My precious wife and I celebrated this last year our 37th anniversary. We have actually known each other for over 50 years! We celebrate a lot of good memories from all of those years, anniversaries, birthdays, Christmas and thanksgiving holidays, the birth of our grandsons, Jake and Lawson. Glenda often talks about making memories.
There are some things we do not celebrate in our relationship even though they are as real. There was the time that I decided that if we were going to be separated geographically that we should break up. Dumb move on my part. I left home and enrolled at Bethany Bible College in Scotts Valley. The first few months I sent home, on a regular basis, carefully crafted love letters. As my eye began to wander a little, I decided that I would “play the field.”
As soon as we broke up, Glenda took the box of letters, read them one more time then proceeded to burn them in the fireplace saying with great emotions “Lies, lies, lies.” I later came to my senses, and she took me back.
I love America and I am proud to be an American. I have lots of good memories growing up here. I loved the hot summer months in the Sacramento Valley. I love the soaring majesty of the redwood trees. I love the methodically and calming sound of the surf. I love the beauty of Fourteeners that reach toward their maker.
However, there are things that I have encountered as an American that are extremely painful and cause my heart to be burdened to tears. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. I was in Hermit Basin in the muddy mountains of Colorado. It was boot camp September 2001. I turned on the TV to hear the morning news and was shocked to have played out the horrible events of 9-11. It was surreal. This could not really be happening to us. This was the land that God loved. How could He let this happen? We gathered together like shell shocked soldiers trying to make some sense of all of this. We did our best to continue our study and preparations without much success.
Every time I remember, I call up the pain from the deep recesses of my memory, tears spontaneously stream down my face. The pain, sorrow, anger and fear remains in spite of the passage of time. Oh I love the stories of people who miraculously were spared. But I am confident of this truth, some very devoted followers of Christ were lost that day when terror struck America. Glenda and I visited ground Zero some three years later. It left us speechless.
It reminds me that each of us will someday exit this world for the next. “It is appointed once to die.” There is no real “Life” insurance to guarantee me another day. This moment is all I have. What will I do with this moment? Who will I influence toward my Savior Jesus Christ? Who will I love today that needs that tangible expression of “God so loved…”? Who will I hug today that needs to be enveloped to the warm and tender arms of Abba Father? Then there is the ultimate question, “Who is following me as I follow Christ.”
When you think of 9-11, be thankful you have today. Use it wisely!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Fire Under Control
As I approached my temporary home on the farm in Windsor there was a dramatic new feature on the property. Towering some 100 feet tall was a drilling rig. It was amazing to see what the company was able to bring in and set up in just two days. Each piece of the rig hauled in by truck and then fit together like a giant erector set. The smell of diesel permeated the air as several large generators pumped out the needed electrical power to drive the giant motors that in turn pushed the drill deeper and deeper into the earth. The goal was to find the black gold that has been hidden for so long deep in the confines of the earth. Someday soon the oil will be pumped from the earth, into a waiting truck, hauled to a refinery, to be turned into gasoline so that we can power our vehicles.
In 1824 - English engineer, Samuel Brown adapted an old Newcomen steam engine to burn gas, and he used it to briefly power a vehicle up Shooter's Hill in London. It was the beginning of a new age. The Internal combustion engine is based on a premise that if an explosion of volatile gasoline could be confined in a strong and controlled environment it could be turned into mechanical energy that could eventually produce movement. It is fire under control.
The opposite of fire under control are the raging fires that are sweeping across Greece bringing devastation to human life, burning down entire villages and threaten the birthplace of the Olympics. The uncontrolled inferno seems to defy all attempts of man to bring it to a halt. Fire under control is our friend and helper, fire out of control is our enemy destroying everything in it’s’ path.
Fire is a great word picture of passion. I immediately think of the Apostle Paul, first know as Saul. When we first meet Paul in the book of Acts he is a passionate man, possessed with an insatiable desire to destroy the followers of the Way. His life was consumed with his personal mission to annihilate the early church to protect his precious faith. He had no doubt that he was doing the right thing and was on God’s side. He was wildfire, out of control destroying the infant church left behind to continue the work of Christ.
Paul had a come to Jesus meeting on the road to Damascus. The net result was not the dissipation of passion but a change of passion and passion under control. His newly found passion to reach gentiles with the Gospel was fire under control. Very few people have had the impact Paul had on the face of Christianity.
As I reflect on my time as a follower of Christ, I have known many good people who have been fire out of control, damaging and destroying the very mission of the church of Jesus Christ. They “feel” like God had called them to do what it is that they do. They judge, condemn, and declare in a loud voice that they have a corner on the truth.
A mom shared with me recently the brokenness of her heart regarding the condition of her children, none of whom serve God or fellowship at a local church due to the overzealous attack of “Christian” relatives. These family members were fire out of control.
The question for me is this. Is my passion for God expressed by overwhelming love for God and His desire to see all come to repentance? Or is it an angry, vengeful, judgmental passion wanting to see the sinner get what he or she deserves? From where I sit, this world still needs to know “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. 17 For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.” Am I fire under control?
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Partnership with God
Each day the green stocks of the corn stretch upward as if to grab hold of the very sun. It was just a few weeks ago, the farmer cleared the fields, prepared the soil and plunged the seed into the rich brown earth. To hold the seed in one’s hand it would appear to just be a bit of organic material that was lifeless and inert. The farmer knew better. Why, because he had seen similar seed spring to life. It was an act of faith on his part to believe that it would happen again and again each year. Why else would he go to the great labor and expense to prepare, plant, cultivate, water, spray for weeds and pests. It is because he knows if he is diligent, it will happen again.
Very soon, the stalk will reach a mature height. Then the tassel will spread out its flower, and fertilize the ear. The ear will grow imperceptible until one day it will be full grown and ready for harvest. It is the moment the farmer has labored for so long. All of the effort sees it reward in the harvest. The harvest is the time of rejoicing, celebrating, and knowing that the cost was worth it all.
The amazing truth is that the farmer did not do it by himself. With out the creative power that God himself places in the seed, the warmth of the sun, and the nourishment of the water (which God created), there would be no harvest. The farmer does his part and God does his part. I would lean toward believing that there are no atheist farmers.
Jesus tells a wonderful parable about farmer in Matthew 13:1. We, the church are portrayed as the sowers. We spread about the seed, the good news, the gospel. We too, like the farmer, tenderly and with diligence, prepare soil, plant the seed in the deep soil of someone soul, water, watch, pray, and care for the fields. God does his part by sending his Holy Spirit into the person’s life to connect what we do and say with the presence of the almighty himself.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Big Daddy - A Father's Day Thought
My Father planned for my birth for a long time. He looked forward to that day with great anticipation. He longed for my arrival into his life and his family’s. I understand from him that my birth was a time of great joy. There was laughter, tears of joy, a moment that he said that he would never forget.
He taught me how to walk. Even when I stumbled and fell, he never grew impatient with me. He would just reach down and pick me up, brush me off and walk with me for a while. He knew that learning to walk would take time. He never seemed to be in a hurry to have me learn what I needed to learn.
He taught me how to talk. If you know my father, much of my vocabulary is like his. We often use the same words and often even think alike. People have said that when you hear me speak it is like hearing my father speaks. I count that as an extreme complement.
Early in my life, he showed an interest in the things I liked, baseball, the outdoors, and my love for hanging with friends. He encouraged me in those areas where I had potential. He often saw things in me that I did not see in myself. His interest was my eventual maturity and success.
My father always took good care of the family. We never lacked for food, clothing, shelter and the other necessities of life. Sometimes I was not satisfied and wanted more. Occasionally I was envious of others who seemed to have more, you know bigger and better. Now looking back, I appreciate exactly what he gave me.
We had a large family and I learned early that my father expected me to share. I sometimes resented the fact that he basically said that everything he had given to me really still belonged to him so that if my siblings needed it, I had to share! It now seems silly how I would sometimes hide stuff so my family would not know about it. I could enjoy it in secret! Dad seemed to always know when I was doing that and would expose me and sometimes even take away things he had given to me until I learned the principle of sharing.
It was amazing how my father reacted when I was angry. It was as if he had been there and knew how I felt. He always showed me constructive ways to channel my anger in a way that would do the least amount of damage and even perhaps do some good.
I learned early in my youth, that there was nothing off limits in terms of discussion. That was a little weird or strange at first to talk to him about things that I and my friends talked about. There was nothing that he could not handle, He was shockproof.
When I grew older and had questions about girls and sex, he always had good advice. Sometimes he would just listen and even was silent at times. Sometimes he would give me something to read that seemed to get to the heart of the matter and just said it like it needs to be said. Sometimes I could tell that he just wanted me to think a little longer on what I had said. Did I really mean it? Did it really matter at all?
We did a lot of laughing growing up. Joy and humor was just a part of who he was. He knew when to be serious and when to have a good time. It took me some time to mature and truly understand that.
When I grew a little older, other people began to offer me friendship, advice that tended to contradict what Dad had told me. Without knowing it, I was drawn away a little at times from the closeness that we once knew. I can never say that there was out right rebellion, but the potential was there. He let me drift. He did not chase after me, he did not impose his will on me, he just waited patiently and I am sure that he was just confident that I would come to my senses and realize that he was truly my best friend and had my best interests in mind. He never held it against me when I chose poorly.
My father really cared about things that would hurt me and so often we would talk about stuff that the culture would offer and the end of that choice. Sometimes it was hard to really feel that he cared about me. If often appeared to me that he was trying to spoil my fun. It did not sound like it was that bad. And so I would sometimes do exactly what he warned me not to do. And boy did I learn immediately what he meant. As frustrating as it was, dad was always, always, always right!
When the time came for me to make the most important decisions of my life, like who I should marry, what kind of career should I embark on, my father would give me just the right amount of advice. I never felt like he was telling me what to do. Together, he and I would discover the right choice for me. I know that he approves and is happy for those decisions.
My father loved me so much that anytime I had a legitimate need, he would provide for me the resources to meet that need. Sometimes he said no to a request or my whining, because he knew it was not a legitimate need. “NO” is a good word.
My dad taught me how to keep promises because he always kept his. I grew up knowing that he was a man of his word. He never promised me the world, but actually gave me great insight about the world through what he did promise. Most of his promises were contingent upon my own behavior. If you do this, I will do that. That was good because it taught me responsibility and the consequences of sowing and reaping.
I wished I could be face to face with my father today. I know it is impossible at this moment but soon I hope to be physically close again.
The quality of this unconditional love in my dad is what I cherish the most. I know that no matter what I do, he will love me. It is not because I am the perfect son, although one of my brothers was perfect, he loved me because I am his son! I was born his son.
Thank you dad, thank you abba father, thank you God the father!
He taught me how to walk. Even when I stumbled and fell, he never grew impatient with me. He would just reach down and pick me up, brush me off and walk with me for a while. He knew that learning to walk would take time. He never seemed to be in a hurry to have me learn what I needed to learn.
He taught me how to talk. If you know my father, much of my vocabulary is like his. We often use the same words and often even think alike. People have said that when you hear me speak it is like hearing my father speaks. I count that as an extreme complement.
Early in my life, he showed an interest in the things I liked, baseball, the outdoors, and my love for hanging with friends. He encouraged me in those areas where I had potential. He often saw things in me that I did not see in myself. His interest was my eventual maturity and success.
My father always took good care of the family. We never lacked for food, clothing, shelter and the other necessities of life. Sometimes I was not satisfied and wanted more. Occasionally I was envious of others who seemed to have more, you know bigger and better. Now looking back, I appreciate exactly what he gave me.
We had a large family and I learned early that my father expected me to share. I sometimes resented the fact that he basically said that everything he had given to me really still belonged to him so that if my siblings needed it, I had to share! It now seems silly how I would sometimes hide stuff so my family would not know about it. I could enjoy it in secret! Dad seemed to always know when I was doing that and would expose me and sometimes even take away things he had given to me until I learned the principle of sharing.
It was amazing how my father reacted when I was angry. It was as if he had been there and knew how I felt. He always showed me constructive ways to channel my anger in a way that would do the least amount of damage and even perhaps do some good.
I learned early in my youth, that there was nothing off limits in terms of discussion. That was a little weird or strange at first to talk to him about things that I and my friends talked about. There was nothing that he could not handle, He was shockproof.
When I grew older and had questions about girls and sex, he always had good advice. Sometimes he would just listen and even was silent at times. Sometimes he would give me something to read that seemed to get to the heart of the matter and just said it like it needs to be said. Sometimes I could tell that he just wanted me to think a little longer on what I had said. Did I really mean it? Did it really matter at all?
We did a lot of laughing growing up. Joy and humor was just a part of who he was. He knew when to be serious and when to have a good time. It took me some time to mature and truly understand that.
When I grew a little older, other people began to offer me friendship, advice that tended to contradict what Dad had told me. Without knowing it, I was drawn away a little at times from the closeness that we once knew. I can never say that there was out right rebellion, but the potential was there. He let me drift. He did not chase after me, he did not impose his will on me, he just waited patiently and I am sure that he was just confident that I would come to my senses and realize that he was truly my best friend and had my best interests in mind. He never held it against me when I chose poorly.
My father really cared about things that would hurt me and so often we would talk about stuff that the culture would offer and the end of that choice. Sometimes it was hard to really feel that he cared about me. If often appeared to me that he was trying to spoil my fun. It did not sound like it was that bad. And so I would sometimes do exactly what he warned me not to do. And boy did I learn immediately what he meant. As frustrating as it was, dad was always, always, always right!
When the time came for me to make the most important decisions of my life, like who I should marry, what kind of career should I embark on, my father would give me just the right amount of advice. I never felt like he was telling me what to do. Together, he and I would discover the right choice for me. I know that he approves and is happy for those decisions.
My father loved me so much that anytime I had a legitimate need, he would provide for me the resources to meet that need. Sometimes he said no to a request or my whining, because he knew it was not a legitimate need. “NO” is a good word.
My dad taught me how to keep promises because he always kept his. I grew up knowing that he was a man of his word. He never promised me the world, but actually gave me great insight about the world through what he did promise. Most of his promises were contingent upon my own behavior. If you do this, I will do that. That was good because it taught me responsibility and the consequences of sowing and reaping.
I wished I could be face to face with my father today. I know it is impossible at this moment but soon I hope to be physically close again.
The quality of this unconditional love in my dad is what I cherish the most. I know that no matter what I do, he will love me. It is not because I am the perfect son, although one of my brothers was perfect, he loved me because I am his son! I was born his son.
Thank you dad, thank you abba father, thank you God the father!
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
The Big "60"
The Big “60”
The brain is running rather slow this morning and desperately needs a jolt of java. I somehow manage to find my way to the new supplier of my drug of choice, caffeine. It is called Saxbys. It is my new other office. Soon we will be on a first name basis as will my drink of choice. I meet a regular named Mike. He is a retired fireman from the Windsor/Severance fire department. I know he is a regular because he walked behind the counter and helped himself to coffee!
Friday, June 1, 2007
In the Saddle
June 1, 2006
The air was crisp and fresh at Camp Dick, high above the crowds and busyness of the life back in the city. It was a great adventure taking my grandson Jake to be my camping buddy for a couple of days. It was delightful! Jake picked the menu’s (sorry mommy), so we had breakfast cereal for dinner, hot dogs and smors! It snowed about 4 inches which added to his joy, camping and snow at the same time. Oh to see life through the eyes of an almost four year old again. Delight and joy come quickly. Wonder is a naturally outflow of his view of life, the life God has created for him.
Memorial Day was our moving day as we left Camp Dick and pulled our 27 foot Prowler trailer to Windsor Colorado. Thanks to the generosity of Steve and Carrie Winter, we now have a “home” in Windsor. The farm is just a few miles from the church in Windsor. We have spent the last three Thursdays in Windsor taking care of our new church family. This week we began our new chapter in ministry with full time focus. The phrase, “In the Saddle” comes to mind, whatever that may mean.
Boy are there a lot of boxes of stuff to look through and clean out! It has been amazing to go through stacks of paper that represent 67 years of history for Windsor Assembly of God. Annual Reports, board minutes, pastoral reports, real estate transactions, copies of financial records, and at least 5 different versions of bylaws! I discovered that I am the nineteenth pastor of WAG.
All of that stuff is just that “stuff”. What the church is about and will always be about is the people, both the devoted and dedicated servants of God who labored so faithfully, and the hosts of people who came to know Jesus as Lord and Savior. That has not changed. WAG is still all about seeing people, boys and girls, teenagers, men and women, being born into the family of God. The work is not yet done. “The fields are white for harvest.”
Then there is this amazing love that I feel for this community and church. How is it that we can love people we have only known for such a short period of time? Why do I weep when they share their stories? Why do I drive down Main Street and wonder about the host of people I see, asking God the question, do they know you?
The only way I can begin to get a handle on my feeling is to remember the moment my children were born. In that moment, there was such joy and such love, in spite of the fact that we were only beginning our journey together as father and child. We had anticipated the event for nine months, wondering what they would look like, wondering what it would feel like to hold them tight to our chest so that our heartbeats became mingled as one.
It is sort of like that for us and the Windsor family. When God first planted the thought, the curiosity about Windsor on October, 18, 2006, it was as if God conceived a new relationship. Now we are here, holding our beloved church close to ourselves so our heartbeats become as one. It is love, real love, not just for those who now call it home but the great host of people that God will connect us with here in this region.
It is great to be in the saddle!
Gripped by His Passion,
The air was crisp and fresh at Camp Dick, high above the crowds and busyness of the life back in the city. It was a great adventure taking my grandson Jake to be my camping buddy for a couple of days. It was delightful! Jake picked the menu’s (sorry mommy), so we had breakfast cereal for dinner, hot dogs and smors! It snowed about 4 inches which added to his joy, camping and snow at the same time. Oh to see life through the eyes of an almost four year old again. Delight and joy come quickly. Wonder is a naturally outflow of his view of life, the life God has created for him.
Memorial Day was our moving day as we left Camp Dick and pulled our 27 foot Prowler trailer to Windsor Colorado. Thanks to the generosity of Steve and Carrie Winter, we now have a “home” in Windsor. The farm is just a few miles from the church in Windsor. We have spent the last three Thursdays in Windsor taking care of our new church family. This week we began our new chapter in ministry with full time focus. The phrase, “In the Saddle” comes to mind, whatever that may mean.
Boy are there a lot of boxes of stuff to look through and clean out! It has been amazing to go through stacks of paper that represent 67 years of history for Windsor Assembly of God. Annual Reports, board minutes, pastoral reports, real estate transactions, copies of financial records, and at least 5 different versions of bylaws! I discovered that I am the nineteenth pastor of WAG.
All of that stuff is just that “stuff”. What the church is about and will always be about is the people, both the devoted and dedicated servants of God who labored so faithfully, and the hosts of people who came to know Jesus as Lord and Savior. That has not changed. WAG is still all about seeing people, boys and girls, teenagers, men and women, being born into the family of God. The work is not yet done. “The fields are white for harvest.”
Then there is this amazing love that I feel for this community and church. How is it that we can love people we have only known for such a short period of time? Why do I weep when they share their stories? Why do I drive down Main Street and wonder about the host of people I see, asking God the question, do they know you?
The only way I can begin to get a handle on my feeling is to remember the moment my children were born. In that moment, there was such joy and such love, in spite of the fact that we were only beginning our journey together as father and child. We had anticipated the event for nine months, wondering what they would look like, wondering what it would feel like to hold them tight to our chest so that our heartbeats became mingled as one.
It is sort of like that for us and the Windsor family. When God first planted the thought, the curiosity about Windsor on October, 18, 2006, it was as if God conceived a new relationship. Now we are here, holding our beloved church close to ourselves so our heartbeats become as one. It is love, real love, not just for those who now call it home but the great host of people that God will connect us with here in this region.
It is great to be in the saddle!
Gripped by His Passion,
Monday, May 7, 2007
God Showed Up
Wow!!
This Sunday morning, May 6, we were in the pulpit at Windsor. It was a powerful service from beginning to the end. Worship was strong and set the tone for the remainder of the service. Duane and his team are incredible leading us all into that special place in the center of God's presence.
May of the people came forward for special prayer following the communion time. The presence of God was strong and powerful. We are confident that God encouraged, strengthened and healed many.
We believe that it is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what God is going to do in Windsor.
God is good!
Pastor Paul
This Sunday morning, May 6, we were in the pulpit at Windsor. It was a powerful service from beginning to the end. Worship was strong and set the tone for the remainder of the service. Duane and his team are incredible leading us all into that special place in the center of God's presence.
May of the people came forward for special prayer following the communion time. The presence of God was strong and powerful. We are confident that God encouraged, strengthened and healed many.
We believe that it is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what God is going to do in Windsor.
God is good!
Pastor Paul
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