Spinning

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“Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.” Luke 12:27

When my brother was in college, he rode his bike from Wisconsin to Texas. I’m not talking about a motorcycle here — I’m talking about a 10 speed bicycle. He and two buddies pedaled 970 miles in June of 1972 to attend a Christian conference for young, radical “Jesus people”.  It was worth it, though, because he came home with a great girl and married her six months later.

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I don’t know much about long distance travel on a bicycle. My cycling experience is more like the monotony of pedaling a stationary exercise bike in the basement. I can pedal all the livelong day and never get anywhere.

That’s what worry looks like.

Lots of energy and sweat for no progress.

Lots of fussing and exertion, but no destination.

Lots of spinning, but the same old scenery.

When I l give in to anxiety, I’m riding the wrong bike.

It’s time to come up out from the cellar, pump up my tires and feel the wind in my face.

That’s what trust looks like.

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One Tongue Too Many

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Charles Wesley had a good sense of humor.

He wrote lots of hymns, but my favorite is “O, For A Thousand Tongues To Sing”. It’s the first song in the red Methodist hymnal I grew up with and it’s full of rich phrases that I have grown to appreciate more and more. I used to think Mr. Wesley was dreaming of a Sunday attendance of 1,000 people who would all praise God together. But now I think Charles had something else in mind.

My paraphrase: “If only I had one thousand tongues in my mouth! I would use each and every one to sing of my great Redeemer’s praise! I would wag all those tongues and declare the glory of my God and King! Just think how much talking I could do about the triumphs of His grace with 1,000 tongues!”

But I see a problem here. I have enough trouble with the one tongue I have. Controlling my only tongue is often more than I can handle. How would I ever get one thousand tongues to unite in praise when I can’t even seem to get my one tongue to consistently speak of God’s glory and grace?

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The Psalms are full of references to the mouth, lips and tongue and most of them are negative.

  • “Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from telling lies.” Ps. 34:13
  • “His mouth is full of lies and threats; trouble and evil are under his tongue.” Ps. 10:7

Psalm 71 is different. The writer resolves to use those muscles in a positive way.

  • “My mouth will tell of your righteousness.”
  • “My lips will shout for joy.”
  • “My tongue will tell of your righteous acts all day long.”

Sometimes I have to show my tongue who’s boss and resolve to use it for the good stuff. All day long.

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My NCAA Champ

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It’s March Madness — that wonderful time of year when the fans of 67 teams get mad because their hoopsters got knocked out of the bracket, while the fans of 1 team get to go completely berserk and set things on fire.

Back in 1941, the NCAA tournament included eight teams and nine non-televised games. There was no bracket, no Clark Kellogg, and no Vegas odds. Ah, the good old days.

Also, the trophy was way cooler than it is now.

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Wisconsin won that year.

They beat Washington State 39-34.

It was the last time the Badgers won the NCAA championship.

My uncle was on that team.

Can you pick him out in this picture?

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No, he wasn’t number 35 — that’s the big man, Gene Englund.

Nope, my uncle didn’t wear number 36 either. That’s Johnny Kotz, the tournament’s most outstanding player.

Uncle Morris isn’t in the first row or the second row.

He’s not number 26 in the back row.

In fact, he doesn’t have a number.

My uncle is the guy on the far left of the picture in the suit and tie, standing right behind Head Coach Bud Foster.

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He was the team manager.

(At least he didn’t have to wear those goofy socks attached to what looks like knee pads. What in the world?)

My uncle, Morris Bradley, was a 22 year old college student and he was having the time of his life.

When the team got back to Madison in the wee hours of a rainy March night, they were greeted by hundreds of fans. The champions were given a ride around the Capitol in a fire engine. Unfortunately, the fire engine caught fire so the parade was cut short. A reporter from the Cap Times newspaper quoted my uncle as saying, “Everybody had to pile off, and we were on our own from then on.” So I guess you could say they started a fire in Madison that night.

This year, as we cheer on our teams, let’s tip our hats to the guys on the bench with the water bottles and clip boards. In honor of my Uncle Morris.

 

My DNA

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This is a picture of me.

Or, I should say, a picture of my DNA.

For Christmas I received an Ancestry DNA kit. Ancestry.com is a genealogy site that helps people research their family history and connect with long lost relatives. Through the use of DNA testing, a person’s ethnicity can be discovered.

So, I spit some of my saliva into a little tube and put it in the mail.

Then I waited.

And wondered.

What secrets might be hiding in my DNA? Would I turn out to be a descendant of a Viking warrior? Might I have the blood of an Indian princess? Could I be in the line of English royalty?

Or would I turn out to be connected to a ruthless dictator or an infamous criminal or a lady of ill repute?

This morning the results were in. That little dab of spittle showed that my ethnicity is:

  • 50% from Great Britain. (No surprise there.)
  • 27% from Western Europe (Yep, knew that.)
  • 12% from Eastern Europe (Uh huh.)
  • 10% from Ireland (Wait. What?)

Somehow a wee Irishman jigged his way into my family tree unbeknownst to me.

Or maybe my Scottish cousin got tossed around in his boat and landed on the coast of Ireland by mistake.

This must explain why my kids loved Lucky Charms.

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It’s a good week to discover I’m 1/10 Irish!

Introducing Emma Kate

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The newest twig on the family tree has arrived!

Introducing Emma Kate.

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She has her very own fan club.

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Emma decided to give PB a special birthday present. Herself!

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Birthday buddies forever!

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It never gets old.

“Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare Your power to the next generation, Your mighty acts to all who are to come. Psalm 71:18

February Lit List

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The common cold knocked me for a loop last month. Only four titles made it to my “Books Read” notebook, but they were good ones. Here’s what has been on the bookshelf in February:

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  • Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis — I started this book a few years ago and stalled out so it went back on the shelf. Then I recently talked to someone who loved it, so I picked it back up. I yawned through the first 32 pages. Then I highlighted the daylights out of the rest of the book. Now I see why it’s a classic. Glad I gave it a second try and stuck with it.
  • A Grief Observed by C. S. Lewis — This short book (75 pages) was heartbreakingly honest about the death of Lewis’ wife. I didn’t underline one word because it felt too sacred to mark up a man’s journey through loss and grieving.
  • All Is Grace: A Ragamuffin Memoir by Brennan Manning — I listened to the audio version of this book because it’s hard to read with a sinus headache. I retreated to a dark room, put in earphones and was mesmerized by Maurice England’s narration. Brennan looks back at his life as a priest, then not a priest; his marriage, then his divorce; his constant struggle with alcoholism, then sobriety, then alcoholism. He sums up his life with three words: all is grace.
  • Unoffendable by Brant Hansen — I know it’s probably too early to call, but this may be my “book of the year”. I laughed at the humorous stories but cringed at how convicting this message was to my spirit. Mostly I felt like I had just been slapped up-side the head, in a good way. I obviously needed this book. Now I want to figure out how to give everyone I know a copy without offending them.

Happy reading!

“There are no faster or firmer friendships than those formed between people who love the same books.”  Irving Stone

 

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

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I used to think I was like the Good Samaritan.

The hero. The protagonist. The good guy. Sure, I’d help someone lying in a ditch, stripped and bleeding and unconscious. Maybe I’d load him up in my car, take him to the Best Western and nurse him all through the night. It’s possible I’d use my paycheck to pay for his recovery.

I grew to see that I was more like the priest and Levite.

The self-righteous religious professionals. I’d be afraid to get involved, ready with a litany of excuses and in a hurry to get somewhere. Maybe I’d go take a closer look to evaluate the situation. Perhaps I’d think about doing something. It’s possible I would pray for the man in the ditch as I crossed over on the other side of the road.

I now know that I am most like the wounded, beaten, half-dead person.

I was walking down a dangerous road away from God, all by myself. The devil stripped me of my right to be a child of God. The world beat me with temptation and sorrow. I was left for dead in my sins. No one would stop to help me.

Then, a compassionate Savior came along and rescued me. He brought healing to the pain and wounds of my sin, poured into me the comforting oil of the Holy Spirit, and brought me the wine of communion to cleanse and strengthen. This kind Savior took me to an inn, His Church, where the innkeeper, my Pastor, was appointed to look after me and care for me. My Rescuer will return with rich rewards.

Who was a neighbor?

The one who had mercy.

Go and do likewise.

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10 Things I Learned in February

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1. Paint the ceiling first. Then the walls. Unless you really like to do that little trim section where the ceiling and walls meet. In that case, go ahead and paint the walls first followed by the ceiling, because then you get to do that little trim section twice.

2. I choose paint color based on how good it sounds to eat. Warm Caramel won out over Hot Mustard Seed and Water Chestnut. Mmmmm. Warm Caramel.

3. My word for February was “yield”, as in: to surrender or submit. As in, I don’t always need to be right. As in, sometimes other people have better ideas. As in, it’s ok to not get my way. This screensaver on my iphone kept reminding me.

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4. Visitors in church one Sunday morning turned out to be the grown children of a pastor that served our church from 1977-1990. They were thrilled to be invited over to the parsonage and to walk through the home where they grew up. It was fun hearing all their stories and memories from their years here. They were particularly pleased to see the same drapes hanging in the living room. They sure don’t make curtains like they did 40 years ago.

5. When I saw Tom Brady hoist up the Lombardi Trophy after winning the Superbowl, I couldn’t help but think of something he said after he won his third championship. “Why do I have three Superbowl rings and still think there is something greater out there for me? A lot of people would say, ‘This is what it is. I reached my goal, my dream.’ Me? I think, ‘God, it’s got to be more than this. I mean, this isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be.'” I hope he’s still asking that question.

6. Quote of the month: “Christians should be the most refreshingly unoffendable people on a planet that seems to spin on an axis of offense.” Brant Hansen

7. A successful ministry doesn’t always look successful by this world’s standards. Our women’s Bible study finished eight weeks on J the B (John the Baptist). We learned that a call to ministry and complete faithfulness to that calling can still result with your head on a platter. This world doesn’t always reward greatness, by God’s standards.

8. People make mistakes. Even glitzy, glamorous movie stars screw up sometimes. It doesn’t seem to matter if you’re wearing a gold beaded dress from the Givenchy’s couture collection and Chopard 59.9 carat diamond drop earrings. Nobody’s perfect.

9. Babies come when they’re ready. We are waiting for a phone call announcing a new grandchild. It appears Little Miss wants to be in the March photo collage on next year’s family calendar.

10. PB is longsuffering. He has put up with two solid weeks of my hacking and coughing and sniffing and sneezing. Never once did he suggest I take my germs and ruckus out to the couch so he could get a good night’s sleep. We promised “for better or worse”. He held to his end of the bargain this month.

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The Crowd

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“Who do the crowds say I am?” Luke 9:18

Five thousand people were talking. News was out that five little loaves of bread and two measly fish somehow multiplied into dinner for a multitude.

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The throng was trying to figure out who Jesus was. And they were struggling.

  • John the Baptist, come back to life? Wrong.
  • Elijah, come back to life? Wrong.
  • One of the other Old Testament prophets, come back to life? Wrong.

The crowd was easily confused.

The word “crowd” is found 38 times in the Gospel of Luke. Jesus taught the crowd, He healed the crowd, He fed the crowd, He told the crowd stories, He answered questions from the crowd. And then the crowd disappeared, only to show up later, shouting, “Crucify him!” That’s the crowd for you.

“But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?” Luke 9:20

Ah. Now there’s the question.

Step away from the rabble and the opinions and the ego-centric philosophies.

Don’t put too much stock in National Geographic’s “The Story of God” or Amazon Video’s “Who Was Jesus?” or  Oprah’s “Belief” series.

Be careful when dabbling with “religions” that were founded in 1965 by a guy named Bob.

The crowd is confused.

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What about you? Who do you think Jesus is?

It’s the most important question you’ll ever answer.

The Wedding of ’46

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My parents were married on February 23, 1946. World War II had just ended and my dad was desperately trying to get released so he could take the next train home and marry his girl. My mother was working in Madison, Wisconsin, waiting for her sailor to come ashore.

This is from one of my dad’s letters to his parents, dated Feb. 8, 1946.

“I’ll be home Thursday, Feb. 14th for a 31 day leave in Wisconsin!! Thirty one days in Wisconsin — it will be perfectly grand. If it is possible, I think Elinor and I will want to be married — that is, if it can be worked out okay. Thirty one days is plenty of time — a week or so to get ready for the wedding, then a honeymoon and a week or so at each home. I tell you truthfully that Elinor and I want very much to be married. Thirty one days is a long time — we are very much in love.”

I guess Grandpa and Grandma agreed, because the wedding took place 15 days later.

Here’s to love!

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