The Magical Sky Fairy

January 25, 2016January 25, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 7 Comments

Thinking that some magical sky fairy will take care of your problems is a problem in itself.

The words appeared in my Twitter feed today in response to a recent article I posted there. I have seen them before, or at least similar words.

The young lady who wrote them doesn’t believe in God. She is not alone in her unbelief.

I want to strike back. Ugly words come in response to her mocking ones. I can’t help it. They rise without permission—a natural reaction from a human standpoint.

Immediately, I realize I will never say them. It is not who I am—or, more to the point—not the person He is making me. But, I want to examine her motivation, to wonder publicly why someone who claims there is no God would be so vigilant to mock those who believe in Him. Perhaps, I should write about that.

But I wonder. I wonder.

What if this is not about her? Do I really believe in some sky fairy? Is that what God is to me?

Click your heels together three times and repeat the words, there’s no place like home.

Is that all this is? Is it all humbug? Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!

My mind races as I review the evidence. I want desperately to be able to speak intelligent and convincing words. I know I’m supposed to be ready to give an answer—to explain the hope I have deep inside.(1 Peter 3:15)

But then, I remember that I can’t convince anyone; it’s not my job. I will give the answer. That is my job.

The convincing? That’s way above my pay grade. (John 16:8)

So? Is it real? Do I live as if it is?

A few weeks ago, I came back from my childhood home with treasures. They are items which have little value to any other human being on this planet, but which are priceless to me. My memories are tied up in many of them.

Last Sunday, three generations of my family gathered, as we do each week, to sit around the dining room table and make new memories. I thought perhaps it was time to inject an old one into the conversation.

As I prepared the table earlier, I cleaned and filled a glass and aluminum container with little white granules. Then I set the old salt shaker down in the center of the table to await the arrival of our guests.

Five generations. Five generations of my family have used that salt shaker now. I flavored mashed potatoes and vegetables from that shaker at my grandmother’s table when I was not even as old as my youngest grandchild is now.

Five generations. Lovely folk I have personally interacted with. Members of each of those generations have asked their questions and made their decisions to follow the same God. I’m sure there were others before them. I trust there will be more to follow.

Wanting to save a photo of the shaker on the table, I set it out the other day. As I snapped the shutter, I noticed the reflection on the table’s surface.

I can’t help it. My brain just works that way. The mental picture was more real to me than the actual photo.

Salt. Light.

The Teacher made it clear that His followers were exactly that. Salt. And light. Salt to help preserve the world. Light to show them the way. (Matthew 5:13-16)

We must keep our lives fresh and relevant. We can’t hide the light that shines from within us, or fade into the background.

Funny. The instructions I remember better right now have to do with the words we say. Let speech be flavored with grace, as though seasoned with salt. (Colossians 4:6)

The other instructions have to do with how we act. In the middle of a world bent on evil and twisted living, we need to shine like stars beaming out of the blackness of the universe. (Philippians 2:15)

It’s real. The God I follow is not fake, not made up. Of that, I am convinced.

I’ve asked the questions. Again. And again. I’ve asked the questions and had them answered. Like those before me and those who are coming after me, I believe because I’ve seen the evidence in walking, talking witnesses. Folks who are salt and light.

I will follow in their footsteps, because others are following in mine.

And others are watching from a distance.

They are watching. And mocking.

And perhaps, asking their own questions.

I hope it’s not too much to ask if they can be preserved long enough to see the light shining in their own darkness.

I want to be salt. And light.

You?

Conduct yourselves with wisdom toward outsiders, making the most of the opportunity.Let your speech always be with grace, as though seasoned with salt, so that you will know how you should respond to each person.
(Colossians 4:5-6 ~ NASB)

Grace must find expression in life, otherwise it is not grace.
(Karl Barth ~ Swiss theologian ~ 1886-1968)

Better Things

January 21, 2016January 21, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired!

The red-headed woman who raised me was at it again. I have told you before that my mother had an almost endless supply of catchy sayings, many of them almost silly in their logic. This one was different. It actually made sense to me.

It makes more sense to me now. And, that’s a problem.

You see, I know what having a negative outlook on life does to you. Read the original words again.

Do you see the circle they create? When you’re sick and tired of being just that, the cycle repeats itself. Again. And again. And again. It may be exactly what the person who coined the phrase vicious cycle had in mind.

I have come to realize in recent days how easy it is to become a part of that cycle. Oh, I’m not sick–not physically. Perhaps I’m a little tired, but not sick. But it is easy to think about the sad things in life and let myself sink down into sadness myself. The sad things don’t even have to be happening to me.

Still–all of the sudden I realize I’m repeating the phrase in my own head. It’s not just a memory of my Mom’s voice saying the words anymore.

I hear it, not in her voice, but in my own as my spirit takes on the burdens of life.

Any day, I expect the words to actually come from my mouth as I speak to the Lovely Lady, or to my friends, or to a customer.

There is hardship all around me. With our instant communication, I know about more of it than ever before. To be fair, it may also be my time of life. I’m not sure. That said, I don’t ever want to expect bad from this amazing world which the Creator has made for us and placed us into.

Friends tell me things will only get worse–that this is just prophecy coming to pass–almost as if that justifies negativity and depression.

It doesn’t.

Right before the start of this new year–it only began three weeks ago, you know–I made a list of things I intend to revisit over the course of the year. They are thoughts which have occurred to me as I consider the future, a future which I contend is bright, not dark.

The first words in my list are these:

I refuse to believe our future is not at least as bright as our past. No! Brighter!

I know some of you who read these words are in the throes of disaster at this very moment. My heart tells me that in the next months I will experience some of those same woes.

The statement stands.

Circumstances, no matter how dark, do not determine the condition of our spirits, unless we allow them to. If we take the sadness, the sorrow, the worry to our hearts, we may find ourselves, like the red-headed lady, in the cycle of being sick and tired of life as we know it.

But, I want to affirm that the sadness, the sorrow, and the worry do not belong to us at all, and it is theft for us to keep them for ourselves.

I see those eyebrows going up as you read the word theft. You wonder who the victim of the crime is, don’t you? I believe we steal from God Himself when we selfishly hold those cares closely. Our instructions are clear. We are told to cast all of our cares on Him in light of His care for us. (1 Peter 5:7)

They are not ours to keep, not ours to cling to, not ours to add to our collection like so many grisly reminders of battles lost or omens of a dark future.

Not ours. His.

There is life yet to be lived. It will not be lived in the dark.

Brighter, I say!

I’m ready to walk in the sunlight, but I wouldn’t mind some company along the road.

You coming along?

“It is not so dark here,” said Theoden.
“No,” said Gandalf. “Nor does age lie so heavily on your shoulders as some would have you think.”
(from The Two Towers ~ J.R.R. Tolkien ~ English educator/novelist ~ 1892-1973)

For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle;
In the secret place of His tent He will hide me;
He will lift me up on a rock.
(Psalm 27:5 ~ NASB)

“What day is it?”
“It’s today!” squeaked Piglet.
“My favorite day,” said Pooh.
(A.A. Milne ~ English children’s author ~ 1882-1956)

Beauty and Chaos

January 19, 2016January 19, 2017 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

He’s doing an art project.

An art project.

Only two months ago, his little boy died.

Today, he’s working at making something beautiful.

I’m having a hard time wrapping my brain around this one. I have a few questions.

Does God feel sadness? How is it that He keeps giving us beautiful things, long after we, made in His image, have hurt and destroyed others, also made in His image?

Long after we killed His only Son.

Why would He continue to bring us each new gorgeous dawn—each new colorful Spring—He who upholds all with the power of His hands? (Colossians 1:16-17)

Does He feel sadness?

His Son did, as He walked on the earth. I’ve told you before of one of my favorite verses in the Bible. I’ve committed it to memory. Even now, I can remember it word for word.

Jesus wept. (John 11:35)

Along with His followers, He felt intense sadness. He had no fear of lessening His influence on them by allowing them to see His tears. There was no embarrassment in showing His emotional state.

Yet, He was the embodiment of His Heavenly Father. The exact image. (Colossians 1:15-16)

God feels sorrow.

He feels sorrow, yet He continues to astound us with beauty.

Me? I mope when I’m sad. I sit in my chair and sigh pitifully. I gripe and I grouse, lashing out at those around me.

Work on an art project when I’m down? Produce things of beauty when I hurt? Hardly.

He does.

The young artist/father I visited with in my business today does, too. He, in the midst of the storm, turns to creativity to bring beauty out of his chaos. Then, when the art project fizzles, he makes music.

From the ashes of catastrophe, he draws out beauty.

It doesn’t mean the pain of loss isn’t ever-present—a shadow lurking on the fringes. He just refuses to wallow in it, to let it have the reins of his existence.

The sun didn’t show its face today in the sky. The gray day worked its way into my spirit in much the same way the cold crept into my bones But in my store, the brilliant illumination couldn’t be cloaked.

Light overcomes darkness. Always.

Always.

Maybe it’s time for us to give the dark times to a God who still makes beauty from darkness.

Give your dark times to a God who still makes beauty from darkness. Share on X

I’m thinking brighter days are ahead.

Every man must decide whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or in the darkness of destructive selfishness.
(Martin Luther King Jr. ~ American pastor/civil rights activist ~ 1929-1968)

And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.
(Genesis 1:2-4 ~ KJV)

Winding Paths

January 18, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

I’ve believed it for a long time. I’ve even used the illustration myself before.

I’m not so sure anymore.

The boy learning to plow tries his hand at running the tractor. Completing his first row, he turns back proudly to view the result of his effort only to see a wobbly, wandering furrow.

You’ve heard it before, of course. If you’ve read enough of my writing, you know how much I love a moral. There’s definitely a moral to this one.

Eyes on the prize.

Somehow, I’m not sure this one is as clear-cut as it used to be.

The old farmer takes the wheel of the tractor and turns it around, suggesting to the lad that he needs to keep his eye on the goal. Pick a landmark far ahead and steer a course straight toward that. Don’t look at the ground; focus on the target. He plows a straight furrow every time.

Long term goals.

We revere men of straight paths. Focused on their destination, they move steadily in the same direction, never faltering, ever resolute.

Is there such a man? Perhaps. I have thought I knew some, but I’ve been disappointed before. We live in a world of distractions. Even the most focused human is bound to falter, maybe even to veer off the path, given the right diversion.

We make idols of men, believing a lie.

Only one Man lived a faithful life of purpose, never faltering from His purpose.

True, He’s the one we follow. Still, we take wrong turns. We misplace our resolve.

I spoke with a friend today, sadly relating my experience of watching a life lived in a straight line for many years, only to see it veer off on a incredible tangent just as the person neared the goal. So close—close and yet so very far.

A long obedience in the same direction, only to disappoint as the prize was within their grasp.

I wonder. Is there something wrong with the assumption that a straight line is the only way this following thing works?

When the Teacher told them to follow Him, was He asking those men to pick a target way out in the future, at the very end of their life and aim for that? I somehow don’t think that was what He had in mind. He didn’t ask them to pledge their lifelong service

He just said, “Follow me.”

That’s it. Follow.

I don’t have to know where the end of the road is. I don’t have to worry about interchanges and alternate routes before I get there. I’m not a navigator.

A follower, that’s what I am. I’m not that good at it, but it’s all I’ve ever claimed to be.

It seems that we want to set our sights on the straight-liners, the ones who stride along, head held high, secure in the knowledge they are on the right road. If we do, we’ll be disappointed nearly every time.

We weren’t called to follow them.

We’re only called to follow the One who faithfully followed His Father. Every step. (John 15:10)

Probably, the furrow He plowed would not have appeared to be a straight one to any onlookers. Certainly, it wasn’t to the religious leaders of that day. They knew the right path. Knew it.

But, they didn’t recognize the one He walked. He stopped in at too many parties, got caught in too many storms at sea, and touched too many lepers. Surely, this one couldn’t be following God!

We can’t be sure how straight the road will be from here on out. I don’t think we need to be worried about it.

If we stick close, we’ll be able to make the sharp turns when He does.

We may not stride in with head held high. But stumbling in with head hanging, knowing we followed all the way will be enough.

Oh. We should probably be ready to make a detour or two to visit a sick friend—or check on that fellow in jail.

The path is not all that straight, after all.

Then Jesus said to His disciples, “If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.
(Matthew 16:24 ~ NASB)

All the way my Savior leads me,
Cheers each winding path I tread,
Gives me grace for every trial,
Feeds me with the living bread.
(Fanny J Crosby ~ American hymn-writer ~ 1820-1915)

Slaying a (small) Dragon

January 15, 2016January 15, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

I’m smiling to myself as I write tonight. You might even say I’m a little smug.

What’s that?

No, today wasn’t all that great a day. I didn’t get all my work done; I even sent someone the wrong product. I’ll deal with that some other time. I didn’t make any huge sales, and haven’t found a wonderful vintage guitar which will net me an enormous profit.

So, what is it that’s making me smile?

I’ll tell you. I fixed the kitchen faucet. Two days ago.

Yep. Still smiling.

For the last year or more, the kitchen faucet at our house has leaked from the base if you moved the spout while the water was running. And I, being the handyman that I am, suggested to the Lovely Lady that she not move the spout while the water was running.

Problem solved.

Well, not exactly. It was a pain–for over a year. Then last week, it started leaking from the base whether you moved the spout or not. And I, being the handyman that I am, suggested that a plumber could replace the faucet for us. The Lovely Lady, long suffering spouse that she is, suggested that she didn’t want a new faucet and wondered aloud if I could effect a repair myself.

A visit to the local handyman center (no, they don’t sell handymen there, they just equip the bumbling ones such as myself) cost me a couple of dollars for a package of rubber o-rings. The net price of the one I needed was about twenty cents.

Sliding that rubber piece over the lower end of the spout, I put it back into place and tightened the connection. Turning the water on, I held my breath as I examined the chrome base of the faucet.

Voila! No leak!

Gingerly, I moved the spout back and forth as the water poured forth. Still no leak! I’m pretty sure I did a little dance right there in the kitchen. I was (and am) ecstatic!

No knight errant, killing a dragon and saving the damsel in distress could have been more triumphant than I. My dragon may have only been a chrome plated faucet and the damsel in distress, my lovely bride of a number of years (I forget how many), but the dragon is slain and the maid is free of her prison!

“How silly!” I hear the naysayers already muttering. “Save your celebration for a real conquest.”

I’m going to suggest as politely as I can, that you may feel free to keep your opinions to yourself.

The little things bring immense pleasure.

Our lives are a parade of little things, bombarding us one after another. We conquer them and we rejoice momentarily, preparing to face the next one. The Teacher understood this as He told of the woman who had lost one coin and turned her house upside down to find it. In the middle of the night, the house blazed with light as she swept the floor to retrieve that one little coin. Then, when she found it, she called her friends and neighbors to celebrate with her.

One coin! Silly? Not in the slightest!

Revel in the small successes!

Delight in the unassuming conquests!

I’m convinced that our lives will never be free of battles to be fought and won—some large, but most small. All are worthy of our full attention and all are worthy of our delight and celebration, when finished.

I’ve said many times that we shouldn’t sweat the small stuff, meaning simply that we need not fret and worry about the insignificant issues. That said, we still must deal with them, ticking off the minor victories one after the other.

I hope that you have a little something today that you are smiling to yourself about. You might even have called your best friend to let them in on it. Go you! Celebrate to your heart’s content.

For my part, I think I’ll head home now to run a little water in the kitchen sink again. Might even swing the spout around a time or two.

If you hear me humming Willie the Giant’s song from Mickey and the Beanstalk as I do it, take no notice.

“I’m a most amazing guy, a most amazing guy am I…Fe Fi Fo Fum, He Hi Ho Hum…”

Celebrate!

Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and realize that they were the big things.
(Robert Brault~American writer and philosopher)

What do you think? If any man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go and search for the one that is straying?
(Matthew 18:12~NASB)

In Quiet Places

January 13, 2016January 13, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 5 Comments

A giant in the world of rock music died yesterday.

The tributes to David Bowie have filled the pages of social media. Videos have been shared, stories told, organ solos have even been performed in cathedrals. And now, the questions are being raised.

Is David Bowie in heaven? Did he become a believer in the waning days of his life?

I’m not going to talk about him. Not exactly, anyway.

You will find the discussion of his final destination in the days to come upon the sensational pages of other blogs. Anger and name-calling will follow—both by believers and non-believers alike. I choose not to participate.

Still, in the quiet of this night, I consider the possibilities. For him—and for all of us.

I wonder—what about these quiet hours, the lonely time between times, when no one else is stirring? They are some of the most soul-searching intervals I have experienced. Surely, there’s a chance?

I’m aware that I’m a man of strange habits—late-night writing sessions, followed by wandering through the house speaking to shadows and arguing with the walls. Not everyone spends their nights in the same fashion.

But, many who are creatures of habit, making their way to bed at regular hours and planning for early morning arising, sometimes find themselves at the mercy of the night.

For some, when life is proceeding smoothly and all is well in their world, the nights are blissful oblivion. No questions are whispered into the dark; no prayers are addressed to the ceiling (and beyond).

But life is not all smooth lanes and well-oiled machinery.

Trouble will come. Sleep will flee. Rest will escape.

Pleas will be delivered to Heaven and promises made. Tears will be shed.

I don’t suppose it’s true for all, but I suspect it happens to more than will admit it.

And finally, in the receding years of my life, I have discovered a truth I never imagined.

Those times in the quiet hours are precious. They are life-changing. They are priceless.

When all is as we imagine it should be, we have no time for God. We have no need for God. Rich in things, we fill the days with noise and commotion, and exhausted, fall into our beds, never giving a thought to the poverty of our souls.

Yet, in our darkest night, He will be found. It seems it’s always, finally, in our darkness that we seek His light.

He’s there waiting, too. (Psalm 139:11-12)

When the one who slept beside you in your bed all those years never will again and you cry for them in the night, He will be found.

When disease tears at the body of your child and you scream silently into the dark, He hears.

When the emptiness of life on your own drives you, at last, to give it all to Him, He’s waiting.

He’s always been waiting. (Revelation 3:20)

Did David Bowie find Him in the darkness of his night? Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

I don’t know.

But you can.

I have.

Again and again.

You, Lord, keep my lamp burning;
my God turns my darkness into light.
(Psalm 18:28 ~ NIV)

But something tells me that you hide
When all the world is warm and tired
You cry a little in the dark, well so do I.
(from Letter to Hermione ~ David Bowie ~ English singer/actor ~ 1947-2016)

Into the Sun

January 12, 2016January 12, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I’ve spent a few hours staring into the sun.

That didn’t come out quite right. Let me try again.

I’ve spent long periods of time looking at someone standing right in front of the sun—which has kind of the same effect. I just didn’t want you to think I had ignored my mother’s instruction about not looking at the sun.

But, in fact, it was at my mother’s instructions I looked at the person standing in front of the sun. That person was my father—taking a photograph of the family.

To a young child, there was no greater torture. Don’t blink, they said and then made you stare at the brightest light imaginable while the exact setting was selected on the old Kodak Hawkeye box camera and children were shuffled around to achieve the ideal composition.

The pictures weren’t very good anyway. For all the torture we endured, we still squinted, blinked, and put our hands over our eyes at just the wrong moment, and were captured on film for all eternity.

Everybody smile, they said.

We tried.

I brought the little camera home a little while back. No, not the Kodak. That was my parents’ camera. This was a little cheap plastic box camera, purchased through the Sears & Roebuck catalog. It was mine fifty years ago. Still is. It has my name written on the side of it, in my best nine-year-old printing.

I’ll never take another photograph with it, but the memory of the power that was endowed by the little plastic box will stay with me forever.

With it, I could stop time! Precious moments could be saved and relived whenever I wanted. Pets, friends, even creations from my own hands would never be lost.

Power!

We don’t think of photographs quite the same way anymore. Every person who carries a phone has a camera—much better than any which were available in my childhood. Taking a photo isn’t even an event today.

But, I remember the day when the sight of a camera would make my siblings scurry for cover. I recall when the arrival of that package of black and white photos in the mail was a grand event—when all of those siblings wanted to make sure they hadn’t been caught doing embarrassing things.

It was a distinct possibility.

Years ago, I read that in some cultures photographs are rare because the people believe the camera would steal your soul. While not all cultures this belief has been attributed to actually hold to it, there is adequate proof some did—and many still do.

Photographs steal your soul.

I’m skeptical. That said, I do understand how someone might think this. Your exact image has been captured on paper. How can that not take something away from you?

We laugh. Still, today, many no longer can live in the moment, enjoying events as they unfold, because they are intent on snapping photographs to view later and to show to their friends. Selfies, we call them. One must be sure they are in their own picture! It will be proof one day that they actually were there.

Never mind that your back was turned to the event itself. You’ll always have the photograph.

Perhaps a part of our soul is stolen as the camera snaps. I don’t know.

My mind is again back in the sixties. Looking into the sun. Shadows must be avoided at all cost.

Standing in the bright light of day.

But, I remember some events I would have been embarrassed to have recorded on camera. Those happened in the shadows, perhaps even in complete darkness.

Mom wasn’t around to remind me to look toward the light. Dad wasn’t recording the action for posterity.

Come to think about it, there are still some activities I don’t want saved for people to see. The dark works better for them. I might be embarrassed to see the photographs those would yield.

The Teacher spoke of folks like me—at least, like me at those embarrassing times. He declared that men loved darkness rather than light for one reason—they wish to hide their evil deeds. (John 3:19)

I wonder if it’s time to come out into the light of day again.

The Son may make us squint a bit.

The shadows will all disappear.

Perhaps, it’s time again to make some memories worth viewing later. Memories which will last forever. Literally.

Everybody smile!

This is the message we have heard from Him and announce to you, that God is Light, and in Him there is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with Him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth; but if we walk in the Light as He Himself is in the Light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin.
(1 John 1:5-7 ~ NASB)

Which of my photographs is my favorite? The one I’m going to take tomorrow.
(Imogene Cunningham ~ American photographer ~ 1883-1976)

Lost and Found

January 8, 2016January 8, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

He left the wallet. Just walked away from it.

The set of strings he needed for his guitar paid for, he inserted his debit card back into the slot. Folding the cloth-covered wallet closed, he walked to the back of the music store, carrying it still in his hand.

I didn’t notice the stray item until long after he had walked on down the road. Even then, I knew it was his.

How do you do that? Walk away from your wallet, I mean.

He took his little guitar. Strapped it over his shoulder carefully before opening the front door to the shop. Carefully.

The guitar is worth, perhaps, forty dollars.

He took the guitar, but left the wallet.

I looked in the wallet. There was no cash—not that I expected any. There were, however, several items I would not like to lose myself.

The debit card was there, for starters. How do you function without that? Perhaps the absence of cash in the wallet meant there was an ample supply of the same in his pocket. It seems though, that he would have used cash for a small purchase such as he had made earlier, if he had it.

No. The debit card was his connection to cash. He left that with the wallet.

There was a drivers license. How would he answer the nice policeman, when he said the words driver’s license and registration, please? How would he cash a check? It’s likely he’d need to, since the debit card was you-know-where.

There was a lot more. I didn’t sift through it all. The only reason I looked at all was to find a way to contact the man. I found nothing of the sort.

I did see one more thing though—an item, well two items, really—both more important that any of the others I found.

I found a photo of the man’s grandson. Then, one of his son. Treasure! Good-looking young men, both of them. How do you leave those behind?

Over two weeks ago, he left the wallet. Two weeks, and not one phone call. He never asked. Never.

Not even today, when he came back into the store to buy more strings.

I looked at him and smiled, knowing he’d mention the missing wallet soon. It had to be weighing on him heavily. Perhaps, he even felt guilty about neglecting to come back and retrieve the item. Surely, he’d mention it presently.

He never did.

I couldn’t stand it. I handed him the wallet, smiling expectantly.

He grinned sheepishly and said, “Oh, there it is. I wondered if I’d have to contact the bank soon.”

When his wife arrived to pick him up later, he didn’t even mention the wallet to her.

I’m confused. And, a little disappointed. Well? I wanted him to shake my hand vigorously and exclaim in a loud voice about the little cloth single-fold wallet and its contents.

It’s what I would have done.

Oh. There it is.

It’s not the epitome of relief—not the pinnacle of joy—is it?

I have more to say tonight, much more.

I want to talk about treasures we leave behind, purposely and accidentally.

I want to speak of our search for false treasure, while genuine treasure is staring us in the face.

I wish I could awaken the desire in each reader to seek that which has been lost for so long.

Still. The Teacher thought it enough to simply tell the stories of losing—and finding—that which had been lost. He was sure His listeners would understand His meaning. (Luke 15)

The red-headed lady who raised me always asked the same question when I was looking for something I had lost.

Where did you last see it?

It seems we lose many things over the course of a lifetime—love, joy, passion, purpose. Maybe, it’s time we began to seek them again.

I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that at the end of our search, whatever it is we seek, He’ll be waiting. After all, He’s the One who promised if we ask we’ll receive, if we seek we’ll find, and if we knock doors will be opened. (Luke 11:9-10)

Start where you last saw it. It’s sure to be close by.

Oh. A little enthusiasm when we find what was lost would be nice, too.

There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something.
(J.R.R. Tolkien ~ English educator/writer/poet ~ 1892-1973)

Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one. Doesn’t she light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it?And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.
(Luke 15:8-10 ~ NIV)

From the Inside Out

January 4, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

Of all the gifts, I’m thinking that I’m most thankful for the blank page of the moment just ahead, awaiting our first step into it, our first words coloring the empty space. Here is where the past and the future meet. This is the place where we set the memories, about which we’ll reminisce in years to come, into the history books of our minds.

Those words are especially apropos as we have just begun a new year. I have shared them before. But, as I consider that many will take those steps thoughtlessly and foolishly, I am almost tempted to repent of saying the words.

They were written as words of reassurance, drawing a picture of delight as the reader stands poised to make memories worth recording and celebrating far into the future.

I can’t help but realize they are no less true for those who step into the future with bitterness and rancor, writing their impending history with the uncaring destruction of bridges which can never again be traversed.

Then again, as I write (and think) tonight, I am reminded that it has ever been so. What is in the heart of men will make its way, however slow and inexorably, to the surface. Selfishness in the heart begets selfishness in words and in actions. Pettiness produces a like result.

The Teacher Himself said it clearly: Out of the contents of your heart, you will communicate. (Luke 6:45)

Later, one who had walked with Jesus repeated it when he suggested that a spring of salt water could not produce fresh water. (James 3:12)

We make our own choices about the history which will fill the empty page of the future when it is no longer the future.

I will not repent of the words. I’ll not wallow in despair.

Here is what I know:

The grace which has been extended to us is able to reach to the depths of our hearts. We have only to grasp hold of it and allow its work of renewal and refreshing to be completed.

No, we can’t go back and undo the past. The failures of those days still lie behind. But, they no longer have to be ahead of us, too.

The previous page is covered with yesterday’s actions and words, whether kind and constructive, or harsh and devastating. Ahead, still lies the future, clean as the artists canvas.

Our choice…More of the same, or a new direction.

Each moment, each action will determine the history which will one day be retold.

Choose well.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–I took the one less traveled by…
(from The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost ~ American poet ~ 1874-1963)

Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’ into the future…
(from Fly Like An Eagle by the Steve Miller Band ~ ca. 1976)

No Accidents

December 24, 2015December 24, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

Exhausted. Physically worn out.

In a minute, I’ll turn off the coffee pot and the lights. As I check the door though, I see the glow of the candles in the windows next door and my mind wanders.

Candlelight . . .

Earlier on this long Eve of Christmas day, we sat in a dimly lit church auditorium. It’s not a beautiful sanctuary, just an old Quonset hut gymnasium finished out to seat a couple hundred people, but it’s warm.

Comfortably we sat, and then stood to sing as the familiar carols began.

It was no accident that he picked our building to wander into. That homeless man could not have known who would be there; he could not have predicted his reception. But in he walked.

There are no accidents.

We stood and sang. He trudged right up the middle aisle. You know, usually folks in his condition take a seat near the back, awaiting the chance to ask for help quietly. This fellow? Right up front.

No. This was no accident.

The man set his plastic Walmart sack on the communion table. In Remembrance of Me, the words cut into the wood declare to the onlookers. Somehow, I think that’s no accident either.

There are not many items in our church building that we would call sacred. It’s just not how we worship. Altars, fonts, icons–those are not really part of our experience. We believe that true worship is from our hearts, disregarding the physical trappings, almost to a fault.

The Communion table though–that’s the Lord’s table. If not sacred, it is at least worthy of respect.

Dirty Walmart bags don’t scream out respect.

Sinking to his knees, the unhappy fellow bent himself down to the bare concrete floor and began to speak quietly. I couldn’t hear the words and I still don’t know what he prayed, but soon, others would kneel beside him and pray as well. They were still ministering to him as the rest of us left, nearly forty-five minutes later.

I need to say the words.

It was no accident that the man set his dirty Walmart bag on our Communion table.

I wonder. How many of us who were there left unchanged tonight?

I’ve written on numerous occasions of homeless folks and our responsibility to them. Their stories always pull at my heart, and I’ve attempted to communicate that same sense to the reader in my writing.

Tonight though, on the eve of our observance of the birth of Christ, a dirty man set his dirty sack right down in the middle of my worship.

Right down in the middle of it.

But, as I stare over at the candles in the house’s windows, I begin to understand.

You see, it was no accident that the Baby was born to an unmarried young lady and laid in a feeding trough.

It was no accident that His companions throughout His life on earth were outcasts, and drunks, and the poor.

It was no accident that this Holy, perfect God-man was hung on a cursed, profane tree.

His intent was to show us that often what we define as profane is what He calls sacred. For all of His time here, He made clear as well, that much of what the religious folk of that day called sacred was actually profane.

I wonder if there are similar words He would say to His Church today.

The Baby in the barn calls us to care about the sacred instead of focusing on the profane.

He calls us to speak grace instead of declaring law. He calls us to offer mercy instead of dispensing justice.

He calls us to let the dirty Walmart bag sit atop the Lord’s Table.

In some ways, the bag is more sacred. It is if it allows a seeker to find once more the Baby who came to be Savior.

Sacred.

The Savior came to offer grace. More than that, He came to change who we are.

I know. He’s still changing me.

And that’s no accident either.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.
(Isaiah 9:2 ~ NIV)

Anything that happens to you, good or bad, must pass through His fingers first. There are no accidents with God.
(Tony Evans ~ American pastor/author)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

Author: Paul Phillips