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I remember one time years ago when our area had a garbage strike. (It's not a great memory!) The garbage piled up in our garage while the sanitation folks figured out their deal, and it took a while. And it took awhile to get the smell out of our garage.
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Since we're not all military types, it's probably good to explain what a beachhead is before we talk about one. A beachhead is not where the beach begins. And it's not a guy who just thinks about getting to the beach all the time. In wartime, a beachhead is pretty serious business. It's a small piece of ground that you try to take as your first step in taking all the ground that your enemy holds.
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My friend Jim loves to wear this shirt that says, "I've been to the wilderness". That's what it says on the front. On the back it says, "I can handle anything." Sounds a little cocky maybe, but he did earn the right to wear the shirt. He went out on a two-week wilderness program where they pushed him, and all those on the trip, to go way beyond their limitations. Running for miles, climbing for hours with a heavy backpack, living off the land, blazing trails, enduring the heat, going solo for two days with almost nothing to live on. Hard? Yes. Fun? Not particularly. Worth it? Ask Jim. Or, better yet, read his shirt. "I've been to the wilderness. I can handle anything!"
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Man, did my wife and I grow up in two different worlds! While I was growing up in a little apartment on the South Side of Chicago, my future wife was living in the Ozarks in a tarpaper cabin, wallpapered with Montgomery Ward catalog pages to keep out the winter wind. They called that area "Trail's End", and it was. When her Dad got out of the service, his parents gave him some land where he literally bulldozed a road and then a lot out of the woods. I think my wife's early years sound a little like something out of Laura Ingalls Wilder or the Waltons, the old TV show.
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It used to be a lot simpler to take out the garbage. The only decision we had to make that day was to take it to the curb. Not so much anymore! Now you've got to make sure you don't put out any grass clippings or limbs with your regular trash. We recycle everything! And those items are supposed to be separated. When we lived in the Metropolitan New York area their rules about garbage disposal were even more complicated. My friend Craig had recently moved there and wasn't familiar with the regulations. He let his garbage pile up for the first few weeks with odoriferous results. He finally found the instructions on handling trash and he told me, "It wasn't that I didn't want to get rid of that garbage, I just didn't know how to."
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Sherry's family, who she loves very much, they live in Minnesota, and that's where Sherry lived. She had a home church and a place to work until she decided to move to Arizona. Why, you ask? Why would a young woman to-tally relocate her life to a place where she doesn't have a job and doesn't know many people? One reason: my youngest son. She was about to be his serious girlfriend. And Arizona would just happen to be where our son lived. He worked with Native American young people there. And it should come as no surprise that she wanted to be where the man she loves was. She rearrang-ed her whole life to be with him, and now she's our daughter-in-law!
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When Princess Diana died no one could have ever predicted the massive public outpouring of love and grief that came from the British people in the week following her death. Maybe you remember that sea of flowers that enveloped the front of Buckingham Palace and Diana's personal residence at Kensington Palace. You couldn't get anywhere near the gates. The flowers seemed to stretch out endlessly! Someone who had been close to the Princess said, "Diana had no idea she was loved like this." That's sad but not unique.
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All right, let's start with a little magic trick today. I need your imagination if you don't mind. Sitting on this table in front of me is this a paper bag, okay? Next to it is a glove. Here's the trick. My glove is going to pick up the paper bag. I have laid down the glove right next to the paper bag. Okay, "Glove, pick up the paper bag! Ah, Glove! Pick up the paper bag!" Are you surprised? Nothing is happening. Now it doesn't matter what I do, doesn't matter if I baptize this glove, get it confirmed or dedicated or rededicated. It's not ever going to pick up the paper bag!
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Driving in Mexico? Oh, that's an adventure. Actually, riding with someone who's driving is an adventure!
Some years ago when we had an office in Latin America, I was with our director of Latin American outreach. He was very skillfully and amazingly navigating the challenges of the traffic in his city. Don's little boy, John, was in the back seat and at one point our back seat helper reminded Daddy that he was supposed to be getting in the next lane for an upcoming tunnel! It took a little doing, but Don managed to get over there somehow, at which point little John in the back seat had a word for his father. This little voice said from the back seat, "Good job, Daddy!" See, John says that pretty often. He likes what his father does, and he tells him.
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I've had the privilege to being on a lot of Native American reservations. And somewhere along the way, I heard the story of that little boy. A missionary was visiting a series of villages and he came on this little boy who was actually taking care of a large flock of sheep. The missionary learned that the boy's dad had died and left him and his mother with the care of the sheep. The little guy was doing his best to be a lot more grown up than you'd expect a boy his age to be.
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It was sort of good news/bad news for our youngest son. But it was mostly good news. He had sensed the strong leading from the Lord to go into full-time outreach to Native Americans. That meant he would be driving those exciting, rugged reservation roads. But there was no way that was going to be possible without a four wheel drive vehicle.
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At first I thought I was looking at a cow from Mars. We were driving through an area of large dairy and cattle farms when I glanced over and there just inside this barbed wire fence was a cow with a big metal ring around her neck. A rod of metal was sticking up from the top of the ring and a rod sticking down from the bottom. Well my wife grew up on a farm with cows, so she was able to help me realize that this is what she called a fence crawler.
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I had the great privilege of being a part of Billy Graham's Congress on Evangelism in Amsterdam. After several days packed with challenging sessions, the 10,000 evangelists that were attending spent one entire afternoon in what was called a "Day of Witness." We were given box lunches to eat on the bus and then sent across Holland that day to do evangelism in scores of places.
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I went out shooting, yes, as in a gun, with a friend of mine a while back, and I got a high caliber scare! The report of one volley of gunfire was so loud it literally made me deaf for a little while. I mean it was just temporary, just a few minutes, but I'll tell you it was all the deafness I ever want to experience. It is not a pleasant prospect to imagine hearing no children's laughter, no tender words, no music, no birds singing, and I had a new understanding of the tragedy of deafness. There's one kind, though, that isn't a tragedy. It's a triumph.
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We had three kids. They were all in the junior high band at different times over a seven year period of time. So I got to go to seven straight years of junior high band concerts. I enjoyed watching our kids develop musically, but I cannot say it was a memorable music experience. Fortunately, they stuck to pieces that were at their level. But what if they had attempted, say Beethoven, the musical genius.
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If you're from Texas, you know that Alamo is more than just a rental car agency. The Alamo, you know, is that old Spanish Mission in the heart of downtown San Antonio where an estimated 200 brave freedom fighters took their stand against the army of Mexico in the battle for Texas independence. Now, I've been there and I've seen the Alamo. And on my last visit, I was moved again by the sacrifice that those people made. They gave their lives for the cause of freedom. But only after inflicting heavy losses on the enemy army and inspiring what turned out to be the ultimate victory with the Texas battle cry, "Remember the Alamo!"
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I used to sing this little song in Sunday school. Actually, all of the kids sang it: "Be Careful Little Eyes What You See." That was the first verse. And then we went on to "Be careful little ears what you hear." And then "Be careful little hands what you do." Of course, "Be careful little feet where you go," and so on. Actually, there is a practical truth hidden in that little song. It's about this thing called sin, which isn't just a church word or a preacher's word. I mean, it's real. I mean, your hands sin, your eyes sin, your ears sin; it's not just a concept.
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I was sitting in the van we drove back then, idling at a red light, when suddenly this cloud of dark, acrid smoke starts belching out of my exhaust pipe. It was disgusting! Apparently, the motorists behind me felt the same way because they started honking at me! That helped a lot! I just wish honking would have solved the problem. It didn't. One mechanic told me, "I wouldn't leave town with that van if I were you." And he was right. Guess what? The smoke wasn't the problem. The problem was the engine, and it didn't need to be fixed. It was too far gone for that. It had to be replaced!
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In our treasury of family videos - now DVDs - we have a few moments that are considered classics. Most folks outside the family wouldn't think so, but you had to be there. The classics are usually either very touching or give us a chance to laugh very loudly at one of the five Hutchcrafts; such as the one from our Alaska trip. Our oldest son (we will call him son number one for the purpose of this illustration), was about 14, the youngest son, (we'll call him son number two) was about 12; at the age where a boy's voice isn't quite sure where it will go on the next word. You know? Now, we're filming some dog team races, and we trusted the camera to our least-technical family member - son number one. Like Father, like son. Now, son number two, being more technically oriented, was providing unsolicited coaching on video filming.
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There was this county fair my wife convinced me we needed to go to, and I got to see a different world for this old city boy! It was a 4x4 pull, where people in all kinds of four-wheel drive vehicles were competing. The challenge? To pull this massive sled as far as possible. The first event featured standard, unmodified pickup trucks. All the drivers were male except one. Well, the engines roared for about an hour as one truck after another revved and pulled and strained and finally slowed down until it could go no further.
