Around the eighth grade, my father began to teach me tennis. I loved athletics and high school was just around the corner. Basketball was a given as my father had been a basketball coach. Volleyball was fun and in the fall. That left the spring without a sport, so my father thought tennis would fill the void.

I fell in love with the sport immediately. However, that didn’t mean I was any good at it. In fact, my freshman year, I can remember hitting one good shot all season. I played mixed doubles, and we were playing at Roosevelt High School, and I had a backhand crosscourt approach shot. That was it –– for the entire year. My father put me in tennis lessons that summer.

The lessons paid off as I found myself in the #1 singles slot my sophomore year. The season started in February and all was going well. Then around mid March, the strings in my racket broke. I took my racket to my parents and asked to have it restrung. They said “no” and gave me another racket to use. This “new” racket was old and cheap, and I wanted nothing to do with it. After all, I was now #1 and awesome and thought I deserved a little respect. I did what any self-respecting fifteen-year-old would do. I pitched a fit. My parents were unmoved.

I had no choice but to play with the racket. I did have a choice, though, about my attitude, so I chose the best option––play the victimized martyr and keep complaining. For three weeks I took this tack and then I realized that my birthday was just around the corner.  Though I still grumbled a bit to show my discontent, I had resigned myself to the racket, so now it was now time to play the good child.

My birthday arrived. In fact, it was a surprise sixteenth birthday party with my entire tennis team. Lots of food, lots of fun, plenty of gifts. One gift I remember in particular. A long, rectangular box which held –– two brand new Billie Jean King rackets, strung to perfection. I was speechless.

My family was not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. I know because we ate liver and onions––a lot. So when I saw those two state of the art rackets, I knew they had required a bit of sacrifice to buy. To put it mildly, I felt stupid. My parents' “no” was simply because they had already purchased something far better than what I had wanted––what I thought I had to have to be happy.

That little scene comes back to haunt me every time I pull my fifteen-year-old attitude with God. When I stomp my foot and thrust out my lower lip because He has not given me something I want, and have to have, right now, when all the while He has something much better waiting for me.

The problem with demands is that we make them from an incomplete perspective. We absolutely believe that we know best what will make us happy and fulfilled, and that not getting that (item, person, job, etc) will conversely make us unhappy and unfulfilled.

I am sure, occasionally, God has given in to my childish, selfish tantrums and let me have what I wanted just to appease me, (or I have just bulldozed my will through the situation) and now I often look back and wonder what I had actually given up to have my own way. I will never know, but hopefully, I have learned that God’s gifts far surpass my demands. And at this Easter time, I am eternally thankful, that Jesus willingly submitted his will to his Father's so that I could have the greatest of gifts.

First published April 1, 2015

“The longest journey you will ever take is the 18 inches from your head to your heart.” Moikanos

I came across this quote the other day and it got me thinking, and the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with it. For instance, I have often found myself in total agreement with the following statements:
 



I need to exercise more often.
I should eat less and eat healthier.
I should be more patient, less selfish.
God is faithful and trustworthy.

     The problem is that often when I make these statements, they are only intellectual in nature, which means I agree with them, but I do not act on them. Somehow, that statement has to make the 18 inch journey from my head to my heart and only then will it be something I truly believe in. So though I know I need to exercise more often, not until I take it to heart will I actually act on it.

     This realization brought back an illustration I once heard that I think brings this truth to light. Perhaps many of you have also heard it.

     It is the story of Charles Blondin, the 1800s French tightrope walker who would perform various tightrope stunts, many across Niagara Falls. One particular time after performing a few different feats successfully, he then brought out a wheelbarrow and asked the crowd how many believed he could successfully cross Niagara Falls pushing the wheelbarrow. Either all or the vast majority raised their hands. He then asked for a volunteer to get into the wheelbarrow. Not one volunteered. Though all believed intellectually he could do it, none believed in their heart he could.

     Unfortunately, that is sometimes our view of God. We say we believe He is trustworthy, that we can trust Him with our lives, but in reality we aren’t willing to get in the wheelbarrow and give Him control. Why? There could be many reasons, but here are a couple I have had to work through. First, many of us really don’t want to leave this side of the falls. We like the life we have and even though we say we believe Him when He says He has an even better, more fulfilling life on the other side (and I’m not talking Heaven, just life here on earth), we say no. Second, we don’t trust Him to hold onto us as we cross some great chasms and fearful moments on this journey.

     To say we accept Jesus as our Lord and savior is one thing, to mean it means we are willing to get into the wheelbarrow, to give Him control of our lives. That’s step one. Then, as most of us have realized, throughout our lives, on our daily walk with Him, we have to choose again and again in various areas of our lives to willingly get into the wheelbarrow. We finally surrender one area of our lives after we have mucked it up enough times only to watch Him make something beautiful out of the mess. Yet we balk at giving Him control over the next area because we seem to be managing it okay for the moment. Our memories are short . . . both on His faithfulness and goodness, and on our ability to screw things up.

     A lot of us say we believe in many things: selflessness, generosity, commitment, God . . . but I would hazard to guess that in reality that list is much smaller than we think, for somewhere in that eighteen-inch journey, probably right about where our mouth is, that belief gets stuck right in the back of our throat.

First published June 30, 2015

I am a golf junkie. Though I played competitive tennis through high school and college, over the years I have decided that walking on grass is a lot nicer than running on hard court. Therefore, I jumped ship, closeted my rackets, and invested more time and money into a sport that brings 80% heartache most of the time, more than any other pastime I have ever pursued.

So being the lover of golf that I am, on Sunday, September 28, 2014, I was up by 4 a.m. and in front of the TV watching the Ryder Cup and praying that the US could overcome a 10-6 deficit by having a miraculous comeback in the singles on foreign soil.

It wasn’t unheard of. The Europeans had accomplished such a feat just two years earlier on American soil.

I had texted my friends informing them that they probably wouldn’t see me at the early church service as I would be glued to the TV watching the contest to the bitter end. (Obviously, I had my priorities.)

Well, by 7:30 in the morning, it was apparent the miracle was not going to occur. By 8:15 Europe had won the final point they needed to retain the Cup. Though there were matches still being played that would carry on till 10 a.m. or longer, I didn’t see any need to hang around. I could now make the early service.

When I entered the foyer to the sanctuary, I noticed an inordinate number of people clustered around the back of the sanctuary by the sound booth. There was also an unusual hush. Normally, the place was bustling with greetings and laughter. Not today. I soon learned why. A long time church and choir member had gone down suddenly. CPR was being administered and the choir was leading all those close by in prayer. A few moments later first responders came to whisk her away to the hospital. I just watched. A third of the way into the service, word came that she had passed away. I sat in my seat caught in my world of messed up priorities.

An hour ago, I had been listening to golf commentators describing a certain shot or match scenario as “do or die.” Not even close. Suddenly, the immediacy or one’s death again became a reality, and the importance of each person knowing God’s love and saving grace was magnified to the importance it should have always had. Golf is a game. Death is the doorway to meeting God face to face, whether to be embraced as an adopted son or daughter or to be sentenced to an eternity in hell for rejecting God’s gift.

Perspective… God’s perspective.

First published March 18, 2015

I am a morning person pure and simple. I'm not sure if this is due to nature or nurture  but I do know there are some specific reasons for my preference.

First, when I was growing up, sleeping in ended at 8 am––max––at least it seemed like it did.

Second, I am an outside person so the more daylight for me the better. Get me outside early!



Finally, I have always been more productive in the morning probably because the sooner I finished my work the sooner I was back outside.

But the best part about the morning is the sunrise. I am fortunate enough to live only a mile and a half from where I work and when I have the chance to walk, I do. My route to work is perfectly situated. I walk east toward the Sierra Nevadas, so as the sun comes up, I watch it rise right over Mt. Lassen. To my left, north, I see the sun begin to hit Mt. Shasta (as seen in the picture, though I am not quite that close). There is a highway to my left, but it is a Northern California highway that runs east/west which means at this time of the morning one or two cars might go by every minute.

Sunrises in the Northstate are so special that many high school seniors have a Senior Sunrise event to begin their senior year. Our seniors met at dawn on the campus lawn facing Lassen and watched the eastern sky as it began to light up: from indigo blue to cantaloupe orange to cerulean blue to the brilliant sunrise. It was pretty special––at least for about a minute––until they realized they had time to go get breakfast before classes started. Then they were gone. Precious moment over.

I know mornings are a special gift from God both figuratively and literally as we can see in scripture for after a night of sorrow, “joy comes in the morning” (Ps. 30:5); we see that God’s compassion's and mercies are “new every morning” (Lam. 3:23); and, of course, our Lord rose from the dead “very early in the morning” (Luke 24:1).

Enjoy your mornings this week.

First posted on March 11, 2015

A few years ago I had the opportunity to tag along with one of my nieces on a trip to Zimbabwe, Africa, to volunteer with African Impact, an organization devoted to reversing the declining lion population in Africa by saving, breeding, and returning lions to the wild. It was a fascinating experience replete with plenty of lessons, but one in particular stands out.
                                            • • •
The first full day after we arrived, we went out to “meet” the lions . . . well, in my case, the three ten-month-olds that you see in the picture with me… Chando, Amandla, and Chabalala (left to right). I knew absolutely nothing about lions at this time since I had been there less than 24 hours and most of that time was spent sleeping, but I did know that they were wild animals, so I was supposed to be afraid.

However, this was picture day. All new volunteers had their pictures taken with one of the sets of lions on their first day, and after watching my niece and a couple of others get their pictures taken… and not get eaten… I lost some of my initial trepidation. Plus, there were two guides, a trainer, and a guy with a gun… and I, of course, had a stick!  What could go wrong? (The theory behind the stick was that like any cat, lions are easily distracted, so if one of them were to start for me, I was to wiggle the stick and the lion would see it, forget about me, and go for it… yeah, right… but I bought into it.)

As you can see, I have lived to tell the tale, but that is not the point I wish to share. My point is that by the end of my three weeks, after I had learned all about the lions, and how to behave around them, and how to become a part of their pride and show dominance… after I watched them behave like the wild animals they really were, I don’t think I would have sat for that picture, because now I had a healthy respect for and fear of them again.

That first day I believed I was safe because I saw men standing there ready to protect me, and I watched others have their pictures taken and leave unharmed. But that was a belief born out of ignorance. By the end of my stay I was much wiser.

I think we often approach temptation and sin in a very similar way. We have that initial healthy fear of it, but then we see others escape unscathed and perhaps even see an environment of relative safety or acceptance, so we go ahead and “take a seat.” If we are lucky or prayerful, hopefully wisdom comes before harm does, and we once again gain a healthy respect for the dangers that exists.

First posted on February 25, 2015