My daughter has a 'friend' who has a little boy. Timmy (not his real name) is almost three. He's not yet potty-trained, doesn't talk as well as other kids his age, and he's solid - about 40 pounds.
Timmy is quiet. He doesn't make a lot of noise when he plays. He's well-behaved. If you tell him it's time to take a nap during play time, he will come and lie down beside you even if he doesn't fall asleep. He's really no trouble at all, except to his mother. She's beaten him so much that he's learned to be obedient to all adults. His mom likes to have fun, and her son doesn't permit her to have as much fun as she would like. So Timmy's mom frequently asks my daughter to take care of him even though my daughter spends most of her time being medicated while fighting cancer. She's in no shape to take care of someone else's child, but Timmy's mom is willing to take that chance so that she can 'have fun'.
Timmy likes to sit in my lap in the car and pretend he's driving. We're sitting in the driveway. When he rides in my grandson's battery powered Gator, he doesn't cry if he can't steer but sits quietly in the passenger seat and enjoys the ride. He's a good kid. But I worry about his future.
Timmy's dad isn't around. He's a drug pusher who spends more time trying to con people out of money than he does taking care of his son. Timmy is an inconvenience to his mother and father. Rather than spend money on daycare where Timmy can learn social skills and his ABCs, his mom chooses to spend her money on drugs and alcohol. That's why she asks my daughter to watch him for her - my daughter doesn't work so she's got nothing better to do right? Timmy has had to go with my daughter for chemo treatments because his mom didn't show up when she promised; but he's a good kid and sits in his chair and doesn't say much.
I don't want my daughter to have anything to do with Timmy's mom, but she loves Timmy. He's got the deck stacked against him: He hardly speaks, he's abused, he's of mixed blood, his parents are barely caretakers at best, he's overweight and under loved. Timmy takes what life throws at him because he's young and knows no better way. I wonder what Timmy will become when he's older? Will he grow up thinking that he's an inconvenience, or will he experience the love and support he deserves? Will he have someone like my daughter who cares about him or will he have to endure the criticism of people who are smarter and better looking than he is?
Please pray for Timmy (God knows who I'm talking about), and for his mom and dad. The world is a tough place for those of us with the advantages Timmy has been denied. I'm proud of my daughter for caring and being willing to sacrifice on his behalf during her own tough times. She's Timmy's Jesus in the flesh.
Have Some Coffee
A friend forwarded this story to me. Since I don't know who the author is and can't give them credit and don't want to be accused of plagiarism, I've edited it slightly. It's something I need to remind myself of constantly and this puts the truth in a different light.
"A group of alumni, all highly established in their respective careers, gathered for a visit with their old philosophy professor. The conversation soon turned to complaints about the endless stress of work and life in general.
Offering his guests coffee, the professor went into the kitchen and soon returned with a large pot of coffee and an odd assortment of cups. Some were porcelain, others plastic, glass, crystal; some were plain, some expensive, some quite exquisite.
Humbly the professor told them to help themselves to some fresh coffee.
When each of the former students had a cup of coffee in hand, the old professor quietly cleared his throat and began to address the small gathering...
"You may have noticed that all of the nicer cups were taken up first, leaving behind the plain and less expensive ones. While it is only natural for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is actually the source of much of your stress-related problems."
He continued. . . "Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In fact, the cup merely disguises or dresses up what we drink. What each of you wanted was coffee, not a cup; but you instinctively went for the best cup. Then you began eyeing each other's cups."
"Now consider this: Life is coffee. Jobs, money, and position in society are merely cups. They are just tools to shape and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not truly define nor change the quality of the life we live. Often, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee that God has provided us. God brews the coffee, but He does not supply the cups. Enjoy the coffee!"
The happiest people don't have the best of everything, they just make the best of everything they have.
"The richest person is not the one who has the most, but the one who needs the least."
Several years ago, God made me three promises: First, He would help me get out of debt. Second, I would live a simple but comfortable life. Third, a wife - one He has chosen for me. I've clung tenatiously to these promises and look for them to be fulfilled every day. Now, I may dream about owning a huge log cabin in the mountains overlooking a vast and beautiful lake. But what this story reminds me is that it's not the cabin or the setting that I'm seeking; it's what those things represent: peace, rest, no stress, a closeness to God and Creation. In my dreams I've bought the finest cabinets for the kitchen, the biggest home theater system, his and her bathroom with built in bookshelves and a large jacuzzi tub, a boat dock and pontoon boat to enjoy on the lake, and a Ford F-250 quad cab pickup in the driveway. These luxuries represent the best for me, but they aren't the best that life offers. It's the things we can't buy that have the most value.
Enjoy the coffee in whatever cup like serves up.
"A group of alumni, all highly established in their respective careers, gathered for a visit with their old philosophy professor. The conversation soon turned to complaints about the endless stress of work and life in general.
Offering his guests coffee, the professor went into the kitchen and soon returned with a large pot of coffee and an odd assortment of cups. Some were porcelain, others plastic, glass, crystal; some were plain, some expensive, some quite exquisite.
Humbly the professor told them to help themselves to some fresh coffee.
When each of the former students had a cup of coffee in hand, the old professor quietly cleared his throat and began to address the small gathering...
"You may have noticed that all of the nicer cups were taken up first, leaving behind the plain and less expensive ones. While it is only natural for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is actually the source of much of your stress-related problems."
He continued. . . "Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In fact, the cup merely disguises or dresses up what we drink. What each of you wanted was coffee, not a cup; but you instinctively went for the best cup. Then you began eyeing each other's cups."
"Now consider this: Life is coffee. Jobs, money, and position in society are merely cups. They are just tools to shape and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not truly define nor change the quality of the life we live. Often, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee that God has provided us. God brews the coffee, but He does not supply the cups. Enjoy the coffee!"
The happiest people don't have the best of everything, they just make the best of everything they have.
"The richest person is not the one who has the most, but the one who needs the least."
Several years ago, God made me three promises: First, He would help me get out of debt. Second, I would live a simple but comfortable life. Third, a wife - one He has chosen for me. I've clung tenatiously to these promises and look for them to be fulfilled every day. Now, I may dream about owning a huge log cabin in the mountains overlooking a vast and beautiful lake. But what this story reminds me is that it's not the cabin or the setting that I'm seeking; it's what those things represent: peace, rest, no stress, a closeness to God and Creation. In my dreams I've bought the finest cabinets for the kitchen, the biggest home theater system, his and her bathroom with built in bookshelves and a large jacuzzi tub, a boat dock and pontoon boat to enjoy on the lake, and a Ford F-250 quad cab pickup in the driveway. These luxuries represent the best for me, but they aren't the best that life offers. It's the things we can't buy that have the most value.
Enjoy the coffee in whatever cup like serves up.
Have You Ever Loved?
Have you ever loved something or someone so much that the thought of that person or object brought tears to your eyes? Have you ever been so proud of a relationship that you could neither deny it nor describe the experience to anyone else?
From the old veteran staring up lovingly at the flag he served, while his loyal dog looks up lovingly at him; to the disabled veteran who rises from his wheelchair while able-bodied Americans sit when that flag passes by. From a person of faith who rises early every morning to spend time with God, and who's floorboards are worn where she kneels beside her bed at night and thank Him for another day of His company. The couple who make love slowly and tenderly, lost in themselves and oblivious to the world around them; the mother who reaches out to embrace her child who just took his first step; the father who places his daughter's hand into the hand and care of another man; the husband and wife of many years who can sit together and watch in awe as the sun sets over the furthest dusty blue mountains and know without having to say a word what the other is thinking; the spouse who continues to care for the other when time and disease have stolen the mind and body of their loved one.
These pictures speak of lives lived well and where life is about more than simply making a living. Love allows us to focus our passion on things that really matter. Where there is no love there is heartache and lack of purpose; where love is, there may also be heartache, but it has purpose.
I suspect that a lot of people have cheated themselves of love and purpose because they've built walls to protect them from being hurt. I've held love at arm's length for a long time, unwilling to risk, incapable of living, settling for numb survival - when so much more is being offered. Recently I met someone with whom I've fallen in love, and with that love has come a renewed sense of purpose and hope for the future. Love requires much from us: passion, loyalty, selflessness, patience, sacrifice, obedience, our very lives. But the benefits of love are far greater: joy, contentment, pride, intimacy, purpose, fulfillment, and life itself.
I've found love and gained my life.
From the old veteran staring up lovingly at the flag he served, while his loyal dog looks up lovingly at him; to the disabled veteran who rises from his wheelchair while able-bodied Americans sit when that flag passes by. From a person of faith who rises early every morning to spend time with God, and who's floorboards are worn where she kneels beside her bed at night and thank Him for another day of His company. The couple who make love slowly and tenderly, lost in themselves and oblivious to the world around them; the mother who reaches out to embrace her child who just took his first step; the father who places his daughter's hand into the hand and care of another man; the husband and wife of many years who can sit together and watch in awe as the sun sets over the furthest dusty blue mountains and know without having to say a word what the other is thinking; the spouse who continues to care for the other when time and disease have stolen the mind and body of their loved one.
These pictures speak of lives lived well and where life is about more than simply making a living. Love allows us to focus our passion on things that really matter. Where there is no love there is heartache and lack of purpose; where love is, there may also be heartache, but it has purpose.
I suspect that a lot of people have cheated themselves of love and purpose because they've built walls to protect them from being hurt. I've held love at arm's length for a long time, unwilling to risk, incapable of living, settling for numb survival - when so much more is being offered. Recently I met someone with whom I've fallen in love, and with that love has come a renewed sense of purpose and hope for the future. Love requires much from us: passion, loyalty, selflessness, patience, sacrifice, obedience, our very lives. But the benefits of love are far greater: joy, contentment, pride, intimacy, purpose, fulfillment, and life itself.
I've found love and gained my life.
Dirty Movies
My experience at my part-time job has inspired me to start a new blog. This one is called Dirty Movies (http://www.dirtymoviecritic.blogspot.com/). The purpose of this blog isn't so much as to rate current movie releases as it is to describe how filthy the movie-goers leave the auditorium.
The first post is dated 2010, so you'll have to click on 2007 (and eventually 2008) to view the reviews of each movie. Check it out and let me know what you think.
The first post is dated 2010, so you'll have to click on 2007 (and eventually 2008) to view the reviews of each movie. Check it out and let me know what you think.
Old Photos
(I don't know how to post photos here so I hope you can follow along.)
This past weekend I was looking through some of my old photographs. There was my baby picture that my grandfather had managed to mount and frame inside an old cough syrup bottle. I'm still not sure how he managed that unless he was really good at cutting and glueing glass. They hadn't invented Super Glue back then.
There were the annual school photos, including the obligatory cute pose with me resting my chin in my palms and trying to force a smile. There was a picture of me in my tux standing in front of my first car on the day of my senior prom. I went stag. Another picture showed me with this girl from church. She had a beehive hairdoo. Everyone in church weas trying to hook us up because she was a 'good Christian girl', but I was more interested in her bad sister. The beehive girl became a hair stylist, the bad sister dropped out of school - I don't remember either of their names. My senior picture was the worst photo ever taken of me, where I had this awful haircut intended to imitate the Beatles - except mine was too thin and limp and cropped too high. Looked more like a bowl cut.
In a lot of these photos I was smiling and seemed to be enjoying myself. Those must have been happy times, growing up with no cares except my shyness when it came to girls. The thing is - I don't remember having those pictures taken. I mean, aren't photos supposed to remind us of something?
What I couldn't find are pictures of things I actually remember; like the expression on my face when I found out Santa Claus wasn't real and that my parents had been lying to me about Santa and the Easter Bunny, and Bloody Bones (a monster that came after naughty children). There was no picture from the day my dog, Buster, was hit by a car. There was no picture of my embarrassment when my parents dropped my younger brother and I off at my older brothers home and they had to cancel their plans to take in a movie. I didn't expect my brother to pay our way, even though kids could get a ticket, box of popcorn and a small Coke for twenty-five cents back then. I felt guilty for years about ruining their plans.
I wish I had a picture of the time my mother admonished me for asking for some toy they couldn't afford to buy me. She told me that my dad worked hard to provide for a roof over our heads and the food we ate; and that he could have bought the cheap, one-ply scratchy toilet paper rather than the two-ply soft kind, so we should learn to be thankful for what we did have. That was the day that a light-bulb went off and I realized that it wasn't all Happy Days and that adults didn't have fun because they were always worried about how they were going to take care of their kids.
There was no picture of me sneaking into the living room when I was seven to check on my grandfather where he lay in his coffin. It was spooky having a dead guy in the room next to mine. Papa was 92, and he died while working in the garden. Neither was there a picture of a bunch of us kids freaking out the evening of his funeral when we thought we saw an image of a skull in the lampshade in Papa's bedroom.
I wish I had a picture of that lion I saw in the sky one afternoon while shelling butterbeans on the back porch with my mother and Papa. Actually it was just the face of a lion, like that one on the MGM logo. I would have shrugged it off as the imaginations of a bored child with sore fingers, but my mother would years later confirm that we really saw a lion - in living color - in the sky that afternoon. She said it was Jesus. I think it was Asland.
I'd like to have had a super telephoto lens and have captured the UFO that a group of us soldiers saw high in the sky over Fort Bragg one night. The UFO was flanked by two aircraft. They had the typical red and green colored lights on each wing but the UFO was bright white. It played with the aircraft for awhile, then it sped away at almost warp speed. You could see the two aircraft try to catch up to the UFO but there was no contest. The government disavowed any knowledge of a UFO or military flights above Fort Bragg that night but about 40 of us know what we saw.
Although I don't have pictures of any of my children being born, I was there when they were. It's probably for the better; other people probably wouldn't be too impressed by the slimy, red-flushed babies with mouths opened in their first of many screams; and my wives wouldn't be too keen on people seeing them in such vulnerable and awkward positions.
I have pictures of my wedding days in a box somewhere, but I seldom take those out to look at. What I don't have are the photos where we argued and said things that led to the point where we realized our marriage was over. In retrospect, I don't want to relive those memories. I wish I had did pictures of the moments we fell in love. If I had those perhaps I wouldn't have memories of the divorces.
Still, why do we have pictures of things we can't remember; or where we have to describe what's going on to people who wondered why we wasted film on that picture? We ought to have the presence of mind to take photos of the life-changing moments that shaped our history and our legacy. Forgotten and forced smiles are a sad substitution for our moments of victory, or our shame, our guilt, our love or our moments of growth.
This past weekend I was looking through some of my old photographs. There was my baby picture that my grandfather had managed to mount and frame inside an old cough syrup bottle. I'm still not sure how he managed that unless he was really good at cutting and glueing glass. They hadn't invented Super Glue back then.
There were the annual school photos, including the obligatory cute pose with me resting my chin in my palms and trying to force a smile. There was a picture of me in my tux standing in front of my first car on the day of my senior prom. I went stag. Another picture showed me with this girl from church. She had a beehive hairdoo. Everyone in church weas trying to hook us up because she was a 'good Christian girl', but I was more interested in her bad sister. The beehive girl became a hair stylist, the bad sister dropped out of school - I don't remember either of their names. My senior picture was the worst photo ever taken of me, where I had this awful haircut intended to imitate the Beatles - except mine was too thin and limp and cropped too high. Looked more like a bowl cut.
In a lot of these photos I was smiling and seemed to be enjoying myself. Those must have been happy times, growing up with no cares except my shyness when it came to girls. The thing is - I don't remember having those pictures taken. I mean, aren't photos supposed to remind us of something?
What I couldn't find are pictures of things I actually remember; like the expression on my face when I found out Santa Claus wasn't real and that my parents had been lying to me about Santa and the Easter Bunny, and Bloody Bones (a monster that came after naughty children). There was no picture from the day my dog, Buster, was hit by a car. There was no picture of my embarrassment when my parents dropped my younger brother and I off at my older brothers home and they had to cancel their plans to take in a movie. I didn't expect my brother to pay our way, even though kids could get a ticket, box of popcorn and a small Coke for twenty-five cents back then. I felt guilty for years about ruining their plans.
I wish I had a picture of the time my mother admonished me for asking for some toy they couldn't afford to buy me. She told me that my dad worked hard to provide for a roof over our heads and the food we ate; and that he could have bought the cheap, one-ply scratchy toilet paper rather than the two-ply soft kind, so we should learn to be thankful for what we did have. That was the day that a light-bulb went off and I realized that it wasn't all Happy Days and that adults didn't have fun because they were always worried about how they were going to take care of their kids.
There was no picture of me sneaking into the living room when I was seven to check on my grandfather where he lay in his coffin. It was spooky having a dead guy in the room next to mine. Papa was 92, and he died while working in the garden. Neither was there a picture of a bunch of us kids freaking out the evening of his funeral when we thought we saw an image of a skull in the lampshade in Papa's bedroom.
I wish I had a picture of that lion I saw in the sky one afternoon while shelling butterbeans on the back porch with my mother and Papa. Actually it was just the face of a lion, like that one on the MGM logo. I would have shrugged it off as the imaginations of a bored child with sore fingers, but my mother would years later confirm that we really saw a lion - in living color - in the sky that afternoon. She said it was Jesus. I think it was Asland.
I'd like to have had a super telephoto lens and have captured the UFO that a group of us soldiers saw high in the sky over Fort Bragg one night. The UFO was flanked by two aircraft. They had the typical red and green colored lights on each wing but the UFO was bright white. It played with the aircraft for awhile, then it sped away at almost warp speed. You could see the two aircraft try to catch up to the UFO but there was no contest. The government disavowed any knowledge of a UFO or military flights above Fort Bragg that night but about 40 of us know what we saw.
Although I don't have pictures of any of my children being born, I was there when they were. It's probably for the better; other people probably wouldn't be too impressed by the slimy, red-flushed babies with mouths opened in their first of many screams; and my wives wouldn't be too keen on people seeing them in such vulnerable and awkward positions.
I have pictures of my wedding days in a box somewhere, but I seldom take those out to look at. What I don't have are the photos where we argued and said things that led to the point where we realized our marriage was over. In retrospect, I don't want to relive those memories. I wish I had did pictures of the moments we fell in love. If I had those perhaps I wouldn't have memories of the divorces.
Still, why do we have pictures of things we can't remember; or where we have to describe what's going on to people who wondered why we wasted film on that picture? We ought to have the presence of mind to take photos of the life-changing moments that shaped our history and our legacy. Forgotten and forced smiles are a sad substitution for our moments of victory, or our shame, our guilt, our love or our moments of growth.
OK, Who's Been Talking?
The day's not over yet, but so far I've received 43 emails concerning the size of my penis and how the world would be happier if it were larger. So would I, but how did all these people find out about me? I'm not on par with the likes of Magic Johnson or a rock star, heck I' m not even on par with some priests. I don't work out in health clubs, don't go skinny-dipping in Golden Pond (it's a brown puddle now), nor do I hang out in parks and flash female joggers. I have neither wife nor girlfriend nor prostitute with a memory long enough (excuse the pun) to remember the last time it was used for anything more than relieving my bladder - so who snuck a spy cam into my bathroom?
You have to understand, 43 emails doesn't sound like many, but I get these every day. It's really starting to affect my self-image. By now people in Russia know about my inadequacies and are emailing me in Cyrillic. Darrel Vinson even claimed that the reason I'm not successful is because of my small size. "Good day Larry -Its the size of one's penis that determines success. Darrel Vinsonhttp://jumt.parloe.com/?qkoe". (I wouldn't click on that link if I were you. )
People I've never met are concerned I'm not pleasing a woman I don't even have. Some of them want to sell me creams and others offer pills. They all offer guarantees that their products work or my money back, but what if I have to send before and after pictures to prove my claim? And if their products worked, why hasn't 60 Minutes done a special report on the subject? I would think that there are millions of guys who aren't satisfied with the size of their ding-dong (or ding-ding in my case). This would be great news. Sales would rocket, stocks would soar more than one to three inches in length and 1 and a half inches in girth.
I checked with Snopes to see if these emails are a scam, but Snopes doesn't have any information. I did a search on Ask.com and got a whole slew of commercial sites but practically nothing from a medical perspective. Still, I'm a bit skeptical. Politicians make promises all the time they can't keep, so do those cosmetic companies and beer brewers and car manufacturers. They all promise I'll look sexier wearing, drinking, or sitting in their products.
I think I'm going to put off ordering any of those creams or pills until I actually have a purpose for using them. It would be a shame to grow a massive phallus but have no one to show it off to. I'll bet those same people who are so concerned about my size now won't say a word once it's dragging the ground. I wish they'd just leave me alone so I can sort through the other 700 emails from people who know how broke or uneducated I am.
You have to understand, 43 emails doesn't sound like many, but I get these every day. It's really starting to affect my self-image. By now people in Russia know about my inadequacies and are emailing me in Cyrillic. Darrel Vinson even claimed that the reason I'm not successful is because of my small size. "Good day Larry -Its the size of one's penis that determines success. Darrel Vinsonhttp://jumt.parloe.com/?qkoe". (I wouldn't click on that link if I were you. )
People I've never met are concerned I'm not pleasing a woman I don't even have. Some of them want to sell me creams and others offer pills. They all offer guarantees that their products work or my money back, but what if I have to send before and after pictures to prove my claim? And if their products worked, why hasn't 60 Minutes done a special report on the subject? I would think that there are millions of guys who aren't satisfied with the size of their ding-dong (or ding-ding in my case). This would be great news. Sales would rocket, stocks would soar more than one to three inches in length and 1 and a half inches in girth.
I checked with Snopes to see if these emails are a scam, but Snopes doesn't have any information. I did a search on Ask.com and got a whole slew of commercial sites but practically nothing from a medical perspective. Still, I'm a bit skeptical. Politicians make promises all the time they can't keep, so do those cosmetic companies and beer brewers and car manufacturers. They all promise I'll look sexier wearing, drinking, or sitting in their products.
I think I'm going to put off ordering any of those creams or pills until I actually have a purpose for using them. It would be a shame to grow a massive phallus but have no one to show it off to. I'll bet those same people who are so concerned about my size now won't say a word once it's dragging the ground. I wish they'd just leave me alone so I can sort through the other 700 emails from people who know how broke or uneducated I am.
Time To Revise Victory Over Debt
I recently received my annual social security statement and I think it's time that I revised my book, "Victory Over Debt" (copies of which are still available for $30.00 - a shameless plug, but I need the money).
I've worked almost continuously since my 16th birthday paying into my social security savings account. According to my statement, if I were to retire at age 66, I would receive about $1388 per month; only $1040 per month if I begin collecting at age 62; and as much as $1837 per month if I'll wait until I'm 70 to retire.
Although the Social Security Administration promises I'll earn about $1388 per month in retirement, consider this: If every baby boomer, 75 million of us, were to be paid only $1,000 per month in social security benefits, that would equal $75 billion per month. This is equal to one Hurricane Katrina or the Iraq War - but it would occur every month!
According to common retirement planning guidelines, we need to invest enough money in extra-social security accounts to pay us the difference between what we're currently earning and what social security would pay. If I'm earning $30K per year on my job now, and my social security pays $16.6K, then my investments in 401K/IRAs need to produce the difference of $13.4K annually. For me at this point, I'd need to invest 80% of my salary to generate this much income. What most of us in the middle class don't realize is that the 401K program wasn't designed for people like us; it was designed for rich CEOs who needed a way to protect their income from taxes. If we earn less than $180K per year, our 401ks and IRAs and social security combined are going to allow us to live the lifestyle we imagined for our retirement.
To make matters worse, my social security statement informed me that by 2017, they would be paying out more in benefits than they collect in taxes. By 2041 the Social Security Trust Fund would be exhausted and benefits would have to be reduced by at least 25%. In other research I learned that currently Social Security is in debt $10 Trillion, and that Medicare is in debt $62 Trillion! People talk about our national debt being over $7 trillion - that number is dwarfed by our entitlement programs.
In 2004, two economists, Kent Smetters and Jagadeesh Gokhale estimated that our government's obligations in entitlement programs to Americans equalled $72 trillion. This is greater than all the stocks on the global market (equals $36 trillion), and all the bonds on the global market (equals $31 trillion).
Another depressing fact is that in 2006, our trade deficit was $243 billion dollars. That means that we consumed $243 billion more than we produced. Want more? Although America enjoys the highest standard of living in the world, it's only because we're the greatest debtor nation in the world. In 2004, 44% of our national Treasury debt was owed to foreigners. I thought America was in trouble because we were loaning money to everyone else - but that's not the case! We're not only exporting jobs, we're exporting debt. And to make matters even worse, our government can't fix the problems because debt is a global problem.
We've entered into a time where the middle class is shrinking in our country. In the past we've had a few rich people at the top, a few poor people at the bottom, and the majority of our citizens in the middle. This is a healthy economy, and it's shaped like a diamond. With the shrinking middle class, we now reseamble an hour-glass. The rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer. The problem is not something that throwing money at poverty is going to fix, according to millionaire Robert Kiyosaki and billionaire Donald Trump. The problem as they see it is that we're financially illiterate. We've not been taught how money works.
Depending on where you fall on the economic scale, you've learned different messages. If you fall in the poor category, you've been taught to rely on the government and entitlement programs. If you're in the middle class, you've been taught to work hard, live below your means, invest in 401ks and other investments in order not to lose, and you'll be able to play golf all you want when you retire. But if you're in the rich class you've been taught one thing - invest to win.
Trickle down economics works to a degree, but rich people have gotten richer because they understand how to invest. The rich invest in assets - things of real and lasting value. When asset prices increase, it makes assets more expensive, thus out of the reach of the poor and middle class. Rich people don't tie most of their money to stocks or bonds because these are subject to more volatility than hard assets like gold or real estate. If we had invested $1,000 into savings 10 years ago, that savings would only be worth $500 now because of inflation. If we'd invested $1,000 into four ounces of gold, it would be worth $2,500 today.
Donald Trump has said, "We could ask the rich to pay for everything, but would it solve the problem?" The answer is "No." We could require the government to raise taxes to pay our debt and fund entitlement programs, but the government is too slow and unwilling to do more than print more money and shove the responsibility for our unmanageable system onto future generations; or we can do what Trump and Kiyosaki suggest, and that's to learn to become rich so that we can take advantage of the tax laws, and determine whether we're going to be counted among the rich or the poor. I'm opting for the rich.
So, it's time to pull up my files from Victory Over Debt, update the information there and see if I can't sell enough to get me out of debt:) And perhaps enough to invest to win. The alternative is not only depressing, it's stupid.
I've worked almost continuously since my 16th birthday paying into my social security savings account. According to my statement, if I were to retire at age 66, I would receive about $1388 per month; only $1040 per month if I begin collecting at age 62; and as much as $1837 per month if I'll wait until I'm 70 to retire.
Although the Social Security Administration promises I'll earn about $1388 per month in retirement, consider this: If every baby boomer, 75 million of us, were to be paid only $1,000 per month in social security benefits, that would equal $75 billion per month. This is equal to one Hurricane Katrina or the Iraq War - but it would occur every month!
According to common retirement planning guidelines, we need to invest enough money in extra-social security accounts to pay us the difference between what we're currently earning and what social security would pay. If I'm earning $30K per year on my job now, and my social security pays $16.6K, then my investments in 401K/IRAs need to produce the difference of $13.4K annually. For me at this point, I'd need to invest 80% of my salary to generate this much income. What most of us in the middle class don't realize is that the 401K program wasn't designed for people like us; it was designed for rich CEOs who needed a way to protect their income from taxes. If we earn less than $180K per year, our 401ks and IRAs and social security combined are going to allow us to live the lifestyle we imagined for our retirement.
To make matters worse, my social security statement informed me that by 2017, they would be paying out more in benefits than they collect in taxes. By 2041 the Social Security Trust Fund would be exhausted and benefits would have to be reduced by at least 25%. In other research I learned that currently Social Security is in debt $10 Trillion, and that Medicare is in debt $62 Trillion! People talk about our national debt being over $7 trillion - that number is dwarfed by our entitlement programs.
In 2004, two economists, Kent Smetters and Jagadeesh Gokhale estimated that our government's obligations in entitlement programs to Americans equalled $72 trillion. This is greater than all the stocks on the global market (equals $36 trillion), and all the bonds on the global market (equals $31 trillion).
Another depressing fact is that in 2006, our trade deficit was $243 billion dollars. That means that we consumed $243 billion more than we produced. Want more? Although America enjoys the highest standard of living in the world, it's only because we're the greatest debtor nation in the world. In 2004, 44% of our national Treasury debt was owed to foreigners. I thought America was in trouble because we were loaning money to everyone else - but that's not the case! We're not only exporting jobs, we're exporting debt. And to make matters even worse, our government can't fix the problems because debt is a global problem.
We've entered into a time where the middle class is shrinking in our country. In the past we've had a few rich people at the top, a few poor people at the bottom, and the majority of our citizens in the middle. This is a healthy economy, and it's shaped like a diamond. With the shrinking middle class, we now reseamble an hour-glass. The rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer. The problem is not something that throwing money at poverty is going to fix, according to millionaire Robert Kiyosaki and billionaire Donald Trump. The problem as they see it is that we're financially illiterate. We've not been taught how money works.
Depending on where you fall on the economic scale, you've learned different messages. If you fall in the poor category, you've been taught to rely on the government and entitlement programs. If you're in the middle class, you've been taught to work hard, live below your means, invest in 401ks and other investments in order not to lose, and you'll be able to play golf all you want when you retire. But if you're in the rich class you've been taught one thing - invest to win.
Trickle down economics works to a degree, but rich people have gotten richer because they understand how to invest. The rich invest in assets - things of real and lasting value. When asset prices increase, it makes assets more expensive, thus out of the reach of the poor and middle class. Rich people don't tie most of their money to stocks or bonds because these are subject to more volatility than hard assets like gold or real estate. If we had invested $1,000 into savings 10 years ago, that savings would only be worth $500 now because of inflation. If we'd invested $1,000 into four ounces of gold, it would be worth $2,500 today.
Donald Trump has said, "We could ask the rich to pay for everything, but would it solve the problem?" The answer is "No." We could require the government to raise taxes to pay our debt and fund entitlement programs, but the government is too slow and unwilling to do more than print more money and shove the responsibility for our unmanageable system onto future generations; or we can do what Trump and Kiyosaki suggest, and that's to learn to become rich so that we can take advantage of the tax laws, and determine whether we're going to be counted among the rich or the poor. I'm opting for the rich.
So, it's time to pull up my files from Victory Over Debt, update the information there and see if I can't sell enough to get me out of debt:) And perhaps enough to invest to win. The alternative is not only depressing, it's stupid.
Magic Fades
I remember back to that day in the second grade, shortly before Christmas, when a group of my classmates were telling each other what we wanted for Christmas. When it was my turn, I proudly proclaimed "Santa's bringing me a Lincoln Logs fort!" Hubert, an overweight bully, snorted, "Huh! You still believe in Santa Clause? What a baby!" Glancing around at the others, I quickly surmised that they were on Hubert's side. I might have been a slow student, but I wasn't stupid, so I immediately went into damage control and said, "Not me! My brother still believes, but I know Santa's not real....Everybody knows that." In a moment, my dream of Lincoln Logs, BB guns, and a bicycle evaporated, only to be replaced by the knowledge that my parents had lied to me about something so big! I mean, we're not talking about the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny here, we were talking about the Big Man himself! What? No Santa? Might as well be no Jesus either!
Eighteen months earlier, on the last day of my first year in the first grade, we were having a class party to celebrate the end of the school year. There were four of us boys - Mike, Red, Walter, and myself, who were not being promoted to the second grade the following year. In my case, the teacher wrote on my final report card that my mind was not on my studies and that I didn't even know my ABCs yet. I was bummed out, and dreaded having to show my mother that report card. While I was in the corner having a pity party with my other three failing friends, the rest of the class was whooping it up. They got so loud that the teacher said something that gave me hope, if only for a few minutes. She said, "If you children don't hold the noise down, I'm going to take your passing grade and give it to one of the boys who failed." Well, as you can imagine, the four of us perked up! We hoped that the class would continue to raise a ruckus so that we could get a get-out-of-the-first-grade-free card. I didn't care who she took it from, but I wanted one for myself. Regretfully, the class continue to raise hell, but no pass was coming our way.
Trudging home that day, I realized that those report cards had been prepared before the last day of school. What was already written down might as well have been in stone, because the teacher never had the intention, nor the authority, to take a passing grade from one student and give to another. That day I learned that teachers lie.
The summer after I finally did pass the first grade, my brother and I were outside working in our family garden. It was our job to follow our father, who was tilling a plot to plant potatoes and peanuts, and pick up any rocks or clumps of weeds that would prevent the seeds from growing. Bending down to pick up something white that didn't belong in the garden, I discovered a sea shell - some sort of mullusk shell - but I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that here was a sea shell and we were a couple hundred miles from the nearest ocean. Taking the shell to my father, I asked him what it was. My dad replied that it was left in our garden during the Great Flood of Noah's time. I thought it was cool to have a shell several thousand years old, but as there appeared to be a lot of them, I tossed it away and got back to work.
It was many years later that the subject of sea shells came up again. My brothers and our wives were sitting around the table talking to my mother about the house we grew up in, and the shameful condition the new owners had allowed it to become now. In place of our garden was a mass of weeds and half-grown trees, a snake-infested mess. I recalled finding those sea shells and mentioned the day when my our father told us where they came from. My mother, like Hubert, snorted and said, "Them shells came from oyster shuckings, and we threw them out there to help fertilize the garden." Now I had grown up by now, and I knew that anything that was thousands of years old should have been buried deeper than what a tiller could uncover, but it never dawned on me that my father would lie to me. Sure, he and Mama lied about Santa Claus, but about something from the Bible? What the hell!
Then, there was that afternoon we were sitting on our back porch shelling butter beans, and up in the sky there appeared the face of a lion - not a resemblance in the clouds, but a real live, technicolor face, of a lion roaring - just like that mascot for MGM. My grandfather was the first to see it and pointed it out. I looked up and there it was - big as day! My mother saw it too - or at least she said she did. I'm wondering now if I wasn't somehow hypnotized by some sort of auto-suggestion, into believing that a cloud was really a lion? A few years before she passed, Mama confirmed that it really happened, but how am I to really know? I mean, she lied about something important as Santa Claus!
I realized then that I'm a pretty gullible person. As a child, it was easy to believe in fairies and ghosts, animals that could talk, and aliens that possessed super powers. Eventually, over time, all those supernatural things were nothing more than stories to make children behave. There was no Santa, no Super Man, no "Do-Over-Life" card. And the people that I trusted the most? They are the ones who led me to believe in magic, even though they didn't believe themselves.
Maybe it was their way of paying back their parents when they found out for themselves that magic is nothing more than lies and misdirection. Perhaps they believed in the Almost Golden Rule - Do unto others what you've had done to you. In a real way, it's made me a cynical person. If my parents and teachers lie, what about those preachers? What if they're selling snake-oil to gullible people like myself just to pad their pockets ?
Faced with reality, I vowed not to lie to my kids. I taught them that Jesus was real and Santa was make-believe; Easter eggs come from Wal-Mart, not from a rabbit; comic book heros are a waste of time; and not to put too much faith in what their teachers say - especially if they are Liberals.
The thing is - I miss that time when you could lie in bed on Christmas Eve and swear you could hear reindeer on the roof. I miss having a teacher ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and telling me I could do anything I want if I worked hard enough for it. I miss pretending I'm John Wayne or Roy Rogers or James Bond. But some things I'm still not convinced aren't real: those monsters that hide in your closet, ET, and Elvis is alive.
Eighteen months earlier, on the last day of my first year in the first grade, we were having a class party to celebrate the end of the school year. There were four of us boys - Mike, Red, Walter, and myself, who were not being promoted to the second grade the following year. In my case, the teacher wrote on my final report card that my mind was not on my studies and that I didn't even know my ABCs yet. I was bummed out, and dreaded having to show my mother that report card. While I was in the corner having a pity party with my other three failing friends, the rest of the class was whooping it up. They got so loud that the teacher said something that gave me hope, if only for a few minutes. She said, "If you children don't hold the noise down, I'm going to take your passing grade and give it to one of the boys who failed." Well, as you can imagine, the four of us perked up! We hoped that the class would continue to raise a ruckus so that we could get a get-out-of-the-first-grade-free card. I didn't care who she took it from, but I wanted one for myself. Regretfully, the class continue to raise hell, but no pass was coming our way.
Trudging home that day, I realized that those report cards had been prepared before the last day of school. What was already written down might as well have been in stone, because the teacher never had the intention, nor the authority, to take a passing grade from one student and give to another. That day I learned that teachers lie.
The summer after I finally did pass the first grade, my brother and I were outside working in our family garden. It was our job to follow our father, who was tilling a plot to plant potatoes and peanuts, and pick up any rocks or clumps of weeds that would prevent the seeds from growing. Bending down to pick up something white that didn't belong in the garden, I discovered a sea shell - some sort of mullusk shell - but I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that here was a sea shell and we were a couple hundred miles from the nearest ocean. Taking the shell to my father, I asked him what it was. My dad replied that it was left in our garden during the Great Flood of Noah's time. I thought it was cool to have a shell several thousand years old, but as there appeared to be a lot of them, I tossed it away and got back to work.
It was many years later that the subject of sea shells came up again. My brothers and our wives were sitting around the table talking to my mother about the house we grew up in, and the shameful condition the new owners had allowed it to become now. In place of our garden was a mass of weeds and half-grown trees, a snake-infested mess. I recalled finding those sea shells and mentioned the day when my our father told us where they came from. My mother, like Hubert, snorted and said, "Them shells came from oyster shuckings, and we threw them out there to help fertilize the garden." Now I had grown up by now, and I knew that anything that was thousands of years old should have been buried deeper than what a tiller could uncover, but it never dawned on me that my father would lie to me. Sure, he and Mama lied about Santa Claus, but about something from the Bible? What the hell!
Then, there was that afternoon we were sitting on our back porch shelling butter beans, and up in the sky there appeared the face of a lion - not a resemblance in the clouds, but a real live, technicolor face, of a lion roaring - just like that mascot for MGM. My grandfather was the first to see it and pointed it out. I looked up and there it was - big as day! My mother saw it too - or at least she said she did. I'm wondering now if I wasn't somehow hypnotized by some sort of auto-suggestion, into believing that a cloud was really a lion? A few years before she passed, Mama confirmed that it really happened, but how am I to really know? I mean, she lied about something important as Santa Claus!
I realized then that I'm a pretty gullible person. As a child, it was easy to believe in fairies and ghosts, animals that could talk, and aliens that possessed super powers. Eventually, over time, all those supernatural things were nothing more than stories to make children behave. There was no Santa, no Super Man, no "Do-Over-Life" card. And the people that I trusted the most? They are the ones who led me to believe in magic, even though they didn't believe themselves.
Maybe it was their way of paying back their parents when they found out for themselves that magic is nothing more than lies and misdirection. Perhaps they believed in the Almost Golden Rule - Do unto others what you've had done to you. In a real way, it's made me a cynical person. If my parents and teachers lie, what about those preachers? What if they're selling snake-oil to gullible people like myself just to pad their pockets ?
Faced with reality, I vowed not to lie to my kids. I taught them that Jesus was real and Santa was make-believe; Easter eggs come from Wal-Mart, not from a rabbit; comic book heros are a waste of time; and not to put too much faith in what their teachers say - especially if they are Liberals.
The thing is - I miss that time when you could lie in bed on Christmas Eve and swear you could hear reindeer on the roof. I miss having a teacher ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and telling me I could do anything I want if I worked hard enough for it. I miss pretending I'm John Wayne or Roy Rogers or James Bond. But some things I'm still not convinced aren't real: those monsters that hide in your closet, ET, and Elvis is alive.
The Worst That Could Happen
I'm one of those 'what if' persons. What if I'd accepted that scholarship to West Point when I was in Army basic training; what if I'd not reenlisted for Fort Gordon, Georgia a week before getting that job offer from Gulf Oil Company? What if I'd taken that radio job on the top of the Zugspitz in Bavaria? What if I'd listened to my mother and not married my first wife?
I spent July 4th at a movie (Room 1408 - it was ok) and at the lake in Creedmoor. Just sat in the car with the windows rolled down, reading Subterranean by James Rollins; occasionally looking out over the lake and watching two teenagers paddle a boat along the shoreline. I could remember back to when I was their age, when something like paddling a boat wouldn't have caused my knee joints to snap, crackle and pop. For a moment, I envied their youth and vitality...well, I still do envy them this morning. But the point is, I wish what every middle aged and senior citizen wishes - to be young again, but to know what I now know. What if I could turn back the hands of time, without losing memory of all I've learned during my 55 years?
My daughter, Laura, reminds me that if I'd changed anything prior to her birth, she might not be here today - but I don't believe any of us are here by accident, so she would have been born whether I was her father or not. Certainly, I'd like a chance to undo the mistakes I've made in life; but I don't want to forget them. Without the mistakes, I can't appreciate the blessings.
Take last week. I used a week of vacation, not because I planned on going anywhere, but because I didn't have enough money to buy gas to get to work every day. Instead of working on my job, I worked around my house. The more I cleaned, the more I realized I needed to spend more time taking care of what I have. It was nice having the house to myself. My daughter and grandson were spending a couple weeks in Georgia. I put on an audio version of Randy Alcorn's "Heaven" and listened as he described the place I'm going to spend a lot more time than I will spend on this earth. Kind of put things in perspective - sure I was temporarily out of funds, but I'm not poor; there was food in the frig and cabinets, and work to keep me occupied. The only thing I didn't drag up the energy to work on was Sea Tree.
Sea Tree has been on my mind every day since I first dreamed about it. I'm always coming up with something new to include in the book - far too many to fit inside one book. I will admit that I've asked myself the question, "What if I write this story and no one bothers to read it?" Any money I might make on selling the book is less important to me than knowing I created something that other people could appreciate. I believe we're all here to create something. And it's human nature to want our creations to be appreciated by others. Hopefully that appreciation will be accompanied by an influx of dollars, but just as important is to hear someone say that they were moved or changed by my creation. I suspect God wants to feel appreciated too. I mean, look around and see everything that He has done - even the things we can't see - like how our bodies were designed to heal themselves! What if He did all this work and no one was moved or changed by His sunsets, or the love of a faithful dog, or gave Him credit for creating the plant that provides the cure to a disease?
I believe we were all created to create something with our lives. We spend most of our lives trying to make a living and spend very little creating. What if I write Sea Tree and it bombs? The worst that could happen is that I end up just like I am now. But what if I write it and it changes my life? Now what if everyone follows their dream and succeeds? That's more like the world God created us to dominate.
I spent July 4th at a movie (Room 1408 - it was ok) and at the lake in Creedmoor. Just sat in the car with the windows rolled down, reading Subterranean by James Rollins; occasionally looking out over the lake and watching two teenagers paddle a boat along the shoreline. I could remember back to when I was their age, when something like paddling a boat wouldn't have caused my knee joints to snap, crackle and pop. For a moment, I envied their youth and vitality...well, I still do envy them this morning. But the point is, I wish what every middle aged and senior citizen wishes - to be young again, but to know what I now know. What if I could turn back the hands of time, without losing memory of all I've learned during my 55 years?
My daughter, Laura, reminds me that if I'd changed anything prior to her birth, she might not be here today - but I don't believe any of us are here by accident, so she would have been born whether I was her father or not. Certainly, I'd like a chance to undo the mistakes I've made in life; but I don't want to forget them. Without the mistakes, I can't appreciate the blessings.
Take last week. I used a week of vacation, not because I planned on going anywhere, but because I didn't have enough money to buy gas to get to work every day. Instead of working on my job, I worked around my house. The more I cleaned, the more I realized I needed to spend more time taking care of what I have. It was nice having the house to myself. My daughter and grandson were spending a couple weeks in Georgia. I put on an audio version of Randy Alcorn's "Heaven" and listened as he described the place I'm going to spend a lot more time than I will spend on this earth. Kind of put things in perspective - sure I was temporarily out of funds, but I'm not poor; there was food in the frig and cabinets, and work to keep me occupied. The only thing I didn't drag up the energy to work on was Sea Tree.
Sea Tree has been on my mind every day since I first dreamed about it. I'm always coming up with something new to include in the book - far too many to fit inside one book. I will admit that I've asked myself the question, "What if I write this story and no one bothers to read it?" Any money I might make on selling the book is less important to me than knowing I created something that other people could appreciate. I believe we're all here to create something. And it's human nature to want our creations to be appreciated by others. Hopefully that appreciation will be accompanied by an influx of dollars, but just as important is to hear someone say that they were moved or changed by my creation. I suspect God wants to feel appreciated too. I mean, look around and see everything that He has done - even the things we can't see - like how our bodies were designed to heal themselves! What if He did all this work and no one was moved or changed by His sunsets, or the love of a faithful dog, or gave Him credit for creating the plant that provides the cure to a disease?
I believe we were all created to create something with our lives. We spend most of our lives trying to make a living and spend very little creating. What if I write Sea Tree and it bombs? The worst that could happen is that I end up just like I am now. But what if I write it and it changes my life? Now what if everyone follows their dream and succeeds? That's more like the world God created us to dominate.
Summer Vacation
Well, I'm off work next week. When I requested the time off, we had intended to rent a cottage at the beach....but the money we expected to rent it with didn't show up - so I'm staying home and, hopefully, get some things done around the house. I have good intentions - painting, rearrange the living room, clean out the garage, maybe even sit down and work on Sea Tree - but who knows what will happen next week.
There's lots I need to do: Check with the VA about the arthritis in my shoulder; look for a part-time job, maybe visit some of the guys I used to work with in the Guard. Maybe I'll even get in some time playing Battle Field 2 at Game Frog.
But chances are I won't get most of those things done because other things will pop up and I'll be lazy. Before I know it, my week of vacation will be over and I'll be back at work planning my next one.
Last night I watched a program on INSP interviewing one of my favorite authors, Randy Alcorn. He was discussing his book, "Heaven" - an excellent book, especially for those who don't think the Bible has much to say about Heaven. Randy talked a bit about Hell, and about how Hell is hell because we're going to be totally on our own there - no company for our misery. He also talked about how God had wired us to communicate, fellowship, to desire to be around other people - but that won't be possible in Hell. That was enough to scare the hell out of me, even if I am a wallflower at social events; and even though I do enjoy having my house to myself for a week - no coworkers, no grandson getting into things he doesn't need to be messing with, no daughter sleeping the week away except to eat and go back to sleep - it's not really her fault - it's the cancer's; but it's nice being alone for awhile. But not for eternity! I mean, if Hell is half as bad as we're told it is, we're going to want to complainto someone - but there's no one to listen. They're all in their own private hells.
Of course, it's a good thing that I'm not going there. I don't know what the New Earth is going to look like, but I'm sure it will seem like a vacation compared to this world we're living in now. Wonder what job I'll have when I get there and how many years vacation we'll get each millenium?
This is my last post before going on vacation. Hopefully I'll have something worth writing about when I get back.
There's lots I need to do: Check with the VA about the arthritis in my shoulder; look for a part-time job, maybe visit some of the guys I used to work with in the Guard. Maybe I'll even get in some time playing Battle Field 2 at Game Frog.
But chances are I won't get most of those things done because other things will pop up and I'll be lazy. Before I know it, my week of vacation will be over and I'll be back at work planning my next one.
Last night I watched a program on INSP interviewing one of my favorite authors, Randy Alcorn. He was discussing his book, "Heaven" - an excellent book, especially for those who don't think the Bible has much to say about Heaven. Randy talked a bit about Hell, and about how Hell is hell because we're going to be totally on our own there - no company for our misery. He also talked about how God had wired us to communicate, fellowship, to desire to be around other people - but that won't be possible in Hell. That was enough to scare the hell out of me, even if I am a wallflower at social events; and even though I do enjoy having my house to myself for a week - no coworkers, no grandson getting into things he doesn't need to be messing with, no daughter sleeping the week away except to eat and go back to sleep - it's not really her fault - it's the cancer's; but it's nice being alone for awhile. But not for eternity! I mean, if Hell is half as bad as we're told it is, we're going to want to complainto someone - but there's no one to listen. They're all in their own private hells.
Of course, it's a good thing that I'm not going there. I don't know what the New Earth is going to look like, but I'm sure it will seem like a vacation compared to this world we're living in now. Wonder what job I'll have when I get there and how many years vacation we'll get each millenium?
This is my last post before going on vacation. Hopefully I'll have something worth writing about when I get back.
Alan Keyes
I've respected Alan Keyes since he ran in the Republican primary for the 2000 elections. Unfortunately, then the country wasn't ready for a moral genius.....and still isn't. I've never heard anyone debate as well Keyes, or anyone who can get to the heart of the matter quicker than he does. Take this quote from his Crisis of the Republic report:
"Unfortunately, most of our political leaders in both parties operate on a paradigm of politics that has no place for the common good. They have accepted an understanding of political life that is all about the competition for power, the deal making that divides up the public pie so that more voters slop up the goodies at your trough than at the other guy's. Though skilled at building coalitions, they have become utterly incompetent at the work of building, serving and preserving a community. That involves remembering what goes into making us a nation, and assuring that we are all willing to work together to provide for and strengthen it.....
The skillful manipulation that now brings too many of our representatives and officials to power, actually makes them utterly unfit to deal with this crisis. The divisions created and aggravated by their manipulation may in fact be its proximate cause. We desperately need leaders who understand and practice the politics of principle, the politics that challenge us to remember our paramount goal as a free people, which is not to get what we want now, but to preserve the knowledge and practice of liberty for those who will come after us."
http://www.renewamerica.us/columns/keyes/070608
I hope he runs - Keyes will get my vote!
"Unfortunately, most of our political leaders in both parties operate on a paradigm of politics that has no place for the common good. They have accepted an understanding of political life that is all about the competition for power, the deal making that divides up the public pie so that more voters slop up the goodies at your trough than at the other guy's. Though skilled at building coalitions, they have become utterly incompetent at the work of building, serving and preserving a community. That involves remembering what goes into making us a nation, and assuring that we are all willing to work together to provide for and strengthen it.....
The skillful manipulation that now brings too many of our representatives and officials to power, actually makes them utterly unfit to deal with this crisis. The divisions created and aggravated by their manipulation may in fact be its proximate cause. We desperately need leaders who understand and practice the politics of principle, the politics that challenge us to remember our paramount goal as a free people, which is not to get what we want now, but to preserve the knowledge and practice of liberty for those who will come after us."
http://www.renewamerica.us/columns/keyes/070608
I hope he runs - Keyes will get my vote!
The Pastor of Last Resorts
If you live in the Bible-belt of the South and you can't find a pastor who's willing to marry a Catholic and a Jew, or a Protestant and a Hindu - call my pastor. If you want to stop off at the pub after work, drink a beer, and discuss politics with someone who actually understands the system, he's your man. If you're looking for someone who will tell you you're an asshole, but he loves you anyway - that's my pastor.
You won't find him hanging out with other pastors or handing out religious tracts on Main Street; in fact, he hates religion, appreciates art, good food, enjoys R-rated movies, listens to blue-grass, and derives more satisfaction from his contractor business than he does teaching the Word on Sunday morning. He's more interested in building relationships and working together to make a difference in our community than he is in scaring the Hell out of sinners.
It's been my experience that no matter who he comes into contact with, he's worldly enough to carry on an intelligent conversation with them. He's widely read, connected to what's happening in the post-Church era, and he's got opinions on everything. He doesn't spend a lot of time trying to grow the church. His wife did come up with an idea for a bumper sticker - "Follow my ass to The Carpenter's Shop", but you'd have to have been there that Sunday morning to learn why we all need to be more like asses to appreciate the statement.
I tried to add a link to his blog, but it wouldn't save -so here it is: www.jchalmers.blogspot.com. Beware - if you're religious, you're going to be offended....but if you're Christian, you're going to understand.
You won't find him hanging out with other pastors or handing out religious tracts on Main Street; in fact, he hates religion, appreciates art, good food, enjoys R-rated movies, listens to blue-grass, and derives more satisfaction from his contractor business than he does teaching the Word on Sunday morning. He's more interested in building relationships and working together to make a difference in our community than he is in scaring the Hell out of sinners.
It's been my experience that no matter who he comes into contact with, he's worldly enough to carry on an intelligent conversation with them. He's widely read, connected to what's happening in the post-Church era, and he's got opinions on everything. He doesn't spend a lot of time trying to grow the church. His wife did come up with an idea for a bumper sticker - "Follow my ass to The Carpenter's Shop", but you'd have to have been there that Sunday morning to learn why we all need to be more like asses to appreciate the statement.
I tried to add a link to his blog, but it wouldn't save -so here it is: www.jchalmers.blogspot.com. Beware - if you're religious, you're going to be offended....but if you're Christian, you're going to understand.
5 is Good, More is Better
What do you do when your email inbox is flooded with forwarded messages containing prayers of blessings for you and for your friends? If you'll just send this on to five people, plus the person that sent it to you, pretty soon you'll have hundreds of people praying for you. Sounds like voodoo to me....but I've been guilty - especially when the message content is successful at pulling on your emotional strings.
I'm sure God must think we're a bunch of idiots. Who are we to presume that we can pull His strings and elicit blessings for the people we care about? Does God have nothing better to do than to pass out blessings to every responder who hits the "Forward" button? What about all the people in the world who don't have access to a computer and the Internet - should He punish them by withholding blessings? Are we worried that He's going to run out of blessings, so we'd better get as many as we can while they last?
The truth is, we know that God is not a respector of persons. He's not going to favor my friends over someone else's, so we're just wasting our time trying to manipulate Him. God is the ultimate cat - He won't be herded. And I've just discovered more free time because I'm not going to forward generic emails any longer.
I'm sure God must think we're a bunch of idiots. Who are we to presume that we can pull His strings and elicit blessings for the people we care about? Does God have nothing better to do than to pass out blessings to every responder who hits the "Forward" button? What about all the people in the world who don't have access to a computer and the Internet - should He punish them by withholding blessings? Are we worried that He's going to run out of blessings, so we'd better get as many as we can while they last?
The truth is, we know that God is not a respector of persons. He's not going to favor my friends over someone else's, so we're just wasting our time trying to manipulate Him. God is the ultimate cat - He won't be herded. And I've just discovered more free time because I'm not going to forward generic emails any longer.
Dreams and Day Dreams
Despite what the networks claim, the TV volume rises significantly during commercials - either that or they're so annoying it's hard to sleep through one. It was just such a commercial - a screaming car salesman touting another year-end closeout - that woke the man. The last thing he remembered watching before falling asleep was "1000 Places To See Before You Die". He never did see #243.
The clock on the wall read 11:30. It's past his bedtime. Pushing the off button on the remote, the man attempts to rise from the couch. He falls back once, tries again and falls back another time. On the third attempt, he grips the sofa arm and twists sideways so that he's using his strong leg to help lift him. Bones pop and crack as he stumbles upright. With stooped shoulders, he eases himself erect, careful not to pull a back muscle; and shuffles to his bedroom.
The man turns on the light on the nightstand and goes into the bathroom. Too tired to stand, he sits to pee; his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. The man sits that way for a long time, staring at the four or five books he keeps in a small bookrack from which he does most of his 'studying'. There's a Bible, a paperback copy of Real Live Preacher.com, two Readers Digest Condensed Books, and a puzzle magazine. None are appealing tonight. Still he sits and stares and tries to focus on something. Eventually, his legs numb for sitting so long, the man rises, flushes, and goes to the sink to wash his hands and brush his teeth.
The face in the mirror is old. Older than his years. It's puffy, with creases at the corner of his eyes and bags under them; jowls hang loose. He realizes that he looks like his dad looked when he was old.
His eyes wander down to the paunch. He's 50 pounds overweight. It's almost funny, because when he was young, he was so skinny he almost didn't make it into the Army. Now his pants were too tight and even his underwear leaves red marks where they stretched to accomodate his girth. "This sucks." the man thinks as he tosses them into the laundry hamper.
Shuffling to the bedroom, he sits on the side of the bed, staring at the floor. "I'm getting old." he thinks to himself. "But I'm still a kid, just trapped in an old man's body." Where did the time go? He thinks back to all the things he wanted to do while younger: Fly a plane, soar in a hot air baloon, drive a stock car, play center field, squeeze the trigger on a 50 cal. sniper rifle and see his target drop....man-stuff. Now his arthritis made a roller coaster ride impossible. He couldn't even tuck use his left arm to tuck his shirt into his pants. Sometimes the pain is so intense that he turns pale and can't breathe. And when he does sleep, he tosses and turns all night because neither shoulder could bear his weight for long.
Staring at his feet, his mind drifts from thoughts of work to his kids to his loneliness to regrets over unachieved goals. The man realizes that instead of living a dream, he's spent his years day dreaming. He's always waiting for a certain something to happen so that he could enjoy this or that. He's spent years dreaming about how he would spend lottery winnings; and every time the jackpot changed, so did the dreams. He's spent his whole life waiting for something to happen, but he can't think of a single thing that he's done to make anything he wants to happen.
Finally he rolls over onto his side, reaches up and turns off the lamp. His left shoulder already hurts too much to sleep on that side, so he rolls over, fluffs his pillow and closes his eyes to sleep. A single tear runs down his cheek and wets his pillow.
The man dreams. In his dreams, there is no pain. He's viral, strong, and courageous. He's Jack Bauer on steroids. Tonight he dreams about a valley. He's back in uniform, although he's missing his jacket. In all of his dreams the man is missing a piece of clothing. Sometimes he's entirely nude and spends the entire dream trying to cover up and find his clothes. Those are dreams he wants to wake up from. But tonight he's just missing his jacket. Although he understands he's retired, he's glad to be back in the Army. The men look up to him. He's their platoon sergeant and he knows his job.
In his dream, the man wanders amongst his men - greeting them, sending them off for weapons or equipment; confident and organized. His commander asks where his jacket is and the man's response is that he doesn't have time to recover his jacket. Without knowing what is about to happen, the sergeant senses it's about to happen. "Everybody! Get up, and grab your gear. Get ready to move out!' he yells.
About that time a sentry comes running into camp. "Here they come!" he shouts. "It's a wave of them, and they've already killed two villages!". Soldiers jump into action. The sergeant is calm and looks in the direction from which the sentry came. His eyes focus and he's able to zoom through the valley, over the trees, and miles away to the approaching hoard. The Sergeant understands that he's the only one with telescoping vision, but that's OK. It just comes with experience. He sees the hoard as they stream into the valley. They number so strong that they pile on top of one another, forming a huge wave of destruction. Running on top of the human wave are snipers, using bows and arrows rather than rifles, but deadly none the less.
"Move out!" the Sergeant shouts to his men. The men run to trucks in an attempt to outrun the enemy. The trucks pull away slowly, but the wave moves faster. Now the sergeant can see a brown frothing wave that looks like water, only it's solid. Snipers on the crest of the wave are picking off the civilians his troops were sent to protect. Grabbing a weapon, the Sergeant stands his ground and begins to pick the snipers off one at at time, one shot, one kill. The rifle runs out of ammo, and he pulls his .45 and empties the pistol into the center of the wave. It falters for a second, just enough time for the sergeant to turn and run for cover. He's weaponless, except for a knife; still he's unafraid. There's an urgency, but no terror. He never fears in his dreams.
Now the crest of the wave towers over him as he runs. He's in the shadow of the wave of his enemies when he spots a building, some sort of warehouse. It's the only cover, though he knows it's not enough to protect him. Rounding the corner, he grabs one of his soldiers who was unable to escape on the trucks, and tosses him inside the warehouse. "Get behind that wall!" he shouts to his man. Together, they duck behind the wall as the solid flood washes over and around his protection.
Several enemies wash inside. The Sergeant slices and jumps and slashes, taking out many of his enemies. Still they come. He grabs a weapon from a fallen enemy and turns it on them. When that runs dry, he uses it for a club. It's better than bullets. No matter how many of his enemies surround him, he bashes them and beats them back, taking out score after score of his enemies. And while he's fighting for his life, his mind realizes that he's getting stronger by the moment. Soon he's fighting hand to hand and pushing the enemy back of of the warehouse. In short order he's fighting them outside. The wave turns on him, but he's up to the task. He's stronger, quicker, and more important, he's the good guy who always wins. The wave eventually collapses and disappears as quickly as it came; and the Sergeant stands in the middle of the valley, dirty, bleeding, but not even breathing hard. His unit returns to mop up, though they find no enemy alive. They crowd around their sergeant and congratulate him over his victory. But the Sergeant shrugs off their gratitude; afterall, that's why he was recalled to the service to begin with. Now it's time to think about whether he should go back to his retired status and his old job, or maybe he'll just hang around here until they force him to leave. This is a lot more fun than going to work every day. Besides, he could always use more retired pay when he's too old to be a warrior any longer.
These are the dreams the man hates to awaken from. They are more vibrant, more spiritual, more real, than his waking hours. In his dreams, he always wins, always gets the beautiful woman, always knows his purpose and his abilities. If he could just figure out why he's missing an item of clothing (or all of them), he'd never want to wake up. He much prefers his dreams to his daydreams.
The alarm doesn't sound. It doesn't need to. It's 6:05 AM and the man's eyes open. He realizes that he's just been dreaming and that it's time to get ready for work. He rolls off the bed, stumbles to the bathroom, and sits down to pee. He puts his face in his hands and rests his elbows on his knees while he stares at the floor and tries to plan his day. Once his legs become numb, he knows it's time to get up, flush the toilet, brush his teeth, and jump into the shower. He shaves in the shower so he won't have to look at his face in the mirror. This way, at least he can pretend he's as young on the outside as he is on the inside. Today his battle is not with a frothing brown wave of enemy soldiers, but with other motorists rushing into j.o.b.s and flicking each other off when one cuts in front of them. Too bad there's no 50 cal. mounted in his grill.
The clock on the wall read 11:30. It's past his bedtime. Pushing the off button on the remote, the man attempts to rise from the couch. He falls back once, tries again and falls back another time. On the third attempt, he grips the sofa arm and twists sideways so that he's using his strong leg to help lift him. Bones pop and crack as he stumbles upright. With stooped shoulders, he eases himself erect, careful not to pull a back muscle; and shuffles to his bedroom.
The man turns on the light on the nightstand and goes into the bathroom. Too tired to stand, he sits to pee; his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. The man sits that way for a long time, staring at the four or five books he keeps in a small bookrack from which he does most of his 'studying'. There's a Bible, a paperback copy of Real Live Preacher.com, two Readers Digest Condensed Books, and a puzzle magazine. None are appealing tonight. Still he sits and stares and tries to focus on something. Eventually, his legs numb for sitting so long, the man rises, flushes, and goes to the sink to wash his hands and brush his teeth.
The face in the mirror is old. Older than his years. It's puffy, with creases at the corner of his eyes and bags under them; jowls hang loose. He realizes that he looks like his dad looked when he was old.
His eyes wander down to the paunch. He's 50 pounds overweight. It's almost funny, because when he was young, he was so skinny he almost didn't make it into the Army. Now his pants were too tight and even his underwear leaves red marks where they stretched to accomodate his girth. "This sucks." the man thinks as he tosses them into the laundry hamper.
Shuffling to the bedroom, he sits on the side of the bed, staring at the floor. "I'm getting old." he thinks to himself. "But I'm still a kid, just trapped in an old man's body." Where did the time go? He thinks back to all the things he wanted to do while younger: Fly a plane, soar in a hot air baloon, drive a stock car, play center field, squeeze the trigger on a 50 cal. sniper rifle and see his target drop....man-stuff. Now his arthritis made a roller coaster ride impossible. He couldn't even tuck use his left arm to tuck his shirt into his pants. Sometimes the pain is so intense that he turns pale and can't breathe. And when he does sleep, he tosses and turns all night because neither shoulder could bear his weight for long.
Staring at his feet, his mind drifts from thoughts of work to his kids to his loneliness to regrets over unachieved goals. The man realizes that instead of living a dream, he's spent his years day dreaming. He's always waiting for a certain something to happen so that he could enjoy this or that. He's spent years dreaming about how he would spend lottery winnings; and every time the jackpot changed, so did the dreams. He's spent his whole life waiting for something to happen, but he can't think of a single thing that he's done to make anything he wants to happen.
Finally he rolls over onto his side, reaches up and turns off the lamp. His left shoulder already hurts too much to sleep on that side, so he rolls over, fluffs his pillow and closes his eyes to sleep. A single tear runs down his cheek and wets his pillow.
The man dreams. In his dreams, there is no pain. He's viral, strong, and courageous. He's Jack Bauer on steroids. Tonight he dreams about a valley. He's back in uniform, although he's missing his jacket. In all of his dreams the man is missing a piece of clothing. Sometimes he's entirely nude and spends the entire dream trying to cover up and find his clothes. Those are dreams he wants to wake up from. But tonight he's just missing his jacket. Although he understands he's retired, he's glad to be back in the Army. The men look up to him. He's their platoon sergeant and he knows his job.
In his dream, the man wanders amongst his men - greeting them, sending them off for weapons or equipment; confident and organized. His commander asks where his jacket is and the man's response is that he doesn't have time to recover his jacket. Without knowing what is about to happen, the sergeant senses it's about to happen. "Everybody! Get up, and grab your gear. Get ready to move out!' he yells.
About that time a sentry comes running into camp. "Here they come!" he shouts. "It's a wave of them, and they've already killed two villages!". Soldiers jump into action. The sergeant is calm and looks in the direction from which the sentry came. His eyes focus and he's able to zoom through the valley, over the trees, and miles away to the approaching hoard. The Sergeant understands that he's the only one with telescoping vision, but that's OK. It just comes with experience. He sees the hoard as they stream into the valley. They number so strong that they pile on top of one another, forming a huge wave of destruction. Running on top of the human wave are snipers, using bows and arrows rather than rifles, but deadly none the less.
"Move out!" the Sergeant shouts to his men. The men run to trucks in an attempt to outrun the enemy. The trucks pull away slowly, but the wave moves faster. Now the sergeant can see a brown frothing wave that looks like water, only it's solid. Snipers on the crest of the wave are picking off the civilians his troops were sent to protect. Grabbing a weapon, the Sergeant stands his ground and begins to pick the snipers off one at at time, one shot, one kill. The rifle runs out of ammo, and he pulls his .45 and empties the pistol into the center of the wave. It falters for a second, just enough time for the sergeant to turn and run for cover. He's weaponless, except for a knife; still he's unafraid. There's an urgency, but no terror. He never fears in his dreams.
Now the crest of the wave towers over him as he runs. He's in the shadow of the wave of his enemies when he spots a building, some sort of warehouse. It's the only cover, though he knows it's not enough to protect him. Rounding the corner, he grabs one of his soldiers who was unable to escape on the trucks, and tosses him inside the warehouse. "Get behind that wall!" he shouts to his man. Together, they duck behind the wall as the solid flood washes over and around his protection.
Several enemies wash inside. The Sergeant slices and jumps and slashes, taking out many of his enemies. Still they come. He grabs a weapon from a fallen enemy and turns it on them. When that runs dry, he uses it for a club. It's better than bullets. No matter how many of his enemies surround him, he bashes them and beats them back, taking out score after score of his enemies. And while he's fighting for his life, his mind realizes that he's getting stronger by the moment. Soon he's fighting hand to hand and pushing the enemy back of of the warehouse. In short order he's fighting them outside. The wave turns on him, but he's up to the task. He's stronger, quicker, and more important, he's the good guy who always wins. The wave eventually collapses and disappears as quickly as it came; and the Sergeant stands in the middle of the valley, dirty, bleeding, but not even breathing hard. His unit returns to mop up, though they find no enemy alive. They crowd around their sergeant and congratulate him over his victory. But the Sergeant shrugs off their gratitude; afterall, that's why he was recalled to the service to begin with. Now it's time to think about whether he should go back to his retired status and his old job, or maybe he'll just hang around here until they force him to leave. This is a lot more fun than going to work every day. Besides, he could always use more retired pay when he's too old to be a warrior any longer.
These are the dreams the man hates to awaken from. They are more vibrant, more spiritual, more real, than his waking hours. In his dreams, he always wins, always gets the beautiful woman, always knows his purpose and his abilities. If he could just figure out why he's missing an item of clothing (or all of them), he'd never want to wake up. He much prefers his dreams to his daydreams.
The alarm doesn't sound. It doesn't need to. It's 6:05 AM and the man's eyes open. He realizes that he's just been dreaming and that it's time to get ready for work. He rolls off the bed, stumbles to the bathroom, and sits down to pee. He puts his face in his hands and rests his elbows on his knees while he stares at the floor and tries to plan his day. Once his legs become numb, he knows it's time to get up, flush the toilet, brush his teeth, and jump into the shower. He shaves in the shower so he won't have to look at his face in the mirror. This way, at least he can pretend he's as young on the outside as he is on the inside. Today his battle is not with a frothing brown wave of enemy soldiers, but with other motorists rushing into j.o.b.s and flicking each other off when one cuts in front of them. Too bad there's no 50 cal. mounted in his grill.
Church Signs
This past Sunday I tried to explain how most Christians don't know what the real Gospel is ; and I used some church signs to prove that we've been sending the wrong message. There's a Baptist church just out of Garner that posts the number of persons saved and baptized the previous Sunday. One church sign reads, "You will suffer." another reads, "No Catholic priests serve in our children's ministry." Still another sign reads, "If you've been waiting for a sign - this is it!"; and yet another "Go to church!" Then there's that very familiar one - "Jesus Saves".
Now imagine that you're among the unchurched and you're driving by reading these signs. What attracts you to "You will suffer"? Do you really want to be another notch in the belt of that Baptist church that keeps count of the number of people they've rescued? And what about that Jesus Saves sign? You know some Christians and they're no better off than you are. What does Jesus save them from? Divorce, disease, or addictions? Maybe what that sign really means is that Jesus saves money on car insurance with Geico. Lord knows He's been commercialized enough!
It's no wonder people aren't flocking to beat down our church doors. We don't seem to walk our talk and others see right through us. So what is this Good News that we have to share with the lost?
Jimmy asked that question the other week, and received the typical answers about how Jesus was born of a virgin, lived a perfect and sinless life, was crucified and died and rose again so that we can be saved. That's true. The sign, "Jesus saves" is the truth. But it's a worthless truth because the world is so chaotic that it seems to be out of control - not under the control of an omniscient, omnipotent Creator. When someone has to beg for food and sleep under bridges at night, they have little hope for more than surviving another day. They don't want an eternity of more of the same. And that's the sad part, because eternity doesn't have to be that way.
There are three types of people that need to hear the gospel. First, are those who've never heard it. Second - those who have become numbed and distracted by Satan and can't comprehend the Gospel. And third - those in the Church who've been taught the wrong gospel. What's the wrong gospel?
Take Mike Murdoch - a televangelist, who every time you tune into his show, he promises you'll be blessed if you'll obey God and send in a $58 seed this week. A month ago it was $144 - a one-time faith offering. Next week it will be another figure that God has given him. That's the prosperity gospel. Then there's the late Jerry Falwell's gospel of a just and holy God who is coming back soon with a flaming sword. On the other extreme is Joel Osteen with a gospel of self-worth. What each of these men preach is true, but that's not the gospel that Jesus preached. Jesus' first official words were, "Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is near."
Jesus didn't go around preaching about rebirth and salvation. He didn't preach prosperity. He didn't preach that there were many paths that all lead back to Him. Jesus preached the Kingdom of Heaven. That was His only message, His purpose for coming to Earth. And that is the message the Church needs to start preaching.
I'm not sure that I even understand the Kingdom gospel myself, because I've been brought up in religion. We've been taught that our job is to preach salvation through Jesus to everyone we meet - but that's not what Jesus told us to preach. He told us to be witnesses for the Kingdom. People should witness us being different than everyone else.
Our (Christians) problem is not Satan or sin - for Jesus took care of that at the cross. It's not power, for if we needed power, God would have sent power instead of His Son. Our problem is ignorance. Scripture says that for lack of knowledge, His people perish. Jesus said that He was the Gatekeeper, and that those who belonged to Him, recognized His voice and entered into His fold. What the Church has focussed on is the Gate, not what's on the other side.
It's like John Z coming up with a great new recipe for a meal at his restaurant. He wants people to come and try it for himself, so he advertises something like this: "We're proud to offer a wonderful new pasta dish that is to die for! You're going to love it! And when you come to our restaurant, I want you to notice how beautiful our door is. Observe the degree of detail and artistry in every corner of the door. There is no other door like it anywhere in the world! You're going to be impressed by our door!"
Christians have focussed on getting to the door, but have been reluctant to see what's on the other side. Jesus came to get us on the other side of the door so that we can experience the Kingdom God promised us. To make matters more confusing, the gospel is not Heaven. We've really been told little about Heaven. But Jesus did speak a lot about the Kingdom. "The Kingdom of God is like....."
To understand what the real Good News is - we've got to go all the way back to the beginning, when God said, "Let us create man in our own image and let them have dominion over the Earth." It was God's plan and purpose to extend His Heavenly spiritual kingdom to a visible physical realm. He wanted spiritual offspring to dominate (steward) this physical world, so He created us with spirit, soul, and physical body. Our job is to mimic on the physical world, what God does in Heaven. But we know the story - Adam and Eve sinned and gave up our inheritance to Satan. The world we were supposed to dominate began to dominate us. Consider plants - plants were intended to be used by man; but now plants like tobacco, the opium flower, and grapes dominate the lives of millions of humans.
Jesus, the second Adam, came to restore God's original plan by reclaiming what Adam lost. He lived a life that personified God's plan for how man should live. We weren't created to be servants of God, but children. Scripture says that we are kingly priests - and that's what God intended for mankind. We have His authority to rule the earth - not one another but in cooperation with one another. Through Jesus, we have a restored relationship with God - we are now saints and brothers of Christ. We are princes - Christ is King - and the King rules His kingdom through us - guided by the Holy Spirit who lives within each believer. God desired from the beginning to live with us and Jesus restored the Spirit that walked with Adam in the Garden so that He walks with us today.
Jesus didn't come to establish a religion, but to restore a relationship. Religion is hard work, but Jesus said that His yoke was light.
Jesus taught that "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for their's is the Kingdom of Heaven." He said that we're all in spiritual poverty - but God hasn't given up on His original plan. "Blessed are the meek." We've been beat down by a fallen world and imprisoned by religion into believing we're slugs undeserving of grace and mercy. "Blessed are the lonely." Deep inside, we know that there has to be more to our existence than a life of trials and failures. We're blessed, because Jesus came to do something about our circumstances!
If we really understand what has transpired, we might be more effective witnesses. We have the authority to reclaim what Satan stole from us. We have the power to affect people's lives - which is why I'm so excited about Up To The Table. When we meet someone who's hungry, we ought to be able to meet that need because we're able to tap into God's economy - if we will learn how His economy works. If someone needs a coat, we ought to provide him one. If we're having trouble in our marital relationships, we have access to God's counsel through His word and prayer. Everywhere we go, we take God with us. Every time we encounter difficulty, we have the power to change our circumstances by listening to His Spirit and doing what He tells us to do.
Imagine what a relief that is. In a way, Joel Osteen is pretty close. We're important to God, His children, no less. This earth is our eternal home, and we are ambassadors for our Father in Heaven. We have the power we need to change our circumstances. We have a restored relationship with a Father who values us so much that He never gave up on His original purpose of extending His Kingdom through man.
The Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is that we now have the Holy Spirit walking with us just as Adam enjoyed; and that He will help us to exercise our office as kingly priests and to enjoy the privileges of being citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven. I'm still trying to absorb this knowledge.
Now imagine that you're among the unchurched and you're driving by reading these signs. What attracts you to "You will suffer"? Do you really want to be another notch in the belt of that Baptist church that keeps count of the number of people they've rescued? And what about that Jesus Saves sign? You know some Christians and they're no better off than you are. What does Jesus save them from? Divorce, disease, or addictions? Maybe what that sign really means is that Jesus saves money on car insurance with Geico. Lord knows He's been commercialized enough!
It's no wonder people aren't flocking to beat down our church doors. We don't seem to walk our talk and others see right through us. So what is this Good News that we have to share with the lost?
Jimmy asked that question the other week, and received the typical answers about how Jesus was born of a virgin, lived a perfect and sinless life, was crucified and died and rose again so that we can be saved. That's true. The sign, "Jesus saves" is the truth. But it's a worthless truth because the world is so chaotic that it seems to be out of control - not under the control of an omniscient, omnipotent Creator. When someone has to beg for food and sleep under bridges at night, they have little hope for more than surviving another day. They don't want an eternity of more of the same. And that's the sad part, because eternity doesn't have to be that way.
There are three types of people that need to hear the gospel. First, are those who've never heard it. Second - those who have become numbed and distracted by Satan and can't comprehend the Gospel. And third - those in the Church who've been taught the wrong gospel. What's the wrong gospel?
Take Mike Murdoch - a televangelist, who every time you tune into his show, he promises you'll be blessed if you'll obey God and send in a $58 seed this week. A month ago it was $144 - a one-time faith offering. Next week it will be another figure that God has given him. That's the prosperity gospel. Then there's the late Jerry Falwell's gospel of a just and holy God who is coming back soon with a flaming sword. On the other extreme is Joel Osteen with a gospel of self-worth. What each of these men preach is true, but that's not the gospel that Jesus preached. Jesus' first official words were, "Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is near."
Jesus didn't go around preaching about rebirth and salvation. He didn't preach prosperity. He didn't preach that there were many paths that all lead back to Him. Jesus preached the Kingdom of Heaven. That was His only message, His purpose for coming to Earth. And that is the message the Church needs to start preaching.
I'm not sure that I even understand the Kingdom gospel myself, because I've been brought up in religion. We've been taught that our job is to preach salvation through Jesus to everyone we meet - but that's not what Jesus told us to preach. He told us to be witnesses for the Kingdom. People should witness us being different than everyone else.
Our (Christians) problem is not Satan or sin - for Jesus took care of that at the cross. It's not power, for if we needed power, God would have sent power instead of His Son. Our problem is ignorance. Scripture says that for lack of knowledge, His people perish. Jesus said that He was the Gatekeeper, and that those who belonged to Him, recognized His voice and entered into His fold. What the Church has focussed on is the Gate, not what's on the other side.
It's like John Z coming up with a great new recipe for a meal at his restaurant. He wants people to come and try it for himself, so he advertises something like this: "We're proud to offer a wonderful new pasta dish that is to die for! You're going to love it! And when you come to our restaurant, I want you to notice how beautiful our door is. Observe the degree of detail and artistry in every corner of the door. There is no other door like it anywhere in the world! You're going to be impressed by our door!"
Christians have focussed on getting to the door, but have been reluctant to see what's on the other side. Jesus came to get us on the other side of the door so that we can experience the Kingdom God promised us. To make matters more confusing, the gospel is not Heaven. We've really been told little about Heaven. But Jesus did speak a lot about the Kingdom. "The Kingdom of God is like....."
To understand what the real Good News is - we've got to go all the way back to the beginning, when God said, "Let us create man in our own image and let them have dominion over the Earth." It was God's plan and purpose to extend His Heavenly spiritual kingdom to a visible physical realm. He wanted spiritual offspring to dominate (steward) this physical world, so He created us with spirit, soul, and physical body. Our job is to mimic on the physical world, what God does in Heaven. But we know the story - Adam and Eve sinned and gave up our inheritance to Satan. The world we were supposed to dominate began to dominate us. Consider plants - plants were intended to be used by man; but now plants like tobacco, the opium flower, and grapes dominate the lives of millions of humans.
Jesus, the second Adam, came to restore God's original plan by reclaiming what Adam lost. He lived a life that personified God's plan for how man should live. We weren't created to be servants of God, but children. Scripture says that we are kingly priests - and that's what God intended for mankind. We have His authority to rule the earth - not one another but in cooperation with one another. Through Jesus, we have a restored relationship with God - we are now saints and brothers of Christ. We are princes - Christ is King - and the King rules His kingdom through us - guided by the Holy Spirit who lives within each believer. God desired from the beginning to live with us and Jesus restored the Spirit that walked with Adam in the Garden so that He walks with us today.
Jesus didn't come to establish a religion, but to restore a relationship. Religion is hard work, but Jesus said that His yoke was light.
Jesus taught that "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for their's is the Kingdom of Heaven." He said that we're all in spiritual poverty - but God hasn't given up on His original plan. "Blessed are the meek." We've been beat down by a fallen world and imprisoned by religion into believing we're slugs undeserving of grace and mercy. "Blessed are the lonely." Deep inside, we know that there has to be more to our existence than a life of trials and failures. We're blessed, because Jesus came to do something about our circumstances!
If we really understand what has transpired, we might be more effective witnesses. We have the authority to reclaim what Satan stole from us. We have the power to affect people's lives - which is why I'm so excited about Up To The Table. When we meet someone who's hungry, we ought to be able to meet that need because we're able to tap into God's economy - if we will learn how His economy works. If someone needs a coat, we ought to provide him one. If we're having trouble in our marital relationships, we have access to God's counsel through His word and prayer. Everywhere we go, we take God with us. Every time we encounter difficulty, we have the power to change our circumstances by listening to His Spirit and doing what He tells us to do.
Imagine what a relief that is. In a way, Joel Osteen is pretty close. We're important to God, His children, no less. This earth is our eternal home, and we are ambassadors for our Father in Heaven. We have the power we need to change our circumstances. We have a restored relationship with a Father who values us so much that He never gave up on His original purpose of extending His Kingdom through man.
The Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is that we now have the Holy Spirit walking with us just as Adam enjoyed; and that He will help us to exercise our office as kingly priests and to enjoy the privileges of being citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven. I'm still trying to absorb this knowledge.
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