take heart. The world doesn't have the last word. God does. His wink is genuine. His embrace is everlasting. His home is yours forever.

He will even give you a job: "Tell them what I've done for you and how I love you."

That's change you can truly believe in!

Perry Crisp

Hi Mom!

2010-05-05T08:53:00.000-07:00

Four days from now, the land of the free and the home of the brave will turn the gratitude spotlight on the ones who make it all happen: Mom!

Seriously, moms DO make it all happen. That kid who stands at home plate swinging at and completely missing the ball on the t-ball stand today, yet hits a grand-slam tomorrow for a MLB team owes a lot to the mom who rarely missed a game, always cheered him on, and taught him to believe in himself. He becomes the hero who hears the roar of thousands cheering his name, yet when the dugout camera gets in his face, he says, "Hi mom."

The eleven-year-old girl who hears insults and name-calling from her peers today, yet walks the stage to receive an Oscar for Best Actress tomorrow didn't make the journey without a mom who was always her biggest fan and took time out of her busy schedule to attend her daughter's every play and theatrical performance. The actress begins a list of thank-you's to all the important people who made it possible. First on the list is the mom who worked two jobs to make her daughter's dreams come true.

Worthy of honor. Yes. Mom, you are worthy of honor. Search the Bible and you will find at least a dozen commands to honor, respect, and obey your mom. I find that especially significant in light of the fact that the societal and cultural times in which the Bible was written were heavily male-dominated. These were Patriarchial times with a capital P. Women simply were not honored in those days. Yet, God made it one of the Big Ten (no, not the athletic conference, the Ten Commandments). "Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you" (Exodus 20:12).

Here is my dilemma. Mom went to heaven sixteen years ago. How do I honor her? Is there a statute of limitations on this command when our mother has gone to heaven ahead of us?

I think I have figured it out. It wasn't that hard. Whether your mom is alive on this planet or alive on God's porch, you can and should honor her by honoring and living up to the truths she taught you to live by. Make her proud whether she's numbered among the earthly crowd or gathered with the saints in the clouds.

I've done enough funerals for moms who were saints to see sons and daughters weeping uncontrollably over the casket because their lives didn't honor the truths their mom tried to instill in them. It's a sad thing. You want to honor your mom while she's still alive? Live so that when the day of her funeral comes, you will be crushed with grief over her loss, but not crushed with guilt over your life.

You want to honor her after she's gone? I do. So what do we do? Live so that when you get to heaven, she wants to hug your neck instead of grab you by the ear.

Thanks, Mom. I love you.
Perry Crisp

Yes...that's a picture of Mom, Me, and Dad circa 1979

This Way to Safety

2010-04-28T09:53:00.000-07:00

A passenger plane failed to take off properly, crashed through the fences and barriers at the end of the runway, skidded along its belly a great distance before doing a nose dive into a nearby river late at night. The aircraft was half in and half out of the powerful river current. The craft remained intact, but the wings and tail section of the plane remained on land while the nose, cockpit, and business-class section floated on the river. Only the pilot and the co-pilot knew that the front half of the plane was on the river, but the pilot was dazed and nearly unconscious from the crash.

The co-pilot knew that the strong current made the exits at the front end of the plane too dangerous. Anyone exiting the plane in that river would drown in the darkness. The co-pilot acted quickly. The crash knocked all the power out. He could not call the flight attendants or calm the passengers with the PA system.

Knowing that the primary exits in a crash are near the cockpit and that the flight attendants might soon try to open the forward doors, he exited the cockpit, turned on his flashlight, and began directing everyone to the back of the aircraft. Flight attendants were located at the front and rear of the plane, and the ones at the rear could not hear the co-pilot over the voices of panic and creaking noises of the crumpled plane.

The co-pilot instructed the flight attendants at the front of the plane not to open the doors because the water would come flooding in and could possibly pull the entire plane into the river. He then pushed his way through the frightened passengers toward the rear of the plane, encouraging everyone to remain calm. Every few rows, the co-pilot instructed everyone that the only safe exit was at the rear of the craft.

This process took a great deal of time and the passengers were getting more and more anxious to get off the plane. Fear spread throughout the craft. Someone shouted, "What if the plane catches on fire with these fully-loaded fuel tanks?" Another shouted, "The front exit is the largest. Why aren't we exiting there?" Yet another said, "If we use all the exits, we can all get off of here quicker!"

By the time the co-pilot reached the flight attendants at the rear of the plane, chaos had ensued. People began panicking and pushing in both directions. Others argued with those who were panicking to listen to the co-pilot and do what he says.

The co-pilot opened the rear emergency door and began safely disembarking the passengers. He used his flashlight to guide the frightened passengers toward him while the flight attendants on the ground took them to a safe, open area away from any potential explosion. Emergency personnel from the nearby airport began to arrive on the scene.

Little did the co-pilot know what was happening at the front of the craft. A few of the passengers near the cockpit chose not to follow the co-pilot or heed his instructions. Instead, they unleashed their panic on the flight attendants guarding the large exit door, shoved them aside, and tugged on the exit handle to get the door opened.

Thankfully, the flow of the river forced the door to stay shut long enough for everyone else, including the injured pilot and the flight attendants to get safely off the plane. Multiple attempts were made to control the panicked passengers and lead them safely to the rear of the plane, but they continued pushing against the door that would lead to their death should they succeed in their mission.

Finally, the emergency personnel from airport security boarded the craft at the risk of their own lives and forcefully removed the remaining passengers. Once the passengers who had defied the co-pilot's plan of escape were on the ground, they looked back toward the front of the craft, saw the powerful river that would have swept them to their deaths, and hung their heads in shame. Not long after everyone was safely removed from the sight of the crash, the force of the river overpowered the nose of the plane and wrestled the front half of the craft to the river's bottom.

The co-pilot's quick action and knowledge of the situation saved the lives of every person on board.

But wait. What if this story was a parable? What if the crumpled aircraft was symbolic of the world, the co-pilot was Jesus, and the front and rear exits of the craft represented hell and heaven, respectively?

Apply today's logic of tolerance and the world's overbearing and distorted hatred of anything that remotely appears to be intolerance of other's religious views to this situation. If YOU were on that plane, would you accuse the co-pilot of being intolerant for insisting that there is only one way to safety? Would you call the emergency personnel who forced you off the plane a bunch of narrow-minded bigots?

As a Christian, I believe the Bible is the Word of God. As such, I believe it is truth, not opinion. When Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me" (John 14:6), I believe Him. When Peter said, "Nor is there salvation in any other, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved" (Acts 4:12), I believe him. When Paul wrote, "If you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved" (Romans 10:9), I believe it!

So, when I stand at the corner of sin and salvation and point people in the direction of Jesus alone and you think me intolerant, bigoted, and narrow-minded, your disdain is for with the wrong person. Your argument is really with Jesus, Peter, and Paul (all three were Jews, by the way...so don't think me anti-semitic, either).

What would you think of the co-pilot had he simply pushed his way through the passengers, shared his opinion that he thought maybe the back exit was the best, but then said, "Use whatever exit you think is best for you," and then left everyone in danger to figure it out for themselves?

Think for just a moment about the passengers who insisted on using the front exit. They were convinced they knew more than anyone else on board. They were determined to use the front exit, believing totally that it was a way to safety. It was only AFTER they were off the plane that they saw the error of their ways. Yet for them in this story, they were still safe. They just had to deal with their own shame and stubbornness that nearly cost them their lives.

But eternity is a different issue. You must decide to accept and follow Jesus before you disembark this physical world. You must live eternally with whatever decision you make now. Weigh your arguments carefully. Research truth honestly. This is no place to casually accept the fluff of pop culture. This is the biggest decision of your life.

This Way,
Perry Crisp

Man Fishing

2010-04-21T07:34:00.000-07:00

Jesus said, "Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men." Seems simple enough. Followers of Jesus have been given a clear task: Go fishing to find others who will become followers of Jesus.

Oh my, how we have complicated that call! We have become species specialists, selectively fishing for certain fish. The Sunday morning boat ramps are filled with favoritism. The Bass Boat Baptists hit the boat ramp first. While they are content to leave the Crappie to the Charismatics and the Catfish to the Catholics, they are divided even among themselves over how to fish for bass, selective about which bass is worth catching, and suspicious about other fishermen who are more successful.

Some want to bed fish and yank those sinners right out of bed on Sunday morning. Others want to finesse fish and lure them in without them realizing they're caught until it's too late. Still others are looking only for "keeper fish." They go after the big fish. Oh, they don't mind catching an average fish, but they eventually toss it back and forget about it. Let them land a lunker and they'll parade that catch in front of everyone! It'll even make the "Baptist Mess-O-Fish-enger" paper. They are quite proud of their trophy fish.

It is dangerous to get the Bass Boat Baptists together for too long. It won't be long before they'll divide up amongst themselves arguing over everything from which bait is better to which species of bass is better. The topwater lovers will cluster and preach against the crank baiters. The largemouth crowd will speak derisively about the smallmouth. Before long, another new club will be formed.

To make matters worse, the Bass Boat Baptists won't share a boat ramp with Pontoon Presbyterians because they have more than fish in their coolers and the Canoeing Church of Christs won't even use the same boat ramp as any of the others because they don't believe in motors.

It is puzzling to observe such behavior. The call of Jesus seems simple enough. Yet, instead of fishing, much of our time is spent maintaining and polishing our boats, admiring our gear, bragging about last year's catch, fussing over favorite fishing holes, fuming at another boat because they took one of our fish, and taking classes on everything from better knot-tying to what color boat cover to use.

The craziest behavior of all takes place away from the water. In alarming numbers, fishermen sit cross-armed at the boat ramp or on the bank or in their driveways with their boats still on the trailer, wondering why the fish won't jump out of the water and flop toward them! It's as if they expect the fish to jump in their boats and baptize themselves in their livewells!

Jesus didn't call us to fish for men for the pleasure of fishing, but for the importance of the men. It's not about our pleasure. It's about His passion. We've made fishing for men too much about the act of fishing and not enough about the lost condition of man. Jesus doesn't care what your boat looks like or whether you use the same spinner bait as Peter. Jesus isn't judging you by how many fish you catch or how big they are. He just wants you to fish.

If we'll do the fishing, He'll do the catching.

Oh, and by the way, Jesus doesn't practice catch and release. Why should we?

Hooked on Jesus,
Perry Crisp

PS: The reason I am being harder on the Baptists than the others is because I are* one.
*(Intentional use of poor grammar)

What Was the Question?

2010-04-12T09:16:00.000-07:00

One afternoon when my daughter, Tori, was 3 or 4 years old, she was spending some quality time with her parents. She was a cute, bright-eyed, blonde-haired little girl with lots of questions. She will be 20 soon and still, in my unbiased opinion, fits the above description, yet without as many questions.

I don't recall exactly what prompted me to ask Tori a question, but I will never forget my question nor her answer. Whatever she said prior to my question caused me to laugh. Then I asked, "Tori, you're not gonna be one of those dumb blondes, are you?" I expected a giggle and a "Noooooo" in reply.

She gave me something better. Her face went serious. She furrowed her cute little eyebrows, turned to her mom and asked, "Is me, mommy?"

Sometimes, questions answer themselves.

Thankfully, she is anything but dumb and has excelled in academics and athletics (with only rare visits to Dumb Blondeville). But that moment was classic. Don't you love those types of memories? The joy of reminiscing and remembering the blessings and special times of life is a valuable gift.

Spring has finally decided to spring. The trees and grass remember how to turn green again. The birds have remembered their songs. The momma deer remembers how to nurture her newborn. This is a good day to reminisce. A good time to think back over the blessings of God in your life.

The Psalmist wrote, "I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember Your miracles of long ago" (Psalm 77:11, NIV). Miracles don't have to defy the laws of nature to be miraculous. Something as natural as an unforgettable moment between a parent and a child can rank among the miraculous and is worthy of celebration. File it under the miracle of life, of love, or of unexpected surprises.

Stop what you're doing right now. Take a moment to reminisce. To cherish. To treasure what and who belongs in your box of valuable memories. Then smile and thank God for His miracles.

Do you remember?
Perry Crisp

Memories from a "Delightful" Childhood

2010-04-05T09:27:00.000-07:00

Somewhere a frail, aged, retired elementary school teacher is sitting in her rocking chair, combing through memories of her students. She has a stack of class photos from the late '60's to the late 90's in her lap as she sips from a cup of quivering tea.

She smiles at her pictures of all those bright, shiny young faces. Boys and girls whose lives she once touched are now all grown up with children (and in some cases, grandchildren) of their own. She picks up the class picture from 1972 and smiles at each face...until she gets to the back row, far left.

Her smile turns to an evil scowl. Spittle rolls down her chin. She reaches a trembling hand out and picks up a pair of scissors from her table. Grimacing and muttering indiscernible words, she steadies her trembling hand as best she can and begins cutting the picture of one of the students out!

Cute little boy. Big smile. Blonde hair. Hole in his jeans at both knees. Wearing a blue t-shirt that has the number 18 on it...

HEY WAIT! THAT'S ME!!!

To say that I was an outstanding student is accurate if you separate the "out" from the "standing." I was usually out standing in the hall waiting for my next encounter with the Principal.

It wasn't that I lacked correction at home. Trust me, I got plenty of that! I was just really good at being mischievous. The "imagination" side of my brain leaked over into the "think twice before you do that" side of my brain.

Back in the day when we had only wooden pews in church, most kids could get away with playing paper football during the sermon without the preacher noticing. Not me! Nooooo... I would get so into the paper football game that I would not only forget that I was in church, I would forget that my dad was the preacher!

When I heard the name "Perry" rumble from the pulpit, I knew enough Bible to know that that particular name was not in the Book. Whenever Brother Crisp had to call a time-out from preaching to gain the attention of his youngest child, I knew I was in trouble. There was no such thing as "time out" in my dad's parenting manual.

Those were the longest sermons my dad ever preached. He had my attention for the rest of the service. All I could think about was where I could hide when I got home. My plan was always the same: Sit still through the rest of the sermon. When church is over, run home, grab the cookies, and hide. Maybe -- just maybe -- Dad will forget all about the 30 yard field goal attempt that landed in Mrs. Whitmeyer's hair.

He never forgot. It didn't matter where I hid, his voice penetrated into my hiding place and drew me like a zombie out of hiding and into his bedroom. On one such occasion, I looked up at my dad and said, "Can't I just cry real hard and save us both a lot of pain?"

Discipline is not fun. But it is often needed. It's like deodorant. You can tell when someone hasn't had any. The Bible (that book that doesn't have the name "Perry" in it) tells us that discipline is a good thing. "But don't, dear friend, resent God's discipline; don't sulk under his loving correction. It's the child he loves that God corrects" (Proverbs 3:11-12, The Message).

The New King James Version reads a little differently: "My son, do not despise the chastening of the Lord, nor detest His correction; for whom the Lord loves He corrects, just as a father the son in whom he delights." According to that translation, my parents were very delighted in me!

I'm thankful for the discipline I received at home from loving parents who kept me on the right path when I was prone to wander off it. I'm also grateful for a heavenly Father who loves me enough that He will get my attention with discipline in order to protect me from great harm.

My apologies to all the poor saints staring at class pictures with holes in it, and to Mrs. Whitmeyer for all the paper footballs that entrenched themselves in your bouffant hairdo during church.

I Put the Haste in Chasten,
Perry Crisp

In Full Spring?

2010-03-29T08:51:00.000-07:00

Spring is having a hard time springing and staying sprung here in east Texas. Passover is here. Easter is nearly here. The flowers, grass, trees, and bass all know it's time. They are trying to do their spring thing, but the weather is a bit temperamental and uncooperative.

One spring day barely clocks in a full 24 hours before cold winds, cold rain, and white, fluffy stuff shoves spring aside. Somewhere in Minnesota a young child must have prayed for Texas weather, and God answered by swapping theirs with ours.

Be not disheartened! This one thing I know --- Spring will prevail! The grass will need mowing. The flowers will need photographing. The bass will need a few moments of oxygen and a photo op with a proud fisherman.

Fear not, grandpaw! You WILL get to wear the plaid shorts over your belly button and your black socks over your calves. Fret not, biker friend! A day is coming when you can ride sleeveless again without your teeth chattering. Keep the faith, everyone. Spring will spring and stay sprung.

How do I know? Because that's the way God set the seasonal table of earth. God is a God of order, not chaos. God set the earth and all other planets in perfect order. God scheduled the rotation precisely so that spring would follow winter, summer would follow spring, autumn/fall would follow summer, and winter would follow autumn/fall.*

It is no coincidence that Jesus died and rose again in the spring. Spring is symbolic of new life returning to barren ground, branches, vines, and limbs. In the spring, stuff underground breaks out of earthly graves and rises to fulfill its purpose. So did Jesus.

Like the seed in the soil, Jesus was buried. But only for three days. On the third day, the Seed split, Life burst forth out of that grave, and the Lily of the Valley arose!

Hallelujah! Christ arose!

Just as surely as He arose, He will return. Just as surely as spring will win out over winter, Jesus will come back for His bride, the Church. Just as surely as the allergists among us need to refill their prescriptions soon, so the redeemed of the Lord need to renew their faith that Jesus is risen and coming again soon.

Sprung Free,
Perry Crisp

*Translation for Men: Spinner bait and spawn/Turkey season follow jigs/Duck/Deer/Quail season, worm/topwater fishing follow the spinner bait and spawn/Turkey season, crankbait/Dove season follow worm/topwater fishing, and jigs/Duck/Deer/Quail season follow crankbait/Dove season.

*Translation for Women: Shopping for Easter clothes follows Christmas shopping, Memorial Day/4th of July/Back to School sales follow Easter shopping, Labor Day/pumpkin/turkey sales follow Memorial Day/4th of July/Back to School sales, and Christmas shopping follows Labor Day/pumpkin/turkey sales.

Feelin Froggy?

2010-03-25T08:25:00.000-07:00

A farmer loved to sleep with his window open so he could feel the gentle night breeze and hear the soft noises of the night creatures. However, the night noises were getting louder and louder due to an invasion of frogs at the farmer's pond fifty yards from his bedroom window.

The noise of the frogs continually got worse each night. The farmer was not able to sleep because of those amplified amphibians. So, one morning the farmer got in his truck and drove to a nearby restaurant owned by a friend. They had a little business meeting together, shook hands, and the farmer left with a smile.

He had convinced his friend in the restaurant business to add frog legs to the menu. The farmer guaranteed his buddy that he could supply him with a million frog legs. The restaurant owner didn't need that many frog legs, so they agreed on a few hundred.

A week later, the farmer returned to the restaurant with a bag of frogs. The restaurant owner met the farmer in the parking lot, excited to see the new additions to his menu. "Well," said the restaurant owner, "Let's see what we got!"

The farmer let out a deep sigh and had an odd, sheepish look on his face as he reached into the bag and pulled out two scrawny frogs. "I thought my pond was overflowing with frogs. They were driving me crazy. These two little frogs were making all that noise! I never woulda guessed that two scrawny frogs could sound like a million."

Oh, but they can! The voices of those who croak defeat into your ears are few, but loud! Everyone has one or two croakers who make it difficult to hear all the other voices of encouragement and victory.

Learn to hear the hundreds beyond the croaking of a couple. Don't allow a couple of scrawny frogs to ribbit your attention toward the negative things of life. Set your mind and rivet your ears to hear the higher, softer pitches of the goodness of God and His plans for you.

And please...don't be a scrawny croaker in anyone's life. In spite of the fairy tale, people really don't go around kissing frogs. But they do like to gig em.

"Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the bones" (Proverbs 16:24).

Not About to Croak,
Perry Crisp

One Coffin To Go, Please

2010-03-17T09:10:00.000-07:00

Seventy-nine years ago, a man in Stanstead Abbots, England bought himself a solid oak coffin for twenty-three pounds --- about $100 at the time. He loved his coffin. He kept it in a shed out behind his house. Every day, he would go out to the shed to give his coffin a polishing.

He did this for at least thirty-three years. Someone discovered this rather unusual routine when the proud coffin-polisher was still polishing that box at ninety-two years of age. At that age, the old fella would occasionally get tired before finishing the daily polishing ritual and hop into his prized casket for a nap.

At this point, I have two observations: 1) The guy who sold that coffin to this gentleman must have been some kind of salesman! 2) I wonder how many door-to-door salesmen stumbled upon the old man while he was taking a nap in his coffin!

When the basket-case casket owner was interviewed about this odd possession (or was it obsession?) of his, he smiled and said he was real happy with his coffin. He had taken enough good naps in it that he felt satisfied that it would do him well for his longest of all rests.

He said, "I even had my photograph taken in it! Wanted to see how I'd look when the undertaker lays me out."

When asked why he valued this polished oak coffin so much, he answered, "I came into the world a bit rough, as one of nine children. Now, I'm making sure I go out respectable --- with an oak coffin that has solid brass handles and everything!"

A couple more observations: 1) I think he can give up on the whole "going out respectable" idea since everyone who read his story made the circular finger motion around the ear and let out a whistle. 2) What exactly is "everything"? Oak. Okay, I got that. Solid brass handles. I got that, too. But what else is there? He sounded like his coffin had extra amenities that not every corpse would be able to enjoy for eternity. (Join me now in doing the finger motion around the ear and the slight whistle).

In today's world, it is not uncommon for the aging to visit a funeral home and make prearrangements for when that time comes so that their family will not have to make all those decisions. It is a very thoughtful and wise act on their part. Some even pick out the type of casket and begin making payments on the whole burial package.

But I haven't seen or heard of any of them strapping the casket to the roof of their sedan like a Christmas tree to carry it home and try it out! Obviously, the British chap, who is now enjoying his long rest in his prized coffin, was the fruit loop in the box of Cheerios.

However, his bizarre behavior raises an important issue. Are you prepared for the inevitable? I'm not trying to sell you a prearranged funeral plan and I don't have any brochures or fliers on premium caskets. When death comes, it only comes to the body. Not the soul. I'm not worried about the quality of the box you'll be buried in. I'm concerned about where the rest of you will go when your body ceases to function.

The most important decision concerning death has to be made while you still have life. Your destination is the issue at hand. Not your transportation. It won't matter if you have a black or a white limousine or a finely polished casket. What will matter is the preparation of your soul's destination for eternity.

You would look rather silly going to the airport and picking out an airplane because it's pretty without a clue as to where it's going.

Be sure to get this right. There's no changing flights once you're in the air. There are no mulligans. No do-overs.

Jesus made it as clear as it can be made: "I am THE way, THE truth, and THE life. No one comes to the Father except through Me."

Jesus also said, "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world (or even a fancy coffin made of oak with brass handles and everything), and lose his own soul." The parenthetical part isn't in the Bible, you understand.

You don't need a coffin in your shed. You need the Christ who shed His blood for your sins in your heart. THAT, I can help you with.

One Satisfied Customer,
Perry Crisp

Join Us!

2010-03-11T09:50:00.000-08:00

Dear Blog Readers,

I want to thank you for reading the thoughts that bounce around in my inner space as I talk about my Lord. It blesses me to see and hear from so many who want to spend more time with God. It also challenges me to stay fresh and consistent in my time in His Word. His Word never ceases to come alive and restore my soul.

This past November, God's Word came alive to me in a whole new way. My wife, Dorinda, and I were blessed with a magnificent gift. We were invited to go to the Holy Land with our dear friends, David and Cindy Dykes from Tyler! We had an amazing, unforgettable time seeing God's Word come alive right before our eyes.

David and Cindy are not able to lead a group this year and have graciously extended the use of their resources to us. So, Dorinda and I would like to invite you to prayerfully consider going with us to the Holy Land, October 31-November 9 of this year. We can take a small group of 35-45 friends (most groups are much larger and much less personal) to walk where Jesus walked.

I cannot find the words to describe what it means to see Jerusalem, to pray at the rock of agony where Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, to float in the Dead Sea, to stand on the Mount of Olives, Mount Masada, Mount Carmel, and in the Jordan River, to observe the Lord's Supper between Golgotha and the empty tomb, to worship on Sunday morning at the edge of the Sea of Galilee, and so much more.

A trip to the Holy Land will bring you closer to your Lord and His Word, and you will never read your Bible the same again. Can you imagine? When you read that Jesus went to Capernaum or got in a boat on the Sea of Galilee or was crucified at Calvary and rose again...and you can say, "I've been there! I have seen these places with my own eyes!"

Our ten day trip will start and end in the parking lot of our church, Lake Fork Baptist Church in Alba, Texas. A bus will take us to DFW airport. We will change planes in Newark, NJ and fly to Tel Aviv. Then we will spend 3 days in Jerusalem, one day at the Dead Sea, 3 days in Galilee (and surrounding areas), and stop by Megiddo, Mount Carmel, and the beautiful city of Caesarea on our way back to the airport in Tel Aviv.

Our price includes everything except lunch and souvenirs. All flights, tours, buses, hotels, large buffet breakfasts, large buffet dinners, and tips are included in the price of $3,599 per person. If you would like more information, I will gladly mail you a brochure. If you have questions, please email or call me. Or, if you are ready to sign up now and send in your deposit to reserve your spot, just send a check for $250 (per person) to: Travel Masters, 915 WSW Loop 323, Tyler, TX 75701 and let Sharon Howell know that you want to go to the Holy Land with Brother Perry.

I'm praying that God will put together a group of 40 people (a good Biblical number) to join us on a trip to the earthly homeland of our Savior. It would be wonderful to have you among that number of friends.

Please let me know if you have any questions.

Brother Perry

Perry Crisp
Pastor
Lake Fork Baptist Church
Alba, Texas
903-473-9523
www.lakeforkbaptist.org
www.thismorningwithgod.blogspot.com

It's Your Funeral

2010-03-10T09:14:00.000-08:00

At a museum in Deadwood, South Dakota, tourists can read the following inscription left by a prospector: "I lost my gun. I lost my horse. I am out of food. The Indians are after me. But I've got all the gold I can carry!"

That scenario not only aptly defines the pursuits and obsessions of most Americans today, it also begs the question: "When you finally get all that you want, will it be worth what it cost?"

There's not much room in a casket. Even if your casket has a safety deposit box filled with millions or you are buried at Fort Knox, it wouldn't mean a thing to you. The only thing that will matter then is what you do with Jesus now.

Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me." By "life," Jesus means eternal life. Let's face it. You and I are headed for an unavoidable statistic: 1 out of every 1 of us will 1 day die.

People have all kinds of opinions about what happens after we die. Most of it is a lot of guesswork that is oddly empty of any homework and strangely dependent upon a stranger's opinion. We are quizzical creatures. We research every product we buy, scrutinize over every investment we make, and thoroughly examine the reliability of a toothbrush before we buy it. But when it comes to eternity, we accept popular opinion, embrace those who offer something that sounds "right" to us, and swallow a trendy philosophy because it was on Oprah. We want truth to conform to us. Who cares if it's really the other way around?

I would rather trust an Eyewitness. Someone who has been there. I'll trust the Manufacturer of life over a shade-tree philosopher. The Creator over the creature. And I'll take my chances with the One whose word has never failed. You should study His book. It makes more sense than you've been led to believe.

Jesus said, "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?"

In the end, you and I won't hope for all the gold we can carry. We will hope for a God who can carry us.

I'm thinking that old prospector wishes he would have pondered that thought a bit further.

Preparing for Finals,
Perry Crisp

You

2010-03-08T08:39:00.000-08:00

You didn't know. You had no idea. I want to thank you anyway. You might consider your example or your act of kindness minimal. You may not even remember it. But it was a piece of the puzzle. The fingers of God picked it up out of the box of my confused life and put it in place.

There were thousands of them along the way. Yours was equally important to all the rest. So, thank you. God used your witness, great or small, to reach me.

I was blind, but now I see. His light through you flickered in my darkness. My ears were closed to the truth of God's love and stuffed with the sounds of the world's lies. Your voice didn't scream. It didn't shout. Had it not been injected with God's power, I would have never heard what you said. But I did. You spoke. Now, I can hear Him. Because I once heard Him through you.

The knowledge of truth was hidden from my mind, like a convincing matrix manipulating my reality. You knew what I did not. Your knowledge was from another world...another reality. No...it was from the truly real. My world was a world of deception, built upon smug lies and flimsy philosophies. A world of mistrust. You dropped a seed of truth into my thoughts that didn't fit in the mirage of my mind.

That seed grew.

Now I know.

Oh, what a penetrating knowledge. Life-changing. Soul-freeing. Hope-laden. Peace-providing.

My eyes see Him! My ears hear Him! My heart and mind know Him!

Thank you...
Perry Crisp

Take a Hike!

2010-03-03T09:01:00.000-08:00

"This is a test of the Emergency Electronic System. This is only a test. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE (inhale) EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
This has been a test of the Emergency Electronic System. Had this been an actual emergency, which is highly unlikely but we have to do them anyway to keep our stimulus money, you would have been asked to step away from your electronic devices and see the real world around you."

Wait. That's not a bad idea. Sometimes we can't see the road for the GPS. We can't hear the ikids for the ipod. We text someone else somewhere else instead of talk to those around us. I wonder where all of this is leading and what effect it will have on future generations.

What message does a plugged-in mom send to her toddler? Will the toddler have to text "More spaghetti, please" to get mom's attention? Is your handheld keeping your child's hand from being held? If our televisions get any more HD than they already are, will anyone ever drive or hike to a river or mountain? Has all this software made us soft?

I'm just asking. I'm certainly not king of the unplugged world. After all, I'm sending this to you through my email and blog. I'm aware of the pot and kettle thing. I confess my iguilt. Hang on. I just got a text.

Okay. Where was I? Drats! I haven't even finished this email and I've already blown it. Have you? Here's my point. Let's be intentional about this. Don't let all the devices of life distract you from living life. Put down the phone and pick up your child. Uncork your ears and listen to the birds. Replace the PS3 controller in your hand with an actual basketball or football and go outside with a family member. Get into your friend's actual space, not just MySpace. Talk to someone's face, not just their facebook. Hug more people than you nudge.

The electronics and social media outlets are fine and wonderful tools for helping you connect with family and friends miles away. Just don't neglect those who are inches away.

Had Jesus chosen this day and time to come to earth, how different might the Scriptures read? In Mark 14:37, Jesus was in the Garden of Gethsemane, moments away from being arrested, beaten, and crucified. Jesus had asked Peter, James, and John to stay close by and pray. After Jesus prayed for a while, He turned to see His disciples asleep. He asked Simon Peter, "Simon, are you sleeping? Could you not watch one hour?" What if that had been today?

"Simon, are you tweeting? Could you not focus for just one hour?"

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE (inhale) EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

Perry Crisp

Do You Yell 'Fore' or 'Four' After Whacking a Golf Ball?

2010-02-22T12:24:00.000-08:00

For the past few months, I have seen quite a bit of golf...from my windshield. We have been house-sitting for some dear friends who are on an extended mission to Kenya and their beautiful home is located next to a golf course.

I'm not a golfer, but I drive by them every day. I don't have anything against golf or golfers. I just don't want to wear the plaid shorts and can't afford the toys involved with both fishing and golfing. So, I choose to fish and gladly encourage other fishermen to take up golf.

As an outsider to the golfing community, I feel compelled to share a few thoughts with members of the golfing community. I like the idea of golf. It seems like it would be kinda fun to whack a ball and try to get it in the hole. But it's the golf culture that keeps me off the golf course.

In an attempt to take golf seriously, many golfers buy the latest sticks, the best golf balls, the coolest golf carts, and all the trimmings of golf wear (designed by Rodney Dangerfield, I assume). They watch the golf channel, read the golf magazines, get golf haircuts, and fly their expensive sticks all over the country to play on the best courses. They have it all!

I need to be honest, though. I have picked up on a distinct aura that eeks from ambitious golfers. They wear it like cologne. They parade it like a fashion model. Honestly, it looks quite silly to a non-golfer. They look so stoic and serious as I drive by them. Very few of them wave. It wouldn't be proper, I guess. There must have been an article about that in the magazine. Or perhaps, they can tell I'm stifling a giggle as I see how serious they are about the culture of golf. Most of them lean on the sticks or sit in the carts and talk to other golfers. I assume they are talking about golf.

It's not like basketball at all. No sweating. No jumping. No running. No clock. Unlimited time-outs. Did I mention plaid?

The road from the golf course to the highway is a dangerous one. Before the sun rises, the golfers are tearing down the road. Like a dinner reservation with Jack Nicholas, they cannot and will not be late for their tee time. They are in a hurry to leave the 8-cylinder SUV so they can scoot quietly along in a cart filled with batteries under their bottoms. From my windshield, I can see through theirs. The aura penetrates glass. The same magazine article forbids windshield waving, too.

Why am I picking on golfers? Besides the fact that I'm having an awful lot of fun with it, there is a point. What do Christians and church goers look like to non-Christians and non-church goers? Do we look like golfers to non-golfers? I've given you an outsider's thoughts into the golf culture which most golfers would scoff at. Nor would they care what a non-golfer thought about their culture! The golf culture exists for and within the golf community.

The church, however, should be different. The church exists for those inside and outside the Christian community. Shouldn't we care about how the unchurched and unsaved see us? Shouldn't we wave? Shouldn't we create an inviting spirit of friendliness and avoid running over them on our way to church?

Most people like the idea of a God who loves them and a Savior who died for them. They really do. But, oh, those Christians! Smug. Scowling. Pew-protecting. Do we really want to know how many of them balk at turning their blinker on at our places of worship because of US?

Newsflash, Christian friends. They don't have to be like us to worship with us. The only aura that a church ought to have is when we ask each other, "How aura you, my brother/sister?" Instead of an aura, there ought to be a tangible residue of love, acceptance, forgiveness, and compassion. We're not a country club. We're a hospital. A haven. A home. For everyone.

Waving Through Stained-Glass Windshields,
Perry Crisp

Postponing the Amen

2010-02-10T07:52:00.000-08:00

Nearly three-year-old Bethany climbed into her grandparent's bed to spend the night. Bethany's grandmother said, "We need to say our prayers." Little did she know what was on Bethany's prayer list. Grandmother and granddaughter bowed their heads and had a precious prayer time together. Grandmother said, "Amen" with enthusiasm, expecting granddaughter to follow suit. She didn't.

Instead, Bethany said, "We aren't done yet." So her grandmother prayed some more and said "Amen" again. Bethany repeated her first evaluation of the prayer and said, "We aren't done yet." Grandmothers never get tired of praying, but after this scenario repeated itself multiple times, Bethany's grandmother was scrambling to find something or someone else to pray for.

Finally, Bethany was satisfied enough to join her Grandmother's benediction and the "Amen" stuck.

Until Papaw came to bed.

The prayer meeting began all over again. Papaw prayed a good, hearty "Papaw prayer" and ended with a hefty, "Amen." He didn't know what Grandmaw knew. They weren't done yet.

Before the covers ever settled in a good night's sleep, every human, cow, horse, dog, crab and guinea pig on Bethany's heart was covered in prayer.

God speaks through tiny voices. Bethany's message is loud and clear. No matter how much praying we do, we aren't done yet.

"So the Lord spoke to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend" (Exodus 33:11). That's what prayer is. A two-party conversation between friends. A conversation that should never end.

Crisp but Not Done,
Perry Crisp

My Posthumous Piece

2010-02-01T08:00:00.000-08:00

Huckleberry Finn faked his own death in hopes of finding a life of freedom. Thus, the famous quote from Samuel Clemens' pen, "The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated."

The rumors of MY demise are completely accurate. Write the obituary. Perry is dead. Like Huck Finn, I had to die to truly live. Huck was a slave to a mean, drunk father. I was a slave to sin. Huck faked his death. I haven't faked anything. I just up and died.

In fact, being a fake is one of the reasons I died. I saw God's righteous demands and knew I couldn't live up to them. "For the Lord is righteous, He loves righteousness" (Psalm 11:7). "As He who called you is holy (perfect), you also be holy in all your conduct" (1st Peter 1:15).

Isaiah let me know that my righteousness "is like filthy rags" (Isaiah 64:6). Actually, my righteousness was worse than that. It was more like filthy beach towels. Filthy drapes. Filthy parachutes.

I didn't stand a chance. So, I did the only thing I could do. I died. I'm not alone. Paul, who was chief of sinners until I came along, wrote, "I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me" (Galatians 2:20).

I'm no longer who I once was. I died to me. Dying is not an easy process. My old corpse still wants to call the shots, so it is a daily thing. I die daily.

If you understand this about me, then it will help you understand why I preach what I preach. When I preach the righteous demands of God, it isn't because I have lived up to them. It is because I have died to myself and my efforts so that I can allow Jesus, the perfect Son of God who lives in me, to live up to them through me.

I don't have to be holier than thou. I have to be holier than me. I have to be holier than I can be. How is such a thing accomplished?

I empty me of me. I refill me with Him.

I am killed, then filled.

I'm sure this sounds strange to many. It sounds strange to me! But I know of no other way to honestly say what I know is true. Search it out. Read Jesus. It's all there. Jesus spoke of the necessity of the seed falling into the ground, dying, and being buried before it can bear fruit.

When I am terminated, He is germinated.

It is a doubly vicarious relationship that Jesus and I share. He died FOR me so that He could live IN me. I die TO me so that He can live THROUGH me.

I guess what I'm saying is...

Don't die trying. Try dying.

posthumously written by perry crisp...may he rest in the Prince of Peace.

Armadillos for Jesus!

2010-01-27T08:37:00.000-08:00

My deep sleep was interrupted before five o'clock this morning by a barking dog. One of my own. Pepper was somewhere in the house barking so that someone would get up and let him out of the house. There were only two of us in the house, and apparently neither of us wanted to be the "someone" to get up and let Pepper out. He barked. Neither of us moved. He barked louder. She flinched and finally got up to let Pepper out.

Although I won the battle of playing opossum, it didn't matter. The damage was done. Deep sleep didn't return. Just as I managed to slip away into the wonderful world of almost sleep, Pepper started barking again. This time he was outside wanting back in. I let out a heavy chunk of disgruntled sighs and mumbling and went to the door to let Pepper back in. He wasn't there.

I went to another outside door. No Pepper. No barking. No glasses! I couldn't see a thing beyond fifteen feet, especially in the dark, but I could hear something in the leaves. "Pepper!" I whisper-shouted. Nothing. "PEPPER!" I shouted without the whisper. Still nothing.

I returned to the bedroom for my glasses, huffing and puffing the whole way. No need to share the exact thoughts that were parading through my mind. Use your imagination. I put on my glasses, turned on all the outside lights, and couldn't find Pepper anywhere. I called off the search and destroy...I mean, search and rescue mission, turned out the lights, and crawled back in bed.

My mumbling and grumbling eventually silenced and my body began to relax. Sleep began to reenter my life when I heard Pepper barking again. It was faint. Distant. But just enough to annoy the sleep out of someone. I put my head under the pillow. Unfortunately, it is one of those pillows that doesn't smush. It just teeters. I could still hear the faint barking of my former precious-pup-now-turned-nemesis.

My resolve to sleep won out after a few minutes. A few minutes later, I was awakened again to the tune of Sargeant Pepper's lonely, one-dog barking band. I repeated the huffing and disgruntled behavior of my earlier antics, turned on the outside lights, and there he was -- Pepper. Ten feet away. Standing six inches behind a busy armadillo. All along, Pepper had been barking and growling at an armored intruder.

Apparently, Pepper had spent nearly an hour pestering this opossum-on-the-half-shell. I watched as Pepper growled, barked, scratched, gnawed and maintained hot pursuit of the armadillo all over the yard. The armadillo wasn't impressed, nor was he (she? I didn't ask) deterred from the task at hand. The armadillo kept his nose and claws to the ground and adapted Dory's attitude from "Finding Nemo" --- "Just keep digging. Just keep digging."

I finally persuaded Pepper to call off the dogs and come inside. He looked up at me as if he deserved a treat or a commendation. He went back to bed disappointed. I went back to bed ten minutes before my alarm went off.

Pepper's harrassment of the armadillo reminds me of the devil. The devil does not want followers of Jesus to follow Jesus. So, he tags along to distract, deter, and strike fear into the believer to keep the believer from wholehearted devotion to Jesus.

While satan definitely has a bark and a bite, the believer is protected by the armor of God. The devil can't defeat the believer. The believer can defeat himself by allowing fear and apathy to enter his heart. But the devil holds no power over the blood-bought saints of God. Like Pepper, the devil can follow, fuss, and try to frighten us all he wants, but the only ability he has to be successful is that which we allow.

If you have personally invited Jesus to be your Savior and Lord, you have more than salvation. You have protection. Jesus doesn't just armor some. He armors all.

"Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil" (Ephesians 6:11).

Perry Crisp

Take it to the Bank(s)

2010-01-25T09:51:00.000-08:00

A beautiful river divided two small villages in a remote country. The villagers on each side of the river lived primatively. The village on the east bank of the river was only ten miles south of the village on the west bank of the river. The two villages were not enemies, but they believed the gods had separated them by the river for a reason, so they had no contact with one another. Both villages had a common problem. They had no knowledge of what they could not see -- including germs. The occasional swim in the river was the closest they ever came to bathing. They certainly never washed their hands or food.

Life in each village was quite fragile. Though they had developed an amazing immune system to some diseases, their bodies could not withstand all that they ingested. Rarely did anyone live past fifty years of age.

An American missionary made his way up the river and was welcomed by the village on the east side of the river. The villagers listened to and observed this forty-year-old man with curious enthusiasm. They heard him speak of God. They were surprised to know that God had a Son who came to the earth. All that they learned from this visitor, they embraced. He taught them how to wash their food and their hands before eating so that the invisible sicknesses could not enter their bodies. They were astonished at such news, but readily accepted this new practice.

The missionary showed the villagers a picture of his family. They all wanted to see it at the same time. This strange paper in his hand that reflected his image and the images of others like him was fascinating to their eyes. They enjoyed the picture so much that he pulled every picture he had out of his wallet, including a picture of his own mother and father. The villagers pointed and gasped and wanted to know who they were and why their hair was white and their skin was creased. They had never seen a seventy-year-old human.

The missionary was happy to inform them that their new practice of washing and hygiene might enable them to live longer. They rejoiced and celebrated the news. Seeing the visual evidence in the picture encouraged them to continue the practice and the results proved true to the missionary's words. The greater news was that their newfound faith in God's Son, Jesus Christ, would allow the soul inside them to live forever, even after the body died.

That village was never the same. Over time, the average life expectancy of the villagers increased. They continually welcomed additional medical missionaries into their village and gladly accepted immunizations and learned how to better take care of themselves. They grew and prospered in both health and spirit.

As the knowledge of the villagers on the east side of the river grew, so did their compassion. They told their missionary friend, the one who first visited them and brought them such great news, about another village ten miles up the river that needed to learn all that he had taught them.

The missionary quickly made his way up the river. He found the village on the west side of the river. It was an exact replication of the first village he had visited. The west side villagers welcomed the missionary. He enthusiastically shared the same good news with the second village that he had shared with the first.

Yet, their response was not the same. They began to shake their heads. They did more than doubt his words. They became upset at his intrusion into their lives. He tried to show them the same pictures, but they screamed at the sight of them and forced him to get back into his boat and leave.

No outsiders were ever welcomed into that village again. All things remained the same in that village, just as they wished.

Jesus went from village to village teaching, healing, and performing mighty miracles that only God could do. He brought good news and great healing to town after town. Yet, when He taught in Nazareth, His words were not welcomed. His ways were not followed. He was met with intense rejection. Matthew wrote the following post script when this occurred: "Now He did not do many mighty works there because of their unbelief" (Matthew 13:58).

I wonder if the same principle is true in our own lives...in our own churches. Many churches today continue to be the same villages they were twenty, sixty, and a hundred years ago. What part does faith play in our personal and church growth...or lack thereof? It is a painful, yet necessary question to ask.

This can be taken to an extreme and an extremely wrong conclusion - that no one is ever healed or no church will ever grow without a perfect faith (Luke 17:11-17, for example). But wouldn't it also be foolish to deny that faith is a great help to our spiritual health and ecclesiastical vitality and stubborn unbelief can be a tremendous hindrance?

You and I can never go wrong trusting the voice and venue of God. His word and His way is tried and true.

Perry Crisp

HANG IN THERE!!!

2010-01-18T07:36:00.000-08:00

A cartoon drawing made its way to my desk many years ago that defines perseverance. This particular cartoon swept through fax machines all over the country for quite a while during the early 90's.

It took me a while, but I finally obtained another copy of it on the internet and have attached it here as a reminder to us all to HANG IN THERE! It is a cartoon of a large marsh bird standing at the edge of a pond. The bird has recently scooped up a frog. The frog's hind legs are shown hanging out of the bird's beak.

The bird has quite a startled look on his face. His eyes look like they are about to pop out. Why? Because the frog, despite being half-swallowed, has managed to get a death grip on the bird's throat with his front froggy-legs.

The message at the bottom of the drawing reads, "It ain't over till it's over!"

Someone needs to be reminded of that today. Either you or someone you know has received some bad news. Possibly even devastating news. Life has hit hard. Some unwelcomed thing has waded into your pond, snuck up on you, and scooped you up without warning.

Someone else needs to be reminded of the death-grip frog for a different reason. Not because of bad news, but because of bad judgment. You blew it. Or someone you know has. For whatever reason, you (or they) defied God's Word, ran right through a holy barricade, and right into trouble. Ugh.

I know how you feel. I've been both "someone's." I have had bad news and used bad judgment in my life, but I have good news for you. There is life after Ugh. Failure isn't final. Bad news does not mean "The End." Just the beginning of a new chapter...as long as you turn yourself completely over to the Author of Life.

Take who you are and what you have and give it to God. Surrender it all to Him. Are you angry? It's okay. He's a big God. He can handle it. Take it to Him. Are you depressed? He's quite the Comforter and Healer. Are you lost? He's not. He not only knows where He's going, He knows the way for you, as well. He has a path and a plan for your life. Give yourself to Him.

"Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain" (1st Corinthians 15:58, NIV).

Paul wrote those words to encourage his fellow believers to have the kind of faith that hangs on, tightens its grip, and stays strong. Paul was a lot like that frog. Life tried to swallow and silence Paul over and over again, but he held on. May the determination of an apostle and an amphibian inspire us today.

Be encouraged by the Apostle Paul and the half-swallowed frog. Hang in there! Tighten your grip. It isn't over yet!

Offering the marsh bird a glass of water...
since he obviously has a...
frog in his throat.
I know, I know...boo hiss...

Perry Crisp

Invisible Chains

2010-01-06T07:10:00.000-08:00

Sweet Gum Road was the most traveled road in our backwoods neighborhood of southeast Texas. It was the artery which gave passage to every other road, street, drive, and dead end (what fancy folks call a cul-de-sac) in our neighborhood.

Therefore, Sweet Gum Road was the obvious choice for mischief. The invisible chain prank was one of our favorites. My pal, Andy, and I would get directly across the road from each other and kneel down (facing each other). We wrapped our hands around an invisible chain and focused our gaze intently on our hands. We never looked at the oncoming cars because people have a tendency to wonder what you're looking at.

Sure enough, a car would approach and the driver would inevitably slow down to try to see what was in our hands. When the front bumper of the car got even with our invisible chain, we would shout, "PULL!" and jerk our hands up like a fisherman setting the hook. Without fail, the drivers of those pranked cars would either slam on the brakes or swerve to miss the invisible chain. Then it was time for Andy and me to run into the woods and hide.

Most everyone would get out of their cars and check for invisible chain damage. Quite a few of them would wave a fist or single digit in the air, shout expletives, and leave a burnt rubber offering on the asphalt as they drove away. One or two got out of the car and chased us.

We learned not to pull this prank as darkness neared. You can't see things as clearly. Like sirens on top of a police car, for example. We only had one police car and one policeman. He only had one bullet. But he had a really good spotlight and recognized the preacher's son when he/I ran into the woods. He didn't chase us or shoot at us. He just turned the corner, pulled into my driveway, and went into my house to have a talk with my dad. They talked a long time.

A couple of months ago, I was driving down a two-lane highway through the woods. Ahead of me, I saw two boys. One on one side of the road and one on the other. They were both squatted down. I smiled. As I passed them, they shouted and pulled at their invisible chain. I didn't swerve, slam on the brakes, or shout expletives. I smiled and waved (with all five digits, of course).

The difference between my reaction to the invisible chain and the reaction of others was experiential knowledge. I knew by experience that the boys had nothing. They had no power but the power of the unknown. The power that tugs at our fears.

That's all the devil has on those who have an experiential knowledge of Jesus Christ, too. The devil has limited weaponry. Fear, doubt, and ignorance of truth are his primary weapons. All invisible chains. They work well on those who don't know better.

But the devil made a big mistake and tried to pull his invisible chain on Jesus. Because the devil is always in darkness, he couldn't see clearly who Jesus was. Jesus' weaponry consisted of one life and one sacrifice. His own. Jesus' death and resurrection took both the fun and the power out of Satan's chains.

Jesus also had a really good spotlight. Before He went to the cross, He shined that light on the devil's chains to show us that the devil has nothing on us when we follow God. "And He (Jesus) said to them, 'I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. Behold, I give you the authority to trample on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you'" (Luke 10:18-19).

Don't be punked by the devil. The scars in Jesus' hands have removed the threat of the invisible chains in the hands of the devil.

Trusting the Nail-Scarred Hands,
Perry Crisp

Last Minute Gifts

2009-12-22T07:43:00.000-08:00

Now is the time for last minute gifts. The time of the holiday when folks all run out at the same time to buy more stuff to stuff the stocking or because they forgot Uncle Fred's gift...again. Or Aunt Gertie just called and said she's coming to your house for Christmas. Oh joy!

Last minute gifts. Aren't you glad Jesus wasn't a last minute gift? Jesus, the gift of God to the world, wasn't an afterthought. The gift of Christ to the world was most anticipated. More than 300 Old Testament prophecies were fulfilled with precision by the life of Jesus. 300!

Scholars and mathematicians have calculated the odds. Set 300 aside for a moment. If Jesus had only fulfilled 8 of the Messianic prophecies in the Old Testament, the odds would be 1 out of 10 to the 17th power (a one followed by 17 zeros).

Try wrapping your mind around it this way: Mark one silver dollar with a marker and hide it in a stack of silver dollars two feet deep that covers the entire state of Texas. Blindfold someone and have them pick the marked silver dollar at random on the first try. How do you like the odds? And that's only 8 of the prophecies. The odds of one man fulfilling 60 -- not 300 -- but 60 of these prophecies would be 1 out of 10 to the 895th power.*

Brain freeze!

Jesus was not a last minute gift. Unless you think of it in a much different way. The minute before I accepted the gift of Jesus as my personal Savior was the last minute I lived only for myself. The next minute was the first minute I began living for God. Between that last minute and that next minute, time met eternity in my heart. I was forgiven. The transaction for my soul was ratified. I was born again.

I didn't embrace a religion. I didn't pick up a new set of meditation mantras. I didn't hold myself real tight, embrace the inner child (mine's ADD...he won't hold still long enough to be embraced), or will my way into right living. I gave up. I surrendered. I quit. I died. Went into the tomb of my soul and found Jesus there. He wasn't dead. He was alive. And He was giving out new life! I resurrected from that tomb a new person -- alive only because Christ lives in me.

How difficult is it to describe new life to someone who is still spiritually dead? Probably as difficult as a butterfly trying to convince a caterpillar about the change in his life. All you can do is spread your wings, fly, and testify!

Don't wait until the last minute. You don't know which one it is any more than a blindfolded person knows which silver dollar is marked. Choose this minute to be the last minute you live without Jesus.

See you in a minute.
Perry Crisp

*Statistics provided in "A Rabbi Looks at the Last Days," by Rabbi Jonathan Bernis, p. 81-82.

I'm a Kneedy Fella

2009-12-17T09:00:00.000-08:00

"Fall on your knees, oh hear the angel voices. Oh night divine..." You know the Christmas hymn, don't you? "O Holy Night" was written in 1847 and was quite possibly the first song ever played on the radio. On Christmas Eve, 1906, Reginald Fessenden broadcast the first AM radio program which included him playing "O Holy Night" on the violin.

The lyrics are powerful. Yet, I wonder if anyone other than the person being shoved to the ground at a shopping mall ever falls to his or her knees any more at Christmas.
Falling on your knees is not a glamorous thing to do. The knee itself isn't much to look at. It's just a knobby saucer of bone designed to... Hmmm.

What great purpose DOES the knee serve? Obviously, it's a great source of humor when someone is shivering and you can see their knees quivering. Sure, it comes in handy when you sit at that part of the table where the table legs jut out and you scoot your chair up without realizing it. And I can attest to the importance of the knee when your brother's baseball bat "accidentally" (let's all roll our eyes in unison) slips out of his hands.

But seriously -- why is there a round bone floating around in there at that particular location? Does it serve any great purpose other than to make embarrassing popping noises?

The knee isn't given much respect in our anthropomorphic colloquialisms either. You'll never hear someone say, "Now, there's a man who can stand on his own two knees." No one ever shouts, "Let's give her a knee!" Noooo. The foot and the hand get the glory. What does the knee get?

The knee gets humility. If a football player "takes a knee," it means he would rather surrender than run with the ball. When a man is looking for forgiveness after saying or doing something really stupid and is in jeopardy of wearing (instead of eating) his dinner, he drops to his knees to beg forgiveness. The beggar pleads for help from his knees. The maid scrubs the floor while on her knees. All humiliating tasks for those calcified cups.

Oh, but the knee does enjoy a few moments in the spotlight. After scoring a touchdown, the football player drops to his knee to give thanks. The young man in love causes the woman he loves to gasp when he falls to his knee to propose marriage.

But the most powerful moment for our knees is when we fall on our knees to worship and adore Almighty God. In God's kingdom, the way up is down. Before you can ever rise in strength, you must kneel in weakness.

Jesus came humbly. He chose the horse trough over the Hilton. Christ IS Christmas. He is the Savior born to bring the hope of new life to all who will come to Him. So, somewhere at some point, would you clear out a moment to fall on your knees, listen again to those angel voices, and remember that night divine?

Obviously, some are not physically able to get on their knees. That's okay. It is the heart that makes the difference in prayer and worship, not the knees. The point is --- simply discover the power of a humble moment before God.

"'Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth..."

Jesus is all I Kneed,
perry crisp

Life Puzzles

2009-12-07T09:29:00.000-08:00

Jeff sat on his bed and turned the pages of the worn out, paperback Bible he had found a few hours earlier on a bench just outside the courthouse. He and a few other inmates from the county jail were frequently required to pick up trash around the courthouse. Jeff found the Bible and asked if he could keep it.

Lance, the officer in charge of keeping an eye on Jeff and the other members of the clean-up detail, looked the Bible over and handed it back to Jeff, "You can keep it if you want. It looks like it's sat out here for quite a while. There's plenty of Bibles in better shape than that back at the jail."

Jeff thanked Lance and tucked the Bible under his arm. Jeff knew about the other Bibles at the jail, but something about this Bible intrigued him. He had been alone with his thoughts for countless hours prior to finding this Bible, wondering how he could make some sense out of his life.

It was as if his life was a puzzle with a huge piece missing. He kept trying different pieces, thinking he'd found the missing piece time and time again with drugs, alcohol, and relationships. But as he placed each one of those pieces into his life puzzle, they all eventually ripped themselves out, leaving a bigger chunk of his puzzle incomplete. As strange as it seemed, finding this Bible tapped into Jeff's mind with a question, "Could this book be the answer to finding the piece I'm missing?"

Jeff didn't know if it was or not. But the way he looked at it, he had plenty of time on his hands to find out. And Jeff had quite an imagination. He approached this Bible as if he were a treasure seeker who had found an ancient map to a treasure chest.

He turned the pages, scanning...searching. He soon realized it would take quite a while to read the whole thing front to back. He looked down the index, hoping something would jump out at him. His finger stopped on Luke.

Luke was the name of Jeff's grandfather. A preacher, now retired. Jeff's grandfather was the one person in his life who had loved him unconditionally. Jeff turned to the book of Luke. This particular Bible was the Contemporary English Version with bold captions, like newspaper headlines, describing each section. Jeff scanned past the first three chapters. When he came to chapter four, the following bold caption caused his heart to jump, "The People of Nazareth Turn Against Jesus."

"Now THAT I can identify with!" Jeff thought to himself. Deep down inside, Jeff knew that he was responsible for where he was. But Jeff didn't get there without a few incidents in his life that contributed to a deep anger and resentment. He often felt like others had turned against him.

Jeff was shocked to know that HE could identify with JESUS. Or better yet, that Jesus could understand what Jeff felt. That thought drew Jeff to read beneath that caption. It was there that he found these words:

"Jesus went back to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and as usual he went to the meeting place on the Sabbath. When he stood up to read from the Scriptures, he was given the book of Isaiah the prophet. He opened it and read, 'The Lord's Spirit has come to me, because he has chosen me to tell the good news to the poor. The Lord has sent me to announce freedom for prisoners..." Jeff stopped. Leaned closer to the words. He read those words again, "The Lord has sent me to announce freedom for prisoners."

Jeff was now captivated by this book. He continued, "'...to give sight to the blind, to free everyone who suffers...'" Without realizing that he spoke outloud, he said, "That's me!" Someone napping nearby raised up and asked, "Did you say something?"

Jeff realized then that he had spoken outloud. "No. Nothing," he said. "Go back to sleep."

Jeff kept reading. He discovered that Jesus was talking about himself. Jesus was the one Isaiah had written about. Jesus could set Jeff free. But how?

Jeff didn't find the answer to that right away. He folded the top of page 1060 in his "new" Bible and laid down to think. He fell asleep.

Over the next couple of days, Jeff kept looking in that Bible for the answer. "How can Jesus set me free?" He couldn't find it. One night, he woke up in the middle of the night and could not go back to sleep. He remembered something his Grandpa Luke once told him, "Jeff, if you can't go back to sleep, just lay there and pray. God's up all night. Just start talking to him and eventually you'll go back to sleep."

Jeff didn't know how to talk to God, but he did it anyway. Two words came out of his mouth, "God...how?" Tears rolled down the sides of his face. Just a few, at first. But once the tear pump was primed, out they gushed. All of Jeff's anger came out in sobs stifled into a pillow.

He fell asleep. When he awoke the next morning, he picked up his Bible again. It fell open to John 8. Another bold caption leaped off the page, "The Truth Will Set You Free." Just under that caption, Jeff read the words of Jesus, "You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

What truth? Jeff scrambled back through the previous seven chapters. He was beginning to learn who this Jesus truly was...is. When he caught up to chapter 8 again, he kept reading until he got to chapter 14. The life puzzle pieces began to fall like manna from heaven...

"Don't be worried! Have faith in God and have faith in me" (John 8:1). A huge puzzle piece fell into place. In Jeff's heart and mind, it seemed like lights were starting to come on and darkness was being driven away.

Then he read Jesus' words in verse 6, "I am the way, the truth, and the life!"

Suddenly, it became clear. The truth that would set Jeff free was Jesus! If Jeff would believe in and trust Jesus, he would become a free man. Not free from a county jail. Free on the inside...where true freedom exists.

Jeff got on his knees while others around the jail gave him puzzled glances. Jeff prayed, "Jesus, I believe in God and in You. Please forgive me and set me free. I'm not much, but You can have me. I want You to take my life and make something of it."

The prayer was answered. Jeff's life was no longer an unfinished puzzle, but a clear picture of what it means to be truly free. Jeff carried that Bible with him everywhere he went. It was so worn out, others just had to ask about it. Jeff was glad to tell them how much like that Bible he was. To everyone else, Jeff didn't seem worth much. Some folks thought he should just be discarded. But Jesus found Jeff, picked him up, tucked him under His arm, and now carries Jeff everywhere He goes so that he can tell his story and help others find the missing pieces to their life puzzle.

As a writer, it is easy for me to make up a Jeff story and feel good about it. As a Christian, I need to realize that there is a world filled with Jeffs and Jeff puzzles. When the Jeffs of this world are set free, will they find love, acceptance, and ministry in our churches? In my heart? Our challenge is simple. Love who Jesus loves. Accept who Jesus accepts. It doesn't matter whether you find Jesus in a pew or a prison. We all need the same grace and mercy.

Don't look for an "X" on the treasure map of life. Look for a cross.
Perry Crisp

Walk This Way

2009-11-30T09:27:00.000-08:00

God did a pretty cool thing when He changed Jacob's name to Israel. He could have made it simpler and changed Jacob's name to Roller Coaster because Jacob's entire life story was filled with ups and downs.

Jacob started life in second place, but he didn't like it. He was the second twin out of the womb, but had his hand on his brother's heel. Before his first breath of oxygen, he was caught red-handed trying to cheat. He was meant to be second, but did everything he could to become first.

I do the same. Do you?

The name "Jacob" means "supplanter." To "supplant" is to try to force your way past someone else, even if they were there first. He was a line-jumper. He was a pusher and a shover. If you shop at all this Christmas season, you will be an eyewitness to supplanting. Jacob tried to get a hand up on life from the moment he was born.

I have the same nature. Do you?

Jacob's story follows a pattern. He would commit a low-down despicable act of selfishness and greed. Then he would follow that up with a surprising act of humility, brokenness, and self-sacrifice. One minute he was cheating, arguing, and fighting with his family and neighbors. The next minute he was blessing, worshipping, and obeying God.

Jacob is the worst and best of us.

Jacob IS us.

Israel IS us.

Isaac's twin boy is appropriately named both Jacob (supplanter) and Israel (prince with God). He had the capacity to walk deep within his lower nature and soar to great heights within his higher nature. He is the essence of the conflict that rages within us to battle our selfishness and surrender to God's dominance in our lives.

But that's not what I love most about Jacob. What I love most about Jacob is his limp. After his pivotal wrestling match with God ("The Rock" of Ages), Jacob received both a blessing and a limp.

We all limp. But oh, how we try to hide it. "What? Me? Limp? Ha! That's not a limp. It's a strut!"

Whatever.

You limp. I limp. I struggle with God. You struggle with God. I can be sadly supplantive. So can you. And yet, through God's personal touch, I can be surprisingly sincere.

"He touched the socket of his hip; and the socket of Jacob's hip was out of joint as He wrestled with him" (Genesis 32:25). We cannot supplant God. When our selfishness soars to such heights, God pokes a finger in our hip and we forever limp. Then, when we humbly return to God and surrender our lives to His will and His ways, God touches our heart, and our spirit soars.

Just after Jacob received his blessing and his limp, he returned to his twin brother, Esau, from whom he had stolen the family inheritance. This time, Jacob didn't supplant. He surrendered. Forgiveness replaced bitterness. The broken bond between brothers was repaired with Jacob's brokenness.

Had an artist ever sat down with Jacob as his subject, we would have never noticed the Mona Lisa. Yet, I see the painting anyway in my mind's eye. Jacob forever stands (albeit a bit awkwardly) as the pinnacle pose of humanity.

And the subliminal message we would all do well to see in that portrait is this: Limping is okay.

I limp, therefore I'm blessed...or is it the other way around?
Perry Crisp

Been There Again

2009-11-19T08:11:00.000-08:00

You knew it was coming. You probably expected it sooner. So here are some random thoughts on my trip to Israel. It is overwhelming to even attempt to process what the trip meant to me.

Jet lag and emotional lag have wrapped a huge lock around my keyboard up to this point. Maybe God wanted me to take time to process what I experienced for myself before sharing it with others.

I can tell you that a trip to the Holy Land for anyone is a worthwhile investment. For a Jew or a Christian, the value is multiplied and magnified. It reaches beyond history into a personal, spiritual, and emotional pilgrimmage. As a pastor, to walk the land that holds the stories I've studied, taught, and preached for 30 years turned me into a one-man tear factory.

For your own well-being, I am going to limit myself to my top three favorite places and/or moments in the land of Israel.

First, the Garden of Gethsemane. I was immediately surprised at how close the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane were to the city of Jerusalem. It is just across the Kidron Valley. I already knew that. But I'm from Texas. A Texan would have never called that a valley. Gully or ravine, maybe. Possibly even a ditch. But a valley? Let's just say it was a very narrow valley. To walk from Jerusalem to the Mount of Olives would be like walking across a football field (from sideline to sideline, not end zone to end zone).

In today's Garden of Gethsemane, there is a church. Where most churches would have an altar, this church has a large rock jutting up out of the floor. This church was built around this rock. It is called the Rock of Agony. It is a place for followers of Christ to remember how Jesus agonized over what was about to take place. He prayed, "Father, if it be possible, take this cup from me."

Jesus wasn't afraid of a cup. He wasn't really even afraid of a cross. What Jesus did NOT want to experience was the part of the Father's plan that involved the sins of the world being placed upon His shoulders. Jesus had never known sin. Yet when He was placed on that cross, the sin of the world was placed on Him so that His death would be an eternal payment for all sin.

It was in the Garden of Gethsemane that He surrendered to the cup of our sin. It was there that He said, "Nevertheless, not My will, but Thine be done." His surrender came through great agony as His sweat glands and capillaries joined together. Mini explosions of bloody sweat trickled down the face of Jesus...because of me.

I knelt at that rock, placed my hand on it, and cried tears of contrition and sorrow for the awful price of my terrible debt.

Second, the Garden Tomb next to Gordon's Calvary. Whether these were the actual sights of the crucifixion and empty tomb of Jesus, only God knows for certain. A case could certainly be made for it. The important thing to me was to be there...again. In so many ways, I was there 2,000 years ago. When Jesus died on that cross, He died for me. He died in my place to pay my debt. When He arose, He arose with special gifts. It was there that I received the gift of victory over sin and the gift of an eternal home in heaven.

It felt like I had returned home to visit the place where I was born spiritually. Although I had accepted Christ as my personal Savior in Hawkins, Texas in 1978, the transaction that made it possible took place long before that, just outside Jerusalem. It was a great feeling to see my spiritual birthplace.

Third, the Sea of Galilee. It is actually a freshwater lake. It reminded me a lot of where I live now at Lake Fork. I felt a connection to Jesus in that sense. Most of His ministry took place around the Sea/Lake of Galilee. Capernaum was His ministry base. He called fishermen to be His followers. Having been where Jesus was, I can see why Jesus chose to spend so much time there. There was just something about walking the shoreline, taking a boat ride, and gazing out over the Sea of Galilee that brought a sense of peace to me.

It's like I connected with Jesus my Savior in Jerusalem, and then connected with Jesus my Friend in Galilee.

I've made it very hard on myself so as not to make it hard on you. I could tell you of baptizing in the Jordan River, floating in the Dead Sea, standing on top of Masada, the Mount of Beatitudes, Mount Carmel, and along the shores of the Mediterranean. I'm sure, these stories will ooze out of me in future blogs.

But for now, it is enough to report to you that your Bible is not an old, outdated book of history on ink and paper. It is a story of truth that took place in a land still very much alive. The land of Israel tells the old, old story as fresh as this morning's newspaper and as vividly as your back yard.

Forever Grateful,
Perry Crisp

The above picture: The writer in me could not pass up an opportunity to "ride a column." Get it? Oh, come on. I know it's corny.

Non-Fiction Fish Story...Really...I Promise

2009-10-28T08:57:00.000-07:00

Fishermen tell three types of stories: 1) True stories, 2) Lies, and 3) Stories that start out true, but grow in creativity and length. The size of the fish, the bait, the boat, or the waves may increase with each telling.

The following story falls under category number one. It is 100% non-fiction. A few years ago, I stumbled onto an opportunity to fish at a pond and I was unprepared. It was a family get-together, cookout, reunion thing. They mentioned the pool to swim in, but failed to mention the pond to fish in. So there I was...bypassing the pool to contemplate the fish population of the pond.

The urge to fish was strong. But first I had to hunt. In the garage attic of our family reunion hosts, I found a rod and reel. The rod and reel had a cork and a hook. Fantastic! But I had no bait. I rummaged around for a fishing lure of any kind and found none.

The reunion hosts lived in a subdivision within a city. They had a well-manicured lawn (about as big as a phone booth) and a few tiny flower beds. Similar houses surrounded the large pond. I resisted the urge to dig up the flower beds in search of worms, but I needed some kind of bait.

A thought came to mind. I quickly hid the fishing pole and went back to where the humans were grazing around a food table filled with sandwiches, chips, and dip. It was there that I found the bait I had hoped for: bologna! Pronounced "ba-lo-ney," bologna is a refined slab of delicious round steak. It's an aquired taste. It's also a word commonly used by those who just heard a politician speak.

This was a rather fancy affair, so the sandwiches were trimmed of bread crust and cut up into tiny squares. I guess rich folk can't eat a whole sandwich. Trying not to draw attention to myself, I stuffed a few sandwich squares into my mouth and a couple into my pockets.

I chatted with a neice or two and headed back to the garage where I had stashed the rod and reel. I tried to make my way to the pier that went out over the pond unnoticed, but a couple of youngsters in the pool saw me and followed.

I tore off a piece of bologna and put it on the hook. Almost immediately, the cork started bobbing up and down. It wasn’t long before I caught a small perch. With a few more pieces of bologna, I caught a few more perch. But I'm not much of a perch guy. It was sorta fun catching them, but it didn't satisfy the fisherman in me nearly as much as a bass would.

When I started running low on bologna, an idea came to me. I caught a tiny perch that was no bigger than the palm of my hand, took the hook out of the perch’s mouth and stuck it through his (or her) back under the dorsal fin. I cast my live bait with baloney-breath out into the pond.

The perch made the cork bob up and down as it tried to swim away from the hook in it's back. Then the cork went straight down and disappeared! Whoa baby! The fight was on!

In order to keep this story on the non-fiction level, I will admit that when I reeled in the bass, he was not a wall-hanger (for the outdoor illiterate, that means he wasn't a big fish). The bass weighed a little over ten -- I mean, two pounds. But it was the way that I caught the bass that made it so much fun. Thankfully, I have witnesses.

Let's get out of the pond for a minute and into the parabolic significance of this story. Isaiah 25:8 predicts the atoning death of Christ on the cross and says, "He will swallow up death forever." Paul quotes this prophetic statement in 1st Corinthians 15:54 to reinforce the fact that Jesus saved us from the curse of eternal death.

With those Scriptures in mind, think of the Christian as the bologna, the perch as death, and the bass as Jesus. Before Jesus died on the cross, we (humans) were dangling on a hook without hope. Death feasted on us and continually swallowed us up. When Jesus died on the cross, He looked like another bologna-victim of death. But while in the grave, God removed the hook from Jesus, stuck it in death, and when Jesus rose from the dead, He swallowed death, like the bass that swallowed the perch, and ended death's pursuit of all who believe in Jesus.

To the unbeliever, it looks like death swallows life. But the believer knows it isn’t so. Death doesn’t swallow the Christian. Christ swallows death and gives the Christian eternal life!

Hooked on Jesus,
Perry Crisp

See For Yourself

2009-10-26T09:23:00.000-07:00

For as long as I can remember, my dad has talked about two important places: Israel and Heaven. Dad has visited the first place. Mom resides in the second. One is just as real as the other.

My Dad went to Israel when I was just a child, but I'll never forget hearing his report to the church when he returned. His pictures were made into tiny picture squares called "slides" that fit into a carousel projector. I marveled at Masada. I was captured by the Via Dolorosa. I was wide-eyed when my eyes beheld Golgotha through the pictures.

Seeing those pictures made it all more real. All those stories I'd heard all my life came to life because my dad was there! He saw it! He walked where Jesus walked. He shed tears where Jesus shed blood.

There has always been a dream and a desire in my heart to go to Israel one day. But like Heaven, I always assumed I would be an old man before I saw it. But we serve a God who blesses us with occasional unexpected surprises.

Due to the generosity of someone I've never met, I will see Israel sooner than expected. Expect no devotionals from me next week. November 1-10th, I'll be walking where Jesus walked. I'll be crying where Jesus was dying. My hands will be raised at the site where His body did the same thing. My eyes will see in panoramic fashion what they once saw through tiny picture squares.

I've talked about the Sea of Galilea from behind a pulpit. I will soon sail across it in a boat. I've told the story of Jesus feeding thousands with a young boy's small lunch on a hillside. In a few days, I will sit on that same hill, breathe that same air, and become that little boy. Who knows? I may even break out a balogna sandwich to "christen" the moment.

In short, I'm going to Israel! My ticket has been purchased. My way has been paid. I didn't earn it. I don't deserve it. Someone I never met gave sacrificially for me to go. I could never express enough gratitude to the giver of such a marvelous gift.

Sound familiar? The two places my dad always talked about have now intertwined in my life. I'm going to Israel. But, I'm going to Heaven, too! My ticket has been purchased. My way has been paid. I didn't earn it. I don't deserve it. Someone sacrificed for me before we ever met. I will never be able to thank Him enough for His gift of eternal life.

Though I haven't met the benefactors who purchased my trip to Israel, I have met the One who purchased my ticket to Heaven. His name is Jesus. He gave His life on the cross on Golgotha's hill to open the door of Heaven for you and me. You may or may not ever see Israel. I hope you will have that privilege one day. But the far greater need of your soul is to know that you are going to Heaven. Your way has been paid.

You can pick up your ticket at the foot of the cross. Bow your heart before Jesus. Admit that you are a sinner in need of His saving grace. Ask Him to forgive you personally. Then, invite Him into your life. Accept Him and the sacrifice He made on the cross for you. With all your heart, mind, and soul give yourself completely to the One who gave Himself for you.

Did you? Have you? I hope and pray you have. If so, Mom and I will see you in Heaven.

Just as my dad saw the land of Israel and reported what he saw back to us, my mom did the same with Heaven. Days before the Lord took her home, Mom laid in her hospital bed and started waving her hands in the air as if she were conducting an orchestra.

Dad asked her what she was doing. She said, "Can't you hear it?"

"Hear what?"

"The music..."

"No, honey. I can't."

"Oh, it's beautiful! I've never heard anything like it!"

If you can't be in Israel this next Sunday morning, come to Lake Fork Baptist Church in East Texas. While I'm going to the place my dad talked a lot about, he will be preaching in the place I've talked a lot about. How good is God? God is good all the way through. All the day long.

Israel & Heaven Bound (separate trips, you understand)...
Perry Crisp

Besides Humans...

2009-10-14T09:11:00.000-07:00

Are humans unique among the living creatures of the earth? Of course, the Bible answers that question with a holy "Duhhhh!"

Genesis 1-2 explain the creation of the world, including animals and humans. It reveals two important facts: 1) We are the only living creatures said to have been created in the image of God, and 2) we are the only living creatures said to have been given mouth-to-mouth from God to jumpstart our kind (Genesis 2:7).

The Psalmist wrote that God made man a little lower than the angels and gave humans dominion over everything on earth (Psalm 8:4-6). In Matthew 6:26, Jesus used an example of how God takes care of the birds to show that God certainly cares for us humans, too. Then He asked a follow-up rhetorical question, "Are you not of more value than they?"

Since there are readers of this blog who feel their intelligence rises far above those of us who believe the Bible, let's ask some more questions. If you honestly look at humans compared to all other species, you will not find one of them that does the stuff we do. So, here we go...

Besides humans, who else does all this stuff?

1. Wears clothes.
2. Builds everything from dog houses to enormous football stadiums, skyscrapers, and outer space apartments.
3. Invents everything from singing birthday cards to nuclear missiles.
4. Sings karaoke.
5. Videotapes themselves singing karaoke.
6. Forces their family and friends to watch the videotape of themselves singing karaoke.
7. Flies through the air in a metal tube called an airplane.
8. Reads.
9. Clips their own toenails.
10. Wipes their own.........nose.
11. Provides for the well-being of other species.
12. Buys and sells goods.
13. Offers warranties on purchases.
14. Hides loopholes on warranties.
15. Commits suicide. (Okay, so maybe lemmings are an exception here. But do they KNOW they are committing suicide? Or do they just keep re-electing dumb leadership and follow blindly? Isn't it possible that the lemmings last words are, "Oh, snap!")
16. Digs up bones of other species, as well as their own, to examine and analyze them instead of gnaw on them? (Ribs at the bar-b-q place are not dug up)
17. Performs surgery.
18. Cooks food before eating.
19. Cries when slicing onions.
20. Slices onions.
21. Can't find keys.
22. Has keys they can't find.
23. Smokes.
24. Blushes. (Or, at least, once had the capacity to do so).
25. Gets goose bumps. (Makes you wonder if other species get people bumps).
26. Bothers with tombstones and cemeteries.
27. Puts "Humans aren't the only species on the planet...they just act like it" magnets on their refrigerators.
28. Has refrigerators.
29. Replaces parts that quit working: Dentures, glasses, knees, hearing aids, spouses, etc.
30. Comes up with lists of their own uniquenesses.
31. Posts blogs and articles on the internet in an attempt to refute the uniquenesses of humans.

I find that last one fascinating. There are actually websites with articles and blogs piously pointing out that there are no uniquenesses that separate humans from other creatures. Yet, what other creature posts blogs or writes articles? I love the fact that "moron" finishes off the word, "oxymoron" in this case, don't you?

Face it. Humans are unique. You can trust Wikipedia or you can trust the Word of God. You can trust the most recent opinions of humanity's collective brilliance (which keeps changing every month) or you can trust the unchanging Word of God that has stood the test of time.

God created you with a purpose. You're not a lemming. You're not a cultured ape. You are fearfully and wonderfully made by a Creator who loves you and wants you to take a few honest steps in His direction.

I'm not a preacher because I figured out something smart by observation. I'm a preacher because I've found something real by application and participation. When I gave my heart and life to God through Jesus Christ, He changed my life.

32. Has his or her heart and life completely reborn through a personal relationship with God through Jesus Christ.

Perry Crisp

Every Day Should Be National Day of Prayer...Yep, it's That Bad

2009-10-08T09:16:00.000-07:00

Samuel was frustrated. He had put up with Israel's disobedience and hard-hearted attitude for years. He had every reason under heaven to throw up his hands and walk away from the stubborn, rebellious nation.

Sam asked Israel for a list of all the ways he had mistreated them as a nation. They couldn't think of one. In 1st Samuel 12, Sam gave Israel a verbal highlight film of the many ways Israel had been unfaithful to God.

Score? Israel plenty, Samuel zero. Israel skunked Samuel in the game of disbodience. No one could blame Sam for his frustration with Israel. He could never be bad-mouthed if he chose to quit praying and interceding for the disobedient nation.

Hmmm... How are you doing when it comes to YOUR homeland? Do you get a wee bit frustrated with the direction and disobedience of this nation? America is racking up the points on the scoreboard of disobedience. Do I hear a collective sigh from the saints (not the fans in New Orleans, but the fans of the new covenant)?

Samuel did not give up on Israel. You and I shouldn't give up on America, either. Notice Sam's attitude, "As for me, far be it from me that I should sin against the Lord by failing to pray for you. And I will teach you the way that is good and right" (1st Samuel 12:23, NIV).

Sam considered it a personal sin to stop praying for Israel. Though he had every reason under heaven to stop, Samuel's allegiance did not stop short of heaven. He was committed to obeying God, praying for his homeland, and spreading the truth of God's way.

Praying for others is a privilege and a responsibility God has granted us. To not pray for others, according to Samuel, is to fail God. Sounds like a good reason to pray!

The list is long of those who need our prayers. From the leaders to the laborers, the entire country needs the entire body of Christ praying fervently and consistently on behalf of this nation. We are off course. We have drifted into dangerous waters. We're trying to have a pool party in a cesspool. We need to plead before the throne of heaven for forgiveness of the mess we've made on earth.

The good news is, you will never run out of reasons to pray and heaven will never run out of resources to answer. When you put those two things together, a miraculous moving of the entire nation back to its foundations of faith is more than a possibility.

"Father, here we come to ask Your forgiveness for where we've been..." Ok. I've started the prayer.

You finish it...

Challenge Your Faith

2009-10-01T09:25:00.000-07:00

An atheist was camping in the woods when he heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the bushes. It sounded like something big was coming toward him. He heard a loud growling sound and decided it must be a bear. He knew better than to run, so he sat very still.

The hairy beast suddenly appeared in front of the atheist, but it wasn't a bear. It was Bigfoot! As soon as the atheist saw the enormous beast, he took off running into the woods. Bigfoot chased him and the atheist could tell the beast was gaining on him.

As the atheist ran for his life, he cried out, "Dear God, save me!"

Time slowed down for a moment and a voice from above bellowed, "I thought you didn't believe in Me."

The atheist cried back in desperation, "Please, God, give me a break. Up until two minutes ago, I didn't believe in Bigfoot either!"

The Bible doesn't waste a lot of time arguing with those who claim there is no God. But you can find one statement that clearly sums up the whole reality of atheism, "The fool has said in his heart, 'There is no God'" (Psalm 14:1).

Atheism makes no sense. There is more evidence to the existence of God than many of the things atheists DO believe in. Many atheists believe in global warming, yet there is significantly greater evidence of the warmth of an all-loving God. Some atheists believe we've been visited by life-forms from other planets in UFO's. I've seen one episode of "The View" and can see some logic to that. Yet, the evidence that God visited this planet in the life-form of His Son, Jesus, is more compelling than alien visits or even the existence of real, historical and famous people like Shakespeare or George Washington.

I am less concerned about atheism than I am a growing trend among those who profess to be Christians, yet do not believe the Bible nor the statements of Jesus Christ written in the Bible. How can a person be a Christian without believing the Bible which contains the story and message of Christ? How can you claim to be a follower of someone who makes exclusive claims which you do not believe? That blows my mind. It is as illogical as atheism.

Jesus said clearly, "I am THE way, THE truth, and THE life. No one comes to the Father, except through Me" (John 14:6, emphasis on the definite article because the original Greek intentionally places a "the" before each word).

How can that be any clearer? How does a person who claims to be a Christian decide what part of Christ he is going to believe and what part he isn't? What's the source of authority upon which to make such a decision?

If logic or intellect is his answer, then what if he is deranged or becomes deranged or allows a deranged philosopher to settle his beliefs for him? Who gets to decide the definition of sound, definitive logic? Where is his litmus of accuracy located?

My point is: There HAS to be a source of authority. To undermine the source is to step onto the slippery slope of relativism.

Relativism is grounded in mood, not truth. It is dangerous to place truth or reason on the shoulders of feelings. Feelings are not reliable. Feelings should always be on the shoulders of truth, not the other way around. There must be a solid foundation.

Relativism strenuously battles against absolute truth. Yet, I challenge you to defend your position or support your beliefs without making an absolute statement or relying upon an absolute tenet.

God has you cornered. As soon as you shout, "There are NO absolutes," you make an absolute statement.

Here's the greater challenge. Do the unthinkable. Read the Bible. Study it. Examine the life and claims of Jesus from the original source. Seriously. I dare you. You say it isn't true or accurate? Please show me where. I've studied it all my life and my faith depends on it. If there's proof that it isn't true, I'd like to know. Can you do that? Or would you rather just feel your way through life and hope you still feel good about your decision after you die?

Moods change. Truth doesn't. Oh, by the way. The first tactic the devil ever pulled on humanity was to get us to doubt God's word. Adam and Eve fell for that. And fell hard. Have you fallen for it, too?

I'm in a really good mood. Probably because I've found the truth.

Simon Says...So What?

2009-09-28T09:50:00.000-07:00

Raise your hand if you ever played "Simon Says." Surely, you didn't just raise your hand. First of all, you would look ridiculous sitting at a computer with your hand in the air. Second, I didn't say, "Simon says."

We used to play this when I was a kid. Somehow, my sister was always Simon. My brother and I never dethroned her. I can still see her skinny, tanned frame as she stood in the yard with hands on her hips, giving out commands. (For her husband's sake, I pray she has discontinued this practice). Oh, hi Lynn!

Who is Simon and why should we care what he says? Some say Simon really isn't Simon. Simon is Cicero. Cicero was a famous ancient philosopher, statesman, lawyer, political theorist, and Roman constitutionalist. He was a really smart guy. Like E. F. Hutton, when Simon speaks, people listen.

Or maybe, it is connected to Simon de Montfort and the year 1264, when Simon captured King Henry III at the English town of Lewes. For the next year, any order Henry III gave could have been countermanded by de Montfort. Henry's son, Prince Edward, (who, according to rumor, was at Woodstock...google it) took Simon's castle by force and used his flags as a means to surprise Simon's forces in 1265, thus ending the game, "Simon says."

Whether it is truly rooted in Cicero, the philosopher, or Simon, the conqueror, it is a fun game for children. But when you get older, you soon learn to stop letting Simon boss you around.

So, who SHOULD we listen to? First, you need to realize that there are still a lot of Simons out there, shaking their fingers at you, and telling you what is and is not acceptable. Modern philosophers will tell you to listen to your inner child. That's kinda dumb. Doesn't that bring us full circle back to the kid who used to listen to Simon? The cultural gurus would tell you to listen to anyone who meets with their esoteric chalk dust theories...which usually leave you coughing, choking, scratching your head, or starving. Spiritually, the world would like to hang twenty-five signs pointing in twenty-five directions and have you believe all are equally viable...except for the one that points to Christ.

You can believe anything as long as you don't really believe it. You can do anything any way you want to do it as long you don't tell anybody it's the right way to do it. And you can stand on any truth you want to stand on as long as it doesn't come from a Bible or quote Jesus.

OR...

You can be honest. You can make an honest search. You can question why the prevailing philosophy of this world wants to Simonize you away from Jesus Christ and the Bible. You can open your ears and your heart and listen for that still, small voice that speaks from a heart of love, grace, and peace.

I'm not Simon. I'm Perry. I can't tell you what to do or believe. I can only tell you that I'm a recovering Simon-follower who has found Someone far better to follow. I'm a follower of Jesus Christ. There. I said it. Let the politically correct police pummel me with their arrogance and smug faith in the shifting sands of today's "Simon" who was yesterday's nobody and tomorrow's forgotten idol.

I believe in the Rock of Ages. I believe in the One is the same yesterday, today, and forever. I'm going to listen to the One who took my punishment and bears my scars all because He loved me.

By the way...I'm in good company. A guy named Simon (Peter) met this same Jesus and left everything to follow Him.

You don't have to take any baby steps or giant steps to find Jesus. He's only a prayer away. Call out to Him. He's waiting for you with arms open wide, not hands on His hips.

Perry says, "Jesus Saves." But Jesus saves whether Perry says so or not.

Clear Your Heart, Not Your Calendar

2009-09-23T09:04:00.000-07:00

Ever wonder what some of that stuff on your calendar means? Not the stuff you wrote illegibly. The stuff printed on the calendar by the calendar-making people - the Calendarites.

The Calendarites have printed a couple of things on my calendar during this month that are incredibly significant, yet most Christians have no idea what any of it means nor how it relates to their faith.

Keeping in mind that this is a devotion and not a dissertation, let's glance at our "at-a-glance" calendars together and learn a little about some funny words printed there. Look at the 19th and the 28th of September. What do you see? Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

Men, those are not famous fashion designers. Ladies, those are not famous athletes. They are Jewish holidays. Why should we care? We're Christians, not Jews. True. But Christianity came out of Judaism and Jesus was Jewish!

Reminds me of the Jewish Rabbi who sent his son to Jerusalem only to learn that his son met a Christian there and became a follower of Christ. The Rabbi was heartbroken, and went to God in prayer, "My son went to Jerusalem and became a Christian! What am I going to do?" God answered, "Why are you asking Me? So did Mine!"

Let's start with Rosh Hashanah. Translated, it means "head of the year." Believe it or not, "Happy New Year" hasn't always been celebrated by all things human on January 1st! The Jewish New Year isn't about fireworks and resolutions. It's about repentance and cleansing.

Rosh Hashanah is also known as the Feast of Trumpets. In ancient Israel, a trumpet (shofar) was blown for two reasons: to gather the Israelites together for an assembly or to sound an alarm to the troops that an enemy was approaching.

The trumpet means, "Get ready!" The trumpet is blown for 40 days to remind people to repent because Rosh Hashanah is coming. Sound familiar, Christian friend? I seem to recall the New Testament repeatedly warning followers of Christ to get ready and stay ready because of the promise of a trumpet blast that will announce the return of Christ! (1st Thessalonians 4:16-17). One big difference. When the trumpet blows to announce Christ's return, the Calendarites won't have it printed for us. 2nd Peter 3:10-12 reminds us that no one knows when that day will come.

Rosh Hashanah means, "Get ready." And the way to get ready is to repent. Turn from your sins. Be cleansed of your sins that have accumulated and now cling to you like dust and grime.

Are you listening for the trumpet? Are you ready for Jesus to return? I can't help but believe that Gabriel has been practicing and his angelic lips are near the horn. Repent and turn to Christ now while he's inhaling. Once he exhales and blows that trumpet, it will be too late.

How do you turn to Christ? Just tell God in your own words that you know you are a sinner and you want to accept the sacrifice of Yeshua (Jesus), who paid the penalty for your sins when He was crucified in your behalf. Ask Him to forgive you and cleanse you. God's grace is freely available to all who ask.

Yom Kippur. Day of Atonement. Separate the first two letters of atonement from the next three and you get the idea: "At One" -ment. Our sins separate us from God. To be atoned means to be made "at one" with God again.

All the other Jewish festivals are celebrative. Filled with singing and dancing before the Lord. Yom Kippur is a more solemn time. A time to 'fess up and seek God's forgiveness and mercy.

Yom Kippur was the only time of the year the High Priest could enter the Most Holy Place of the Temple. He would enter to atone for his own sins and for the sins of the people. A bull and goat were sacrificed and their blood was sprinkled on the mercy seat.

On this same day, a second goat was brought in -- a scapegoat was brought to the leaders of Israel. They laid hands on the animal, symbolically placing the sins of the Nation on it. Then they drove it out into the wilderness, believing that it was carrying their sins away.

Goat #1 paid for their sins with his blood. Goat #2 removed their sins from their presence. Goat #1 brought forgiveness. Goat #2 brought cleansing and restored them to a righteous standing before God.

At least, for a little while. It had to be repeated every year and was needed every month, week, day, and hour. Why? Because we are all professional sinners.

The Book of Hebrews in the New Testament explains all of this. It is called "Hebrews" because it reveals the truth of Yeshua's Messianic fulfillment to those Jews who seek to make an honest investigation of the claims of Christ. It brings the Jew to see that Judaism has been fulfilled in Jesus.

Yom Kippur. Day of Atonement. As a believer and follower of Christ, you have a Yom Kippur, too. There's been a day of atonement for you. It isn't on any of our current or recent calendars. It was etched into one calendar 2,000 years ago. "For Christ has not entered the holy places made with hands, which are copies of the true, but into heaven itself, now to appear in the presence of God for us" (Hebrews 9:24).

Once Jesus made His sacrifice of atonement on the cross when He died for our sins, it finalized the need for annual sacrifices. "Not that He should offer Himself often...but now, once at the end of the ages, He has appeared to put away sin by the sacrifice of Himself...so Christ was offered once to bear the sins of many" (Hebrews 9:25-28).

By the way...Jesus IS returning. How do I know? He promised He would. He's kept every promise He ever made. Others can scoff and doubt. It makes them feel smart. That's fine. Jesus predicted they would, so when they do, they just make Him look right smart.

I don't know when Jesus is coming. I just know He is. When I see my calendar every September, it reminds me to be ready. Are you ready? If not, will you make an honest, unbiased search of the Bible for truth? Not because you already believe it ISN'T true and want to nitpick it to death, but because you really want to know if it IS true.

I know you're hungry for something that satisfies. Jesus is the bread of life, the manna from heaven, the source of living water, the light of the world, and the garment of righteousness.

Happy New Life!
Perry Crisp

What's That You're Wearing?

2009-09-16T07:54:00.000-07:00

"Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves coverings" (Genesis 3:7).

An increasing number of television documentaries take aim at the Bible in an attempt to question the validity of its content. Scholars with a bias against belief in a sovereign God or sinful man pick apart Scripture by developing theories of logic that seek to trap God within the confines of human limitations. Like a glove that doubts the existence of a hand, they ignore the obvious.

They also ignore Biblical scholars with equal or greater credentials than the ones they interview because such scholars believe the Bible is true and accurate. Instead, they seek out like-minded doubters with the same agenda to convince us all that the Bible is not a valid source for the creation of the world, the existence of man, or the explanation of life.

Forgive me for being blunt, but the question begs to be asked: Why, then, do those who spout their doubt so freely against God's story still wear clothing? Don't get me wrong -- I'm GLAD they do! But why?

If the Bible-attackers and naysayers of God who diligently work to convince the world that the Bible is a myth and God is dead truly believe what they are spouting, shouldn't their logic lead them to stop covering themselves?

I'm not advocating a revival of nakedness. I'm asking those who are certain of the absence of God or the irrelevance of Scripture why they are still clothed. If, according to them, the Bible isn't true, including the creation and beginning of man through Adam and Eve, and the whole Garden of Eden thing -- then humans are not sinners and shame, guilt, and embarassment are not valid.

I, for one, am glad they are inconsistent at this point. But think about it. If there is no God, no sin, no fall of man, and all that follows according to Scripture, then why are we the only species shopping at JC Penney? After all, we're born naked. Yet we are quickly covered. Frogs are born naked and swim nude the rest of their lives.

Oh, I know what their answer would be. It is a social etiquette engrained in our society based on a false belief system that would be too shocking to our culture to reverse. Plus, you can get arrested.

I wonder. Is that an answer based on logic or is it a personal conviction? I have a sneaky suspicion that even if we removed the laws, even the loudest Bible haters would never feel comfortable removing clothing from their closets. Even the atheist thanks God for clothing.

I thank God for clothing, too. Especially at restaurants. But I believe the origin of the whole clothing thing goes back to the first couple. I believe it had everything to do with sin, shame, and the fall of humanity. I know I'm sacrificing my opportunity to be a guest theologian on PBS and the History channel, but I believe the Bible.

Blessed to be Dressed,
Perry Crisp

Lefty-Loosey, Righty-Tighty

2009-09-08T10:24:00.000-07:00

All dads are familiar with "daddy jobs." Daddy jobs are jobs that everyone else in the family gladly relies on dad to do. Dads get to deal with fun stuff like snakes in the house, spiders in the bathtub, and going outside at 2 a.m. to see why the dog is barking.

But there are other "daddy jobs" that a dad is called on to do because he's the only one strong enough to do them. The universal daddy job of all households is opening stuff. Well-taped packages that require a knife or sharp instrument? (Insert "toolman grunt" here). Daddy job. Sticky doors and drawers that swell and won't open easily? Daddy job.

The most common of all is the stuck jar lid. It can be a jelly jar, hot sauce jar, mayonnaise jar, or a jar of any kind with food products inside --- Daddy job.

"Dad, can you open this?" I've yet to figure out if that is a request, a command, or a challenge to my manhood. I always assume the latter and spring to the challenge. Thankfully, there haven't been too many that caused my face to turn red or my veins to thicken on my forehead. Most of them are opened rather easily. But every once in a while, a challenger comes along that is a worthy adversary.

"Dad, can you open this," asks your six-year-old daughter as she hands you a jar of preserves that has been passed down from grandma and has been sitting in an outside pantry rusting away since Truman was president. Without hesitation, you find yourself in a death-grip with that jar twisting with all your might. That old rusty jar takes you to your knees while your daughter looks at you in disappointment. You feel like Superman trying to open a jar of kryptonite and Lois Lane is shocked to see that you can't even open a jar!

After two or three innings, the old jar lid loosens and loses the battle against the man of the house. And yes, the man of the house takes a victory lap around the kitchen.

In the pantry of your life, there may be some things that need opening that fall into the category of "Daddy jobs." Not your earthly daddy. Your heavenly Father. There are some things that only the Father can open. Whether in your life or in the life of someone close to you, you can approach your Father and ask, "Daddy, can You open this?"

He can. God can open closed minds, barricaded hearts, and doors that we thought were permanently shut. Do you have a loved one whose heart and mind is closed toward God? Ask your heavenly Daddy to open it. Do you have a friend or someone you love deeply who has closed the door of their heart to you? Hand it over to your Father. Do you find it difficult to understand what the Bible is saying when you sit down to read it? Ask God to open your understanding. Luke 24:45 says, "And He (Jesus) opened their understanding, that they might comprehend the Scriptures."

Whatever the jar and however tight the lid, take it to Daddy. If He can open the closed tomb of His lifeless Son and bring Him back to life, He can open anything.

Perry Crisp

New Hunting Ranch for the PC Now Open

2009-09-02T07:40:00.000-07:00

New Hunting Ranch for the PC Now Open

Ever wanted to satisfy that innate craving to hate and hunt, but your political correctness keeps getting in the way? Sure, it's great feeling smug and self-righteous when defending the rights of the planet, animals and people less "people" than you, but what do you do with the call of the wild inside you?

Well, now you have an outlet! Bill Mayhem and Michael Moreorless have created El Rancho Diablo, government-funded (oops, that part was supposed to be a secret) hunting ranches for the Politically Correct. These ranches are conveniently located in several undisclosed locations on both the east and west coasts.*

What can you do at El Rancho Diablo? You can release the deep wells of anger and hatred you have for those pesky Christians and right-wing radio personalities at the top of your lungs without fear of having to defend your bias or irrational and unjustified disdain.

El Rancho Diablo is fully equipped with extravagant Shouting and Shooting Ranges. Our shouting and shooting ranges allow you the option of shouting or shooting a BB gun** at life-like fake wax*** replicas of Bible-thumping believers and your most despised radio right-wingers.

Want to pop a vein on your forehead while shouting at the top of your lungs at Rush Limbaugh, Michael Savage, Mark Levin, Laura Ingraham, or Shawn Hannity without fear of them talking back? No problem. Care to spew venom and hatred at a few smiling, hard-working, tax-paying, successful, upper-middle class Christians? Fire away!

Speaking of "firing away," we even provide weapons (because we know you've always wanted to hold one). At every shouting and shooting range, you can choose from a selection of BB guns ranging from BB pistols to semi-automatic BB rifles. Your personal trainer**** will assist you in the proper methods of gun handling. She or he will show you how to pick up the weapon, hold the weapon, and aim the weapon.

*A screening process is required to gain access to these locations to ensure that you won't actually have to confront a live Christian or right-wing radio personality.

**Of course, because this is a PC outing, the ranch only allows BB guns with blanks. All BB rifles come standard with recoil pads for your safety.

***No candles were harmed in the making of these replicas.

****Recently released Guantanamo Bay terror suspects.

Apply today. No logic necessary. Politicians, government employees, Oprahma, all news agency employees except FOX NEWS, and Liberal College Professors hunt free. No ID (or IQ for that matter) required. Lists of popular slogans and fool-proof irrelevant chants complete with demonstration signs supplied if you feel more comfortable holding a sign instead of a gun. While government funding lasts. Lawyers experienced in frivolous lawsuits are on standby for your convenience in case you wish to sue us.

Hugging an Answered Prayer

2009-08-27T07:15:00.000-07:00

I hugged an answered prayer last night. It is an "amazing grace" story that has encouraged me to continue even more boldly in a practice I've employed for several years.

Through the years I have noticed that waiters and waitresses are often mistreated and misrespected by the people they serve. I have seen people, even Christians, be embarrassingly rude to the person who takes their order, fills their tea glass, and delivers their meals.

I have a chosen the opposite path. If these human beings are going to be the targets of rudeness by other human beings on a regular basis, then I want to be a positive part of their day to help overshadow some of the negatives. At first, I started with simple acts of kindness and a little humor to let them know I wasn't going to be a problem customer. I also tip generously and unconditionally.

Another common practice of mine is to pray before each meal. Whether I am at a restaurant with family and friends or at my desk unwrapping a bologna sandwich, I pause to give thanks.

At some point, I started combining these two practices. I don't remember when, but one day, after my waitress took my order, I called her by name (thanks to the name tag) and told her we were going to have prayer before our meal and we would like to pray for her. I asked her if she had any specific needs. She gave a nervous answer, smiled, thanked me, and went to her next task, and I prayed for her.

I've been doing that ever since. I've made a few friends along the way in the restaurants I visit frequently. It has blessed me to pray for them. It has blessed them to have someone see them as a real person with real needs. On a side note, it is amazing how great the service is when you treat people with compassion and respect. Please don't do it for that reason or it will ruin the real blessing.

I have a long list of fantastic responses from waiters and waitresses that I could share with you, but I want to tell you what happened that resulted in last night's answered-prayer-hug.

The Lord called me to serve as pastor of Lake Fork Baptist Church in east Texas in November of last year. Shortly after God called us here, the church staff and their families invited us out to eat following a Sunday evening service. There is a restaurant right around the corner from the church. As usual, after the waitress came to our table and took our order, I asked her if she had any prayer requests.

She hesitated. Then she held back tears as she asked us to pray for her brother. She didn't go into any personal details, but the rest of the staff knew the young man and knew a little about his needs. Her request for prayer for her brother stuck with me. She was sincere. She smiled and thanked us. We prayed for him by name. That was ten months ago.

For ten months, every time I've entered that restaurant and seen that waitress, I've been reminded to pray for her brother, not knowing who he was...until last night.

After our Wednesday night services were over and we were standing around talking, one of my deacons tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I want you to meet someone who just met my best friend." I introduced myself to the young man and hugged him. He had that smile on his face that Jesus gives people right after He moves into their hearts.

My deacon told me the young man's name, but nothing registered. It's a common name. But the wife of our worship leader was looking at me funny. She had that wide-eyed look that indicated to me there was more to the story than I realized. She whispered into my ear, "Do you remember that time right after you came here that we went out to eat and you asked the waitress if she had any prayer needs, and she asked us to pray for her brother?"

I love it when the light comes on! Instantly, I had an "A-ha!" moment. This was him! I turned back to the young smiling man and said, "Young man, I prayed for you long before I ever met you." I told him the story. We hugged again. That hug was sweeter than the one before because I was hugging an answered prayer.

I'm encouraged to continue asking waitresses and cashiers and anyone else God puts in my path if they have a prayer need. There's nothing like hugging the neck of an answered prayer.

When you go to a restaurant, do yourself a favor. After they take your order, take theirs.

Perry Crisp

Big Mike

2009-08-26T13:41:00.000-07:00

Mike walked into our Sunday school class for the first time and immediately my eight-year-old mind went to work. Mike was ridiculously tall for an eight-year-old. His feet and hands were huge. He looked like a combination of three people: the body of a sixteen-year-old basketball player, the hands and feet of a twenty-three-year-old football player, and the face of an eight-year-old choir boy. He was shy, but all smiles.

Jodie and Melvin wanted to make fun of him, but I huddled them up and quickly reminded them how terrible our boy's basketball team for the church was. We needed Mike! So we started in with the smooth-talking, "Hey...Mike...buddy!"

Being incredibly skilled at transparency, my first question was, "Mike, do you play basketball?"

His answer startled me. He smiled and said, "Nope. I've never tried."

Never tried? This was alarming news to a boy who slept with a basketball, played basketball all day until darkness hid the rim, dribbled the basketball in the garage waiting for it to stop raining, and used every curtain rod and tennis ball in the house for an imaginary basketball game.*

Big deal. Michael had never played basketball before. He was only eight. How hard could it be to teach him what he needed to know?

You'd be surprised.

It was quite a challenge. Mike was so strong, he didn't shoot the ball, he launched it. His body had grown so fast that he was still catching up to it. His reactions were slower than a turtle race on slo-mo instant replay. His strength was greater than his mind could process. His feet were so big, he couldn't run. He galloped in a painful lumbering motion that looked like it hurt. It was like watching Elaine Benes dance.

He nearly wore out the center part of the court. By the time he almost got on the defensive end of the floor, we had the ball and were heading to our goal. As everyone passed by him, he would turn around and head to the offensive end. Shortly after he turned around, we were running back to play defense.

By the time our first game came around, our coach realized that Mike was a work in progress so he left Mike on the bench. It didn't hurt Mike's feelings at all. He was happy to be on the team and was proud of his FBBO jersey (First Baptist, Bevil Oaks...though the other churches thought it stood for Funny Boy Body Odor).

The game I remember most was a game against FBB (First Baptist, Beaumont). They were the rich kids. They had the high dollar brand new Pony shoes, four sweat bands on each arm, and shiny jerseys with their names stitched on the back. They were one of the few churches that had a gym in those days, so we always played them on their home turf.

Yes, it was church basketball. But it was all-out war. All we ever wanted was to beat FBB. But FBB was not about to lose to a backwoods church from the bayou. We were whistled for fouls every twenty seconds. If we got close to one of their players, it was a foul. Yet they could knock us over, take the ball, and run to the other end of the court and score without a whistle being blown.

I was the second one on our team to foul out. Eventually, all five starters fouled out and Michael was sent into the game. Bless his heart. He tried. He was such a big teddy bear. The boys from the other team were scared of him at first. But Mike's smile gave away the purity of his heart and they eventually started pushing him around.

Mike let them. Though a hundred times stronger and a foot taller, he let them run into him, knock him down, and push him around.

Our coach called time-out. Coach encouraged Mike to keep his ski---his feet planted and not let them push him around. And because Mike couldn't keep up with the speed of the game, Coach told Mike to stand close to the other team's goal and not let them drive in for a layup. Mike smiled and nodded.

Sure enough, Mike stood where Coach told him to stand. But he just smiled at the other team as they went around him and scored. I was about to snap. Not at Mike. I loved Mike. Mike and I had become buddies. Mike was the kindest, most gentle kid I'd ever met. He would do anything for me. I was just tired of seeing them score over and over and make taunting gestures at my buddy.

As Mike stood under the other team's goal, the rest of our team had the ball on our end of the floor and were trying to run a play. One of the players from the other team stole the ball. He was the biggest "show-off" on their team. He had been teasing Mike and making fun of him since Mike first smiled at him.

When "Show-off" stole the ball, there were only ten seconds left in the game. He drove the ball right toward Mike. Mike just stood there, smiling at him. I'd had enough. I yelled, "Mike, hit him!"

Let's hit the pause button on the action for a second. In my eight-year-old church-basketball-playing mind, when I said, "Hit him," I envisioned Mike stepping in front of the show-off, standing his ground, and having some type of bodily contact that would either be called a foul or a charge.

Mike's mind took a more literal route.

Mike looked at me as if I was his commanding officer and I had just given him a direct, yet puzzling command. But a command it was, and he was determined to carry it out. After he looked at me, he looked at the show-off. The smile on Mike's face was replaced by a furrowed brow and tight lips. Mike's right man-hand drew up in a fist big enough to cover "Show-off's" entire face. Mike pulled that mighty fist back and let it fly.

The show was over for "Show-off." Mike's punch landed squarely and "Show-off" reversed his motion and landed flat on his back.

I was amazed at how quickly everyone's eyes went from the floor to the bench. EVERYONE was looking at me...especially Coach. The blood left my face and I shrugged my shoulders as I pleaded my case, "I didn't mean 'HIT HIM' like that!"

After that game, I quit trying to make Mike into my image of what I thought he should be. It was reassuring to have a huge friend who responded so well to my commands. But I gave up the plans I had for him because it was what I wanted...not what Mike wanted.

Since then, I've learned a great deal about plans. Not only have I learned that I cannot decide or coerce the plans of other people's lives, I've learned to feed my own plans and agendas for my life into the shredder, too. Why?

Life's not about me. I'm not here for me. Life's about purpose. If my life has a purpose, then there must be a Purposer. In fact, there is. God created me and you for a purpose. God has plans for you. Awesome plans. "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future'" (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV).

I command no one. I am called to surrender, submit, and serve. Lest you think that sounds icky, let me assure you -- it is the greatest place and path that any of us can be in or on. To be where and who God made you to be is indescribably fulfilling.

"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me" (Galatians 2:20, NIV).

Don't worry. I won't hit you. Unless God tells me to. So far, He hasn't. Even when I've tried to talk Him into it.

Hopefully, Mike's learned the same lesson I have. I hope you have, too. Let God be your guide. He has the plans and knows the way.

Oh, and if you see a guy my age with an unusually large nose, would you tell him, "Perry's sorry."

Perry Crisp

*Curtain rod basketball with a tennis ball is fun. The curtain rod is at just the right distance from the wall to allow a tennis ball to squeeze between it. Some of the best dunks of my life were in a living room. Enjoy!

Gainer or Loser?

2009-08-20T07:37:00.000-07:00

A "gainer" is a type of dive in which the diver does a backwards flip while his body is going forward. The diver faces the water, springs forward off the diving board, and the movement of his body continues progressing forward. Yet, while moving forward in the air, the diver reverses his momentum, causing his body to do a back flip while progressing forward.

The only difficult part of this maneuver is convincing your mind that such a thing makes sense. Of course, there is also the "trial and error" period that can be painful until the dive is perfected.

I have seen people try this dive who were over-anxious about getting the back flip motion going a millisecond after their toes left the board instead of waiting until they got to the top of their jump. Ouch! Tossing your head back too soon before clearing the diving board area can give you a nasty headache.

The other mistake I have seen people make is freezing up or losing their bearings before they finish the backward rotation. Ouch again! Faces, bellies, and backs make an awful popping noise when they hit the water like a bulldog chasing a parked car. Side effects include redness, occasional swelling, a serious stinging sensation, laughter from the pool rats, and momentary embarrassment.

My advice? 1) Wear a shirt and a ski mask until you get the gainer perfected. 2) Learn this dive when you're young. Adults, don't try this at home.

My daughter was surprised to see her 47-year-old dad do a gainer the other day. I wasn't suprised that I could do the gainer. I was more concerned about my ancient knees cooperating at the impact of the bounce. But the springiness...springyness...oy... (I feel the need to introduce a new word). But the sprength of the limber diving board took a great deal of pressure off my old-man knees and I got the bounce I needed.

I felt like a kid again!

A gainer at a swimming pool is to be celebrated. But what about when a Christian or a church does a gainer? What do we do when we are moving forward in Christ and the momentum of the Holy Spirit of God is launching us unto new heights, and we foolishly give in to the temptation to reverse our motion?

It is a guarantee that every time a believer or body of believers is making great leaps of spiritual progress, the enemy gets busy in an effort to stop or slow down the progress. He pulls out all the stops. He whispers doubt into the heart and pride into the head to convince us to reverse our motion.

When the devil is successful in convincing us to gainer, we end up a loser. A messy "splat" is heard and felt. It is heart-wrenching.

Observers sit poolside and turn to one another in confusion, "What are they doing? They were going in the right direction. Why did they stop? Why did they try to go back?"

God's people have always struggled with this. A few days after the Israelites were delivered from the bondage of 400 years of slavery to the Egyptians, gainer-whining could be heard among the masses. In nasal-sounding tones that are reminiscent of (other people's) kids in the back seat of the family car, the Israelites whined, "We want to go ba-a-a-ack to Egypt."

Those sitting by the Red Sea pool leaned toward one another and said, "They want to go back? God just set them free from slavery and is leading them to the Promised Land --- and they want to go back?"

We do. We all do. We gainer from time to time. But what do we do when our gainer leaves us feeling like a loser? We go back to the sprength of the One who lifted us before! His grace and forgiveness heals the pain of our splat.

Christianity is a second-chance sport. Failure isn't final. "One-and-done" isn't the way God operates.

Come on in...the water's fine.
Perry Crisp

Yes, You CAN

2009-08-13T08:22:00.000-07:00

At the back corner of our church property you will find a small, fenced-in area with a sign that reads "Cans for Christ." It is a place where people can drop off their aluminum cans for recycling.

The beauty of recycling aluminum is that the aluminum can be melted down and reused over and over again. It can be a coke* can today or an airplane tomorrow. (Not all by itself, you understand). Or it can be melted down and end up on a bicycle, a computer, a car, a boat, or a house (as a gutter, wiring, or siding).

Take a journey with me for a moment. Let's be an RC Cola can. An RC Cola can is a thing of beauty. You'll not find a more beautiful color of blue than the blue on an RC Cola can. I can hear some of you now: "Why RC?" This is a devotional article, not a business meeting. I'm writing this and I like RC Cola. You Dr. Pepper people just back off! (Insert smiley face here).

So, we're an RC Cola can. We're shipped to a convenience store near Lake Fork, Texas. A tall, lanky preacher from a church up the road stops at the convenience store, opens the refrigerator door, picks us up, purchases us, and takes us back to his truck.

There he pops the top and we pour the refreshing content of our can down his throat. When he gets to the bottom, we're empty. Our usefulness appears to be completed. At first, he tosses us into a Subway bag along with the trash from his recent lunch. We're done! We're trash! We're doomed to life in a landfill next to a smelly diaper!

But then he retrieves us from the bag, pulls up to a small, fenced-in area, and tosses us into an apparent graveyard of empty cans. We look around and there are cans of every nationality and race scattered all around us. The generic cans are there. Apparently, Baptists buy the cheap stuff.

But the big dogs are there, too. You know, the popular ones with all the nice theme songs and commercials. A few energy drink cans are also laying around. They look tired. And don't look now, but there are a few beer cans, too. Some Presbyterians must be sneaking onto the Baptist parking lot at night to drop off their cans. Or maybe one of the Sunday school classes had a fish fry and needed the beer for batter (wink, wink).

Eventually, someone loads us and all the other cans into a truck and we are delivered to a recycling center. There we go through a painful process. We are cut up into tiny pieces, sprayed with chemicals, crushed, melted, beaten, molded, and remade into a flat panel. We're not sure what we are now. We wind up at a manufacturing plant that makes airplanes and we are riveted onto the wing of a beautiful, massive airplane.

We are no longer a single can quickly consumed. We are now a part of something bigger. Now, we soar high above every convenience store, grocery store, coke* machine, beverage truck, and warehouse. A flight from DFW takes us right over Lake Fork. We find the church, the parking lot, and the tiny fence where we once laid. It wasn't a graveyard after all.

On the count of three, I'm going to snap my fingers and we are no longer the aluminum can/airplane. One, two, three. SNAP.

The little fence is a lot like the buildings just to the east of it. People enter as individuals who feel that their lives have been spent and tossed onto the landfill of broken dreams. But God uses empty containers. We are called upon to die to ourselves, take up His cross, and follow Him. Our old nature is melted down. Our old life is removed like dross. We are made into something new and beautiful.

"Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. Old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new" (2nd Corinthians 5:17, NKJV).

"Anyone who belongs to Christ is a new person. The past is forgotten, and everything is new" (2nd Corinthians 5:17, CEV).

"They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as eagles..." (Isaiah 40:31).

Perry Crisp

*Generic word in the South for all carbonated beverages...also know as "pop" or "soda" by my friends up North. We know it isn't politically correct and we are comfortable with that.

GLAD I'm No Longer HEFTY

2009-08-10T08:41:00.000-07:00

It's trash day. In our neighborhood, several neighbors share a trash corner. Every Monday, each neighbor carries his or her week's worth of trash to the corner and adds it to the ever-growing pile.

There's no dumpster. We just drop our sacks and stacks of trash on the grass near the street sign. There are huge sacks of trash and little sacks of trash. There are white sacks and black sacks. There are high-dollar, reinforced, double-walled trash bags with objects bulging and pushing, but not bursting through the sides of the bag. There are cheap bags that rip and tear easily.

All bags of all kinds from all neighbors taken to the same exact spot and left there. Later in the day, a trash truck pulls up to trash corner and picks up all our trash and takes it away. By mid-afternoon, trash corner is always cleared of trash...as if the trash had never been there.

This morning I drove past trash corner without stopping. Not because I didn't have trash. I'd been carrying three trash bags in the bed of my truck for two days. I put the trash back there in anticipation of trash day. But after a couple of days of hauling it around, I forgot it was back there. I became accustomed to seeing it there and didn't even notice it when I drove out of the driveway this morning. I drove right past trash corner with my trash still in my truck.

I made it about a block and a half before it dawned on me that I forgot to drop off my trash. I turned around at the next driveway and returned to trash corner. I removed the three bags from the bed of my truck and left them there.

After I set the trash bags down, I looked up at the sign. The sign had two identifying markers on it: a county road number and the name of the county. I looked up and saw the county name -- Wood -- and that's when things turned weird.

As I stood beneath that Wood County road sign with my trash bags at my feet, my mind transitioned from the physical to the spiritual. I saw myself standing beneath a Wooden cross, having laid my bags of sin at the base of it.

This is what Jesus did for me. And for you. But it wasn't a Monday. It was a Friday. Good Friday. Jesus took the trash of our sins away to a hill called Calvary. On that hill, Jesus "became sin for us" on a wooden cross and removed every bag. He didn't toss it in a landfill and cover it up. He took it down to the ocean floor of the Sea of Forgetfulness and there it dissolved.

How often do we carry our sinful trash around with us? How many times do we overlook our baggage and bypass the cross? Turn around. Repent. Take your sins to Sin Corner and gratefully lay them beneath the Wooden cross of Jesus.

"If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and cleanse us from all unrighteousness" - 1st John 1:9.

Perry Crisp

Yabba-Dabba-lujah!

2009-08-03T08:32:00.000-07:00

Every Flintstone cartoon ended the same. After a slab of prehistoric ribs was set on the Flintstone's car, causing it to tip over, the family would make their way to their boulder-home. Once they were inside their rocky residence, Fred would reappear on the front porch to set out an empty milk bottle.*

Fred would then go back inside the house, pick up the kitty (a saber tooth tiger), and toss it outside. As soon as Fred slammed the door shut, the kitty would go back inside the house by jumping through an open window. Then the door would open, the kitty would have Fred by the collar, and would toss him outside and shut the door.

The final scene was always the same. Fred was left outside his own house, banging on the door, yelling, "Wilmaaaaaaa!"

Why I remember the vivid details of childhood cartoons but couldn't tell you the first thing that happened at the Battle of Bull Run is beyond me. But let's stay focused.

That final Flintstone clip is the picture I want us to see. Fred. Outside his own home. Banging on the door. Tossed out by the family pet.

Do you see the sad irony? It's Fred's house. He's the owner. He's the provider. He works in the rock quarry day in and day out to make a living and provide for his family. He's the man of the house. The slab of rock that has "Mortgage" chiseled at the top and "Signature" chiseled at the bottom has Fred's "X" inscribed into it.

If it weren't for Fred, that cat would be Teradactyl food. But the cat is cozy inside the house of Fred and Fred is left outside his own home.

Now turn to the Book of Revelation. The second and third chapters of Revelation are messages from God to seven churches. God, the Creator, Owner, Founder, and Provider of the church writes these words to the church of Laodicea: "Behold, I stand at the door and knock..."

What? God is standing outside His own house...knocking. God wants in. That disturbs me. The Church is God's own special people, redeemed by the blood of Jesus. Is it possible that we could go on with "church" in cozy kitten-like comfort without God?

Yes, it is. I've been in churches all my life. Before it was ever an occupational hazard, it was an occupational hazard by proxy. Not only am I a preacher, but I'm a son of a preacher. I've always been in church. I love the church. But I've seen enough churches to know that God isn't always inside. At least not in any discernible way.

If you sense the presence and power of God in the church you attend, then thank and praise God for it. I do...every day. In far too many churches, His absence is overwhelmingly noticeable. God often seems like a visitor, an occasional guest, or an inactive member.

God should be the most active member of the church.

What hinders God's activity? What keeps God knocking on the outside of the church? Disunity. Corporate sin. Pride. Unauthorized revisions of His authorized revelation. I'm sure the list is longer, but these are the main reasons.

The better question is: What encourages God's activity? It is so simple. Just add the word "genuine" to the front of each of the following answers: Prayer, worship, brokenness, honesty, acceptance, forgiveness, unity, ministry, fellowship, brotherly love, proclamation of His Word, and lifting up the name of Jesus.

God also shows up where He's expected and invited. That might be the simplest of solutions for some fellowships.

It should go without saying, but I will. Hasn't He bled enough for us already? Why should He have to bloody His knuckles on the doors of our churches?

Fred had a rock house. God has a house that rocks...if we will let Him in and let Him loose.

Perry Crisp

*For those born post-1970, it was once common practice for every home to be visited by the milk man in the wee hours of the morning. You could set your empty glass milk containers on the porch at night. In the morning, the milk man would pick up the empties and replace them with fresh, cold milk...so I've read.

Nuttered

2009-07-29T09:33:00.000-07:00

Words never uttered...from the animal kingdom:

Fish: "I'm thirsty."

Cow: "That hamburger looks good."

Snail: "It all happened so fast."

Eagle: "No thanks. I'd rather walk."

Vulture: "Gross! I'm not eating that!"

Snake: "Hey, look! A guy with a hoe. I wonder if he's friendly."

Porcupine: "That was the best massage I ever got."

Cat: "I hope Jamie wants to play 'fetch' today!"

Alligator: "What! No salad bar?"

Turkey: "I love November."

Salmon: "I'll be back."

Armadillo, Opossum, Rabbit, & Turtle: "Always look both ways before crossing the road."

Words never uttered...from me:

"May I please have a pickle?"

"Oh boy! Algebra!"

"I wish I had a cat."

"I wonder what's on HG tv."

"Alright! Golf AND Nascar on tv at the same time! Cool!"

"I'll be back right after I get an earring and highlights."

"Fishing? Nah, I'm too tired."

"I only feel like preaching ten minutes today."

Words never uttered...from Biblical characters:

Adam to Eve: "Oh yeah? I'll have you know there are PLENTY of women who find me attractive!"

Eve to Adam: "Honey, I wouldn't eat that if I were you."

Noah (before the ark): "I've always dreamed of operating a zoo."

Noah (after the ark): "We sure could use some rain."

Abraham: "Sodom seems like a nice place to raise a family."

Lazarus: "I don't believe in miracles."

Satan: "You really need to think this through."

Jesus: "I could probably help you get to heaven. Or you could try one of those other guys. Either way."

God: "I changed my mind. I don't love you any more."

Perry Crisp
(Okay, so I admit. My quiet time got a little off-track this morning)

Elperryjah

2009-07-28T12:20:00.000-07:00

Elijah, the prophet, stood alone before Ahab, the king of Israel. Ahab was not high on God's "This is how you should rule Israel" list. In fact, "Ahab did more to provoke the Lord God of Israel to anger than all the kings of Israel who were before him" (1st Kings 16:33).

Because of Ahab's sin, God was going to turn the water sprinklers off. Israel was about to see clear skies. No rain. No sprinkle. Not even a light mist. Hebrew forecasters would soon forget how to say "precipitation."

Elijah had the privilege of telling the wicked king about God's "No Repentance, No Rain" policy. Elijah was a Tishbite from Gilead. Mean anything to you? Basically, Elijah was a renegade preacher from the back woods of a foreign country. He was no dignitary. Not a politician. Like today's politicians, he knew nothing of foreign relations. He just knew that God set him on Ahab's front porch, told him to ring the doorbell, deliver a message, and run!

Why Elijah? We're not sure. Other than the fact that Elijah was close enough to God to hear Him speak. Apparently, Israel wasn't. God will do that sometimes. He will use an available witness to confront a wayward soul just to get His message across.

Elijah's name and his story begin and end with God. "El" means "God" and "jah" means "Lord." All that's left to his name is "i." Add a little English to a lot of Hebrew and you could translate Elijah's name this way: God(me)Lord. A lot of God at the front and back...and a little bit of me in the middle. That's the way it should be for all of us.

Even in his name, El-i-jah was surrounded by God.

Zoom in on this one scene and you'll see a fiery, rugged, rawboned country preacher facing a rotund, posh, self-absorbed king. Elijah walked into six decades of immorality, idolatry, rebellion, and violence and pronounced a multi-year drought.

It was not a good time to invest in an umbrella company because Elijah was right. The drought came. The land of Israel suffered an unprecedented string of days, weeks, months, and years without a single drop of rain.

God provided for Elijah's food, water, and shelter. When the time was right, God sent Elijah out again to stand before a thinner, thirstier shadow of a king. When the smoke and dust settled, Elijah, the lone prophet of God prevailed over hundreds of Ahab's false prophets.

We live in a day and in a land where immorality and ungodliness surround us. We are called upon to sometimes stand alone against the evil that everyone else ignores or accepts. When we do, we are never really alone. God looks for special people in difficult times to stand for truth and righteousness.

Will you?

God probably wants to use you to lead others through difficult times. You can be someone's El-i-jah. In fact, go ahead and put your name between the "El" and the "jah" --- El________jah.

Surrender to the God who wants to surround you and let Him use you. All it takes is a lot of Him and a little bit of you.

Elperryjah

Are You Over, Over?

2009-07-20T08:24:00.000-07:00

"Get over it!" Someone recently gave me a motorcycle patch with those three words on it.

Great advice, isn't it? If only we knew how. No matter what "it" is that we need to get over, the issue isn't always so easily resolved.

Some things take a while to get over. Grief is a natural process when we experience a significant loss. A process which often takes time and great effort.

Occasionally, we experience things we will never get over. They permanently impact our lives. They shape who we are. They mold our character and our outlook. These can be good as well as bad. On the good side, I will never get over being forgiven of my sin and adopted into God's forever family. On the bad side, I will never get over being born in Louisiana! (Can't wait to see the emails I get on that one).

But seriously... There is much that we can and should get over. So, why don't we? Is it because we don't want to? Possibly. Even negative attention is a type of attention. It is attention we won't get if we "get over it." Pathetic attention is still attention. Enabling attention is still attention. We may not get over some things because of the attention we get from it. But does the word "unhealthy" mean anything?

Sometimes we don't get over things we should get over simply because we don't know how. It isn't really a lack of desire. It's a lack of direction.

We need God's help. Thankfully, God provides it. Proverbs are not just proverbial, they're provisional. And directional. God helps us get over anything from speed bumps to mountain passes in His Word.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths" (Proverbs 3:5-6, NKJV). The NIV says, "He will make your paths straight." In other words, stop trying to figure it out for yourself, and start trusting and acknowledging God as your pathfinder. He will lead you and guide your steps. You'll be surprised what God can help you get over.

There are also times when God guides us to others to help point us in the right direction. Make no mistake about it. I believe in counseling! I believe that God calls and equips people in fantastic and amazing ways to give guidance and counsel to His children to help us along our way.

I don't recommend secular counseling (no matter how degrees they have behind their name) because they leave a very integral part of the puzzle in the box. They don't address the spiritual. And if they do, they do so with vague generalities. Why leave the greatest source of hope and healing out of counseling?

I highly recommend solid, licensed, Bible-based Christian counselors. God has placed them in my life when I needed them and I have found their ministry invaluable. GASP!!! A pastor who had to see a counselor??? Absolutely. If you've read enough of my stuff, you've probably already thought about recommending it anyway!

I certainly recommend counseling. We all need help along the way. Proverbs also says, "Where there is no counsel, the people fall; but in the multitude of counselors there is safety" (Proverbs 11:14).

So, get over it. Getting over something doesn't mean you forget it. It means it no longer hinders your ability to grow and function the way you were meant to. When it may seem impossible to us, Jesus reminds us that nothing is impossible with God.

Got to Texas as soon as I could...
Perry Crisp

Nose Prose

2009-07-15T08:50:00.000-07:00

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

Same Difference

2009-07-13T09:32:00.000-07:00

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

Catfish Christians

2009-07-09T08:52:00.000-07:00

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

Dropping Like Celebrities

2009-07-06T09:35:00.000-07:00

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

Set Free for Freedom

2009-07-01T09:49:00.000-07:00

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