Heartlight Articles - Just for Men

That's You Dad!

rlawson@mfth.net (Russ Lawson) — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 00:00:00 -0500

I was in a second hand shop the other day and bought a book -- yes a real book printed on paper. I have nothing against electronic books, I have a tablet which lets me read books on it also, but I guess I'm of the generation that still likes to hold a book printed on real paper too.

Anyway, a few days later I started reading the book. As I normally do, I read the front and rear covers and normally check to see what year the book was written, information about the author, and those sorts of things -- just a curiosity of mine. While looking the book over, I found an inscription in the front of the book and the inscription has more meaning than the book itself.

In 1993 two children, Rachal and Richard wrote this message in the cover of the book:

Dear Dad,

I read something today that reminded me of you, so here it is...

"A father is strong, yet flexible; wise, yet always learning; a leader, yet serving others."

That's you dad! We love you.

We all dream of having the "perfect" relationship with our children patterned after some thing we have seen, read, or been taught. The problem is that many in our world rarely have that kind of relationship. We have been blessed in our family that now as adults our children seem to like us pretty well.

It wasn't always that way when they were growing up. There were lots of times when they probably didn't like us very well, maybe even wished they had other parents who were more like their idea of the "perfect" parents.

That's part of what being a dad is about though, isn't it? A dad is a source of love and protection, but he is also a source of rules and discipline. As the inscription said, "A father is strong, yet flexible; wise, yet always learning; a leader, yet serving others."

The Scriptures instruct us as parents, to "train up a child in the way he should go" (Proverbs 22:6), and from experience I can tell you, that's not always easy.

Too often today, it seems that dads try to be "best friends" to their children. Yet dads can't "always" be in that place, because God gave dads a greater job. Sometimes dads have to face up to the fact that there are times while his kids are growing up that they won't like him very well. But, that's how it is supposed to be. No one likes to be disciplined, especially not when they are kids. The Scriptures tell us:

No discipline is enjoyable while it is happening, it’s painful! But afterward there will be a peaceful harvest of right living for those who are trained in this way (Hebrews 12:11 NLT).

Now that they are adults, our children can appreciate the discipline they had while growing up in our home. Occasionally, I'll even get the "Dear Dad" note or phone call. Those are special and meaningful, but I don't believe they would happen today if I had been less than a "real dad" while they were growing up. And that makes stepping up to the plate and taking the responsibility God has given us as dads, more than worth it. It also reminds us that the power to change the world as a dad sometimes has its good days and hard days while you wait for those special days when your own children realize, "That's you dad! We love you."

So Rachal and Richard, your message is still appreciated, even by a different dad than your own.

Russ Lawson is a former missionary to Africa and minister in Ohio. He now works with World Christian Literature Outreach and writes a weekly email devotional, Messages from the Heart. For more information about Russ, click here.

Website: Messages from the Heart

Motel 6

Fri, 15 Jun 2012 00:00:00 -0500

[Heartlight has run this short story before, but we believe it is powerful enough to bring back every five or six years as a powerful reminder.]

Panic stabbed at his midsection just as the beam from his headlights picked up the city limit sign. He had forgotten the reports he needed to make tomorrow's presentation! Yanking the car onto the shoulder of the two-lane blacktop, he whirled about and tugged his briefcase out of the back seat. He thumbed the latches and scrabbled through its contents in the dim glow of the dome light until he found a folder marked "Projections -- T. Landon." Heaving a sigh of relief, he snapped the briefcase shut and pulled back onto the highway.

It was Thursday, so this must be Plainfield, he thought. When you're on the road five and sometimes six nights a week, all the towns start to look alike: one not-so-major highway crossing another with a few houses and businesses huddling for comfort near the intersection. Like most small towns in west Texas, Plainfield boasted a court house, a football stadium and a Dairy Queen. And a single decent motel, which was why he made this town the terminus of his Thursday route.

He saw the motel sign just ahead. Along with a truck stop and the inevitable handful of convenience stores, the motel had one of the few signs still lit in Plainfield at this hour of the night. He rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. But then, lately, all his days seemed long. He sighed. With any luck at all, tomorrow's presentation would go well; he'd be able to convince the auto parts store that the cost savings generated by his computer system would justify the five-figure price tag. If he could put this deal to bed, the month would look pretty decent.

Goodness knew he needed a good month, after the last one. The brass hadn't exactly said anything, but he knew the guys in the other territories were closing the lead he'd opened on them earlier in the year. Not only that, but Karen had told him during last night's phone call that the dentist said Bethany was going to need braces. Then there were the lease payments on the Suburban, and the costs for daycare, and tuition payments to Westside Christian Academy, and ...

He rubbed his eyes again. The tendons in his shoulders twisted another notch tighter as he drove into town.

The waitress brandished the coffee pot and aimed a questioning look at her. She nodded quickly, then resumed her study of the stained Formica counter top on which her elbows rested. Without conscious thought, she added artificial sweetener to the freshly-poured coffee and swished the spoon listlessly about in the cup.

How could that creep do this to her? And why? She had been the dutiful wife, hadn't she? Even though she made more money than he did, she had agreed to move so he could take the managership his company had offered. Sure, it meant she had to travel more, but she thought their marriage was worth it. Nor did she complain when he spent all day Saturday and most of Sunday on the golf course. "I'm making contacts at the country club," he'd told her. "It's important to my business." Fine. After all, he needed some recreation. He worked hard -- no doubt of that.

It began to bother her that they didn't talk much. Before the wedding, such thoughts never crossed her mind. In fact, he told her once that he liked the fact that he didn't feel pressured to entertain her or make chit-chat. She thought it was a compliment. But as their marriage entered its second year, she wondered if she'd made the right inference. Not only did he not feel obliged to entertain her, it seemed he didn't feel obliged to acknowledge her existence, much of the time. This didn't feel to her like the familiar, companionable silence of well-accustomed friends. This felt like the silence of two strangers seated face to face at an airport.

And then, two months ago, the bombshell: he moved out. No, there wasn't anyone else, he told her. He thought their lives were going in two different directions, that's all, and it would be better this way. Just like that… Adios, baby -- no hard feelings, huh? Don't forget to forward my Sports Illustrated. Have your lawyer call mine and we'll do lunch.

How can that creep do this to me? she asked herself, sipping at the tasteless coffee.

He pulled into the covered drive in front of the small motel office and switched off the engine. Thumbing the headlights and the electric door lock, he got out of the car and leaned against the glass door of the office. Going inside, he could smell stale cigarette smoke and hear the muted clink of silverware and coffee cups in the motel diner. "Hi, Betty," he greeted the middle-aged, tired-looking night clerk. "‘Lo," she returned, placing the registration card, a pen and a room key on the counter. "Must be Thursday night," she said, as she did each time he came here.

"Yeah, I guess," he grinned halfheartedly, completing the ritual. Quickly he filled out the registration card and scooped the room key into his pocket. "Say, Betty, how late does the diner stay open? I didn't get a chance to eat."

"Open till midnight," Betty shrugged, "or whenever the folks stop showin' up, whichever's earlier." She glanced at the rattling electric wall clock. "Not but ten-fifteen, and they're pretty busy tonight. You got plenty of time."

"Okay, thanks."

"You bet," she replied, turning back to her Reader's Digest.

He pulled around behind the motel, located his room -- thankfully on the ground floor this week -- and went inside. He tossed his briefcase on the bed, switched on the air conditioning unit, and hung his garment bag on the wall bracket beside the sink. Pulling the door shut behind him, he headed toward the diner.

Her head was down, studying the bottom of her coffee cup, so she didn't see him come in. She didn't notice him until he spoke to her.

"Uh, ma'am? Excuse me, but can I sit here?"

With some difficulty, she forced her attention back to the present. "Pardon me?" she said, raising her head to find the source of the question.

The eyes looking back at her were deep green, set in a lean, attractive face. His collar was loosened, his tie the proper width and design to be stylish. He looked tired, and she knew that he was a few years older than she was. She glanced around the room, then back at him.

"All the other seats are taken," he explained with a weary wave, "and this is the only one left. Are you waiting for somebody?" he asked, motioning toward the empty stool to her left.

She gave a harsh little laugh. "Not by a long shot. Have a seat."

He sat down and attracted the attention of a waitress. "Bring me a glass of iced tea and a grilled cheese sandwich, please." The waitress made a few quick marks on her pad and whirled away.

"Thanks," he said, turning back to her. "I just got in, and I was running so far behind I didn't get to eat yet."

"Don't mention it," she shrugged, and looked away.

As he sipped his tea and waited for the sandwich to arrive, he stole glances at her from the corner of his eye. She was obviously a professional person, judging by her dress. His guess was she was traveling on business, much like himself. Odd that he hadn't run into her before. She sipped at her coffee without looking up, occasionally stirring a few strokes with her spoon. Her elbows were on the counter, and her head hung low between her shoulders. He could understand that: anybody from anywhere else who was spending Thursday evening in Plainfield was going to be tired. From her looks, he guessed she was like him -- someone who was willing to get out and hustle; to do whatever it took to get where she wanted to go. Why else would a nice-looking young woman be in Plainfield on a Thursday night -- alone?

"Here you go." He looked up. The waitress was plopping his sandwich down in front of him.

"Oh. Thanks."

"You bet. Want some more coffee, hon?" she continued, pointing toward the woman's near-empty cup.

"Uhh ... Yeah, sure. Go ahead," she said, pushing the cup toward the waitress.

By degrees, she again became aware of him, sitting on her left and quietly consuming his sandwich. When she knew he wasn't looking, she studied him from the corner of her eye. Polite. Quiet. Tired. Probably spent all day on the road, just as she had. She found herself wondering about him: where was he from? What was his life like? Had he ever bulldozed a marriage?

Unaccountably, she found herself wanting to strike up a conversation with him. Perhaps it was the darkness inside her, longing for a little glimmer of light -- however artificial and fleeting. Perhaps the loneliness was reaching critical mass. Or maybe she was looking for a way out. Out of where? she wondered briefly, as she opened her mouth to speak.

"Pretty exciting place on Thursday night, huh?"

He glanced at her, smiled apologetically and held up a finger as he finished chewing and swallowed. "Yeah, I guess so. You and I must have the same travel agent."

She chuckled and nodded as she took another sip of coffee. "Well, this is the only place in this part of my territory where you don't have to bring your own light bulbs. I'm usually here on Wednesday, but this week we've been closing some deals, so I had to juggle my schedule a little bit."

Just as he thought! A fellow salesperson! He thought of handing her a business card, but for some reason hesitated. "Where you out of?" he asked instead.

"Lubbock. You?"

"Fort Worth." His eyes held hers for the merest moment, then he looked away, taking another bite of his sandwich.

What's going on here? he wondered. He was far from unwilling to talk to her -- and that worried him, just a little. There was something extra behind the words, the glances. Something that made him nervous -- or excited. He wasn't sure which, and maybe that was what was bugging him. She wanted to talk. Did he want to listen? And if he did, what else did he want to do? This wasn't about quotas or sales projections or prospect lists. Or about braces, tuition and household expenses. This was the unknown, the untried. This was something different. Was it escape?

"So -- who are you with, there in Lubbock?"

Her eyes flickered over his face, then away. He felt his chest tighten ever so slightly.

"I'm with the Lomax Corporation. We sell --"

"-- business application software," he interrupted. "I'm with EBN."

"Oh, yeah!" she grinned. "We co-opped with you guys on several deals last year."

"‘Course our national account guys got all the best plays, like always," he groused.

"Same here," she agreed. There was a silence.

"I hope there aren't any loud jerks in the room next to mine, like last time," she said, finally.

There. It was out. The implicit next question lay on the counter between them, waiting to be picked up. She wasn't sure why she'd made the invitation, and wasn't sure she wanted him to accept. But for some reason, even the conversation of a stranger seemed better tonight than the familiar, heartbreaking silence of the last two months. And an embrace -- any embrace -- seemed preferable to the unanswered solitude which had been her only companion in all that time. Her life was already hell. Why shouldn't she take a little comfort where she could find it? He didn't even have to know her name...

His mind froze, then raced off in a hundred directions at once. He knew the next move. She'd made it so simple. All he had to do was casually ask, "Which room they got you in?" The rest would follow, like water down a drain.

He had a sudden sense of teetering on the edge of a knife. On one side was the familiar drudgery of the known world. On the other was … what? Ecstasy? Adventure? The thrill of the mysterious?

Or just another lonely human being, looking for a quick fix?

He took a slow drink of iced tea, emptying his glass, then set it down and stared thoughtfully at it for several seconds.

"Well, it seems pretty quiet here tonight," he said, at last.

She nodded, looking down at her coffee cup. "Yeah, I guess so."

"I gotta give a presentation in the morning. I guess I better get outta here."

She gave him a quick smile as he rose to leave. "Good talking to you," she said, still not sure whether she was disappointed or relieved. "Knock ‘em dead tomorrow."

"Thanks," he said, tossing two quarters onto the counter beside his empty plate. "You take care."

"Oh, I will." She turned back to her half-empty coffee cup. She didn't look around as he made his way toward the cashier stand.

He didn't look back as he paid and left.

We Get to Play Baseball

tomnorvell@mac.com (Tom Norvell) — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 00:00:00 -0500

"Brooks, you know what we get to do today? We get to play baseball!"

Those are the words that Jim Morris, The Rookie, delivers at the turning point of his story. After being on the road with his minor league team for a couple of months, he reaches his low point. He's tired. He's discouraged. He calls his wife to tell her he is coming home. During the conversation she tells him to make sure it is his decision because she does not want him to live with regret the rest of his life.

Pondering what to do, he hangs up and walks away from the phone booth when he sees the lights of a baseball field. He makes his way to the field and discovers it is a little league field. He leans on the outfield fence as he takes in the scene when he makes eye contact with a young player. It is only a brief exchange between a boy on the field and the boy inside of him, but it's long enough for him to remember why he loves the game.

The next morning he bounds through the locker room with a huge smile on his face. He finds his best friend on the team, puts his hand on his shoulder and says, "Brooks, you know what we get to do today?" Then, without giving time for an answer he says. "We get to play baseball!"

I've lost count on how many times I've watched that movie. I cry every time. The reason is that every time I see this scene I think, "That's how I want to live!" I want to wake up each day thinking, "Do you know what I get to do today? I get to live life to the fullest!" That's how I want to live. That's how I want my friends to live. That's how I want Kingdom people to live.

Here's how it would work.

Teachers would get up in the morning and say, "Today I get to teach children! I get to help them understand English, teach Math, take students on a journey through History, introduce them to the marvels of Biology, or walk with them through the faith building stories of the Bible."

Lawyers would go to their jobs with a smile on their faces and say, "Today I get to help people who have legal issues. I get to help bring justice to the world!"

Construction workers would step on the job site and say to their coworkers, "Guys, today we get to build a building!"

Librarians would be going into the "Quiet please" world of books and say, "Today I get to help people expand their imaginations with a book!" "Today I get to help a student do research that will in turn help them complete their education!"

Business men and business women would take delight in their day when they say, "Today I get to use my gifts and my talents in the business world to make the community a better place for all to live."

Police officers and firefighters would approach their duties with a confident, "Today I get to protect the citizens of our city."

Preachers would be waking up on a Sunday morning knowing, "Today I get to introduce people to the Creator of the Universe!"

What do you get to do today? Not what are you required to do today?

As Children of God every day is a gift from our Father to be used to glorify Him by loving people, by shining a light into a dark place, and by bringing hope to a hopeless soul. We get to live with God's Spirit flowing through us to demonstrate that we have been washed by the blood of Jesus Christ, we are forgiven of our sins, and we have been brought near to the living God.

Paul said it this way:

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving (Colossians 3:23-24 NIV).

Let's do it. Beginning now ... as soon as you finish this article ... look at yourself in the mirror or tell a person close to you, "You know what I get to do today? I get to live for God!" Sure, some people may try to make you think you are a little off your rocker, but who cares. You just might be the voice of hope they need that will give them a reason to live another day.

Today you get to tell someone that they are loved by God.

Today you get to bring joy into a joyless heart.

Today you get to share a story of how God has worked in your life.

Today you get to show someone how God has revealed Himself to you.

Today you get to live the abundant life God has planned for you.

You know what I get to do today? I get to share these words that come from the depths of my soul to bring refreshment to a tired and weary soul! That's what I get to do today!

Tom Norvell is the author of "A Norvell Note." He ministers at the Hermitage Church of Christ in Hermitage, Tennessee.

Website: A Norvell Note

Perfect!?

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 00:00:00 -0500

For by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy (Hebrews 10:14 TNIV).

It's happened 20 times in history. But it should be 21.

"It" is a perfect game in Major League Baseball. Since June 12, 1880, when Lee Richmond of the Worcester Ruby Legs retired all 27 Cleveland Blues batters without any of them reaching base (on a hit, walk, hit batsman, error, or for any other reason), only 19 other pitchers have managed the same feat. Those who have done so go down in history as someone special. The list reads like a pitching hall of fame: Cy Young, Addie Joss, Don Larsen, Jim Bunning, Sandy Koufax, Catfish Hunter, Len Barker, Kenny Rogers, David Wells, David Cone, Randy Johnson, Mark Buerhle, and Roy Halladay.

There should be one more name on the list: Armando Galarraga.

Galarraga, of the Detroit Tigers was perfect through 8 2/3 innings Wednesday night, June 2, against the Cleveland Indians. Twenty-six batters up, twenty-six down. The atmosphere in the stadium was electric, a buzz building as Cleveland's Jason Donald came to the plate. Donald slapped a sharp grounder into the hole between first and second base. It's an easy play, one professionals can execute in their sleep. While the first baseman fields the ball, the pitcher runs over to first and the first baseman tosses him the ball for an easy out. It happens several times in most games.

It went exactly like it should have this time, too. Tigers first baseman Miguel Cabrera fielded the ball cleanly. Galarraga was in position. Donald is fast, so there wasn't a lot of time, but Galarraga beat him to the bag, ball in his glove, by at least a step. All the replays showed it. And first-base umpire Jim Joyce was right there, in perfect position to make the "out" call and touch off a celebration.

"It was the biggest call of my career," Joyce would say shortly after the game.

And he blew it.

"I just cost that kid a perfect game," Joyce said, tearful in the umpires' locker room later.

Joyce thought Donald beat the throw, that's all there is to it. He sees the same replays as everyone else now, and knows he missed the call. But when it happened, he seems to have truly thought that Donald beat the throw. Maybe it was the way he was standing, the angle at which he was looking at the play, but he says he was "convinced" that the baserunner was safe.

As the boos built to a crescendo and everyone in a Detroit Tigers uniform got in his face, it became clear he was the only one in the stadium who thought so. And when he saw the replays, he knew. He knew what everyone else knew. He had so monumentally blown a call that he will probably be remembered for it as long as there is baseball.

It's hard to be perfect. Ask Armando Galarraga. Ask Jim Joyce, if you need to. But I'm guessing you don't need to. You already know, don't you?

You've worked hard, done everything right, and still failed, haven't you? The victim of a blown call or a bad break? And probably at least once or twice, you've blown something so monumentally that you really doubt anyone will ever forget it.

It's hard to be perfect, even for a little while. And it's impossible for us to maintain for very long.

And that's why it has to be God's work.

In Christ God has made us perfect. That's the shocking use of tense in Hebrews 10:14: he has made us perfect. That's called the perfect tense, appropriately enough, because it signifies an action completed in the past that has ramifications for the present. And that's what the writer means. He's not saying that because of Jesus we can never make a mistake. He's saying that Jesus has made us complete. He has brought us to the place we needed to be. Everything that needs to be done to save us and redeem us is accomplished in him.

But that's not all. We've been made perfect, but we are being made holy in Jesus. Again, it's God's work. He's the one who separates us out from the world so that we'll be fit for his purposes. And that's ongoing. That's where the places where we don't look too perfect are dealt with. In the process of making us holy, God confronts our selfishness and sin. He reminds us that we are his and that our purpose is nothing more or less than to be living temples from which his glory shines.

You want a small measure of redemption in Armando Galarraga's blown perfect game? It comes in the way everyone has conducted themselves since.

Galarraga walked backed to the mound with a pained smile, shaking his head, while his manager and teammates argued with Joyce. He quietly went back to work, and retired the next batter to win the game.

Jim Joyce saw the replay, and then asked Tigers manager Jim Leyland for permission to talk to Galarraga. They hugged, Joyce cried and admitted he was wrong and told Galarraga how sorry he was. "You don't see an umpire after the game come out and say, 'Hey, let me tell you I'm sorry,'" Galarraga said. "He felt really bad. He didn't even shower."

So Galaragga's probably had more pleasant hugs. That aside, though, he said he respected Joyce for admitting his mistake.

Since they couldn't be perfect, Armando Galarraga and Jim Joyce did what we're all supposed to do when imperfection inevitably rears its head. They admitted their mistakes, and they apologized, and they forgave. And then they went back to work. They have chosen not to let imperfection define them.

Your Lord has chosen to call us perfect, too. Not because we deserve it, but because the work he's doing in us can't be stopped. He's refused to let imperfection define who we are, and gave his life to prove it. Though he could have chosen to dwell on our sins, he chose instead to go to the wall to make us perfect and holy. So we should feel free to come before God as his children (Hebrews 10:21). And we should hold on to our hope, rising as it does from a faithful God (Hebrews 10:23). We should push each other to love better and do good more (Hebrews 10:24), and we should avoid deliberate, high-handed sin (Hebrews 10:26).

In Christ, the issue is settled. The conflict is over. As long as we're in him, you and I are perfect, and nothing anyone can say or do, and not even our own failures, can change that.

Anyone who would say otherwise is, well, off base.

Patrick Odum lives in Chicago, Illinois, with his wife, Laura and son, Joshua. He is one of the ministers at Northwest Church of Christ, and an avid Heartlight fan. He enjoys writing and maintains a website of his work called Faith Web where you can find all of his articles. Email Patrick

Website: Faith Web

Silence

pmcenter-outside@yahoo.com (Pasquale R. Mingarelli) — Mon, 17 May 2010 00:00:00 -0500

My wife knows more than anyone else that I often like to hike being as quiet as possible. I travel slowly and softly, looking and listening at the silence around me. I enjoy examining the subtleties of nature. I am always hoping to find something that's a little more than obvious, like an elk or moose. But all too often they hide quite well in the stillness of the forest and all that I am left with is the silence. What a treasure that is to be left with!

It feels good for my ears to hear nothing except squirrels walking, deer feeding or a bird landing on a branch 40 feet away. Silence is truly golden. The soft sounds that seep slightly above silence are soothing to my ears. More importantly, as I walk along the forest floor, I often praise God in my spirit. I commonly rest on a rock beside a lake or on the slope of a mountain to pray, journal and read my Bible. In the silence of those places God speaks.

It seems our iPod-riddled culture has truly forgotten what it is like to be silent. We almost always have the stereo or the TV on. And worse, so many people take their noise with them in their iPods or personal listening devices. I have even seen people wearing headphones on trails in national parks. Yuk!

God speaks to us in the silence. David said that he waited in silence for God (Psalm 62:5). Jesus often sought the Father in the silence of the wilderness (Luke 5:16), as did others in the Bible. Today we run from silence. Joshua Birk wrote that "Noiselessness is so unsettling because ... we are afraid of the answers that might pounce on us." He goes on to say, that venturing into silence "is both counter-intuitive and counter-cultural. Yet it makes perfect sense to a God who loves to speak in whispers to make sure we are listening" (Breakpoint.org).

So why is this culture so afraid of "noiselessness" and the answers it might bring? Why is it counter-intuitive for us today? Can it be that in our media-overloaded society we have just forgotten what it is like to experience the joy of silence? Sure, maybe it's not practical for most people to go off into the wilderness these days, but most can go for a walk in a park. A good habit I like to practice is leaving the radio off in the car or anytime I'm alone. How about leaving the TV off? Or try this one: leave the iPod in a drawer, and let God speak in the quiet moments of your day.

If you receive this by email, you can find Pat Mingarelli's three images that accompany his article by going here: http://bit.ly/HLbKS6Th

For 11 years "Pat" Mingarelli traveled on assignment as a photographer with Campus Crusade for Christ's Worldwide Challenge magazine. He now focuses his photography & writing on celebrating God as creator. Email pmcenter-outside@yahoo.com & website Wild Heart Photography.

Website: Wild Heart Photography

Predicting the Future

tomnorvell@mac.com (Tom Norvell) — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 00:00:00 -0500

Like millions of other basketball fans, a couple of weeks ago I went online and filled out a bracket with the teams that I predicted would win and lose games in the NCAA basketball championship. Not only did we pick teams to win the games, we picked the two teams we thought would play in the final game, as well as the final score. Forty-eight games later (Yes, I will watch most of them and I will love it!), we look at our brackets and realize that our spiritual gift is not that of prophecy.

It did not take a basketball tournament to remind me that predicting the future is not one of my life skills.

I can remember commenting about how foolish people looked while walking down the street talking on their mobile phone. Now I rarely go anywhere without mine.

I can remember judging people as extravagant when I saw their 26" television. I've watched all those basketball games on the 42" flat screen hanging on our wall.

I can remember thinking that paying $.60 for a gallon of gas seemed outrageous. Last week I paid $2.59 a gallon.

I can remember, before I was married, watching couples and saying, "When I'm married I'll never treat my wife like that."

I can also remember, before I had children, watching parents deal with their children and saying, "My child will never do that."

I can remember last year filling out my brackets, making my predictions of who would win and who would lose, then asking myself, "Why do I do this? I can't predict who is going to win a basketball game."

I can remember looking at families and saying with absolute confidence, "They are a great family. They seem to have it all together. Great kids. Great marriage. They will make it." Only to learn later that I had no idea what went on behind closed doors.

I am learning and accepting that I am not very good at predicting the future. I do, however, take comfort in knowing that I am not alone.

Peter told Jesus he would follow him anywhere and would be willing to die for him if necessary. He denied him three times before the rooster crowed the next morning.

The disciples promised to stay with Jesus when all others turned away. When he went to the cross he was alone.

When a discussion about the destruction of Jerusalem and end of time surfaced, there were all kinds of theories and predictions. Jesus said the following things:

"Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.

"No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man" (Matthew 24:35-37 NIV).

Even with my poor record for predicting the future in the NCAA tournament, there are some predictions that -- with God's help and the Scriptures to back me up -- I can make with confidence.

For instance, we will all give an account to God for the life that we live:

It is written: "As surely as I live," says the Lord, "every knee will bow before me; every tongue will confess to God." So then, each of us will give an account of himself to God (Romans 14:11-12 NIV).

We will all bow before the Lord:

And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death-even death on a cross!

Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father (Philippians 2:8-11 NIV).

Those who believe in the Son will have eternal life:

The Father loves the Son and has placed everything in his hands. Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life, but whoever rejects the Son will not see life, for God's wrath remains on him (John 3:35-36 NIV).

If my prediction for the winner of the NCAA Basketball Championship does not come true, I will be disappointed. However, if I ignore the predictions of Scripture, I will regret it for eternity.

Tom Norvell is the author of "A Norvell Note." He ministers at the Hermitage Church of Christ in Hermitage, Tennessee.

Website: A Norvell Note

That Didn't Hurt!

LarryDavies@SowingSeedsofFaith.com (Larry Davies) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 00:00:00 -0600

Playing around sewing machines was a dumb thing to do, even for a four-year-old. Too much running and not enough looking eventually causes accidents and mine was a big one. The shelf for holding the fabric was just above eye level and I hit it hard, felt the pain and started screaming. Blood was spurting everywhere. Normally sane adults were panic-stricken as I found myself being thrown into a car and rushed to the local hospital emergency room.

"He'll need four stitches just over his left eye," said the doctor. The three adults who brought me all nodded in agreement. Of course, I didn't know any of this. Instead, I saw a big man walking toward me to cover my head with a sheet. (They did that in those days!) Blind and scared, I did what only comes natural for a four-year-old in a fix. I kicked and screamed my bloody head off.

They told me later that one man held my head, another lay across my body while several more held a leg or an arm, all as the poor doctor applied the local anesthetic and three stitches. What made this experience so memorable, however, was what happened next: just after the surgeon finished, I sat up and looked around the room and with a smile proclaimed: "That didn't hurt!"

The adults involved laugh about the story now, but at the time, they wanted to give me a demonstration of real pain by tanning my backside! The question is: Why was I so frightened? Was I just a wimp? (Please don't answer. My ego is fragile enough already!)

I was frightened partly because of the real pain caused by the head injury but in addition there was the fear of something unknown represented by the sheet covering my eyes. The combination made for one scared little boy. The reality, however, wasn't nearly as bad as I feared. So, after the sheet was removed and the ordeal was over, I could smile (while everyone else groaned) and confidently say: "That didn't hurt!"

Let's face it, we all face situations which cause pain but the real danger comes when we combine the actual pain with the imagined fear of the unknown. This becomes a formula for disaster.

The boss wanders into your office unexpectedly and asks to meet with you in the morning.

Your doctor calls and wants to discuss your latest test results personally.

A good friend has become more distant lately with no explanations.

How would you respond? Would you spend a sleepless night worrying? Would you stomp into the boss's office with bags under your eyes and a fiery disposition demanding an explanation? Maybe there would be a few late night phone calls to friends while you cry over imagined tragedies? Would you visit a local tavern or liquor store and quietly drink your troubles away?

We get scared of the unknown and respond by kicking and screaming instead of trusting in God to see us through. Here are some realistic spiritual remedies to help calm your fears:

I prayed to the Lord, and he answered me, freeing me from all my fears (Psalm 34:4).

"So I tell you, don't worry about everyday life -- whether you have enough food, drink, and clothes. Doesn't life consist of more than food and clothing? Look at the birds. They don't need to plant or harvest or put food in barns because your heavenly Father feeds them. And you are far more valuable to him than they are. Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? Of course not" (Matthew 6:25-27).

Such love has no fear because perfect love expels all fear. If we are afraid, it is for fear of judgment, and this shows that his love has not been perfected in us (1 John 4:18).

1. Pray to the Lord.

2. Don't worry about everyday life.

3. Perfect love expels all fear.

A friend advised: "Larry, if you can learn to replace your all night worry sessions with just a few hours of heartfelt prayer, you'll begin to feel better and likely get more sleep."

Can we ease our fears with prayer and a promise from God? Of course you can. Try it for yourself! In the end, God offers the unique opportunity to face our troubles with boldness and say to the world: "That didn't hurt!"

Larry Davies is a used-car salesman turned preacher. He serves at Timberlake UMC, and is the author of several books and the online devotional site Sowing Seeds of Faith.

Website: Sowing Seeds of Faith