Pastor Risser is Home with Jesus

Former Foursquare President Paul Risser went to be with the Lord today, Dec. 15, 2017. He was 80 years old. In addition to leading The Foursquare Church from 1998 to 2004, he served on the Foursquare cabinet for many years after stepping down from the presidency.

PAUL RISSER, FORMER FOURSQUARE PRESIDENT

An ordained Foursquare minister, Paul also served on the denomination’s board of directors for 20 years, at one time chaired the missions council, and was a member of the board of trustees for Life Pacific College (LPC, also called LIFE Bible College).

His legacy will continue far into the future through the Paul and Marilee Risser Endowment for Pastoral Leadership, created in 2009 through the Foursquare Foundation.The endowment later launched the National Residency Program, which provides young leaders with mentors and hands-on experience before they assume the duties of a full time pastorate.

“First and foremost, Paul was a pastor and remained so until his last breath,” affirms Glenn Burris Jr., current president of The Foursquare Church. “Like every good pastor, he cared about people. He studied how to partner with people and care for them. His presidential legacy is particularly marked by his establishment of a retirement program for pastors. That was a major step forward for the Foursquare family.”

Paul embraced the idea that everyone has a role to play in the kingdom of God. He gave evidence of that during Foursquare Connection 2015 when he talked about LPC having received accreditation during his presidency.

“Dr. [Vaneda] Courtney always said LPC was a preacher factory,” Paul said to the convention body. “I believe in preachers and pastors. I love ‘em. Now, with LPC, Foursquare will have wonderful laymen all over the place. ... I believe there ought to be 200 great laypeople for every great pastor. Wouldn’t that be a blessing to our churches?”

Paul Risser’s legacy will continue far into the future through the Paul and Marilee Risser Endowment for Pastoral Leadership, created in 2009 through the Foursquare Foundation.

Born on Oct. 5, 1937, in Chattanooga, Tenn., Paul was the son of Foursquare ministers Otto and Martha Risser, who started their pastoral career in nearby Dayton after leading a revival there. Paul spent the first 10 years of his life in Dayton, still known nationwide as the scene of the infamous 1925 Scopes Monkey Trial and home to Bryan College. Founded in the aftermath of the trial, the school teaches a Christian worldview to thousands of students.

The Rissers then moved to Muncie, Ind., where Paul attended junior high. His father then planted a Foursquare church in Battle Creek, Mich., where Paul attended high school and played on a state championship football team.

After high school, he enrolled in LPC, where he met his wife, Marilee, the daughter of longtime Foursquare supervisors Dr. and Mrs. Craig Bigg. Marilee would become Paul’s lifelong partner both at home and in the ministry. Paul and Marilee had three sons and seven grandchildren.

After graduation, Paul was appointed minister of youth at Lynwood Foursquare Church in Lynwood, Calif., before moving to Texas in 1962 to pastor Brownfield Foursquare Church. The church experienced dramatic growth during his decade there, a pattern duplicated in his final pastoral position at Florence Ave Foursquare Church in Santa Fe Springs, Calif.

“First and foremost, Paul was a pastor and remained so until his last breath.”

—GLENN BURRIS JR., PRESIDENT OF THE FOURSQUARE CHURCH

Paul’s tenure there lasted for 26 years. Growing from 200 to 2,000 people by the time he left in 1998, the church became one of the denomination’s strongest.

His youngest son, Terry, replaced him in the pulpit, while Marilee continued to teach a Sunday school class there. Known for its ministry to world missions, many Foursquare missionaries call Florence Avenue their “home church,” and many leaders look to it for direction and encouragement.

The church’s missions emphasis reflects the missions consciousness Paul learned while growing up, when his parents hosted numerous missionaries and itinerant evangelists. He later would travel to 65 nations and preach in most of the major Foursquare mission fields. Some of the moving stories Paul heard as a youngster and on his travels found their way into his book, An Eye for Miracles, which Foursquare Media published in 2010.

Public plans for a celebration of Paul’s life are being planned immediately after the first of the year at Angelus Temple. As soon as the date and time are confirmed, those will be made public.

A Spark of Bitterness

I pastored my first church in what was one of the most prolific, cotton producing counties in the nation. Most of the men in our weekly men’s Bible study were involved with some aspect of cotton farming or processing, and it was amazing to me how many parallels to that industry we discovered within the truths of Scripture.

            On the week we studied the topic of bitterness, Doug gave us an illustration I will never forget. At that time, he was superintendent of a large facility that compressed already bailed cotton into much smaller bales-- convenient for storing until sold as commodities on the world market. He told us how tiny pieces of gravel could sometimes get caught up with the cotton in the harvesting process, with the possibility of creating a tiny spark—leading to a smoldering fire deep within the bale itself. Even though the material is incredibly compressed, Doug explained that the cotton creates its own oxygen, allowing the fire to burn inside the bale, completely undetected.

            Even if you immersed the whole bale in water, he told us, the internal fire would continue to burn. At some point in time, this internal smoldering could break out into flames, lighting other bales on fire and creating great damage—even taking down a whole warehouse.

            The comparison to our study of bitterness seemed obvious to all of us. It only takes a little spark of anger, jealousy, intolerance, animosity—or even impatience—to create a tiny smoldering fire within. Our own carnal nature supplies it with the “oxygen” needed to keep it burning as we mentally rehearse again and again what happened to us and what was said to us. Unless we allow the Holy Spirit to deal with this smoldering anger, hurt, or resentment, it will continue to burn and burn. Although, no one may be able to detect it from the outside.

            But then comes the day when the flames break out, releasing a firestorm of hurtful words, vindictive actions, and perhaps even violence. Many, people can be singed—or even destroyed—by hidden flames that have broken out for all to see. The writer of Hebrews warns: “Watch out that no bitterness takes root among you, for as it springs up it causes deep trouble, hurting many in their spiritual lives” (Hebrews 12:15, tlb).

            How do we keep those internal sparks from smoldering, burning away our peace and joy and fellowship with Christ and filling our thoughts with plans for retaliation? We can find the key in Ephesians 4:31, 32 (nlt): “Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander…. Be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.”

            Forgiving one another.

            With Christ, in the power of His Holy Spirit, we have the supernatural ability to let go of resentment, injured pride, envy, and hatred. In fact, it’s not even optional. We must forgive one another, or the unforgiveness will go on smoldering within us. Perhaps for years. And then at some point it will break out into the open, creating havoc, injuring our loved ones and friends, and perhaps even surprising ourselves.

            Of course it hurts to be wronged, lied about, disregarded, insulted, rejected, ridiculed, or condescended to. And it only seems “natural” for our human nature to dwell on those hurts, defend ourselves with a thousand arguments, or even plot our “sweet revenge.”

            But God won’t let us get away with that. The apostle Paul tells us, “Never take vengeance into your own hands, my dear friends: stand back and let God punish if he will. For it is written: ‘Vengeance is mine. I will repay.’ …Don’t allow yourself to be overpowered with evil. Take the offensive—overpower evil by good!” (Romans 12:19, 21, Phillips).

            It isn’t easy to let go of bitterness. But it is much easier to extinguish—day by day, hour by a hour—as a tiny spark than a flaming inferno.

            Maybe the best plan is to do what David did in Psalm 139, and invite the Holy Spirit on an inspection tour of your soul’s warehouse. Only He can spot the sparks smoldering deep within the most hidden bales.

Search me thoroughly, O God, and know my heart;

Test me and know my anxious thoughts;

And see if there is any wicked or hurtful way in me,

And lead me in the everlasting way.

(Psalm 139:23-24, Amplified)

Noticing Hidden Talent

There was one thing 15-year-old Frank knew for sure.

            He wanted no part of his father’s life as a farmer.

Beyond that, however, it was all ambiguous.

He really had no idea what he did want to do with his life. Instead of giving the matter careful study and thought, however, Frank yielded to apathy and discouragement, spent too much time in his room, and gradually retreated into himself. He became an introvert—or what they called in those days, “a bump on a log.”

            Since he couldn’t summon the initiative and drive on his own, his concerned father imposed on a friend, Mr. Miller, to hire Frank at the local general store. The job wasn’t difficult. Miller asked Frank to wait on customers at the counter, locating the merchandise they requested.

            But it wasn’t working. Frank had become so withdrawn that he couldn’t face people over the counter. When a customer approached him, he would walk the other way. Miller tried several approaches to help Frank do his job, but the young man showed no indication that he could be trained.

            That night at home, the store manager told his wife that he had just hired the most worthless employee of his career. “I should have let him go at the end of the day,” he groused, “but now I’ll have to deal with him again tomorrow.”

            Sometime during the course of that evening, however, Miller began to have an uncomfortable feeling about his use of the word “worthless” to describe his friend’s troubled son. If it’s true that everyone has some hidden talent or redeeming capacity, he reasoned, isn’t it up to me to uncover that? If I’m a worthy manager, isn’t it my obligation to find that talent and try to bring the best out of this young man?

            Given the circumstances, it was a charitable idea.

            And it turned out to be an idea that would change the world.

            In the days that followed, Miller kept an inconspicuous eye on Frank. He kept the boy busy washing windows and doing odd jobs, all the time looking for…something. Some spark. Some natural inclination. Some glimmer of talent.

            And will I recognize it when I see it? he asked himself.

            The moment came in the midst of some routine shelf stocking. Miller asked Frank to make a floor display of some of the extra merchandise he hand on hand. A simple job—and one with the advantage of requiring very little personal interaction with customers.

            To Miller’s surprise, Frank seemed to have a knack for the task. The young man’s normally stoic countenance even showed a brief flash of interest. Immediately, Miller knew he needed to seize on this opportunity.

            “Frank,” he said, “I want you to bring out some large tables from the storeroom. Then I would like you to collect all the small and inexpensive items in the store, and make a display of them. I’d like you to be in charge of that display, and I’m counting on you to mingle with the customers, too. Would you consent to do that?”

            A transformation took place right before Miller’s eyes. That was sheer enthusiasm he saw on Frank’s normally dead-pan face. With a lilt in his voice, the young man gave a definite “Yes!” And then he added, “Can I start on it right now, Mr. Miller?”

            The next day became a most significant day at the general store—and in the life of a previously aimless young man named Frank. Right from the start, customers were drawn to Frank’s display. It was attractive and innovative. What’s more, people began to buy the merchandise. The most momentous change, however, was in Frank himself. As customers began buying the goods, the young man’s confidence soared. His “likability,” which had certainly been hidden for years, came into full view. It wasn’t long before people entering the store began “looking for Frank.”

            It was if Frank’s pent-up natural skills had suddenly been released. The dam was broken, and the resulting flow of energy never stopped again. Rather than a “worthless” worker, he was becoming a very valuable employee indeed. Mr. Miller’s small but strategic investment into Frank’s life was paying off a hundredfold.

            Eventually, in years to come (and after many intervening baby steps), several men would join Frank in building a store of his own—and then a chain of stores. The stores were named for Frank.

            F. W. (Frank Winfield) Woolworth.

            They would become known across America as the original “five and dime stores.” They were among the first stores in the world to merchandise their goods out where the customers could see and handle them—rather than hiding them behind a counter or in a back room. Woolworth’s also originated the idea of a soda fountain, another great American institution. You could sit at the counter on a stool and get a quick meal—or an ice cream soda.

            All kinds of innovative concepts came bubbling up out of Frank’s imagination, in fields as varied as financing, banking, and marketing. Woolworth’s became the first international store chain in history, with outlets in almost every town and city in America and across the sea. As time went by, Frank Woolworth built one of New York’s early skyscrapers for 27 million dollars—for which he deliberately paid hard cash. In fact, he paid in nickels and dimes, in honor of founding America’s beloved “five and dime stores.”

            It’s a great story, but it makes a person wonder. What if Mr. Miller had followed his first inclination and quietly let Frank go after the introverted teenager’s first day on the job? What if he had not taken the time and risk to look a little deeper for a “hidden talent”?

            For that matter…what if Barnabas in the book of Acts had never taken the time, expense, and personal risk of hunting down Saul of Tarsus, encouraging the man’s heart, and personally vouching for him before the leaders of the young church? The point is, we need the guidance of God’s Spirit to look for positive qualities in the people who cross our path each day.

            As the saying goes, when you see something, say something.

            Take every opportunity to encourage, build up, challenge, and speak kindly to the people you encounter today. Without knowing it, you may have the privilege of turning the very direction of someone’s life.

            And by the way, don’t overlook the people under your own roof. Even on the most ordinary of days, you will probably never know the God-given, life-shaping power in your words.

The White Elephant

Over several trips to Thailand we discovered some surprising truth behind an old legend…that somehow evolved into a familiar Christmas tradition.

            Many years ago, the nation we call Thailand was known as the Kingdom of Siam. One of the kings of this ancient realm was a paranoid madman, whose tormented mind would never allow him to let go of even the most insignificant perceived insult or slight. In his conceit and insanity, he imagined that the smallest offense against himself was worthy of a slow, cruel murder. But the threat was couched in what appeared on the surface to be an act of royal generosity.

            The king maintained a herd of beautiful white elephants, each one an incredible treasure. And yes, the king did occasionally give his prized elephants away—but with the most corrupt and vindictive of motives.

            Following a perceived insult to the royal person, the king would call the offender to appear before him in a “ceremony of honor.” At the conclusion of the ceremony, the king would present his unwitting subject with one of his own prized white elephants. On the surface it seemed a most gracious and generous gesture. In fact, it was the very opposite.

            You might say that the white elephants gifts came with strings attached.

            The gift (which could not be refused) came with three iron-clad requirements. First, the great beast had to be maintained in royal style for the rest of its life. This had to be accomplished through the resources of the new owner—no one else was allowed to help him in any way. To even try to assist the new elephant keeper was a capital offense. The king required this knowing full well that an elephant would soon eat a common person into financial ruin.

Second, a white elephant would not be allowed to work or carry loads. This, of course, defeated the whole purpose of having an elephant. In those days, the Siamese people relied on elephants to transport heavy loads for them. But if the royal elephant wasn’t allowed to do this, it immediately became a liability rather than an asset.

Third, if the recipient allowed the elephant to die, or attempted to give it away, he would receive the death penalty.

Through these cruel requirements, the king turned what had appeared to be something good and valuable into a deadly curse.

            Believe it or not, this unusual practice of sadistic cruelty eventually morphed into the harmless Christmas custom we know as a “white elephant party,” where people have to feign happiness over receiving gifts of questionable worth. In the end, you usually take home something that doesn’t fit, doesn’t work, doesn’t enhance anything, and has no value.

            In the spiritual realm, we see in Genesis 3 how the Serpent’s offer of knowledge, prestige, and power in the Garden of Eden—a gift that initially seemed so attractive and desirable—became the source of death and destruction for the human race.

            To this day, Satan and his legion of demons work around the clock to set all manner of traps and snares ingeniously disguised as attractive, desirable gifts. The devil knows how to disguise himself as “an angel of light,” and pretends to bring exciting diversions into our lives. Sin, however, for all its outward beauty, allure never lives up to its promise. The end result of sin is always death.

Beware of serpents bearing gifts! Beware of kings and their white elephants! Something waits beneath the wrapping paper, ribbon, and royal trappings. And that something is death.

            The Bible tells us that as a young man, Moses could have received a beautiful “white elephant” gift from Satan: A life of ease and luxury in the royal house of Egypt. But he made another choice:

“He chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. He regarded disgrace for the sake of Christ as of greater value than the treasures of Egypt, because he was looking ahead to his reward” (Hebrews 11:25-26).

Saying no to Satan’s white elephant meant saying yes to God.

Moses will be smiling about that decision through all eternity.

A Shepherd Story

On one of our international journeys, Marilee and I were delighted to find ourselves with a one-day layover in New Zealand. What should we do with those few precious hours in a country we might never see again? The limited timeframe, of course, narrowed our options considerably.

            Strangely enough, we decided on visiting a sheep ranch --not just any sheep ranch. It was the largest operation in the world. Resuming our trip the next day, both of us agreed that it might have been the best choice we could have made. To our surprise and delight, the old, veteran shepherd who showed us around was a believer, and wove some unforgettable biblical themes and verses into our tour.

            He spoke of being in the mountain highlands for an entire summer with a flock of over 1.500 sheep, fighting off predators with the help of some wonderful, highly-trained sheepdogs. Giving us a visual sample, the shepherd sent four dogs to a distant pasture, and we watched them return with a cohesive band of complaining, but very compliant sheep. In order to move from one side of the flock to the other, the dogs could even run across the backs of the sheep without missing a step.

            Raising sheep, presents a number of unique difficulties and challenges. The animals are far weaker and more vulnerable than cattle. For instance, sheep are notoriously short-sighted, and can only see 10 to 12 feet in front of them. And even when they do become aware of danger, sheep are just as likely to run toward the danger rather than away from it. Recognizing this, the New Zealand ranch maintains a close surveillance of their flocks, seeking to identify potential predators on the horizon.

            In the process of describing how helpless a sheep can be, our guide pointed out that the animal is actually top-heavy. When a sheep lies down to rest, it may not have the strength or agility to get back on its feet again. So the sheep lies there, upside down and helpless, in what is known as a cast position. Predators, of course, soon take notice and vultures begin to circle. Sadly, the animal has little means of defending itself. The cast sheep’s only hope lies with the shepherd. Unless the shepherd seeks and finds the sheep, lifts it to its feet and rubs its legs to restore circulation, the animal won’t survive.

At this point, our guide paused in his monologue to tell us that this business of cast sheep was very personal to him.

            He had been one himself, just a few years before.

            “I was a cast, lost soul,” he told our group. He went on to describe his addictions, his homelessness, and his hard, hopeless life on the streets. “There was nothing I could do to save my own life,” he said. “But the Good Shepherd found me, came to me in the person of a concerned Christian, and gave me a new life. He went out of the way for me, strengthening my spiritual legs and finally putting me on my feet so I could stand alone.”

            Tears came to his eyes at the memory—and to many of us who listened to his story.

            How easily we forget that, apart from the compassion and intervention of the Great Shepherd in our lives, we would have been easy prey for the many predators among us. Someone, somewhere took the risk to speak to us, show kindness to us, step into our lives, explain the way of salvation to us, and show us how to stand again, in Christ.

And now we have the privilege to do the same.

            What can we do? We can speak directly to the shepherd about those in danger, we can get our hands dirty as we help people in crisis, and we can remember to stay alert for merciless predators on the horizons of our loved ones and friends.

            And on our own horizon, as well.

            The old New Zealand shepherd would never forget what it was like to be a cast, helpless sheep—or the grace and kindness of the shepherd who put him on his feet again.

Knowledge... Too Wonderful

Not long ago someone mentioned Ben, a mutual friend, in conversation.

            In that moment, his face suddenly snapped into focus in my mind.

Ben! How long had it been since I’d heard from him? Years before, we’d been friends in ministry. He’d spoken often at our church. But somehow, I’d lost all contact with him and now had no idea how to find him. Why was his name and face coming so clearly into my mind again? Was he experiencing some kind of difficulty? Did he need prayer?

            What was so surprising to me in the coming days was that no one in my network—a long list of ministers and businessmen—knew anything about his whereabouts. I called people within his friendship circle, but no one seemed to have any current contact information. I felt uneasy. How could someone like Ben, a man with years in the ministry , just fall off the end of the world?

            After several futile efforts I spoke to the Lord about it—and found myself talking to Him about His omniscience. God knew where Ben was that very moment. This is a God who knows everything. A passage from Psalm 139 in the Living Bible came to mind:

O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know when I sit or stand. When far away you know my every thought. You chart the path ahead of me and tell me where to stop and rest. Every moment you know where I am. You know what I am going to say before I even say it. (Psalm 139:1-5, tlb)

“Lord,” I prayed, “You know when we stand up or sit down and every move we make. You know I’m looking for Ben, but in a population base of 13 million people divided into well over 150 municipalities—and hardly any of them with listed phone numbers—I simply don’t know where to start. If you have brought Ben to my mind for some reason or if he’s in any kind of need, I’m ready to help however I can. But I will need your help to find him.”

            What did I imagine would come from that prayer? I’ve always been an ardent believer in miracles—but at that moment finding Ben in Southern California (if he was even still living here) seemed beyond miraculous to me. I took solace however, in the fact that I had volunteered to help Ben if he could be found. But honestly, I didn’t really expect it to happen.

            At the same time this was going on, I also found myself dealing with some out-patient surgery, regarding a tiny, inconsequential growth that needed to be removed. I was somewhat irritated at my wife because she had told our boys about it, and they showed up at the hospital with their families. I couldn’t believe the crowd of people in the pre-op room. You’d have thought I was undergoing a brain transplant instead of minor surgery.

            The troops were all there, we prayed together, and—on reflection—a pretty nice development, after all.

            As they left, the pre-op nurse said, “You’re Christians, aren’t you?”

            “And you are a Christian, too,” I said with pleasantly, “or you wouldn’t have noticed.”

            Her face lit up with a big smile. I asked her where she went to church, and she mentioned a mentioned one in Downey, in Orange County. When I asked her who her pastor was, she said it was Ben, the very man I’d been looking for!

            Finally finding my voice again, I asked her if she would pass along a note to her pastor. After she found me a note pad and a pen, I quickly scribbled, “Ben, I’ve been looking for you and today, miraculously, I met this angel from your church. Please call me.” And I left my phone number. We were in touch within four days. Not long after that, we were sitting together in a restaurant, where I was privileged to walk him through some trying times he’d been experiencing.

            Well, someone might say, it was a coincidence.

            Yes, it might have been. But I can’t help noticing the fact that the more I pray specific, believing prayers and commit even the smallest details of my life to the Lord, the more those “coincidences” seem to keep happening.

            The fact is, when we come to the end of our own resources—whatever our situation might be—and find ourselves on the threshold of despondency, those are the very times when God stands ready to show us His attributes and character qualities, if we’re willing to trust Him.

            In the backwash of our disappointment, at those inevitable times in our lives when our problems multiply and our frustrations mount, we ought to think twice before we speak disparagingly about God. You know the kind of comments I’m talking about. We’ve all said things like these: “What’s the use in praying. I don’t think God knows who I am or that I even exist!”

            It isn’t true of course. And deep down we know better.

            That’s not the kind of self-talk that will help us in moments of personal setbacks and perplexities. What we need is a strong dose of Psalm 139. What we need is to declare back to God Who He is and what He means to us. Like David, we need to say, “This is too glorious, too wonderful to believe! I can never be lost to your Spirit! I can never get away from God!” (vv. 6-7, tlb).

            He holds every aspect of our lives in His hands.

            And not one tiny detail escapes His notice.

A Lesson in Meekness

Pastoring a church in a small West Texas town gave me what some might call "the ideal incubator" for a young minister. Those people simply loved me and my little family, patiently endured my frequent missteps, and generally went out of their way to encourage me. If I did justice to a Bible passage in my sermon they would wring my hand or touch my shoulder and say, “Keep it up, Pastor.”

            If I fell on my face and made a hash of the message, they would shake my hand just as warmly and tell me it was “a good word,” or maybe, “We’re praying for you, Pastor.”

            I came to rely on that loving grace, but it didn’t change the personal disappointment I felt over messing up or stumbling through a sermon. On one Sunday night I remember being particularly crestfallen and discouraged. I had preached on the subject of biblical “meekness,” without really realizing the true depth of that term.

            I had wanted to explain how real biblical meekness—the kind Jesus and the apostle Paul talked about—wasn’t weakness at all. In fact, it was the God-given ability to endure difficult and trying circumstances with patience, good humor, and a steady faith.

            Walking up to the pulpit that night, I thought I had a pretty good handle on it. But ten minutes into the message, I felt lost at sea. I could tell from the vacant expressions and restless twitching of the congregation that I wasn’t connecting. Not at all. And the more I waded into my lengthy explanations, the foggier my words became.

            Finally, to everyone’s relief, I announced a closing hymn.

            That night I tossed and turned in bed, thinking about all I could have said or should have said, and wishing in vain for a do-over.

            Back in those days, most of the men in our church worked in some aspect of farming, ranching, or the oil industry. A handful still worked as fulltime cowboys. One of those cowboys—a wise and weathered bronc rider and trainer—also happened to be a serious Bible student. It wasn’t unusual for him to drop by the church or take me out to lunch to discuss some aspect of my Sunday message. You might think these sessions would have been intimidating for a youthful, inexperienced preacher, but Cowboy Paul’s gentle, practical insights always came wrapped up in encouragement. When he called me on the Monday morning after my Sunday night embarrassment, I was more than ready to hear what he had to say.

            “Let’s go to breakfast,” he said.

            After a hearty Texas platter of bacon, eggs, potatoes in the local diner, my friend leaned forward a little and launched into his thoughts. I could tell from the twinkle in his eyes that he was pretty excited about it.

            “It’s like this, Pastor,” he began. “Out on our ranch, as you know, we’re still in the business of breaking wild horses. It isn’t easy. In fact, it can get mighty rough. But even in our day folks around the country still need reliable horses for rounding up stock, rodeos, big-city police work, national parks, riding stables—and in all sorts of other places.”

            “That’s right,” I agreed, knowing that if anyone understood the worth and capabilities of a good horse, it was Paul.

            He went on. “But here’s the issue, Pastor. Those horses are flat-out determined—with all that’s in ‘em—not to be broke or tamed by anyone. You’ve been out on my ranch and watched it for yourself. If you manage to get on a wild stallion’s back, he’ll just go crazy, and unleash with all he’s got. If a wild bucking spree doesn’t launch you into the corral dust, he’ll run straight for the fence and try to slam you against the rails. I’ve even seen ‘em try several quick rollovers, hoping to crush the cowboy on their back. I guess the grand finale is when the horse throws itself in the air and comes down on its back with the full force of 1,200 pounds. That cowboy’s lying there with the breath knocked out of him, wondering if he’s still alive. When he finally staggers to his feet, feeling his ribs to see if they’re all in the right places, that horse might circle back and let loose with a powerful kick of its hind legs.

            “Bottom line, that stallion wants to be wild, wants to run free, and will do anything to keep from being broken—even killing cowboys if he gets a chance. That’s why so many of us are crippled and have broken bones.”

            He added with a grin, “And we’ve all been kicked in the head so many times that we don’t have sense enough to quit.”

            The waitress filled our coffee cups. I knew what was coming. Paul was working up to an insight on the biblical concept of meekness. All I had to do was sip my coffee and hold on for the ride.

            “We cowboys consider ourselves true artists,” he said, “because there’s a fine line between bringing that powerful animal under control—which you want to do—and breaking its spirit—which you don’t want to do.”

            Paul went on to explain that a wild stallion has many wonderful, God-given qualities and incredible potential for good. It has great energy and strength along with liveliness, intelligence, fervor, and intensity. In its unbroken state, however, the animal is completely uncontrollable. It is fierce, violent, reckless, and basically useless to anyone. The trainer’s job, he explained, is to separate the horse from its negative, destructive attributes without quenching the positive assets that it make it so extremely valuable to everyone.

            It’s a matter of channeling all of that energy and potential into a positive, productive direction. It’s a matter of bringing great strength under control.

            And that, my friend concluded, was the underlying idea behind the Bible term “meekness.”

            In Matthew 5:5, Jesus said, “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” Was Jesus suggesting that we all become wimps or doormats? Not at all. The root of the Greek word praus was used in those times to describe a soothing medicine, a mighty wind that has subsided into a breeze, or the process of breaking a wild horse.

It’s taking something vigorous, dynamic, and very strong and bringing it under the control of our wise Creator.

On the human level, imagine a highly-gifted but self-destructive individual who possesses seemingly limitless potential, but ends up sabotaging his opportunities and hurting everyone around him—including himself and the people he loves most. When that person comes to Christ, finally surrendering to Jesus Christ and accepting the control of the Holy Spirit, his old nature is broken. His gifts, abilities and personality strengths, however, now under divine control, benefit more people than ever—and advance God’s kingdom on earth.

            He is meek, but not weak.

            He is under control and under discipline, but not diminished.

            As one writer described it, “meekness is curbing the ‘natural’ desires to rebel, fight, have our own way, or push ourselves forward. We submit to the Lord in obedience to His will.”

            Cowboy Paul pointed out that the only two people described in Scripture as “meek” were Moses and Jesus Christ Himself. And neither one was weak or a doormat to anyone.

            Finishing our breakfast, we walked out into the warm Texas sunshine and the veteran rancher stuck out a strong, callused hand to firmly grip my own. He had some fences to mend and some horses to break, and I had another sermon to rope and wrangle—and hopefully one that would find its mark. It wasn’t easy for me in those days, but it gave me a good feeling to know I had some sturdy, seasoned mentors who believed in me and had my back.

Swift to Listen

In 1884 a young man died, and after the funeral his grieving parents decided to establish a memorial to him. With this in mind, they made an appointment to meet with Charles, Eliot, president of Harvard University.

            Eliot received the unpretentious couple into his office and asked what he could do for them. After they expressed their desire to fund a memorial, Eliot impatiently said, “Perhaps you have in mind a scholarship?”

            The woman shook her head. “We were thinking of something more substantial than that. Perhaps…a building.”

            In a patronizing tone, Eliot brushed aside the idea as being too expensive, and the couple quietly departed.

            The next year, the Harvard president learned that this seemingly-ordinary couple had gone elsewhere with their memorial idea. They established a 26 million dollar memorial named Leland Stanford Junior University—known today as Stanford University.

            Solomon wrote: “He who answers a matter before he hears it, it is folly and shame to him.” The apostle James added, “Let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak” (Proverbs 18:13; James 1:19, nkjv).

            When you and I quickly make up our mind about an individual or a situation, without seeking the Holy Spirit’s counsel, we may end up forfeiting the wisdom, favor, or unlooked-for opportunity that God had in mind for us.

The Other Side of the Tapestry

We found the little gallery on a back street in La Paz, Bolivia. Someone had persuaded us that we shouldn’t continue our journey without stopping to see this collection of tapestries, woven by the descendants of the ancient Incas.

            Our friend had told us it was an experience we would never forget.

            He was right—possibly more than he realized.

We were awestruck from the moment we walked through the door. This was more than a unique art form, it had to have been a skill taught from the earliest days of childhood. How else could you explain such a flawless mingling of colors, intricate patterns, and configurations? Marilee and I had seen some of the weavers’ handiwork still on the loom in their villages, but now we were privileged to the completed works in all their glory.

We kept calling to each other from different corners of the gallery.

            “Come here and see this!”

            “No, you come over here. You have to see this one!”

            Finally (and reluctantly) we had to take our leave. On our way out, however, the manager of the gallery caught our attention and motioned to a tapestry overhead, suspended from the ceiling. It was evident he wanted us to see one last weaving.

            I glanced up and immediately thought he must have been joking—and was on the point of making a remark about the ugliness of that large woven work overhead. Did I say ugly? That really doesn’t even come close. It was a monstrosity. Try as I might, I could detect no plan or symmetry. It seemed a random mass of disconnected blobs of thread.

            We tried to be pleasant about it, pasting on phony smiles and politely nodding our heads, but it wasn’t easy. And that’s when we noticed the twinkle in the curator’s eye and the mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

            Finally, it sunk in. It dawned on us that we had been staring at the underside of a tapestry, still stretched out on a giant loom above us. Our guide explained that this was actually a custom piece of art that would one day hang in a prominent place in a luxury hotel in Lima.

            At that moment, the thought seemed a little far-fetched.

            Then he motioned to us follow him up a couple flights of stairs to a small platform. As he flicked on a bank of lights at the top, we found ourselves looking down at the right side of the 12-by-15-foot tapestry.

            And it was more wonderful than I can describe.

It might have been the singular most impressive piece of art Marilee and I have ever seen in all our travels to this day. The patterns and colors were beyond belief. The symmetry was exquisite, depicting interrelated scenes of Indian village life in the high Andes. It was stunning. Perfect. As ugly and seemingly haphazard as the underside had seemed to us, the beauty, harmony, and sheer genius of the topside made you quickly forget the alternate perspective.

            Having anticipated our reactions, the manager smiled broadly. “There is no possible way,” he said, “for the weavers to create this beauty­—without creating the unpleasant underside at the same time.”

            An idea began to crystalize in my mind—a life lesson I have carried with me for the rest of my life. I thought about the ugly undersides of our own lives—the hardships, missteps, disappointments, sorrows, and struggles that almost tempt us to despair, and lead us to imagine God has forgotten us. How could the Author of life and beauty and order have anything to do with a such an ugly mass of knots and dangling threads?

            I asked the curator if I could take a moment to make a little sketch on a piece of paper. He nodded and said quietly, “Take all the time you wish, amigo.”

            On my paper, I sketched the location of some of the marvelous scenes of Indian life depicted in that incomparable weaving. Then I went back downstairs to see what those same scenes looked like from the underside. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed to me that the lovelier and more intricate the depiction on the topside of the tapestry, the uglier and more disjointed it appeared underneath.

            It immediately reminded me of Paul’s words to Romans.

 We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love….

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What we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later…. (Romans 5:3-5; 8:18, nlt)

            The constant promise of the New Testament is that hardships, trials, setbacks, and even tragedies will darken the horizons of God’s children from time to time. The threads of our lives will seem dark, tangled, bunched, messy, and even random. We have probably all muttered the words, Why me? Why now? Why this? If you were to depict it all on a great loom, the resulting tapestry might seem ugly and grotesque. Even repulsive. Who would want to look at it? Even the angels would turn away.

            But that’s only a part of the story. And not the most important part.

            God is doing something with those threads that we’re not privileged to see. From our perspective on earth, our lives may seem more like a colossal joke than a work of art. We can make no sense of it.

            Yet if we could somehow climb a few stairs and look at our lives from the topside, what a difference! The very life events that have pressed us, discouraged us, humiliated us, or wounded us have also refined us, releasing the power, beauty and life of Jesus through our brokenness that would have never been visible otherwise.

            And someday, we may be allowed to look back at our lives from a far higher perspective.

God will flip on the lights, and we will be lost in wonder and awe over what He has accomplished in and through us.

I Think You Will Like This

“I’m in a quandary,” I told my son Mike.

            He laughed at my discomfort, still trying to hand me the videotape. “Well,” he said, “you asked for it. You asked me to record this.”

            The conversation took place years ago, back in the era when the Los Angeles Lakers and the Boston Celtics were the two great titans of the NBA, always battling each other for the top spot in the league. Each team, of course, had countless radical fans and, yes, I had a bit of emotion invested as I followed my beloved Lakers through their ups and downs.

On this particular Sunday I knew that I would have to miss an epic and deciding playoff game, because I was a pastor and for some reason the people in our church expected me to show up and preach. In those days, we didn’t have an automatic means to record TV programs; it all had to be done manually. So I gave my son Mike the mandate of getting himself home right after Sunday School and recording the game for me to watch later.

We went out for lunch after church, as we often did, but I pleaded with everyone within earshot not to reveal the outcome of the game—thereby robbing me of all the drama and suspense.

When we arrived home Mike had the video in his hands, and he had carefully emptied his face of all expression. That’s when I openly agonized before him, telling him that I didn’t want to go through the agony of watching the Lakers lose—but I didn’t want him to reveal the outcome, either.

“I don’t know whether to watch it or not,” I confessed in my misery.

With his carefully-cultivated blank expression, Mike pitched the video to me.

“Go ahead and watch it,” he said. “I think you’ll like it.”

I did watch the game, but immediately began to feel some irritation toward Mike. Why on earth had he encouraged me to watch my beloved Lakers play their worst game of the year? Surely this wasn’t his idea of practical joke (something we were apt to do as a family). But no, he wouldn’t joke around about something this important…would he?

As the game clock counted down, everything came up roses for the Celtics and terrible for the guys in purple and gold. I could hardly believe my eyes as L.A. fell 17 points behind. Seventeen! How could they ever get out of a hole like that playing a team as talented as the mighty Celtics?

As the camera panned the arena showing Boston fans celebrating and high-fiving, I wanted to turn off the TV and get on with my life. Several players on the Celtic bench began waving white towels and the message was all too clear: It was time for L.A. to surrender. My spirit hit rock bottom and I asked myself over and over again, Why do I put myself through this? As sick as I felt however, I kept saying to myself that Mike—my son who loves me—had assured me that I would actually like the outcome. That gave me the assurance to sit back, relax a little, and just get into the game. If Mike had been right, there would be something to enjoy—and I could expect a miraculous turnaround that might begin at any moment.

And of course it did.

Unaccountably, the Lakers came back from the dead and began to play up to their old potential. Their shots began to fall even as Boston began to fall apart. My team soared as their adversaries went south. The victory was as satisfying as you might imagine, and I went to bed that night a happy man, my confidence restored in both the Lakers and my son, who had given me the prophecy: “I think you’ll like it.”

It wasn’t until the next day that I began to see a biblical parallel. What I had experienced on that Sunday matched a pattern displayed over and over again in life and in the pages of Scripture. God’s people, kingdom men and women, consistently find themselves in desperate situations seemingly void of solutions or escapes. At the same time, however, the Scriptures spill over with assurances from a God who not only understands our circumstances in complete detail, but has also designed a plan of victory for us.

It’s almost as though He says to us, “You may not like what you are experiencing right now, but when it has all unfolded and you see the results…I think you’re going to like it.”

Just listen to His assurances!

No test or temptation that comes your way is beyond the course of what others have had to face. All you need to remember is that God will never let you down; he’ll never let you be pushed past your limit; he’ll always be there to help you come through it. (1 Corinthians 10:13, msg)

It’s a comfort to remember that the God who predicts our victory and promises our victory is also the one who pours all of His mighty power into orchestrating our victory.

            When you and I find ourselves in a tight situation and the way before us looks hopeless or impossible, just remember that God has already watched the whole game and knows the outcome. Who wins? In Christ, we do.

Thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (1 Corinthians 15:57)

Death has been swallowed up in victory (1 Corinthians 15:54)

In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. (Romans 8:37-38)

            What’s true in a personal sense is also true of our world. No matter how dark and depressing news events become, no matter how far our culture falls into moral decay and hateful, anti-Christian laws and attitudes…a turnaround is coming. The game will change in an immediate, dramatic way, and that change will last forever.

            Jesus is coming back again and will set things right.

            I’ve seen the tape and know how this comes out.

I think you will like it.

The Complacency of Success

For several years in a row Marilee and I had the opportunity to visit Mexico for a few days’ vacation.

            On one such occasion, we invited a family from our church to join us—a husband, wife, and three children who had freely given vast amounts of volunteer time in the music department. Our destination was Toledo, a little fishing village on the beautiful Sea of Cortez (or Gulf of California). I spent most of my time golfing, snorkeling, diving off the rocks, and visiting the little artisan shops in the village.

            A couple of days before the end of our stay, however, my wife stunned me by putting me on the spot in front of our guests.

            “Paul,” she said, “why don’t you take Hannah fishing tomorrow?”

            I mumbled something like, “yes, sure, let’s do it” in reply, and tried to keep my face pleasant and neutral. But inside, I was steaming. She had asked me right in front of Hannah, a high school girl, giving me no other option but saying yes. In my view, that broke all the rules. She should have asked me in private first, to which I would have immediately replied, “Not a chance!”

            First of all, I had no interest in the activity. My previous involvement with fishing could be summed up with the phrase, “For some reason they’re not biting today.” In my experience, they never did bite. And it wasn’t worth all the trouble to keep proving the same fact.

            In answer to my bitter complaints, however, Marilee simply replied, “This will be a lifelong memory for Hannah—spending the day fishing with her pastor.” What could I say to that? It was a not-so-subtle reminder that this Mexico vacation with our friends had never been “all about me.” So even though there were a thousand things I would rather have done with that day, I committed myself to a daylong fishing trip the next morning…that launched at 4:00 a.m.!

            I wasn’t in the best of moods the next morning when I met Hannah at the docks in the dusky half-light. Miguel, our guide, was there with his 20-foot boat. Since he didn’t speak a word of English, we communicated with smiles, nods, and sign language. Out on the water, he stopped the boat and indicated that Hannah and I were to use the small rods and reels.

            Tossing out my line with an awkward cast, I was surprised and thrilled to discover I had actually caught a fish. It was about eight inches long—a mackerel, Hannah told me. In the next 15 to 20 minutes, we caught all kinds of mackerel, and sometimes two or three at a time on our lures’ multiple hooks.

            It was exhilarating! Maybe, I admitted to myself, I would have to adjust my attitude toward fishing. I’d caught more fish in that one place than I had previously caught in my whole life. A little later, when Miguel started up the boat, I was surprised. “Where are we going?” I asked.

            “We’re going fishing!” Hannah responded.

            “I thought we were fishing.”

            Hannah couldn’t contain her laughter. “Oh no, Pastor! We’re just catching bait!”

            To cover my embarrassment, I turned to watch the bow of the boat as we jetted along at top speed into the Sea of Cortez. When we stopped, Miguel cut the motor so quickly that I marveled. Could he really know the exact spot where the fish resided in that vast expanse of water?

            When he indicated that we should pick up the rods, I again exposed my inexperience by grabbing the little bait-catchers. This time Miguel laughed, shaking his head and pointing at the big rods and reels. Using our mackerel for bait, we got our lines in the water and I settled in for what I imagined would be a long wait.

            But it wasn’t.

            Almost immediately I felt a massive yank on my line. Beginning to reel it in, I found myself with a major battle on my hands. This was no mackerel. In fact, it was a dorado (also known as mahi-mahi)—six feet long and fighting me every inch of the way. Hannah caught the next one, laughing for joy, reeling for all she was worth.

            After about two hours we had landed 31 of those beautiful fish, and I knew that I had enough fish stories to last me the rest of my life and into eternity.

            On the way back to Toledo, happy and contented as I was, a couple of uncomfortable thoughts began to edge into my awareness.

            First (and very reluctantly), I really had to admit how narrow I had become. Limiting myself to the leisure interests I had enjoyed for many years—basketball, football, baseball, and golf—I had stubbornly excluded other activities that were every bit as fulfilling, even though completely beyond my experience.

            And then an even more uncomfortable thought slipped in. Had this same mindset impacted other areas of my life—perhaps even my ministry and walk with Christ? Had I settled for minimalism or mediocrity? Had I contented myself with the modest success I’d been enjoying for a number of years? Had I settled for catching eight-inch mackerel when those stunning, massive dorados prowled the deeper waters? Had I slipped into a safe, all-too-comfortable pattern of life, refusing to try new endeavors, methods, or approaches because I had “never done it that way before” or “didn’t want to bother”?

            At that very time I was overseeing a number of pastors in our denomination who were seemingly just going through the motions of ministry. Council members in various churches were reporting that their pastors’ hearts “just weren’t in it anymore.” As one council member said, “Some pastors are standing on the promises, but our pastor is sitting on the premises.”

            And maybe that’s what I’d been doing, too. Resting on my laurels. Avoiding risks or new ventures because I didn’t want to fail or look foolish.

            At the time, I didn’t have a label for that attitude. But I do now. It’s the complacency of success. When things aren’t broken, there isn’t much motivation to fix them. But what our eyes might not detect is a thin coating of rust that begins to collect on our words, on our plans, and on our endeavors.

            What’s worse, we might begin walking by doors that the Lord Himself has opened, telling ourselves that what we’re occupied with now is “good enough.”

            Oliver Wendell Holmes once wrote, “The greatest thing in this world is not so much where we are, but in what direction we are moving.”

            As our boat knifed its way across brilliant blue waters of the Sea of Cortez, shimmering in the late afternoon light, I took another look at 31 massive fish and the happy, contented look on my young friend Hannah’s face.

Marilee had been right, of course. Hannah had made a lifelong memory, and so had I.

            It was high time to make more of them.

Reflections on a Dogsled

You never know and can never predict when one single experience in your life will become a defining experience, coloring the rest of your days.

            That’s what happened for me when I visited Pastor Mike McGovern in Missoula, Montana, and took a two mile ride on a dogsled. Pastor Mike drove us 90 miles out to the tiny town of Lincoln, hardly a wide spot on the highway, where we were hosted by the Freeland family in a home that looked more like a mountain chalet.

            At dinner that night we talked about dog-sledding and the many fascinating and complex aspects of a sport that doesn’t get much press in Southern California. The entire Freeland family was involved in the activity—and not the least their 17-year-old daughter Stacy, the designated musher for my upcoming ride.

            At that time, Stacy was getting ready for a grueling marathon called “Race to the Sky” --the state’s premier dogsled contest. Rick Freeland, her dad, an experienced dog breeder and musher in his own right, had for some time been preparing his daughter for every possible eventuality in that punishing and dangerous race. This young high school girl had trained for months to gain the knowledge, stamina, and endurance she would need for that competition.

            She already had the fire and desire!

            After a great meal together in the chalet, we all went out to get acquainted with the dogs and watch Stacy prepare for our short excursion. The ride was exhilarating, to say the least, but the biggest thrill and fascination for me was learning about and observing those incredible, highly-bred dogs in the very heart of their element.

            The Freeland family had a full complement of superbly trained dogs—a rough-and-ready mix of Airedales, Huskies, Eskimos, and Siberians. As soon as Stacy pulled the sled out of its shed, the dogs went ballistic—barking, howling, and quivering all over, as if begging to be chosen for the privilege of running that day.

            As she began selecting the dogs and putting them into their harnesses, she first fastened the sled onto an immovable post. It was a necessity, she explained, because once the first couple dogs got into harness, they would be so energized and excited that they would take off on their own. The family would have to chase the sled down—sometimes miles away—in a four-wheeler or snowmobile to recover the “runaways.”

            The dogs, however, weren’t alone in their excitement. Stacy and I both had elevated heartbeats as we prepared for our mad dash across the Montana snowscape.

            I couldn’t take my eyes off the dogs as Stacy selected each one. To say they were in a frenzy to be chosen would be putting it too mildly. As each dog understood that he would run that day he would leap, bark for sheer joy, and tremble with delight. The dogs that weren’t chosen showed such obvious signs of disappointment and depression that I almost laughed out loud.

            One of the chosen dogs that day, however, manifested the same “hangdog” depression when Stacy harnessed him at the rear of the team.

            “What’s up with him?” I asked her. “Why the ‘attitude’?”

            “He’s a lead dog,” she explained, “and he knows it. But last time out he didn’t perform very well, so this is his discipline—to run behind the others.”

            Every dog, it seems, has his dignity. And none of us enjoy being humbled.

            The two-mile ride went by in a joyous blur, and it gave me enough of a taste of the sport to imagine what it must be like to race in the 350-mile Montana Race to the Sky—or maybe even the 1,000-mile Iditarod.

            As I said, however, the real thrill of the experience wasn’t so much the ride with Stacy the Musher, but rather in hearing the stories about those magnificent animals that pulled our sled.

            After Stacy told me that a dog team might run as far as 70 miles on the first day of a big race, completely exhausting themselves, I wondered why they would be so fanatically animated to run and embrace such torture. And by the way, those long races might also include some stretches of rough ground with no snow. The dogs have to keep pulling even when it hurts the tender pads on their feet.

            “They run because they’re bred to run,” Stacy said with a smile. “That’s how they’re wired.”

            Later, Rick explained that the dogs had been meticulously bred, and descended from world-class champions in the sport. To these dogs, life was running, and running was life.

            I didn’t want to ask too many dumb questions, but the whole discussion had really fired myinterest and imagination. “What qualities are these breeders looking for in a champion sled dog?”

            Rick didn’t hesitate with his answer. “The first thing is a passion to run. After that, we’re looking for exceptional speed, strength, endurance, focus, adaptability to extreme conditions, dedication to the musher, and an ability to function in unity with the team.”

            Not even the most strongest, most carefully bred dogs, however, automatically make the cut. I was surprised to learn that in spite of great strength and an innate ability to run, some dogs will simply never pull. They might make a few fancy jumps and show some outward signs of being a sled dog, but they will never put themselves into it beyond a few yards. They might be beautiful dogs, but they are useless in the very activity they were bred to pursue.

            In the days after my return to the routines and challenges of a pastor in Southern California, I began to ruminate on my Montana experience and what I had learned. How did some of these truths illustrate the Christian life? After all, Scripture is filled with illustrations from the animal world. We hear about cattle, sheep, lions, gazelles, vultures, sparrows, eagles, oxen, herons, peacocks, and even ants. Then there those mysterious animals like “behemoth” and “leviathan” that sound like dragons and sea monsters. So why not sled dogs?

            Here are a few thoughts that came to me.

            First, God saw us and knew us before we were born, and gifted us with the specific talents, gifts, inclinations, and capacities we need to fulfill His unique calling on our lives. Each one of us is a “workmanship” of God Himself, a masterpiece from the Creator’s own hand. Paul wrote in Ephesians 2:10: “We are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them.” In 2 Corinthians 9:8 (niv) the apostle writes, “And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.”

I believe that God “wires” or “breeds into us” the resources that will equip us to fulfill our God-ordained calling and accomplish what He sets before us to do. If, for instance, God created a person to be a gifted pianist, He might wire him or her with an exceptional sense of rhythm or perfect pitch. If God created a person to be a brain surgeon, however, that individual could be completely tone-deaf and get along just fine.

            Second, our calling will at times exceed our capacities. Even though He brings each of us into this world for a specific purpose, experience teaches us that this individual calling goes beyond our natural gifts and abilities, so that we will need to depend on Him to accomplish the task.

The angel in Judges 6:11-12 may have called Gideon a “mighty warrior,” but Israel’s unlikely champion could never live up to the potential of that calling until he learned utter dependence on God. Centuries later, Paul would write: “Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. He has made us competent….” (2 Corinthians 3:5, niv).

No one is competent to carry out the calling of God in his or her own strength. Without the Holy Spirit’s enabling and indwelling presence, we will be inadequate for our God-given roles. The Lord will always call us “over our heads” so that we will remember our complete dependence on Him.

            Third, even though we have been born with basic talents and abilities, and can also count on divine assistance to even exceed those capacities, we should never allow these truths to become an excuse for laziness.

            Talents need to be refined. Gifting needs to be trained, polished, and practiced. The New Testament urges us to be diligent, alert, determined and persistent as we serve the Lord. The writer to the Hebrews put it like this: “We want each of you to show this same diligence to the very end, so that what you hope for may be fully realized. We do not want you to become lazy, but to imitate those who through faith and patience inherit what has been promised” (Hebrews 6:11-12, niv). In our Lord’s parable, the man who hid his “talent” away instead of burning a little midnight oil and putting it to work earned his master’s severe rebuke. Preparation and practice go hand in hand with both our calling and our gifting.

            I can’t help but think of the sled dog that Stacy had described to me. He had all the right breeding. He was a descendent of mighty and storied forbearers. He had great strength and looked every inch a champion. Beyond all that, he had a wide-open opportunity to become part of a magnificent team and fulfill his destiny. But he refused to pull. As a result, he may have been spared the rigors of a thousand mile endurance race, but he would never taste the glory of accomplishing the very thing he was put on earth to do.

            Those are a few of the thoughts that stayed in my mind when I returned to California after my Montana adventure.

            I want to use the gifts He has given me to bring Him glory and achieve His purpose for my life. As opportunities present themselves, I want to step up to challenges so far beyond my ability that I will be forced to lean heavily on strength and wisdom beyond my own. And I want to do my utmost to fulfill my calling, with all the strength, determination, and desire that He chooses to loan me during these few years this side of heaven.

            It’s what I was born for.

            And so were you.

Let Go of the Banana

Dr. John Garlock was a regular guest speaker—and a consistent favorite—at our church. A professor of homiletics at Christ for the Nations Institute in Dallas, Texas, for many years, he had a masterful gift of preaching.

               In several of his messages, he would recall incidents from his childhood in Africa, where his parents were missionaries. It was a primitive part of the world at that time, and Dr. John had indelible memories of a people and a culture that had to employ ingenuity to survive against long odds and harsh conditions.

               If certain crops failed, it became difficult for the people to even find enough to eat, and they would live on the raw edge of starvation. Because wildlife in that region had been overhunted, the villagers had to look for meat wherever they could find it—and that meant trapping monkeys, which they had in abundance.

               Eating monkeys might sound unpleasant to our delicate palates, but when you find yourself close to starvation, you don’t have much choice. In that place and time, you couldn’t visit a grocery store or call out for pizza.

               Bagging a monkey, however, is no easy task, no matterhow hungry you might be. Swift, agile, and clever, these animals couldn’t be hunted in conventional ways with primitive weapons.

               But then someone came up with a sure-fire plan—using the monkey’s own nature to capture it. The villagers had access to some heavy glass jars, which they would tie to posts driven into the ground. The narrow mouth of the jar was the key to the contraption. The hunters would place a banana into the jar—every monkey’s supreme delight. After observing the banana for a time from the shelter of the jungle, the monkey would sneak up to the post, thrust its paw into the jar, and get a grip on the banana.

               But then—holding the banana—it couldn’t remove its paw through the narrow mouth of the jar. In order to escape, all the monkey had to do was let go of the banana. But it wouldn’t do that! Even with the hunter approaching with a club, the animal didn’t have the reasoning ability to simply drop the fruit and run to safety. Instinctively, it wanted to run. But it didn’t have the necessary will power to master its desire for the banana and escape with its life. As a result, the hunter dispatched the monkey with his club and took it home for the family dinner.

               What do we learn from this experience? Dr. Garlock used to put it like this: In the spiritual world, where warfare rages between hell and the kingdom of God, temptation remains the adversary’s greatest weapon. He disguises his deadly traps and snares with enticements and allurements that we may at times find difficult to resist. Even though we may know we are placing ourselves in spiritual peril, we sometimes have difficulty letting go of the very thing that is about to cripple or destroy us.

               But here’s the point.

We have to let go.

               And with the help of Jesus Christ, we can let go.

               Hebrews 12:1 reminds us that the Christian life is a race, and in order to run the race to win, we have to “lay aside every weight” and “the sin that so easily ensnares us.” The Lord will never ask us to do something that He won’t empower us to accomplish. If He says we can let go, we can let go.

               There is something up ahead of us, just around the bend, that is infinitely better and sweeter than a banana.

Whatever The Valley He Will See You Through

Reading between the lines of the New Testament letters, it’s easy to see they were written against a backdrop of trials, tribulations, and hardships.

               We’re warned not to be surprised or taken aback when hard times crash into our lives. We’re reminded that tribulation and hardships are necessary to build spiritual muscle. (The old gym mantra, no pain, no gain, remains true.) We’re assured that these difficult circumstances—hurtful and distressing as they may be—work together for our ultimate good. And we are promised by the Lord Himself that He will never leave us to navigate these turbulent waters alone.

               No matter how dark the way or weak our knees, He will be there for us and with us.

               When the great Scottish preacher Alexander MacLaren was a boy of 15 preparing for college, he worked at a summer job to provide finances for his family. As his father walked him to work the first day, their path went through a ravine believed to be inhabited by evil spirits. It was whispered that if you passed through that narrow gulch—especially at night—the demons would pursue you.

               Accompanied by his father, however, Alexander experienced no difficulty or fear. But then after his work week was finished, he realized he would have to go back through that ravine to get home again. Only this time, he would be alone. That thought had troubled him all week long, casting a shadow of dread over his work experience on the new job. By Saturday night when he was to leave, the prospect of passing through that shadowy place filled him with terror.

               As he approached the edge of the ravine, he was so gripped with fear that he thought he couldn’t go any further. But then a clear and welcome voice spoke to him out of the darkness. “Alex, it’s your dad. I’ve come to walk through the ravine with you!”

               Pastor MacLaren would tell that story again and again through his long ministry, concluding with words like these: “That is what God does for each of us when we face an uncertain future—whether problems in our home, with our health, or even as we face death itself. David said it well, ‘Even if I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for You are with me.’”

               It is said that when he was on his deathbed, MacLaren told those in the room, “I am getting near the ravine. But I can hear my heavenly Father’s voice saying, ‘Alex, I am here to walk you through the valley.’”

               He passed through that final dark place with confidence. And so it is for you and me. Holding our Father’s hand, we have nothing to fear in life or death.