Lately the phrase “Gentle on my Mind” has floated in and out of my thinking. I’ve learned it’s a song popularized by many artists, but especially Glen Campbell. The lyrics are about a drifter’s long-ago love. But I’m drawn to the title for another reason: how hymns learned long ago come back to me—“gentle on my mind”—in renewed ministry.
As a young adult I began attending a church that sang lots of the old Gospel hymns. As a newcomer to the Gospel music culture, I embarrassed myself more than once as I helped out at the piano or organ. My mediocre keyboard skills were stretched by the tricky rhythms or fourteen sharps (or so it seemed). But one by one, those melodies and snatches of verses became a part of me, tucked away in some cerebral electrical compartment. Some rested unused for years, yet ready for retrieval if needed.
After my parents died when I was 31, I was drawn to Lina Sandell Berg’s hymn “Day by Day.” Its message seemed tailored for me with its reminder to find daily strength for life’s trials through trust in God’s wisdom and love. Later I learned that when only 26, she was on lake trip with her pastor-father when the boat lurched and he fell overboard and drowned. Her hymn came out of that incredible tragedy. And about a hundred years later it was “gentle on my mind” in my own loss.
Through the years, other hymns have drifted in during times of rejoicing or tragedy. This past week it happened again. On Monday, I was part of the family surrounding my mother-in-law, Doris, as she took her last breath. Seeing death happen for a faithful Christian woman drove home Paul’s proclamation: “Absent from the body, present with the Lord” (2 Cor. 5:8).
A lot went through my mind that day, but the next morning something I never expected was “gentle on my mind.” It was the chorus of one of those old peppy Gospel hymns—probably one that Doris had sung herself in her many years as a pastor’s wife: “O victory in Jesus, my Savior forever.” I grabbed a hymnbook, read all the verses and chorus—and I knew God had sent it special delivery.
I’m still singing it in my heart: when I wake up, when I drive to errands, and when I lie down at night. And I’ve put a hymnal by the chair where I often read and pray. When another hymn is “gentle on my mind,” I want to be ready to be blessed again.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
'Twas a dark and stormy night
‘Twas a dark and stormy night ....
It’s the classic opening line for a mystery novel. Even the aspiring author-dog Snoopy (of Peanuts fame) used it as he tapped out his best-seller on a typewriter balanced on top of his doghouse.
But it really was a dark and stormy night when Acts 28 opened. With a famous prisoner (the apostle Paul) aboard, bound to appeal his case to Caesar in Rome, a sailing ship found itself on the wrong side of the sailing season. Violently tossed for two weeks in a horrendous storm (offering another meaning to “think green”), the ship finally ran aground and broke apart. Miraculously, all made it safely ashore. But no luxury hotel awaited (nor even a Red Cross shelter), only a beach battered by the cold rain.
Word quickly spread among the locals, and they rushed to help out, building a fire for the bone-cold survivors.
Stop a minute here to consider Acts 28:2: “The islanders showed us unusual kindness” (NIV. RSV). Other versions call it “no little kindness” (KJV), “extraordinary kindness” (NASB), “unusual and remarkable kindness” (Amplified). It’s easy to skim right over this benevolent beach scene and rush on to the Hollywood moment of the chapter: the apostle shaking a poisonous viper off his hand (2:3-6).
Unusual kindness. Luke, the writer of Acts, didn’t just say “we got help.” He commended these strangers for helping above and beyond.
My eighty-something friend Mary, a remarkable woman who leads Bible studies in senior facilities, brought that verse to my attention and got me thinking. All around us, people are suffering in spiritual storms. They’re tossed on a lonely beach, battered by the wild winds of life. It’s not the script they would have written.
When I get around them and hear their pain, I want to jump in and fix everything. You know, “Extreme ship makeover” or something like that. But life is messy because we live in a fallen world. It’s “unfixable” until Christ returns again.
But we can do as the islanders, and show unusual kindness. People won’t forget it, either.
Case in point: Thirty years ago, I was tossed on a lonely shore by Hurricane Grief. My parents died six months apart, and I spent most of the next year cleaning out their home and preparing it for sale. One week I faced the task of changing living room walls from “Robin’s Egg Blue” (my parents were creative!) to a neutral, more sale-friendly ivory. The almost-empty room seemed as big as a gym as my energies flagged.
Then a single nurse from the church I’d started attending called. Help paint? Sure, she could spare an afternoon. And she did—her compassion and joy lifting my spirits. Yes, thirty years later, I still remember it—as I do other times people have helped me through a personal storm with the unusual kindness of a card, phone call, visit, hug, prayers, meal or practical help.
Memories of unusual kindness stay with you. Count on it. And keep an eye on the clouds. When you least expect it, some needy people may wash up on your day, needing the compassion of Jesus Christ, expressed through your hands.
It’s the classic opening line for a mystery novel. Even the aspiring author-dog Snoopy (of Peanuts fame) used it as he tapped out his best-seller on a typewriter balanced on top of his doghouse.
But it really was a dark and stormy night when Acts 28 opened. With a famous prisoner (the apostle Paul) aboard, bound to appeal his case to Caesar in Rome, a sailing ship found itself on the wrong side of the sailing season. Violently tossed for two weeks in a horrendous storm (offering another meaning to “think green”), the ship finally ran aground and broke apart. Miraculously, all made it safely ashore. But no luxury hotel awaited (nor even a Red Cross shelter), only a beach battered by the cold rain.
Word quickly spread among the locals, and they rushed to help out, building a fire for the bone-cold survivors.
Stop a minute here to consider Acts 28:2: “The islanders showed us unusual kindness” (NIV. RSV). Other versions call it “no little kindness” (KJV), “extraordinary kindness” (NASB), “unusual and remarkable kindness” (Amplified). It’s easy to skim right over this benevolent beach scene and rush on to the Hollywood moment of the chapter: the apostle shaking a poisonous viper off his hand (2:3-6).
Unusual kindness. Luke, the writer of Acts, didn’t just say “we got help.” He commended these strangers for helping above and beyond.
My eighty-something friend Mary, a remarkable woman who leads Bible studies in senior facilities, brought that verse to my attention and got me thinking. All around us, people are suffering in spiritual storms. They’re tossed on a lonely beach, battered by the wild winds of life. It’s not the script they would have written.
When I get around them and hear their pain, I want to jump in and fix everything. You know, “Extreme ship makeover” or something like that. But life is messy because we live in a fallen world. It’s “unfixable” until Christ returns again.
But we can do as the islanders, and show unusual kindness. People won’t forget it, either.
Case in point: Thirty years ago, I was tossed on a lonely shore by Hurricane Grief. My parents died six months apart, and I spent most of the next year cleaning out their home and preparing it for sale. One week I faced the task of changing living room walls from “Robin’s Egg Blue” (my parents were creative!) to a neutral, more sale-friendly ivory. The almost-empty room seemed as big as a gym as my energies flagged.
Then a single nurse from the church I’d started attending called. Help paint? Sure, she could spare an afternoon. And she did—her compassion and joy lifting my spirits. Yes, thirty years later, I still remember it—as I do other times people have helped me through a personal storm with the unusual kindness of a card, phone call, visit, hug, prayers, meal or practical help.
Memories of unusual kindness stay with you. Count on it. And keep an eye on the clouds. When you least expect it, some needy people may wash up on your day, needing the compassion of Jesus Christ, expressed through your hands.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Wedding "Fireworks"
It started out like a normal wedding on June 27. The mother-of-the-bride (that’s me) had eyes that started “sweating” even as her son ushered her down the aisle. The three-year-old flower girl was cute-cute-cute as she flung petals along the aisle to the tune of “Humoresque.” The bride (my daughter Inga) glowed as she entered with her dad. The worship band and scripture readings kept the focus on God’s faithfulness.
But those of us who knew were waiting for the final act of the ceremony. After pronouncing the couple “man and wife,” the minister turned to the guests and explained about their unusual pledge. At the beginning of their public “courtship” and on through a year and a half engagement, this couple had established certain physical boundaries to honor the other’s purity. One was that they wouldn’t kiss until their wedding day.
Deep breath. Then, “Trevor, you may kiss your bride.”
We didn’t have to wait a week to the Fourth of July to witness some fireworks!
In an age in which promiscuity is rampant, even among Christian teens (including, sadly, those who made “abstinence” pledges marked with rings), it was a pure, sweet moment.
By the way, do you know the origin of the wedding kiss? Pagan cultures believed this was how the couple “exchanged spirits.” The first bridal bouquets were nosegays of fresh herbs that supposedly warded off evil spirits. The first wedding rings (braided grass wrapped around the bride’s wrists and ankles) supposedly kept her “spirit” from leaving her. More “spirit” stuff: guests clinked glasses in wedding toasts to ward off evil spirits. Carrying the bride over the threshold was supposed to keep her safe from any “evil spirits” lingering there.
Ready for more wedding trivia? The first “best man” was actually a warrior to help capture a likely woman from another tribe! The first bride’s attendants were partners in crime to help a bride escape her family and other suitors to run away with her choice of mate.
Despite all the strange beginnings of many wedding customs, one truth remains. One mother-of-the-bride shared how, between photo-taking and arrival of guests, she took her daughter to the doors leading into the sanctuary. As they looked at the cross at the front of church, the mother said, “Remember this day isn’t about you. It’s about Jesus.”
Amen.
Monday, June 15, 2009
In the Pink
Two memories stand out to people who know my mother-in-law, Doris. The first is her big smile. The second is her love of pink. Only one navy blue dress hung in her closet, and that to be “respectful” at funerals. Everything else was pink. Tops, pants, dresses, nightgowns, robes, coats, shoes, slippers—her closet glowed like a sunrise. Her dear late husband also endured pink dishes, pink towels, pink bedspreads, and a pink couch and recliner. In summer, pink roses graced the table. After his death we painted her bedroom a bright pink, and I sewed her curtains splashed with pink roses.
A lot has changed in her life in the last few years. Now 89, she’s in a memory care facility with late-stage Alzheimer’s. She can’t walk or take care of personal needs. Her vocabulary has shrunk to a few words. Others must feed her. She sleeps a lot.
But the smile is still there. And every day, caregivers dress her in pink, still the only color in her wardrobe.
Curious about the phrase “in the pink,” I did an internet search. The common meaning, referring to rosy cheeks, denotes someone with good health and ready to go. But another meaning derives from English fox hunters, who wore scarlet jackets called “pinks.” Hunters “in the pink” were ready to chase the fox.
I thought about that as Doris inches toward her last day on earth.
The other day, when I helped feed her breakfast, I thought how life isn’t fun any more. Because of swallowing issues, her food is pureed. Her plate held yellow glop (eggs) and brown glop (sausage)—a far cry from the strawberry syrup over waffles I used to fix for her breakfast at home.
As I urged her to open her mouth for another taste of glop, I said, “Doris, just for you I wore a pink shirt today.” At the mention of “pink,” the corners of her indifferent mouth widened and she gave me a big-wattage smile. (And no, I didn’t try to “zoom” another spoonful in there. I just savored the moment.)
For some reason, that vignette reminded me of what Hebrews 12:2 says about Jesus—who “for the JOY set before him endured the cross.”
The indignities of a failing body are now Doris’s “cross” to bear. But even in the darkened shell of her mind, there are bright corners where that joy still beams out. The smile. The joy of “thinking pink.” And the hope of being “in the pink”—ready to go—when the Lord says “enter My joy, child, and come Home.”
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Lessons from a pint-size violinist
“Here comes my favorite violin student,” I said as Rebecca came in for her weekly lesson.
“Because I’m your ONLY violin student,” the nine-year-old replied with a big grin. Leaving her pint-size violin on the couch, she headed to the kitchen for a quick after-school snack. Hey, it’s 4:15 p.m. and she just came from school. Need some fuel for brain power!
Since early March, I’ve enjoyed having my first-ever violin student. Though I’ve played violin since age 12, I never considered myself a music teacher. Thus, when her family called in February asking for teacher recommendations, I threw out others’ names.
Explaining they only wanted a two-month run at lessons—this was the gift she really wanted for her ninth birthday—I agreed to it. Just before the two months were up, Rebecca took $10 out of her own piggy bank to help with another month of instrumental rental and asked please, please just another month of lessons.
She’s not your usual beginner for whom music notes are a foreign language. Piano and trumpet already in her background, she jumped several typical lessons by just watching the video that came with her beginner music book.
Working with a beginning violinist has reminded me of several parallels with the Christian walk.
1. You’re special to God. Max Lucado is widely quoted for suggesting, “If God had a refrigerator, your picture would be on it” (from Prayer: A Heavenly Invitation). Dare I say: If God had a violin student, you’d be His favorite student. You’d be the apple of His eye (Psalm 17:8), His chosen one. Because you are!
2. There’s a learning curve. That first lesson, I explained about the instrument and how to care for it. I quickly sewed her a “shoulder pad” (from my sewing scraps) to help her hold the violin correctly. I modeled how to hold the bow with her right hand and place her left hand on the fingerboard. I warned her against “choking” the violin’s neck in her left-hand position, and made appropriate gasping sounds to reinforce the point. I think back to my baby steps in learning about the Bible, like memorizing the books of the Bible and grasping the basics about the fall of man, Jewish history, and Jesus’ life. I couldn’t have handled the profound meaning of “propitiation” as a young believer any more than Rebecca can do “vibrato” or “seventh position” yet. God teaches us at His good pace.
3. You need to practice. It’s not enough to show up for lessons. Learning to play an instrument has no “auto-pilot” mode where you punch the right buttons and cruise on. It takes training fingers, arms, and ears through repetition. I could tell when a piece I assigned Rebecca turned out to be a favorite. She practiced it more! Spiritual “practice” includes praying and thoughtfully reading the Bible. Eventually, even the “hard” parts will come. (I keep telling myself that as I read through Ezekiel. This morning, working through the “sheep chapter” of Ezekiel 34, I marked all the incredible “I will” promises from God. They cover a lot more about life than even Psalm 23!)
4. Enjoy the process. As soon as Rebecca had enough skills, I wrote out a song that I said would be very useful to learn: “Happy Birthday.” Rebecca grinned and said her sister had a birthday the following month. I practice what I preach! A few weeks ago, my calendar reminded me that an eighty-something friend, who teaches a Bible study at a senior living facility, had a birthday coming up. The day of her study, I toted my violin to the facility. As her study ended, I came in playing the “birthday song.” Surprised her? Absolutely. What fun! One of the great parts of being connected with other Christians is sharing the simple joys of life.
Rebecca’s last lesson with me is May 28. The little violin goes back to the music store and she heads for summer vacation. Will violin emerge ahead of piano or trumpet as a first love? I don’t know. But I applaud her parents for enriching her life with music experiences. And I thank God for bringing her bright, eager face into my life for the last three months.
“Because I’m your ONLY violin student,” the nine-year-old replied with a big grin. Leaving her pint-size violin on the couch, she headed to the kitchen for a quick after-school snack. Hey, it’s 4:15 p.m. and she just came from school. Need some fuel for brain power!
Since early March, I’ve enjoyed having my first-ever violin student. Though I’ve played violin since age 12, I never considered myself a music teacher. Thus, when her family called in February asking for teacher recommendations, I threw out others’ names.
Explaining they only wanted a two-month run at lessons—this was the gift she really wanted for her ninth birthday—I agreed to it. Just before the two months were up, Rebecca took $10 out of her own piggy bank to help with another month of instrumental rental and asked please, please just another month of lessons.
She’s not your usual beginner for whom music notes are a foreign language. Piano and trumpet already in her background, she jumped several typical lessons by just watching the video that came with her beginner music book.
Working with a beginning violinist has reminded me of several parallels with the Christian walk.
1. You’re special to God. Max Lucado is widely quoted for suggesting, “If God had a refrigerator, your picture would be on it” (from Prayer: A Heavenly Invitation). Dare I say: If God had a violin student, you’d be His favorite student. You’d be the apple of His eye (Psalm 17:8), His chosen one. Because you are!
2. There’s a learning curve. That first lesson, I explained about the instrument and how to care for it. I quickly sewed her a “shoulder pad” (from my sewing scraps) to help her hold the violin correctly. I modeled how to hold the bow with her right hand and place her left hand on the fingerboard. I warned her against “choking” the violin’s neck in her left-hand position, and made appropriate gasping sounds to reinforce the point. I think back to my baby steps in learning about the Bible, like memorizing the books of the Bible and grasping the basics about the fall of man, Jewish history, and Jesus’ life. I couldn’t have handled the profound meaning of “propitiation” as a young believer any more than Rebecca can do “vibrato” or “seventh position” yet. God teaches us at His good pace.
3. You need to practice. It’s not enough to show up for lessons. Learning to play an instrument has no “auto-pilot” mode where you punch the right buttons and cruise on. It takes training fingers, arms, and ears through repetition. I could tell when a piece I assigned Rebecca turned out to be a favorite. She practiced it more! Spiritual “practice” includes praying and thoughtfully reading the Bible. Eventually, even the “hard” parts will come. (I keep telling myself that as I read through Ezekiel. This morning, working through the “sheep chapter” of Ezekiel 34, I marked all the incredible “I will” promises from God. They cover a lot more about life than even Psalm 23!)
4. Enjoy the process. As soon as Rebecca had enough skills, I wrote out a song that I said would be very useful to learn: “Happy Birthday.” Rebecca grinned and said her sister had a birthday the following month. I practice what I preach! A few weeks ago, my calendar reminded me that an eighty-something friend, who teaches a Bible study at a senior living facility, had a birthday coming up. The day of her study, I toted my violin to the facility. As her study ended, I came in playing the “birthday song.” Surprised her? Absolutely. What fun! One of the great parts of being connected with other Christians is sharing the simple joys of life.
Rebecca’s last lesson with me is May 28. The little violin goes back to the music store and she heads for summer vacation. Will violin emerge ahead of piano or trumpet as a first love? I don’t know. But I applaud her parents for enriching her life with music experiences. And I thank God for bringing her bright, eager face into my life for the last three months.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Home repairs
Yesterday morning I tossed the first load in the washer then ran in the bathroom for a quick shower, just the other side of the wall from the washer and dryer. As I turned on the shower, I heard this suspicious "bong." Post-shower, I checked the washer. Dead. Twirled the dials and pulled. No action. Sigh. Pulled out the soggy dirty laundry for Plan B--washing the load elsewhere. Groan. Just fourteen months ago we had this washer repaired.
Another sound, that of whirring and tinkling. It wasn't in any of the bathrooms. It wasn't a faucet outside. The location: the hot water heater. In our house (one of several of the same compact plan in this workingman's neighborhood), that meant the shorty tank in the corner of the kitchen, accessible only by pulling out the stove and removing the side of the cupboard. It wouldn't dare give up, would it? Fourteen years ago it had died. Replacement was a plumber's nightmare. (As was the entire weekend with Grandma's hiccuping garage door opener, putting Grandpa in a care home, Grandma's hip replacement surgery, son Zach getting braces, the invasion of black widow spiders, losing a set of keys....)
My son came for dinner that night. His wife was away at a conference and his dad was already gone to feed Grandma at the nursing home. "What's that noise, Mom?" he asked. "Something near the water heater," I admitted. "Maybe we'll check it this weekend."
He gulped down his spaghetti, pulled out the stove, unscrewed the side panel, and pointed the flashlight at a water heater sitting in its own rusty pool. We cut the power and pulled in a garden hose to drain it.
I had one consolation: at least this double-whammy didn't happen the last week of June, when my daughter's getting married....
It also made me think that I've got it right with my current book project. I've written about Heaven and how our eternal Home is perfect in every way. No more fragile clothes washers. No more rusty water heaters.
Have you ever thought of the type of home that would be perfect for you? Ever looked around your house, apartment or room and wished you could give it a makeover? Think about the colors you'd paint it? The flooring and furniture? How, when it all came together, it would be "you" and bring deep satisfaction?
I think the reason that the reality TV show, "Extreme Makeover--Home Edition," has enjoyed such wild success is that it tapped into this deep human desire of being fully and happily "home." And while the mansions they build in a week are off the top of the scale (and provide great advertising for those who supply materials), they are a reminder of the Bible's promise of something eternally better. Jesus promised it: "In my Father's house there are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you" (John 14:2).
A lot of people grew up hearing this verse, "In my Father's house are many mansions." That's not quite in line with the original Greek word, mone, which means "dwelling place." When you realize that it is God's dwelling place, that makes even "mansions" seem shabby. Whatever Heaven turns out to be, it will be wonderful, absolutely perfectly planned for us by Heaven's design team.
My book is a 31-day devotional tour of our Heavenly home. Each day's reading (about 750 words) is based on a room of a house and gathers together what the Bible says about Heaven. For example, ever think of Heaven's foyer?
I've self-published a little spiral-bound version of the book and more than fifty copies are out there already. [I'm contacting publishers, hoping one will catch my vision for this book.] I've had an incredible feedback--that finally there's an easily-read, comforting book about the hope of Heaven. One of the first books went to a friend in Seattle dying of cancer. He and his wife used it for their couple's devotions, then he read it alone as he had the strength. On April 19, with his last breath on earth, he entered his Heavenly home.
No more home repairs. No more body repairs.
Keep looking up, friends. This isn't all there is.
Another sound, that of whirring and tinkling. It wasn't in any of the bathrooms. It wasn't a faucet outside. The location: the hot water heater. In our house (one of several of the same compact plan in this workingman's neighborhood), that meant the shorty tank in the corner of the kitchen, accessible only by pulling out the stove and removing the side of the cupboard. It wouldn't dare give up, would it? Fourteen years ago it had died. Replacement was a plumber's nightmare. (As was the entire weekend with Grandma's hiccuping garage door opener, putting Grandpa in a care home, Grandma's hip replacement surgery, son Zach getting braces, the invasion of black widow spiders, losing a set of keys....)
My son came for dinner that night. His wife was away at a conference and his dad was already gone to feed Grandma at the nursing home. "What's that noise, Mom?" he asked. "Something near the water heater," I admitted. "Maybe we'll check it this weekend."
He gulped down his spaghetti, pulled out the stove, unscrewed the side panel, and pointed the flashlight at a water heater sitting in its own rusty pool. We cut the power and pulled in a garden hose to drain it.
I had one consolation: at least this double-whammy didn't happen the last week of June, when my daughter's getting married....
It also made me think that I've got it right with my current book project. I've written about Heaven and how our eternal Home is perfect in every way. No more fragile clothes washers. No more rusty water heaters.
Have you ever thought of the type of home that would be perfect for you? Ever looked around your house, apartment or room and wished you could give it a makeover? Think about the colors you'd paint it? The flooring and furniture? How, when it all came together, it would be "you" and bring deep satisfaction?
I think the reason that the reality TV show, "Extreme Makeover--Home Edition," has enjoyed such wild success is that it tapped into this deep human desire of being fully and happily "home." And while the mansions they build in a week are off the top of the scale (and provide great advertising for those who supply materials), they are a reminder of the Bible's promise of something eternally better. Jesus promised it: "In my Father's house there are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you" (John 14:2).
A lot of people grew up hearing this verse, "In my Father's house are many mansions." That's not quite in line with the original Greek word, mone, which means "dwelling place." When you realize that it is God's dwelling place, that makes even "mansions" seem shabby. Whatever Heaven turns out to be, it will be wonderful, absolutely perfectly planned for us by Heaven's design team.
My book is a 31-day devotional tour of our Heavenly home. Each day's reading (about 750 words) is based on a room of a house and gathers together what the Bible says about Heaven. For example, ever think of Heaven's foyer?
I've self-published a little spiral-bound version of the book and more than fifty copies are out there already. [I'm contacting publishers, hoping one will catch my vision for this book.] I've had an incredible feedback--that finally there's an easily-read, comforting book about the hope of Heaven. One of the first books went to a friend in Seattle dying of cancer. He and his wife used it for their couple's devotions, then he read it alone as he had the strength. On April 19, with his last breath on earth, he entered his Heavenly home.
No more home repairs. No more body repairs.
Keep looking up, friends. This isn't all there is.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Taxing Times
Daylight Savings Time used to be my biggest challenge of welcoming spring. Was it spring back, fall forward? Spring ahead, fall back? Gravity always confused me.
That changed when I became a tax payer. After a long winter of resting my brain, filling out tax forms provided me with an activity that was 1,040 times more challenging than reassembling 500-piece optical illusion puzzles--blindfolded. Why do tax laws have to be knottier than a ball of yarn in the paws of a crazed cat?
I've decided the IRS forms and booklets were devised by second-career astrophysicists, assisted by Ph.D.s in Egyptian hieroglyphics whose doctoral dissertations were typed in Sanskrit. Their technical assistants formerly mapped the Roman catacombs.
Thus as the April 15 tax deadline looms, an epidemic of procrastinitis profundus sweeps the country.
One symptom is imagination. We dream of miracles the night of April 15, like discovering every receipt for tax computation magically stacked into tidy, tallied piles that will self-inscribe the appropriate blanks on the IRS form. Then we'll only need to sign for that tax refund to cover two weeks on a tropical beach (or pay off the credit card). We'll whistle a merry tune that night as we drop off the return at the post office or hit the magic "send" button on the computer.
If that's really true, then there really is a Loch Ness Monster.
Instead, in the midst of Schedule A, I find myself pushing the calculator aside, rubbing my forehead, and taking a big breath. I feel like quoting a guy named Felix, who said, "That's enough for now!"
In case you wondered, that's from the Bible: Acts 24:25. And he wasn't referring to taxes (enough came in to fund his extravagant lifestyle as a Roman procurator and his womanizing). Instead, he'd just heard what he didn't want to hear from a political prisoner named Paul, namely "righteousness, self-control and the judgment to come." Paul had reminded the self-indulgent ruler that God had a better plan for Felix's life. But the prospect of bowing to the King of Kings scared Felix. He never changed.
Have you ever said, "That's enough for now," when presented with spiritual challenges? Have you faced where you truly stand in regard to righteousness, self-control and the judgment to come?
If you haven't yet accepted Christ as your Savior, some day there will be no more chances. Do it now.
If you are a Christian, but afflicted by procrastinitis profundus in your spiritual growth, it's time to turn away from apathy.
Spring forward to a fresh start with God. Fall back on His promises to help you along the way.
Adapted from chapter 9 of "Spiritual Spandex for the Outstretched Soul" (Shaw, 2000)
That changed when I became a tax payer. After a long winter of resting my brain, filling out tax forms provided me with an activity that was 1,040 times more challenging than reassembling 500-piece optical illusion puzzles--blindfolded. Why do tax laws have to be knottier than a ball of yarn in the paws of a crazed cat?
I've decided the IRS forms and booklets were devised by second-career astrophysicists, assisted by Ph.D.s in Egyptian hieroglyphics whose doctoral dissertations were typed in Sanskrit. Their technical assistants formerly mapped the Roman catacombs.
Thus as the April 15 tax deadline looms, an epidemic of procrastinitis profundus sweeps the country.
One symptom is imagination. We dream of miracles the night of April 15, like discovering every receipt for tax computation magically stacked into tidy, tallied piles that will self-inscribe the appropriate blanks on the IRS form. Then we'll only need to sign for that tax refund to cover two weeks on a tropical beach (or pay off the credit card). We'll whistle a merry tune that night as we drop off the return at the post office or hit the magic "send" button on the computer.
If that's really true, then there really is a Loch Ness Monster.
Instead, in the midst of Schedule A, I find myself pushing the calculator aside, rubbing my forehead, and taking a big breath. I feel like quoting a guy named Felix, who said, "That's enough for now!"
In case you wondered, that's from the Bible: Acts 24:25. And he wasn't referring to taxes (enough came in to fund his extravagant lifestyle as a Roman procurator and his womanizing). Instead, he'd just heard what he didn't want to hear from a political prisoner named Paul, namely "righteousness, self-control and the judgment to come." Paul had reminded the self-indulgent ruler that God had a better plan for Felix's life. But the prospect of bowing to the King of Kings scared Felix. He never changed.
Have you ever said, "That's enough for now," when presented with spiritual challenges? Have you faced where you truly stand in regard to righteousness, self-control and the judgment to come?
If you haven't yet accepted Christ as your Savior, some day there will be no more chances. Do it now.
If you are a Christian, but afflicted by procrastinitis profundus in your spiritual growth, it's time to turn away from apathy.
Spring forward to a fresh start with God. Fall back on His promises to help you along the way.
Adapted from chapter 9 of "Spiritual Spandex for the Outstretched Soul" (Shaw, 2000)
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