What a disappointing word!

Failure is also a point of emphasis in January because it is failure that led us to resolve to be different in the first place, and it is failure that will make us doubt those resolutions and goals when life becomes difficult, or temptation returns.

I had joked that I’d wait until the third week in January to send that email out because I needed time for all my resolutions and goals to break down to have some fodder for the email.

Good news! It only took eight days to have enough failures in the New Year to write about it! Don’t you feel so lucky!

Ugh.

I started a workout program in the New Year to kickstart my process of (1) keeping the previous year’s 30lbs off and (2) starting my next thirty pounds of loss. Within a few days, I threw my back out, with it spasming and cramping up tight as a stuck valve. I was in so much pain that I, yes even I, went to the doctor to ask for pain relief and a referral to physical therapy. I spend most of my time at my house on a heating pad in bed or on the floor.

All because I over-exerted myself like I knew I would but, in my denial, had figured wouldn’t hurt me that bad this time. This time would be different. I’m literally a walking definition of insanity for you to witness. 

This back issue also killed my hopes for 10k steps a day, as on day eight of the New Year I succumbed to the pain and didn’t make my goal. The fact that I’d kept trying as much as I did probably further aggravated my back pain, but again…insanity.

I am technically still making my writing goal of 500 words a day, but only because I had a couple of solid writing days early in the month. I haven’t had a 500 word writing day in several days. Just more fodder for the newsletter.

I want to say you’re welcome, but even in tongue and cheek it’s embarrassing.

The Bible Speaks

The Bible doesn’t say a whole lot on non-moral failures. After all, it’s a guidebook on how to have a relationship with God. God seems to be less concerned with my failed New Year’s goals and more interested in how my heart is doing, which honestly isn’t super great as I wallow in my defeat.

We don’t read how Abram slaughtered the wrong lamb and missed out on a fourfold increase in his flock, all due to him misjudging the spring’s mating season that year. It may have happened. Maybe never did. It’s precisely because it isn’t a moral issue that we don’t hear about it. What we do hear about is that he said his wife was his sister, which nearly ruined the Pharoah. While just a half-lie, it was not a whole truth, and God had to intervene.

We don’t read about how David, while tending his father’s flock, let a couple of them loose inside the house, frustrating his mother to no end, and leaving him cleaning up quite a mess in the aftermath. Why? Because God was far more interested in David’s heart. That’s why we read about Bathsheba, David’s sinful actions with her, and God’s judgment. It is the moral failure that has God’s interest.

I could go on about moral failures because I have a lot of experience with those too, unfortunately. And Romans chapter one and several other places are ripe picking for those who want to stress the importance of strict adherence to God’s commands, even for those of us who believe in God’s gracious salvation.

What I want to stress today are the little failures, however, even those that are sometimes bigger than we want to admit. It may not be a moral failure to fail at my new workout regimen, or to miss my wordcount target for a few days in a row, but these failures, more than just stopping my yearly goals so quickly in the New Year, offer opportunity for the enemy to beat me down and to derail other areas of life. His aim is to take these non-moral failures and turn them into failures that affect my relationship with God.

I’m also behind on my daily Bible reading and that’s where these little goal failures start to pile up. It’s also where the Bible comes to the rescue.

Proverbs 24:16 (ESV) says, “for the righteous falls seven times and rises again, but the wicked stumble in times of calamity.”

So, I read my Bible today. I’m four days behind as I write this and hope to be back on track in the coming week.

I can’t get back to working out because…well, my back…but I can get back up again by going to the physical therapist and asking him how to get better and move on. I can keep trying (smartly this time…not like I’m still 18 and in great shape).

I hope you will too.

Hey, did you set goals for 2024? I’d love to hear about them, and how they’re going so far. Good or bad. Let me know!

I’ll write about those moral failures in the next newsletter, because they are important, and the first hints of forgiveness, as we head toward Easter Sunday this year. I hope this article has blessed you!

Want to know what good leadership looks like? I was a poor kid from the farm in the big city of Yokosuka. And I was still using a bank in my hometown, long before the internet made it easier to do so. I needed help, and I didn’t even know it.

FC1 Handley, my first LPO on USS MOBILE BAY, said, “Come with me.” After work that day we walked across Yokosuka Naval Base to the Navy Federal Credit Union. Without really giving me much of an option, he helped me get signed up.

There are so many ways in which FC1 Handley mentored me. But helping me understand how to change a bank so I could better manage my finances was such a huge one at the time. I’ll forever be grateful to him, and because of him, I’m still a member at NFCU.

Why is this important? Because, at the time, NFCU was only overseas. We didn’t teach Sailors in bootcamp how to sign up for direct deposit. My first checks in the Navy were on real paper. Things modern Sailors take for granted (getting set up with a national bank and getting money direct to their accounts) weren’t readily available to us.

This isn’t just a, “We walked uphill both ways in the snow” type of talk. It’s about how a mentor helped a bumkin kid who didn’t know what he was doing. Instead of demeaning me, or judging me, or making me feel stupid, FC1 Handley led me. He took action to get me where I needed to go.

So as I reflect on 25 years of NFCU membership, I think about what I owe those early mentors. FC1 Handley, and FC1 Helchin after him, who guided me when I didn’t want to be guided…when I didn’t know how to be guided. I didn’t even know what I didn’t know.

So thank, FC1, wherever you are. You were my first Navy example of consistent leadership.

Tiny Tim was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt about that. His death certificate carried the necessary signatures of the clergy at the church where he would be buried, the clerk, the undertaker, and a certain Ebenezer Scrooge, whose name was just as solid as it had been when he’d signed Jacob Marley’s death certificate. Indeed, Tiny Tim Cratchit was as dead as the wood he presently lay in.

Much had changed in seven years. Scrooge had given much. Indeed – almost all! – to rid himself of the guilt and shame of his miserly ways. Nearly saved Tiny Tim, too, who was only slightly bigger at his death than Christmas Eve seven years prior. Scrooge had the best doctors working on the boy’s condition, all of them happy to have Scrooge pay for this treatment or that, but never quite figuring out exactly what was wrong. Still, Tim had started the pathway of a bright future.

Until pneumonia struck. In a fortnight, Tim had gone from spry and hopeful to weak and discouraged. And then dead.

As Ebenezer Scrooge watched the simple casket lowered into the near-frozen muck on December 20^th, 1850, there could be no mistaking the fact that a piece of him was being buried as well.

And that was why Ebenezer Scrooge was angry.

The old Scrooge was back. Joy had given away to sorrow in the meanest of ways, for it sprung upon the old man with such ferocity that he had no defense! None at all!  Oh! How much Scrooge had loved the boy too! Like his own child. Alas, his love had no more ability to overcome Tim’s sudden illness than his father’s had. Powerless, and angry, that was Ebenezer Scrooge, all right. Joy had given way quickly to pain and sorrow, the likes of which Ebenezer Scrooge had never experienced before.

“Amen.”

Scrooge looked up. He hadn’t even noticed that someone was praying. The few who gathered on that crisp Camden Town morning made their way to Bob and Emily Cratchit to give their condolences or pass by the cold hole where Timothy now lay. They passed by Martha, the oldest sister, who had her husband and small child by her side. Then they would say nice things to Belinda, the second child. Peter would be next, though he was now much taller than his older sisters, and then a couple of younger children whom Scrooge didn’t quite know well enough, despite being close to their parents for these last seven years.

Ebenezer didn’t recognize many of those gathered that morning. Undoubtedly, a few were churchgoers, whom he might not recognize because, if he were to tell the truth, he didn’t go to church often. Even after giving money for several new pews five years prior! And one that bore his name besides. Nevertheless, many of those gathered were strangers, if the looks on Bob and Emily Cratchit’s faces were any indication. Mourners, the lot of them.

One of them, in particular, caught Ebenezer’s suspicious eye. A man – late 30s perhaps – well dressed in a dark, drab coat, black gloves, and black shoes that matched his black hat. He smiled a thin smile that seemed out of place, and Scrooge also noticed that he looked in his own direction as much as he looked toward the grave or the deceased boy’s family. The man did not offer his condolences to the family directly, which Ebenezer thought odd. His thin smile was unsettling…something different there.

Scrooge looked away from the grieving family. His pointy nose and tired eyes focused on the ground where his adopted son now lay. In the moments when he let himself dream, though those moments were few, he dreamt that he could help find a cure for the boy and someday take him under his wing. To watch him die of fever and cough, and not the crippling ailments which Ebenezer had tried to correct, was a blow of the meanest sort.

And what now? Well, that was a question supposing for another time to answer it. He turned slowly, yet as fast as old bones and sinews would allow, and began to walk away. Turning back to look one more time on the cold mud, he spat on the filthy snow beneath his feet.

“Bah! Humbug!”

Saving Ebenezer: The Continuing Saga of a man named Scrooge, is available now at THIS LINK. Please share this sneak peak on Facebook, Twitter, and other social media platforms where you are present. Thank you!

It’s not like it’s Auschwitz.

I remember thinking that as I embarked on my trip to Dachau Concentration Camp in late April 2023. I mean, yeah, the Nazis did horrible things here too, I’m sure (I didn’t actually know what had happened at Dachau), but still…it wasn’t Auschwitz.  

No one could have prepared me for what I saw, which was just a shadow of its previous brutal self, curated as a museum with its clean walls and pleasant smell. It must have been a far cry from what it had been by April 1945. Most of the buildings no longer exist, and the horror of those days has been long replaced by birds chirping in trees near the parade ground.

Yet the curators did a good job of showing the historical reality that made Dachau the dark blotch on Germany’s history that it is. Himmler had made it his prototype in 1933, shortly after the Nazi party came to power. Under his guidance, a level of brutality unmeasured by most civilizations in human history displaced any effort of real rehabilitation. Most of the early prisoners were political opponents. Seldom did they return to German society.

Then came the early victories in Poland and the annexation of Czechoslovakia. This only served to swell the ranks of Dachau’s prisoner population. In the peak of Dachau’s operations, some 60,000 persons were housed there at any given time. Many would not leave.

The ways they died are legion. Surely their blood calls out to God from the ground even now. As I toured the grounds, I was struck over and over again at how brutal humanity could be against those already made helpless. Whether dead from gunshot at a makeshift shooting range, cremated in ovens, shot attempting to escape, starvation, or from a disease, they all died without dignity under the oppressive rule of an evil authority.

I learned that several prisoners died from rushing the fence. They knew they would not escape. That was never the aim. They simply wanted to end their own suffering. I stood along part of the old fence, near a guard tower, and tried to wish they hadn’t done that. I couldn’t. I probably would have too. Or at least have considered it. Horror and brutality does something to a person. Who am I to judge someone in such agony?

I cried a little reading about the liberation, how US Soldiers liberated the camp and took out their anger on some SS men nearby. It was wrong, as far as rules of war went, but then again, I had a hard time judging them in my spirit. Then I read about how Soldiers literally killed some of the prisoners with kindness, feeding them more than they could handle. Their bodies, in shock, couldn’t process the food.

And I’d been blind to it, dreaming instead of my heroic grandfathers who flew in B-26 Marauders and B-24 Liberators into the air over France and Germany. They probably didn’t know much about Dachau either. In my childhood daydreams, I would pretend I was a pilot over Germany in 1944, never once thinking about Dachau. I only knew of Auschwitz because it was more famous for the murder of so many Jews. Even then, my knowledge went only so deep.

When I was a child, that was perhaps understandable. But as an adult, it is a travesty. I have no excuse to be in Dachau as clueless as I was in April. What else was I blind to? If I’d been in such denial about the horrors of Dachau, what else was I in denial about? Was I even fully cognizant about the gruesome history in my own country?

I wanted to be fair to myself. No one can know the width and depth of history. Even those who study it for their vocation focus on one general area (or even a specialized one). The scope of human history is too broad. But that doesn’t give me permission to be clueless about history either. Like always, there’s a balance, and I want to find it. I hope you do too.

Until next time…

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This is a companion post for my article appearing in the Virginia Dept of Wildlife Resource’s fishing notes. The article is titled, “Small Water, Big Fun: Retention Ponds can be great places to Hone your fishing skills.”

I’m dedicating this article to John Massey, my father-in-law. John never judged me for not knowing how to fish and has always been a willing fishing guide for his granddaughter Hannah. Thank you, John.

There’s an old writing adage that goes, “Write what you know.” That served me well for my first ever published piece back in 2000, when I wrote about my buddy and I ministering on USS Mobile Bay (CG-53). Preaching and the Navy were all I really knew back then, outside of a little farming, so selling an article based on my ministry at the time was the easiest thing to do.

Since then, I’ve written about cystic fibrosis in addition to topics related to ministering in the Navy, but by and large, the old adage has held true for me. With a child affected by cystic fibrosis, that too is something I know.

That hasn’t stopped me from writing about other topics, and it shouldn’t stop you from it either. The topic of my most recent published piece, “Honing your skills at the Retention Pond,” published by the Virginia Dept. of Wildlife Resources, shows this in full color. I didn’t know how to fish, but my daughter wanted to, so I had a choice to make. I could disappoint her, or I could learn a new skill. Turns out, fishing isn’t all that hard and becoming decent at it is fairly straightforward.

By the way, for those coming from the DWR website, I had to cut out a section on fishing for catfish in retention ponds. It’s too bad, because it was great info. Here is that cut information for those also trying to land the cats:

“Another fish species that offers pond anglers an attractive fight is the ubiquitous channel cat. These catfish are plentiful in Virginia waters and have amazing senses of taste and smell. They sometimes croak when caught as well, which makes for an interesting experience. “Use a Carolina rig, aka fish finder rig, to fish bait on the bottom,” says McCrickard. The DWR has an informative video that shows how to fish for channel catfish with this setup.”

The same goes for writing something I’ve never written about before. While I’ve never considered myself much of an outdoorsman, I know what I’ve learned so far and turns out, it made a really good article. I could apply what I’d learned as an amateur angler, combined with my interview skills (thank you, Alex McCrickard!) and get a really good product.

So here’s to learning new things, stepping out of comfort zones, and writing about new loves.

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I went to Burg Hohenneuffen on the recommendation of a German neighbor, and I couldn’t have been happier. So first off, if you’ve stumbled upon this blog post because you’re thinking about going to Burg Hohenneuffen, think no more. Go!

Hohenneuffen was built between 1100 and 1120, which makes it roughly 900 years old. It’s another stark example of just how little frame of reference an American traveler like myself has for this level of history. I’m so grateful for this trip.

Getting to Burg Hohenneuffen is fairly simple. I was coming from Stuttgart, so about an hour drive, but wherever you are in Germany or eastern France, you’re not far and putting the location in your GPS will take you right to it. I found out the hard way that some castle ruins aren’t so easy to find. There’s one I still have to go look for again because I drove around what should have been the entrance for almost an hour before giving up and going home.

That’s not the case with Burg Hohenneuffen, however. The directions get you right to it and parking is easy. Once you’re parked, it’s a simple 15-minute walk to the castle itself.

The owners of the fortress host many events there, such as weddings, office holiday parties, and the like. I got a little worried that maybe that’s all they did (meaning that I couldn’t go an poke around on my own), so I reached out to the contact on the website and received a wonderful email back from the owner, saying, “You can visit the castle by your own. We are looking forward to welcome you.” – Pascall

Just as soon as you go through the entrance, you’re face to face with the daunting walls of the castle proper. No picture will really do. You have to see it for yourself. Having said that, the walls are tall, sturdy…the word impregnable comes to mind. Since I’ve also toured the Wartburg Castle in Germany and the Warwick Castle in England, I feel like I know a thing or two about that word, and it is suitable for Hohenneuffen.

Something I enjoyed immensely about Burg Hohenneuffen is that you’re literally seeing how it was built up from the rock base (the walls were built from a nearby quary). Obviously that rock face makes it impossible for an invading force to attack it. The only way into the castle was through the entrance that you take from the parking lot. It’s just wonderful to see how it was laid out, and to try and imagine what the original designers were thinking.

The castle had a main corridor just off the courtyard (where the restaurant and coffee shop are). Like a 5 year old who’s parents turned away from him for a minute, I went through the corridor, almost slipping a few times on damp rocks, to uncover a part of the castle that “needs” renovation. I hope they never do it. There’s a certain level of history that needs to be left as time has affected it. That’s just my opinion, of course, but I enjoyed finding a few rooms that were in states of decay.

Back in the courtyard, I enjoyed a cappuccino in the cool morning air and took in my surroundings. For some reason, I failed to take a photo of the courtyard. Oh well. Guess I’ll just have to go back!

If you want to see a castle that isn’t over-hyped but still gives you a good feel for the history of Germany’s medieval period, I can’t recommend Burg Hohenneuffen enough. If you’ve gone to the castle, let me know what you thought in the comments. If you plan to go, shoot me a note to ask any questions!

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I was privileged to visit Germany for several weeks this spring for business, and in doing so, I was also presented the amazing opportunity to tour several areas of the country. Long story short, Germany is quickly becoming a favorite country for me. Of course, I say that about almost every country I visit.

Erfurt was a part of my mini-pilgrimage to learn more about Martin Luther from the sites where he lived and worked. In his late teens and early 20s, Martin Luther was a student at Erfurt University. After entering the monastery in Erfurt, he was ordained at the Erfurt Cathedral and, as a Protestant Reformer, preached at the Barefoot Church in 1529.

Speaking of the Barefoot Church, I stayed at the Ibis Hotel right across a narrow street from it. The Ibis was a really nice hotel. Rooms were small, but effective (efficient?) and up to the task. I needed a desk, a chair, a bed, and a shower. I got all those things and a great view of the Barefoot Church. The disadvantages of staying there are the additional cost of parking (15 Euros) and the cost of staying so close to Old Town. My room was close to 200 Euros.

Food and Language

I had been warned by a member of the hotel staff at home base that, the further I went away from the city, the less English would be spoken. I knew that would be true (it had been true at every place I’d visited overseas before), but I didn’t realize how much it would affect me. When traveling through Asia, I know the other person (whether hotel staff, restaurant staff, or a tourist location staff) would know it. I was a white guy in Korea, Taiwan, or Japan.

Germany, however, was a different situation altogether. People expected me to communicate with them in German. I was not prepared for how uncomfortable it would make me feel. I wish I didn’t feel that way, and to combat it in the future, I intend to focus on my German so the next visit doesn’t feel that way.

Having said that, once I found a restaurant that spoke enough English to accept my halted efforts at ordering food, I enjoyed dinner immensely. The Restaurant Schnitzler was really good. Very affordable. The staff was amazing. Made me feel comfortable with communication, had great service, food was amazing (currywurst and fries), and they had a great beer list. Full view of the Domplatz and Erfurt Cathedral, providing ample opportunity to people watch and enjoy a warm evening. I highly recommend it to anyone visiting Old Town Erfurt.

It began to rain shortly after dinner, so while walking around Old Town Erfurt, I happened upon Pub Molly Malone. I figured an Irish pub had a good chance of having someone who could speak English, so I gave it a go. Very grateful I did! It was a fun place to grab a few drinks and enjoy a football (soccer) match.

The Barefoot Church and Layered History

On to the walking tour!

The Barefoot Church is very interesting. It’s part of a concept I’ve been thinking about called “Layered History.” Not something many of us Americans have reference for. When our country only goes back several hundred years, it’s difficult to imagine looking at a cathedral that was first built in 1244 by Franciscans, rebuilt with the original stained-glass windows in 1316 and finished in the 1400s. Luther preached there in 1529, after the Reformation was well underway, it was bombed in an allied raid in 1944 and never fully rebuilt, and I, a traveler in 2023, gazed on its beauty from the hotel across the street. I want to delve more into this in the coming weeks and months in terms of religious history, specifically the Reformation up to the modern church, but even considering the secular architecture, it’s a fascinating concept.

The Cathedral of St. Mary and Church of St. Severus.

Since my visit to Erfurt was part of my Martin Luther pilgrimage, I was, of course, drawn to the Erfurt Cathedral (known officially as The Cathedral of St. Mary and Church of St. Severus). On April 3rd, 1507, Luther was ordained a Roman Catholic priest at the cathedral. While not necessarily part of reformation history, it is nevertheless part of Luther’s “making of the man” and therefore important to me.

Honestly, it’s just a gorgeous building, full of rich history and architecture. The plaza where it is located is just as pretty, for different reasons. It’s a must for any trip to Erfurt, whether you’re Roman Catholic or not.

St. Augustine’s Monastery

Martin Luther studied here from summer of 1505 to autumn of 1511 after declaring to St. Anna in a thunderstorm that he’d become a monk if she saved him. Visiting the monastery was important for me because it was part of Luther’s life. I had, admittedly, also hoped for some inspiration on my own behalf while visiting Erfurt, and part of that would have come from the monastery. Still, the overall focus was to see where Luther had lived, prayed, and worked.

Krämerbrücke

So the Krämerbrücke is an interesting site to visit. I didn’t spend a great deal of time there, mostly because my focus was on sites pertaining to Martin Luther, but I did visit. It’s a bunch of shops along a walking bridge. The claim to fame is that it’s the largest of its kind north of the Alps. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it in my travels. Again, while I wasn’t there for things like Krämerbrücke, I was glad I visited.

Anyone wanting to see some of Germany’s history should put Erfurt on the list. The Old Town area is lovely. Great sites to see, food to eat, people to watch, and history to learn and experience. Let me know in the comments if you’ve been there, or if you intend to go there!

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I used to run with Chris Gennaro and his wife, Michelle. In fact, it was they who got me interested in running long distances. We’d often train together on Mission Bay in San Diego and I ran with them during my first two half marathons. Through running, and learning about their desire to be missionaries in Africa, I grew to love them both. In particular, Chris made a lasting impact on me as a husband, father, friend, and Christian.

Be that as it may, I never would have thought I’d take so long to get over someone’s death. Others have bothered me, but Chris’ death troubled my spirit way down deep, where my innermost thoughts live and where, I suspect, my darkest doubts lie as well. I can tell you this: I had never prayed so hard and with so much faith as I had prayed for Chris. I have never prayed for anything that important since, and probably never will again…not without a heavy dose of faith delivered first from God.

Chris Gennaro, missionary to Lesotho, contracted encephalitis in January 2013 and passed on 16 February of the same year. He and Michelle, along with their six children (two adopted from orphanages in Africa), had moved to Lesotho to work in God’s harvest. He had just started really ministering to the people of Lesotho…his people. I remember that because it was one of my prayers. “God, don’t let him die now. He just got to really know people!”

I don’t know how many people prayed prayers like that, but it was in the hundreds. Try as we may, we couldn’t stop the mighty hand of God from carrying out his will in Chris and Michelle’s lives. Chris Gennaro had become expendable in God’s plan. Like those who are killed for their faith, my dear friend died in the harvest field.

As I read her story and think back to the moment, this is where Michelle and I take separate roads in our grieving process. Her story of course, is far more important. I watched a woman of God struggle with intense emotions, yet she came through on the other end trusting God more. It was no surprise, then, that she went back to Africa as a teacher to missionary kids. She now resides in San Diego and supports Africa Inland Mission (AIM) as the Southwest region mobilizer.

I had to take a different path in my faith due to Chris’ death, which has taught me several things over the years. I’d like to share them with you now.

First, it taught me that the grieving process can take years to get over. I’m not his widow, and I can’t imagine what she goes through. What I do know, as someone who loved Chris, that his death has been very difficult to move on from. Not all the time…but definitely some of the time.

Second, it’s hard to trust God with big prayer requests when he seems to have let you down. I prayed hard while Chris was sick, but as the days went on, it became clear that he wasn’t going to make it. While his family sang hymns on the night of his passing, I was preparing my resentment against God. My faith changed a lot that day. I remember standing up in my office when I learned that he’d passed, walking to my door, and shutting it. That day, I also shut the door on God for a long while. My rebellion was substantial.

I remember, as Chris was dying, that a song got into my head and wouldn’t leave me. It’s by Brian “Head” Welch, of Korn fame. Here are a few lines from the song “Paralyzed:”

Why is my love so cold? No more will I pretend
Gasping for air as you’re slipping through my fingers
Don’t kiss me goodbye, please don’t leave here
The smell of sacrifice, Your disappearing whispers
I cannot grasp how my life inside just withers
Don’t kiss me goodbye, please don’t leave here.

Those words hurt so bad when Chris died.

Third, I learned that God is still God even when I feel like he isn’t. Just because I throw a tantrum doesn’t mean that God comes down from his throne. He is still very much Lord of all even when I don’t want him to be. Sometimes, I feel the weight of that majesty and sometimes I feel the blessing from it, but one thing is constant: it’s always there. He does not rely on me in order to stay the King of the universe. As I struggled in the last five years to understand God and his love, his majesty seemed to grow even more dominant. It was as if I was to feel the constant pressure of his glory until I came around.

Another song comes to mind now as I remember the struggle. It is called “Hands in the Air” by a group called The Waiting. Here is a sample of the lyrics, but really the entire song is simply amazing.

Light from my window sill, make my way to the door
I hang my head and still, I know you’re wanting more
Over the threshold now, I move across the yard
All that my will allows, my every step is hard
Now in the garden I carve out six feet of space
There make my will comply, lie down upon my face
Been toe to toe too long, I’m tired of fighting You
I see You were too strong ’cause I am black and blue
But now I understand a loser’s due to win
How every dying man is sure to rise again
So I raise my left hand one, I raise my right hand two
Under the morning sun, my spirit cries to You

I’ve come to understand that God is so much more powerful than I will ever be and that is good. I’ve also come to understand that I might never comprehend how God wields his power, and that is also good. If I were to know too much, I might decide to try to influence it more than I should.

This has helped me believe in God again as my Lord. It has also allowed me to see my friend Chris as an expendable Christian who burned out giving Glory to God, which is the ONLY THING THAT MATTERS IN THE WORLD. Anything I leave here on earth when I go must likewise simply exist to give God glory. If it gives me glory, or if my legacy is just mine, then it is worthless.

As the Apostle Paul said in Acts 20:24 –

However, I consider my life worth nothing to me; my only aim is to finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me —the task of testifying to the good news of God’s grace.

I remember one day, while running with Chris (Michelle had been unable to join us), he began to share some frustrations with me about the missionary planning process. He just wanted to get to Africa as soon as possible! I wish I had that fire…that determination…that said I would burn at both ends for God, so that, even in my death, I might hear the words, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

Rest well, my friend. Until we meet again…

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I am the last guy who wants to equate modern America with Old Testament Israel. People who quote Jeremiah 29:11 and II Chronicles 7:14 make me want to pull my hair out. Those promises were for Israel in some of her darkest days. We are not that people and that situation is not our modern America. But I digress.

After what was a horribly polarizing election cycle, which saw far more hate than love, more angst than peace, and more lashing out than making up, I noticed something disturbing. Christians, in large swaths, came to Trump in what can only be assumed was an attempt to stave off the hounds of liberalism.

I don’t care who people vote for. Most of the time I stay out of the argument altogether. I’d rather talk about Kansas City Royals baseball, naval warfare, writing, and theology, not necessarily in that order. People who voted for Trump did so for many decent reasons, just as people who voted for Clinton did. Even those who voted for Johnson or Stein did so for defensible reasons. Your politics is your politics.

But when you vote in a way that seeks to speak on God’s behalf, I get concerned. I’m particularly concerned when people want to side with a politician who will just as surely stab evangelicalism in the back as look at them.

Further, what I saw on Twitter and Facebook made me ill. Christians debating unbelievers with anger on their lips (or on their keyboards, as it were). How sad! What a divide we’ve caused this year! We spewed anger and evil out of one side of our lips to unbelievers while wishing each other a “good day” from the other side on Sunday morning. Despicable.

To echo the great prophet Isaiah: We are a nation of unclean lips.

Yes, there are some angry atheists. Many of them, especially in the hours immediately following the election results, did some very ugly things. Does that make what we do acceptable? Of course not! Our standards are so far above the standards of unbelievers. After all, our standards come from Christ himself! Yet Christians in America, especially the conservative, Bible-believing ones, have sold any moral authority we had in order to get a man in office who will probably (I stress probably) get someone on the Supreme Court who will nominally uphold our moral agenda. Not that it will lead to the overturn of Roe v Wade or Obergefell v Hodges (same-sex marriage) or any other moral issue.

Which is the point in the end. Instead of remaining true to God’s agenda of caring for the poor, feeding the homeless, providing shelter for the orphans, and most importantly, telling them about eternity and how to be a part of it, we convinced ourselves that our hope is in the American political machine.

The American Christian seems more concerned with having a moral America than a believing one. So we elect people who will legislate our moral code while we drive a wedge between us and unbelievers so that they will never want to hear about how to believe in Jesus.

Isaiah’s response to realizing that his nation had gone the wrong way was to claim woe and to ask God how it could be fixed. And God did fix it. As Isaiah watched, an angel delivered God’s redemption directly to him. We also have redemption, if we believe in Jesus Christ.

Now, here’s where it gets amazing. God, after purging the sin from the prophet, asked a pivotal question. It is a question as vital today in America as it was in Old Testament Israel.

And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?”

God wants to know, from among the professing Christians…in the crowd of those hoping for a political solution to a spiritual problem, who will really speak for him?

The dust is still settling, even almost a year after the election results, but in a nation of truly unclean lips, it’s time for believers, who understand that they also have unclean lips, to realize just how bad the spiritual situation is and respond, first with repentance from our own sin, and then to the call to go to the crowds for God. We must retreat from filthy politics that just drive a wedge between us and the world and openly work to reconcile the unbelieving world to God.

And God is looking for people to go even today. His words shouted from the annals of Isaiah’s time still echo today. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”

Will you also be a laborer? Will you cling to the hope of the great American political machine or will you join the Holy Ghost in his effort to turn America (and the world) into a truly Christian nation?

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