Thursday, March 1, 2007

It's one of life's great acts of faith - checking your suitcase with an airline. You see, I fly a lot commercially, and most of my bags get where I'm going most of the time - but most, not all. Not long ago, my suitcase decided to stay in Chicago when I went to Toronto. That began a several-hour ordeal of making the rounds at the airport, trying to locate my bag.

I had carried on to the plane this very heavy, over-the-shoulder briefcase, and basically I had my office in it. My hosts in Toronto had sent a great young man named Jason to pick me up, and he was a real help. At one point, when I was waiting a long time for an agent, Jason just stood there with my heavy briefcase on his shoulder. He was slowly getting shorter as he stood there, actually. Now, we weren't going anywhere; he could have just set it down. So, I asked him a simple question, "Why are you carrying that?" He smiled sheepishly and said, "I have no idea" and promptly set it down. He felt much better.

Monday, February 26, 2007

There's a church on an Indian reservation in the Southwest that makes the most of decorating for Christmas. They're in a remote area, and they're actually in a village where you don't see a lot of lights at night. So you can imagine what the church there looks like when they outline the entire church building and its outbuildings with Christmas lights - with a cross covered with lights on top of the church's steeple. One Christmas I had a chance to visit there and I got to see those lights of the church and that cross that really stands out against the darkness. And I met Rose, a Native woman who attends that church. Those lights are an important part of her story. She said, "I have struggled with alcohol for many years. And one night, during the Christmas season, I hit bottom. I was in the pit. I wandered outside and there it was–the cross all lit up in front of me. I came to where the cross was" she said, "and with the help of the pastor's wife, I finally found hope that night."

Friday, February 23, 2007

My son-in-law had to fight a battle that's all too familiar to frequent flyers; it's called Baggage Wars. That's when your suitcase goes somewhere other than where you're going. He fought a four-week battle, calling almost daily to see if the airline had located a missing bag with some pretty valuable items in it. Hooray! They finally found it! It had been checked to Chicago. Of course, it went to Portland, Oregon. It was checked on one airline and ended up tagged by a different airline. It started with his name on it, and it ended up with someone else's name on it. Do not ask me to explain this, but somehow his valuables did not end up where he thought they would. They were tagged for another destination.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Most of us had some classes in high school where we sat there and grumbled, "When am I ever going to use this stuff?" In some cases, we really have ended up using what Miss Pringle taught us. In other cases, we were right about never using it. There's one class that I've benefited from almost every day of my life, including today - typing class. Sure, I started out with one of those Selectric typewriters. Younger listeners are asking, "Selectric? What's that?" Never mind. Today, I'm typing on a computer keyboard, but I have a lot of writing to do. It's a good thing that I learned to type those many years ago. In fact, my wife says I'm one of the fastest typists she knows. With the amount of work I have to get done in a day, do I have a choice?

Of course, it isn't just the speed that counts. There's that accuracy thing, too. Going fast doesn't always mean you're getting it right. Every once in a while I'll look up at the screen only to see a string of words that don't exist, "gozornanplatz fufti." I look down. My fingers aren't where they're supposed to be on that keyboard. I learned it my first day in typing class - the home keys. You make sure your typing fingers are on the home keys, then you reach out to all the other keys from there, unless you want to produce something that makes absolutely no sense!

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Not far from us, there is a famous Passion Play, and it wonderfully portrays the life and death of Jesus. The other day I was asking one of our ministry team members what the play is like. That conversation brought back some memories of a similar play he'd been in some years ago. I asked him what part he played, and he answered a little sheepishly, "I think maybe I was typecast. I played Judas." Then he went on to explain what an eerie feeling it was to play the one who betrayed our Lord. But, then, haven't we all?

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

They keep it under glass that seals out any air getting to it. When it's not on display, it's kept underground in a vault - actually a bombproof vault. It's the most important document in the history of the United States. Of course, it's the Declaration of Independence. The men who signed it that hot July 4th in Philadelphia knew it was very important, but I wonder if they could have possibly conceived what a sacred piece of paper it would become to the nation that it launched. Here were subjects of the English king daring to declare their independence from their king. It changed their lives forever. It changed the world forever. And once a year, every Fourth of July, America stops to remember that Independence Day.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Not long ago I was speaking at a Christian workers' conference in Alaska, and a veteran missionary approached me afterward with some intriguing information. She and her husband have worked for many years with an Indian tribe in Alaska - a tribe that has an interesting custom. If you are from that tribe, you grow up learning about your backpack. It's not a real backpack, but it's a symbol of a very real human experience. The idea is that whenever you do something wrong, a rock goes in your backpack and you carry on your back all the weight of all your mistakes all your life.

Wednesday, February 7, 2007

I'm pretty sure there's a five-year-old kid in all of us (for sure there is one in me), and one place it came out in me was years ago when we took our kids to one of America's major theme parks. Like a lot of theme parks, we found you had to get there early because you have to wait for some of the most exciting attractions. The earlier you get there, the shorter the line. Of course, you can't ride all the rides simultaneously, so even the early birds end up in lines a good part of the day. Now, at this particular park, some of the longest lines are for a ride called Space Mountain. Maybe you've been there. It's basically a wild roller coaster ride through outer space in almost total darkness. When we took the kids there, I asked someone coming out how long they waited in this obviously long line. "An hour," one guy told me. An hour? Well, we did it. We even went back later and did it again. We even saw a lot of teenagers; you know, people not normally known for their patience, enduring the wait for Space Mountain. Why? Because you have to wait if you want the best stuff.

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

I have some friends who love to fish, and in their honor I have to tell you this great fisherman story I heard from my friend Ravi Zacharias. It seems that two men were out fishing in separate boats. And the one watched the other with a growing curiosity because he would catch a fish and keep it, then catch another fish and throw it away. And he continued this with catch after catch. The really strange part was that it was always the big ones that this man threw away. Finally, the man watching all this couldn't contain his curiosity, so he called out the obvious question, "How come you're throwing away the big ones?" The man answered back, "Oh, because I only have an eight-inch frying pan!"

Friday, January 26, 2007

It's a familiar scenario. A man is driving his family on vacation; let's say they're going from Chicago to California. His wife gently points out to him that she just saw a sign saying, "Welcome to Kentucky." Kentucky is definitely not between Chicago and California. Repeatedly, the Mrs. suggests that the Mr. stop and ask directions. Then she says that four-letter word, "I think we're lost." But will he stop and ask for directions? No! Maybe it's something in the male chromosome. Like most men, he's too proud to admit he's lost, and he's probably not going to end up where he hoped.