Amazed by His Sovereignty

I’ll begin with a disclaimer, similar to the opening statement of my first book; this story is not about me! I have in fact hesitated to publicize it, for fear that it might be misinterpreted. This story is about the sovereignty of God who owns “the cattle on a thousand hills” (Ps. 50:10) and who uses the gifts and resources stewarded by His people to glorify Himself.

I cannot tell you where this story begins. The Lord our God is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, so history really is His-story. I know that "in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together." (Col. 1:16-17) I can only tell you where this story begins from my perspective. I do, however, know that I am only one small cog in this giant wheel of God redeeming His people unto Himself.

For me it begins when a couple of colleagues at Jefferson State Community College asked if I would be a guest speaker at a youth leadership conference they were helping to organize. I’ll stop right here to tell you that this kind of thing is not exactly my cup of tea. Don’t get me wrong, I’m perfectly comfortable speaking in front of large groups and I teach students every day, so the size or demographic of the crowd didn’t bother me. It was the particular topic that I was unsure of.

I have, for the most part, gotten away from the motivational or inspirational speaking genre to focus on Biblical teaching. However, a few months before I was approached by my colleagues, I was invited to speak at a church on Father’s Day. I taught from the Old Testament book of Nehemiah and talked about “Rebuilding the Wall”. I decided that I could tell the story from a historical perspective to the students, and use it to teach sound leadership principles like facing adversity, teamwork and motivation.

Little did I know that God was already at work in this endeavor. At a planning meeting a few weeks before the conference I announced my topic - “Rebuilding the Wall”. I wish I had a picture of my colleagues’ faces! Their jaws literally dropped. Unbeknownst to me they had already named (and had T-shirts made for) the conference - “Scaling the Wall”. I knew then that God was at work. I just didn’t know, and may never know this side of Heaven, to what extent.

I was scheduled to speak at a Friday mid-morning session, which was perfect. I could drop Anna Morgan off at Mother’s Day Out, drive to the conference a half hour away, do my thing and be back in plenty of time to pick her up. However, just a few days before the conference I was asked to swap with another speaker and do the afternoon session. Aaaarrrgggghhh!

Nobody wants to be a speaker on Friday afternoon. Everybody’s got the weekend on their minds. Plus, I’d have to make other arrangements for Anna Morgan to be picked up. It was, or so I thought, bad news all around. But as a favor to my friends/colleagues, I agreed. I would eventually realize that everything I’d ever taught about Romans 8:28 was still true.

When I arrived at the conference, I learned that I would be the key note speaker at the closing assembly. This is it! The big finish everyone had been waiting for! It was also a larger crowd than any other session because parents and sponsors were there. Now, generally speaking, high school students don’t spend their money on books…but their parents and sponsors do! I was warmly received, the talk went well, the crowd laughed in all the right places, and I even sold a few books afterward. All in all it turned out to be a pretty good afternoon.

On the way home I stopped by the bank to deposit the checks I received from book sales, but I kept the cash knowing that I’d need some for the weekend. That night I took the family out to eat cheap Mexican food (a Fisher family favorite), and used some of that cash to pay the bill. I even set aside some cash that I was going to contribute as part of a love offering for a couple in our church Life Connection class who were moving away.

The next night, at the going away party there was food, fun and fellowship. As the party was winding down, I overheard another lady in our class talking about the upcoming mission trip her and her family were going to participate in. She was asked about all the particular costs of travel and food and lodging, etc. She said that the family had steadily been raising support, but time was getting close to leave and they were still short. Then another member of the class asked, “So how much more do you need?”

Now, I’m gonna go ahead and tell ya’ll…I was already planning to contribute to the mission trip, but it would not have been a significant contribution. And while I certainly understand that “every little bit helps” and “many hands make light work”, I was not prepared for what was about to happen. In the brief instant it took my friend to answer that question, I must’ve said a thousand prayers. They all sounded something like, “Lord, please let it be a huge number!” “Please let it be like $5,000 or something so that I can’t possibly be expected to give it all.”

But wouldn’t you know it; this family’s mission trip fund was short exactly the amount of cash that I had in my wallet! Ain’t that just like Jesus? I told my friend this story and gave them the money. They cried, we hugged, and we were simply overcome by God’s grace, and provision, and timing, and love.

2 Corinthians 9:7 reads, “Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.” I must admit, if someone had told me that God would require all of the cash I’d received from book sales that day, I would probably not have been very cheerful. Even though I’d seen God’s hand at work from the planning of the talk, to a change in speaking time, to the increase in crowd size that led to an increase in book sales, I was still a bit reluctant to hand over all of my cash even to this missionary endeavor.

The point I’ve learned, and the one I must share is this; it’s all His anyway. From the job (where I met the colleagues who invited me to speak), to the gift of gab I’ve been given, to the ability to write and publish and sell books, to the van I drove to and from the conference, to my family I took out to eat cheap Mexican food…it’s all His. It all belongs to God! We are simply stewards for a short time.

God help us to be generous with what we’ve been given so that in due time we might hear the words of our Savior recorded in Matthew 25:21, “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!”

Lessons from the Snowpocalypse - by Dana Fountain Mostashari

Dateline: January 30, 2014. So, we've had a little problem with the weather here. My one-year-old and I were on the way back from Bible Study Tuesday morning when the snow hit. Black ice had already formed on the roadway, and when my tires spun out and I got stuck on a patch of ice, I knew I had to get off the road. Cate and I began to pray and sing. My heart was pounding as traffic began to build up behind me. Then I saw the memory card for my son's Upward program stuck to my dash: "The end of a matter is better than its beginning. So it's better to be patient than proud". "All right, Cate," I said. "We're gonna take it slow and not get flustered by the people behind us."

A nice man rolled up beside me, gave me some instruction on how to get unstuck, and after 20 minutes of spinning on the ice, I pulled into the next parking lot and shut off the car. That's when the cars which had been behind me on the road all slipped sideways at the same time. Five cars wrecked together in the place where we had been five minutes before, and blocked the road way. (The next morning, the wrecker who came to pull them out also slid on the same patch of ice, and ended up just like the cars he was trying to rescue.)

I bundled up my daughter, told her, "we're getting inside somewhere," and went to knock on the obviously closed office building's door. Luckily, the man who ran the small document processing business opened up the door, turned on the lights, and told us to stay as long as we needed. I don't know if he realized at that point exactly how long that would be.

There were 20 people in and out of the building that night, and eight of us spent the night. The others spent the night in their cars or walked for miles to get to homes. I knew where my daughter was, but my kindergarten son had been on a field trip and I had no idea where he might be. Several calls and an hour later, I found out that his bus had not made it back to his school, and he was still on the road somewhere. Another hour later, I knew that ONE of the two busses had made it to another elementary school to spend the night, and that that bus was not the one he was on. He was still out in the storm somewhere. It took several hours to find out that the bus his class was on had made it to the other elementary school, but I still wasn't certain he was there and had not been able to talk to him.

My husband, who was coming from the opposite direction to try to pick him up, got caught in gridlock and had to spend the night in a college gym. So we were all separated. And even though I assumed we were all safe and warm, I didn't KNOW it. And a mama's heart can't take that.

They closed the road where I was, and it sank in that we weren't going anywhere. I made a bed for us out of lawn chair cushions, and a supper out of Fritos and water.

Cate and I lay down on our cushions, which kept coming apart. She cried for Daddy (so did I) and eventually went to sleep. I had made our bed in a corner by a glass wall, and as the night went on, it got colder and colder. I curled my body around her and watched over her obsessively. All of a sudden, I became fearful of the people who were my sole support a few minutes before. They were wonderful and, if you had to get stuck in a storm, they were probably the best people to be stuck with. But I didn't KNOW them, and I had brought my child in to spend the night with them. What was I thinking? My mama-heart sank.

I stared at the ceiling and thought about my son. Worried if he was warm, was fed, was safe. I knew that he was out in the world somewhere, and I hoped that he wasn't confused or scared. Tears started down my face, dripped into my ears, as I prayed a prayer that ran through every word I had and devolved into an empty echo: my son, my son, my son, over and over. My mama-heart could not handle it.

Then I began to pray for others. There are mama-hearts out there who sleep on floors every night. There are mama-hearts that break because they can't keep their children warm at all. There are mama-hearts that don't even have snack machine suppers for their children, hearts that ache as much as their children's empty stomachs. There are mama-hearts out there with no clue where their children are.

And there is a Father-heart, who lost His son somewhere out there in a cold world. A Father-heart who lost sight of His son because He could not look at what the son had become. A Father-heart that bled and cried like mine. I cannot fathom the amount of space and darkness that made up the mammoth castle of His pain, but during the snow storm I crawled into one small corner of the pain-closet in the front hallway and lived there for a while.

We got home the next afternoon, after many hours of figuring out how to entertain a one-year-old in a document processing company, and figuring out how to make diapers out of office supplies (give me a couple of binder clips and a scarf and I will fix your baby up). Later that afternoon, after many phone calls and lots of logistics, my husband pulled up in the driveway with my son. I have not let him get more than five feet from me since.

My mama-heart healed the moment I saw my son. But I can remember what I learned in the dark of that night: There is nothing as deep and complex as the love and pain of a mama-heart. But there is also a Father-heart out there looking for your heart. A Father who loves you, and worries about you, about whether you're safe and warm and fed.There is a Father waiting on you to get home. He is calling and He is waiting. Sometimes He cries out in the dark and He is sure that you can hear Him. And He rejoices when you work through all the logistics and obstacles and just come home.

Visit Dana's blog at http://valleydale7.blogspot.com/2014/01/lessons-from-snowpocalypse.html

Foreward - by Donna Howell

This story really begins several months before it begins. I belong to a great singles group at my home church. We are tight knit and very active. Several years ago while driving to our monthly “Game-night Get-Together”, I heard the local Christian radio station, WDJC, advertising their annual singles cruise. It was scheduled for four days in the Yucatan Peninsula in August 2005. Since one of the DJ's sponsoring the event, Carrie Cates, was in our singles group, I decided to try to stir up some interest. When I arrived at the party, I told the gang about the cruise, and quickly had several who were very interested.

One of the interested parties was my pal, Justin Fisher. Justin had joined our group about a year prior, and, despite his disability, he was very active in virtually everything we did. Justin, or “Hoss” as I call him, has cerebral palsy, but he doesn't let it slow him down. Justin had also taught our Sunday school class several times, and when Carrie discovered he was coming on the cruise, she invited him to be the speaker at our chapel service.

Because of this high profile role during the service, and because the wheelchair makes Justin immediately recognizable, he became somewhat of a celebrity on the ship. (It also didn't hurt that Justin did a stirring rendition of the Ray Stevens' classic “Ahab the Arab” in the karaoke lounge on the first night of the cruise!) You couldn't get on the elevator without a gaggle of people unloading and stopping to talk to Justin.

Our singles group was large in numbers and several had been able to come along for the trip. We were tight knit, always had fun together, and the cruise turned into one big party. We settled in the vacation mode quickly and the first night at dinner I heard Justin mention he would love to snorkel if the onshore event could handle his handicap. I made note of the conversation but tucked it away in the back of my mind. I was not sure if that idea would work or even be a good idea.

Several of us disembarked the next day to visit the sites and sounds of another country and I noticed the tourist events posted and I thought of Justin and the snorkeling idea. We were walking around the shopping area at the port and I asked Justin if he still wanted to snorkel. He said he did. I grew up in Baldwin County, AL near the Gulf of Mexico. I have always been comfortable around water especially the ocean. I am an avid scuba diver, a water skier, and a one time lifeguard in Gulf Shores, AL. I remember thinking, “Why not?” so off I went to investigate the snorkeling option available to tourists at this port.

The outdoor activity coordinators were at small desks with thatched roofs to give an authentic island look to the tourist. I spoke with the gentleman stationed there and explained that I was willing to help my friend with this activity but he had cerebral palsy. The coordinator did not seem concerned and agreed that the boat operator would help me with Justin’s unique challenge at snorkeling. I returned to the shopping center and told Justin we were all set.

Our friend Kimmie decided she wanted to tag along. (I think partly for the fun and partly to see how in the world I was going to tactically accomplish this idea.) We headed back to the coordinator area and I introduced Justin and Kimmie to the event coordinator. The coordinator had acquired a taxi for us and after Justin asked some brief questions to satisfy his curiosity that he would be able to snorkel, Kimmie assisted him with his crutches and started walking towards the small passenger van.

Justin uses a big power wheelchair that was going to have to be left at the thatched roof kiosk in the care of the coordinator. With Kimmie helping Justin into the taxi, I hopped onto his wheelchair to safely park it between the small booths in the customer activity area. Now, I have never operated a motorized wheelchair. It has a small joy stick on the arm rest for Justin to maneuver himself around. I pulled back on the joystick to operate the vehicle in reverse, raced backwards at a surprisingly fast speed and promptly slammed directly into the booth!

This sent the event coordinator into a full sprint towards me with a frightened look. I could tell that he was not concerned for my safety or for the safety of the wheelchair. No, he was worried I was going to trash his little thatched roof booth to shreds. I calmly stated, “I got this.”, very gently moved the joystick forward, very gently inched away from the thatched booth and then very violently slammed into the booth again! It may or may not have been tilted slightly off the ground and three inches back from its original location when the earth stopped shaking.

The event coordinator was almost done with me, so I then decided to exit the wheelchair to try maneuvering while standing next to the vehicle. This worked a great deal better and I finally parked it between the two booths. The event coordinator looked relieved that I was no longer driving the wheelchair and I got the distinct feeling he wanted to comment on women drivers. However, he was polite and handed me a ticket for our snorkeling, pointed me to the taxi, and left me with only one instruction, “Ask for Pedro.”

With the wheelchair safely tucked away next to the booth with the distinctive slash marks from my attempt to be a designated driver, I entered the front passenger seat of the taxi. I started a casual conversation with the driver about his life and the area we were traveling. He revealed he was not Mexican but Mayan. He could trace his family lineage back to the era of the conquistadors. He took control of the conversation to complain how the Mexicans had taken over his homeland and destroyed the Mayan way of life. He literally spoke about 4 paragraphs without taking a breath. Now, I am not a historian, but I remember from my World History class in the 10th grade that the Mayan Empire declined in the 1500s. This guy acted as if it happened last week. He was still fired up about it!

I changed the topic to local food and agriculture and he steered the taxi into a small fishing village on the edge of a small stretch of beach. When we reached our destination, Kimmie helped Justin out of the taxi while I paid the driver and exited to find our guide, Pedro. The fishing village was tucked in a short cove and had a small road consisting of broken sea shells and gravel. I surveyed the area and the village contained several thatched huts with short porches on the front. There was even a county store of sorts that had a faded Coca-Cola sign on it and three gentlemen were sitting on the porch repairing a net.

There were two short piers, about twelve feet in length, extending out to the ocean from the beach and both piers sat just a couple feet above the ocean surface. The ocean was a flat calm but there was not a boat anywhere in sight. Having in no other options, I followed the instructions given to me. I called out, “Pedro!”, and, evidently that's a common name in those parts, 'cause at once FIVE guys started towards me!

I was a little taken aback but I showed them the ticket. They spoke some short phrases to each other in Spanish, then turned and walked away! This did not help me find Pedro so I protested in English and they answered me in Spanish and pointed to one of the piers. I got the point. Evidently, my Pedro was out on the water with a snorkeling group and would soon return.

Justin, Kimmie, and I headed towards the pier to wait. It was a small stretch of beach but it was a long stretch of sand. You know how your feet sink into the sand a little when you walk on the beach? Well, crutches have a smaller surface area than feet, and they sink deeper. It was a painstaking for us watching and for Justin walking, but we worked out way across the sand and the three of us settled onto the beach to wait.

Within about fifteen minutes, a small skiff came around the end of the cove headed towards our pier and spot on the beach. The skiff was a white, wooden boat about 15 feet in length. It contained two Hispanic gentlemen at the motor end and about six tourists. When the skiff docked, the tourists thanked the driver and exited the boat to head up the beach.

I inquired of the driver, “Pedro?” and to my relief, he nodded. I explained our situation and he spoke to the other gentleman. They assisted Justin into the skiff. The other gentleman grabbed snorkeling gear for the three of us and off we went. We traveled out of the cove and around a point of land that jutted out of the mainland. He slowed the boat over a small reef and killed the engine. I decided the best course of action for this adventure was for me to get into the ocean and have Pedro and his friend lower Justin into the water.

Kimmie helped Justin put on a mask and snorkel and a life vest as I waited for him in the ocean. This area had no current so I though it would be perfect for our adventure. With Justin floating in the ocean beside me, however, I soon decided this excursion might have a higher level of difficultly than I had anticipated. See, Justin does not have the best motor skills and independently all he was able to do was lie in the water floating on his back. I finally got him upright and gave him some quick instructions on how to snorkel so he would be comfortable.

However, I forgot to explain how to clear a snorkel. Justin had been on his back for a couple minutes so as I flipped him forward to put his face in the water, he immediately started coughing and choking. I got him upright again and pulled the snorkel out of his mouth and stupidly said, “What is the problem?” Justin sputtered, “There is water in the snorkel! I can’t breathe!” Now, my dual reaction, as is often the case on adventures with Justin, was first of embarrassment and then laughter.

I told Justin, “my bad” and then explained how to clear the snorkel. With the snorkel clear of water and back in place in Justin’s mouth, I flipped him forward again with his face in the water. I held him there a minute and heard the sound of his breathing through the snorkel. It was a bit like an old cassette audio recording of Darth Vader but I could tell his breathing was normal and had a natural rhythm to it. I asked Kimmie to hand me a mask and snorkel and then proceeded to move Justin along the reef and away from the boat.

I was not prepared for the next twenty to thirty minutes. In all the preparation of this adventure, I had worried about his handicap and my ability to make this work. I had not considered his reaction to an activity he had never experienced. I worked our way over small schools of fish and plant life that was bursting with color. Purple seaweeds, yellow and red coral, and bright neon blue fish were vibrant in the shallow water below us. I could hear Justin giggling into the snorkel beside me.

Some of the sea weeds were growing up about 3 to 4 feet off the ocean floor and were within reach of the surface. I moved Justin close to one and he reached out and touched it. There it was again …that giggle. I then heard a muffled “Donna” and so I stopped and up righted myself and then Justin. I pulled the snorkel from his mouth and Justin stated, “I want to see you swim to the ocean floor and touch the sand and some stuff. I can’t do that but I can watch you.”

I have to pause here to say that this comment more than put a lump in my throat. I had been on so many scuba dives and ocean swims and, I must confess, I have never considered how precious it was to be able to perform these tasks. I got Justin settled back in the water face down. I took a deep breath and swam down to the floor of the ocean and stirred the sand. I dazzled Justin with somersaults and brought some sea shells up for him to view.

Within a few minutes, Pedro pulled up next to us. Our time was up. Pedro and his shipmate got Justin back in the boat and I climbed in. Noticing that I had Justin well under control, Kimmie had eeven decided to snorkel. We picked her up and then headed back to the cove. Upon docking, we discovered that we only had about tenty-five minutes to get back to the cruise ship or we would have to make the small fishing village our new address. I stressed this to Pedro and he sent his shipmate to the main road to hail us a taxi.

Pedro then called to a couple of the guys on the beach and they picked Justin up to carry him to the taxi since his journey on his crutches would take entirely too long. Kimmie and I gathered our towels and things and then laughed histerically at Justin being carried to the taxi. Justin who has never ceased to use his handicap to his advantage was singing as he was being carried through the village convincing the locals that he was not handicapped but probably intoxicated. I'm not certain, but he may have slurred, “I ain't drunk. Put me down!”

We made it to the taxi and back to port in time and continued our cruise. It still blows me away that Justin put complete trust in the fact that I would take care of him that day on the ocean. I have since dared myself to have that kind of abandonment with God and my life. It has caused me to ask myself who was more handicapped in the water that day? I was numb and blind to the wonderment of God’s creation in the ocean. My friend was not.

Vacations must always come to an end and this one ended over ten years ago. I, however, have never forgotten that day. I thought I would help a friend out who wanted an adventure beyond the limits of his handicap. What I found was a friend helping me learn a lesson in blessings and about the things I take for granted. The sound of that child like giggle in the snorkel has stayed in my head all these years. I am grateful to God for the wonderment we can experience as adults just as we did as children, if we will only trust Him with our lives. We only need to disown our handicaps.

Snatched up!

I enjoy listening to good preaching. I listen to a lot of good preaching on Moody Radio. The habit started several years ago when I taught evening classes in the summertime. About the time I would start home, John MacArthur and the “Grace to You” program would begin. MacArthur quickly became, and still is, one of my favorite Bible teachers. I then discovered other good preachers on Moody Radio. Folks like Ravi Zacharias, and Alistair Begg, always seemed to be able to use God's Word to stir my heart and mind. I still listen to Christian music, secular music and talk radio with political and social commentary, but more and more, my radio dial is tuned to Moody.

One day Will and I were loading into the van, and as soon as I cranked up, James MacDonald's voice could be heard on the radio and he said, “Jesus is coming back soon!” The following conversation ensued:

Will: Jesus is coming back soon?

Me: Yep. One day God will say "ENOUGH!" "Enough death. Enough pain. Enough hurt. Enough tears. Enough!" And He'll say "Son, go get your children." And then Jesus will snatch us up into heaven with Him and we'll have the biggest party EVER! Won't that be cool?

Will: Nope...

And I quickly realized that going to Heaven that summer was not on Will Fisher's agenda. Now, before you giggle too much at young master William, the Bible says in 1 Corinthians 10:12, “If you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!” The simple truth is that most Christians are as excited about Heaven as a ten year old boy who has just been invited to an all girl birthday party. Deep down our hearts say, “I guess I'll go...but, if it's all the same, I just as soon stay here.”

I posted mine and Will's conversation on Facebook, and a friend of mine pointed out that it might have been my use of the phrase “snatch us up” that had caused Will's reluctance. She mentioned that she didn't like the idea of being “snatched” to anywhere, much less up into the air. I can certainly understand that.

However, I did a little research and the idea of being snatched up is completely accurate. The original Greek lexicon, used in the New Testament some thirteen times is “harpazo”, and it means “to snatch out or away”. It is the word Paul uses in 1 Thessalonians 4:17 when he writes, “After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever.”

Another definition of “harpazo” is “to claim for one's self eagerly”. Now that's a definition that Will, and you and I for that matter, should be able to get our minds around. Think about it. If a child finds a sibling playing with their prized toy, their first impulse is to say “Mine!” and snatch it away.

I believe this is exactly what Jesus will do. In the fullness of time, when all that is to be fulfilled has been fulfilled, Jesus will say to Satan, “These children are mine...and you will persecute them no more!” And then, “In a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.”(1 Cor. 15:52)

After all, for those who are Christians, “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price.”(1 Cor. 6:19-20a) If we were “bought at a price”, then we are indeed His. And if we are His, then He indeed has every right to say “Mine!” and snatch us up to be with Him forever. And about that we should be not as a ten year old boy invited to an all girl birthday soiree, but a five year old boy on Christmas Eve.

MY Grandmommy!

Kelly's grandmother is named Pauline Williams. She goes by several names, however, including Mom, Mrs. Pauline, and Aunt Polly; but she was introduced to me at the age of 91 as simply “Grandmommy.” Kelly and I had been “seriously dating” for some time, and I was invited to Hiram, Georgia, to spend the weekend and get to know the family. The first time I ever met Grandmommy, she hugged my neck and said, “Don't they have any pretty girls where you're from?” It was like I'd known her all my life, and so began a wonderful relationship.

Grandmommy and I get along for several reasons, but I think the primary reason is because I like to talk and Grandmommy loves a good story. She has been a tremendous encouragement to me during the writing of this book. She is a saintly woman of God who loves Jepordy, great-grandchildren, and chocolate.

One day, the family was sitting around chatting and the subject of re-incarnation came up. Grandmommy said, “You know I don't believe in that stuff, but if I did I think I'd probably come back as a wolf.” Well you can imagine the chuckles that insued. “Why do you think you'd come back as a wolf?” someone asked. “Well, I guess, it's 'cause I'm so mean” Grandmommy replied.

She then went on to recount for us a story from her childhood. She said that when she was a little girl in school, one of her classmates was from “the wrong side of the tracks.” Grandmommy said they would throw rocks at the girl and tease her about her father making moonshine. “I don't know if that was true about her Daddy, but that was the story anyway.” You could tell in Grandmommy's voice that there was a twinge of guilt about how she had treated another human being even after eighty plus years.

Trying to lighten the mood a bit, Cousin Jo-Jo said, “Pauline, you know how Justin tells stories, he'll probably be telling that about you.” Grandmommy simply smiled and said, “Well, maybe so, but I'm gonna die and go to Heaven before he does, and I'll tell God it ain't true!”

So much to learn, from that story in particular, and from Grandmommy in general. I'm sure that the teasing carried about by Grandmommy and her posse was part of harmless child's play, but again, you could tell it bothered her just a bit. Why? Because Grandmommy knows what I'm trying to learn and put into practice; everyone is made in the image of God and because of that they all have dignity. Picture the lowest, low-life, scum sucking, varmit of a human being you can think of, and they are still closer to God than anything else on the planet because they are made in His image. I dare say that the biggest regret most of us will have when we stand before the judgment seat of Christ is the way we have treated His children.

Grandmommy is ninety-six at this writing. She has already begun dropping hints that she might not be around much longer. She doesn't say it with any hint of sadness, though. But that's what happens when you have an intimacy with the One you know you'll spend eternity with. Jesus says in John 14:2-3, “My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

Let That Pony Run!

Let That Pony Run

          Dad and I like to watch horse racing.  The problem is, we don’t know anything about it.  We love horses, but as far as knowing anything about breeding or the business of racing, we are pretty delinquent.  We just like to, as Dad says, “Watch the ponies run.”  Growing up, I remember watching the Triple Crown every year, but one year stands out above all the others.

          The year was 1989.  Every year Dad and I would choose a horse to pull for during the race or races, based on some very shallow indicators like name or color.  Very rarely did we know anything of bloodlines, earnings or how they finished in recent races, enough to make educated decisions.  Before the Kentucky Derby I chose a big Chestnut colored horse named “Easy Goer.”  This was my pick for a few simple reasons.  First, because of his color, he stood out against the usual back drop of all the other bay colored Thoroughbred horses.  Secondly, his trainer was named Shug McGaughey.  “Shug” just happens to be the nick-name that my Dad has called me since birth.  It also didn’t hurt that the betters had made Easy Goer the favorite to win the Derby.  Dad chose to root for a speedy black colt named “Sunday Silence.”  This horse may have subconsciously been attractive to Dad because of his fondness for Sunday afternoon ciestas. 

          I don’t remember very much about the Kentucky Derby itself, just that Sunday Silence, Dad’s horse, won, and my horse, Easy Goer, came in second.  The other thing I remember is that I was excited about the rematch in the Preakness a few weeks later.  And, man, what a rematch it was!  It was the stuff of legends.  No Hollywood director, no matter how creative or talented, could have made the clash of these two titans appear any more dramatic.  Sunday Silence broke to the front of the pack early with the pacesetters, while Easy Goer got off to a sluggish start.  But when Easy started to make his move, it looked like the other horses were standing still.  When he passed the frontrunners, including Sunday Silence, it looked like the race would be a blowout, and he would leave them all in the dust.

          Sundays are special, though, and on this particular Saturday, this particular Sunday was very special.  Sunday Silence jockey asked for more and his horse responded.  As Easy Goer and Sunday Silence started down the home stretch with ¼ mile to go, the 90,000 + in attendance knew they were witnessing something for the ages.  “Down the stretch they come!  Sunday Silence on the outside.  Easy Goer on the inside.  Stride for stride, neck and neck, nose to nose.”  And after a photo finish and a stewards review that seemed to last forever….it was Sunday Silence, Dad’s horse, who won by a nose.

          In my heart I still think Easy won, and three weeks later he did in fact win the Belmont, the last leg of the Triple Crown, by eight lengths, but that’s beside the point.  (These two  had a fourth  rondexvous in the Breeders Cup, in which Sunday Silence won by a neck, but that’s also beside the point.)  The point is this was a moment that will ever be etched in my mind.  A moment that Dad and I shared.  Ever since then, if I am unable to watch the Triple Crown with my Dad, I call him and we watch it together over the phone.  More often than not these days it seems we’re pulling for the SAME horse, for we’d both like to see someone win the Triple Crown.

          Though the Bible doesn’t talk much about horse racing, Brother Paul does talk about racing in general.  Here’s one of my favorite passages from Hebrews 12: 1-3, “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”

          A few things to consider from these verses…..

First, the part about “ throwing off everything that hinders” reminds me of another horse race.  It’s the one at the end of “The Black Stallion” movie.  You know the one about the little boy, and the big horse.  In the big race they’ve dressed the boy up in so much garb so that the spectators won’t realize he’s just a kid.  Midway through, he just throws off his helmet and goggles he’s been told to wear so that he can ride the Black as they’ve done so many times before.  God help us to cast off those things that hinder our relationship with Him and keep us from running the race set before us.

Second, let’s talk about this part about “fixing our eyes on Jesus”.  Did you know that many race horses wear blinders on their bridle that allows them to only look forward?  That way they are not distracted by the crowd or other horses or anything else.  They just run! 

          Turn your eyes upon Jesus.

          Look full in His wonderful face,

          And the things of earth will grow strangely dim

          In the light of His glory and grace.

Keeps everything in perspective, doesn’t it?

How NOT to Choose a Major

     Yesterday I added my 1000th Facebook friend.  Her name is Kelli Evans Brown.  She is married to Donnell Brown of Throckmorton, Texas, and together they run a large cattle ranch.  I met Kelli when I was in the ninth grade at Union High School and she was a freshman at the Oklahoma State University.  Our one on one conversations over the next four years might have reached a total sum of one hour in duration, but this lady, like so many others, unknowingly had a profound impact on my life.  None of them set out with a goal of injecting confidence into the life of a young man with cerebral palsy.  No, the did it just by being themselves.
     Like I said, this all starts at Union High School, Union, Mississippi, 1987.  At the time, UHS offered very few elective courses.  In fact, the way I remember it, the girls went to "Home Ec" class and the guys went to "Vo Ag" class.  "Vo Ag" stands for Vocational Agriculture, and while none of us ever intended to become farmers, er, um, vocational agriculturalist, we were certainly not going to spend our time learning to cook and sew.  The Vo Ag teacher was Mr. Mark Savell.  Whether Mr. Savell took a special interest in me because I was in a wheelchair, or because I was simultaneously his third and fourth cousin (he'd have to explain it to you), really doesn't matter.  The fact is that he did, and it changed my life forever.
     Mr. Savell encouraged me to get involved in the FFA, Future Farmers of America.  Again, I saw no farming in my future, but the FFA opened up a world for me I had never known previously: competition.  While many of my able bodied friends were involved in athletic competition, in the FFA I found an outlet for my competitive spirit.  The first competition I took part in was called "Creed Speaking".  Mr. Savell required all of us as freshman to recite the FFA Creed for a grade in his Vo Ag class.  I figured if I had to learn it anyway, I may as well learn it well, and get to get out of school one afternoon to perform at the District Competition.  After more than twenty-five years, I still remember the first two paragraphs of the Creed:
     "I believe in the future of farming, with a faith born not of words but of deeds - achievements won by present and past generations of farmers; in the promise of better days through better ways, even as the better things we now enjoy have come to us from the struggles of former years.
     I believe that to live and work on a good farm is pleasant as well as challenging; for I know the joys and discomforts of farm life, and hold an inborn fondness for those associations which, even in hours of discouragement, I cannot deny."
     Yep.  Just typed that whole thing from memory.  Then I Googled to see if I got it right.  Only missed one little prepositional phrase.  Probably the same one I missed twenty-five years ago which caused me to place second in the competition and miss a trip to the state finals.  But I, as they say, had been "bug-bit" and I got so involved in the FFA my freshman year that I was nominated to receive the "Star Greenhand Award".  The award was given at the end-of-the-year FFA banquet.  We were also told that the national student president of the organization would be speaking at the UHS FFA banquet.  That person was Kelli Evans.
     I won the "Star Greenhand Award" that night, but that's not what made my night special.  After the banquet was over, Kelli came over to congratulate me.  And ya'll as Kelli Evans, THE national president of the FFA, with that long blonde hair and big eyes and that blue and gold corduroy jacket on, approached, it felt like she was moving in slow motion!  I, a freshman at a little poe-dunk high school, was carrying on a conversation with a beautiful, intelligent, successful college girl!  And she initiated it!  She said that she'd heard great things about me, and I learned that she was majoring in Agricultural Economics.
     Well, fast-forward four years or so.  I did everything there was to do in FFA.  I was Chapter Officer, livestock judge, parliamentary procedure contestant, District Officer candidate, state extemporaneous public speaking contestant, and eventually State Officer.  Because of my involvement, I applied for and received one of the prestigious college scholarships offered by the FFA.  The only requirement was that I major in some area of agriculture.
     What do you think I chose?  That's right...Agricultural Economics!  Now it didn't hurt that I enjoyed my one semester of high school economics (thanks Coach Johnson), but that certainly wasn't the main reason.  I thought to myself, "If ALL of the girls majoring in Agricultural Economics are like Kelli Evans...that's EXACTLY where I need to be!"  And that, dear friends, is how I chose my major.
     There are two glaring ironies here.  The first is that when I arrived at Mississippi State to start my junior year after transferring from East Central Community College, I realized there were VERY few girls majoring in Ag. Econ.  (And I can assure you NONE of them were like Kelli Evans.)  The second irony is that these days part of my job is advising students and occasionally one of them will ask me to help them choose a major.  My response, "Well, let me tell you how NOT to do it."
     Awhile back someone told me, "If you like where you are, you can't complain about how you got there."  Can I just tell you...I LOVE where I am!  I have an amazing wife, kids, job, friends, church family, the list goes on and on.  And if I hadn't majored in Ag. Econ. there are people I would have never met and things I might never have experienced.  So Romans 8:28 is still true.  Even when we follow our own selfish priorities, even when we don't make wise decisions, even when we stray, God really is working all things together for our good and His glory.  So thanks David Mancil who introduced me to hunting.  I now spend many happy hours enjoying God's creation.  And thanks Dr. Little who taught me how to be a Christian witness in the classroom. And thanks Dr. Reinschmidt who taught me how to treat students like people.  Notice how the Apostle Paul concludes his second letter to Timothy:
     "Do your best to come to me quickly, for Demas, because he loved this world, has deserted me and has gone to Thessalonica.  Crescens has gone to Galatia, and Titus to Dalmatia.  Only Luke is with me. Get Mark and bring him with you, because he is helpful to me in my ministry.  I sent Tychicus to Ephesus.  When you come, bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at Troas, and my scrolls, especially the parchments.
      Alexander the metalworker did me a great deal of harm. The Lord will repay him for what he has done. You too should be on your guard against him, because he strongly opposed our message.
      At my first defense, no one came to my support, but everyone deserted me. May it not be held against them. But the Lord stood at my side and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it. And I was delivered from the lion’s mouth. The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom. To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen.
      Greet Priscilla and Aquila and the household of Onesiphorus.  Erastus stayed in Corinth, and I left Trophimus sick in Miletus.  Do your best to get here before winter.   Eubulus greets you, and so do Pudens, Linus, Claudia and all the brothers and sisters.  The Lord be with your spirit.  Grace be with you all." 
     Did you see it?  In these verses Paul mentions seventeen different people who have impacted his life.  Here is Paul in a cold dungeon, chained like a common criminal, knowing he is nearing the end of his life, and what he thinks about is relationships.  You'll never meet anyone who isn't important to God....