I’m not sure which makes me laugh the hardest, science or scientists.  Charles Darwin, for example, posited that through evolution one species gave rise to another.  It is generally accepted by the scientific community that human beings have not always been bipedal and did not always have the capacity for intelligent thought they have today.  [When I talk to some people, I wonder about the intelligence thing sometimes].  In other words, we came from monkeys of some sort.  The problem with that is. . .there is not, there never has been, nor will there ever be any evidence that human beings are any different than when they were first created.

I’m just as amused by some so-called theologians who want to appease the scientific community by agreeing that the earth is millions of years old, the universe is billions of years old, and the bible allows for this through a “gap” between Genesis 1:1 & 1:2.  By the way, there is a gap between the two verses.  In most printed versions of the bible, it’s less than 1/8 of an inch.

When science tries to argue their case and make bible-believers look silly, they remind us that not all that long ago, everyone thought the Earth was the center of the universe and our planet was flat.  But, not all scientists are like that, thank God.  Some of them look beyond the presuppositions of their theories and recognize that God’s truth is immutable and when they get cross ways with His truth, they are wrong and must look for answers that do not violate God’s Word.

I bring this up because I read an article today online that is based on findings reported in the November 2 issue of the journal Science.  It seems that astronomers have identified light that was emitted from the very first stars in the universe.  The article stated, “Shortly after the Big Bang, 13.7 billion years ago, the universe cooled enough to let atoms form, which eventually clumped together to create the first stars.”  I’m sorry, but I had to laugh.  I guess the .7 is to make us think they actually measured the timeframe, somehow.

I’m sorry, but I can’t help it.  The more I read this stuff, the harder I laugh.  Here are my questions to all the experts, brainiacs, NASA, and anybody else who wants to get in on the argument: Who caused the Big Bang, What actually happened when the Big Bang occurred, When did the events leading up to the Big Bang occur, and Where did it all start? I know I’m being a bit facetious. . .I don’t know and neither do they.  The theories postulated are just that, theories, not science. . .and they require a lot more faith to believe than recognizing that a timeless, immutable, perfect and holy God created all things ex nihilo.

Ex nihilo just means “out of nothing.”  And, in the beginning, that’s what God did.  He who has always been and who will always continue to be spoke–and the universe appeared.  Blind faith, you say.  Not at all.  Bible-believing faith, I say. One of these days all of us, scientists and theologians alike, are going to stand before God (just for the record, I’m talking about Jesus, who is the Christ, the one and only Son of God, Yahweh, who is co-equal with the Father and the Savior of all who accept Him as Lord) and give an account of our lives.

I don’t know when that will be, maybe tomorrow, maybe 13.7 billions years.  Whenever and wherever it occurs, He will be there asking the questions and providing the answers. Maybe, instead of looking to the stars, everyone ought to look into their own heart and try to find out why it’s so dark in there.  The light from stars on the other side of the universe do not hold the answers to life and eternity; the light of the world does.  His name is Jesus.

It’s entirely possible that this is part two of the previous post since it was about managing time.  Very few times in our live we do something without intent. . .maybe never.  Our intentions are either good or evil.  Evil is easy, good is a lot harder.

Our lives are just a series of events; we move day to day to get this done or that, or so it seems.  Because we see life this way, we must have intent to keep us going in a direction.  Those who operate from an immoral worldview generally have evil intent.  Those who hold morality in high regard sometimes have good intent, but still have the inherent drive to be selfish, and thus, produce evil intent.

How do we get past this?  I asked myself this question when I started to write this blog today.  When I started this blog weeks ago, it was my intent to write everyday.  Then, time got in the way.  Overcommitted, over-tired, overworked (not really, that just sounds good), full of good intentions, I was unable to keep up the pace.

Maybe that is part of the problem. . .pace, or lack thereof. In a previous post, I talked about running and PR (personal record). I like having goals and working toward them because it presents an opportunity for a new PR.  The problem is too many goals going in too many directions at one time.  That’s where good intentions get in the way.

I’m the kind of guy who has no intention of wasting way or burning out.  I want to flame out. . .burn the candle at full-flame all the time giving off as much light as possible to as many as possible to somehow  impact their lives for God.  Right there is another problem.  If those I’m trying to impact only see me as a reckless, well-intended person, not following through. . .well, my good intentions become something else, don’t they.

What to do?  What to do?. . .Change.

Change is never easy, always necessary. Change what, you ask?  Focus is a good word.  My optometrist tells me that as I get older I have less astigmatism; my eyes are focusing better because their shape is changing, but they are still old, starting to get a bit more rigid (like my thinking) and still need correction, or change.

Life should never be considered merely a series of events. . .one leading to another, allowing for personal improvement or more profitability.  Life should always be about relationships. Be careful that your good intentions do not get in the way of your good relationships.

Years ago, I took a college course called, Managing Your Time.  Apparently, I was a dismal failure.  Why? I still can’t get more than 168 hours out of a week.  I’ve learned how to save money, I’ve learned how to save paper, but for some reason I can’t save time.

I wonder why that is. . .maybe it is because God planned it that way, gave me the plan, and I just haven’t learned how to follow His plan, yet.  The Bible clearly teaches us to work hard [I’m not going to give you chapter and verse.  If you don’t know where that is taught in Scripture, get your Bible out and read it!}.  The Bible teaches us how to save stuff.  The Bible also tells us to rest.  Ah! Maybe that’s where my problem is.

I’m kind of a busy guy. I study the Bible every day. . .hint, hint. . .I listen to what it says and I talk to God about it.  In case you don’t know, and I’m not trying to be coy here, that’s called a quiet time.  I highly recommend it.  Getting-up-time for me is about 4 AM every weekday morning.  One of the many joys of my life is driving school buses in my county.  Being around kids of all ages cooped up in a big yellow school bus comes with its challenges, but I wouldn’t trade it for just about anything; except maybe a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

I spend a good part of my week studying to preach.  After 22 years in the same pulpit, staying fresh is a challenge, another challenge I love.  BTW, the Bible never runs out of new things to say to your spirit.  If you’re not getting fresh insight every day. . .the problem is not the Bible.

I hang out with my wife of 40 years, too.  There is no one in the world I’d rather be with–even if she’s laying on the couch and I’m snoring in my recliner.  I do yard work–lots of flower beds to keep clean and 2 acres to keep mowed and trimmed, not to mention being the resident “pool boy.”

And then there is the new love of my life, South American Missions!!! If you have read this blog at all, you know I’m crazy about missions.  God has given me a heart for the world, especially South America and more particularly, Peru.  New friends, new adventures, new challenges. . .what a way to spend time.

Oh yeah, then there is estudiando Espanoles, studying Spanish.  Someone in the registrars office forgot to tell me that the “accelerated class” was going to run at warp speed.  I’ve got this young teacher who assumes way too much on my behalf.  I might look brilliant, but well. . .

I also like to keep my cars clean, witness to people, and watch Perry Mason.  And did I mention planning those mission excursions.  Wow!  Busy, busy, busy.

God has given me, and you, exactly 24 hours in each day to do what needs to be done.  The key word in that sentence is probably needs.  Of course it is.  And what I need to do is rest more.  I’m trying.  Most nights, I beat the chickens to bed ’cause I gotta get up at 4.  And as sure as I don’t get to bed on time, I’m going to get behind in my rest, my work, my passions, and then. . .well, then I don’t do a very good job at anything.  What’s the moral of this story. . .

Busy, busy, busy . . . rest, rest, rest.  You need it, I need it, your kids need it, and God built us to get it.

Just a few minutes ago, I launched a very scary website.  In fact, unless your backbone is strong, your stomach is not easily unsettled, and your mind is capable of thinking in terms of the ridiculous, I wouldn’t go there. . .www.usdebtclock.org. . .The US national debt is hovering around $16 trillion; yes, that’s five groups of numbers to the left of the decimal. And, that means every US citizen (oh yeah, this does not affect non-citizens who do not contribute to the US tax system but mooch off our economy), young and old, is beholding to the Federal Government for about $51 thousand dollars.  But that’s not the real picture. Total US debt, whatever that is, is almost $57 trillion and total US unfunded liabilities [programs paid for by the feds for which there is no actual money on account] are over $120 trillion.  See what I mean.  Somebody get out the strapping tape; my head is going to explode.

While it’s ridiculous, it’s not surprising.  Many, if not most Americans, believe someone somewhere has an endless supply of dollars.  Well, they sorta do–so long as you understand that when the feds print paper money, it’s no good, worthless.  We are “in the hole” so far we will never get out.

I don’t know about you, but at my house we don’t live that way.  We can’t.  Why? We’d go to jail.  Those same feds would come looking for us.  If I don’t pay my phone bill, it gets cut off.  If I don’t pay my utility bill, my lights go out and all the food in my fridge spoils.  If I don’t show up for work and meet my obligation to the tax code. . .it’s prison for me.

Actually, that kind of strikes me as a bit funny.  A local politician went to federal prison [make that, Camp Politico] a couple of years ago for taking some huge bribes.  A few days ago he got out.  Now, he’s trying to get his “rights” back so he can vote, carry a gun, and run again for office.  Sadly, he has a pretty good chance.  And if he runs for office, he’ll probably win because a lot of ignorant people will cast their vote for someone who will continue to enable them to live off the hard work of others. But I digress.

I don’t have a lot of dollars and I certainly don’t have a lot of sense, but I didn’t just fall off the tater truck either. I know what the Bible says about money. So as I try my best to follow the mandate to tithe [that’s 10% of ALL I have–before taxes] and give an offering to the work of God in my local church, God blesses me and my family in ways that to most people don’t make sense.

That brings me to the real reason for this blog.  A couple of weeks ago, I was in a local business talking to the owner about the mission work I’m doing in South America. I shared with him how, in the last couple of years, my church has moved from giving a couple thousand dollars for international work to more than $50K and this year the figure will approach $100K with an eye toward $200K in the next couple of years.  That just doesn’t make sense, does it?  In a relatively small church with a budget about $250K, how in the world, and why in the world would we spend that much on missions, domestic and foreign?

That was his question.  Why are you spending so much overseas when there are so many here in America who need the Gospel?  BTW, every time I hear that excuse for not participating in and supporting missions, I know it means that individual isn’t doing squat in America nor around the world. But I guess I ought to answer the question, shouldn’t?  First, we’re doing evangelism in America.  Our youth pastor goes to downtown Memphis on weekend nights and feeds the homeless while telling them about Jesus.  Our children’s pastor works diligently through AWANA and our bus ministry to reach kids and their parents with the Gospel.  Our worship pastor leads door-to-door and referral outreach. We do weekend backpacks of food for elementary children in our community, sending home Gospel tracts and offering other helps to families.  And that doesn’t include so many other ways we try to do what God has called us to do.

Don’t think for a moment we’re looking for a pat-on-the-back either.  It is a privilege to reach out with the love of God in our community.  But WHAT ABOUT the rest of the world?  Well, let me put it this way.  I think our annual budget is probably in line with most other average American churches.  It costs about $1,250 per year per person to “do church” in America. I’m sure that cost rises as the size of a church increases.

Here’s the point.  We can fund a church planter and his family in most South American countries for a year for less than $10,000.  While it takes hours of scouring in American communities to find a family that will admit they are unchurched and show much if any interest in hearing about God, on the foreign field it’s not like that; at least not where we’re working.

I can put 100 Gospel tracts in my pocket, go to a village in southern Peru, get of the car on a dusty street, go door-to-door until the tracts are exhausted and expect at least two things to happen in the hour or so it takes to hand them out.  About 95 of the 100 hands that gladly take the tract will stop what they are doing and read it right then.  About half of those who read it will listen to a Gospel presentation.  And at least 25% of them will respond positively to the Gospel by either accepting an invitation to church (and they will actually show up) or by accepting Christ right then and there as Lord of their life.  Oh yeah, most of the ones who show up later for church get saved!  That’s how we start churches, by the way.

Travel in and out of South America is admittedly expensive.  But beyond that expense, everything else is not only reasonable, it is dirt-cheap. It costs about $10.00 per year per person in the villages to do church.  So tell me, which makes more dollar-sense, spending more and more where people largely ignore the truth, or taking it where they will listen and respond?  I know, it’s both and.

We gotta tell our neighbors about Jesus, but we simply cannot afford to ignore the rest of the world.  So pack up and let’s go.  ‘Cause it’s just a matter of dollars and sense.

NASCAR. . . always turning left. . .well, unless they are on a road course.  I grew up with stock car racing. My dad participated in the construction of the track at Bristol and, at 8 years old, I was at the very first race there.  From year to year, I spent a lot of time in the pits because dad knew a lot of the drivers and crews.  Pop took me to just about every track in the southeast as I was growing up.  The memories sure are good ones.  

I also remember living about two miles from Thunder Valley after I was married.  Our mobile home was just beyond the hills surrounding the Bristol property.  By then, I couldn’t attend races like I used to, but I didn’t need a sound system to hear the drivers going around the half-mile oval or the dragsters going down the 1/4 mile strip.  What a beautiful sound.  All that power concentrated under the hoods of cars going absolutely nowhere.

This weekend, I my find myself with a little “me” time so guess what I’m doing?  Watching NASCAR.  I marveled at the truck race last night in Atlanta, I’m watching Nationwide qualifying right now, and I’m quite sure I’ll sleep through the Sprint Cup race tomorrow after church.  They are still turning left and all weekend long, even after the 500-mile event on Sunday, the drivers will only cover an area of 1.54 miles.  Amazing.  And they’ll go nowhere at speeds over 150 miles per hour.

Most people I know live life like that.  They are racing in the same direction they were years ago and they are still not getting anywhere. Unlike the NASCAR stars, the average Joe just needs a change of direction.  Instead of going faster, you should slow down–smell the roses, they really are fragrant.  Instead of doing the same old thing the same old way, mix it up–look for something new in life–say Jesus, for example.

Going faster and working harder just to make more and do more can only result in flat tires and banged up bodies–kind of like the “big one” wrecks at Daytona and Talladega. Remember this, you weren’t created to be successful.  You were created to worship God.  Then you ARE successful.  Think about it.  Then, if you haven’t already, turn to Jesus.

Public Relations in today’s climate is all about convincing you to do something, to buy something, or maybe even to avoid something so that a person or an organization profits from your purchase, your avoidance or, especially, your vote.  Gentle persuasion is usually the means, but you can be assured that the one doing the persuading is trying to convince you to believe and/or act like themselves.  The most common means of PR aimed at you is the  commercial, be it radio, TV, or print ad.  You know, like the pile of newsprint ads you receive in your mailbox on Tuesday or Wednesday of each week trying to get you to buy a product you don’t need with a coupon you really don’t want to use.  But it’s there, so why not.

Please don’t misunderstand, PR is necessary, but many times it is simply not honest.  Almost everyone has an angle and they want to get you to lean to their angle.  The problem is truth. . .or the stretching of it.

A Personal Record, is the best you’ve ever done at something; I’m particularly thinking of runners because I am one.  When I was a teenager in high school my PR in most any event was a lot better than it is now. I don’t know that I was any better of a runner than than I am now, but I was younger (I didn’t weigh nearly as much) and I had a lot more time to train–I was more consistent with my training regimen.  I practiced and practiced and practiced.  I had special running shoes, I spent hours setting up in starting blocks and listening for the sound of the starter’s gun.  I tried different ways of coming out of the blocks to get the quickest start and I learned how to lean at the finish at full speed just in case someone was as fast as me.

I remember my track coach in high school.  He had been a sprinter, himself.  He developed a thyroid problem and his therapy caused his body to balloon; he couldn’t run anymore, but he sure could coach.  He made me run with the distance guys.  Hey coach, I run the 100 and 200, maybe the quarter mile, but not the 800 or the 10,000–nevertheless, I practiced with the cross country guys.  I admired them and I hated them all at the same time.  I could never keep up.  I didn’t know that my coach was just trying to teach me stamina.

PR can also stand for Personal Responsibility, something that, in this society, is largely ignored. This is especially true among politicians.  They say something today, justify it tomorrow, and deny it the next day even though their statement has been digitally recorded and played on all the news agencies.  The worst part is that the media PR people help them avoid PR.  And, this is equally true among people not looking for votes–just looking for an excuse.  “I didn’t mean to shoot him,” they will say.  And then they want to be excused for murder.  “I didn’t mean to run head on into that teenager’s car and kill her,” they’ll claim.  And then they don’t want to be found guilty of vehicular homicide even though they were high, out of control, and really don’t care about the life lost.

Personal Responsibility is not being learned because it is not being taught.  It is not being taught because it is not understood by the immediate past generations of the 80’s, 90’s, and 00’s.  And you can guess why.  The adults of the last 30 years were the kids of the previous 30 years when the peace sign, free love, and the antiestablishment movement gained a foothold on American culture.  Don’t blame me, they say, blame someone else.  Blame those who have money, blame those who don’t have money, blame those who have white skin, blame those who have black skin, blame the Hispanics, just don’t blame me ’cause it’s not my fault.  Oh yeah, look in the mirror and you will discover it is ALL your fault because you would not stand up for what is holy and right–so you fell for the lie of what is evil and easy.

I hope you are not one of those who never reaches for the stars and just settles for glitter.  How can you have a personal best when you don’t even have a personal good.  What is your PR?

Who would have thought that a culinary dish made famous for many Americans by an animated movie would be good for you?  Ratatouille (rat-a-too-we), a french dish, is nothing more than tomatoes, garlic, onions, courgette, aubergine, bell peppers, marjoram, basil, sometimes bay leaf, and thyme.  Of course, the secret to its flavor is how the ingredients are combined when cooked. It is good for you simply because it is not only low in fat and calories, but also high in nutrients.

In the movie of the same name, the main character, Remy, is one smart rat.  He knows how to cook, he can communicate with humans without ever saying a word, and he can rouse his friends when they are needed to carry out an impossible task.  Remy has a brother.  His name is Emile.  Unlike Remy, Emile is a bit rotund, not exactly observant to the world around him, and seems to live for his next meal, rotten or sweet.  Emile loves Remy, but he does not understand him.  Why would Remy want to be anything other than a rat in a pack?  Why would he want to improve his life?  Why would he want to leave the gutter for a life in the world of humanity?

Curiosity is one possibility.  Sometimes rats, and some people, stick their heads out of the proverbial hole in the wall because they hear, smell or see something attractive.  Curiosity may have killed the cat, but at least he didn’t just give up and die in the dark.

Fear could be another motivator for a scared rat.  When Remy first ventured out into the real world, he had to dodge a lot of cars, bicycles and people.  Where I live, we do a lot of dodging in traffic, yet we overcome the fear of getting run over and we go onto work anyway.

But Remy didn’t leave the security of his rat’s life because he was curious or afraid.  Remy’s problem was desire.  Problem, you say?  Yeah, problem.  In today’s world, it can be problematic if you have a desire to do much of anything beyond what you are already doing.  In school and at work, most people seem to just want to get by.  They don’t have much desire to improve their situation, to do better, to get up and go, or to change their life at all.

Getting by has become the New American Dream.  When the numbers of persons depending on government assistance for their livelihood gets close to the number of persons working for a living, the problem, at least in part, is obviously desire. . .the lack of it.  If this rationale is true, and I believe it is, a number of other questions arise but let me ask just the most obvious, Why?  Why don’t people have desire anymore?  Why don’t people want to get up and get out to find a job, create one, or at least take care of what they already have?

Two reasons come to mind: an unwillingness to come under authority, likely because the authority figure(s) in their lives don’t understand the concept themselves, and lack of personal responsibility, likely because they have never been taught or witnessed others who hold the idea in high regard.

We live in a dependent world that is characterized more and more by a laissez-faire attitude.  Leave me alone to choose to do whatever I want, whenever I want. . .and I choose to do nothing.

Thank God, I wasn’t raised that way.  Everyone of us has a choice.  We can choose to be like Remy and do whatever is necessary to get the job done or, we can be like Emile and sit on our tushes waiting for the next morsel to fall from the table.

Ratatouille. . .think I’ll go cook some.

 

This time of year, at 5:30 AM, it is still pretty dark where I live.  I roll out of bed around 4:00 AM, get my self good and awake, brew some fresh green tea, have a quiet time, climb in my Jeep, turn on all the lights, and take off.  This morning, when I came to the first stop sign, the one at the exit to my subdivision, I turned on my left signal, looked both ways, and saw headlights coming toward me.  I waited for the cars to pass so I could make my turn and enter traffic.

At about the time I thought the last car passing the intersection was going to move through, it started coming straight toward me.  My heart rate immediately went through the roof.  The car didn’t seem to be slowing and I thought this was going to be a t-bone kind of day (but not one you enjoy at a restaurant).  The car swerved making a right turn into the subdivision–without a signal.

By now, my heart wasn’t just racing, my blood was boiling. I really wanted to turn around, run down the little car, and say some things that I shouldn’t.  Man am I thankful that Holy Spirit is in my heart.

I made the left, proceeded south to Goodman Road where I made another left.  If you lived in North Mississippi, I probably wouldn’t have to say much more than–Goodman Road.  But for those of you who don’t, and for the sake of this blog, Let me explain.  Thirty years ago, Goodman Road [Mississippi Highway 302], was a two-lane road that crossed north Mississippi east to west just south of the Tennessee state line from Walls to a point west of Olive Branch.

When I first moved to this area, I could jump in my car, leave Walls, and arrive in downtown Olive Branch in less than twenty minutes passing hundreds of driveways and only a few businesses.  Then it hit–urban sprawl.  Now we have a 5-lane highway and from Walls to Olive Branch there are about 12,000 traffic lights, or so it seems.  Along the 5-lane route you’ll find every fast food joint, furniture store, and big box shopping center you can imagine.  And that doesn’t count a Walgreens and/or CVS drugstore and some sort of bank and gas station on every corner.  At night, it looks like Las Vegas with all the lighted signs.

During my trip this morning, I got “caught” by almost ever traffic signal.  I was doing more stopping than going.  I could hardly wait for the red light to turn green so I could zip down the road another quarter mile to stop at the next traffic signal.  People were running the lights and yes, plenty were turning without their turn signal activated.  BTW, if you turn in front of me without your signal on, look very close, I’m going to look at you in a way that will let you know I’m not pleased.

The place I was going this morning was about half way between Walls and Olive Branch.  It took me thirty minutes to get there.  Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to have the old two-lane road.

Traffic signals, including all sorts of signs and the bright red, yellow, and green lights, are put along the roadways to give us guidance–and to keep us from running over each other.  The signs on the front of stores are there for a similar reason.  Companies place the brightly lit neon boxes on the front of their buildings to get our attention.  Recently, I was in another part of the country that obviously limits store signs and especially the signs that stand a hundred feet in the air or more.  I couldn’t find anything.  I thought to myself, I guess they just don’t want me to find the place I’m looking for today.  Without visual signals that are plainly marked, it can be tough getting around.

Take for example the little white rectangles along the side of the road with numbers on them. . .25, 35, 45, 55. . .and then just above the numbers, two words: speed limit.  Everyone driving a car knows what they mean, but most people ignore them; signals.

Living a dedicated God-life requires recognizing signals, too.  The biggest signal of all is kind of like the sun.  Everyday at sunrise, no one has to wonder what is going on.  When that big ball of fire crosses the horizon, you know daytime has arrived.  The biggest signal of all in the Bible is the Jesus event at Calvary.  It was so big it caused an earthquake and a storm.  The whole universe paused when Jesus died on the Cross.  The “green-light” part of that story is the Resurrection!  Jesus got up from the grave to complete His journey to “seek and to save that which was lost.”

For those of us who are believers, God-followers, Jesus-lovers, kingdom-heirs, on our way to heaven, there are a lot of signals that follow our decision to accept Christ.  We generally call the signals “marks of discipleship.”

If I tried to write them all down here, I’d never finish.  God has given us all the signals we need to move in and out of the traffic of life safely.  When to turn, went to go, when to stop. . .it’s all there. I just wonder if we are paying attention to the signals.

Growing up in a small Southwest Virginia town in the 1950’s, growing up in a Navy man’s house, and spending most of my days on a 550+ acre farm, I learned how to work hard very, very early in life.

Slopping hogs, feeding chicken, gathering eggs, feeding cows, milking cows (200 head), cutting hay, raking hay, bailing hay, putting the hay in the top of the barn, planting tobacco, working tobacco, harvesting tobacco, grading tobacco. . .and on and on, will do one of two things to you–it will either make you a working man with a strong ethic, or, it will make you run!  I didn’t have enough sense to run, I guess.

I remember going to grade school at Stonewall Jackson Elementary.  We had good teachers, plenty of room to run wild during recess, and a cafeteria staff that knew how to feed a bunch of farm boys.  And boy, did I eat!  I remember going to Sears & Roebuck about two weeks before school every year to get my school clothes.  Five pairs of Roebucks (the darkest, stiffest denim you every saw), five short sleeved shirts, 5 long sleeved shirts, white Converse All-Stars (real Chuck Taylor’s) and almost always a brand new book bag.  My mom always told my dad to buy my jeans at least 5 inches too long in length and at least two inches too big in the waist.  You want to talk about baggy pants, I had ’em.

My pants had to be purchased too big in the waist because I was growing like a wild weed.  You might think they bought them too long because I was getting so tall.  Not so.  After age twelve, I was as tall as I am at 59.  The length was to patch the knees and the seat because when I wasn’t in school and wasn’t working on the farm, I was playing.

Do you remember playing? We played stick ball, baseball when we had a bat, football, basketball, hide-and-go-seek, rode bikes, flew down the hills on skateboards that actually had skates nailed or screwed to a board; we were members of every branch of the Armed Forces with make-believe machine guns and airplanes and, or course, bombs to scratch the enemy.

Sliding into home, falling of my bike, rolling down a grassy hill while escaping the enemy–that’s why I needed baggy pants.  And it’s a good thing; I had a strong belt because in my day you did not dare show your tighty-whitys in public.

When I was about nine years old, one of my best friends invited me to go to church with him.  It was his mother’s idea.  I went. . .I didn’t understand a thing, or so I thought.  From that day forward, I knew something was missing in my life.

My parents never took me to church.  The never went to church.  They were busy achieving the American Dream.  My dad worked hard and my mom was a stay-at-home mom.  The fed me well, dressed me well, and taught me good morals.  They had my teeth fixed when they broke and they sat with me when I had bone cancer.  They did everything they knew to do.  They didn’t KNOW God.  Sure, they knew ABOUT God–he was certainly for little children and old people.  But they didn’t have time.

So I grew up, bought my own not-so-baggy pants, started my own hard-working, somewhat morally-upright family, watched my wife give birth to our son, and went on my merry way without God in my life and with no real hope for the future.

Then, one night, on the verge of taking my own life, I ran head-on into Jesus.  My wife was a Christian and had me in church.  I heard the Gospel.  I knew that the Lord Jesus Christ was truly the Son of the Living God.  I knew that He came into this world to die for sin–we have all sinned.  I knew that He came back to life after laying graveyard dead in a tomb for three days.  And I knew that He did that for ME–Jesus died for me!  He defeated death for me!

Thirty-three years ago, I received Jesus as my Savior and Lord. There are still a lot of boys out there wearing baggy pants.

Sometimes, when I’m trying to focus, I need music. Some like a quiet place to find center; not me–I’m a noisy guy. Not only that, I grew up in the ’60’s & 70’s–well, “grew up” may be somewhat inaccurate; most people who know me very well swear I’m still a kid, albeit a 59 year old kid.

So I guess it is OK for this 20th century conservative preacher to say “I love rock & roll!”  Therein is the quandary.  I enjoy music.  These days K-Love is more my speed but sometimes I just need a good dose of Rock 103 [Memphis, TN].  Some days I find myself in a jazzy mood, other days it’s instrumental.  Sometimes I like straight-up country and western, you know, George Strait not Taylor Swift.  BTW, if you haven’t listened/watched Big & Rich’s That’s Why I Pray, do yourself a great big favor and watch/listen to it today.

Sometimes I like Southern Gospel; later in the day I might find myself listening to Grand Funk Railroad or the James Gang.  For me, music taste is like fresh-brewed green tea at five in the morning.  I never know which of 5 or 6 varieties I’m going to throw in the pot until I stumble into the kitchen eyes half open.  That doesn’t mean that Earl Green in any better than Jasmin Pearls.  It just means that my taste is different that day.

A few weeks ago, Debbie and I went to Florida to visit with our son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren.  Recently, they moved near Ft. Lauderdale to serve in a really big church.  Chris, my son, gave me the 50 cent tour and I was truly amazed.  God has been working overtime in that place.  It appears they are a well-oiled machine when it comes to doing Kingdom work.  On the Sunday morning we were there with them in Coral Springs, we went to one of their four Sunday services–the one we attended was, I think, their “main” service.  Several thousand people gathered and, then. . .then it happened.  The theater like setting of the church went dark, the lights began to flash, the drummer let loose, the lead and back-up guitars began to twang, the bass player ripped a riff, the keyboard chimed in, and the praise team began to sing.  FLASHBACK.  Where was I?  Is this church or am I back in NYC or Baltimore or Philly at a rock concert.  The sound was almost deafening–and I’m a little deaf.

I could feel the amplified beat of the drums.  The stage presence of the worship leaders was precise and prepared.  Their spirits were free and their words were powerful.  And yet I almost found myself offended.  Surprised. . .so was I.  Hey, this is church, isn’t it?  Yeah, but not like we do it back in Mississippi.  I’m familiar with contemporary, but this is something else entirely.

I found myself having a real problem with this.  I looked down and my toe was tapping the concrete floor.  The more I listened, the more I smiled.  The more I heard, the better I liked it.  The people were telling the audience/congregation the great truth that Jesus Saves!  They weren’t doing it the way I’d do it,  but they were doing it, nonetheless.  Their last song was a bit sedate by comparison, but still powerful with a message that drew listeners in–and then the pastor took the stage.  I don’t think the walls are painted because if they were, he would have preached it off the walls.  Truth without any mixture of error.  Isn’t that how we’re supposed to preach?  That’s what HE did.

I left that place thinking I could never worship that way every week.  And the funny part is, while I was thinking that, I was rocking in my head to one of the worship songs they shared.  By now, you might be thinking, I’d sure like to know more about that church.  Look ’em up.  They are Church by the Glades in Coral Spring, FL.  Their services are on line, live.

For a moment, go somewhere else with me. About every month I get a newsletter from a local pastor warning me and all who read his letter about the dangers of the “contemporary” movement and about all the shortcomings (I’m being nice) of ministries led by men like Bill Hybels and Rick Warren.  He talks about the old days, old-time religion, and how purpose-driven ministry in not from God.

I have a question?  What IS the purpose of ministry?  I always thought it was about leading the lost to Christ.  Maybe I’m wrong (not really).  Do you get my drift (I’m going to try drifting one day)? My Presbyterian friends are mostly high-church both in music and practice.  My Church of God friends sway back and forth.  My Methodist friends put food in backpacks for kids who otherwise won’t get to eat after school on weekends.  None of them are wrong if they are preaching Jesus crucified and risen for the salvation of all men!

Sure, the practice is different, the methods vary; if they are kingdom building, I’m on their side.  I don’t have time to run down those who are different than me, whether it is the color of their skin, their ethnic origin, or their bad habits (I have some of those, myself).

One of my newest “preacher-boys” posted this on Facebook yesterday, “When it comes to the Church and us living out what we believe, I’d rather we be known as lunatics than hypocrites any day of the week.”  Young friend, Amen! I lost my mind a long time ago–I’m crazy about Jesus.

Guess what? I may never be a part of a dynamic church like CBG, but I like loud music.