The Present, The Gift

Alyson looked at the odd box wrapped in ugly paper. It was her birthday gift. The name card had fallen off so she wasn’t sure who had brought it for her. Surprise parties were not her favorite. She knew it would be hard but she would act as grateful as possible and open it. She could always sell what was sure to be a ghastly object on craigslist or eBay.

As the paper came off the box to reveal nothing more but the plain cardboard she took and breath and then looked inside. There it was in the middle of all the Styrofoam packing peanuts the very figurine she had dreamed of owning, and now her set was complete. She smiled widely as her best friend started to laugh from across the room.

“I found it in San Antonio last Spring,” Karen quipped, “I’ve been dying to show it to you.”

Sometimes those that love us best know how to surprise us with gifts wrapped in things we don’t like and would never choose. They learned it from God. He brings his surprises often in shapes we don’t recognize or appreciate.

Part of the reason is that he wants to see if we will open it simply because we believe Him to be good. Can you trust Him when He doesn’t look like He can be trusted? Can you trust Him when it is hard to even see that He is there? “Every good gift, and every perfect gift comes down from above, from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” (James 1:17) God’s goodness is sometimes not evident, but it is always present.

Dan Finds the Blood of Christmas

“Damn,” he whispered under his breath. The broken glass had cut his finger and Dan’s blood began to drip down into the box of the remaining decorations. This was just another proof that this Christmas was going to be harder even than the last.

It had all started a back in September, a routine doctor’s visit had brought the news – cancer. Michelle was 58 the mother of three, but most importantly the mother of one, Dan. She was mom, but not the kind of mom that wins awards. Dan had grown up through high school with his dad. Michelle was the name for his mom. He had stopped using mother a long time ago. She just didn’t seem much like a mother to him, not then, not after the divorce and not now. Cold, distance, demanding, but more than anything hard: Hard to know, hard to love, hard to care, now this, cancer.

People told Dan how sorry they were when they heard. Dan would smile and express appreciation for the “prayers” but deep down he thought, “They don’t know and if they did?” He felt guilt for the thought, but not for long. He knew that he should go and visit her, but for at least the first month there were enough excuses that he was able to prevent the inevitable. Finally the day came, September 23. It was his sister Julie’s birthday. He knew that Michelle would be there. He walked into the house laid his gift on the counter and for just a moment thought about leaving, but before he could, Michelle walked into the room.

“Dan, I am so glad you came.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dan retorted making eye contact.

They both smiled nervously, and for a moment. . . No it couldn’t be. An uncomfortable silence draped over the room. Finally, Michelle went out to the patio where the others where, and Dan gathered himself. That wasn’t too bad he thought, “I’m 30 why do I feel like a 12 year old?”

He just stood there in the kitchen looking out to the patio. Five years had passed since the wreck when Dan’s dad died. It had been a hard time. Only Julie, Dan, & Linnea remained, and of course Michelle. Before Dan could join the others on the patio, Linnea took him by the hand into the family room.

“You are going to talk with Mom about it, aren’t you?” she asked

“Tonight., are you kidding?”

“You don’t have to get into everything, just let her know that you love her.”

“I do?”

“Sigh, Yes!” Linnea answered, “Get over yourself, and think about how she feels. Cancer, Dan! We don’t know if she has Christmas or not. Think about that.”

The words stung, but Dan thought to himself, “I don’t know if I have Christmas or not. I haven’t had it for five years anyways.”

The rest of the birthday party went along without a hitch except when Dan was about to leave. Michelle gave him a hug and whispered, “Sorry, I love you.”

In the car driving to work Dan thought “Sorry, I love you” does she really think that is enough. She drives me nuts for 20 years, divorces my dad, and moves in with him and says now 12 years late “Sorry, I love you.”

The next time he would see his mom would be in the hospital. Michelle tried treatment, but it became obvious to the doctors first, then to her and everyone else that it would not be enough. The vomiting, the sleepless nights, the anxious moments and all the rest gave proof to the coming reality. Dan stayed away. Julie called as did Linea, but Dan didn’t answer. His apartment on the other side of the city might as well been on the other side of the world. He preferred not to think about it, but his conscience hounded him. So there in the hospital room he sat. His mother slept as he stood alone with her in the room. Finally he said her name, “Michelle, Michelle. . . Mom”

She opened her eyes and squinted, “Dan?” He left. The tears burned as he walked down the hall. He remembered his father’s memorial service. The same anger, the same regret, the same. . . No it wasn’t the same he told himself.

And now it was December and Christmas was coming. The glass bulb had sliced deeply into his finger, and the blood washed down the sink. “Brother” he mumbled with the bleeding now stopped. He searched for a bandage. Finally, laying his hand on a “Kermit the Frog” band-aid from under the bathroom sink. “Must be one from Julie,” He thought. She supplied the cabinet for when Judah her son would visit. His sister was like Michelle, always prepared, but not like her in that she didn’t have the edge that drove Dan crazy. Judah would be here soon, decorating the apartment would have to wait.

The doorbell rang. Julie was there and Judah pressed on the screen to come in and take over. Dan loved having him spend the evening. It reminded Dan of the distant past. Camping in the living room, sneaking out for ice cream and not telling Julie or just keeping up with his chatter, it was all good.

“We could take him along. You want to come and see mother.” Julie’s eyes pleaded as her voice quivered.

“Not tonight” Dan answered, “Judah wouldn’t let us visit. Plus, you need time alone with her.”

Julie wouldn’t push. The door closed. Judah tore off into the apartment. Later, sitting on the couch Judah tugged at Dan’s bandage while Nemo swam across the screen. “What’s that?”

“A turtle.”

“No, that,” as he tugged on the finger. A slight pain shot in Dan’s hand, and he remembered the accident.

“I cut myself.” Dan answered

“On purpose?”

“No, silly, no one cuts themself on purpose.” Dan smiled, “It was an accident.” Reminded, he stood and went to the closet to pull out the decorations. Judah could help him finish he decided. Not like there was any order to decorating a bachelor’s apartment. The movie played in the background and Judah dumped the box in the middle of the floor. Broken glass spilled onto the floor. Dan grabbed Judah and sat him on the counter.

“Okay, Buster, you can help, but I have to sweep up the glass first.” Where was the broom? How domestic, Dan thought. Where is Julie when you need her? Soon the mess was cleaned up and the decorations were sorted as Dan inspected each one to be sure all the fragments of glass were picked up.

Judah exclaimed, “Cool! Look at the garage.”

At first glance Dan didn’t know what it was and then he realized. The angel hair on the floor of the stable was stained with his blood. “Ughhhh, it was ruined” He sat it on the desktop next to the computer screen. One more thing of Dad’s that was gone. He examined the rest of the pieces and they were fine. Judah “helped” and Dan finished putting out the handful of decorations. It was after nine when Nemo finished and Judah was asleep. The lights of Julie’s car shined into the driveway as Dan sat on the couch in the silence thinking.

He picked up Judah to carry him to the car. Julie whispered, “She asked about you Dan.” He couldn’t speak. Christmas was a two weeks away.

December 22, his cell phone rang. It was Linea, “Dan, the three of us have to talk, mom needs hospice. You really need to be part of this.” He didn’t answer. Later, Julie’s text stared at him: “3 at Mom’s. Be there. Linea needs you there.” Dan had work at four. All the regular excuses just didn’t seem like enough. He called in to ask. “Of course,” the voice answered, “you need to be with your family. Don’t worry, take the time you need. We can cover for you tonight.”

“Why does everyone else understand, but I can’t?” Dan thought. His eyes saw the nativity crèche next to the computer. Dan took it in his hands to see what could be done with it. Strange how doing something menial can answer when a person needs to do something urgent.

The blood stained angel hair had caked a bit. How can so little blood, make so much mess. He thought of Old Testament stories of sacrifices, then his mind raced to the babies of Bethlehem and King Herod, but then he thought of the baby grown to man on a cross. As he held the stable a surge began to well up within him. The baby had died. His blood had stained Christmas. It was a gift. It was THE Gift.

As he sat there, Dan knew it was God’s gift to him to forgive his mother, not his gift to her. He didn’t owe her forgiveness, God allowed him to forgive her, so that Dan could understand God’s forgiveness to him. The stains of that first Christmas could help Dan with the stain of this Christmas.

He hastily wrapped the stable in the Sunday comics from the paper brought home from work. It would be his mothers. He would tell her he loved her and mean it for the first time in a long time.

He arrived early at his mother’s. Julie and Linea were not there yet. He rang the doorbell and went on in. “Mom, Mom, Mom! . . Michelle.”

“Danny?” She called from the kitchen table.

He sat the package down on the table. “Merry Christmas! I made it for you or I guess God did.”

She pealed back the colorful cartoon wrapping to see the stable. Startled at first glance, she sat it on the table.

“I wondered who had it,” Michelle finally spoke up. Then she began, “Your dad gave this to me our first Christmas. . . the whole set. I guess the rest of it is all gone. He kept them after we. . . ” Her voice trailed off and a tear hit the table.

“Mom, I have them all. I cut myself and my blood stained the angel hair on the floor. When I looked at it today, I thought about God’s blood, Christmas, Jesus and I can’t go on without saying, I love you. I’m sorry and I promise to not. . .”by now his tears were mixed with hers on the table and they hugged.

The stable sat next to the pictures near the coffin while the music was playing. Dan had a bandage on his finger. The wound was healed, but bandage reminded him that blood covered Christmas. He cried, but the anger was gone, washed to white like wool.

Alone With Christmas

Didn’t Christmas just happen? Like it was only about 11 months ago! Maybe I am getting old (hold your tongue), but Christmas just happened.

Children don’t think so. They are about excited as ever for the coming holidays. Maybe it’s the gifts under the tree or perhaps getting out of school, but the kids are excited.

Adults have maybe a bit harder time with the “Christmas already” syndrome. Fortunately, we have television, radio and a host of other avenues for advertisers to help us becoming holiday ready. What would we do if every other commercial didn’t have snow, Santa Claus or Hot Chocolate? Maybe in my experienced Christmas spirit I am becoming a bit cynical, but a Lexus is a bit much for the office party gift. The commercial world would have you to think the more you spend the more jolly you are at least until January credit card bills arrive.

A baby born in poverty in a stall for sheep is the actual story behind this whole season. The gift didn’t look like much to the human eye, but to the informed hearts of shepherds, and sages the balance of the world shifted that night. I think the poverty helped. I think the barnyard night did too. Most of all the word of God or better still the promises of God in His word helped. Christmas is best understood if we make time to hear God’s voice speaking to us. That is a bit easier away from all the holiday hoopla.

Here is my gift to you, nothing wrapped or bought online, just a word of encouragement to get away from the traffic and get alone with the Baby King.

Surprised at Sunrise

I like sunrises, some prefer sunset, and perhaps some can’t tell the difference. My preference is sunrise, the crowds are often smaller! Something about light mixing with darkness makes the moment special. Someone has said that no two are alike. I am not sure if that is true, but each one is special. Even on cloudy days there is something mysterious about darkness coming to color.

Christmas is light coming to the darkness. Both the sunrise of the manger, and the sunset of Calvary where Jesus dies; light mixes with darkness to make a mysterious glory. John writes, “the darkness did not overcome it.”

In the darkness of my living room today a stranger met me. Scared me to death, until I realized it was the Christmas tree we bought yesterday. It stood there rather imposing until the light revealed better what it really was.

Often, this is how people view God in the darkness their sin envelops them. They think God is an enemy, and not a friend. God can not overlook your sin, but in the darkness He came to die and make payment to clear your name. Yet, some only think of God as an angry judge. The result is they decide to ignore Him, inventing an excuse or denying His reality.

The one thing they don’t do is allow the light to shine. The light shining will reveal their sin more clearly, but better yet it will reveal God’s kindness and smile in the face of their need. Seeing in full light his grace will bring you out of the darkness your actions have created. Look at the other tree the Easter tree, the cross of Christ, where God demonstrates his love toward us. Let the light shine.

The Wind Blows Where It Will

“The wind blows where it will.” Controlling the wind is not an easy thing to do, but men are trying to harness it everywhere. I see huge blades going down the interstate. They are part of large wind turbine fields where power is being transformed to electricity.

I hope that wind doesn’t become just another commodity, because it is much more mysterious and wonderful. The sound of trees recently in the night air outside as I went for firewood was the product of an orchestra set up by God and the coursing breezes across the Kansas hillside where my home rests. I could choose that night to not listen, but fortunately my heart was not closed to the performance.

So much of life comes down to listening to quiet sounds. It is easy to shut out the choir because of the past pains and present alarms. A tear drifts down our cheek and instead of feeling it we wipe it away not wanting to feel all that God is doing. It can’t be good, because it hurts, we think to ourselves. We miss the sound of breeze of God’s grace because our hearts want to be insulated from all things outside of our control.

Just because we can’t control it does not mean that it is uncontrolled. The liar says to our hearts, “it is random and without purpose.” But listen closely it may be a note of song not yet fully sung. God is composing not a jingle for an advertisement, but a sonnet for His love.

My nephew plays a flute. I think God plays a winding flute; haunting, bold, careful, and measured. His flute sings to my heart, but I only listen to parts. As I grow older may I listen to more, and be less frightened by each pause.

Time to Set Your Internal Clock

Driving to work today in the dark, I was thinking about all the daylight I was saving. Soon daylight savings will come to an end. We allow the government to do this, yet we make fun of people that do the same thing in a smaller way. They set their watches ahead five minutes thinking it will help them save time and still they arrive late!

Clocks are everywhere it’s hardly necessary to even wear a watch. We have the time on our phones, the dash of the car, the stove, microwave, and television.

It seems that we are controlled by time. Animals don’t wear watches, but men are creatures of time. God made us that way. He put it within man to consider the time.

I wake up in the night and hear the chimes on my clock and feel a certain comfort. I wind that clock once a week on Sunday morning. Speaking of Sunday, God made that day special for men to help them understand their time. People talk about saving time, but that is not really possible. We can use time efficiently but we cannot save time.

Time is one of the great constants. God intends for men to understand their time, and to grasp His provision within their time. We can become time controlled to the point that we are no longer time conscious, so caught up with our schedule that we forget to live our lives. That is not good.
God wants us to see our limits and time helps us to understand that we need God. Within your day today, seek God. It will be time well spent.

Once to Die

“It is appointed unto man once to die. . .” The statement is true, but facing death is a continual challenge.

A friend dies and you go to the funeral. A relative dies and you go to the funeral. Recently, I watched a movie and was struck by the thought the vibrant engaging character in this movie is played by an actress that has died. I was trying to relax and regroup and still death faced me.

I am normally not the depressed kind, yet I have been to five funerals in less than two weeks. My own death will probably be much easier for me to handle than all the deaths of those that I have loved. I am confident that I will go to heaven and I don’t really need to argue that point with anyone of another persuasion. Yet, death is something I don’t like (I even avoid caterpillars while riding my bike!)

Jesus didn’t like death. He sweat blood in the garden we are told the night before his own death. He wept at the grave of a friend. Even the divine is troubled by this great enemy. People who say death is a friend haven’t been in the same cemeteries and hospitals I have visited.

One notion that keeps me going forward: Death is an event while life is a condition. Death happens while life goes on. Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” Jesus died in a moment, but lives for eternity. Grasp this He paid the price of death in a moment so that you could be granted life forever! Death is temporary for those that have His life!

Chet, My Good Friend

Chet and I both graduated together from college and ten years later seminary. He has been a great support and friend for nearly 30 years. I have worn a lot of suits to funerals today it just didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Chet and I were Monday morning friends. For pastors Monday you don’t shave, don’t dress up, and you drink a lot of coffee with people you care about. I spent a lot of Mondays with Chet drinking coffee.

Chet did the only thing with his life that he knew to do. He lived it. I am not saying he just woke up and existed. I am saying he lived every moment like it counted, and every day like it mattered. You really can’t boil his life down because he lived it to the fullest.

I am supposed to tell a few things about our friendship but since the only one with an eternity to listen is Chet I will instead tell just three stories and each one has a cup involved to help you remember them.

First of all stories and Chet go together like coffee and donuts because Chet was a master story teller. My father in law caught a 9 lbs Walleye at the Perry Spillway and I told Chet.

Chet hesitated and then said, “Well, I caught a big one at the Perry spillway. I had my ultra light reel and the banks were crowded with fisherman. I made the perfect cast at the edge of a eddie where I was sure a big one was laying. About a third of the way in the line came taunt and the spool began to whine and I adjusted the drag to be sure I could keep him. Up and down the bank we fought. Several even laid their rods aside to make room. It would be my greatest hour. Finally, I would bring him close enough to the bank for a net and then out he would go again. At last with the drag adjusted to perfection I was able to bring him ashore. He was a Pepsi cup. I had it hooked just on the lip and each time it was close to the back the angle was such that they currents would wash it out into deep water before I could see it. Everyone saw it now, and I just packed up my tackle and went to the car and haven’t been back to the perry spillway since.”

That was Chet the perfect story teller, and often himself the punchline. He had this spark in his eye while recounting a story. He lived each moment to the fullest whether hunting, golfing, fishing or watching the Jayhawks,  Chiefs or Royals. Chet lived!

I was on vacation walking through one of those tourist shacks where they sell the same thing in every state of the union. Just a sticker that says Texas, Grand Canyon, Yellowstone or Rushmore to separate between all the stuff so that you know where you are. I found a cup it said on the outside: “My Best Friend” and on the inside was a ceramic cock roach about two inches long. It screemed buy me for Chet.

When I gave it to him I knew he would know what to do with it. At the time Chet was collecting cups. Chet had a collection of a lot of interesting things. Nothing really valuable more important than that it was stuff that was interesting.

One day over coffee several years later I saw the cup, and made a remark about it. He remembered that I had given it to him and told me, “I have really enjoyed that cup. First of all, it is the same style as the church’s cups so often I carry it with the message hidden. I just saunter up to someone else drinking coffee and then with a surprised look say, ‘will you look at that’ showing them the bug down inside.”

I had known when I first saw the cup that was what Chet would do. He loved people, and seeing their reactions. In an airport he would see people, at church he saw people, in the market, theater or campsite; He saw people. Chet was a student of people and their reactions. He just loved people the real ones. He loved you.

Finally, a friend called me late Saturday night a few weeks back to ask if I knew Chet was in the hospital. I was shocked. The next day I was heading out on vacation so I wouldn’t have time to see Chet until I came back home in a week. I woke up Sunday morning with all the stuff that preachers have on their mind. I Decided that hospital coffee is just not very good and that Chet deserved better on a Sunday.

I ground up my best and poured it into the French Press and brought it down to Chet. I had a cup that said “Moody Alumni” I poured it full for Chet. My cup said “US Life Saving Services.” We sipped coffee and looked out over the skyline of Topeka’s downtown at what had been Chet’s assignment from God. We talked about sermons, Sunday and serving a God of grace. It wasn’t long before the thermos was empty and the cups had only the dark black grounds of Columbian Supreme, and I stood to leave. I prayed and then told Chet, he was a good friend, a fine pastor and a Godly man. My cup was empty, but my life is full because I knew Chet.

Four Good Friends: Chet Evans, Dan Snyder, Jim Angel & Jim Keller

They Came from A Fire

The original wise men were firemen so the joke goes, “They came from a fire.” I know it’s bad, but if the wise men came from the east does that mean the dumb ones came from the west. I thought I had a small confirmation of this recently. While riding to the west I saw a distant rider coming my way, but what did he have strapped to his bike? Finally, close enough to tell I saw him clearly. He was a Viking (without a shield or barebreasted woman). I had to take his picture.

My newest biking friend

Come to find out his name was Nick and he is riding completely across the United States. He has called his blog \”always into the east.\” It is pretty fun reading. As goofy as the horns appeared, I was wearing a shirt with the caption “Dwight Shrute is my Sensei” and Nick noticed. We talked at the side of the road. I gave him my best local knowledge of Missouri river bridge crossing. He told me about his trip.

Then after a few other exchanges he headed east and I went west. Not sure if I will ever see him again. Another one of the 7,000,000,000. I am beginning to be more and more convinced that God has to keep it simple if any of us are ever going to grasp what He is doing. I have meetings, work and a schedule meanwhile a guy wearing horns is riding east dodging semi’s.  It would be crazy to say that God cared more about me than my east bound friend.

The wisemen help me to understand. They gathered around a manger to pay homage to a baby. Must have struck them as odd that he was in such poverty with a star treking his birth. The song playing on my iPod as I finished the bike ride explains it.

Jesus, our Lord and King, born in a stable
Rapped in rags, asleep on a bed of straw
Though He is from heaven, still it is enough for Him
He who made the mountains and will come again to reign

O boundless mercy of God, beautiful mystery!
The braying donkeys sheep and birds of the air
And shepherds and sages all have come this night
To welcome Him, redeemer of the world

To keep it simple God sent His own Son into the world to reconcile us to Him. The plan is this, “If they meet my son and believe him. They can know me.” It is a wild risk that translates over time, culture and standing. It makes faith and the ability to believe crucial. Yet, this wonder called belief is possible for anyone even a child.

No amount of intellect makes faith easier, and no lack of knowledge makes it harder. Faith puts every man in a dead heat. For all the scientists life is still mystery. For all the machines and computers life is still fragile. Stop all the noise around and your heart cries out still for a purpose. Men from ages ago have tried to frame god into their image while God answers with a baby, a mystery, and a cross.

The Gift that Keeps On Giving

One Happy Guy on his first ride!

Last month I turned 50. I could have been bothered but my friends did so many kind things to show this aging boy they cared. One really special gift was from the church. They bought me a bicycle. I really can ride off into the sunset.

On the second ride I stopped and picked up 50 nails that had been lost on the side of the road. Anyone who drives on K-92 can thank me for saving them a possible flat tire. They really need to thank the ones who bought me the bike more. It put me in a very charitable mood even though I was going up a hill!

Giving to others has a way of doing that. It is contagious. God designed it that way. He wants us to respond to gifts by being more generous. Ever met someone who you gave them a Coke, and they wanted Pepsi or you offered a hamburger but they wanted a cheeseburger. No matter what you did they wanted something different or better.

Sad, but even worse some do this with God’s gift. Christ died for their sin, but they wanted a life without trouble. To them God just hasn’t ever done enough. One day of rain and they want sunshine. One day of sunshine and they think it is too hot. Winter comes and well they think. . . God’s plan is that we respond to what He has done with gratefulness.

Funny thing about gratefulness, the more you have of it the more you are able to see and appreciate all God is doing around you. Maybe God is doing enough, you just aren’t seeing it.

When I am riding it it moves to fast to get a good look at it.