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Wednesday, October 13, 2010

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It was one of those unexpected phone calls that leaves you stunned. Our friend Curt, one of the most experienced private pilots we know, had crashed two hours earlier. He was landing on a grass strip near his home, a strip where he's landed hundreds of times. This time he somehow went into a skid that propelled his plane right into a tree. The plane caught fire and then it exploded and our friend Curt was in heaven. As a beloved leader in our community, his death rocked a lot of people, including me. Because of a collapsed wheel, he had been in a crash 14 months earlier actually; one which should have been fatal but from which he escaped with serious but survivable injuries. I can't tell you how grateful I am that he didn't die then. See, something very important happened between those two crashes.

Monday, October 4, 2010

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He's been a phenomenon on the American scene for over 50 years - Dr. Billy Graham. Again and again, decade and decade, more than any other individual, he has appeared on the list of America's most respected men. In the twilight of his long ministry, his crusades took on a great sense of poignant significance. His crusade in Los Angeles near the end of 2004, attracted tens of thousands to the Rose Bowl, and many thousands to begin a personal relationship with the Savior that Billy Graham has proclaimed all these years. His message each night was translated instantaneously into 26 languages, including sign language. Interpreters fed their translation to groups of people sitting in their language groups, hearing the translation via headsets tuned to appropriate low-wave frequencies on their little radios. Billy Graham's Crusades have been translated since 1980, but they said never into so many languages as it was in Los Angeles. The translating coordinator explained that it was important that each person hear the message in his own "heart language."

Thursday, September 16, 2010

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It was the strangest picnic in American history. It was July 1861, on a hill in Northern Virginia, overlooking a stream called Bull Run. The Southern states had seceded from the Union, they'd attacked a Union fort in April, and now what the North called "the rebel army" was headed for Washington, D.C. Most people in the capitol thought the Union Army would mop up these Southern forces in a matter of weeks, and they wanted to see it happen as the Northern troops moved to engage the Confederates at Bull Run. They came from church in their Sunday best, the ladies and gentlemen of Washington arriving at the hill overlooking Bull Run in their carriages. They laid out their tablecloths, commenced their picnic, and started passing the fried chicken. Down below, the men in blue and the men in gray mingled their blood in the waters of Bull Run.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

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Our oldest son had just graduated from a wonderful Christian college. Most of his good friends were headed for careers in business or the professions - which can be great places to serve God. But his calling was to go as a missionary to an Indian reservation among a people listed by some world prayer people as one of the most unreached people groups in North America. We knew it wasn't going to be easy. In fact, his first place to sleep at night was just a little storeroom, where he slept on a table so he wouldn't be a snack for the critters on the floor. Now, he was there pretty much on his own, and he was just starting to try to break down some walls and meet some of the tribal young people there. He'd been there a couple of weeks when he called us one morning at sunrise his time. He had driven about eight miles to find a phone to call from. It was the kind of call that a parent doesn't forget. He said, "Mom, Dad, I've got to tell you I've probably never been so lonely in my whole life. In college, I had friends whenever I wanted them, I could go out on a date whenever I wanted to, I could get some money together when I needed to. But here, I have none of those things." To be honest, our parents' hearts were of course aching at this point. And then we were blown away by his unexpected conclusion. He said, "But I've also got to tell you this, "I've never had such peace in my life. I'm where I was born to be, doing what I was born to do!"

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

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Sometimes you'll hear someone called a "Renaissance man." That means he's a man of many interests, and gifts and pursuits, and skilled in many areas. Now, if there is such a thing as a "Renaissance boy," I think our grandson might be one. He's interested in so many things - and actually, he's pretty good in a lot of them. To round out the other areas of his life, he got involved in a soccer league for kids his age. Which makes his mother a "soccer mom," I guess. Which means everybody wants her vote. Right? Well, our grandson didn't have the benefit of having an older sibling to learn from as some of the other members of his little team did. The soccer learning curve for him was a little steep, but he's been doing well. But something really special happened in one of the last games of the season. The team's two little stars came late - players who the others tend to lean on. But they weren't there to lean on. Well, now it was clearly up to kids who were usually in the shadow of those stars, including our favorite soccer player who really stepped up. Suddenly, he was more focused, more aggressive than I'd seen him all season. And right away he scored two goals for his team. Oh, and they won that night.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

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Our son had the privilege of playing on a state championship football team in high school. And that's a really big deal! They were the toast of the school, the heroes of the town, for a while, until next year. Some of those heroes came back from college to visit the old alma mater, and you know what? They just weren't a big deal anymore. Some new guys were the ones wearing the jerseys now and getting all the attention. Sorry, guys! Last year's glory - yesterday's news. What do you bet those guys will still be looking for someone to tell about the big game when they're 70 years old?

Thursday, August 12, 2010

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My friend Bobby served as a Marine in Vietnam, and he told me something about his experience there that really got my attention. He said his assignment was doing electrical work on airplanes - which is not necessarily a front lines assignment. But there was a war going on all around them. So, when there was enemy activity, every soldier was trained to grab their weapon, take their position, and be prepared to fight. Their bottom line assignment was summed up in four words, "every Marine - a rifle."

Friday, August 6, 2010

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Some say it's legend. Some say it's history, but it's one of the most inspiring stories from America's past. The scene: a tiny mission near San Antonio, Texas. A small band of Texas Freedom Fighters is taking their stand against the invading Mexican Army, and they're vastly outnumbered. There's a brief window during which the men of the Alamo have a choice between leaving or staying to fight. Col. William Travis is in command of the garrison and, according to some accounts; he gathered the defenders in the courtyard of the Alamo. With his sword, he drew a line in the sand and he called his men to a destiny choice: cross the line as your pledge to fight or stay where you are as an announcement that you are leaving. They all crossed the line to heroism, to immortality, and to honor that has endured nearly 200 years.

Monday, August 2, 2010

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I used to tell our kids, "You don't have to go to a party. Carry the party inside you, everywhere you go!" Our five-year-old grandson never heard that, but I think he's got the idea. He can find a way to enjoy himself in just about any situation, with friends or alone, or with his toys or, better yet as far as he's concerned, with just the everyday stuff he finds. A few days ago, he and I were in my study, which is a few rooms away from the living room where his three-year-old brother and his Mommy were. Little brother decided to check out what big brother and I were doing. And big brother had an idea. His brother could be a messenger. So our five-year-old started writing little messages to his mother - which he then rolled up and dispatched his little brother to deliver. Mommy got the idea, and she would write back an answer to every message. The shuttle went back and forth three times, I think. Big brother then wrote another message. But this time the messenger didn't show up. He had clocked out. So the message never got delivered.

Monday, July 26, 2010

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The Blob. Yep! That's what they call this huge inflated pillow-like thing they have at a camp we use in our ministry. The Blob is in the water at the camp beach, sitting there, daring someone to jump off the platform above onto its bouncy launch pad. It's - well, shall we say - a leap of faith. One person jumps onto the Blob and then they clumsily scoot out to the end that extends into the lake. Then a second person makes the jump. When they hit the Blob, the force of their landing literally launches the person on the end into the air and ultimately into the lake with a loud splash. For the launch to work, there can't be more than 30 pounds difference in the weights of the two Blobbers. Well, since our son is a pretty big hunk of a guy, he went most of the week without getting Blob-launched...until the campers convinced Frank, our other generous-sized leader, to try it with our son. Every person in the camp was at the beach at two o'clock to see this one, and we weren't disappointed. Our son made the jump and crawled to the end of the Blob. Then his counterweight friend made the jump. The camp erupted in cheers and gales of laughter as the force of Frank's landing sent our son into the air like a Cape Canaveral rocket!

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