Painting The Human Heart
1/6/2005 6:50:04 AM
The most talented artists among us create pictures that reveal as much about the viewer as the creator. Each interpretation of the painting is influenced by the viewer’s experiences and aesthetic sensibilities. The human heart is such a painting, individually crafted upon the canvas at God’s hand. When moments come to us, we reveal our heart through the words we use to describe our feelings in that moment. When a tragedy comes, like the devastating scene we witness in and around the countries along the Indian Ocean, each person reacts differently. Basically, however, there are two schools of thought concerning our perception of God during such moments of crises. These two ideas reveal more about the viewers than about the God they attempt to define. Many cry out against a God that could allow such horror to befall so many innocent lives. Often in my life have I heard people exclaim, “I could never believe in, much less worship, a God who would allow {insert tragedy here} to happen!” They see God in the earthquake, in the thunderous waves crashing mercilessly against the beaches, swallowing all in its path. Then there are those, fewer in number, who give God thanks and praise at the end of such a day. Thanks that He was there to perform the many miracles of survival that took place, as described by those who still can’t explain just exactly how they made it through the wall of death. Praise at the response of people around the globe who are reaching out sympathetically with the provisions to help the victims start over again. They see God in a well-placed limb, a sturdy rooftop, or a neighbor’s hand, pulling them from the rushing torrent. They see God in the helicopters, loaded down with food, water, and supplies, that will make their survival certain. I am not so sure either concept of God as He relates to the natural disaster that occurred in the Indian Ocean fully depicts the truth about Him. I am more certain that it reveals the heart of those humans who are trying to figure out exactly what this picture means.

Empty Nest
1/13/2005 9:10:33 PM
Today is the much anticipated date of Clint’s departure from our home as he makes his own way in the world. I say “day”, but it’s actually 11:15 P.M. Clint never has been one to do things the common/normal way. He’s just pulled out of our driveway, his 1998 Neon loaded down with every possession he considers sacred, on his way to the Big Easy, New Orleans, where he intends to begin his new life as a street performer in the famed French Quarter. Sigh. Yes, I know. But that’s Clint. I have no children of my own. Clint is the nephew God gave me as a son. He's lived with me since he was ten years old. He's twenty-two and getting his first taste of the world on his own. He’ll work harder than a roughneck coming up with unorthodox twists and turns with less reward than he’d garner if he would sell movies at a Blockbuster. That’s just not his style. New Orleans is a big place. Our fear is that he will be swallowed up by the city…overwhelmed by something so much bigger than himself. In a way, though, perhaps that is just what Clint needs: A place where the unorthodox is common-place. Where the curious, the strange, the unusual, the quirky, and the different are swallowed up in one big circus-like city of twists and turns. Who knows? What seems so out of place in the hill country where we live could be the exact thing that makes Clint thrive in New Orleans. Maybe for the first time in his life his gills will fill with precious water, and he’ll swim famously in his new pond where even a strange cat like Clint Jones fits in. Here’s a chance to be anonymously unique in a place where the different is expected. In a way, we all have a little street performer in us. We all want to be seen, noticed, acknowledged, respected, appreciated, and then allowed to go home to be swallowed up in the arms of those just like us.

Five-Fold Ministry
1/15/2005 7:36:35 PM
Matthew Gros, an evangelist from South Louisiana, will be speaking as we begin revival services in the morning. If our little church ever needed a shot in the arm it is now. These people have been so faithful through an all-out assault from the enemy over the last several months. As their pastor, I'm at a loss for what to say or do to give them something more...something solid...that will get them over the hump at this time. Thank God for the five-fold ministry. Of this one thing I am certain concerning the modern church: We do not utilize the five-fold ministry as it was intended. And the body suffers for it. Wash over us with something special, Oh God! We certainly need it.

The Morning Waterfall
1/18/2005 6:47:51 AM
My goodness...there are so many things to pray for/about/with today. Movable mountains and mole-hills, near and far, await my faith to ignite. Demons and angels, poised at the ready, listen closely to my words for the day's battles. Possibilities, impossibilities, opportunities, and conundrums swirl around me like a maelstrom of the spirit. Where shall I begin? Hmmm. Perhaps I will place a steady hand on the hilt of my sword, peer out my window at the morning frost glistening on my azaleas like priceless gems on a diamond bush until the sun melts the ice away, and then make the waterfall my home.

Surviving Waiting Rooms
1/19/2005 8:22:08 PM
I survived mom's surgery today. The waiting room was tense at times as we awaited the results of her surgery, which the doctor said were very positive. We still must linger for 48-72 hours for the pathologists report, but it appears we are blessed. I am reminded of the following excerpt from my book, A Pastor's Heart, in which I describe a hospital waiting room:

Over the years I’ve noticed a lot about these perilous parlors where hope is often replaced by shattered dreams and faith gives way to fear. Broken lives lurk ominously behind every doctor’s carefully inflected voice. Clear thoughts are scattered about like the old magazines strewn around the waiting room, often handled but rarely read. Instead, I read the faces of an anxious community of sufferers bonded that day by something dark, something scary. I display my powers of deduction in a little game of studying my unwitting cohorts for a few moments to figure out their lives. I gather information like a detective: casual or formal attire, whisperers or squawkers, starers or glancers, gum or candy. The smokers keep an eye on their watches, making frequent trips in and out. The experienced inhabitants leave a message at the desk before stepping out for a bite to eat in the cafeteria. The game helps me pass the time between prayers and fading conversations.

Waiting rooms aren’t all alike. A properly run waiting room requires an experienced, multi-functional hospital volunteer. He or she must keep the coffee fresh and hot. It is the lifeblood of a waiting room. People from all over the hospital follow its aroma like lost sailors to a lighthouse for the black nectar during the day. Many a stiff knee is eased by a pilgrimage to the coffeepot. Hunger is momentarily averted by those biding their time, not wanting to leave in fear of missing a report. Every shred of information is gold in a waiting room, no matter how seemingly insignificant the morsel may seem to the uninvolved visitors present.

The good volunteer always answers the phone on the first ring. The trauma of a phone ringing out of control can be maddening. It disrupts the rhythm of the waiting room. When all is in order, when the coffee is brewed, the magazines are shuffled neatly, and the phones are answered, the experience can even be refreshing. I meet many wandering souls who are suffering crises similar to those of my congregation. Often, God uses me to bring comfort and hope to strangers who are battling their way through a waiting room alone that day. Sharing this important event in the lives of my flock binds us together on a deeper level than ever before. I learn things about them in those hours of aimless chatting that they would never reveal to me in the foyer of my church.

The pitfalls of a waiting room are legion. By definition, the wait can be tense and tedious. The roller coaster of emotions, hope hanging on every shred of information, impending disaster etched onto concerned faces, causes those gathered together in like circumstance that morning to avoid making eye contact with others suffering the trials of life. The reports from the operating room come as either sentences of calamity or bastions of assurance. Prayers, almost always welcomed, sometimes seem empty and barren, sometimes yank courage back from the jaws of gloom. The truth of the matter is some are going to make it and some are not, but I believe for them all...pray for them all.

In a way, we are all living our lives in one big waiting room. We long for more information on our condition, for something or someone from on high to tell us everything is going to be all right. We overcome the tedium of the daily grind to maintain the courage to continue our wait in faith and peace of mind. We come to realize by the events of our lives that nothing is guaranteed. Times of darkness and fear will come, but with the help of good people--friends, family, and volunteers--we will make it through our experience together. We learn to appreciate the very simple things in life: hot coffee, good magazines, and aimless conversation. And we give ourselves to prayer because without the providence of God this roller coaster we call life would overwhelm us.


The Report: No Cancer
1/21/2005 2:22:22 PM
The report is in: NO CANCER. They got all of it already. there will be no chemo or radiation. Our hearts are grateful for this report. We offer our thanksgiving to God.

My Daily Blessing
1/25/2005 7:24:58 PM
My wife is an amazing woman. Literally, I could not do or be a fraction of the man I am without her. If only you guys knew. There is no way I could explain with words the blessing God gave me when He brought her into my life. I wish I measured up. I wish I could be for/to/in her as she is for me. I've been given this very special gift, and today, more than most, I am thankful for it.

Questioning God
1/29/2005 10:08:58 AM
I heard someone questioning God today...asking why this and why that. When that sort of thing happens, many of us get uncomfortable. It's not that we believe that fire and brimstone will rain upon us in the thunder of His judgment so much as it's a wake-up call to the questions that linger in our own hearts. Of course we have questions. Anyone who claims to know it all simply doesn't realize the volume of "it all" that exists beyond their knowledge. To have no questions is to have no soul. God isn't outraged at our doubts and fears. Gracious, He's been dealing with the failures and faults of humans since the beginning. He understands that there can be no faith without doubt...there can be no victory without a battle. Question away: How else will you get your answers?