Snowy Days

We were snowed in.  It was Sunday.  All the area churches canceled services because the streets were just too treacherous.  My children were downhearted.

“Mom, can we have church here?  At home?”

“Of course we can.”

One was the preacher; one was the visiting missionary; my daughter was the choir; I was the congregation.  It was grand!

One snowy night, Jim and Betty were on their way home from ministering at the prison, or the Rescue Mission, or the nursing home (not sure which) and decided to stop in at the church.  They turned on a few lights and started gathering the materials they would need for their next ministry.  Jim knew no bounds with vehicles and so was not in the least concerned about the snow outside or how he would make it up the STEEP, STEEP, STEEP street to their home in the Brentwood Hills.

The snow was really coming down now, and it was getting difficult for drivers to climb even the slight rise just past the church driveway.  One by one, they slid back and around and down into the parking lot.  Stranded motorists filed into the church and asked for assistance.  Jim stood in the middle of the grand foyer like a traffic cop pointing left, then straight ahead.  “Telephone, bathrooms.”  “Telephone, bathrooms.”

Over 100 people were sheltered there that night.  Betty said, “The Sanctuary was Snore City.”  People crashed on the pews, chairs, floor, anywhere they could get comfortable.  They read all of the literature available.  They talked with each other and made new friends.  One family saw our light all the way from the Interstate and made their way to our door; they had no heat in their car.  The local sportscaster from Channel 5 was there.  The saved, the unsaved, the washed, the unwashed.

By 2:00 am the teenagers had had enough.  They collected money and orders from those who were still awake and trudged a mile-and-a-half to an all-night service station for munchies and drinks.

Three hours later sleepers were roused by the sounds of snow plows and salt trucks.  Grabbing their belongings, they expressed their thanks and exited the building.  What a night!

During the next weeks, I cannot tell you how many people called the church to say, “Thank you!” or sent notes about their unexpected snowy experience and even made donations to the church.

Then there was the time we had the chef.  Yes, our church had a bona fide, certified, verified, chicken-fried chef.  He wanted to cook for the family of God and anyone else who might be hungry.  

Kevin prepared gourmet meals faster than you can say, “Herb encrusted pork tenderloin with caramelized apples.”  His meals were simply not to be missed.  He was a chef  extraordinare!  C’est magnifique!  Gordon Ramsay, eat your heart out.

It was our church’s turn to host the Sectional Ministers’ meeting, so we asked Kevin to cook something special for the luncheon.  It was our time to shine, to show off for the other pastors, and, admittedly, even gloat a little.   We had a chef!

Baked garlic rosemary chicken, parmesan mashed potatoes, green beans lightly sauteed in olive oil and topped with sesame seeds, green garden salad with balsamic vinaigrette, and assorted breads.  Dessert was a peach cobbler with freshly whipped cream.  Add tea and coffee, and you’ve got a meal!

It started snowing early that day.  One by one the pastors called to say they would not be able to attend because of the weather.  Two pastors who were ‘way north of the city called to say they wouldn’t miss it!  And they didn’t.

Kevin was in the kitchen prepping and chopping and glazing and stirring and baking.  My!  My!  It certainly did smell good.

About 11:00 am the people started to arrive  — people who were stranded by the snow.   They saw our light and pulled into the parking lot.  We had a husband and wife; a mother and father with three children; the mayor-elect of our community; several delivery men; assorted men and women; three pastors; and the church secretary.

The pastors had a field day ministering to those who had been gathered from the highways and byways.  By the Master’s design, our guests had a sumptuous gourmet luncheon at the Master’s table.

After lunch, the mayor-elect decided he would not risk his new truck on the icy streets.  He said it was a short walk to his parents‘ house.  The only problem?  He had no coat or gloves.  I quickly looked through the Benevolence Closet and found a very chic and very long coat that perfectly fit his tall, thin frame.  There were gloves in the pocket.  All bundled up, we sent him on his way.

A few minutes later we got a call from his elderly mother wanting to know where her son was.

“Oh, he’s fine,” I assured her.  “He’s walking down Franklin Pike on his way to your house … dressed in a woman’s coat.”

Oh, the bounty, protection and provision of our Lord!

“Benaiah son of Jehoiada from Kabzeel was a vigorous man who accomplished a great deal. He once killed two lion cubs in Moab. Another time, on a snowy day, he climbed down into a pit and killed a lion.” — 2 Samuel 23:20 (The Message)

Disappointments and Hurts

When I first came into the church, I viewed it as a refuge.  It was a safe place, a haven from the storms of life, a sanctuary.  And it is all of that.  Or it can be.  But just like everything in this earthly existence, it is touched not only by God, but also by man.

Jesus was well acquainted with religious people; they plotted his death on the cross.  He was well acquainted with those who would betray.  Judas was one of His chosen Twelve.  He was well acquainted with the double-minded, the two-faced, the indecisive, the fair-weather friends.  He was well-acquainted with the fox in the henhouse, the “inside-job” thief, the wolf in sheep’s clothing.  He was well acquainted with backbiters, gossips, people who cried, “Hosanna!” one week and “Crucify him!” the next.

He spoke of it in parables — the Parable of the Sower and the Parable of the Weeds.

We are going to encounter people who let Satan swallow up the word that they have received; people who are new in the faith and unsure and who fall away because they were planted in shallow ground and have no roots; people whose lives are far from God because they are more interested in money, possessions, popularity, and other “cares of the world;” and people who are placed in our path by the enemy of our souls.

God allows the “weeds” to stay.

“Because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them.  Let both grow together until the harvest.  At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.” — Matthew 13:29 (NIV)

Those weeds can be painful.  They can take the form of a staff member, a leader, a member of the congregation, a trusted friend.  Paul had difficulties with people.  He was vocal about confronting them in love and trying to resolve issues in peace with a desire for restoration.  Sometimes he had to just “let it go.”  But it was always painful.

How do we get through it?  Follow the biblical examples that worked.  Cain and Abel, for instance, ended badly, but Nathan’s confrontation with David ended in godly repentance.  

Paul gives explicit instruction about church discipline and about not taking your brother to court.  James wrote about the causes of fights and quarrels among the church, about the wisdom of being a peacemaker and living a life of humility before God.

“Submit yourselves, then, to God.  Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.  Come near to God and he will come near to you.  Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded.  Grieve, mourn and wail.  Change your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom.  Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.”  — James 4:7-10

Still, it is painful.

So what about the refuge, the safe place, the haven from the storms of life, the sanctuary?  It’s still there.  Jesus spoke of the conquerors (indeed, more than conquerors), those who endure until the end, the faithful servants.  They are the Kingdom People.  They hear the word, understand it and produce a bountiful crop.

Kingdom People want to hear that word, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant! … Enter thou unto the joy of the LORD!” — Matthew 25: 21 (KJV)

“Come and share your Master’s happiness!” (NIV)

Kingdom People are the ones who help maintain the refuge, the safe place, the haven from the storms of life, the sanctuary — the church.  Kingdom People have suffered disappointments and hurts, but have purposed in their hearts and determined in their minds to do it God’s way.  He has brought them through.

They realize there may be new disappointments and new hurts, but their hearts are open.  They are not skittish or aloof, not distrustful or suspicious.  They accept and welcome the family of God.  They are vulnerable, but discerning.  Wise as serpents, gentle as doves.

“Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.” — Ephesians 6:13

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”  —  Galatians 6:9

The $100 Bill

It all started when I needed a car.  Mine had been totaled in an accident.  For seven months we lived without a car of our own, but we always had transportation — never missed church, work, or games and practices for the children.  Friends loaned us cars, gave us rides, and arranged rides for us with other people.  It was a scary/fun time of trusting the Lord and learning that He is faithful.

During the last month of that time, a young widow and mother of three gave me a $100 bill.  “This is for your car,” she said.

Well, $100 wouldn’t buy a car, but it would buy gas if I had a car.  I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.  So I tucked it away.

Not too long after that, someone gave me a car — a mustard yellow 1975 Vega.  About the same time, a young man in the church was having major car woes.  I approached him and offered him the $100 bill.   

“This is for your car,” I said.

His car situation improved, and he gave the $100 bill to someone else.  And so on and so on and so on.  I witnessed countless people in the church receive and then give away the $100 bill.

Maybe $100 wouldn’t buy a car, but that wasn’t the point.  God took care of our lack.  The $100 bill was encouragement from Him in the meantime.  But it involved sacrifice, obedience, generosity, faith, and patience on our part.

He was able to teach a lot of people a lot about His Kingdom with that $100 bill.  Oh, He could have sent people to tell us, “Quitcherbellyachin’!”  But He didn’t.  Instead, He sent us kind brothers and sisters in the Lord with a gentle reminder that we were on His mind and close to His heart.  Well done, Jesus!  Good job!

I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.  

— Psalm 27:13-14 (KJV)

Mr. Interlocutor

Leaders, retreat!  That’s how we do it in the American church.  If you want the church to move forward, the leaders go on retreat.

About 40 of us traveled just north of Chattanooga to Watts Bar Lake for a weekend of prayer, instruction and fellowship.  The site was instantly relaxing — woodsy and rustic, tranquil and comfortable.  

After the evening meeting, we had free time to visit our friends, inspect their cabins and enjoy the camaraderie.  My cabin mate for the weekend was Pat, a true friend and prayer partner, who looked as saintly as Mother Theresa, but could be as mischievous as Dennis the Menace.  Nobody at church knew this about Pat except me.  I never breathed a word of her shenanigans until years later. 

Pat and I were simpatico.  We were born in the same month and the same year.  We were of an age.  We had been to town, seen the elephant, and joined the circus.  

After being chewed on by some rather large and hungry circus lions, we met Jesus and gave our hearts and lives to him.  By the time we met we were single again and parents of teenagers.

On this particular weekend, she had been working crazy shifts at a local manufacturer and had her days and nights mixed up.  I had a broken elbow and was on medication.  Needless to say, we retired early.

One of our fellow travelers was a young lawyer who liked to play practical jokes.  He had gotten into the habit of failing to show the proper respect for his elders (Pat and me), his peers and anyone else he knew.  It wasn’t malicious, just pesky and constant.  

Like the time he spotted my purse on the pew after church.  I was busy chatting with friends when he grabbed the purse and ran for the door, trying to call as much attention to himself as he possibly could.  

After failing to get a rise out of me, he yelled, “Do you see what I have?”

“Oh, hi!  Yes, and you are welcome to all the money in that purse,” I replied, then turned back to my chat.

“I’m taking it.  I’m walking out!” he threatened.

“OK, but like I said, you are welcome to all the money you can find in that purse.”

Deflated at my lack of interest in his prank, disappointed that there was obviously nothing of value in the purloined purse, he dejectedly returned it to the pew.

He was the little brother I never had and never particularly wanted.

It was wee hour at Watts Bar — three or four am.  Pat was wide awake, and she wanted me to be wide awake, too.  I roused just barely from my drug-induced slumber and tried to comprehend what she was saying. 

Before I knew it we were prancing through the wet grass in bathrobes looking for his car, a considerable amount of toilet paper stashed in my sling.  Unable to fully participate, I watched Pat as she launched the Angel Soft assault on the vehicle, stopping occasionally to reload.  

Did I mention that Pat was a former member of the U.S. Pistol Team and had competed internationally?  That baby boy attorney never had a chance.

After a few hours sleep we joined the rest of our coterie for breakfast in a glass-enclosed dining room.  We oohed and aahed when deer came to the feeders outside for their morning repast.  It was a lovely setting with lots of good company — until the Inquisition began.

Standing very tall and straight, trying to look every bit the viscious trial lawyer that he was not, he began in what he thought were sonorous tones, “One of you in this room rolled my car last night.”

There was a long pause.

A good-natured young businessman stood up and announced, “Everyone in this room had a motive.”

One by one each person rose and confessed:

“I did it.”

“I did it.”

“I did it.”

Dismissed with prejudice.

At our afternoon break I persuaded him to play shuffle board with me.  He won the first game.

“Best two out of three?” I tempted him.

He won the second round as well.

“OK, three out of five,” I offered.

When he won that one, too, he was elated.  He danced and pranced and was quite pleased with himself.

“Oh, just wait ‘til I tell everybody about this!” he gloated.

“And just what are you going to tell them,” I countered, “that you beat an old lady with her arm in a sling?”

Foiled again!

This went on for years.  As much as Pat and I tormented the boy, he always came back for more.  For all his parrying, he never managed to get the best of us, though.  He admitted he had been the master of the practical joke.  His friends admitted it “hands down.”  He was the best until he ran into these two little old ladies in his church.

But did I mention the other side of this brilliant lawyer?  He fought our legal battles and never asked for compensation.  He and his wife encouraged our children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.  Long after I moved from Chattanooga (not the time when he drove to my new city fully intending to have my car towed), he was still overseeing my legal needs and being a steadfast brother in Christ.

Thank you, little brother.  Your sweet aroma lingers.

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine … “ — Proverbs 17:22

Sisters

Being in fellowship with the women of God is an encouragement we need often.  “Iron sharpens iron” and all that.  I have learned so much from my sisters in Christ.

For instance, one sister told me she knows when God is trying to get her attention.  She hears the doorbell ring.  Nobody is there, of course.  It’s God reminding her that He wants in.

Another shared a “Be still and know that I am God” moment.  She had a turbulent adolescence — promiscuity, self-abasement and cutting.  Even after giving her heart and life to Jesus, occasionally self-destructive thoughts — fiery darts from the enemy — would assail her.  She knew she needed to get alone with God and allow Him to expose the accuser for what he is — a liar!

One day the panic began when she was shopping in a large department store.  She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.  She knew she had to get alone with God, but where?  Be still.  Be still.  Be still.  She ran into the restroom and locked herself in a stall.

She sat down and got very, very still.  Then she heard His voice, calming her, reassuring her, loving her.  She walked out of that place a restored woman.

So many women have talked about the kitchen sink.  That’s where they go to busy their hands and free their minds to concentrate on spiritual matters.  I tried it; it works!

Vacuuming is a wonderful time to pray.  You can scream, shout, praise, laugh, anything you feel like communicating to the Master.  He listens and hears.  Others don’t.

One of our church ladies rejoiced at the mailbox when she received bills.  This is the truth.  God delivered her from a life of prostitution and drug addiction.  She was constantly having the lights and water turned off and being evicted from apartments because she spent all her money on other things.

When Jesus saved her soul, she began earning a legitimate income, got a place to live, heat, water, food, clothes.  It was a dream come true.  So she rejoiced when the bills showed up.  She was able to pay them and remembered to thank Jesus every time.

“When I was a little girl, whenever I made my mud pies, I always made one for Jesus,” Louanna recounted.  “And when I walked on the sidewalk, I moved over to make enough room for Jesus to walk right beside me.”  

Louanna was dying.  She had liver cancer and did not have long to live.  Her husband set up a hospital bed in the living room, and there she spent her last days.  She liked to hear her husband play the guitar and sing.  It soothed her.

One evening he sang Amazing Grace.  When he got to the part, “When we’ve been there ten thousand years …,” Louanna rose to a sitting position, reached toward heaven and went to be with Jesus.”  Just like that!

Clara was one of the first people I met when I moved to Nashville.  In her 80’s she was still bright-eyed and beautiful.  She was bedridden and lived in a residential care facility.  She had many things physically wrong with her, but I never knew what they were.  She never shared.

Her primary concern was, “How are you?  Tell me what the children are doing.  What’s happening at church?  Tell me about your day.  What did you do last week?”

She was hip.  She knew the latest expressions.  She kept up with the lives of the people around her.  She was a good listener, and always asked questions that made you think about God’s blessings in your life.  She died alone, having given her all to the encouragement and uplifting of others.  Not as a sacrifice, but as a privilege.

Tommie was married for “about a hundred years” to a man who refused to even discuss Jesus.  She was faithful in her prayers for him and loved him lavishly.  She was faithful in her service to the Lord and loved Him lavishly, too.  I don’t know all of what she suffered in her marriage because Tommie was a cheerful person who didn’t discuss her sorrows.  She had a great sense of humor.  Even grumpy teenagers wanted to be around her.  She was edifying.  

One day her husband asked to be baptized.  So he was.  A few weeks later he died.

Now this is poor.  A young mother in my church told me she kept a sack of socks that were stained, tattered and hole-y.  That way if the socks they were wearing got to be in worse shape than the ones in the bag, they would always have socks to put on.

She was also the woman who received a BIG BONUS because God gave her insight and wisdom to correct a system they were using in the office.  Her idea saved the company thousands of dollars.

I have known countless grandmothers who are raising their grandchildren.  

Who are the cooks in the church?  Stand up, ladies, and let us give you a round of applause.  My family has been blessed with three-course meals that are the envy of top chefs around the world.  The homemade bread and desserts alone are too sumptuous to even talk about without drooling.  And they do it because they love Jesus.  

They mix it up, cook it up, serve it up, and give it away.

Some of them don’t even need much notice.  “Sure, I can take something over to that family.  Have it there in a jiffy.”

My daughter attended a church celebration in Baxter Springs, Kansas where the ladies wore costume dress gowns.  “Why, you look like a true Southern Belle,” the women commented when they saw her.

“Oh, you haven’t met Jo Payne!” she replied.  Jo was the true Southern Belle back home at her church in Tennessee.

They came from Puerto Rico, married and moved to Boston, stopped briefly in Tennessee, and were off again on another adventure for the Lord.  These two sisters were amazing.  They each had a young son when I met them.  Their mother doted on the boys and outfitted them handsomely.

When my daughter was pregnant with her son, they doubly gifted her with clothes in sizes from preemie to 4T!!  Without hesitation.  Generous, talented, spirited.  Gracias, hermanas!

“Praise God!  It’s raining!”  Pauline was grateful for everything.  All the other women coming in for Bible Study were complaining, but not Pauline.  She was in her late 70’s then and accustomed to living off the land in Montana.  She knew how to be content in whatever state, even Tennessee.

Margaret was a devoted daughter, nursing her mother and father through illnesses and bidding them farewell as they went home to be with Jesus.  She was a devoted sister to her brother who pastored a large and thriving church.  She was a devoted aunt to the nephews and nieces she supported in prayer while they were on the mission field.  She was a devoted friend who encouraged hearts and minds with love and tenderness.

Military wife.  Susan breezed into town for a year with her husband and their charming children and immediately fully immersed herself in the church and in the community.  She didn’t wait to be asked.  She offered.  Her talents were unlimited, just like her heart.  She gave freely — whatever was needed — money, time, food and lots of laughs.  She knew the importance of surrounding her family with Christian family.  And she exemplified the best of Christian charity.  

Another sister spent her growing up years in Arkansas in a children’s home, where the houseparents faithfully took the children to church. That’s where she met Jesus.  Her life did not magically turn around, though.  In fact, it got worse.  Then it got ‘way better.  Eventually she and her husband were tapped to head an international ministry for people with life-controlling problems.  As they humbled themselves before the Lord, He lifted them up.

My Asian sister was saved when she was young and received daily beatings from her family because of her faith in Christ.  She has maintained her steadfast witness for the Lord through great sacrifice.  What a joy when her parents attended the baptism of her children!

I love to visit a sister’s home for the first time. Almost without fail she will take me to a special place and point with pride as she explains, “This is where I have my prayer time,” or “This is where I sit to read my Bible.”

There is usually a plaque with her favorite scripture printed on it hanging in a place of honor, and she will tell me the story that goes with it.

So what do you think about the sisters you’ve met so far?  They may not spend time fixing themselves up or shopping for the latest fashions, but did you notice?  My sisters are lookin’ good.  Why, they look like Jesus!

“And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. “           — Romans 12:2

Crazy Dreams

“When the Lord brought back the captivity of Zion, We were like those who dream.”                        

                                                                                                                              — Psalm 126:1

Coat-of-many-colors Joseph had some dreams.  Joseph, husband of Mary, had some dreams, too.  Pharaoh, Nebuchadnezzar, and the wife of Pontius Pilate had dreams.  The Bible is full of people who had dreams — significant, life-changing, world-event-changing dreams.  They knew they were important.  They knew they should heed them.  If they didn’t understand them, they sought a practiced and honest interpreter of dreams.

Joseph’s dreams were not realized until many years and many trials later.  God also used him as an interpreter — and Daniel.  They were both quick to say that the interpretation was not their own, but came from God.  God gives us dreams and provides their meaning.

They can warn us of coming events — to give us a window of escape or a time of preparation.  They can confirm a course of action we would not have taken otherwise.  They can bring peace and comfort to an unsettled mind and heart.  They can help explain the mysteries of God Himself.

My daughter had pregnancy dreams.  Once she dreamt God sent her to a land where only French was spoken.  My daughter did not like learning French.  She had a mental block where that language was concerned.  So she dismissed the dream as just a cruel hormonal trick.

But could it have been that God was showing her that having a baby was like entering a new “country” — a country where things were very foreign and would require new understanding?  And that He would be with her to face even the things she disliked the most or feared the most about that country?  That He would show Himself strong in her weaknesses?  That His grace is sufficient?

I have pizza dreams.  If I eat pizza late at night, I have wild and crazy pizza dreams.  There is no rhyme or reason to them — just madcap adventures through a maze of bizarre and increasingly bizarre-er flashes of colorful, unrelated, and fanciful frolics.  For instance, I might be a red, fuzzy creature with a Cat-in-the-Hat hat on my head — leaping from pillar to post with a Cheshire Cat grin on my face, and a shiny, black cane in my hand — singing show tunes or silly songs and having the time of my life.

I don’t even want to know how that could be interpreted.

I actually dream a lot.  Many of my dreams place me in a position of defending the faith.  That’s how God helps me to sharpen my witnessing tools.  Some dreams call on me to choose how best to get out of threatening situations.  I like those dreams because the only path I can choose is to say the name of Jesus.  Ever notice how your throat closes up in dreams, and you can’t get the words out?  There may be a brief moment of panic until I remember that just thinking the name of Jesus is a profound prayer that “availeth much.”

Just thinking His name sets free the dream-induced paralysis of your vocal chords.  You are quickly able to shout His name from the rooftops and see His provision in the most miraculous and amazing ways.  All perils, pitfalls and danger melt away and dissolve into nothingness.  “He’s as close as the mention of His name –”  and as powerful, all-consuming, and masterful.  He is the Lion of Judah.  He roars, and the earth listens — a good thing to know whether we are awake or asleep.

What about those dreams where you are freefalling through space?  Where do we land?  I don’t know about you, but I always land right where I started — with a sharp jerk of my body right in my soft bed.  God’s comfort is so comforting.  Life can feel like a freefall, but “He leadeth me beside the still waters.”

What about those dreams when you can’t breathe?  That’s usually because I have twisted the covers around me too tight or put my face in the pillow.  He wakes me up, untangles me, turns me over and sings me back to sleep — much like a tender mother nurturing her babe.

Then there are the funny dreams.  You will probably not believe this, but I tell myself jokes in my dreams and wake up laughing myself silly.  Sometimes I remember the jokes, and sometimes I don’t.  But it is so deep-gut satisfying to greet a new day with humor and in good spirits.  Thank you, Jesus!

Over the years, God has used specific dreams to instruct me.  Sometimes He even gives me an assessment of my life so far — a recap of where I was and where He has placed me now.  I really like those dreams.  There is one that is a particular standout.  I can still see it clearly today.

     Everything is overlaid with a thick, magnificent, golden light.                                              In the open windows, sheer curtains gently billow in the breeze.

     My house is large and filled with rooms.  The rooms are filled with people — happy people — lots of children running in and out.

     There is music — joyous, heartwarming music of the soul. 

     The smells are akin to bread baking in the oven, or a hot apple pie cooling in the windowsill, or fresh linen, or sunshine, or a whiff of salty sea air.

     And visitors!  Automobiles pull up in the circle driveway.  People who are far from God are coming to see what all the hoopla is about.  They enter — even avowed enemies — and stare in wonder at the beauty and peace God has distributed throughout.

Now that’s a dream!  But more than that, it’s a comfort — a reminder of who He is and what He has done.  It’s a trip to the foot of the cross and a glimpse of His glory and splendor as He sits at the right hand of the Father — ever interceding.

Our God never sleeps, never slumbers — but He knows we do.  And He knows we need to be assured of His presence in whatever state we find ourselves.  He is Emanuel, God with us.  Glory to His precious name forever!

“I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety.”

                                                                                                                                   — Psalm 4:8

Brothers

When you need one, there’s always one close by.  The men of the church love to help.  Questions about car repair?  They’ll listen even if they don’t know anything about cars.  Need someone to move appliances?  Guys with trucks will stand in line to meet your needs.   Who can I get to set up the tables and chairs in the Fellowship Hall?  You plan it; they will come.

Houston was a comical old codger.  He was my go-to man for a variety of things.  If we needed repairs in the church, he would do it or find someone who could.  Countless times he headed up the carpentry crew for staging dramas, building sets and scenery.  And he always knew just the right nut, bolt, or nail to use.  He loved to spend time reminiscing about his life in the construction business and always had a joke or two to share.

A retired engineer, Franklin was in his 80’s and had some physical limitations, but had no limitations in the Spirit.  Never bored and not one to complain, he spent his days cooking, developing new recipes, reading the Bible, praying and following Cubs baseball. He called the church office very week to get the current prayer list.

“Well, why is this guy still on the list?” he would demand.  “I prayed for him!”  That was Franklin’s logical faith.  He believed in a big God who could do anything – “exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think.”  He didn’t just pray, he expected results.  I cannot bake Chicken Dijon without thinking of him. 

Jim had a way of disarming the most volatile situations.  The father of two lovely girls, he spent his spare time as our State Director of Royal Rangers, a ministry to boys and young men.  Somewhere between dealing with the girls and the boys, he became quite the diplomat.

An early riser, he was often at the church praying before he went to work.  When I came in at 7:00 am, he was leaving.  “Good morning!” he would say cheerily.  “I always forget how beautiful you look in the mornings.”  I was never sure how to take that.  Did that mean I wasn’t beautiful in the afternoons and at night?  Never mind.  It always got my day off to a good start.

His crowning achievement, though, was when he met my mother the first time she visited my church.  She had attended Baptist churches her whole life and was not accustomed to the different style of worship. She was a little nervous, not knowing what to expect.  But she was soon put at ease when Jim, sensing her discomfort, came over to greet her.  He took both of her hands in his, looked into her eyes and melted her heart with the gentle kindness of a slow Tennessee drawl, “Hello, Sweetheart.”

I looked up to Wayne.  He headed the city’s most successful ministry to alcoholics and drug addicts and was slated to move up the ladder to national director.  He told me the story of how he first began.  He was a regular guy working a regular job in a local plant.  At God’s call he stepped out on faith and started a branch of the ministry in Chattanooga.  With a wife and two children to support, it was a bold move.

The ministry was in a little house on the east side of town.  One of the first people to come in was a guy who was very, very drunk.  Wayne said he had no idea what to do, so they just sat there — for over an hour – facing each other across the desk.  The whole time Wayne prayed, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”  By the end of the hour, the guy had begun to sober up. God gave Wayne the words to say to him to help him find salvation and deliverance.

At our Wednesday night services I observed Wayne as he prayed.  Other people came to the altar and stood or knelt to receive direction from God.  Not Wayne.  He laid out flat on the floor, his face to the carpet, arms stretched out, in total submission.  He needed answers to some heavy questions.

Men grunt a lot.  They say it helps them work better.

“You will never believe how much this guy charged me to repair my car!,” David exclaimed.  “That’s OK.  I paid him, but just wait until he needs brain surgery.”  

David, a noted neurosurgeon, had a great sense of humor and was well-loved in the congregation.  He worked long hours in tedious surgeries, but he rarely missed church.  He taught Sunday School, came to morning worship, Sunday evening service and prayer meeting on Wednesday night.  His most frequent challenge to us was, “Does it have eternal value?”  He made us think.

One of the men at my office will interrupt anyone when it is time to say the grace.  He is polite.  He just says, “Excuse me.”  Then he prays out loud and thanks the Lord for his meal.  He is a man of humility, intelligence and has an attitude of gratitude for what Jesus did for him.

He is also the guy who, when I told him about the delicious salad, asked, “Where’s the meat?” 

“In the cheese, I guess,” I answered.  

“Like I said, where’s the meat?”

Men want meat.  It must be the hunter/carnivore thing.  Of course, most of them don’t eat it raw any more and turn up their noses unless it’s smothered in some honey-BBQ-filled-with-peppery-heat steak sauce or some spicy hand rub concoction that will burn the hairs in your nose.

One of the greatest guys you could ever meet attended my church.  He was tall, distinguished and extremely knowledgeable.  He had been a businessman who lived and traveled all over the world — a high-powered, fast-paced life.  One day he had had enough and put a gun to his head.  Jesus stopped him.  From that day forward he lived quite a different life.

When we met, he was working as Maintenance Supervisor for a local hotel.  He gave my son a job, taught him how to construct walls, repair air conditioners, paint, wallpaper, fix electrical problems, and much more.  Easy-going, but fervent in his commitment to God, he was the perfect mentor.

The youth group did a skit for our missions convention, and they were supposed to portray a church member.  My daughter said, “I want to be Hoppy.”  So she dressed up like Hoppy in a suit and tie with just a little padding in the paunch, and was the hit of the evening.

He had been involved in some dangerous deals on the seamier side of life.  At one point somebody put a bullet in him.  He walked with a limp after that; hence, the nickname “Hoppy.”  

When he met Jesus, his whole world was turned upside down and inside out.  He was indeed a new creation!  He couldn’t do enough to express his love for the Lord.  He donated his time, materials, and expertise in construction projects at the church.  He went around to the people from his past and tried to make things right.  He witnessed to everyone he met.  He led the prison ministry.  He had a special way with the guys who were locked up; he knew just how to show them the love of Christ.

Roger’s wife was gravely ill for many years.  He assumed many roles during those many years – household chores, cooking, father, provider and primary caregiver.  His most cherished role was prayer warrior.  He faithfully prayed and trusted God for his wife’s healing.  And she was healed!

What is the story on all these motorcycle “gangs” in churches today?  I’ve met some of these guys.  They love Jesus, and they love their Harleys.  God uses them to reach the lost in ways you and I would never consider.

And the auto mechanics!  “Single ladies, bring your car to the south parking area at the church Saturday from 10 am – 3 pm.  We will have people on site to change your oil, check your tires, and help solve your car repair problems.”

Men can’t do it all, but they certainly are willing to do the things they can do.

Sometimes they try to do the things they can’t do, and it turns out they do a pretty good job there, too.  Like the time the men cooked a dinner for the women on Valentine’s Day.  

They had a simple menu – salad, spaghetti, bread and dessert.  And a simple venue – the Fellowship Hall at the church.  But they decided to bedazzle the evening with lights turned down low, soft music and waiters.

The waiters were dressed in white shirts and black pants.  Each had a white linen towel draped over one arm, and each was more attentive than the next. 

“Would you care for more water?”   

“We have a variety of dressings for you to choose from.  What’s your pleasure?”

“Of course we have more bread!  With or without garlic?”

Our wish, their command.  And we took great delight in commanding them!

It was one of the most uplifting nights I have ever spent.  We were treated like royalty.  Of course I am told that behind the scenes it was more like Hell’s Kitchen, but they never let on.  Every February 14^th that rolls around, I remember it with a smile.

God rest ye merry, gentlemen!

“By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”                                                 —  John 13:35 (KJV)