Planned Parenthood

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“The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit
that we are children of God.”
Romans 8:16

The conversation was what I would call semi-planned. I knew it needed to happen soon, I just wasn’t sure when I was going to take the plunge.

It was apparent that our son Jacob (age 9) was getting some sex education from his schoolmates. Schoolmates who apparently weren’t very well-educated themselves. Someone needed to set the record straight.

So, one Fall Saturday morning, Jacob and I had the proverbial “birds and the bees” discussion. Only there weren’t any birds or bees in this discussion. Just moms and dads and marriage and commitments and Scripture and God – along with the proper anatomical equipment.

The discussion was good. I think it was helpful.

But the responses belonged on a Mastercard commercial. They were priceless!

“So you and mom did that?” he asked with a combination of shock and disgust.

A few moments later he added, “And you did that four times?” (Apparently a common question since Elizabeth asked Heather the same thing a few months earlier.)

“Yes, Jacob,” I responded glibly, “we had to do it four times.”

I explained to Jacob that, believe it or not, there would come a day when he actually wanted to do that.

But there would be plenty of time for that.

It’s interesting now that I consider it. It seems that Jacob assumed he was wanted. The fact that his mom and dad had done what “makes babies” told him that his mom and dad must have wanted a baby. His parents wanted a child and a child is what they got.

That’s not the case with all of us though, is it? Some of us go our entire lives wondering if we were ever really wanted. By anyone.

Somewhere inside every heart, inside every soul, is a desire to be wanted. By someone. By anyone. But especially by our parents.

As a teenager I owned several editions of a book called Truly Tasteless Jokes. I remember one joke quite clearly.

Question: What do you call a couple who uses the rhythm method of birth control?
Answer: Parents.

So, it seemed quite appropriate that some twenty years later my wife and I would become parents for the fourth time while “practicing” the rhythm method.

We had been thinking and praying for some time about whether or not to have a fourth child. We wondered if we could handle another set of shoes to pick up. Whether we could manage to find one more jacket while herding kids to the car.

I jokingly blame my wife for praying that God would “make the answer clear” without specifying that she still wanted a choice after that. I asked if the “+” sign on the pregnancy test was clear enough for her. : )

The blessing is that we both wanted that child. We wondered, and still wonder occasionally, what special thing God may want to do in his life since his conception was not so much by our choice as it was by God’s.

You want to know something beautiful? Something heartwarming and reassuring? God doesn’t have any children that should have been named “Oops.” Or “Afterthought.” Or “The one that snuck through.”

As a matter of fact, there is no Hebrew word that even resembles “oops.”

Because God doesn’t make mistakes. And he doesn’t acquire children by mistake either.

In the first chapter of the Gospel of John we find these words:
“But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.” (John 1:12-13)

Can I elaborate a bit? John is saying that you and I didn’t become children of God by some simple exchange of body fluids, or because a man was filled with sexual desire, or because a woman decided she wanted a baby. Neither chemistry, nor lust, nor human will had anything to do with our becoming a child of God.

Rather, we were offered the family name because the creator of the universe wanted us!

God wanted you. Before you were born. After you learned to walk. Even when you sinned. He wanted you. And he still does.

God looked around the world and decided that the world wouldn’t be quite right without you. And he also decided that you wouldn’t be quite right without him. So he sent his son to bridge the gap between us and him.

You are wanted. In Christ, God gave you the right to become one of his children. And God’s children are always wanted.

“In love he predestined us for adoption through Jesus Christ,
according to the purpose of his will,
to the praise of his glorious grace,
with which he has blessed us in the Beloved.”

Eph 1:5-6

This Day

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“This is the day that the Lord has made.
Rejoice and be glad in it.”
Psalm 118:24

The year was 1996. I can’t remember the month or the week; only that it was a Monday. One day in 1996.

This day, this Monday, was near the birth of my life of faith. A few weeks earlier, God had breathed new life into my spiritually dead body. I found myself a new believer, an infant in Christ at the age of 25, charting a course for the future.

This day, this Monday, I was reading one of several chapters in the book, Seven Promises of a Promise Keeper, and was working on a special assignment: a personal prayer.

I sat thinking, pondering, then writing. Simple words formed a clear prayer for my future family. It would be a gift to my family. A prayer that would reflect thankfulness to God, and a commitment to trust and follow Him. It was a sincere prayer, the prayer of a child in Christ.

It went something like this: “Heavenly Father, we thank you for this day. We thank you for the many blessings that you have given us. We ask that you would bless this food to nourish our bodies – to give us strength that we might delight in your will and walk in your ways.”

A simple sentence began that prayer, “We thank you for this day.” A simple sentence that contains an even simpler phrase, “this day.”

Since I first wrote that prayer, more than 4,500 “this days” have come and gone. The sun has risen and set on thousands of days. Some really good days. And some really hard days.

That phrase, “thank you for this day,” has passed from my lips countless times. So many times that the words often seem to launch without so much as a thought.

To be honest, I often fail to fully engage until a few sentences later. But today I caught myself. “This day.” “This day?”

Why do I thank God for “this day”? Why do you thank God for “this day”? Why should we thank God for “this day”?

Had the phrase lost its meaning?

Upon further reflection, the phrase, though brief, has potential for great depth. When prayed intentionally, thanking God for “this day” can provide us with a view to the past, the present and the future.

The view to the past reminds us that “this day” is the product of God’s work in our lives over months, years, even decades. He has been at work – in ways that we see and ways that we never see.

Without that work in my life, I don’t know where I would be. I do know it wouldn’t be good. Emptiness. Lack of purpose. Divorce. Wounded children. They were all in my future. But God had other plans. Plans that began with one “this day.” This “this day” – today – is the product of those plans of God and can truly be described as “the day that the Lord has made.” I can (and should) rejoice and be glad in it.

The view to the past also reminds us of the promises of the future. As a good friend once said, “God’s past faithfulness builds future confidence.” We can be confident in “this day” and the days to come because of the faithfulness of God.

As the classic hymn Amazing Grace rightly leads us to sing:
Through many dangers, toils, and snares
I have already come;
'tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
and grace will lead me home.

The road of faith has its share of bumps and potholes, not to mention head-on collisions. But as we witness God’s presence and grace bearing us up through rough courses and healing the whiplash that life sometimes deals out, we come to possess an unshakeable hope. An unshakeable hope that He will bring us through whatever might come our way. (Rom 5:3-5; 2Cor 1:10)

As a result, fear of the unknown is replaced by confidence in the One who is known. Because of God’s faithfulness in the past, we have a view to the future that is filled with confidence and hope.

Finally, the phrase “this day” is a critical one to remind us that “this day” is unique. Once it passes, it is gone forever – along with its opportunities. They are opportunities we don’t want to miss. Opportunities to give thanks. Opportunities to grow our faith. Opportunities to glorify God. To make things right. To love our neighbors as ourselves. To shine the light of Christ into someone else’s life.

“This day” is not only about today. It is about the past – the past faithfulness of God. It is about the present – the present work of God in and through our lives. It is about the future – a future filled with promise and hope.

May thanking God for “this day” remind us of the past, keep us watchful in the present and give us hope for the future.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD,
plans for wholeness and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.”

Jeremiah 29:11

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POSTSCRIPT

Can you see the work of God in your life? Or is this a foreign concept to you? Has that new day – the birth of a life of true faith – dawned for you? Do you have hope for the future that depends not on yourself but on an unshakeable God? That is what your heavenly Father offers you through faith in his Son, Jesus Christ.

It is no light commitment, however. It is one in which we answer the call of Christ to “follow me,” wherever He leads. Jesus wants nothing less than all of us – our whole heart, our whole mind, and access to our every corner of our life.

He says that the road of faith is narrow and difficult, but it is the road that leads to life. The wide and easy road that so many of us choose to follow leads only to our own destruction.

He tells us that in following Him we will find true life (John 6:35) and contentment we can find nowhere else (John 14:6). He says we will possess fullness of joy (John 15:11). And He promises that, though we die physically, we shall live with Him forever in Paradise – the Extreme Home Improvement version of the Garden of Eden (John 11:25).

Sometimes we treat God as if He were someone we needed to defend ourselves against. We raise up a shield to keep Him away as if He were a cosmic fun stopper. But a cosmic fun stopper He is not.

He is a wonderful, devoted Father who went to great expense to show His love for you. He is the creator of every good thing. Though we stop up our ears, He shouts His love for us in myriad ways: spectacular sunsets, majestic mountains, calming ocean tides, culinary delights, the compassion of a friend, the embrace of a child. They are all good things. They are all gifts given by a good God.

Today, “this day,” is He calling you? Do you hear a whisper in your soul? A gentle whisper calling you to lay down the shield? To stop running? And to turn to the source of true life and true joy?

He’s waiting. He really is. And He’s more ready to embrace you than you are to turn.

Stop. Lay it down. Turn.

The sooner you do, the sooner you’ll discover a part of you that was meant to be crazy about Him too.

Our Refuge

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“For you have been a stronghold to the poor,
a stronghold to the needy in his distress,
a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat.”
Isa 25:4

My family and I live in Phoenix, Arizona. Certain times of year we count that a blessing and others we wonder if it might be a curse.

“Valley of the Sun” is the moniker given to Phoenix some time ago. It is a fitting nickname as we enjoy an average of 334 days of sunshine per year. In January it rolls off the tongue so nicely as bundled up reporters deliver images of blizzards and word of sub-zero windchills in other parts of the country. “Ahhh, yes,” we say to ourselves, “we are blessed to be in the Valley of the Sun.”

The Summer, however, can find us singing a bit of a different tune. After 14 consecutive days of 100+ temps and relentless sun, those 334 days of sunshine can seem like 300 too many. We begin to wish that the 31 days of clouds would arrive all in a row to give us a much needed break. It is at this point that I often modify the nickname: Valley of the Scorching Sun.

The sun seemed to unleash its full fury on me recently as I enjoyed a run through our neighborhood. The advent of September had reduced its intensity some, but it was still plenty fierce for me. I found myself criss-crossing the streets to take advantage of shade trees - even planning the next segment of my route based on the maturity of its foliage and the angle of the sun. I relished in the coolness of every patch of shade and the relief it brought to my weary muscles as cool air swept over them.

Life can be like that sun of ours. It too has its seasons.

Some days we bask in its warm glow. We are living the dream. Enjoying the moment and the truly precious gifts that have come our way. Thankfulness wells up within us, refreshing our resolve and seasoning our speech.

And then there are the scorchers. Those days where life seems to have our number and “fate” seems to treat us like its little brother – pushing every button we have until our patience and our tongue are ready to burst into flame. It is on those days that we wonder how much more we can take. It is on those days that peace seems more like a distant cousin than a close companion.

When I am in the middle of a scorcher, I often need to remind myself that a good God created everything – including life (Gen 1). That He had ordered and numbered my days (including this one) before the first beat of my heart (Psa 139:16). That the One who created the sun also created the trees. He who created the heat also gives us the coolness of a patch of shade.

The funny thing about that patch of shade is that you have to run to it if you want to experience its coolness. Far too often, it seems, we want to experience the peace of God without ever seeking His presence. We want him to shade us from life’s scorchers, but we don’t bother to take refuge in the shadow of His wings (Psa 36:7). We want all of the life-giving benefits of a pit stop, but we continue around the track at 150 miles per hour without ever pulling in.

After 5 years of seminary classes, some assignments stand out for their sheer workload while others stand out for the blessing they bestowed. I remember the latter most clearly. A dear professor gave us this homework assignment one week: Go into a closet or other quiet place and spend 45 minutes with the Lord. Don’t talk. Don’t pray. Don’t ask. Just be still – inside and out – before the Lord.

We turned in a brief paragraph about the experience. I just re-read mine. For the sake of space, I won’t tell you everything, but I will tell you that it includes the word “struggle” (we’re not used to being quiet, you know). But it also includes words like “serenity” and “peacefulness” as well as “vision.”

Are you in a scorcher? Where will you find the shade you need?

Are you still out on the track? Your crew chief is beckoning you to pull in for a pit stop.

His refuge is waiting.

Take refuge in the shadow of your Father’s wings and let the coolness of his presence refresh your weary spirit.

“You keep him in perfect peace
whose mind is stayed on you,
because he trusts in you.
Trust in the Lord forever,
for the Lord God is an everlasting rock.”
Isaiah 26:3-4

Where's My Miracle Part 2 - "A Greater Promise"

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And he said, “Where have you laid him?”
They said to him, “Lord, come and see.”

Jesus wept.

So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”

But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of
the blind man also have kept this man from dying?”
John 11:34-37

There’s something interesting about family. Ok, rephrase that. There are a lot of interesting things about family. But I’m thinking of one in particular. Have you ever noticed that we often show less courtesy to our own family members than we do to total strangers? Is it just that familiarity breeds contempt or is something else at work?

On a lighter note, I sometimes joke about my brother’s version of a family discount – he’ll sell me anything for just 20% more than he would sell it to a total stranger. Maybe he just knows what he can get out of me. In any event, it’s something we can both laugh about.

Jesus had family, too. A family that was very human – they even mocked his ministry in the beginning. Jesus’ earthly family was probably a lot like ours – some were blood relatives and some of them were just so close that they felt like family.

Well, if anyone was close enough to Jesus to be called family, it was a pair of sisters – Mary and Martha. Mary and Martha lived with their brother Lazarus in a town called Bethany. It’s likely that their home was a frequent destination for Jesus. Hospitality was huge in the Jewish world at this time and it appears that this family had a special place in the heart of Jesus.

If anyone was in good standing with God in the flesh, it was this family. And that is what makes the death of Lazarus, the brother, such a huge question mark. We don’t know what he died of, but we know he was sick for a few days – plenty of time for Jesus to get there and prevent his death.

The Gospels are filled with Jesus healing total strangers of all kinds of debilitating diseases – blindness, paralysis, leprosy, you name it. You’d think he would rush to the scene when a good friend like Lazarus is at deaths’ door.

But he doesn’t.

It’s not that he doesn’t know. He does. (John 11:3)

And it’s not that he doesn’t care. He does. (John 11:5)

Yet he seemingly does nothing. (John 11:6)

Lazarus is slipping. People are praying. His sisters are crying. And where is Jesus? About 2 days away. Waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for Lazarus to die.

So, when does Jesus show up? After Mary and Martha have been mourning their brothers’ death and, I imagine, questioning Jesus’ compassion. After four days of mourning and questioning, Jesus finally shows up.

It is a painful scene – one many of us are all too familiar with. Tears come in streams. The sound of weeping fills the house as family members arrive to cry, to console, and to comfort. Each knock at the door brings another familiar face and another wave of emotion. The death of Lazarus is recounted and re-lived time and again.

An elephant looms large in the room. It is the question everyone is asking, just not out loud: “Where was your friend, Jesus? Where was your miracle?”

Mary and Martha are in the middle of this scene when word arrives that Jesus is coming down the road.

We see the pain in Mary’s response: she has no response - at least not outwardly. She simply remains in the house, resigned. What pulsed through her heart at that moment? Anger? Doubt? Betrayal? All three?

And then there is Martha. She bolts out the door and charges down the road. When she meets Jesus, we see no embrace. Instead we see a bit of a rebuke, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” In other words, “Where were you?!? Where was our miracle?!?”

It’s a perplexing question, really. Jesus healed total strangers and yet allowed his friend to die. Jesus even healed people that didn’t ask for it. Yet when his closest friends sent for help, he left them waiting. He left them wondering. And then he left them mourning.

For the record, I’m relieved that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus when he was sick. Because it means that I am not the only follower of Christ who, like Mary and Martha, has watched and waited for Jesus to come, only to see someone I love take her last breath.

I’m grateful that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus. Because it tells me that Jesus knows and Jesus cares – even if he doesn’t show up in the way we would like him to.

And I’m glad that the tomb of Lazarus’ reeked of decomposition by the time Jesus showed up. Because it gives proof of a greater promise.

A greater promise? Yes, a greater promise! You see, all those people who were healed eventually died. The paralytics, the lame, the blind, the lepers. They all died. And even those few that Jesus raised from the dead during his earthly ministry all eventually died again.

But Lazarus was a believer. Jesus wanted to give Lazarus and his closest friends a taste of the promise he really came to make. Jesus never promised his followers a life of comfort here and now. He never promised a life free from suffering, pain or loss. He never even promised a long life.

No. He promised that he would overcome this world, this life. That after this life of struggle, disappointment and heartache, something greater awaits those who trust in Jesus – even when he seems two days away.

You see, Lazarus’ death was no accident. It was to display the glory of God and deepen the faith of all who witnessed what would come next: the raising of Lazarus from the dead.

Notice that when Jesus showed up and faced Martha on the road that day, he didn’t define himself as “the healer.” No. He said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” And he wasn’t talking about this life. This life, the here and now, is important, but the ultimate promise – the greater promise – is in the life to come. A greater life than we will ever know here.

Mary and Martha and Lazarus were followers of Christ. They were in. They were family. And right now, at this very moment, they are experiencing the promise. A greater promise. An eternal promise.

A life that requires no mourning. A life that never disappoints. But a life that comes only in our death. It is a giving up of the temporary in order to obtain the eternal. Ahh, yes. Now that sounds like the promise of Jesus.

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live,
and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”

John 11:25-26

Where's My Miracle?

And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well;
go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” Mark 5:34

The Gospel of Mark.

A man with too many demons to count. Tormented day and night, he lives among the tombs. Written off. Alone. Yet at the feet of Jesus he is made whole again.

A woman plagued by bleeding for more than 12 years. She is drained – physically, emotionally and financially. With a touch of Jesus’ cloak, she is healed.

A ruler of the synagogue whose only daughter is at death’s door pleads with Jesus. Word comes of her death, but for Jesus death is no different than sleep. He “wakes” the girl and gives her back to her family.

These are wonderful accounts from the life and ministry of Jesus. The kind that make me wish I could spend just one day watching Jesus move mountains. The kind that make me stand in awe of the God of the universe. Faith. Healing. Resurrection. Great stuff!

Yet if we are honest, these accounts can leave a weird aftertaste. The kind of aftertaste that begs the question, “Where is my miracle?” or “Where was my miracle?”

Where was my miracle when my mother battled cancer for three and a half years? For that matter, where was her miracle?

Where is my brother’s miracle as he battles cancer today?

Where was my aunt’s miracle as her husband battled Leukemia?

Where are parents’ miracles as they watch their child slip away?

Where was your miracle? Where?

But caution is in order here. Miracles are part of the story, but they are far from the whole story. Is it possible that the miracles are there to show us who Jesus is – God in the flesh – but that the other details show us what He came to do?

Jesus’ day was no different than our own. It was often some kind of personal need that brought people to Jesus: One of life’s fearful storms. Relentless demons. A debilitating disease. A loved one on the brink. These were the things that drove many to seek Him out. Yet Jesus always addressed a deeper need – a spiritual one.

Let’s take a look at the woman in these verses. She has secretly touched the hem of Jesus’ garment and has been healed. The story could have ended there: Jesus keeps walking. She goes home. Great story.

But it’s not the end. Rather, Jesus turns a secret healing mission into a public confession of faith. He moves from something good to something great. He takes a temporary physical fix and leverages it for permanent and eternal significance.

Her mission may be finished, but His is not.

Jesus stops the whole procession and calls out, “Who touched me?” She tries to hide, but she knows He knows. And He knows she knows He knows. So He asks again, looking her way this time, “Who touched me?” The compassion and gentleness of Christ compel her. She can hear it in His voice and see it in His eyes. She squeezes through the crowd, falls before him and “tells him the whole truth.”

And what is the result? She is saved. For eternity. Jesus makes it explicit. Although it is often translated “your faith has made you well,” we could just as easily translate it “your faith has saved you.” In this case, it meant both.

She could feel the physical healing in her body (v. 29) and now Jesus brings spiritual healing to her soul. He pronounces “shalom” or “peace” to her, a term with fantastic significance for the people of Israel. It meant that all was right between her and God – wholeness, unity, a restored relationship. Shalom. He calls her “daughter” – a child of God (something her disease had convinced her she wasn’t).

As the text says, the woman told Jesus the “whole truth.” I imagine “this whole truth” was quite a story. We don’t know where her story began or how long it lasted, but we know where it ended – at the feet of Jesus Christ – testifying of her faith and His redeeming work.

Jesus offers that same shalom, that same salvation to us. And He offers it the same way. The Apostle Paul tells us that “if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.”

It’s a promise. And the miracles of Jesus are here to show us that He will make good on that promise.

"The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save." Zeph 3:17

"Who's Counting?"

"Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go into such and
such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit" - yet
you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you
are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes"
- James 4:13-14

April 14, 2009. A fine spring morning in Bruning, Nebraska. Population: 221. My grandmother’s funeral was set to begin in 15 minutes. Familiar faces emerged from vehicles ever so briefly before disappearing behind the old church’s front door. So many people to see. So many thoughts and emotions racing through my head as my opportunity to honor my grandmother and glorify my God approached.

I don’t remember what, but I had something on my mind – either a destination to reach or a task to complete – when it happened. I was on my way somewhere when my uncle stepped onto the sidewalk and said “Hello.” He wanted to chat. I didn’t have time. I had a task. I had a destination. It was important, at least at the time. “Hello, how are you?” I asked before indicating we would have to catch up at the reception. He agreed and I returned to the pursuit of my destination.

I can’t tell you whether we talked at the reception or not. There were hundreds of people, dozens of conversations. Frankly, most of the reception is a blur.

However, two things are perfectly clear. The first… I essentially told my uncle that I didn’t have time outside the church that morning. The second… I spoke at his funeral yesterday. May 26, 2009. A cloudy spring afternoon in Bruning, Nebraska. Population: 220.

I didn’t see it coming. No one saw it coming. (Well, almost no one.)

I made a mistake. We all make mistakes. We all put the tyranny of the urgent before the things of true importance sometimes. We all put tasks before people on occasion. After all, there will be time for that later. If there’s one thing there’s always more of, it’s time, right? Right? Wrong. Often there is more time, but not always.

In his book, Hungering Dark, Frederick Buechner writes: “Intellectually, we all know that we will die, but we do not really know it in the sense that the knowledge becomes a part of us. We do not really know it in the sense of living as though it were true. On the contrary, we tend to live as though our lives would go on forever.”

And I would add that “we tend to live as if the lives of those around us would go on forever as well.”

But when death hits close to home, something changes. The way we look at things changes. The way we think about things and people and life changes. At least for a while. At least it should.

King Solomon, the author of the book of Ecclesiastes writes:

“It is better to go to a house of mourning than to a house of feasting,
for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart.”

Taking it to heart means that we live in the light of our mortality. That we live in light of the mortality of others. That we realize not only that we will die some day, but that we might die to-day. In light of this fact, how do we live? How do we live in relation to our kids? How do we live in relation to our spouses? How do we live in relation to our God?

In light of this truth, I think we live intentionally. I think we live wisely.

David understood this when he wrote in Psalm 90:

“Teach us to number our days,
that we might get a heart of wisdom.”

How many more days do I have to show my kids the love of their father? How many more days to assure them of the love of their Heavenly Father? How many more days to teach them to live for others, to live for something other, to live with purpose?

Maybe for you it’s not your kids but your grandkids. How many more days do you have to show them what things are really worth living for? How many more days to pass on to them the wisdom you have accumulated through the years? How many more days to just be with them? How many days to leave the kind of legacy you want to leave with them?

Maybe for you, it’s not about kids or grandkids or a spouse or any of that. Maybe it’s about building God’s kingdom here on earth. Or about accomplishing the things He is calling you to do. Serving. Loving. Giving. Leading. Writing. Going. How many more days? How many more times will you say “next year,” until the "next years" run out?

Application… Think of the people you want to impact this week. Write them down. What is one thing you can show, teach or demonstrate to each of those people this week? Think of individuals, come up with a goal, a strategy for reaching the goal and write it down. Then check in a week later and see how you did. This is intentional living. This is wise living.

To live with a heart of wisdom is to live in light of the truth that no one lives forever and that those we love may leave us at any time. Only two things matter for eternity: God and people. Love those you love today, because tomorrow is not guaranteed.

Wisdom of the Ages

"Wisdom is with the aged,
and understanding in length of days."
Job 12:12

I have an exercise for you. Don’t get nervous, it’s not a physical exercise but rather a mental one. I want you to sit back and think for a moment. Ask yourself this question: Of all that there is to be known in this world, how much do I think I know? One helpful way to picture this might be to take a blank sheet of paper. If the surface of the paper represents all that there is to be known, circle the amount of its surface that represents how much you know. Remember, it is all that there is to be known. Humanity, astronomy, history, theology, geography, philosophy, sociology, psychology, literature, etc.

We live in an age in which more knowledge is more accessible than ever, but in the end it only serves to show how little we truly know. I recently watched “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?” Based on my performance during this show, my circle would be no bigger than the size of a dime on a standard sheet of paper. If you’re getting ready to make a real big circle, think of the last time you watched “Jeopardy.”

How big is your circle?

Ok, we’re moving into part B of the exercise. I want you to think about all of the really important things you know about life. The things that really matter in this life. What you know about how life works. What you know about what makes people truly happy. What you know about relationships that work and ones that don’t. The things that have surprised you and the things that have disappointed you. And as you think about all of these things that really matter, I want you to consider how much of this you knew at the age of 13. Is there any more confusing age than 13? Ok, what about when you were 20? Or even 30? Some of us can go on… 50? 60?

When it comes to the things that really matter in life, would you trust the most important things to the wisdom you possessed at the age of 13? Or 20? Or even 30? Depending on where you are in life, the answer is likely a resounding, “NO!” to any age significantly less that what you now possess.

I vividly recall a defining moment in my life as it relates to this kind of wisdom. Shortly after college graduation, my girlfriend and I drove 23 hours from Flagstaff, Arizona to Omaha, Nebraska to visit my parents. There was one additional member in our traveling party: a 12 week old German Shorthair puppy named Jake. Jake was cute as a button, but he was hell-bent on wreaking havoc. It wasn't that he was a bad dog, he just had more energy and enthusiasm than he knew what to do with. He had been bred for physical stamina and determination and Jake was short on neither.

The defining moment came within a few hours of our arrival at my parents’ house. You see, Jake was used to being an indoor dog but visiting my parents meant that he would have to adjust to being outside in a yard most of the time. While Jake loved being outside, he really had no interest in being out there alone. He began to bark. And bark. And bark. My father showed patience and waited about 30 minutes before approaching me with some advice. I don’t remember his exact words, I only remember my response. I haven’t mentioned this yet, but I had recently graduated with a degree in Psychology. I knew all kinds of things about encouraging and extinguishing behaviors that my dad didn’t know because they don’t teach you those things in business school. I respectfully informed my dad that Jake didn’t need to be punished, he needed to be ignored. If the behavior wasn’t rewarded, it would simply go away.

Jake was 12 weeks old when I visited my parents that Summer. When he was 18 months old I had to buy an electric bark collar to control his barking. Jake figured out how to manipulate the collar. When he was 3 years old, I took him to a dog trainer who was stunned at how determined this dog was to bark. It took smacking him on the rear with wooden dowels before he would stop. That dog barked until he went to his death several years later and, to be honest, I heard him barking in my head for at least a month after he was gone.

What went wrong? Somehow my training in psychology had failed me. It failed to account for the fact that this dog simply loved to bark. The joy and pleasure of barking was his reward. What psychology didn’t account for, the wisdom of my father would have – if only I had listened. Since Jake’s puppyhood, I have raised three other dogs to maturity. More significantly, my wife and I are in the process of raising four young children. None of them bark. I have decided to trust the wisdom of my father rather than the wisdom of the laboratory when it comes to discipline.

It was pretty silly of me to trust my wisdom at the age of 22 rather than my father’s wisdom at the age of 59. Sometimes we choose to learn the hard way. In my case, I spent the next 9 years of Jake’s life reaping the consequences of my decision. By the time I had chosen to do something different, it was too late – his behavioral patterns were as fixed as concrete. I just thank God that I learned this hard lesson on a dog rather than one of my kids.

My dad is 73 now and still much wiser than I am. Over the years, I have discovered three things about him: (1) he shares his wisdom out of love and concern for others, (2) his concern is shown the most on the things that matter the most, and (3) he is rarely wrong.

Whether you have an earthly father as loving and wise as mine or not, the fact of the matter is that you do have a heavenly Father that displays the same concern about the things that matter the most. Unlike my earthly father, your heavenly Father is never wrong. He understands the way you think because He formed your mind. He understands what ultimately brings satisfaction and what ultimately brings pain because He created you. He knows what your purpose in life is because he authored that purpose from the beginning.

God’s Word, the Bible, is full of the things God wants you to know about living, about being satisfied and about having a purpose. It contains the wisdom of the ages because it was authored by the One who was before the ages.

Truth be told, I don’t want to depend on the wisdom I possessed at 13, 20, or 30 years old. And as I look back on how much I thought I knew back then and consider how much I still don’t know today… how much experience and wisdom I still lack this much farther down the road, I don’t want to trust the wisdom of my present age either.

Knowing that God is much like my earthly father in his love and concern for me, ultimately I want to depend on the wisdom that surpasses any age. The wisdom that comes down from the One who knows me and who knows you and who knows Himself better than anyone else. I want to walk in the wisdom of my heavenly Father.

Two more questions and one assignment:
1. Why are you hesitant to trust the wisdom of your heavenly Father? Is it a heart issue? Or a head issue? Do you doubt that He truly cares for you?
2. In what areas of life are you ignoring the wisdom of your heavenly Father? Relationships? Finances? Forgiveness? What will the consequences be?
3. Pick one thing that you can do this week to exercise trust in your Father’s wisdom.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make straight your paths.
Be not wise in your own eyes; Fear the Lord, and turn away from evil.
It will be healing to your flesh and refreshment to your bones."

Proverbs 3:5-8