It's Not What You Think

"having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints,What are the riches of this glorious inheritance?" Ephesians 1:18

Its not wealth. There is too much disparity and poverty in this life among true believers to regard wealth within this statement. If God is promising wealth then he is truly a capricious God, dolling out money to his favorites.

It's not possessions. If it were what we have would only be matched by our greed for more. We have more in our culture, not because it is a promise of God but because we pursue it as an end, and that is why only a few have all the toys and many are in debt.

It's not position. I hear from so many that they work in jobs by necessity rather then passion. Its easy to say "find something your passionate about a go for it" when you have bills to pay, or your too old, too ugly, too etc.

Its not power. Most of the time I feel powerless. Powerless to change the political landscape, powerless over my circumstances, powerless over my finances, powerless to even change me (the same things I have wrestled with for ever seem to rear their ugly heads all the time).

It's not health. As much as I want to believe sickness away there are too many who get sick and die to accept that health is the promise of this glorious inheritance.

We can pray for all these things, and we might stumble upon them, but that doesn't make them a part of this glorious inheritance.

The world (Christian world) might offer these things as a reward for faithfulness but too many who have been faithful lived their whole lives without them.

We work, we pray, we wish for these things at one time or another only to find the sand slipping through our fingers. All the while Paul prays for the Ephesians that the eyes of their hearts might be enlighten to understand the riches of this glorious inheritance. 

If the inheritance is any of the above, why must my heart be enlightened? Would I not know it if I had it? Or is it because this glorious inheritance is something different altogether, something not of this world, something that I inherit but doesn't make me rich in the eyes of the world.

At the end of this audaciously long sentence, plus one, is chapter 2 verse 1, "and you were dead in your trespasses and sins, as you once walked."

Wealth may come or it may not. Power may arise or remain trampled. Health will last only for so long. Position is fleeting.

The riches of my inheritance is what Christ bought on the cross, that I might not walk in my trespasses and sin any longer. That is the glorious nature of my inheritance.

Whether God promises or answers prayers for all or any of the above is up for debate. But the bedrock of our inheritance is Christ. 

If for nothing else, but for this glorious inheritance will I be thankful today.  I'm just saying...

I Don't Have To Be Nice Anymore

It dawned on me today that I don't have to me nice anymore. Having retired from vocational ministry I don't have to worry about people's spiritual well being. I don't have to care whether they go to church, read their bible, or pray.  I don't have to be concerned about what peopel think of me anymore. I can go where I want, say what I want, and drink what I want. YAAAAAAAAAAAY....Yeah.

Then there is Rick. He is my next door neighbor. A down to earth, blue collar, welder with a terrier named Rambo (the dog was his wife's who passed away two years ago). I was watering my front yard with a hand spray and he was doing the same next door. I asked him if he had anything planned for the weekend and he said no because he didn't have a place for his dog, and he wasn't going to kennel him. He laughed and said his wife would probably do something to him. At one point he said the F word and quickly tried to pull it back (I don't know why). Rick told me the people who use to live in our house were Christians, but not very good ones (that came out of the blue). Not sure what that meant. He seems lonely and cares for his yard with the tenderness I am sure his wife displayed. There is the lady across the street whose husband is in prison and is struggling to raise two girls. The neibghbors on the other side are active with lots of different people who are nice, but not too talkative. 

You see, I don't have to be nice, but I am compelled to. The love of Christ constrains me and I would be remiss if I did not care. As a believer it is built into my DNA. I am to love like Jesus loved me. I am to reach out as God reached out to me. I am be an example of a "good" Christian, whatever that means. 

It is much more difficult on this side of the cloth, but that's ok. My vocation may not be pastor, but my calling is to bear witness to Christ. It's the same for all of us. I'm just saying....

Frustrated Waiter

I am not a waiter, at least not the kind who works for tips. I am a waiter in lines, traffic, for appointments, on my wife, and a sundry other long and arduous situations. The key to a good waiter is patience, of which I have little. I am a last minute want it now kind of guy. I like fast food and fast cars. I can tell when my patience is running thin. My concentration wanes, I have a hard time focusing, my legs get antsy, and a feeling of angst ripples through my body. In fact, I have that feeling right now, because, well, I am waiting.

One of the fruits of the Spirit is patience, and though it is an attractive fruit it often tastes bitter when something or someone has kept me waiting. Patience is difficult. We are to be patient in suffering, parptient for the Lord's return, patient with sinners, patient with children, and patient with one another. Ahhhhh, all this patience. 

Yet, there is reward for those who wait patiently. God's patient kindness leads me to repentance. Eternal life comes to those who are patient in doing good and seek God's glory and immortality. Our future inheritance comes through patient hope. God endured patiently on me, withholding His wrath, bringing about my salvation. I am a perfect example of God's enduring patience.

Therefore, I must learn patience, which only comes through being exposed to situations where my patience is tried. In seeking patience I learn to trust in God's goodness, providence, and sovereignty. In finding patience I will learn contentment and peace.

I have to go, the guy behind me is honking his horn. Sheesh! Be patient!   I'm just saying.....

Thoughts Of A New Author

Writing and speaking are fraught with peril. As the scripture says, "Many words mark the speech of a fool," and "The one who has knowledge uses words with restraint." (Ecc. 5:3 and Prov. 17:27). Not encouraging when one puts pen to paper, but apt is its warning. 

I have been asked by a few if I would start blogging again. My hesitation is obvious, but my inclination is to express what God lays in my heart. So, with trepidation I venture again into the eddies of thought and peer into the recess of my own mind to share with you what I find. Sometimes it may be interesting other times a little frightening, and in lucid moments, perhaps a inspiring. 

Today I venture to reflect on the question, " Why do I write at all?" In each of us there is a story, a tale of redemption that must be shared. We pass them on to our children and grandchildren in hope they too will be inspired by God's work and retell their own story. They are stories of love and loss, anger and forgiveness, of pain and sorrow and the bud of hope that opens to drink in the son. 

Some stories are thrillers keeping us on the edge of our seats. There are stories that are funny and sad; tragic comedies that cause our emotions to rise and fall, leaving us exhausted at the telling. Some tales are full of drama, stories rich with detail and color. They are stories of the every day man and strive for a happy ending. These are the stories of our lives.

Writing fiction is an avenue to wrestle with issues in an creatively and helps me to struggle with uncomfortable topics in a real way. My hope is that my characters won't be trite or stereotypical. I strive to give them depth from an unusual perspective. I want their dialogue to be real, their questions to be meaningful and the conclusions unpredictable. Not an easy task and not always achieved. 

The art of story telling is fun and challenging. To begin with a blank piece of paper and fill it with words that move, motivate, and surprise. Though there is an outline it sometimes changes as unexpected characters appear and change the course of the story. The challenge is not to follow a minor character into their own story. 

God has written and is writing his story in our hearts, and I find the creative process and expression of His heart. I hope that all my stories are redemptive in some fashion, and if not overtly at least lead in the right direction. 

So I will blog of everyday events, reflections of the scripture, and at time some insight into on of my books. And to the two people who will read these many words --- enjoy.

Paintball – Running With Endurance

I have to say that after five years of not playing Paintball it is as much fun as I remembered.  My son’s David and Joshua (Steve couldn’t make it) joined me at Challenge Park for a rousing day of Paintball.  We wore our Jerseys’, rented our markers, donned our masks and made our way to the first field of battle.  We weren’t sure how many people would show up, but each game consisted of 20 against 20, and most of the players were under 16.  I’m not sure that gave us an advantage.

Armageddon was the first ‘map’ (a gaming term for course) we played.  The signal was given and the three of us headed down the field markers blazing.  By the time the 6 minutes was up, I was bent over and panting.  Yes, I had eliminated a few of my foes, but at a great physical cost.  We switched sides, engaged again, and when it was over I needed water. 

Running, crouching, crawling, shooting, shouting, and getting shot were all in a day’s fun.  After 12 games, 6 hours, and 2000 paintballs we were finished for the day; and I mean finished.  Every muscle in my body hurts.  I have a deep red welt on my right thigh, and I have a slight headache from dehydration.  IT WAS AWESOME! 

I learned two things from that day of Paintball:  1) I still love the game; and 2) I am out of shape.  I have been doing more walking lately and some calisthenics, but paintball uses different muscle and stamina; of which I have neither.  The children around me didn’t seem bothered by the heat or the exertion; youth definitely has its advantage.  But so does age.  My boys and I had experience, and when it came to the game that won out over youth.  We were able to direct our team and get them to work together (as much as they would let us).  When they followed our lead we did better, when they didn’t it didn’t work as well.

As an older Christian I have to say that I don’t have the stamina that my younger brother and sisters in Christ possess.  They seem to get things done, their enthusiasm is contagious, and the Love for the Lord compelling.  Sometimes it’s all I can do to keep up anymore.  I need them to push me a little further, to remind me of why I love the game (my faith).  What I offer them is perspective, experience, and a larger picture of life.  I know how to play the long game.  Rushing the enemy may be exhilarating, but patient persistence will win the day.

It may be another year before I get to play Paintball again.  I will probably be moving a little slower (though I may just pick up the pace of my walks), and the participants will seem even younger, but I hope I never lose the love for the game.

As a believer I know that God is at work in the long game, and I pray that he will give me the stamina to finish well, welts and all. In the end IT”S AWESOME!

The Ballad of Balder (Bearer of Light) by: Dr. Paul Perkins

Flickering, the flame cast an amber glow across the parchment.  Olaf thought carefully before he wrote, parchment was scarce.

“Not sure what to write?” The priest asked as he walked into the room behind him.  “Solitude and silence are the keys to a clear mind.  The words will come.”

Olaf didn’t look up.  He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly, trying to remember the stories, but they only came in bits and pieces.  His mind, finally clear, and without thinking his hand dipped the quill into the small bottle of ink on his desk, and effortlessly he put pen to paper and began to write.

Out of the mist the dragon rose, eyes glowing with the flames of hell.

Out of the darkness and evil’s throws, the howling hounds their tales tell.

Out of the grave the warriors rise, shield and hammer to battle call.

Out of the mud and mire tries, to escape with honor in battle fall.

But winds will blow and specters fly, their voices screech throughout the night.

Sails and oar are useless then, though the warriors pulled with all their might. 

Pelting rain and pounding waves, throw the ship from side to side.

Helpless against Aegir’s wrath, until its soothed on morning tide.

Weary each man his strength was spent, as one they held the night at bay.

But land in sight gave rise to heart, and hope for glory in the coming day.

Balder stood upon ships bow, radiant strength on glassy bay.

Shadows form across the land, Loki’s minions in full array. 

The stench of death filled the air, redolence that bode not well.

And evil stood against the light, in defiance of freedom quell.

Balder’s lips silently moved, a prayer for Thor to defend.

Hammer high and lightening flash, back to hell the enemy send.

“Fear not,” Balder cried out loud, “Today is but a day to die.”

Cheers rang forth to steady hearts, and clanging shields with each stride.

The enemy stood defiant still, unmoved by threats and oaths.

Silently they marched on, a chill that stuttered the warriors’ approach.

Face to face the armies stopped, no one uttered or dared move.

Each heart pounded for fear it stop, and in the end the battle lose.

Then Balder raised his hammer high and shouted for all to rush.

And none were to stay their hand, until the breath of foe was hushed.

Blood spewed from each cracked skull against his hammer’s weight.

Balder thrust his shield forth and deflected the enemy’s blade.

As fierce a foe as one could want, to fight for honor’s name.

With victory life will come to all, on earth or Valhalla’s domain.

Across the field of battle strewn, the bodies of warriors fall.

In hope that when the Valkyrie come, they are ushered into Odin’s hall.

For in that glorious hall await, the fallen warriors of battles past.

Dawn to dusk toward Ragnarok’s fate, the battle that is the last.

Within the fury rose to pitch, and nothing else filled his mind.

No sound of laughter, no fair kiss, nor gentleness of kind.

Only that which dropped the fiend, who dared to force his will.

One thought, one act, one resolve of mind, less Balder’s blood be spilled.

Arrows darkened the noonday sun, in hope to reach their mark.

The dreadful thud of driven shaft, the light of life dimmed dark.

Searing pain of flesh and bone, Balder staggered beneath his plight.

Yet, through the sting he pressed on, to wage a glorious fight.

With loss of blood his strength did wane, each step an anchor bore.

He thought he heard the beating wings that led to an open door.

Within he heard the cries of men, in battle that never ends.

It beaconed him to join the fray, and the glory that lay within.

And though he feared not fate or death, or what would lie ahead.

He strained to stand against the rush to honor the proven dead.

With hammer gripped and shield worn, Balder renewed the fight.

Until the enemy of his land was turned and set to flight.

A cheer broke out as victor stood and reveled in conquest won.

This day of blood and death had seen the enemy on the run.

The piers were built and fires set to bid the dead farewell.

The living sang and drank a drought to wish their journey well.

The song they sang for all to hear was Balder’s deeds and might.

Though fallen now they knew that he had bought for them this night.

For in the end he could not stand against the Valkyrie’s song.

Welcomed he to Valhalla’s hall, and the Einherjar he belonged.

Into the mist the dragon sailed, eyes glowing with the flames of hell.

Into the darkness and evil’s throws, the howling hounds their tales tell.

Into the grave the warriors lay, shield and hammer in battle fall.

Into the mud and mire tries, to escape the fate that awaits us all.

Should There Have Been An American Revolution?

I’m sorry, the title should have read, “Should there BE an American Revolution?”  I was doing some reading this week on the 13 Colonies’ fight for freedom, and though there was some talk about religious freedom, it seems that most of the rhetoric centered around economics and the right of the Colonies to govern themselves as they saw fit.  The tyranny they felt under King George was too egregious, and their attempts of reconciliation were met with the heavy hand of the monarchy and its taxes.

Is our experience any different today?  The IRS does not represent the people but the heavy hand of the government.  It collects taxes without regard to the burden it places on its subjects, and when reconciliation is attempted they garnish wages and attach leans against property.  All of this under the guise of needing the money to help the greater social needs of the day.  Yet, instead of helping it imposes.  Instead of creating an atmosphere of freedom it restricts.  What are we to do?

I read one article that said that calling our representatives still works, but does it?  When it comes down to it the politicians have their own agendas, or at least represent an ideology that runs contrary to my own. 

If it was all right for our founding fathers to form their own government and withdraw their allegiance to the King of England, is that the only recourse we have today?  I believe that God has blessed us with the freest country in the world, so I don’t think armed rebellion is the answer.  And the conditions we face today pale in comparison to those of, say, Egypt and other repressed nations. 

What is difficult is that there is no consensus as to what a free America should look like.  To the conservative the liberal agenda looks like socialism, confiscation, and redistribution.  To liberals conservatives look like selfish, moralists, bent on leaving the poor behind.  To my chagrin these attitudes have crept into the church.  Liberal Christians see conservative Christians as legalistic moralists who are not sympathetic to the plight of the human condition.  Conservative Christians see Liberal Christians as immoral do-gooders who do not care about the holiness of God.

WOW!  How we have grieved the Spirit of God.  As Christians we should stand for God’s holiness and care for poor and stand against injustice.  The world shouldn’t see the division that tears the Church apart.  Yet, the fact that there is a division speaks to our need of a Savior.  We are flawed people trying to live obediently to the will and Word of God.  When we fail and repent we are forgiven and extended grace. 

Jesus said, “Seek first the Kingdom of God and all this (our daily needs) will be added to you.”  If there is to be a 2^nd American revolution it needs to start in the Church.  We need to acknowledge that our citizenship is heavenly; that our mission is spiritual; that our hope is eternal; and that our fight is against the dark forces of Satan.  We need to hold out the hope of salvation in Christ as bright stars in a dark world.  Our love for one another should cover the multitude of sins we commit daily against our brothers and sisters in Christ, and forgiveness should be our battle cry. 

I know that real world issues intersect with the spiritual, and that we can’t divorce them from one another.  It is at the point of intersection that we apply the gospel to social injustice and poverty that leads people to a saving knowledge of Christ.  But if we fail to see the true nature of the battle and our mission in Christ we will be derailed and found fruitless in our cause.  I’m just saying…