Where Does the Bad Stuff Go?

Maybe I'd like to forget it, but I know I never will.

On the other hand, I have gotten so many good laughs out of this moment, I'm not sure I really want to let it go.

I was in my late teens, and we were visiting my grandparents. I don't recall all the circumstances now, but I was riding in the back seat of my grandparents' car, and we stopped to check on some work my grandpa was having done out on a section of his land. While we waited, Grandma opened her car door to let some air in.

Little did she know what else she was letting in.

One of Grandpa's employees, an older man, came over to visit, and hunkered down in the dirt on one knee, just inside Grandma's open car door. We made small talk with the pleasant workman for a few minutes, and then it happened:


Without warning, comment, or fanfare, as a chuckle wound its way down, the man looked down to earth, snorted deep and long, reared his head back, turned to his right, and spat the biggest loogie you ever saw, right smack in the middle of the inside of Grandma's window, not three feet from her face.

I guess it was just one of those moments where you forget where you are.

But in his defense, the ol' boy wasn't totally insensitive to the mess he had made. After a surprisingly slow moment's delay, he suddenly realized his error, and with his usual jovial spirit, declared, "Aw, lookee here what I done..." and began using his filthy shirt sleeve to smear the mucus and spittle all around the window, doing as much harm as good. But he tried, bless his heart.

What to do with a mess like that?

There's not enough Windex in all the world.



It matters where the bad stuff goes, doesn't it?

The spitter in the story obviously broke some critical rules, rules we live by, care about, and expect everyone around us to know and obey. In fact, we tend to judge pretty harshly those who fail to abide by those rules, and probably won't choose to spend time in their presence. And who could blame anyone for feeling that way?

But what if we tried something a little different?

What if we took the rules governing phlegm, gas, and earwax, and applied them to the most toxic, germ-infested forms of human interaction?

What if we practiced the most careful hygiene with:

*The scandalous story about another person.

*The offense taken at someone's stray comment.

*The hurt caused by a friend's oversight.

*The disagreement with a point made in the Sunday sermon.

*The complaint against a child's teacher.

*The bitterness over an age-old slight.

Or, to put it another way: Would we really want to explain to God why we are so careful to keep our noses blown and our ears clean, but so careless, or perhaps vicious, with words and emotions containing sickness far more contagious than any bodily fluid?

Few have actually suffered the misfortune of being spat upon by another person, but who hasn't felt the sting of the wrong word at the wrong time?

Few have actually spat upon someone else, but who hasn't taken advantage of an opportunity to twist the knife just to make the wound bleed a little more?

Some are as careless with hurtful words as that poor workman was when he spat on the window.

Some of the careless are oblivious to where the loogie landed; some realize it, but choose not to care. Others realize the mess they made, but prove as inept as the workman at cleaning it up. (Assuming it's even possible to clean it up.)

A small minority of the careless spitters realize their error, repent, and in humility clean up the mess, restoring trust in the process.

Still others actually spit on the window on purpose, relishing the chance to maximize the damage of hurtful words.

But what if it really was different?

What if we were actually as careful with our words, especially our angry words, as we are with a used Kleenex?

"Is It Oso?"

In the last few months, our boys have gone crazy for a new cartoon, Special Agent Oso.

"Oso" is a teddy bear fashioned after James Bond, and he is routinely sent out on missions to help young kids trying to complete random tasks. Oso arrives on the scene out of the blue and lends a hand, much to the appreciation of the child who needed help.

For kids who just can't get enough of Oso, parents can go online and sign up for a personal phone call in which Oso will call your child by name and assign a special mission to complete around the house.

A few weeks back, my wife Kristi lined up both of our boys to receive "the call" from Oso, and it went over big. Both Benjamin and Jonathan were blown away by the phone call, listened intently to Oso's message about replacing the batteries in the household flashlights, and talked about the phone call for days.

I'm not sure we had fully grasped just how excited our boys were by Oso's call, until a few days later, when Kristi's cell phone rang and 2 year-old Jonathan, snapping to attention, asked, "Is it Oso?"

Now, that is a kid who is eager to hear from his favorite cartoon character. He just can't get enough.

Isn't that how it is with those we love, while we are apart? We want to hear from them. We look forward to any word that might come, and we appreciate the message when it arrives. If the message is written, we don't stop at reading it once. We just can't get enough.

"The days are coming," declares the Sovereign Lord, "when I will send a famine through the land -- not a famine of food or a thirst for water, but a famine of hearing the words of the Lord." -- Amos 8:11

God's people, throughout history, have not always demonstrated love for Him in their appreciation of His message. In fact, in Amos's time, God decided He had had enough of seeing His message ignored, and told the people He would withhold it for awhile, knowing it would be sought again:

"Men will stagger from sea to sea and wander from north to east, searching for the word of the Lord, but they will not find it." -- Amos 8:12

Sometimes we don't know what we have until it's gone.

Have you forgotten the taste of the Word of God, the taste described as being "as sweet as honey"? (Ezekiel 3:3)

Has the hearing of His message become so commonplace that your ears no longer perk up and give attention to its reading?

Can you imagine the irony of camping next to a fresh water spring, and never quenching your thirst with its water?

Or, forgetting you're thirsty altogether?

Is God's message greeted with eagerness from listeners who can't get enough? Or with apathy, from people who think they've heard enough?

The proof lies in what we do after hearing. (John 14:15)

I'd better go see about those flashlight batteries...

What's That Smell?

Let's face it.

No one wants to smell bad.

Even our 2 year-old, if he manages to sneak into Mom & Dad's bathroom, can be found applying Old Spice High Endurance to his stomach. He's got the right idea, anyway.

Like it or not, people make judgments about other people on the basis of any noticeable smell, whether pleasant or unpleasant. The right perfume or cologne may be intoxicating, but any failure to prevent unpleasant odor is, well...

One summer when I worked at a university bookstore, there was a customer who entered the store almost every day, and carried with him a cloud of the most staggering stink you ever smelled. Seriously. It buckled the knees. It lingered in the air after the man left the room. I am not exaggerating when I say this guy gave me a headache.

Looking back, I have to admit there was a character/personality profile I imagined about this poor man, based on nothing more than this unfortunate problem. I never once spoke to him, never even allowed myself to be close to him. I avoided him and made fun of him with my co-workers, and that was about it. I decided in my mind that this guy was either unsanitary, inconsiderate, or simply oblivious.

But one random day it was different. The smelly man entered the store and didn't smell anymore. Something had changed, but I never found out what. Had someone spoken
to him? Helped him? Befriended him? Had he been painfully aware of the offense all along, but lacked the resources to remedy the problem, until that day? (Of course, he was book-shopping, so one would assume he had some money.)

In any case, however it happened, the fog had lifted, the odor was gone, and the man's presence no longer caused offense. I was uneasy with the realization that I was only then willing to deal with this man.

Makes you wonder how some of the people Jesus dealt with smelled. A group of fishermen after a long night on the water? Sowers who scattered seed by hand? Impoverished people without the luxury of concern over appearances?

Besides physical smell, many people Jesus interacted with bore the stench of the condemnation of their community: Lepers, Lunatics, Prostitutes, Tax Collectors, and ultimately, two thieves.

What made Jesus different was his willingness to engage humanity right where it was, however it looked, however it smelled, whatever anyone thought.

How interesting, then, that the analogy of fragrance is used to describe the effect the people of God are supposed to have on their surroundings:

"We are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing." -- 2 Corinthians 2:15

We smell like Him. If He is really in us, we smell like Him. People can tell when we're near. They notice it. It surrounds us, and lingers in the air after we leave.

So, is it a nice smell?

Well, that all depends. You might say it's in the nose of the smeller.

"To the one we are the aroma of death leading to death, and to the other the aroma of life leading to life." -- 2 Corinthians 2:16

What a person thinks of Jesus will determine what he thinks of how a Christian smells. Not everyone likes Him. Not everyone appreciates His fragrance. And, if you choose to wear it, not everyone will appreciate you.

Do you trust Him enough to wear His fragrance and let others think what they will?

"If the world hates you, you know that it hated Me before it hated you." -- John 15:18

Consider how self-conscious we all are about odor, and the measures we take to prevent it. Few among us would dare expose the public to our own natural scent.

Jesus has a scent all His own.

What then? Will we wash it away, mask it, prevent it? Or trust it to have its effect, knowing it's not about us anyway?

Considering all this, and looking back on the smelly man in the bookstore, the clear question that comes to mind is:

Did I actually smell worse than he did?

New?

True story:

On a random visit last year, my mother-in-law offered me a pair of Dockers she had bought for my father-in-law, since the pants had turned out to be the wrong size for him. Once I made sure the pants would fit me, I gladly accepted the offer and brought the pants home.

A week or so later, I decided to wear the pants to work. I removed the labels from the pants, touched up the ironing, put on the pants, and went on my way. (I know, I know, I didn't wash them first...)

Later on, in the middle of my work day, I happened to put my hands in the pockets of the pants, and felt a piece of paper. I pulled out the paper and realized it was the receipt from the purchase of the pants I was wearing.

The date of the purchase was printed on the receipt, and, much to my surprise, the date was five and a half years prior to the morning I pulled the labels off the pants.

My brand-new Dockers were actually five and a half years old!

They were both new and old at the same time.

A pair of pants that should have been well-worn, if not worn out, was still in mint condition, never used, never even tried on, forgotten for half a decade. The pants hadn't served their intended purpose for anyone in five and a half years.

"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another." -- John 13:34-35

"Brethren, I write no new commandment to you, but an old commandment which you have had from the beginning..." -- I John 2:7

Love one another.

A new commandment? An old commandment? Both?

The children of Israel had been commanded to love their neighbors as themselves centuries before Jesus' ministry (Lev. 19:18). So, it's certainly an old commandment in that sense. But Jesus made it new again by raising the bar of what the commandment means. When He talked about loving one another, the standard became, "as I have loved you". Who could have claimed to have already had that covered?

In another sense, as John reminds his readers, the commandment to love one another is old to every Christian, because it was introduced right along with the gospel, at the very beginning of each soul's walk with Christ (I John 2:7).

But, there is yet another sense in which this commandment is both new and old at the same time, and will be forever, for every Christian.

Like my "new" Dockers, the commandment to love one another is brand-new again each time we realize we've forgotten about it.

Maybe the commandment was accepted warmly, even eagerly, to be put into service to the blessing of others, only to find its way to the bottom of a drawer, out of commission and unaccounted for. Maybe the season or the fashion changed, and it just didn't seem like the right time to wear that garment.

For whatever reason, has the commandment to love one another, as Jesus loves us, fallen to the back of your mind, or been forgotten entirely?

Is it so taken for granted that we're content never to see it?

May it never be so.

Pray that our Father will make this old commandment new in our lives every day.

What's the Point?

OK, NBA fans: Did you hear the news?

The Los Angeles Clippers, through some far-fetched stroke of what statisticians refer to as "dumb luck", claimed the #1 pick in this year's NBA Draft Lottery.

Perhaps you, like me, are rolling your eyes and asking yourself, "What's the point?"

Or, maybe you're even feeling a twinge of pity for the young athlete selected by the Clips. "Sorry, man. Hang tough."

Growing up in the L.A. area, my blood ran purple and gold. The life of a Lakers fan was good in the 80's. I actually remember the Clippers' move from San Diego to Los Angeles in 1984, and, even as a kid, wondered what on earth was the point.

Ever since, the Clippers have operated for the most part in total futility, right in the shadow of an NBA powerhouse. Not even #1 draft picks in 1988 and 1998 have helped right the Clippers' ship.

And, now, here they are all over again.

But this really isn't about the Clippers.

Have you ever given up on someone? Do you know anyone who is so chronically unreliable that you finally roll your eyes in disgust?

Someone who, despite the help of everyone around, and the benefit of every resource and opportunity, just never seems to get it together?

Someone who prompts you to ask yourself, "What's the point?"

Of course you do. We all do.

*The struggling, straggling student who can be led to water, but can't be made to drink.

*The troubled employee who doesn't seem to comprehend that the boss's patience will eventually run out.

*The borrower back in debt just a year after being bailed out.

*The spouse who never matured beyond selfishness.

*The child who continues to abuse his parents' trust.

*The hollow promises coming from all of the above.

Where does anyone find the patience to deal with this? So much promise, so much possibility, so little results. Total futility.

More importantly, do we realize that, on our own, this is all we amount to before God?

Where can we find the patience to deal with unreliable people who don't perform?

Where does He?

May His grace toward us give us the perspective we need to extend grace to others, even when efforts are futile and patience is thin. Even when it's hard to see the point.

In fact, especially then.

Classic Quote

So often, the classic quote comes at the most random moment.

This afternoon, I spent some time with our boys, letting them ride their bikes up and down the sidewalk by our house. This is still a "follow-along" activity, as Jonathan is barely getting started at riding, and Benjamin still needs a little help now and then.

We were following our usual route, past the next-door neighbors' house, over the drainage ditch (yes, a glorious view) and on to the driveway of the next house, where we turn around and head back home for another lap.

Just as we made the turn in the usual driveway, I took hold of Benjamin's handlebar to guide him around. Without hesitation, he made clear he had it all under control:

"Daddy, you just have to let go now."

I had to let that one sink in for just a second.

How deep does that statement go in your mind?

Talk about flash-forwards. Coming back up that sidewalk, I saw visions of everything from the first day of Kindergarten to high school graduation, relationships I may or may not approve of, and life choices that will be entirely our son's to make.

Lots of moments ahead when I will have little choice but to let go.

But that's only part of the story. The fact is, the only reason Benjamin was able to tell me to let go, was the fact that I had held on for as long as I had. Today wasn't his first bike ride. I've taken hold of the handlebar many times before. And, it probably won't be the last time he ends up needing my help. But his confidence has grown to the point that he believes he can handle it on his own.

And the safety of my grip on the handlebar was needed for a time.

Just not forever.


*The wisdom to know when to let go.

*The courage to let go when you know you should.

*And, the commitment to hold on long enough to make your grip obsolete.

All this wrapped up in the confident statement of a 4 year-old.

On Mothers' Day

I thought it would be appropriate to re-post this one from last year on the occasion of Mothers' Day. This one originally appeared in July, 2008, and was entitled, "A Promise Kept". Happy Mothers' Day!

Jane: "Mary Poppins, you won't ever leave us, will you?"
Michael: "Will you stay if we promise to be good?"
Mary Poppins: "That's a pie-crust promise; easily made, easily broken."

Most of us know the story of the prophet Samuel's birth.

In a sense, every human being owes his existence to his mother, but Samuel in particular owed his life to his mother Hannah's deep faith and heartbroken prayer.

We read the story in the first few chapters of I Samuel.

Hannah lives, as so many women of her era, in a polygamous relationship, with a husband who loves her dearly, but also has another wife. The other wife has borne children, but Hannah has not. In fact, the Scripture says, "the Lord had closed her womb". (1:5)

No explanation is given for this, but it is clear that Hannah's inability to conceive is a source of great pain for her. This fact is not lost on the other wife, who takes advantage of this sore spot to "provoke her severely, to make her miserable, because the Lord had closed her womb." (1:6)

"She was in bitterness of soul, and prayed to the Lord and wept in anguish." (1:10)

Out of this torment comes a request, and a promise.

"O Lord of hosts, if you will indeed look on the affliction of your maidservant, and remember me, and not forget your maidservant, but will give your maidservant a male child, then I will give him to the Lord all the days of his life." (1:11)

Hannah's prayer is granted, and she names her son "Heard by God".

As moving as this part of the story is, it alone does not provide the most compelling point for us today. That is yet to come.

God's intervention in this story is, like most of His deeds, beyond our grasp. How does God take a woman who cannot have children, and bring about whatever change is necessary to allow conception to occur? How or why had He prevented conception from occurring before? We'll never know; we accept that He can and does intervene in such ways, according to His will.

Not to suggest that God's work is not the most remarkable element of this story, but His intervention in this case is similar to innumerable miracles He has performed over the centuries, completely in keeping with who He is and what we have always known Him to do.

The most unusual element of this story is Hannah's promise. More specifically, the fact that she keeps it.

After all the years of torment and depression, after all the wishing and hoping, the son she wondered if she could ever have is finally in her arms. Any mother who has locked eyes with her newborn knows the instant and eternal bond. Everything else is reordered. Previous priorities fade. Nothing is ever the same.

Yet, in spite of all this, as God remembered her, so Hannah remembers her promise. She weans her son, and then takes him, at a very young age, to Eli the priest to begin his life of service to God. And, the course is set for a critical period of Israel's history.

Imagine it. Taking your small child to begin a life apart from your household, willingly giving him up to see him again only once a year thereafter. A tear-jerker of a passage is found in chapter 2, verses 18 - 19: "Samuel ministered before the Lord, even as a child, wearing a linen ephod. And his mother used to make him a little robe, and bring it to him year by year when she came up with her husband to offer the yearly sacrifice."

Can you see Hannah stitching her son a new robe, remembering what he looked like the last time she saw him, wondering what he would look like now? Wondering how much he might have grown? Hoping he'll like his new robe? Can you imagine the annual reunion, with Hannah helping Samuel try it on? Can you imagine how often Samuel thought of his mother throughout the year, every time he wore that robe?

Considering all this, it's truly amazing that Hannah kept this promise. Honestly, if she had failed to keep her promise, would we judge her for it today? Could we blame her? Could any of us keep a promise like this? Would any of us have made such a promise in the first place?

Hannah would have had at her disposal any and every rationalization she would have needed to break her promise to God, and make it all right in her mind. Imagine how the tempter might have worked on Hannah's mind in the few years she had Samuel at home. We're not given any indication that Hannah even struggled with this decision, but if she did, she would have had plenty of help.

While we might not have been inclined to judge Hannah harshly had she failed to keep this promise to God, Scripture indicates God Himself would indeed have taken it seriously. (Ecclesiastes 5:4-5) And while Hannah's story is not entirely equivalent to the story of Jephthah (Judges 11), it serves to illustrate the same point: take seriously what you tell God you're going to do.

Buried beneath all this, lies an often-overlooked fact in Hannah's story.

"And Eli would bless Elkanah and his wife, and say, 'The Lord give you descendants from this woman for the loan that was given to the Lord.' Then they would go to their own home. And the Lord visited Hannah, so that she conceived and bore three sons and two daughters. Meanwhile the child Samuel grew before the Lord." (I Samuel 2:20-21)

Who knew Hannah was going to have more children after she gave Samuel to the Lord?

There is no indication that anyone knew. Hannah's original prayer was for "a male child", not for the ability to have as many children as she and her husband might have wanted to have. It was on her heart to have a son, and once that prayer was granted, it is clear her heart was content. (2:1-10) In fact, we have to assume that Hannah thought she was handing over to the Lord her one and only child, and that she would live the rest of her years on the joy of her short time with her baby Samuel. There was no inkling of future children to numb the pain of giving Samuel up, or to make it any easier to keep that promise. The reward of having five more children must have overwhelmed her heart.

Promises, promises. We live in a world today in which promises don't seem to mean very much. It seems people vow first, and think later. The vow may even be sincere at the time, but changing circumstances provide the back door people use to abandon a promise they no longer wish to keep. Even marriage vows turn out to be pie-crust promises with disturbing regularity.

More than anything else, a Christian is supposed to be different from this world. How seriously do we take our promises to ourselves, let alone others, let alone God?

"This is the year I'm going to exercise again."

"Till death alone separates us."

"You are my God."