Gifts I Don’t Want

October 4, 2022 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

I don’t want to write tonight.

Wait. That didn’t come out right, did it? I can hear the murmuring already.

“If you don’t want to write, don’t. We don’t want to read it all that much, either.”

Ah. As the Bard would say, there’s the rub. I’m beginning to believe that when I don’t want to is the very time I must.

But, in these opening words, you’ve been warned.

Read on at your peril. The management takes no responsibility for the outcome, good or bad, happy or sad.

We sat around a circle of friends just yesterday, celebrating the passing of another year for one of them. His wife, at one point in the conversation, suggested that, if we wanted to, we might relate an example of personally receiving a gift, a clear message from God that He loves us.

She told of standing outside her door, admiring the hummingbirds drinking from the feeder she maintains for them. As she stood, motionless, one of them left the feeder and, hovering in the air, looked her right in the eyes for several moments. She held her breath and the beautiful creature came even closer. She almost thought it could have been his way of saying thank you.

We all agreed that truly it was a moment to savor, to give thanks to our Creator for His love and wonder. Then, our friend asked if anyone else wanted to share their “God moment.”

Some did.

I didn’t.

I don’t know why. Or, maybe I know too well. If I do share them, there may be more.

I don’t want any more.

Still, having had 24 hours to consider, I think I will share. With my readers, anyway.

I did warn you.

A few weeks ago, on a Saturday morning, my phone rang. The lady’s voice was strained and tense. She wanted to know if I was at home. When I answered in the affirmative, she asked if I could come over as quickly as possible.

I rushed over to help my friend, her husband, off the floor where he had fallen and back onto his bed. Then, as she sat beside him, we talked of hardship and growing old, and decisions that were just too difficult to make in the moment.

She cried. I cried. My friend thanked me for coming to help.

It was the last time I would ever see him.

And, that’s my gift from God—my God moment.

I know; it is confusing, isn’t it?

Perhaps it wouldn’t be the right thing to relate at a birthday party. No, perhaps is the wrong word. I should have said, probably. Maybe even certainly.

The moments such as our friend at the party revealed to us—they are, without question, gifts from God. He loves to surprise us with joy and light.

He does.

But life isn’t all about fun; it’s not all about parties. The purpose of our life is decidedly not that we should be happy every moment of all our days here on earth.

I’ve written the words before—the words that begin the Westminster Shorter Catechism.

“The chief end of man is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.”

There! There it is! Enjoy Him forever! That means to be happy, doesn’t it?

Well, no. The thing is, the only way we can enjoy Him is to do what glorifies Him.

We don’t get to pick and choose the parts we like. Truth becomes untruth very quickly when we pick it apart like that.

Long-suffering Job said the words to his wife, millenniums ago:

Should we accept only good things from the hand of God and never anything bad?” So in all this, Job said nothing wrong. (Job 2: 10, NLT)

I don’t particularly like the gifts He’s giving me now. I don’t really want a flood of this type of gift.

Yet, they do come, His gifts of opportunities to serve.

With some regularity, these days.

And still, I believe He uses them to bring about good. His Word says He will. (see Romans 8:28)

I sat beside a hospital bed today and heard the words from the fellow propped up there, this man who is under a death sentence. He lay there, heart racing, sucking in each breath of oxygen through the cannula, tubes strung out of both arms, and he told me how thankful he is for all he has.

Gifts.

Coming down from the Father of Lights.

God moments. All through our life.

He does, indeed, love us.

Whatever is good and perfect is a gift coming down to us from God our Father, who created all the lights in the heavens. He never changes or casts a shifting shadow. (James 1:17, NLT)

“Think on these two powerful points: Lean on God in every situation and love others as unselfishly as you possibly can.” (Joyce Meyer)

Finding the Vegetable Trees

April 25, 2018April 26, 2018 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

“Just head down there. The vegetable trees are all over that way.”

The Lovely Lady and I were on a mission to find a sapling or two to plant in the yard today, so we stopped by the local garden center. We thought we might find a couple of shade trees, but we especially wanted an apple tree to replace the ancient one which is not going to last much longer.

We weren’t really expecting to buy a vegetable tree.

Wandering through the sales area, we had passed a young lady sitting at a desk in the corner, but we knew the saplings were out back, so we continued outside.

The salesman met us on the sidewalk. All of three or four years old, he carried a thin metal rod about three feet long in his right hand which he swung this way and that as he talked.

“How can I help you?”

The Lovely Lady and I looked at each other, smiling, and then turning back his way, she told him we wanted to look at an apple tree. His response about the location of the vegetable trees made our day.

We headed in the general direction he had pointed with the rod. He followed closely, talking the whole time. We didn’t quite understand all he said, but we knew we’d find trees up that way.

“Well, like I said, this is where all the vegetable trees are. You folks look all you want. Bring anything you pick out back inside.”

He started away but abruptly turned back.

“Oh, here.” The boy handed me the dandelion stalk he had just pulled. “It’s a flower. If you blow on it, the white stuff goes all over the place. I guess some people call it a weed, really.”

He turned again to leave as a man walked up, wondering aloud if we needed help. Smiling broadly, I told the boy’s dad we had already been helped and wanted to wander around the vegetable trees for awhile and look around. Dad grimaced at the phrase and then grinned, taking us to the trees we needed to look at.

What a delightful experience!

What an extraordinary young man!

Okay. He needs to work on the details a little bit. But, he understood we needed help. He looked around and didn’t see anyone except himself to do the job. So, he did the job.

It was almost as if he understood what the letter-writing Apostle had said a couple thousand years ago: Don’t only do things for yourselves, but help others, as well. (Philippians 2:4)

In my mind, I hear the voice of God asking a barefooted Moses, “What’s that you’re holding in your hand, son?” (Exodus 4:2)

The boy showed us the way with the equipment he had been given.

If only we could all do as well.

If only.

There’s not time to be certain we know all the right answers. We never will.

There's not time to be certain we know all the right answers. We never will. Share on X

There’s not time to get our presentation down word perfect. We’ll stumble over the words. Every time.

There's not time to get our presentation down word perfect. We'll stumble over the words. Every time. Share on X

When He said to be ready to give an answer, He didn’t mean to wait until we were comfortable and skilled. (1 Peter 3:15)

And sometimes, when we don’t know what else to say, we might just hand them a flower and help to spread His love and beauty.

After all, our primary purpose in being here is to give glory to our Creator. (Isaiah 43:7)

The whole earth is filled—absolutely jam-packed—with His glory.

I think I might hand out a dandelion or two, as we walk through it together.

And maybe—just maybe—I’ll find that vegetable tree along the road.

You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance.
(Franklin P Jones ~ American humorist)

Praise his glorious name forever!
Let the whole earth be filled with his glory.
Amen and amen!
(Psalm 72:19 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Borrowing Words

August 30, 2017August 30, 2017 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

I thought it was a book only nerds would ever use. I’m not certain I have ever bought a copy of my own to this day.

Lamar Junior High School. That’s where I first saw a copy of this mysterious book. Usually, it was a small paperback, stacked on top of whatever miscellaneous textbooks the brainiacs were carrying, clamped tightly under the arm and against the body as they scooted down the drafty hallways.

I wasn’t a brainiac.

Roget’s Thesaurus.

Oh. A foreign language book. I was already enrolled in a Spanish class and had no interest in taking up an additional language.

Except it wasn’t. A foreign language book. Still, it would take an awfully long time for me to care about what it really was.

And then, it would be years before I felt the need to consult such a volume. Years before I actually understood the importance of what lay in the pages of the little publication.

It was all I could do to learn the English language. Why would I need a book which gave me alternatives to perfectly good words?

My native language was quite difficult enough, thank you. But then I think back. I did learn another language. Many of my friends were fluent in it long before I began to pick it up.

It wasn’t spoken in my home. How would I have come by it naturally?

I call the language crudish. Today, I do. Back then, I called it cool. I do also seem to remember a friend who called it cursive, a term that some might think cute, but mostly, it’s just sad.

I know many who practice the language today. Its usage is on the rise, even among the very young. When I operated a music store, we would frequently have folks come in who spoke little else. It’s popular nowadays on the street and in the department stores.

Some languages give you an air of mystery; some are romantic. Some can make us sound more intelligent than we are; others seem almost comedic.

Crudish is one of those languages which seems to deduct points from the speaker’s intelligence quotient right in front of our eyes. Or ears—whichever.

Regardless, during the years when I spoke that demeaning language, I found one very curious thing.

There were no words in that vocabulary with which I could describe my faith—my Savior—my God.

No words.

Some things are simply too high, too precious, for gutter language to even make a start in describing them.

Growing in my faith, the realization took root that crudish would never be a language I could use on my journey to becoming the man God needed me to be.

There are scriptures which could be quoted in support of my assumption. Somehow though, we know without being told that some language is inappropriate to use as we come before the King of all that is.

I know many who are followers of Christ, as I am, yet still retain much of that language. They respond differently when the words slip into conversation, from embarrassment to defiance. I have no judgment to offer, simply my perspective.

I want to communicate clearly to the world around me. I want there to be no uncertainty about what drives me and Who I follow.

That crude language has no words to explain those things. None.

But, there is more. Again and again, I find the words I have in my limited vocabulary to be inadequate to the task, as well.

So, I use a thesaurus. Really, I do. Nearly every day.

I constantly seek new ways to express ancient truths.

If all of life is not a chasing after God, attempting to know Him better, we’ve squandered the days.

If each day is not spent in learning how to give a clear reason to those not yet in the chase, we’ve wasted the hours and minutes. (1 Peter 3:15)

There’s a quotation attributed (erroneously) to Francis of Assisi that tells us to preach the Gospel and if necessary, to use words. It’s not a bad thing to make the point that we should live out our faith. Not a bad thing at all.

However, words are how we communicate truth. King David, a man never at loss for innovative ways to communicate the truth of God’s love and power—and glory—was clear in his prayer: I want the words coming out of my mouth, and even the feelings in my heart to be acceptable to You, God. (Psalm 19:14)

It’s not enough to feel it; the words must be said.

It's not enough to feel it; the words must be said. Share on X

Yes, I use that nerd book. Well, it’s not actually Mr. Roget’s thesaurus I use. There are tools at our disposal today that junior high school kid I used to be never could have dreamed of. But, just because I never dreamed of them back then doesn’t mean I can’t avail myself of them now.

I want to use whatever language communicates in no uncertain terms the hope, the anticipation, the joy that lie ahead. Like young Timothy, I want to study, so I can gain my Creator’s approval.

In the process, I can’t help but become more like him. The process is slow, painfully so, but certain.

Daily, He shows us in new and varied ways His love for us.

How could we do any less, as we reflect His light to a world desperate for its brilliance?

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.
(from O Sacred Head, Now Wounded ~ Bernard of Clairvaux ~ French monk/theologian ~ 1090-1153)

Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth.
(2 Timothy 2:15 ~ KJV)

Not Going Back

June 23, 2017 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 3 Comments

She was so kind to write the note. She gets it. I’m always happy when I know folks really pay attention to what I’ve written.

The problem is, I think she may have come to the wrong conclusion. It’s not her fault.

I wrote about Joseph and his unhappiness in Egypt, expressing my hope that at some point before my demise, I can learn to respond to new situations appropriately.

Her note complimented the article and then, with only three words, sent shivers down my back.

Welcome to Egypt.

My brain has been working on that statement all day. Twenty miles, I rode my bicycle with a friend, and, in spite of good conversation as we rode, the question occupied my thoughts.

Am I in Egypt?

Later, I mowed and trimmed my entire yard and, with only a moments rest, as I groused at the black lab who thought it appropriate to lick my face when I bent down (defenseless) to attend to an untied shoe, my poor brain labored with its problem nearly as hard as my body did with the obvious task at hand.

But by now, well past bedtime for most normal folks, I’m certain I have the answer. Positive.

I’m not in Egypt.

I’m not.

Do you know that months before I was moved—against my will (and not quietly)—out of the my previous situation, I knew God had other plans for me? I did. Absolutely knew it.

I wrote about it, several times.

Crossing bridges. (Another Bridge, March 29, 2016)

Doing a new thing. (New Things, February 29, 2016)

You may read about it for yourself. It’s all there in the archives.

Oh, the arrogance.

I knew it. I just wasn’t having any of it.

Sometimes, our Creator has a way of moving us, when we’ve decided the place we are is just fine, thank you.

It’s sort of like the Children of Israel in the book of Exodus, when they thought they might like to stay in slavery. You know, because it wasn’t all that bad.

All their memories were of Egypt. Not one of them had ever set foot in the Promised Land.

They would move, though. When they were moved—against their will (and not quietly)—out of Egypt.

Out of Egypt.

If anything I’ve written over the last few months has led you to believe that I’m disappointed with where I am, I want to apologize.

It’s just that where I was was comfortable. And safe.

And just like the complainers in the desert (and even like Lot’s wife before them) I’m looking before me at this unfamiliar and dangerous landscape over the bridge which has just been crossed, and yet, I’m still gazing back at the comfortable and safe place I’ve just vacated.

I’ve stayed here too long—looking back.

Even now, He’s making paths in the wilderness ahead.

Even now, He’s making paths in the wilderness ahead. Share on X

He’s filling the rivers in the dry wasteland before me with water.

Cool, clear water.

I don’t want to go back to Egypt.

Home lies ahead, not behind.

I’m going forward.

So thank you, my old friend, for the welcome. But, I’ll pass. I’m going the other direction.

Out of Egypt.

Going home.

The desert shatters the soul’s arrogance and leaves body and soul crying out in thirst and hunger. In the desert we trust God or die.
(Dan B Allender ~ American Christian therapist)

For I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.
(Isaiah 43:19 ~ NLT)
(Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. All rights reserved.)

How Many Lawyers…

February 23, 2017 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

We were deep in conversation on that day, my friend and I, when we were interrupted. I wasn’t optimistic that the break would be that profitable.

Usually, when folks brought in old violins, they left disappointed.

I can’t count the number of times the old fiddles were carried through my door, many of them cradled gingerly like a precious treasure that would shatter if anyone breathed on it.

It belonged to (fill in the blank—Grandpa, Uncle John, my old neighbor…), and we’re sure it’s a Stradivarius.

It never was. A Stradivarius, that is. Ever.

I disillusioned more people with my appraisals of violins than any other instrument. Unfortunately, the world is full of fakes and imitations. A name written on a label is no guarantee of authenticity.

I even learned to soften the blow by lowering expectations from the start. That day was no exception.

It’s almost certainly not made by Stradivarius.

It turns out I didn’t need to make it any easier of this couple. They knew exactly who the maker was. This one hadn’t only belonged to Uncle John. It had been made by him.

I should have known that their expectations were not the same as most of the others by the way they carried the instrument. It wasn’t even in a case and they certainly weren’t handling it delicately.

They didn’t want me to tell them they could retire on the proceeds from the sale. Far from it. These folks wanted me to confirm that the violin was no more than a wall-hanger, suitable for display on a wall in their family room.

Wouldn’t you know it? I was going to disappoint them, too.

I examined the instrument and was amazed at the quality. The solid spruce top was well-proportioned and carved expertly. There were no imperfections to be seen. The beautiful hand-rubbed finish glowed in the light.

Flipping the violin over, I gazed at a wonderful flamed maple back, again perfectly proportioned and without a flaw to be seen. The joints were tight and uniform, the structure sound as could be.

A well-shaped neck and scroll atop it completed the picture. It was a fine violin.

I was confused.

Your uncle made this instrument? And, you think it’s not going to be playable? Why?

The couple explained that the uncle had actually been a lawyer who never played a violin in his life, either before or after making the violin. He had made one violin just to prove it could be done. Then he built eleven or twelve others.

No one knew where the others were, nor if they were good instruments or not. Because he was not a musician, they had assumed he failed in proving his point, so were going to mount the violin-shaped object in a frame and save it for posterity. A piece of art.

I objected.

It was as fine an amateur-built instrument as I had ever seen. There was absolutely no reason—none whatsoever—for it not to be played.

I even took the time to tune the strings, which were horribly out of adjustment. Sliding the leaning bridge into place and tightening the pegs to the correct tension, I found a bow and drew it over the strings.

My friend, who had been sitting quietly through the episode, exclaimed suddenly. He couldn’t help himself.

Astounding!

It was, too.

The voice of the instrument was exquisite.

Like the maker, I don’t play the fiddle, but I do know how to tune one and even my inept fumbling with the bow on the strings produced a tone unlike any that normally proceeds from most of the less expensive, student instruments which come through my business.

The full-bodied tone left nothing to be desired. Nothing at all. Beautiful clear treble pitches and deep, booming bass notes emanated from the instrument instantly. Nobody in the room had any question about it.

The instrument isn’t a piece of art to be hung on a wall! In the right hands, it will make music that all listening can easily recognize as art, instead.

It is not a Stradivarius, nor is it worth a million dollars. It is a fine family heirloom which will hopefully be played by one of the maker’s descendants, proving every naysayer who ever doubted the lawyer’s ability to build a quality instrument completely wrong.

Moments before the couple walked in, my friend had asked a rhetorical question. What am I giving to God?

He and I are both reaching our senior years, the realization that time is growing short consuming our thoughts. An old friend had died suddenly the night before of a heart attack, and that weighed heavily on me as we spoke of the urgency.

In our conversation, we had talked about stepping out, not knowing what the end result would be—not even necessarily knowing what we were being asked to do. It’s as uncomfortable a thing to do as I can think of.

But, as the couple walked out of the door, cradling the instrument as if it would shatter should anyone breathe on it, we looked at each other in disbelief. Both of us smiled as the lesson of the non-musician luthier hit home.

It can’t be done!

Stick with what you know!

Really? Did you ever notice it seems that God purposely took people who had done other things and used them in ways they never thought possible? Shepherds, fishermen, tent makers, tradesmen trained for a lifetime of performing specific tasks—He gave them responsibilities which in no way resembled those earlier vocations.

To Abraham—Go to a land that I will show you. (Genesis 12:1)
To Noah—Build an ark. (Genesis 6:14)
To Moses—Go tell Pharaoh to let My people go. (Exodus 8:1)
To Peter—Upon this rock will I build my church. (Matthew 16:18)

God puts inside each of us His dream, His direction. Share on X

I had been reluctant to give my friend advice. God puts inside each of us His dream, His direction. It’s a dangerous thing for another person to give counsel that contradicts that.

If that astounding violin I looked at on that day is any indication, it’s also a little foolish.

Sometimes we simply must follow God, even when people around us don’t understand.

My friend says he’s got things to do.

Maybe it’s time for me to get moving, as well.

I wonder. I’ve never built a violin.

You?

Then the Lord said to him, “Who has made man’s mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I, the Lord?
Now therefore go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall speak.”
(Exodus 4:11-12 ~ ESV)

Those who say it can’t be done are usually interrupted by others doing it.
(James A Baldwin ~ American essayist/novelist ~ 1924-1987)

Conducted

December 9, 2016December 10, 2019 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

It is a moment to be committed to memory—a moment filled with sight and sound—a moment to be returned to again and again.

The sound part of the memory, I can explain well enough. I am a musician and understand melody and harmony, attacks and cutoffs, crescendos and decrescendos.

I know how the members of musical groups interact with each other, listening—adjusting—blending. It takes all the skill of most seasoned musicians to simply begin and end a piece at the same time, with reasonable rhythmic similarity in between.

But, the tears coursing down my cheeks are not to be explained so cavalierly. The quietness that has fallen over the audience has nothing to do with the knowledge of tone and timbre, or with intonation.

But, I haven’t given much to go by, have I? Possibly a paragraph or two of explanation will help.

For the last thirty-five years, give or take a year or two, I have sat at Christmastime in the beautiful old cathedral, with its oak panels and stained glass. It has changed a lot in the last thirty-five years.

So have I.

Candlelight Service. It’s what they call it. A plain brown wrapper that hides a treasure waiting to be uncovered, nearly every time. I’ve been privileged to have a small part in the service for most of the years I’ve been there.

Tonight, after my small part was complete, I sat in the creaky old pew and waited for the whole thing to be over.

It’s been a rough year. I’m having a hard time accepting changes I didn’t ask for. I had a plan, yet things aren’t working out quite as I had envisioned. Well, now that I think of it, not at all as I had envisioned.

I’m not much in the mood to get in the Christmas spirit. So, I’m waiting for it all to be over instead. I know I’ll get my wish. Another few weeks and I’ll be home free. Right?

The choir, led by a man I love and respect, a man who after thirty years is leading for his last time this Christmas, has just finished a very nice rendition of What Wondrous Love. It was very nice.

Something is happening, though. The man leaves his podium to stand near the piano and a young fellow is assisting a feeble-looking woman up the steps to the stage. This is different.

As the octogenarian lady alights the podium, it is easy to see that she is anything but feeble. Her stance behind the music stand makes it clear that she is in her element; the attention of the young folks in the risers is riveted on her face and hands.

She holds no baton. She needs none. From the first quiet notes of the piano, that much is evident.

The First Noel.

Most in the audience have heard the carol a thousand times. Maybe more. I will admit, this arrangement is beautiful.

Most of the time, when I listen to this choir, I watch the musicians as they sing. Forty or fifty college students—some of them music majors, others following various fields of study—have worked hard to prepare for this event. They deserve the attention.

And yet, all I can see now is the lady on the podium. As it turns out, it is all the young people in the risers see, too. They will not take their eyes off of her for the next four minutes.

For my part, from the first notes the tears flood, literally flood, my eyes. Still, the lady fills my sight. Her hands, gnarled and aged, are beautiful in their communication of her wishes. A tiny wave this way and the sopranos are singing the melody. A little wiggle of her fingers and the volume drops as if someone has turned a knob on a stereo. Then she motions to the whole group and the beautiful sound fills the great cathedral.

Suddenly, in an insight that does nothing to help my tears abate, I understand. Taking nothing away from the abilities of the young singers, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the musician here is the ancient conductor standing in front of them. They are simply the instruments upon which she plays.

Every note—every whisper of a sound—comes at the whim of her direction. And these young singers understand that and give her exactly what she wants.

The result is nothing short of breath-taking. Literally. Breath-taking.

As the last notes die down in the cathedral, it seems to me that even the candles burning in the aisles momentarily flicker as the bated breath of nearly a thousand listeners is exhaled in the same instant.

What a sacred moment.

I’m not just talking about the music. That was indeed, nothing short of astonishing.

But, God speaks through His handiwork and His servants. If our eyes are open and our ears prepared to hear, He speaks. To us, He speaks.

If our eyes are open and our ears prepared to hear, He speaks. To us, He speaks. Share on X

I want to say more.

I don’t think I need to tonight.

It’s time for us to follow the Conductor.

What astonishing music He wants to make.

Astonishing.

And do not go on presenting the members of your body to sin as instruments of unrighteousness; but present yourselves to God as those alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness to God.
(Romans 6:13 ~ NASB)

A great work of art is made out of a combination of obedience and liberty.
(Nadia Boulanger ~ French conductor ~ 1887-1979)

He's Taken Leave

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