A foolish person says in his heart, “There is no God.”
What does it take for you to believe something out of the realm of possibility? Most of us need to see some hard evidence before we lend credibility to the incredible. This is true when we speak of a loving God who sent his Son into the world to be tortured, mocked, and executed by a vicious regime of unbelievers.
The Biblical account of Jesus’ arrest, trial, and crucifixion makes us cringe at the brutality of humanity. Passion Week forces us to look at betrayal, social pressure, and apathy with a finger pointed at our own rebellious heart. Rejection, fear, and abandonment jump off the page as we identify with the innocent man.
More shocking than the horror of Christ’s undeniable death is His miraculous resurrection. How can we grasp this event? Some people argue the disciples stole Jesus’ body. We read of an empty tomb behind a massive stone. Twenty huge men would have to push the stone aside. Besides this feat of strength they had to be quiet enough not to wake the Roman guards, the fighting machines of their day. There are 200 known eyewitnesses over 40-day periods who say they saw the resurrected Christ. Can we water down this phenomenon with baskets and bunnies?
“The Lord looked down from heaven and saw all men. All have sinned and gone their own way.”
The cross is not a sacrifice God needs in order to love us, but one we need to be reconciled to Him.
1.) In this the love of God is shown: He sent His Son into the world that we might live through Him.
2.) This is love: not that we loved God, but He loved us and sent His Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sin.
3.) And we ourselves have seen and bear witness that the Father has sent the Son to be the Savior of the world.
What happens when we accept God’s gift of love? We meet the resurrected Son of God who continues to transform lives 2011 years later!
Bible verses taken from 1 John 4: 9, 10, 14
Psalm 14;1, 2
Romans 3:10
Portions of text from James Kennedy, and Chip Ingram
Spring has sprung and so has my desire to get back on my Harley. The husband and I took our bikes out of the garage and started cleaning and polishing our iron horses. I’m always excited preparing for the first ride of the season. While cleaning my saddlebags I found an old brochure of Yellowstone National Park that reminded me of last year’s meltdown on the Beartooth.
Most people agree the scenic mountain road that runs from the Chief Joseph's Highway in Wyoming and travels to Red Lodge Montana is the most beautiful ride in the United States. The 67-mile highway soars to dizzying heights. On any summer day temperatures can range from 70 degrees to below freezing during a sudden snow storm. Besides having an opportunity to see Grizzlies, elk, and mountain lion the landscape is an endless display of Mother Nature at her best. Snow covered mountains, granite peaks, and glacier lakes astound you.
We love the Beartooth Pass because of the steep zigzags and switchbacks that make for a thrilling, unpredictable adventure. We based camped in Cody and this was our first ride of the season. I consider myself a veteran on the road having about 50,000 plus miles under my belt. Even with all that road time, I broke the cardinal rule. I lost focus. I looked down, down, down the side of the mountain and brought on a mental breakdown.
One minute I was maneuvering the switchbacks like a pro and the next I was overcompensating each hairpin turn like a student. A huge fifth wheel roared behind me breathing down my neck. Now I lost my concentration and my nerve. This narrow stretch of winding highway has no shoulder or pull offs. My husband was ahead of me blissfully unaware of my panic attack.
I began to pray….hard. Instead of the surge of faith I expected I got a paralyzing hand cramp. There was no way I could force my fingers to open. My clutch hand would not move. I felt the painful sensation of muscles locking my fist into a tight knot. My bike was in second gear and the engine was screaming for third. I was powerless. Now I was unfocused, panicked, and desperate. I rode this way for what seemed like a million miles. As we came around a steep curve there was an overlook station.
Somehow, I parked the bike. I sat on the curb, 11,000 feet above sea level, wondering if I ever wanted to ride again. My heart was racing and my mind was frozen in fear. My husband could not fathom how I could be in such a state of alarm. I had done this ride many times over the years. It should have been a joy ride.
We hung around for a while as I guzzled water like a camel in case I was dehydrated. The spasms continued to come and go. I looked over the cliff. The next few miles were a continuous series of tight switchbacks, hairpin turns, and zigzags. We had another forty minutes to Red Lodge Montana, and then we had to turn back around and do the highway from the opposite direction to get back to our campsite. How was I going to finish this ride?
Could I trust my ability and training to navigate these curves safely and more importantly, did I really believe God would protect me? I knew this battle was in my mind. I needed to take control of the “what ifs” that were running rampant in my thoughts. I talk a lot about faith in the Creator so this was my chance to put my words into action. I was afraid but decided to trust even as my hand throbbed in pain.
Unbelievably, the spasm turned out to be an answer to prayer. God stretched my faith, a lesson I would need on the way back. We made it to Red Lodge, had lunch, and headed home. As we came close to a region known as “Top of the World” dark clouds settled over the Beartooth. We knew what was coming and we were heading right into it.
I rode the curves in the pouring rain. Lightning and thunder flashed over our heads. My clutch hand worked but I could barely see a few feet ahead of me. I was freezing and the road was dark and slippery. God’s remedy for fear worked! This time faith kept me steady. We made it back to our destination- wet, and cold. That night we sat in the warmth and security of our R.V., laughed about my misadventure, and made plans for our next excursion into the wilderness.
The hand cramp reminds me that life is unpredictable. There are no guarantees, just the next series of hairpin turns and sweeping arcs. God is teaching me that there will be times in my life when I’ll be powerless to switch gears. It won’t matter how well trained, self disciplined, or knowledgeable I’ve become. The only thing that will get me through is faith.
My advice as you ride the shifting roads of life…..
Keep your focus
Don’t panic
Keep moving
Trust God
Life is 10% what happens to you, and 90% how you will react to it.
The drifter blew into our lives like a gypsy wind. He came out of nowhere, appearing outside our barn like an act of magic. His yellow eyes were hypnotic and mischievous. You could tell by his playful gait that he was alive with youth and enthusiasm. The hobo pranced up to me confident I would fall for his irresistible charm. It was as if he could read my mind. Black cats had always been my favorite. It was early October and enchantment was in the air.
Our dog, Swamp Thing, charged at the stranger expecting to show his superiority. The vagabond stood his ground and gave the mutt a few well-placed swats to the snout. Amazingly, the brute sat quietly and allowed the stranger to rub up against him. They formed an immediate bond. I decided to name our bohemian visitor Van Helsing, after my favorite vampire hunter. It seemed appropriate to expect him to defend the farm from Wererats and Vampire cats.
The problem was I promised my husband not to take in another stray. Luckily, like a snake charmer the vagrant won his heart as well. At first, I fed him at the barn, trying to keep my emotional distance. I had been through this before. Strays come and go frequently on the farm. I was a little mystified since the full details of Van Helsing’s past were a mystery. I couldn’t imagine someone getting rid of such a friendly cat.
As the weeks went by his food dish ended up on the side porch, next to the kitchen. His once sleek form got rounder and his coat was lush and beautiful. When I walked the dog, the cat followed. They were a macabre duo, the dog white as snow and the cat black as pitch. Every so often Van would stop and roll over so I could rub his fat belly.
Although allergies made it impossible for our family to keep a cat inside the house my husband broke his own rule. He made a spot in the basement to keep our new friend safe from the frigid December nights. His make shift caravan was complete with a thick red cushion for the gypsy prince to sleep on.
True to his wandering nature, Van Helsing was unpredictable. Sometimes we would call him and he would run from the midnight shadows and into the warmth. Other times he was gone for a day or two at a time looking for adventure. Each time he was away, we wondered if we would ever see him again.
One night he came home with a gash on his ear and a bite on his neck (true story). We assumed it was a catfight and administered Neosporin to the injuries. As the weeks went by, he stayed away longer and lost weight. When he came home one freezing night in January the left side of his face was swollen. We called our Vet and got him the first available appointment.
That night he crept slowly into his hideout beaten by his enemies. I tried tempting his appetite with tuna but he had no desire for food. I gently put him on the cushion thinking he would be fine after some rest. The next morning he could not find the strength to get up. I sat with him, completely horrified at the prospect of him dying. I cried and prayed he would make it to the Vets. I wanted to believe there was an antidote.
Before sunset, one of God’s little creatures died on his red pillow as quickly as he appeared. Some unseen virus stole the wanderers’ life prematurely. We had a little ceremony to commemorate his short life with my grandson and the dog. Neither seemed to feel the same loss we did. Afterward we buried him by the barn where we found him. I like to imagine him running through vast fields in the October sun. I see him playing with lions and lambs in a beautiful wilderness where there is no disease, death, or decay.
I was raised a Catholic and the Nuns were firm believers that animals have no souls and would not be in heaven. I disagree. Watch this video and make your own decision.
When you put the words love and everlasting in the same sentence, it comes off as an oxymoron. Both verbs are difficult to define, or fully understand. The term love covers the pasta we ate for dinner, our new droid, or the fresh romance we are starting. Everlasting and Happily Ever After are the things of Fairy Tales.
We are accustomed to warranties, guarantees, default contracts, and prenups. With our revolving door affection our computers, flat screens, and significant others barely last a year before they launch the new models and we are on to the next thing. Besides, nothing on this earth lasts forever.
When God tells us He loves us with an everlasting love, we might be tempted to shrug it off since contracts and hearts can be easily broken. Our limited understanding tends to humanize God. If he writes us off because we have messed-up year after year, that’s understandable. However, if He rides out the storms of life right along with us as we entertain our personal demons it just doesn’t make sense! Who am I that God would care?
Here are a few facts about Everlasting Love we can count on….
· God reaches out to us unconditionally. He loves us before we can honestly love Him. The Lord has appeared to me saying, “I have loved you with an everlasting love: with kindness I continue my faithfulness to you.” Jeremiah 31:3
· No matter how far from shore the choppy waters of temptation has left you, nothing you have done, or will do, can separate you from the love of God. “Neither death nor life nor angels or demons….will be able to separate us from the love of Christ.” Romans 8: 38-39
· He gave everything to open the way for us to accept His Everlasting Love. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son that whoever believes in Him will have everlasting life.” John 3:16
When we enter into this contract, we will live Happily Everlasting...
Forget what lies behind. I love January. It’s time for our yearly do-over list. The idea of another chance empowers me to reach for the stars. Who doesn’t like to imagine what it would be like to really accomplish their personal goals and get everything right for a change. I made my resolutions, along with the rest of the world, and predictably, my top priorities fell right in line with most people.
I intend to spend quality time with family, lose that same 20 pounds, get out of debt, get more involved, finish my novel, go on a mission’s trip….you get the picture. I really wish God would wave a magic wand over my life and make everything fall into place just as I command.
As I prayed about this whole New Year’s thing, I felt convicted to pay more attention to what God has actually called me to do and accomplish for His Kingdom as the year plays out. Like…be obedient to His leading even when it interferes with my workout, or my writing, or my multitude of plans. I seem to have a long list of demands I expect God to help me achieve.
Reach forward to what lies ahead. I’ve decided to alter my list and deliberately seek God’s priorities. Instead of taking my side excursions into the Land of Hopes and Dreams, I think I’ll try it God’s way, and walk into the Promised Land. I hope that when the ball drops to ring in 2012, I will have accomplished something that will bring me closer to His purpose and that stubborn 20 pounds won’t feel so heavy after all.
Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: Forgetting what lies behind, reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3: 13-14
I recently inherited a dog. He was labeled, “Dead Dog Walking.” It was the pound or me. My daughter, his executioner, cited crimes too numerous to mention as grounds for his death sentence. I said I would try to housebreak and tame him. I was sure she was exaggerating the alleged misdemeanors against the poor creature. After all, how hard could it be to handle a 15-pound puppy?
The criminal, a.k.a. Buddy, arrived with crate, leash, and a half bag of dog food. His ex-owner said a few harsh words and sped off down our driveway never looking back. I like dogs. I like them with short fur, cute pug faces, and quiet personalities. What I got was a wild, undisciplined, wooly mammoth! The felon eats shoes, furniture, books, toys, tassels from designer pillows and anything he can grab as he runs wildly through the house. Although he has a huge yard to use as a bathroom, he makes regular deposits in the living room. When he is exhausted, he flops lovingly on my feet or jumps into my lap like a sleepy toddler oblivious to his delinquency.
Buddy loves the outdoors. He frolics in the dewy morning grass until his white paws and muzzle turn a sick shade of green. He digs holes, like a bulldozer, and eats the dirt. Leaves, twigs, and burrs are drawn to his tangled coat like a magnet. He barks incessantly at anything and everything. The dog-training manual says he needs to be socialized! My husband says he needs a swat with the newspaper. I’m beginning to think he needs the Dog Whisperer. I called my daughter and tried to coerce her into taking the mutt back. She laughed and hung up on me. Now I get her voice mail.
As the weeks progressed, I tried to make “Swamp Thing” look and smell presentable. I used dog shampoo, Vidal Sassoon, and Aussie Moist. Nothing worked to make his white frizzy hair look clean, tame, and manageable. They say dogs resemble their owners. If that’s the case, God help me! After a quick look in the mirror, I made an appointment with a dog stylist.
I arrived at the grooming palace wondering if they could use a Chi on dog fur. I peered skeptically through large glass windows into the beauty salon. Posters on the wall listed services ranging from Spa la Carte to the Premium Package that included anal gland cleaning. (YUCK!) Eight stools sat two by two. The salon was full. A canine patron enjoying their celebrity treatment occupied each bench. Stylists clipped, combed, trimmed, and shaved the dogs working magic on their freshly washed fur. The pampered pets sat dreamily with glazed over eyes, lapping tongues, and wagging tails.
In gangster style, Buddy the Mouth began barking and growling our arrival. The Zen like atmosphere quickly turned to chaos. The receptionist looked us over. “What type of dog is this?” She asked curtly.
She snatched the dog from my arms. “Be back in three hours.” She turned and stomped away through a set of windowless double doors in the back of the shop.
When I returned the receptionist greeted me with a list of products I needed to keep my pet looking his best. The grand total was a few dollars shy of a fortune. The stylist, who worked tirelessly for three hours, walked Buddy down the red carpet to greet me. I could hear the angels weep! It was a miracle. I almost doubted it was really my dog. He looked like a champion, a credit to his breed.
I’d like to say this is a Cinderella story. I’d like to say he won a blue ribbon in the local dog show. I’d like to say he was rewarded by the Dog Whisperer for good behavior on national TV. However, within two days Buddy looked like Swamp Thing again. His soft fluffy fur is matted and frizzy. He still eats shoes, furniture, books, toys, and tassels from designer pillows. He makes deposits in the living room on occasion.
On the flip side, there is something redeeming about him. He is loyal, loving, and clownish. I watched him stand on hind legs and dance in circles while autumn leaves swirled around him. He plays gently with my grandson and tolerates the cat. He is always under my feet, looking up at me with mischievous happy eyes.
My daughter called to ask how the criminals’ training is progressing. I laughed and hung up on her. When she called back, I put her in voice mail.
Slaying the Dragon of Delay is no sport for the short-winded. I’m preparing to write the sequel to my novel “Rise from the Ashes,” and find I have run out of steam. The dragon outsmarted me by leading me into the trap of procrastination. While I took a break in my routine, delay stole my momentum. I know what I have to do, and I know what it takes to regain my drive, but do I have the guts to slay the dragon?
Writing takes effort. That means lots of mental exertion. Making time to focus on a project of this size takes unremitting resolve and commitment. I need to summon the forces of passion, enthusiasm and a positive attitude if I’m going to kill this beast that has made it’s lair in my psyche. This may sound like child’s play unless you have fallen prey to this enemy before. The archrival can quickly devour your creativity and will to succeed.
My mighty opponent battles me with ideas of fear of not performing perfectly. These mental wounds lead to procrastination, which eventually lead to paralysis. While searching for a magic elixir for my malady I came upon a scripture verse that stopped me dead in my tracks. “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave where you will go, there will be no work or planning nor knowledge nor wisdom.” Ecclesiastes 9:10
The question comes to mind; what is in your hand to do? I have a computer and a dream of reaching the lost for Christ.
I know I can do this, but I have to crush my tendency to put things off. Instead of running, I will face this dragon and push myself to climb over the mountain of excuses that are breathing fire down my neck. I will reach the summit unscathed. I am not short-winded!
The Dragon of Unbelief is slaying it’s thousands. PROCRASTINATION is taking the lives and souls of tens of thousands.
For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, so whoever believes in Jesus shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16 Accept the offer....don't delay.
