Weeds

April 13, 2025 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I prayed as I walked today. I usually do.

This was different.

I’ve had a rough week. My grandchildren came over earlier and spent most of a day helping me empty the shed out back. There were things that had been stored in there “temporarily” nearly eight years ago.

No. It wasn’t the grandkids helping that made it a rough week. It’s just the reminder that I can’t do the things I used to be able to. I helped when they would let me and a few times when they didn’t want me to. Finally, I got out a deck chair and watched. And, felt sorry for myself.

I love that they want to help me. Love it.

I hate that they need to.

I’m a do-it-yourselfer from way back. For all the jobs I need done. And for all the jobs others around me need done.

The next day, another family member asked me if I could help with a job they had. As we spoke on the phone, I saw myself lying in bed the night before, back spasms denying me sleep, and realized that saying yes would just lead to more endless nights.

I said no.

It makes me sad—saying no.

So, today as I walked, instead of praying for family members and neighbors, world events and physical needs, I prayed for a sign. A sign that God is still listening to me. That there is still more ahead—more than just sitting in the deck chair and watching.

I got an answer. Dandelions.

I think it was His answer to my prayer. I’m not sure.

As I walked along the sidewalk next to the local university, I saw hundreds of the little yellow flowers scattered across the otherwise well-manicured lawns. I don’t remember seeing them there before.

I’ve written before of loving the little weeds. I love them for their tenacity. In the face of overwhelming hatred and bigotry, they thrive. Most of my neighbors hate them. Perhaps, most of my readers do too.

Still, they grow. I mow them down and they’re poking their fluffy heads above my grass almost before I can park my mower. I’ve never done it, but I’m told folks spend good money to spray herbicide on their yards to kill them.

And yet, they come back again.

I said the little flowers I saw today were an answer to my prayer. Actually, they reminded me of the photo I shared with my friends last week.

For the last few years, a little stand of tulips has popped up in my yard. Some years, they’re beautiful. This year is one of those years. You can see that in the photo that accompanies these words.

But, I have to coddle the plants. I have to remember to let the foliage grow undisturbed for a couple of months every year. They didn’t bloom at all last year, because the deer that roam my neighborhood thought the plants looked tasty and disturbed them considerably.

If you look at that photo again, can you see the little yellow blossom to the left of the showy tulips?

I have never—never—coddled one of those yellow flowers. Yet, there it is, proud and growing right next to the tulips—just as if it has a right to be there. And, in a few days, there will be a white, fluffy head standing tall right above where you see that little bloom today.

Every kid in the world knows what you do with that little fluffy ball. You hold it up next to your mouth and you blow it as hard as you can.

Have you ever watched a kid doing that? Pure joy! Unsullied, unadulterated, joy!

“And he said: ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.'” (Matthew 18:3, NIV)

Well, perhaps that’s a bit of a departure from the context of that verse, but it speaks to the truth that children recognize instinctively, and our aging, hardened spirits have long ago forgotten.

The lessons of our Creator’s world are hard to miss—if we look for them.

In hardship and plenty, His blessings abound. Whether we’re coddled or trampled down, His promise is sure.

We will accomplish what He has for us if we persevere.

“He, who began the good work in you, will complete it…” (Philippians 1:6)

I want to offer tulips. And azaleas. Roses and lilies.

What I’ve got to offer these days is dandelions. And a few wild onions.

Mankind has always had its vision of how the world should function. But, our mortal thoughts are not how our Creator has ever brought about His vision for us.

I write this as what we call Holy Week is about to commence. If this week teaches us nothing more, it is that His ways are not ours. No Hollywood writer could have ever conceived of this plot twist. Ever.

He still works in ways that confound our wisdom—our agendas. Where we would plant roses and rhododendrons, He scatters dandelions.

I’m content with that.

Even if it means I get to sit in the deck chair while the youngsters do the heavy lifting.

There is still more. Up ahead.

Better things than ever I imagined or planned for.

Come plant some dandelions with me.

“When life is not coming up roses
Look to the weeds
and find the beauty hidden within them.”
(L.F. Young)

“Yet true godliness with contentment is itself great wealth. After all, we brought nothing with us when we came into the world, and we can’t take anything with us when we leave it.” (1 Timothy 6:6-7, NLT)

I Probably Should Wash My Hands Before Offering that Cup of Cold Water

September 6, 2021 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

Photo by Grace Nast. Used by permission.

“God, let who I am show You to the world around me today.”

I don’t really know why I wrote the words. Someone I don’t know asked a question on a popular social media site recently. For some reason, I needed to answer.

Her question was, “What’s your go-to one-sentence prayer these days?”

That was it. My go-to prayer.

I would have told you I say it because I really don’t need anything else from Him. No money. No new car. No vacation in Spain.

But the truth is, I do need something from Him. I need that.

That. I need the world to see Him when they look at me.

It’s not that I’m so pious. I’m not. It’s not that I’m so righteous. I’m not.

We pray because we need. There are things we don’t have that we need.

We pray because we know He has what we need.

And, I need that. And, I don’t have it. But, He does.

This afternoon, my young friend posted the photo I shared above. Did you see it? No—I mean, really see it? Maybe, you should look at it again. Go ahead. I’ll wait. Take a few minutes.

I looked at the photograph my friend had taken and I gasped. Really. And, then I teared up.

Perhaps it’s only me. I know I’m not always normal. Perhaps, never completely normal. But, still…

The clarity of the scene, the glass of pure water, the light, the reflection, the hint of shadow—all of it hit me right in the midsection. The imagery took my breath away.

That’s what I need—the answer to my repetitious prayer. Pure, cold cups of water, reflecting the light of the One we serve, offered from the clean hands of one who follows Him.

The imagery of Scripture is also unmistakable.

Let your light so shine before men…
This treasure we have in vessels of clay…
Whoever gives a cup of cold water in my name…
Among whom you shine like stars in the universe…

I mentioned what I lacked before, didn’t I? Was it clear that my need is to faithfully and consistently show who God is to a world that doesn’t know Him?

Is it clear that I have already seen that Light, that Love, that Grace myself? I have.

I just need to show it. One would think it would be simple enough.

Attached to the side of the refrigerator in my house, there is a water dispenser. On the counter below, there is a glass. I use both frequently, drinking cool, clean water I have taken right from the source.

The Lovely Lady who lives at my house asks me once in a while if she should wash the glass when she’s cleaning up the kitchen. My answer is always in the negative.

When I drink from it, I rinse it out before replacing it in its place by the fridge. Sometimes, I even spray a bit of dishwashing detergent inside and wipe it around before rinsing it out and setting it back down.

If I were to offer anyone else a drink from that glass, I assure you, they would decline. Perhaps, a change is called for.

Here’s why:

The water is clean. It comes from a city facility that is certified and tested regularly. It is filtered at the dispenser, removing any impurities the pipeline might have added to the already purified and certified liquid.

The inside of the glass is clean. I wouldn’t drink from it if it weren’t. As far as I’m concerned, it is a safe vessel from which to imbibe. And yet, even the Lovely Lady herself would refuse to drink from that vessel.

I simply don’t bother about the outside. And frequently, when I grab the glass to dispense water, my hands are grimy from physical labor. Often, they are so sweaty from exercise, I almost drop the glass.

I have dirty hands. The outside of the glass can be revolting. Detestable. Repulsive.

Who may ascend into the hill of the Lord?
And who may stand in His holy place?
He who has clean hands and a pure heart,
Who has not lifted up his soul to falsehood
And has not sworn deceitfully.
(Psalm 24: 3-4, NASB)

I’m not certain I can make this distinction and not get a little pushback from a theologian or two, but it seems to me there’s a reason the psalmist suggested we needed both clean hands and a pure heart.

I think it’s possible, perhaps even probable, that one is a gift—the product of all-encompassing grace—and the other is an expectation of the individual who has experienced that grace.

The Teacher, tested by the religious hypocrites of His day when they brought a woman who had been caught in adultery to Him, embarrassed them so much they slunk away without a word.

He, however, had a bit more to say to the woman:

Then Jesus stood up again and said to the woman, “Where are your accusers? Didn’t even one of them condemn you?”
“No, Lord,” she said.
And Jesus said, “Neither do I. Go and sin no more.”
(John 8:10-11, NLT)

He gave her two precious gifts. Two.

Grace, resulting in a clean heart.

Expectation. The opportunity to live her life with clean hands.

He gives us those same gifts, as well. To us, who have fallen short of His glory through sin, He offers the unequaled treasure of His grace that washes our hearts clean.

And, He gives us the great honor of sharing that grace with a world wandering in darkness. We have the privilege of sharing His pure water, His great treasure, with our own hands that are no longer sullied by sin and selfishness.

The only way His light shines through us to the world is if we offer His free gift with hands that don’t distort and won’t detract as He shines through us.

I think I’ll continue to pray the prayer. The day is coming when I won’t need to anymore.

And, don’t worry. If you come to my house to visit someday, I’ll offer you a clean glass from which to drink.

I’ll even wash my hands first.

For, look, darkness covers the earth
and deep darkness covers the nations,
but the Lord shines on you;
his splendor appears over you.
(Isaiah 60:2, NET)

“He may become like a glass filled with a clear light for eyes to see that can.” (from The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien)

Big Enough

April 20, 2018April 20, 2018 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

Lord, get me through this day.

It was the first thought I had when I awoke this morning. The first one.

My morning prayer.

No thank you for waking me up. Not a word about this being the day and my intent to spend it in enjoyment of its Maker. (Psalm 118:24)

Just a reminder that I need to get to tomorrow. And, a little more quickly wouldn’t hurt—if you don’t mind.

You’re nodding your head. You know what I mean, don’t you? Maybe you’ve even done it yourself a time or two.

How did I get in this condition? Why would I want to blow through the next twenty-four hours just to get to another twenty-four hours after that?

I’m not sure I’ll like the answer. You may not, either.

I could tell you about pressures of work, but they’re no worse than usual. I could suggest that more money in the bank account would help, but it wouldn’t. I could remind you of the concert I’m playing in tonight and suggest that the pressure is too much, but that’s not the problem either.

Here’s what I’ve figured out.

My God isn’t big enough.

Really. Not big enough.

God should fill the days, eclipsing all the puny activities and concerns, but in my mind, He’s only enough to tuck around the edges. The rest is full of fear, of frustration, of disappointment. And, when challenges come, when the days promise hardship and even loss, the emptiness looms larger than God’s ability to keep His word.

In my mind, anyway. Maybe, in yours, as well.

Perhaps, we need to talk about what we know. Truth is always better than speculation.

The thief is the one who comes to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. The Savior came to give us life, not just any old ho-hum life, but one that satisfies completely—a life full to capacity with all He wants to give us. (John 10:10)

We know that.

God wants good for us. Every good gift comes from Him. Always. (James 1:17)

We know that. I know that.

So why is my prayer when I awake only to get through? Why would I not ask Him to fill the day with what I need?

Today is a gift. Not a terrifying period of time I need to hurry through so I can get to another twenty-four hours of the same, followed by another twenty-four hours of the same, followed by. . . Well, you get the picture.

It is a gift. Filled with exactly what is necessary to keep me—to sustain me—on my journey home.

I don’t want to get through it.

I want to live it. Fully. Abundantly. With passion.

The Psalmist understood that. For all the terror and fear he had lived through, all the doubt and guilt, he knew the fullness of a God who only wanted good for him.

Goodness and love is mine. All the days of my life.

Goodness and love is mine. All the days of my life. Share on X

All. The. Days.

One day after another. Every one I wake up and pray to him.

He will fill the days, not just get me through them. He fills them with Himself. With goodness and love, He fills them.

Full.

Today.

How big is your God? The size of your God determines the size of everything.
(Howard G Hendricks ~ Theology professor ~ 1924-2013)

Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me
all the days of my life,
and I will live in the house of the Lord
forever.
(Psalm 23:6 ~ 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.

Is Grandpa Crying?

September 28, 2017September 28, 2017 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 4 Comments

I stood silently for a moment, looking at the young man kneeling on the floor. I needed time to let my bruised ego heal.

I know. It’s a pretty fragile ego that can’t stand up to a boy’s question, but there it was.

He had asked the question several times. That could have been it.

No. It was just the idea that I wasn’t enough. I wanted to be enough.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Let’s see if we can sort this out.

The lad’s father had dropped him off earlier, telling me he’d be happy to pick him up if there was any trouble. I didn’t expect any and told the young man’s father so.

He is my grandson, after all. Grandpas and their grandsons can do a job together without falling out, can’t they?

I wonder if the last time had anything to do with his offer. It was a month or more ago.

I have this vision of a man on his knees in the kitchen struggling with the tile he is laying down. The old guy is clearly an amateur, unsure of his next move, but determined to make one anyway.

Oblivious to his grandfather’s quandary, the fair-haired boy at his side has a tape measure in his hand and is talking a mile a minute.

“Look, Grandpa! Six inches! Is that long enough? Hey, what does that rubber roller do? What are you going to do now? Can I help you cut the next piece? Do you think I could pound on it with that hammer thingy like you did? Are you ever going to finish this job?”

I don’t remember what happened next. Well, in truth, I don’t want to remember it, so we’ll just say I’m ashamed and move on, okay?

That memory, or lack thereof, is the reason I invited the boy back for another shot at laying vinyl tile—in the bathroom this time. I reasoned that I was now a pro at the task, having successfully (mostly) completed the original job in the kitchen.

I wanted another chance at being a better Grandpa as much as I wanted him to have another chance at laying the flooring with me.

What could go wrong?

We were using the left-over material from the kitchen job. We had enough to cover the bathroom floor with nothing to spare.

We couldn’t make a mistake. Not one.

The first cut I made was on the wrong end of the directional vinyl. The very first cut.

I did the only thing I could do.

I yelled for the Lovely Lady.

The boy’s grandma quickly came in from the front bedroom where she had been painting the walls. I showed her my error and enlisted her puzzle-solving skills to help us determine where we could work in the pieces I had cut wrong.

I think it may have gotten us off on the wrong foot. Every time after that, when we came to a moment of indecision or panic (on my part—not his), the young man looked up and asked if I wanted him to go get Grandma.

Well? Every kid knows if Grandma can’t fix it, it can’t be fixed.

It’s only logical. Grandma fixes boo-boos with Wonder Woman bandages. She can thread a needle in three seconds. She can make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich like nobody else. She knows just when to get out the chocolate chip cookies. She mends the ripped dollies.

Grandma can fix it.

I get it. Still, it hurt. After the third time he asked the question, I stood for a moment considering. I didn’t want a repeat of the event we’re not talking about, so I took my time.

Finally, in a calm, unhurried manner, I told him the only time he’d need to call Grandma for help on this job was if Grandpa was crying.

I had no intention of crying.

The handsome young lad gazed at my face, a smile playing around his mouth. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or simply to nod seriously and wait for my next move.

He didn’t suggest we call Grandma again. Grandpa never cried. Well, there was that time the trim board fell on my head, but I suppose rubbing your skull and yelling Ow! isn’t crying, is it?

Nobody cried. This time. But, I’ve been doing some thinking.

Why are we experienced humans (old people) so slow to ask for help?

Our kids have no such reticence. Yet we, in our great wisdom (or ignorance) keep muddling through, making mistake after mistake, swinging the hammer thingy when we ought to be operating the roller, smashing thumbs and sucking the blood.

All we need to do is call. Aid is ours, simply for the asking. Share on X

The writer of the Psalms knew it. The reason I call on you is that I know You will answer me. Listen now, and hear my request. (Psalm 17:6)

And, it is a fact that even David wept before God as he prayed. But, most of the time he asked long before that. Long before.

Why does somebody have to cry before we will accept help?

I said earlier I wanted to be enough in my grandson’s eyes. It is the desire all of us have. I read over and over these days, in the self-help, self-image propaganda that we need to know we are enough.

I don’t want to offend, but it’s a lie.

I am not enough. I never have been. On my own, I stumble along in the dark, feeling my way and frequently, falling apart.

I am not enough, but He is. Again and again, He is enough.

I am not enough, but He is. Again and again, He is enough. Share on X

More than enough.

I can’t tell you if we need to call Grandma.

I do know that before the trouble starts, prayer works.

In the hardest days of our lives, God is there.

When the tears fall, He is enough.

And, He doesn’t need second chances to be a good Father.

But, I’m kind of glad He gives second chances for this old man to be a good Grandpa.

I need lots of practice.

If nothing is going well, call your grandmother.
(Old Italian proverb)

So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him.
(Matthew 7:11 ~ 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.

Sugar Is Good For You

September 25, 2017September 25, 2017 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 10 Comments

It was just an overheard conversation.

Funny, how a few words directed at someone else can change the tenor of the day. A thought, tucked away in a vacant corner of the brain and carried through the afternoon unnoticed, gives a different perspective which can’t really be explained.

The earlier parts of the day hadn’t worked out at all as I had planned.

A trip into the attic to correct a simple problem had turned into three trips into the attic. I had planned to be up there only during the coolest hours of the morning.

When I finally tumbled out at noon, drenched in sweat and nearly choking on the dust from the rock wool insulation, the mood was set for the rest of the day.

That’s the way it seems to go, isn’t it? I’m not saying it has to; it’s just what we expect after a morning filled with disappointment.

I was gloomily mowing in the hot afternoon sun when my labor was interrupted by a message from the Lovely Lady.

He says we should come over now if we want it.

She had found a cabinet she wanted that someone in a town thirty miles away was selling. Did I mention it’s the weekend for one of the biggest motorcycle gatherings in the country?

The busiest weekend of the year as far as traffic goes, and we were going to be on the highway.

Great! Just great!

I told you it would only get worse. You just watch! We’ll get behind a bunch of those bikers out cruising and will be stuck for miles. Miles!

We stopped at the ATM to get some cash for the purchase. The machine only gives cash in twenty dollar increments. We would have to stop and break the bill to have the amount of the asking price.

Frustrated and ready to do something desperate, I suggested we just buy a couple of Cokes. It was, I suppose, my way of making a statement of protest while demonstrating my problem-solving abilities.

I do like to solve problems.

Well? It’s in my nature. I am a man, you know. This fit perfectly. I could break my self-imposed no-sugar rule while getting the correct change into my pocket.

It was a rotten day already. Why not just wallow in it?

Someone had different plans. I would like to say it was to show me that sugar is good for me. That’s probably not it.

Inside the convenience store, I walked back to the cooler and picked out a couple of twenty-ounce bottles, carrying them back to the counter. The two ladies behind it were just talking. With each other.

I wasn’t included in the conversation. Except, I was.

I was intended to hear every word. I’m certain of it.

“We were listening to the news last weekend and they reported that the boy with autism was missing.”

I set my items on the counter and she scanned them without missing a beat.

“My little boy wanted to pray for him to be found, so we did—right then. That’ll be three dollars and sixty-three cents, please. The next morning we heard he had been found. My son was so excited! So excited!”

I pocketed my change and walked out the door, a different person than I had been when I walked in.

It took us almost two hours to go over, pick up the cabinet, and come back. And, just as I had predicted, we did get behind a group of touring bikers on the way back. They rode about forty-five miles per hour on the winding two-lane road all the way home.

What a great afternoon! No. What a perfect afternoon!

There might still be some who would credit the sugar-high from the Cokes. They’d be wrong.

The apostle who loved to write letters said it this way as he closed his missive to the good folk at Philippi: Whatever is great news and worth talking about, that’s what you need to keep in your mind. (Philippians 4:8)

He wasn’t talking about the power of positive thinking. He never said you could name it and claim it.

The reality is this world is an unhappy place. We wrestle with things we don’t understand.

When we dwell on those things, we are overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed with fear.

Beaten by pessimism.

Conquered by worry.

But, I’m sure of this one thing: The truth we know is bigger than the doubt we feel.

The truth we know is bigger than the doubt we feel. Share on X

When we fill up the corners of our mind with the reminders of His love and power, His peace reigns.

Sometimes, it’s no more than the knowledge that He cares about little boys who pray, as well as the little boys who wander away.

Just in time, I stood at that counter to overhear, eavesdropping on a conversation I wasn’t part of.

I’m saving up those worthwhile stories, squirreling them away in the vacant corners of my memory.

It may be time to sweep out some other cluttered nooks and crevices to make room for more.

It has become so easy to collect darkness and gloom from almost every source we see. Our lives will be swept away in those currents if we allow them to take root.

Courage to walk on is born in the corners where excellence is stored.

Courage to walk on is born in the corners where excellence is stored. Share on X

Peace along the road is the product of true and honorable thoughts.

I do wish it had more to do with the sugar.

I’m fixing my mind.

Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.
(Romans 12:2 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. All rights reserved.)

Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up all those things – trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones.
(from The Silver Chair ~ C.S. Lewis ~ English novelist/theologian ~ 1898-1963)

Put it Down

October 29, 2015October 29, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Three times.

Not once. Not twice. Three times.

The messenger had to come through my doors three separate times today. I got the message on the third attempt.

Loud and clear, I got the message.

Early this afternoon, I spoke with him on the telephone.

“Hey Paul. Do you have some drum parts?”

Well, of course I have some drum parts. I needed more information. He clarified the request.

“I broke a lug-mount on the side of my tom.” (Just so you know, a drummer never calls it a tom-tom, just a tom.)

I told the fellow I thought we might find a used one somewhere and hung up after hearing he would be by later in the afternoon. Then I went about my labors, never giving the conversation another thought.

He arrived some time later with the broken part in his hand. I looked at it and went to scour the salvaged parts box. But, I found no tom lug-mount—at least, not one which would fit his drum.

Suddenly an idea came to me, and I headed up to the front of the store. Sitting next to the wall is a stack of cheap drums. When I say cheap, I mean worthless. I really don’t want to sell them, they’re so horrible.

The lug-mounts were the perfect size! I removed one and carried it to where he was awaiting my verdict. The man was ecstatic!

Never asking about the cost, he set a little box on the counter and showed me the contents: Miscellaneous parts, scavenged from an old electric guitar.

“I was hoping this would be about the same value.”

I made the trade with him and he left.

It never occurred to me that the man had no money to pay. Even after I made the swap, it never dawned on me. I now had a few parts to sell to someone else. It was the same a cash to me, or almost so. I was satisfied.

Half an hour later, he was back.

“Another one broke, Paul.” He had a hang-dog look on his face, as if I would be upset with him.

No problem. I removed another lug-mount from the same drum and laid it on the counter in front of him. He had some other miscellaneous parts in his pocket and I took them, plunking them in the box with his first offering.

As he left, cheerfully telling me he’d be back soon, I sat back down at my desk, deep in thought. Something was bothering me, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

Ah, well. It would come to me. Or not. I went about my business once more.

Half an hour later, he walked through my door again. I wasn’t even surprised to see him. As soon as I saw his face, the something that I couldn’t put my finger on came in a flash.

He needed a drum. The whole drum. Otherwise, I was going to see him every half-hour for the rest of the day. Or however long it took to replace all the lug-mounts on the one he had. One at a time.

He had no money. That, too was clear by now.

Did I mention that the drum I had was worthless? Did I say the word horrible? I may have forgotten to tell you that it was given to me.

Given to me.

I was the one with a hang-dog look on my face now. Walking back up to the stack of drums—the ones which had cost me nothing—I picked up the entire drum and laid it gingerly on the glass counter he leaned against.

“Yours. No charge.”

He laughed. There was no humor in the laugh, but he was relieved.

“I was going to have to owe you for this one. I don’t have anything more I can trade and now I need gas in my car. I’ll just drive my wife’s until I get paid.”

Do you ever wonder if you’ll know God’s messenger when you see him?

I know the answer to that question now. It will take me a few tries, but eventually I’ll know him—or her.

I want a voice in the dark.

Samuel got that. Of course, it took him three times too, but he was just a boy. God hadn’t talked with him before.

Three times, God called him before he answered, “Talk to me Lord. I’m listening.” (I Samuel 3)

I want the voice in the dark, but instead, I get a guy who needs drum parts. Still, three times, the messenger came. I should have been a little quicker on the uptake.

But, after the third time, I was listening.

Talk to me God. I’m ready to listen finally.

I wish the lesson were something so simple as just giving away a useless, junk drum. I obeyed, right? I want that to be the end of it.

It’s not the end of it.

I look around and I realize I’m surrounded with stuff. Things. Most, I have purchased with cash. Some, I have traded for. It’s all stuff.

None of it belongs to me.

Finally, I hear the messenger. None of the stuff, this dragon’s hoard upon which I rest, is mine.

Understand this. I said the junk drum was given to me. That was true. And, in my self-centered heart, I want to differentiate between that and all the things I have worked and paid for.

There is no difference.

From Him. Through Him. All things. (Romans 11:35-36)

Oh! Did I forget something? Oh yes. To Him.

They didn’t just come from Him and through His provision.

They are His.

Every last lug mount. And drum.

And the guy behind the counter, too.

His.

Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think.
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ~ American poet ~ 1807-1882)

Then the Lord said to him, “What is that in your hand?”
“A staff,” he replied.
The Lord said, “Throw it on the ground.”
(Exodus 4:2,3a ~ NIV)

Whisper

June 10, 2015June 10, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

I’ve been ill again. I don’t say that to evoke your sympathy. It’s not a life-threatening illness. At least, I don’t think it is. Asthmatic bronchitis is not uncommon and there are any number of effective treatments for it.

Feeling better today, I told the Lovely Lady I think I’ll live. Immediately, I remembered what the ultimate end of all mankind will be, and I added the phrase at least, until I die.

She was not amused. Of course, she needs me well, so she can get back to her regular work schedule of only sixty hours a week. I have left her in the lurch. She’s not amused–I’m not happy.

I’m going to admit something I may regret later. While I understand that my illness is quite treatable and am even now waiting for medication to effect its curative function, I confess that I get a little discouraged (and maybe a little angry) while I’m waiting.

In the dark and by myself, I feel helpless. You see, I’ve prayed that I’ll be free from this particular thorn in the flesh on numerous occasions over the years, but still it knocks me down periodically.

I wonder why God doesn’t hear me.

Where are you God?

I would have shouted the words, had I the breath to do so today, but satisfied myself with whimpering them plaintively toward the ceiling in the den.

There was no answer.

He’s not here, is He?

I asked myself the question and then shuddered at the implications.

Pushing up from my recliner, I went up the steps to the dining room. The result was the same there. Nothing. Living Room–Kitchen? Still nothing.

It’s a beautiful home, even if it is small. Surely, God would want to live in such an attractive abode. But, I’m pretty sure I never heard Him answer from the walls of any of those rooms.

I went back to my chair and flopped down, gasping a little.

Disappointed, I sat for a moment. Only a moment. It seemed to be just a little brighter in the room as I considered the glimmer of truth which was gradually coming to my consciousness.

Not too many years ago I went to an event, described as a house blessing, for some close friends. Their denomination allows for such things, reading scripture, then blessing each room in turn, before calling for God’s presence in the home. I expected to feel different when I left. I didn’t.

I remember thinking that’s not how it works.

I also remember some friends on the other end of the spectrum of faith who had someone come in and do a service to cast out the evil spirits from their home. The assumption was, again, that God would come and fill that space, recently vacated by the bad things.

I wasn’t there. I’m not going to get into an argument about exorcism, nor even about blessing houses.

I just know what is truth. Straight from Him.

Truth.

God doesn’t live in buildings. Why would he want to inhabit dead, inanimate things made of brick, and wood, and steel?

Ah. Now you know what that glimmer bursting into flame earlier was, don’t you?

God lives in His people. Weak–strong. Old–young. Women–men.

Inside this weak, sick man, gasping for breath on a warm, summer day, the Creator has taken up His abode.

Inside the old man down the street from me, overtaken by blindness, God sees clearly exactly what he needs.

In the soul of my friend, awaiting word from her oncologist giving her the bad/good news about the result of her latest PET scan, He is not surprised nor panicked. He sees all paths and knows all ends.

And, He lives inside of us.

Do you think He doesn’t feel the despair?

Do you assume He doesn’t understand my anger?

Do you suppose He doesn’t hear the frightened petitions?

Would you imagine He is unmoved by our cries?

He lives in us!

So. I’m done yelling at the ceiling.

Now, I begin to understand that song we used to sing when we were children. Maybe it’s time to whisper our prayers to Him again.

Just a whisper.

Inside voice will work just fine.

Give me yourself and in exchange I will give you Myself. My will, shall become your will. My heart, shall become your heart.
(from Mere Christianity ~ C.S. Lewis ~ Irish born teacher/author ~ 1898-1963)

Whisper a prayer in the morning.
Whisper a prayer at noon.
Whisper a prayer in the evening,
To keep your heart in tune.
(Anonymous)

Yet the Most High does not dwell in houses made by hands…
(Acts 7:48a ~ ESV)

Essentials

May 27, 2015May 27, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The thunder reverberates in waves outside. Again.

I have been here before.

Usually, the sound gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside and I smile and breathe a prayer of thanks to the Creator.

It is, after all, Springtime in the foothills of the Ozarks, and time for the thunderstorms and the rain that replenish the many rivers and lakes. The farmers count on the rainfall for a good year, some needing plentiful hay crops for livestock, while others await the yield of fruit on trees and vines, come Fall.

Rain is essential to all life.

There is no smile on my face tonight. The prayers I’m breathing to the Creator are for relief from the torrential downpours which have caused incredible hardship for many and even loss of life for some. The floods have carried away people and property alike. To some, it must appear that rain is to be hated, an evil thing intent on their destruction.

Rain is essential to all life.

It’s still true, isn’t it?

He makes the rain to fall on the just and the unjust equally. He sends the rain to fulfill His purpose and it will not return to the heavens without accomplishing what it was sent out for. Rain waters the earth, and the earth give forth its harvest. Again and again. One season follows another, the cycle uninterrupted.

Still, I’m not smiling. I don’t even know what to say in my prayers now.

I agree that we require rain for life. I dare not ask for the cycle to be broken. And yet. . .

My friend and his family spent last night in one end of his home, waiting for the old oak trees to topple onto the roof at the other end. Two had already fallen and crushed cars in the driveway and these were leaning, their roots pulling loose from the wet soil.

Others I know have spent dark, damp nights waiting for the break of day to see where the water line is on their walls and furniture. Still others have prayed and cried as the waters rose and then receded.

Their homes were untouched, but not their spirits.

And suddenly I know how to pray.

Why do we focus on the physical, when God clearly places a premium on our spiritual well being? Are we really that short sighted?

“Please God, take this away from me! I don’t want to suffer.”

It’s the prayer I have prayed again and again. The same prayer I have heard from loved ones.

I’m still not smiling. I am filled with hope, though.

I will sit, here in the comfort and safety (for now) of my home, and pray for the protection of the spirits and souls of my friends and all those affected by the disasters they are suffering.

God has not promised ease and comfort, nor has He guaranteed physical immunity from disaster. What He has vowed is that the uncomfortable and dangerous times will not touch the real us–the center of our being which is of infinite value to Him.

When you walk through the floods, they will not overwhelm you! When you walk through the flame, you won’t be burned. Have no fear; I have redeemed you; I have called you by name. You are mine!

Is the physical suffering real? Does He care about that? Yes and yes! But, He cares so much more about who we are beyond the physical and the temporal.

He intends to spend eternity with us! How would He not keep us from harm?

It doesn’t mean I’m about to start smiling yet. People I know are still frightened and sad. He made us to care about that. But, deep down, I know that God’s got this.

He’s got this!

The waters will recede. The trees will be cut up to use as firewood next winter. Life goes on.

The cycle is unbroken.

Here comes the rain again.

God is good.

“When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don’t throw away the ticket and jump off. You sit still and trust the engineer.”
(Corrie Ten Boom ~ Dutch author/Nazi Holocaust survivor ~ 1892-1983)

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.
(Isaiah 43:2 ~ ESV)

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Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

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