Once in a while, PB and I like to jump in the car and take off.
We don’t do long vacations or travel the world.
We like being home.
Since retiring to the woods we feel like we’re on perpetual vaca,
so occasionally an adventure is in order.
Today is that day.
You’ll never guess where we’re going…
Charles Spurgeon is my favorite old dead guy.
I call him my 19th century boyfriend.
PB doesn’t mind because Spurg has been dead for 133 years.
A few years ago, friends gave me a portrait of Charles that hangs in my home office. He watches over me as I sit in my chair every morning–reading, praying, thinking, writing.
The man inspires me.
He wrote 500 personal letters every week.
He preached four to ten sermons each week.
He wrote 135 books and published 63 volumes of sermons.
He read six books per week, reading no less than 500 pages every day.
He gave a two-hour lecture at the Pastor’s College every Friday.
All without a computer. No cutting and pasting, no typing even.
Every word he wrote was put to paper with a pen
that had to be dipped into an ink bottle.
His Sunday morning schedule was as follows:
Wake early and ride carriage to church.
Smoke one cigar to the glory of God.
Lead worship service, preaching no more than 45 minutes.
Greet people in the church vestry all afternoon.
Begin sermon prep for the evening service.
Preach Sunday evening sermon.
Ride carriage home and go to bed.
Charles Spurgeon, a.k.a. The Prince of Preachers,
preached 3,561 sermons over 40 years,
making him my second favorite preacher of all time.
My #1 pastor never smoked cigars.
Not even to the glory of God.
PB and I first met way back in 1974, before cell phones and email. We wrote letters to each other and PB saved up his dimes so he could go to the phone booth on the corner and make an occasional long-distance call.
By 1977, we were both in college and living several states apart. Because he was a poor college student, and I was a less poor college student, we devised a system for making those long distance phone calls. It went like this:
The phone would ring in my dorm room.
I would answer it.
The operator would say, “Person-to-person call for Betty.”
I would say, “Betty is not here right now.”
The operator would say, “Thank you. The caller will try back later.”
Click.
Then I would call PB on my dime.
Long distance was never a problem for Jesus. When a centurion asked the Rabbi to heal his servant, Jesus offered to come to his house. The soldier resisted, saying he knew how authority worked—all Jesus had to do was say the word and it would be done. It was a remarkable statement of faith, coming from a Roman.
Just imagine the servant, paralyzed and in great pain at home, possibly dying. Suddenly the nerves in his body fire up and feeling starts to return. The pain subsides. His feet and legs begin to twitch and then he springs out of bed and runs around the room. He thinks, “How did this just happen?”
Someone once told me that God’s phone number is Jeremiah 33:3.
“Call to me and I will answer you
and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.”
So go ahead—call Him.
He’s already paid for it.
He promises to answer.
He’ll never hang up on you.
Call person-to-person.
The Holy Spirit will connect you.
Long before Yosemite Sam came up with the phrase “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!” there was an actual person named Jehoshaphat. He was king of Judah from 873 BC to 848 BC. There is no record of him doing any jumping.
In a long line of no-good, terrible, very-bad kings, Jeho stands out as a pretty-good, decent, not-too-bad leader of Judah. Not perfect, but better than most.
When King Jehoshaphat heard that a huge enemy army was approaching, he was shook. But instead of having a melt-down, he “resolved to inquire of the Lord” and called for a nation-wide fast. All the people gathered at the temple for a prayer meeting, led by their king. Jeho reminded the people who God was, what God had done for them in the past, and asked for God’s help.
Then Jehoshaphat prayed one of the best prayers in the Bible:
“We don’t know what to do, but our eyes are on You.”*
During the prayer meeting, a prophet received a message from the Lord:
“Do not be afraid or discouraged for the battle is not yours, but God’s.”
Further instructions were given:
“Take up your positions; stand firm; face the enemy.”
Jehoshaphat had a brilliant idea:
“He appointed singers to praise the Lord at the head of the army.”
Then God had a brilliant plan:
“As they began to sing and praise, the Lord set ambushes
and the enemy armies destroyed each other.”
The King knew what to do next:
“Led by Jehoshaphat, they returned joyfully and went to the temple.”
I think maybe he jumped up and down a little bit, too.
I also think maybe we could learn some things from this account.
*Read it for yourself in 2 Chronicles 20.
It’s true.
Are you one, too?
Before you answer that, read on.
“Now when they (the Pharisees) saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were uneducated and untrained men, they marveled. And they took note that these men had been with Jesus.” Acts 4:13
The Greek word for “untrained” is “idiotes” (id-ee-o’-tace) meaning someone who is an “unlearned, unskilled, common ignoramus.”
When Jesus was building His team of disciples, He didn’t go to the local synagogue to interview the students with the highest grade point averages. Jesus went to the lakeshore and called uneducated, untrained fishermen.
Jesus was looking for “idiotes”—just like me.
I’ve never been to seminary.
I don’t know Greek and Hebrew.
I can’t explain the Trinity or the impassability of God
or why He sometimes uses anthropomorphism to describe Himself.
God is not looking for any old idiot, however. God is looking for regular folks who have been with Jesus. He’s looking for people who will make others around them take note—the kind of followers who may not be the most intellectual, but have Holy-Spirit-wisdom gained from time with Jesus.
Like Peter and John.
Their boldness unnerved the Pharisees and sent them into a panic.
Then those “idiotes” went out and turned the world upside down.
In the church I attended as a little girl with my family, we did not clap our hands, raise our hands or extend the hand of friendship during services. We were good midwestern farm folks who loved God, loved our neighbors, and loved the land.
I heard there were some places of worship where people shouted and danced and rolled in the aisles. My young mind couldn’t imagine that God approved of such behavior in church.
Most of my worship as an adult has been spent at a keyboard, playing hymns and worship songs. In this new season of life, I suddenly find my hands free and I don’t know what to do with them.
Sometimes I get the urge to clap. Once in a while, I feel compelled to open my palms and raise them up, just a little bit.
Then I read this:
“Lift up your hands in the sanctuary and praise the Lord.”
Psalm 134:2
“Clap your hands, all you nations; shout to God with cries of joy.”
Psalm 47:1
“Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.”
Ecclesiastes 9:10
It seems God not only approves, but heartily encourages—even commands—me to do something with my hands. So, I’m learning (albeit a bit self-consciously) how to lift up my hands…
…like a child reaching up to be embraced by my Heavenly Father—
…like a football fan cheering on my team—
…like a friendly wave to my next door neighbor—
… I will seek to be held by the Father,
… I will cheer on the move of the Spirit,
… I will welcome the presence of the Savior.
I will lift up my hands.
“I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands.“
Psalm 63:4
PB and I sit in the second row from the front most Sundays. Our church is out-growing its small meeting space, so we go early to get our seats. And have coffee. And mingle with people.
The worship team always brings its best. We’ve come to expect top-notch musicianship, outstanding vocals, and deeply meaningful worship. They are incredible.
But it’s not the voices singing from the front of the church that move me.
It’s the voices behind me.
Some weeks I come to worship full of joy—
eager and ready to praise.
Some weeks I drag myself in—
bedraggled and beaten down by the world.
Then we start to sing.
The pros in front nail it, but it’s the untrained, slightly off-key notes wafting up from the back rows that stir my soul. Some other people have had a hard week, too. Some are dealing with bad news. Some are grieving loss. Some are questioning their faith. Some are carrying disappointments.
But they sing.
So I sing, too.
God bless
all the voices behind me.
Through Jesus, therefore,
let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise—
the fruit of lips that openly profess his name.
Hebrews 13:15
I only have three words today.
Lord, have mercy.
Grandkid Lineup 2025
Grandkid #2 was home sick, so we were minus one this year. We missed her!
Grandkid #11 is holding a “?”, so we will be plus one next year. We can’t wait!
Twelve tribes. Twelve disciples. The Twelve. The dirty dozen.
Cousin Camp 2025
Eight of the most interesting, entertaining, delightful people in the universe.
Now you know why I needed August Break.
“If I had known how wonderful it would be to have grandchildren,
I’d have had them first.”
~ Lois Wyse
I’ve heard that in France
they have a tradition
of taking the whole month of August off.
I think that’s a great idea.
I’m gonna try it.
Au revoir, mes amis!
See you in September!
a small drop of ink 