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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.
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Back in the 1990s, the United Nations announced the appointment of a new Secretary General. His name was Kofi Annan. He was a highly respected African diplomat. And as the spotlight shifted to this new Secretary General, well, the reporters wanted to learn more about his life, including what I found to be an enlightening story that he told from his childhood.
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I have no official statistics on what I'm about to say; just a personal impression. But I believe the State of Pennsylvania might be the road kill capitol of the Northeast; especially for deer population. I have seen many more dead deer by the side of the road there than any state in that region. Of course, there's a lot more of Pennsylvania, too. But I read an article about the outraged mayor of a small town in Pennsylvania. The Interstate runs through his community. This is a true story! The reason for his outrage? A paving crew was working on that road one summer, and they came upon a dead deer with much of its carcass lying on the road. Want to try to guess what they did next? They went right ahead and paved right over the deer! "Honey, I just hit a bump in the road. I think it's a deer!"
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Part of my heart's been in Charleston, South Carolina these past few days. So has a part of America's heart. There was this hate-driven murder, of nine Christian worshipers in the church. It’s devastated the city and it’s riveted our nation. Seasoned reporters have been groping for words. They come up with words like "horrific" and "heartbreaking." But even more overwhelming than the brutal crime was the response of the families whose loved ones were murdered. "I forgive you."
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It's important for fathers and sons to do things together, right, like my son helping me with the yard work so we can bond, of course. I remember one day when my oldest son was probably just about five. It was a hot day. I was mowing and my son was following around after me clipping. I looked over to him and I smiled. About five minutes later he came over and yelled over the mower, "Daddy, could you please do that again?" I said, "Could I do what again, son?" He said, "Daddy, could you smile at me again? Your smile keeps me going."
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We sure take for granted our ability to make a phone call. There were some folks in Chicago's western suburbs some years ago who didn't take it for granted. Now, you've got to realize, that was in the day before cellular technology. My daughter was in college in the western suburbs of Chicago, and she was used to being able to pick up the phone and there's Mom and Dad.
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I was in Arizona taking the opportunity to spend a little time with my son and our daughter-in-law. And since I'm the early riser of our family, they showed me where all the breakfast food was.
Now, breakfast isn't breakfast without a bagel or an English muffin, right? Well, they had some. So I popped a bagel into their aging toaster oven. And after rounding up the rest of my breakfast, I looked through the oven window to see how my bagel was doing, and I quickly opened the door to save it from burning, only to find out it was nowhere near done. I repeated that exercise two or three times. You know why? The window on that toaster oven had gotten clouded and murky over the years. So everything you looked at through that window looked darker than it really was.
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In my little world, "nuke" is just a word that describes what happens to my leftovers when I put them in the microwave. But when I was doing a week of outreach on an Air Force base, nuke meant something far more lethal, like nuclear missile. This particular base was home to scores of missiles that had been part of the front lines of our nation's defense for years. They were kept in underground silos surrounded by very high tech security systems. And it was my privilege to be taken on a visit to one of the launch control centers. Each one of these control centers was responsible for ten missiles.
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Our dog, Missy, had to share our attention with another pet. Yeah, it was a canary that we named in honor of one of our Native American friends. We named the canary Cherokee. Now, this little yellow cheerleader was great for when you were in a bad mood because he never was! As soon as you uncovered his cage in the morning, he began warbling his repertoire of happy tunes. It might be a sunny day, and you had happy singing from him all day long. It might be a miserable day. Guess what? Happy singing all day long! It didn't matter how the people around our canary felt; happy, stressed, noisy, quiet, or down. It just didn't matter. No matter what, he was always singing!
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Easter night millions of Americans tuned in to Jesus, like they did two years ago with "The Bible" miniseries on cable TV. Except this time, "A.D. - The Bible Continues" was on a major network. I was one of those millions who was watching on Easter, plunged into the world-changing events of that first Good Friday and Easter.
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I checked my suitcase at the airport, and then I see it disappear as the conveyor belt carries it beyond the curtain into that black hole called the luggage zone. I sometimes wonder how my bag is going to be handled. Now, I don't know exactly what baggage handlers do, but I do know that Bertha, (that's the name I gave my suitcase since we spend so much time together) may get tossed or buried, or squished.
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I was 12 years old when I was baptized. And I thought getting in that baptismal tank at our church was hard! Well, my wife was nine years old when she was baptized, and she grew up in the Ozarks where they baptized folks the John the Baptist way - in the creek (or crick).
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Years ago in college, our son and a young lady friend of his decided they needed to have an RDT. I know it sounds like an injection or like bug spray. But it actually had to do with what was going on between them. See, men and women at the college that they attended often would have an RDT with someone. And I guess history does repeat itself, because I actually had one with my future wife one night many years ago. We didn't call it that, but that's what it was. I told her this: "I'm just sick and tired of just having a brother/sister relationship. I want it to be more." I risked it all that day.
