tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56589425001584127492024-03-13T21:51:56.314-07:00Admiring Christ"Yes, He is altogether lovely." Song of Solomon 5:16Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comBlogger438125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-11580795773136214302020-10-14T20:00:00.000-07:002020-10-14T20:00:24.819-07:00What Happened to Charlie?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TnwGV3OxDgM/X4e49ZkK8eI/AAAAAAAADlU/64c-A3dauC80HkF0LnO_80KTv67y6TN7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s381/sailboat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="381" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TnwGV3OxDgM/X4e49ZkK8eI/AAAAAAAADlU/64c-A3dauC80HkF0LnO_80KTv67y6TN7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/sailboat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />“Hey, Sam. Help you?<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Howdy, Rich. I just need some screws. I can find ‘em my ownself.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Sam shuffled down the aisle, and Rich stayed put in his seat behind the counter. Five minutes later Sam reappeared, puffing a little from his walk, and tossed a couple small boxes on the counter. Rich rang them up. “That’ll be $298 even.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Now I know why they call them screws,” said Sam, extracting three one dollar bills from his wallet. “You keep the change. Get you somethin’ nice.”<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Rich opened the register, tucked in the bills, extracted two pennies, and dropped them into a small dish on the counter. “You just about put me over the top for that Mercedes,” he muttered.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Sam grabbed his screws, walked heavily toward the door and then paused. “Rich, I been wonderin’ about old Charlie. I used to run into him all the time around town. I ain’t seen him in quite some time.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Well, sir, come to think of it, me neither. He used to get lunch down at the diner and I would see him down there at least once a week. Hmmm. Not much of a talker. What I really liked about him. But, no idea.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“You have a good day, and I’ll catch you next time.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“You betcha, Sam. Stay outa trouble.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Sam stopped by the library, dropping off a backpack full of mysteries, and checking out another pile of the same. “Excuse me, Ma’am.” The librarian looked up. “Do you know Charlie McKenna? He used to come in here pretty regular.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> “Older gentleman, white beard, likes biographies?” Sam nodded.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Well, let me check…” She punched her keyboard and squinted at the monitor. “Yeah, he hasn’t checked out a book since…going on three months now.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Sam’s last stop before heading back home was the diner Rich mentioned. “Hi, Marianne. Could you get me chicken salad on wheat, with some fries, to go?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Sure, Sam.” She clipped the order for the cook to see as Sam parked at the counter.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Marianne, you know Charlie, right?” She nodded. “Know what’s happened to him?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The waitress leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. “Well, I heard…but don’t quote me, okay…I heard that he sold his house, his car, and that broken down old motor home, and left town.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Seriously? Why would he do that? Where would he go? Good grief, he must be on the north side of 70.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“I heard…and again, this could be some kinda tall tale…but I heard he met somebody?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Met somebody? Like a mortician?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“No, and that’s not funny,” she giggled. “I heard he met a woman.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“A woman? I doubt that Charlie remembers…” he drifted off. “No offence, but what kinda woman would be interested in Charlie?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">He drove by Charlie’s place on the way home, and sure enough, a young family was living there. He waved at some kids in the yard, and drove home, all the while thinking, <i>He sold everything for a woman. No fool like an old fool.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal">A few weeks passed, and he got an email. He could see it was from Charlie. He clicked it open and read.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>Dear Sam.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>Sorry I didn’t say goodbye. Guess I thought you’d try to talk me out of this. Maybe I am crazy. But it’s the first time I’ve ever really felt happy. We got us a boat and we’re traveling. </i> <i>If you can meet us somewhere, I want you to meet my new wife. Here name is Pearl. Your old friend, Charlie.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal">Attached was a picture of a smooth-shaven man, wearing board shorts and a big grin. He looked about 50. He had his arm around a pretty middle-aged woman in shorts and tank top. She had a happy smile and kind eyes. They were both standing on the dock in front of a gleaming sailboat.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Charlie!” he exclaimed. And then softly, “Her name is Pearl.”</p>Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-81711850011899278682020-09-29T19:17:00.000-07:002020-09-29T19:17:20.871-07:00The Bossman Takes a Holiday<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GDVW_aqYw78/X3PjlWPESXI/AAAAAAAADlI/v0_Cb4a54h49pRv_OHzvWPKhmWwXpS7gACLcBGAsYHQ/s700/farm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="435" data-original-width="700" height="249" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GDVW_aqYw78/X3PjlWPESXI/AAAAAAAADlI/v0_Cb4a54h49pRv_OHzvWPKhmWwXpS7gACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h249/farm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Me and the boys rolled out at 5 like every morning. The cook
had sent us down some biscuits and Charles fired up the stove and put the
coffee on. I set them biscuits out on our little table and found the jar of
honey the cook give us last time. As usual Danny stayed in bed till the last
minute.<p></p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We was all a little surprised when the Boss Man showed up
just as we finished our breakfast. He was all washed and shaved and his big ol’
face kinda glowed. He was a short man, but his upper arms strained the sleeves
of his shirt, and I’ve seen him pick up a 94-pound bag of cement in each hand
and throw them in the truck without no effort. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Boys, good morning to you.” He put his boot up on the bench
I was settin’ on but I didn’t mind. “Maybe you heard that me and the Missus are
headed out of town for a while.” We all said, “Yessir.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well, now, o’ course the farm won’t be going on holiday.”
He beamed, like we was supposed to laugh. We did our best to chuckle and said,
“No sir, that’s for sure.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Anyway, I want to kinda divvy up the responsibilities you
boys will have while I’m gone.” We nodded, not really looking up. He was a good
man, but we mostly didn’t make eye contact. He was our Boss, not our pal. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Ray, you are smart and you been with me a long time. You’re
the foreman while I’m gone, and I’m going to hold you responsible for
everything runnin’ smooth. Charles and Danny, you all report to Ray. Got it?”
Them two said yessir, but without a lot of enthusiasm. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And Ray, pay close attention to them cows. You know how –
get them in and out, milked on time, pastured right. Got it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes sir,” I said, “and thank you. I won’t let you down.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Now Charles, you’re a steady man, and you’re the best one
with tools in our whole operation. I know you’ll give me an honest day’s work
and more. I’m puttin’ you in charge of the fencing and any other repairs that
come up. Ride the fence line every day, and make sure you check for predators
digging holes to get after our calves. Take you a rifle and be ready.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Charles was pleased, you could tell, and he nodded. “Yessir,
I won’t let you down.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Now Danny. I gotta admit I’m not sure about you. I know you
can do any job on this farm, but I don’t know yet if I can trust you. I hope
you work out okay, and this is a chance for you to prove you will.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Danny kept his eyes on the table, and didn’t say nothing,
but I seen his jaws all clenched up and I know he resented what the Boss said.
At least the boy was smart enough to keep his yap shut. The Boss didn’t appreciate
backtalk.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“So, it’s not a glamourous job, but I want you to muck out
the barn and the milk house, and do that every day. Ray will give you other
jobs as they come up, and you do them like it was me tellin’ you. Are we
clear?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yessir,” Danny said, but his voice was tight with anger. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, that was enough excitement for me, and I was already
calculatin’ in my head how to keep things running smooth, maybe even a little
better than usual, while the Boss was gone. But he was still talkin’, and what
he had to say next was nothing I could have ever expected.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Now boys, I got a little surprise. I guess you could call
it an experiment. You probably know that the farm’s just barely making it. Milk
prices are down, and with the factory in town closin’, there’s people out of
work. So no wonder we’re stretched a little thin. I figure if we can keep going
for another year, things will come back and we’ll be okay. But I’m going to ask
you to help. It’s my farm, but it’s your jobs.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“So here’s my experiment. If you think I’m crazy, you might
be right. But this morning I’m going to give each of you some money. Now it’s
my money and I want it back. This isn’t a bonus. What it is is seed money. I
want you to use it somehow. Each of you is smart, and you will have time to
figure this out. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m hoping you will put this money to work. Use it on the
farm, take it to town, get creative, and make more money with it. I got an
envelope for each of you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He handed me a sealed envelope and the same for Charles and
Danny. “Me and the Missus are leavin’ this morning, but when I get back, we’ll
meet again and see how you done.” So he walked out, and the three of us just
sat there, staring at our envelopes. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t get it,” says Danny. “I ain’t his stock broker. Let
him invest his own money.” Then he started callin' the Boss some ugly names. I give him a look and he stopped. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Charles said, “Well, are we going to see how much we each
got?” So I tore my envelope open and so did the other two. I guess we could
have kept this to ourselves, but we was curious, naturally. I pulled out five
$100 bills. Charles had him three $100’s, and Danny, well, he had just one
hundred-dollar bill. Danny wasn’t too happy, and he started cussing, saying it wasn’t fair and how he deserved as much as me. Tried to get
Charles upset, too, pointing out that he had less than me, too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But Charles said, “Well, I figure it’s the Bossman’s money. He
don’t owe us nothin’. Not you , Danny, not a single one of us. I’m going to try
to take this here $300 and make some more. I might just make more than you, Mr.
Foreman.” He smiled at me when he said it to show he wasn’t mad. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Okay, boys, you got your seed money, and let’s see what we
can do with it. But for right now, let’s get to work.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Charles got up and headed out to the tool shed, and Danny,
still muttering and cussing, walked to the barn and grabbed a pitch fork. Me, I
made for the milk barn to check on the milking crew.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, in the weeks ahead, Danny never shut up about
being robbed, and how it wasn’t fair, or how much he deserved. Charles and me
didn’t say much. He never seemed like he was in a learnin’ mood. We both was just
trying to figure ways to multiply our money. Charles went to the lumberyard and
bought him some oak – a lot of it. In the evenings we could hear him sawing and
sanding and hammering and routering. In a few weeks he had turned that oak into
some of the most beautiful furniture I’d ever seen. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He used the wagon to haul it all to town, and for three
weekends in a row he set up a sign and advertised “Custom Maad Furniture – Resnable
Prices.” Charles wasn’t much of a speller, but he was an incredible woodworker. He set it all out - chairs and
tables, a big old bed, and a couple rockers - in the empty lot next to the
general store. He had also made some smaller stuff – some jewelry boxes and
some toy trains. Well sir, in three weeks he sold the whole lot of it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Me, I had a different scheme. Before I come to work for the
Bossman I was a gambler. I was never no cheat, but I was good and I was lucky. ‘Ceptin’
my wife got sick of our life in hotel rooms and me smelling of smoke and booze
when I come home at night. One morning I woke and she was gone. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drank myself through the next few months, stumblin’
from one game to another. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even sloshed I
still won most of the time. </p><p class="MsoNormal">But one day the Bossman showed up on a cattle-buyin’
trip. He’d never laid eyes on me before, but he sat and watched me play for a
while. I won, though my head was poundin’ like a bass drum. He looked hard at
me and said, “Boy, why don’t you quit this mess and get you a real job.” That
was the day I quit drinking and quit cards. And when he left with a small herd of Holsteins,
I come with him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So I’m done with that old life, but I decided to make this one
exception. I drove into town with the Bossman’s money, and found me a poker
game. The fellas in town had never seen me play – they just knowed me as a
farmhand. But I hadn’t lost my touch. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As for ol’ Danny, he just sat in the bunkhouse, working
himself into a lather. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, eventually me and Charles had our envelopes stuffed
full and then some. One night we sat drinking coffee, not talking much. But
Danny was buildin’ up steam. “The Bossman cheated me of what I’m owed,” he
said. “And you losers (and that wasn’t the word he used) are in on it.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“How you figure that, Danny? Looks to me like it’s his
money,” Charles said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“He’s always had it in for me. Why am I muckin’ out the
stalls and you’re riding the fence line?” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well, Danny, I think I remember the Boss sayin’ why. But
what do you figure?” I said, trying to be calm.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’ll tell you, if you’re so dumb you can’t see it your
ownself.” Danny’s face was red and he was puffin’ like he had just run up a
hill. “It’s because I’m from the city! I went to the college there for a year. I’m
educated. You boys are just dumb country hicks, just like the Bossman. The
Bossman has had it in for me since day one. You’ve always been keepin’ me down.”
Danny was shouting , his eyes was wild, and spit was flying out of his mouth. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, Charles and me looked at Danny like you would somebody
who’s just announced they was an Egyptian Pha-row. “Danny, come on, man. Give it
a rest.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But he was still goin’. “You know what I’m sayin’ is true!
You <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">owe </i>me for all the times I’ve
been kep’ back. I deserve a chance!” He stomped over to his
bunk and climbed in with his face to the wall. Charles and I sat silently for a
while, occasionally shakin’ our heads and then we turned in, too. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I woke up in the middle of the night, hearin’ a kind of rustlin’
sound under my bunk. I swung my legs over and saw Danny with his hand in my
pack where I was keepin’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the Bossman’s
money. “What do you think you’re doin’, Danny?” “Just trying to even it out. It’s
only fair. I take some of his and some of yours and that’ll make it right.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Boy, I think you got a different idea about what’s right,”
I said, gripping his wrist, and ripping the money from his hand. By that time
Charles was standing there, too. “Let’s have it,” he said. Danny pulled out
some more bills from his jeans and handed them over.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Danny, you had an equal chance just like everybody else
here. I been here 14 years, and I had just got out of prison when the Bossman took
me in. I been workin’ every day to prove myself,” Charles said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And I was a drunk and a loser, and the Bossman give me a
chance, too.” I didn’t feel like tellin’ my full story. I was real close to tryin’
to beat some sense into Danny. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Danny, as the foreman here, this ain’t workin’ out for you.
Pack your stuff and move on. We ain’t waitin’ till morning. Me and Charles will
escort you to the train station.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He started in on another round of how we was against him and
the Boss was unfair, and he kept saying’ we had privilege and he was oppressed.
I finally clapped my hand over his mouth. “Danny, you have the right to remain
silent, and I'd advise exercisin' that right. Especially if you want to walk to the truck under your own power. But
if you keep talkin’, we will shut your trap for you, and then we will have to
carry you to the truck. Either way, you’re going.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A few days later the Bossman and the Missus arrived from their
holiday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I met their car, helped them
unload their baggage, and explained that I had fired Danny and why. The Bossman
pursed his lips and said, “Okay.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
said he’d meet me and Charles in a half hour.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We was both nervous about what he’d say. We was fidgetin’
and sweatin’ and we both jumped when he come in the bunkhouse. He sat down. “Okay,
boys, how about the gifts I give you to invest?” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, I just pushed my envelope over to him and didn’t say
nothin’. “Let’s just see,” he said, pulling out the bills and starting to count.
“I left you with $500. But you are givin’ me back…why, there’s $1000 here!” He
smiled. Then he picked up Charles’ envelope. “You had $300….and lookee here!
Now there’s <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>$600 for this farm!” He had
a big ol’ grin on his face and it just stayed there for a long moment as he
nodded at both of us. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Okay, how about my former employee? Did he take off with my money? “<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No sir. Seemed like he was planning to, but Charles and I persuaded him not to. So here
you go.” I handed Danny’s envelope over. The Bossman opened it, and pulled out
the one bill. “Figures,” the Bossman said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well, I gotta say, I’m proud of you boys. You proved
yourself good and faithful hands! Well done!” Me and Charles was uncommonly
happy. It’s kind of a good feeling – pleasin’ a man who has already done everything to
save your life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He got up and walked outside, and we followed him. “The farm
is going to make it, boys. And I’ve decided what I need now is a couple
partners. I’ll still run things, but tomorrow the three of us are going into
town, and I’ll write it up legal and proper. This is all yours, too, boys,” he
said, sweeping his arm in a big arc to include the fields, the herd, the orchard,
and all the buildings built with his own grit and sweat and blood. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And then he held out that big hand and we took turns shakin’
it! Charles, well, he kep’ wipin’ his eyes and, to tell the truth, I guess I had
some dust in mine, too.<o:p></o:p></p>Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-85688229988436787982020-09-11T15:56:00.001-07:002020-09-11T15:56:48.783-07:009/11, Then and Now<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jj6lWxnkpBw/X1wAaI1NNVI/AAAAAAAADk0/90gRybbPLCc3mqV_YTHUXpWFuyky5CRxQCLcBGAsYHQ/s474/Nine%2Beleven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="331" data-original-width="474" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jj6lWxnkpBw/X1wAaI1NNVI/AAAAAAAADk0/90gRybbPLCc3mqV_YTHUXpWFuyky5CRxQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Nine%2Beleven.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Today is the day we’ve come to know simply as 9-11. Where
were you when the planes crashed into the World Trade Center, into the
Pentagon, and into the field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania? Nobody who lived
through that day will ever forget it. And we must never let it be forgotten.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It wasn’t just the nearly 3000 people that died on our own
soil at the hands of Muslim extremists. It was the shock of it, the disruption
of it, and the way the world was forever changed on that day. It was, seared
into our memories, the sight of jumbo jets crashing like fire-bombs into the
Twin Towers. It was flames and melting steel, and smoke and soot covering
everything and everyone. And we also watched the horrific sight of people
jumping from the inferno behind them into the impossible height below them.
Estimates are that 200 people stepped into the air, knowing it was their last
act of choice on this earth.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ll never forget those who ran back into those buildings,
time and again, to try to bring people down. Stories of heroism abound. So many
who wore the uniform, and many who didn’t, gave their last breaths to save
others. There was sacrifice, exhaustion, poignant phone calls, folks going
above and beyond any call of duty. Everybody tried to help everybody. Covered
with soot and grime, skin tones were undetectable and irrelevant. We were all
brothers and sisters, standing, kneeling, and helping together.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For a short time, America came together. We had been
attacked, we were all in shock and in grief and in fear, and we all stood
together. I remember a day when everyone on our block stepped out of their
homes, shone a light, and shyly spoke words of reassurance to one another. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Look, on this day, please don’t bother me with rants about
how evil America is. I’m proud to be an American, and I’m proud of the America
that wept, sacrificed, stood, and overcame. Together. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today once again buildings are burning, people are
perishing, and enemies are gloating. But this time the tragedy is not marked by
unity and sacrifice for others. This time there is a deliberate attempt to
divide us – to divide families, friends, churches, cities. A whole country.
It’s an attempt to turn us into screaming factions who are willing to do
violence to have their way. It is a cynical, evil, demonic exploitation of a
just cause (racial harmony) with the real agenda of destroying what is good in
order to achieve raw, ugly power. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On this 9-11, I know America is better than this. We have
overcome attacks from within and without, and we did so by putting our arms
around one another and standing against the forces of anarchy, division, and extremism.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our God has shed His grace upon thee – <i>thee, America</i>.
His grace is limitless, and it will not stop, as long as we continue to turn to
Him. Jesus is the kind of Person who runs into burning buildings and takes the
place of others so they can be free. But He even beat death, and He still
stands with us. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Let’s put our arms around one another again. Let’s stand
together covered by the blood of Christ, under the banner of His mighty Name.
We mustn’t get our marching orders from Marxist haters, from disaffected 60’s
radicals, from tech giants or political parties. For the weapons of our warfare
are not of the flesh, but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We will
stand together, centered around the Bible, arms around our brothers and
sisters, lifting up Jesus. We will pray, call down God’s armies, love others,
oppose evil, and…we shall overcome.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">God bless America.</p>Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-42336731914460132072020-08-10T12:18:00.000-07:002020-08-10T12:18:11.403-07:00Book Burning<p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PJT7Un8zINs/XzGZCJT7BtI/AAAAAAAADjk/zj1T37jsCDEl6zFLkkX2Bp3kxUWMrmJkQCLcBGAsYHQ/s998/bookburning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="998" height="341" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PJT7Un8zINs/XzGZCJT7BtI/AAAAAAAADjk/zj1T37jsCDEl6zFLkkX2Bp3kxUWMrmJkQCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h341/bookburning.jpg" width="512" /></a></i></div><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">A couple of weeks ago
we learned that Antifa and other “protesters” were burning Bibles in Portland,
using them for kindling in an attempt to set the U.S. Courthouse on fire. I’ve
been thinking about book burning, and my imagination led me here.</span></i><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’m a collector of old books. Which is a felony, of course.
That’s why you’ll never find a little shop bearing my name on 3<sup>rd</sup>
and Elm. This is the black market, friends, and if anyone could trace this short
missive to me, I’d be sent to a camp. Or worse.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">So be careful, gentle reader, because you’re in danger, too.
I really want you to read this, but please don’t take unnecessary chances.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a> <o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I grew up a lover of books. I’ve been reading for as long as
I can remember. I had a modest library before the Purge, but I never thought of
it as anything more than a hobby. But then, through reading one specific book, my
life and my hobby took a dramatic turn. And it happened soon after the last “election,”
when they started burning books in every major city. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Obviously some people didn’t go along with it, not at first.
But the Coalition is very persuasive and fires began popping up all over the
nation. I would like to believe there are brave souls all across our beleaguered
country who are risking their lives to hide some history book from the 1900’s,
or a treasured collection of children’s stories, or maybe even a copy of the
Constitution itself. But since I can’t be sure, I’ve made it my mission to do
what I can, until they find me. I’m writing this so that you’ll understand why
I’m in the book business. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">When I look back on those awful, unthinkable days, they
don’t seem real. They called the rallies, “Lighting the Fire of Freedom and
Equality.” Bands played songs of victory, new armies marched, and Coalition
representatives gave speeches. Everyone was expected to attend, and to bring
their books. What a nightmare. And we’re still in it. I’m not counting on ever
waking up. After all, everyone is now “woke,” right? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Well, as you know, all the “Lighting the Fire” celebrations
culminated in huge bonfires of books. They called it, “Ending the lies, taking
back our truth.” Almost everything older than the 1960’s was part of the lie we
were ending, apparently. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Mostly people seemed happy to participate. You even got a
ribbon – “Patriot” – for complying. Leather-bound, gold-gilded tomes that had
been passed down for generations were dumped on the pile, along with worn
paperbacks whose pages were falling out. Practically any author you can think of
was on the list. Just off the top of my head, into the flames went: Twain and Tolstoy; Shakespeare, Steinbeck, and Chaucer;
Camus, Carroll, and Orwell; Dostoevsky and Dickens; Orwell, Tolkien, and Hemingway;
Cervantes and J.K. Rowling; Homer, Plato, and Aristotle; Jane Austen, the Brontes, and Harper Lee; Oscar Wilde,
C.S. Lewis, and Tolkien; Camus and Sartre. You name it, it got burned. The whole
thing reminded me of <i>Fahrenheit 451. </i>But
of course that was incinerated, too, along with everything else by Bradbury. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I should make special mention of religious books, and
especially the Bible. Did you once have a Bible in your home? I bet you don’t
now – it’s against the law. Electronic copies and beautiful old family Bibles –
they’re all gone. The Coalition is happy to supply us with the religious book
they want us to use now. They call it <i>The
Rainbow Book, </i>and it is constantly being updated as the Coalition has
better ideas for you and me and our kids. You get free updates through your
Coalition-supplied tablets. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I have to admit that when I was growing up, I never read the
Bible. I know we had a copy, but my parents weren’t religious and so neither
was I. But a couple years ago somebody risked his life to smuggle me a copy,
and I read it. I was not prepared for its message or its impact on me. If
you’ve read it, you understand why my life changed. If you haven’t, with
whatever time I have left, my mission is to put a copy into your hands. Here’s
a quote you might find encouraging. It’s from Jesus: <b><i>Heaven and earth will pass away,
but my words will not pass away.<o:p></o:p></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal">I guess I love all books, and my new life makes sense to me.
But this Book more than any other is the one I’m willing to die for. All
people, and I certainly mean you, dear reader, deserve a chance to read the
Bible.</p>Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-58554511436262868542020-06-18T15:25:00.000-07:002020-06-18T15:25:38.229-07:00The Extraction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cCV6hLWX5W8/WWvk4nbvexI/AAAAAAAAOuw/yu1rSjv82wQaeKgSGyYsSm8oDwaH-YKCQCLcBGAs/w1200-h630-p-k-no-nu/The%2BExplosions%2BMega%2BPack%2Bfor%2BUnreal%2BEngine%2B4%2B00.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="168" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cCV6hLWX5W8/WWvk4nbvexI/AAAAAAAAOuw/yu1rSjv82wQaeKgSGyYsSm8oDwaH-YKCQCLcBGAs/w1200-h630-p-k-no-nu/The%2BExplosions%2BMega%2BPack%2Bfor%2BUnreal%2BEngine%2B4%2B00.png" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My partner
and I headed into the city, shrouded both by our robes and by the gathering
darkness. We were dressed like the locals, and we stayed away from main streets
and public places. We had worked together before, so it was easy for us to slip
through the alleys and up quiet residential streets, headed toward our subject
and the planned extraction.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The orders
were unmistakable – </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">get this family out.</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i></i></span><br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Their home,
unfortunately, was near the town square, but we arrived via an alleyway, and
slid noiselessly up to the front door. The house was dark.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I tapped
lightly and within a few seconds the small peep hole lit up and a voice said,
“Can I help you?” I held up my ID and said, “Sir, we are under orders to get
you and your family out of the city as soon as possible.” After a minute the
voice spoke again. “Okay. We’re going to need some time. I gotta talk my wife
and kids into this. They love the place and won’t leave without a fight.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sir, it is
absolutely imperative that you hurry. I can tell you it’s a matter of life and
death.” There was a long silence and we heard, “All right. Come back in two
hours.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The strike
was less than an hour away. “Sir, with all respect, </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">fifteen minutes, tops. </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Please.”
Another long pause and we finally heard, “Okay. ….do you want to come in? You
might have to watch me get mowed down by three women.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My partner
motioned to the town square, which was lit up and milling with people. But
there were a few outlying benches in deep shadow. I shrugged. “Sir, we can sit for
a few minutes right across the street on that bench.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Even as I
said that a noisy gang of men started pointing at us. They were staggering
around, under the influence of something, and they began yelling obscenities
and at the same time inviting us over. Suddenly the front door opened, and a
middle-aged man called us inside. “Get in here. Sorry, but you don’t want to be
over there tonight.” I noticed the door was heavy and the deadbolt he slammed
in place extended deep into the frame.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Okay, I’m
guessing this has something to do with my uncle, so you probably know my name
is Yanni. Let me introduce you to my family. Come on back.” He was short and
overweight, dressed in shorts and flip-flops. His beard was untrimmed and he
seemed a bit unsteady as he led us into the next room. “Get you guys something
to drink?” Both of us shook our heads.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Gentlemen,
these are my girls.” An older woman, his wife we presumed, was tilted back in a
recliner, and two young women, maybe early 20’s, were doing one another’s nails
at the table. Both wore short robes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’s the
love of my life, my darling Sally. Sally, these two men work for my uncle and
they are going to help us take a little trip tonight.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Unlike her
casually dressed husband, Sally wore a formal gown and was bedecked with
jewelry – neck, arms, and every finger. “Why, hello,” she said, looking us up
and down. She extended her right hand as if we were supposed to kiss it.
Neither of us budged. “Ma’am,” we both said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Here are my
daughters, almost as beautiful as their mother. Abby and Mona.” They both
looked us over as their mother had. “You’re….tall,” one of them said. “Hey, do
you want to sit with us while we finish our nails?” the other asked. It sounds
cartoonish, but they both batted their eyes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yanni interrupted with a nervous laugh “Hey, you girls are spoken for…they both have
boyfriends…and why don’t you run upstairs and get some decent clothes on. We’re
going on a little trip tonight.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What!” Sally
spoke. “We’re not going anywhere, Yanni. I don’t even like your uncle, and for
your information we love it here.” “But honey…” Yanni began.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sally turned to us again. “You boys should think about
settling down here. Some people might think it’s a little different here – but
we just live and let live,” she said, beaming up at us. “The city’s been so
good for our family! Just look at all this,” she said sweeping her sparkly hand
over their dining room and kitchen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
My partner and I have seen some truly beautiful places. We
live in the loveliest city you can imagine. So the garish displays of loud
colors, the expensive furniture and lamps, the hanging beads and thick drapes, did
not impress us any more than Sally’s heavy makeup. I tried to be polite: “Yes,
ma’am.”<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My partner rarely speaks, so I was surprised to hear his
question. “Pardon me, Ma’am. But aren’t you concerned about the….</span><i style="font-family: inherit;"> other
influences</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> on your family?” “Why, whatever do you mean? Look at my girls –
do you see any influence on them?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The daughters looked up again, younger versions of their
mother, posing for us in their skimpy robes. “You should try it here. It is </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">the best!</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just think, you might meet someone” she said
with a big smile. Her sister added, “You guys are really tall.” I muttered,
“Yeah, you mentioned that.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sir, </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">please. </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hurry! NOW!” “Right,” Yanni said. He
clapped his hands and raised his voice: “Let’s GO. Come on, girls, please.
These gentlemen are serious.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">No sooner were the words out of his mouth when pounding
fists hammered the front door.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dozens of
angry, drunken voices were nearly as loud as the pounding. Yanni ran to the
door. We followed at the ready as he looked through the peephole. “Come on,
guys, they’re guests….wait, let me come out. Just back up a minute…”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
He opened the door, stepped out, and pulled it closed behind
him. We could hear him trying to reason with them. I hope his daughters didn’t
hear what he said about them. It made me want to leave him behind and extract
just the women, but we had our orders. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
The obscenities only increased, and we knew Yanni himself
was in danger. My partner yanked the door open and pulled Yanni inside. The
slavering mob surged forward, intent on entering or dragging us out. I spoke a command
that instantly rendered them weak, confused, and sightless.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We slammed and bolted the door and I shoved Yanni toward the
back door that led to the alley. My partner got the women up from their chairs
– ignoring their loud protestations – and pushed them after him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We heard it before they did – a distant thrumming in the
night sky which grew to a roar so loud Yanni and his family covered their ears.
An orange light began to glow behind us as we pushed and pulled the family away
from the city.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My partner spoke for the second time, yelling to be heard. <i>“Whatever
you do, don’t look back.”</i></div>
</div>
Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-9589475483881454282020-06-08T15:03:00.001-07:002020-06-08T15:03:46.100-07:00I Want to be Ready<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ebfC-2Vc7OM/Xt60vOaTRvI/AAAAAAAADi0/LsB-4r9msUEhRiVUy1dOor7Aawf6m2NywCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/apple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1600" height="214" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ebfC-2Vc7OM/Xt60vOaTRvI/AAAAAAAADi0/LsB-4r9msUEhRiVUy1dOor7Aawf6m2NywCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/apple.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The two tall shining ones were ushering their
newbies into the New Land. Ayzair’s charge, Sam, kept chattering away,
overjoyed. </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hey, thanks for helping me…when do I get to see
Jesus? Oh, wow! Look at the size of those trees! Are those <i>apples? </i>Oh,
my gosh, can I eat one?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Of course,” said his giant helper. Sam jumped
maybe 20 feet in the air and landed holding an apple the size of a grapefruit.
“Oh, my gosh – that’s the best apple I’ve ever tasted,” he said, mouth full and
chin dripping juice.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Hey, is it okay if I run over there to look at
that valley? What did you say your name is – Grazer?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sure, go for it. And it’s A-Zair.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sam instantly headed west, running exuberantly
and effortlessly and more swiftly than he had ever run before. “Oh, wow, you
wouldn’t believe it,” he yelled in the distance. Then faintly,“Oh, you probably
would. But…oh, wow, look at that!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ayzair smiled as he glanced over at Kahsed,
gently leading Bill forward. “He’s pretty stoked, isn’t he? Kahsed commented.
“Yeah. He’s been longing for this all his life,” Ayzair replied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“How are <i>you</i> doing, Bill?”
Ayzair asked with a slightly raised voice and a smile. Bill looked up, happy
enough it seemed, but slightly bewildered. He saw two tall glowing figures
there, and he was no longer terrified, but he could barely understand them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sorry, my name is Bill. This is heaven, right?”
“You bet!” said the angels in unison. Their voices sounded like a thunderclap
about two feet away, and Bill jumped. “Whoa. I’ll take that as a yes.” He
timidly continued walking, and spoke again, this time to himself: <i>wonder
what happened to that other guy? Is there supposed to be so much light? I hope
I meet somebody I know…</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Sam roared back, practically doing
cartwheels. “Did you see how fast I can RUN? Oh, wow! Hey, you guys have to
come see this! Hey, buddy, you too. By the way, I’m Sam.” “I’m Bill. Glad to
meet you. This is heaven, right?” “Yes, <i>Yes, YES!” </i>Sam
shouted. “And I have a hunch we’re just getting started.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And looking up at Kahsed, Sam said quietly,
“Anything I can do for Bill there? He doesn’t seem to get it yet.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Just give him time.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“‘Give him time!’ Hey, that’s funny. An angelic
joke!” And instantly Sam sang at the top of his lungs, “When the trumpet of the
Lord shall sound, and <b>time shall be no more</b>, and the morning
breaks, eternal, bright and fair…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Come on, everybody sing,” he shouted, though to
be fair the angels <i>were </i>singing, but it sounded more like
Niagara Falls, and Bill was faintly humming along.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kahsed whispered to Ayzair, “How come your guy
is so into it, and he’s only been here 10 minutes, and my poor fellow is barely
awake?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ayzair replied, not as quietly, “Well, Sam has
been studying and praying and longing for heaven for the last 20 years. He
became a quadriplegic and a Christian the same year. So he was <i>ready </i>for
this day<i>. </i>Bill has actually been a Christian longer, but he never
spent much time thinking about or preparing for eternity.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“‘Spent much <i>time</i> on <i>eternity</i>.’”
You guys kill me,” yelled Sam happily, as he launched into another enthusiastic
verse of “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh, wow. Race you to the river!” And off he
went.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Note: The Hebrew word for helper is <i>ay-zair</i>, and <i>kah-said</i> is
the word for lovingkindness.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-64604629532174646122020-01-11T21:25:00.001-08:002020-01-11T21:26:04.572-08:00Big Daddy and the New Name<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--rYS5h6Xh2Y/XhqrNVfO6oI/AAAAAAAADgk/uFdI8CjMaJUUwtvnrEXh0eqsVS01TwW7ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Big%2BDaddy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="639" height="216" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--rYS5h6Xh2Y/XhqrNVfO6oI/AAAAAAAADgk/uFdI8CjMaJUUwtvnrEXh0eqsVS01TwW7ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Big%2BDaddy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">I want to tell you a true story, but I don’t blame
you if you don’t believe it. It starts out normal, but it ends in a
miracle. For real.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">He was born Terrance Junior, the oldest of the three
kids, so he was Junior to his parents and his little brothers. Nice family, my
mom said. I was just a baby when we moved next door, so I don’t really remember
Mr. Terrance. But Momma always said they tried to help us out when they could,
what with Momma on her own and a baby on her hands.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Momma told me Mr. Terrance worked three jobs to keep
the family going, and she figured his heart just gave out even though he was
only 42. Junior was 10 at the time, and that’s when folks started calling him
“Big Daddy.” He was nearly 10 years older than me, and I never knew him as
anything but. Back in those days, nobody thought anything about an unusual
name. You just looked at the person and didn’t worry if their name was new to
you.</span></div>
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">When anybody met him, he would say softly, “Jus’
call me Big Daddy.” And then he’d smile and everyone knew he was all right.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">And of course he was big, pushing six feet by the
time he turned 12, and he topped 6 foot four by 16. Big Daddy. He wasn’t gangly
either. He was built thick and was stronger than most of the men in our town.
He was always good to me. I wished he was my big brother, but I never said
anything to him about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Now Mr. Terrance had worked construction, done odd
jobs, and was the janitor for a couple small businesses. Big Daddy would have
taken over and I believe he could have handled it all even as a kid. But
somebody offered him a job out at one of the big farms the next town over. He
really took to it, and since he could outwork most everyone else, they’d liked
having him. He told me one time he hoped to get his own farm one day. He’d head
out before dawn and didn’t come back till it was dark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">He continued that way till I was in my early teens.
We weren’t friends exactly, but being neighbors, I did talk to him from time to
time. He seemed like a solid, steady man who just needed an opportunity. Well,
I guess his opportunity came in the form of a distant cousin whose family moved
to our area. Her name was Cecily and she was instantly the prettiest girl in
the town. She was closer to my age than his. But I knew from the first time
they laid eyes on one another that nobody else had a chance with her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">They both went to our little community church, and
it seemed like they were always together. She was pretty and petite and he was
shy and strong, and they fit together just fine. In those days, girls often
married real young, and if the couple was ready, everybody supported them no
matter what the age. Big Daddy and Cecily had the nicest, happiest, wedding
anybody could remember. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Big Daddy used to talk to me about having lots of
kids. People wanted big families in those days, since most everyone worked the
fields or if they were lucky had their own little farm. More babies meant more
cheap labor. But Big Daddy had a warm light in his eyes when he talked about
children, and I always thought having lots of kids meant more to him than just
a workforce.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_heading=h.gjdgxs"></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Well,
everybody figured he and Cecily would have 4 or 5 little ones before Big Daddy
turned 30. But it just didn’t happen. They always seemed close, kind of
lovey-dovey, you might say, so I felt sure they loved one another enough. But
no babies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_heading=h.kwa49cmh4qgr"></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">By the time a
lot of folks their age were grandparents, it was still just them. I wondered if
Big Daddy was feeling embarrassed about his name. After all those years, he was
still nobody’s big daddy. I never heard anybody make a joke about it though,
and it wasn’t because Big Daddy could have knocked them into next Tuesday. We
all just felt bad for them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">They still went to our little church. And it was
about that time that Big Daddy had a vision. Now in our church it wasn’t
uncommon for some folks to talk in tongues. Occasionally they might fall down,
overcome by the Spirit. It was usually the same few folks, and nobody minded.
But Big Daddy didn’t talk much at all, let alone in tongues. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">But that Sunday Brother Clemmons was leading the
singing, and some folks were standing and swaying, and I happened to look over,
and there was Big Daddy, his big hands ‘way up in the air, eyes closed, and he
seemed to be humming to himself. He didn’t fall over though, which might have
taken out the whole pew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Afterward I heard him talking to the Preacher. He
said, “God said me and Cecily got to head out. We’ll pack tonight.” “Where you
going?” said our minister. “The Lord didn’t say. Jus’ head out and He’ll show
us when we get there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Soon everybody heard about the vision and them
leaving, and the next morning when they came driving their little wagon, we all
lined up on the road to wave them goodbye. Cecily looked sad, and shyly raised
her hand. I have to admit that Cecily was still a looker, though she was
pushing fifty. Big Daddy looked pretty much the same, with a slow smile and
waving his big hand as he passed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Well, that was the last time I ever saw them. But
from time to time we’d get word. In those days letters came slow, so you might
not hear about old friends or family but once every few months. It might have
been five years before we got any real news. Somebody’s grown son had moved up
there, and came back for a visit. He had evidently run into Big Daddy and Cecily
and spent some time with them. A bunch of us gathered at the church to listen
to him tell us about our friends. They had done well, he said. Had a big old
farm of their own by then, and Big Daddy was hiring field hands to help him
work it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">But the most interesting thing was that Big Daddy
had had him another vision. Seems that this time the Lord told him he was in
for a new name. I was just thinking to myself, I hope the new name doesn’t call
attention to their family situation anymore. And right then the storyteller
said, “God said his name was going to be Patriarch.” He said it real slow, but
I had no idea what that meant. The Preacher said it was worse than Big Daddy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">And apparently the Lord told him he was going to
have a whole lot of kids. Now I don’t want to doubt the Man Upstairs, and after
all, the first vision turned out so good, but neither one of them is getting
any younger. Cecily must be, well, past her time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Okay, that’s pretty much the story of Big Daddy who
I guess I should call by that new name. Patriarch. Except there’s one more bit
of news. That same son who was living up there, well, he wrote a letter to his
folks, and they shared it just last week. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Looks like Cecily is in a family way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I’m thinking of asking the Lord if He’d give me a new name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Note: “Abram” means “exalted father,” and “Abraham”
means “father of a multitude.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-74053399135469456882019-09-03T15:51:00.000-07:002019-09-03T15:53:22.064-07:00Who Then Is This?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aopHENF_xik/XW7sYCSn9SI/AAAAAAAADe0/5zzjK4yPXdQbaiIDKm4x0Al1oQ9keJ0swCLcBGAs/s1600/on%2Bmy%2Bknees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="233" data-original-width="330" height="224" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aopHENF_xik/XW7sYCSn9SI/AAAAAAAADe0/5zzjK4yPXdQbaiIDKm4x0Al1oQ9keJ0swCLcBGAs/s320/on%2Bmy%2Bknees.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Who then is this?<br />
Blazing fire<br />
Fiery holiness, furious righteousness, fearsome wrathfulness<br />
I fall to my knees, terrified<br />
<br />
Who then is this?<br />
Pink and plump cheeks<br />
Adored innocence, admired humanness, alighted peacefulness<br />
I fall to my knees, hopeful<br />
<br />
<br />
Who then is this?<br />
Straight and strong<br />
Commanding wind and water, disease and demons<br />
I fall to my knees, wondering<br />
<br />
Who then is this?<br />
Cross hammered<br />
Bloodied and betrayed, accused and abandoned<br />
I fall to my knees, ashamed<br />
<br />
Who then is this?<br />
Stone-rolling satisfaction<br />
Arisen accomplishment, just justifier<br />
I fall to my knees, acceptedJim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-47052814568323851662019-09-01T17:28:00.000-07:002019-09-01T17:36:21.283-07:00The Most Unusual Wedding I Never Performed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lQjW-kiDkdQ/XWxdDRio2RI/AAAAAAAADeo/PyXe9ATyOeAUwUaiBPtojFNaD1OX_NqSQCLcBGAs/s1600/no%2Bwedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lQjW-kiDkdQ/XWxdDRio2RI/AAAAAAAADeo/PyXe9ATyOeAUwUaiBPtojFNaD1OX_NqSQCLcBGAs/s200/no%2Bwedding.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I was a young pastor I naively thought that the couples who asked me to officiate at their weddings would be mainly young, godly people
who were raised in the church and who grew up attending Awana and the youth
group. I figured they would be starry-eyed virgins with Scriptural
values and godly examples from their own intact families of origin.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I learned pretty quickly that performing a wedding as a Christian
pastor is complicated, and that people’s lives are often very broken. Sometimes
it’s hard to know how to do the right thing. Especially if you care more about
pleasing God than about pleasing people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Rob and Rachel (not their real names) were an attractive couple in
their early 30’s who began attending our church a few years ago. He had worked
for a Christian non-profit agency in another state, and she was a personal
trainer at a local gym.</span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">They had just relocated to our area and seemed to fit in well with our
congregation. They became part of a small group I led, and were making friends
with folks in our church.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">They told me they were engaged and wanted to talk with me about
performing their wedding. In my first meeting with them, I began to go through a
standard information sheet to get to know them. They both claimed faith in
Christ, both had parents still married to one another, and both had a track
record of faithful church attendance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then I came to the part in the questionnaire which asks if either of
them had been married before. There was a short silence, and then Rachel said
she was divorced. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Okay,</i> I said. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tell me a little about that marriage and why
it ended. </i>She told me her ex-husband (I’ll call him Don) was a Christian,
but that they were incompatible, and she just didn’t love him anymore. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">So who filed for divorce?</i> I asked.
Rachel said she had. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rachel, was Don unfaithful to
you? </i>No, Rachel said. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Did he abandon
you, like he didn’t want to be married any longer? </i>No. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My casual and friendly interview with Rob and Rachel had suddenly become
tense. I shared my convictions about marriage, divorce, and remarriage. My view
is that marriage is sacred to God and is meant to be a life-long commitment (Matthew
19:6; Genesis 2:24). God hates divorce (Malachi 2:16), and permits it only
under two circumstances: when one spouse has been repeatedly unfaithful (Matthew
19:9), or when one spouse has permanently deserted the marriage (1 Corinthians
7:15). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In those circumstances, I believe
God permits divorce, as well as remarriage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At this point Rob added something to our conversation: he said Rachel
had not been a Christian when she was married to Don, and therefore her divorce
was part of her old life, now cleansed by the blood of Jesus. I was confused
because I thought I had heard Rachel say she and Don were both Christians when
they married. When I asked for clarification, Rachel didn’t have a clear answer.
The only thing I knew for sure was that she had left her Christian husband and
filed for divorce, and her only reasons were “falling out of love” and incompatibility.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Honestly, I wanted to avoid having to tell them that I couldn’t marry
them. I knew that would make them extremely unhappy, probably angry toward me,
and would undoubtedly cause them to leave our church. Plus I suspected some of
their new friends in the church would not understand. I decided that I would
take an overnight prayer retreat in the hope that, with prayer and reflection,
I might find a way to accommodate Rob and Rachel’s desire to marry and still
keep me within Scripture guidelines. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So I told them we would continue our meeting in another week, and in
the meantime I would go away for a prayer retreat to seek God’s guidance. They
left my office, seemingly a little relieved that I hadn’t told them no
outright, but still shaken by my questions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">During my prayer retreat I didn’t discover anything new from the
Scripture. God still considered marriage a permanent, lifelong covenant, He
still hated divorce, and He still seemed to permit divorce in only the two
circumstances: persistent unfaithfulness and permanent abandonment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I kept
coming back to 1 Corinthians 7:10-11:<span style="background: white; color: blue;">To the married I give this charge (not I, but the Lord): the wife should
not separate from her husband</span><span style="color: blue;"> (but if she does, she should remain unmarried or else be reconciled to
her husband), and the husband should not divorce his wife.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I thought to myself, these verses speak directly to this situation: Rachel shouldn’t have separated from Don, but
since she did, God says she should remained unmarried or reconcile with him.
But I was still looking for a loophole: what if Don has remarried? What if he
is sick of Rachel and has moved on? It seemed like a long-shot, but I decided
to contact Don.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My next meeting with Rob and Rachel was fairly short. I explained that
everything in Scripture that I read seemed to point to their proposed marriage <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>being God’s plan for them. I had
printed out all the passages I had studied, and read over the verses with them. Then I asked if Rachel would be okay with my phoning Don. Surprisingly
she was, and quickly gave me his phone number.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We said goodbye, and planned to meet again the next week. I immediately
called Don and to my surprise he answered. Gulping a bit, I told him who I was
and explained that Rachel, his ex-wife, was asking me to perform the wedding for
her and her fiancé. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don, have you
remarried? </i>No, he said. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Well, how do
you feel about Rachel? Would you take her back?</i> He said, emphatically, that
he still loved her and would take her back in a heartbeat!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, my final meeting with Rob and Rachel was just as hard as I expected.
I told them what I should have said two weeks before: that I could not perform
their wedding because I did not believe Rachel’s divorce was Scriptural. I urged
them to reconsider marrying and told them that I didn’t believe God would bless
a marriage begun in disobedience. Then I repeated what Don had told me – that he
still loved Rachel and wanted her back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Rachel cried, Rob was angry, and they left quickly. Not just my office,
but our small group and our church. Within a short time they found someone who
would marry them. And, as I expected, some of their friends within our church expressed
their disapproval of my actions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Would you (or your pastor) have handled it differently? As I look back,
my only regret is dragging out what was a foregone conclusion: I could not
marry them and remain true to my understanding of the Scriptures. Still I
wonder: did I accomplish anything? They still got married, and they are,
presumably, serving and supporting another local church. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the end I have concluded it is not my job to worry about outcomes. I
must be faithful to the God who has called me by following the Bible as closely
as I am able. Sometimes people will be unhappy, even angry, as a result. <span style="color: blue;">But just as we have been approved by God to be entrusted
with the gospel, so we speak, not to please man, but to please God who tests
our hearts. (1 Thessalonians 2:4) <o:p></o:p></span> I may never see Rob or Rachel again, but I report to my Lord every day.</span></div>
<br />Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-26665099946743567742019-08-18T16:27:00.001-07:002019-08-18T16:27:51.159-07:00Avalanche!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fVVJPHalWE4/XVnXkPyc8oI/AAAAAAAADeY/YmQ0QNRXdC0CD9mZTdpADVrkIcckKYu2QCLcBGAs/s1600/Avalanche.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="160" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fVVJPHalWE4/XVnXkPyc8oI/AAAAAAAADeY/YmQ0QNRXdC0CD9mZTdpADVrkIcckKYu2QCLcBGAs/s320/Avalanche.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Adam and Chris had been best friends since grade
school. They grew up in the same neighborhood and graduated high school
together. And even though they went off to separate colleges and separate
lives, they still stayed in touch.<br />
<br />
They were in each other’s weddings, and they
got together at least once a year to fish or hike or go to a ballgame.<br />
<br />
Two weeks before Adam’s 40th birthday, he
invited Chris to join him for a weekend of skiing and hiking up in the
mountains. They rented a cabin and both left work early on Friday to drive up.
The weather was clear Friday night, but snow was expected Saturday.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Saturday morning Adam woke early. Chris was a
notoriously late riser, and Adam let him sleep. He ate some cereal
and drank a couple cups of coffee and then decided to take a short walk.
Slipping on a light jacket and his hiking boots, Adam strolled down the short
driveway to the snow covered road, where he crossed over and headed into the
forest just west of the cabin.<br />
<br />
The air was cold, but with bright sunlight
filtering through the evergreens, Adam figured he would enjoy a quick, bracing
hike and be back at the cabin before Chris knew he was gone.<br />
<br />
Suddenly the sunlight dimmed, and clouds began
to roll in. The temperature dropped, and it started to snow. Adam realized he
had been walking for nearly an hour, and even under the trees his footprints in
the snow were rapidly filling up. He doubled back, but didn’t find the trail.
He began to walk more rapidly and kept at it another hour without recognizing
anything. With rising panic he admitted he was lost. And he was cold.<br />
<br />
He decided he must get out of the forest even
if it wasn’t close to his entry point. Maybe he would find a road. Late in the
afternoon he finally emerged into a great clearing. The snow was really coming
down, and other than the sheer face of a mountain directly ahead of him, he saw
no roads or houses or any evidence of civilization. As the snow piled up,
walking became harder. What would he do when night fell and the temperature dropped
again?<br />
<br />
He laboriously tromped through the snow toward
the mountain, and then realized there was nothing to give him any shelter for
the night. It was nearly dark now, and Adam had to tamp down the fear that rose
in his chest. He tried calling out: “Help! Somebody help me!” But the snowfall
and darkness swallowed his words.<br />
<br />
Then he heard, faintly, a voice. “Adam - hello
Adam!” Maybe he imagined it. But he heard it again. “Adam, Adam, HELLO!” Adam
turned in the direction of the voice and screamed back, “Hello, I’m HERE! HELP
ME!”<br />
<br />
He stumbled toward the sound of the voice, and
continuing to yell for help. Soon out of the white blizzard came the darkened
forms of half a dozen men. They surrounded him and one of them said, “We got
you, buddy. You’re safe. Let’s get out of here.”<br />
<br />
They half-carried him for
another 20 minutes, and then he was sitting in a warm SUV, and after a half hour's drive, he was back to his rental cabin. His rescuers hustled him to a chair in front
of a roaring fire, removed his wet jacket and boots, and covered him with a
blanket. Someone handed him a mug of hot cocoa.<br />
<br />
“Wow, we thought you were a goner,” somebody
said. “But you’re safe now!” Adam thanked
everyone profusely. “You guys are the best,” he said again and again.<br />
<br />
But even as he expressed his gratitude, he found himself minimizing the danger he had been in. He thought, “It was great of these guys to
come out to look for me. But I would probably have been okay. I could have
hunkered down back in the trees, and hiked out in the morning when it was
clear. ”<br />
<br />
But as he was reassuring himself that he
wasn’t <i>that </i>lost, an older guy at the
back of the room stood up. “Adam, I’m with the County Search and Rescue, and
you’re a very lucky man. Not only were you lost, but you must have walked past
half a dozen signs warning you to stay out of the avalanche zone. We’ve known
for weeks that that mountain was going to come down. If we hadn’t found you
when we did, you would be buried under a million tons of rock and ice and
snow.”<br />
<br />
Adam swallowed hard. “You mean there was an
avalanche expected where you found me?” “Not expected anymore,” the man said
grimly. “Didn’t you hear that roar when we got back to the vehicles? The
mountain came down about 10 minutes after we got you out. You’d have never made
it.”<br />
<br />
Adam was stunned. He stared at the exhausted
faces of the men who had just risked their lives for him. And then he asked,
“Hey, where’s Chris?”<br />
<br />
The Search and Rescue guy shook his head. “He didn’t make it. He was the one who
originally called us, and he was almost frantic to get to you. He was so
determined to keep looking that he fell behind the rest of us. When we finally
found you, we couldn’t afford to wait for him. And then the avalanche ...well, I’m sorry. He’s still up there, where you would have been, under the mountain.”<br />
<br />
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<span lang="EN" style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>REFLECTIONS</b></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sometimes Christians seem clueless about how lost
we were before Christ rescued us. We are thankful for being saved, but find it
easy to minimize the precarious spot we were in. We think we were not <i>that </i>lost,
and after all we were actively searching for God. We might not admit it, but in
effect we claim a little credit for our salvation. We picked God when a lot of
people we know didn’t.</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But the Bible says we were not seeking for God -
no one does (Romans 3:11). In our sinful state, we were dead to Him; we were
children of wrath (Ephesians 2:1-3). And we didn’t pick Him - He picked us
(Ephesians 1:4).</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We are often told today that God’s wrath is an
Old Testament thing, long gone, and that now the God of heaven is only love,
love, love. But the Scripture warns that there is an avalanche of God’s wrath
that will fall upon sinners unless we’re rescued (Romans 1:18).</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">We <i>were </i>rescued, no thanks to
us, but only to our Best Friend, our Christ, who gave His life to make sure we
get safely home.</span></div>
<br />
Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-70095522759838893212019-08-11T18:01:00.000-07:002019-09-02T10:51:05.966-07:00The Surprise Guest at the Funeral<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7FY8WvvmaxU/XVC3bCMzNfI/AAAAAAAADeM/IKnu1WgaRMELzCGz3s0BygapPBZIbi6MwCLcBGAs/s1600/funeral.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="873" data-original-width="1600" height="174" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7FY8WvvmaxU/XVC3bCMzNfI/AAAAAAAADeM/IKnu1WgaRMELzCGz3s0BygapPBZIbi6MwCLcBGAs/s320/funeral.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Recently I had lunch with a pastoral colleague, and we
started swapping funeral stories. Macabre? Maybe, but there are some pretty
unusual things that happen at funerals. For example…<br />
<br />
I was doing a graveside service for a lady in our church.
Her casket was perched on one of those portable stands the funeral home
provides. This one was on rollers. And the grave was on a hillside. I bet you
can see what’s coming. I had just started into my remarks when the casket
started moving. Downhill, of course. I blocked it with my body, and some of the
other funeral staff jumped in. Disaster averted. But the lady’s daughter
thought it was funny – “Mom was headed for the ocean,” she remarked.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
A pastor friend of mine told me about a funeral he did for a
member of a biker gang. His was the only suit in a room full of large, hairy, tattooed
men wearing filthy jeans and leathers. When my friend mentioned the name Jesus,
the guys all gave him a middle-finger salute which continued till the end of
his devotional. Good times.<br />
<br />
But by far the most wonderful surprise I’ve ever experienced
happened just a few years ago. For several years two middle-aged ladies from
back East would worship at our church a couple times a year. They explained to
me that they came to our town to visit an elderly aunt (I’ll call her “Mabel”)
who lived in a nursing home in our community. Both ladies loved their aunt, and
wished they could see her more often. They were especially concerned about her
spiritual state, and had tried to share the gospel with her, with no success.
They asked if I could arrange for someone to visit her.<br />
<br />
The next week my wife went to see Mabel, and had a pleasant
visit, but try as she might, Mabel resisted any spiritual conversation at all.<br />
<br />
Months passed, and I got a call from one of the nieces to
say that Aunt Mabel had passed away and they would appreciate it if I could do
her funeral. Of course I agreed. The ladies were flying in that week, and we
set an appointment to go over the details of the funeral.<br />
<br />
When they arrived we agreed on a couple hymns, reviewed the
obituary, and put together a simple order of service. When I asked about Mabel’s
spiritual condition they were very pessimistic about any change. As far as they
knew, their aunt died without Christ. I explained that I could not bring a
message of “now she’s in a better place,” when we simply did not know. I
promised to preach the gospel for the sake of those attending the funeral. They
understood.<br />
<br />
The day of Mabel’s funeral, I was set for one of those solemn
services where you try to comfort the grieving, commend the departed to God’s
mercy, and extend God’s grace to those who may not know Christ. I walked into
the funeral home where 40 or 50 of Mabel’s relatives and friends were gathered.
They were mostly middle-aged and older white people. One African-American lady
stood out in the small crowd.<br />
<br />
One of the nieces rushed over to welcome me. “I want to introduce you to someone,” she said with considerable excitement. I
followed her to the front where she got the attention of the black lady. “Pastor
Jim, this is Deloris, whom I just met this morning. Deloris took care of Mabel
for the last couple years. This morning she shared with me some wonderful news.”<br />
<br />
Deloris and I shook hands, and she proceeded to tell me that
she had come to know and love Mabel over the years. Somehow she seemed to know
that Mabel’s time was drawing to a close. The day before she passed away,
Deloris came to her room, shut the door, and put up the do not disturb sign. “Now
Mabel, you know you need to accept Jesus, and I’m here to help you.”<br />
<br />
Mabel listened to her friend, heard and believed the gospel,
and put her trust in Christ the day before she died.<br />
<br />
My message that day was a little different than I
had planned. I spoke about how happy we were to know that Mabel was in heaven, and how grateful we are for the way God uses people like Deloris to help us get there. With joy I preached the gospel.<br />
<br />
“All that the Father gives to me will come to me, and
whoever comes to Me I will never cast out.” (John 6:37.<br />
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<br />Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-85792402505046289792019-08-02T14:04:00.003-07:002019-08-02T14:04:55.421-07:00THE GRATITUDE OF A NON-SUPERSTAR<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: blue;"><i>It happened, late one afternoon, when David arose from his couch and was walking on the roof of the kings's house... (2 Samuel 11:2)</i></span><br />
<br />
In the last couple weeks we’ve learned of an evangelical
superstar who has left his church, his marriage and his faith. The twist on
this story is that he penned a popular book about courting instead of dating
that influenced a lot of Christians as <i>the </i>Scriptural blueprint for
starting a godly marriage. Now, in the middle of divorce and apostasy, he has
apologized for that book.<br />
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Right after that story broke I read about another very popular
pastor whom I admired for his unashamed Reformed faith and bold preaching. One
of my sons listened to his sermons online and found him a great role model. The church’s elders confronted the pastor about reports that he had broken his marriage
vows. He admitted two affairs and resigned from the ministry.<br />
<br />
Those stories also brought to mind the uncomfortable
retirement of another superstar whose impact on contemporary American Christianity
has been profound. Instead of a joyous retirement and smooth transition to his
handpicked successors, he was accused by a number of women of inappropriate
contact. The sordid details were splashed all over a major newspaper in the city
where his megachurch is located. Not only was his own legacy tarnished and the
huge church he built rocked to its core, but his entire elder board and his
designated successors all resigned, too.<br />
<br />
Tragically, those are not the only stories of big name
Christian leaders who did not finish well. Like me, I bet you could think of
others who ended their public ministries in disgrace.<br />
<br />
As a pastor I’ve been mulling this over for a long time. Are
these men any different than me? Could I fall from faithfulness in such an ugly
fashion?<br />
<br />
Well, I know my own soul too well. I drag an old sin nature
around just as these men do, and I struggle to mortify the flesh and to walk in
the Spirit like they must have.<br />
<br />
Without giving them a pass or an excuse, I come away simply
grateful for the “non super-star” life I’ve lived. When I was a young pastor I hoped
that I might have a much wider influence than I’ve had. (Although I don’t
believe any of us will know the meaning and impact of our lives this side of
eternity.)<br />
<br />
But now, decades later, I find myself very grateful for the
privilege of serving Christ and for the dear people He has given me to
shepherd. I ask myself, If I had multiple thousands of people hanging on every
word I spoke, telling me how great I was, would I resist the temptation to
pride? If the church I pastored was so large that I became wealthy, would
that undermine my family’s dependence upon the Lord? If my personal holiness was
under a much greater assault by the enemy, how would I fare? If multiplied influence
and recognition made my personal accountability more optional, would I
fall?<br />
<br />
I’m no better than the men I mentioned, the ones who fell
from a great height. By God’s grace He has given me the life and the influence
He wanted for me, and though being faithful is a spiritual battle, I wouldn’t
trade places with the superstars. Of
course I have my own race to run, and pride, lust, and sloth are possible for
me right where I am. But I thank the Lord that I do not have to deal with the unique
temptations and pressures of superstardom.<br />
<br />
King David sat on a rooftop, the absolute ruler of all he
surveyed. He could do whatever he wanted, with whomever he wanted, including
with the beautiful woman he watched taking a bath next door. Most men were at work.
His army was deployed. But the superstar’s accomplishments and privileges put
him in a position of temptation that the average man in his kingdom would never
have occupied. <br />
<br />
I’m glad I’m not on that rooftop.Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-74459256494377818092019-07-18T17:30:00.000-07:002019-07-18T17:30:32.227-07:00Forgiving the Unforgivable<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gVHXjD8MB68/XTEJ1I3MuWI/AAAAAAAADc0/hiNZE2HV74wPwtrTdo-rxlQYpeQf6s0dACLcBGAs/s1600/forgiveness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gVHXjD8MB68/XTEJ1I3MuWI/AAAAAAAADc0/hiNZE2HV74wPwtrTdo-rxlQYpeQf6s0dACLcBGAs/s320/forgiveness.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How do you forgive the unforgivable? Someone murders a family member. A drunk driver slams into your car, and you’re in a wheelchair the rest of your life. A trusted friend molests your child. A member of your church who works as an investment counselor persuades you to put your life savings in his hands, and he loses it all. One of your best friends spreads rumors (all untrue) about you that result in your being ostracized by all your other friends. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">You could pick any one of the above, and call it "unforgivable." And sadly most of have personal scenarios that are equally grievous. How could you possibly forgive a person who has done any of these? How can you forgive the unforgivable?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The short answer is, some things are not forgivable, not humanly speaking. Not in the strength of our own will.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And yet, we who follow Christ are called to forgive. Jesus said so: </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father also who is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses” (Mark 11:25). </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the Lord’s Prayer (Matthew 5), He taught us to say, </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 6pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: super; white-space: pre-wrap;">12 </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors…</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 6pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: super; white-space: pre-wrap;">14 </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 6pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: super; white-space: pre-wrap;">15 </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.</span><span style="color: blue; font-size: 10pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But how do you forgive? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">T</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">his is not an academic question for me. And though I’ve been a pastor for a long time, I’ve been struggling with forgiveness even longer. Many years ago, right after I began dating Dionne, I discovered my future father-in-law was a child molester, and that his chief victim was the girl I'd fallen in love with. Forgiveness for me has been a hard road to travel, and a long one. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I hope to do several blog posts on the subject, but for this one I'll try to share one of the main things I've learned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the New Testament, our English “to forgive” comes mainly from two Greek words. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Charizomai, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">emphasizes that forgiveness is a gift. The word “grace,” </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">charis</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, is at the heart of this verb. The other word, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">aphiemi, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">means to let go, to send away. It emphasizes releasing something, giving it up, letting it go. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Forgiveness, I think, is a gift you give to someone who has hurt or offended you. It’s grace, totally unmerited. And the way you give that gift is by releasing the offence and the offender to God. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">There are many reasons why I don’t want to forgive. But for me they are all trumped by two more compelling reasons to forgive: one, my Jesus, who has died in my place for my sins, commands it. And two, my bitterness and hatred and desire for justice (revenge?) is too heavy for me to carry. Its weight distorts and poisons my life and the lives of those around me. I’ve learned to give this ugliness and pain to the Lord. I've come to trust that He will take it and deal with it in perfect love, holiness, justice, and wisdom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">For me the first movement of forgiveness is not toward the one who hurt me but toward the One who hurt for me. Unless and until I can trust Almighty God with my life, including the pain and injustice and heartaches, I cannot forgive.</span></div>
Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-36963211795125386722019-06-24T18:41:00.000-07:002019-06-24T18:41:25.184-07:00The Powerful Kindness of Jesus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zl176b0bee8/XRF3R5SBYQI/AAAAAAAADcc/4naf-N3d5xUopqP3DaDeXswQE7fJTE08QCLcBGAs/s1600/Jesus%2Band%2Bthe%2Bwidow%2Bat%2BNain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="1024" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zl176b0bee8/XRF3R5SBYQI/AAAAAAAADcc/4naf-N3d5xUopqP3DaDeXswQE7fJTE08QCLcBGAs/s320/Jesus%2Band%2Bthe%2Bwidow%2Bat%2BNain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Gospel stories show us Jesus in His humanity, and allow us to walk closer to Him, and to know Him in smaller, deeper and more intimate ways. Like
the lovely story of Jesus and the widow of Nain:</span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Soon afterwards he went to
a town called Nain, and his disciples and a great crowd went with him. As he
drew near to the gate of the town, behold, a man who had died was being carried
out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow, and a considerable crowd
from the town was with her. And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her
and said to her, “Do not weep.” Then he came up and touched the bier, and the
bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, arise.” And the
dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. (Luke 7:11-15)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b><br /></b></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Why
this insignificant town</b></span></u><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>?</b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nain
was a small, backwater place, mentioned only here in Scripture. Nobody went there
to shop or for vacation. So why did Jesus? He had been in Capernaum (vv. 1-10), over 20 miles to Nain – a good day’s walk. Why Nain?</span></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Well,
for the same reason Jesus appeared at Jacob’s well in Samaria at midday. And for
the same reason He spent extra time in Jericho as He traveled for the last time
to Jerusalem and to the cross.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jesus
arrived at this precise moment because He had a divine appointment with a poor,
grieving widow who had just lost her son. Just as He came to Jacob’s well to
meet with the Samaritan woman, and just as His journey through Jericho included
a long lunch with a little man named Zacchaeus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jesus
doesn’t do random. Before the foundation of the world these broken people were
part of His incarnational agenda. I bet you are, too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">His
heart</span></b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
young man’s death was a devastating blow to his widowed mother. Without any
other support system, she would be reduced to begging. Her son had just died
that day – a dead body wouldn’t be kept any longer from the grave – and she was
overcome with grief and the certainty that she would never recover from this loss.
Then Jesus appeared. </span></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion
on her and said to her, “Do not weep.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What
would you like to know about the Savior? Because here in this small moment, we see
His heart. “Compassion” speaks of deep emotion, the heart’s reaction to someone
else’s pain. Like “it felt like a kick in the gut,” or “the breath went right out
of me,” or “my heart was broken.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jesus
Christ, Maker of the world, Upholder of the universe, Redeemer of all God’s people
and of His fallen creation, was deeply moved by the pain of one lonely widow whose
name we do not know. Look how kindly He spoke to her, “Do not weep.” I imagine
Him speaking it softly to her, with the tenderness with which He would one day address
His own mother from the cross.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">His
powerful word</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Often
when we feel someone else’s pain, we also feel the frustration of not being
able to help, as much as we might want to. Not so our Lord.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
he came up and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: blue;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Luke is giving
us a clue. Anytime the Greek verb “came up,” (approached, came near) is used of
Jesus in the Gospels, it means He is about to exercise His power and authority.
Get ready. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
pall bearers seemed to know. Jesus put His hand on the stretcher carrying the
young man’s body, and everything became really quiet. Jesus didn’t care that,
according to the ceremonial law, touching a dead body (or anything that body
had touched) rendered a person unclean. Jesus is holy, holy, holy. </span></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And
he said, “Young man, I say to you, arise.” And the dead man sat up and began to
speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As
He spoke to Jairus’ daughter –</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Little girl, I say to you, arise</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">–
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and to His old friend Lazarus – </span></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Lazarus, come forth</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">–
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">so Jesus spoke life into this young man. And of course the dead man sat up and
began to speak. But, alongside the omnipotent word is the tender heart –</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">and
Jesus gave him to his mother. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Here, Mom, here’s your boy. Everything is going to
be okay now.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jesus - coming near</span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe
you’re in some lonely, backwater of a place.
Maybe you’re torn by grief or buried deep beneath wrong choices and you’ve just
about given up. There's hope - Jesus still comes near. Expect His powerful kindness. </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 12.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-22636085141740310002018-09-25T14:08:00.000-07:002018-09-25T14:08:50.025-07:00Dad and the Sawmill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QaTMiCvBdws/W6qfoxm51HI/AAAAAAAADYE/lbWv6nxxCRYB46GMZ8Gf19IVMqjemUZ8wCLcBGAs/s1600/sawmill.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1062" data-original-width="1106" height="307" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QaTMiCvBdws/W6qfoxm51HI/AAAAAAAADYE/lbWv6nxxCRYB46GMZ8Gf19IVMqjemUZ8wCLcBGAs/s320/sawmill.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He eased the old
pickup into the driveway, the tires scrunching to a halt on the gravel.
Switching off the ignition he just sat for a moment, his body still feeling the
vibration of the rutted road that led from the lumberyard in town seven miles
up the hill to his farm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He rolled up the
window, pulled the door handle and swung his legs out to the driveway. The
summer breeze felt almost cold against his back where he had sweated through
his shirt. He shoved the door shut and leaned against the truck. Removing his
battered straw hat, he mopped his brow with his sleeve. His thinning hair, damp from the day's work, was molded to his head, and his gold-rimmed glasses were flecked with sawdust and dried sweat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Working at the
sawmill hadn’t been his first choice. A lot about the last few years hadn’t
turned out the way he had hoped.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He thought about the farm.
The old farmhouse they had bought sat in the middle of acres of apple trees.
Fifty yards down from the house the gravel driveway led to the old milk barn,
the weathered corrals, and beyond that, pastureland. He had a small herd of dairy cows, a huge garden, alfalfa fields, but the cash crop was supposed to be apples.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He grew up poor, working on the family farm with seven brothers and
sisters. After high school, he headed for the big city, Denver, and got a job
stoking the furnace of the rooming house where he lived. He went to business
college at night, and finally got a job as a billing clerk for Public Service
Company.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He was smart,
hardworking, and good with people. He was promoted, repeatedly, and within
fifteen years he became the comptroller of the whole company.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">A few years later,
he left Public Service Company to start his own business. He was good at
running a company, and he made money – for himself and for others. He and his
wife and their adopted little boy lived in a large brick home in an
upper-middle class neighborhood in Englewood. It was a good life, but as he
grew older, he began to long for the country, for the farm life of his boyhood.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He sold the
business and gambled everything on a 160-acre farm in Western Colorado. When most men
might have been making plans for retirement, he traded life behind a desk for
the physical challenge of running a farm. Over the course of their ten years on
the farm, he and his wife made a profit only one year. This past fall the apple
harvest was poor, and he needed to find an extra job to stay afloat. So he
drove into town and applied at the sawmill.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16px;">He was fifty-five years old.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t know what
they thought of him. Maybe they wondered what a man his age was doing, asking for
a job that was usually given to teenagers. Pulling green lumber off the saw, or
stacking it six feet high in the yard to season, was heavy work for a
middle-aged man.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But they gave him the
job.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">He was bone-weary,
stiff from the heavy lifting and the hot sun. He still had the milking to do,
and a downed fence to fix. His eyes swept the small yard, the huge cottonwood
that towered over the place, and the little farmhouse where his wife would be
starting to prepare supper and his little boy would be waiting for him. He
could smell the fragrance of roses and lilac, and the hollyhocks and sunflowers
leaned high over the white picket fence. He grinned widely to himself, and with
a little nod of satisfaction, walked to the house.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: blue;"><i>I don’t remember
how long Dad worked at the sawmill. I think it was just to get the family by
until a better harvest came along. It may have been only a year or less. But he
loved to work, and he taught me that there is dignity and blessing in providing
for your family in whatever way you can.</i></span></span>Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-49052925846267609682018-09-21T13:50:00.000-07:002018-09-21T13:50:00.171-07:00Dad and the Murdered Calf<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mRZbaJHJ4j8/W6PHhdQfUKI/AAAAAAAADX4/D9ooqFaQs8wbf7kyrMnGEOUcWWF00BYpQCLcBGAs/s1600/manwalkinginfieldwithgun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="852" height="180" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mRZbaJHJ4j8/W6PHhdQfUKI/AAAAAAAADX4/D9ooqFaQs8wbf7kyrMnGEOUcWWF00BYpQCLcBGAs/s320/manwalkinginfieldwithgun.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Our culture has changed dramatically since I was a boy. One
place I notice change is in parenting. </i><i>Our culture challenges fathers in ways it never challenged me when I was a young dad.
Young men today hear strident voices telling them they are responsible for all of
society’s ills. Toxic masculinity, inherent male chauvinism, clueless gender
roles, are a few of the grenades lobbed their way. I know the young dads today are up to the challenge. </i><i style="font-size: 12pt;">But as I remember my own father, I can't help but think that the current generation might learn a bit from him. So I’ve decided to do
a few blog posts about him. This first one I posted in slightly different form some years
ago</i></span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">. </i></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Western Colorado
in the 50's was, in many ways, still a frontier. A small town might have a part-time
police chief, but out in the hinterland, the ranches and farms that hugged the rising swell of Grand Mesa, disputes and disagreements were settled by the men
involved. Guns were common, and all men knew how to use them. My dad was a man
among men.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our ranch lay on a narrow gravel road that skirted Surface Creek Canyon. Most of the neighboring farmers and ranchers were self-sufficient and self-contained people, but
they were friendly and would certainly lend a helping hand when needed. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The only real exception I can remember was the </span>Dermot <span style="font-size: 12pt;">family. They were sour, unpleasant
people, touchy and arrogant. Frank was tall and dark, with a cadaverous face,
flat, black eyes, and a narrow gash of a mouth that perpetually held a
cigarette butt.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Edith, his wife, was
short, squat, and sullen. Their two sons, Johnny and Ray, were in their early
20's. They were bullies, and little kids like me were justifiably afraid of
them. The community knew, but could not prove, that they were responsible for
periodic acts of vandalism and petty theft.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">My folks invested
two hundred dollars, a small fortune then, to purchase a Brown Swiss heifer, a lovely
animal with large brown eyes and soft, beige and tan coat. She was to be the
future of the small dairy herd Dad was trying to develop. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Only a few weeks after
we brought her home, Dad found her in the pasture adjacent to the </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Dermot </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">place, dead with a bullet-hole in her head. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dad had no doubt
it was Johnny Dermot's<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>doing. I could hear Dad and Mom talking late into the night about this devastating blow to our financial security.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br />
The next day we were driving back from town on the road that passed the Dermot<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>place. We had just passed their turn-off when we saw Johnny walking along the side of the road toward us. Johnny was dressed with all the James Dean arrogance of the fifties: hair greased and sculpted,
cigarette pack rolled up in the sleeve of his white tee-shirt, tight blue
jeans, a lit Chesterfield hanging from his lower lip.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dad slowed and then stopped the
car, rolled down the window, and addressed Johnny as he came even with the car.
He explained that he'd found our heifer shot dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Please be more careful, Johnny, </i>Dad said with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Johnny answered
Dad with a burst of profanity and continued walking past the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remembered being shocked and frightened
that anyone would have the nerve to talk to my father that way. Dad slammed the
car into reverse and rocketed back to stay even with Johnny. He didn't say
anything. He just looked at the kid, and it was an awful look.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">We drove home in
silence.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Dad's jaws was clenched and his
eyes burned like blue flame. Mom was upset, and I, with boyish naivete, was
simply excited to see what would come next. Dad parked the car in our driveway, jammed down the emergency brake, and strode into the house.
Mom and I followed rather timidly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We saw Dad go to
the closet where he kept his guns. He carefully removed his deer rifle, a .270
caliber with a scope. "What are you going to do, Bus?" my mom asked
in a tremulous voice, her eyes wide with fear. "I'm going out to the back
pasture, and if I see that kid back there, I'm going to shoot him in the leg."<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To this day I have
mixed emotions about that afternoon, about seeing my father stride off across the field toward
the back pasture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He walked with an
awful calmness, almost a serenity, the rifle in the crook of his arm, his face
like flint.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I'm still
relieved, grateful, that Johnny </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Dermot </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">stayed out of our south pasture that
afternoon and in the days that followed.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I am absolutely confident Dad would have shot him, just as I am
confident he would have believed it was the right thing to do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">The terrible wrath I saw in my father that day was frightening. It smoldered
in his eyes, like the coals of a hardwood fire. He could have killed that kid.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And, frankly, I'm
proud that I had a father like that, a man whose commitment to his family and
his home meant he would defend it, even violently if need be. Because the same
man who walked into the pasture with a gun on his arm put me to bed at night. I
was never afraid when my father was around.</span></div>
Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-39769342689370340952018-08-26T17:11:00.000-07:002018-08-26T17:11:58.048-07:00Three Habits to Prevent "Out of Sight, Out of Mind"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q2pSNnHnk58/W4M85k0agCI/AAAAAAAADXo/hUoJcGkmcConlNHavbEf-GyRVa2_rTD_ACLcBGAs/s1600/out%2Bof%2Bsight%252C%2Bout%2Bof%2Bmind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q2pSNnHnk58/W4M85k0agCI/AAAAAAAADXo/hUoJcGkmcConlNHavbEf-GyRVa2_rTD_ACLcBGAs/s320/out%2Bof%2Bsight%252C%2Bout%2Bof%2Bmind.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
You’re familiar with the phrase, “out of sight, out of
mind,” right? It summarizes a danger we all face - if friends moves away, will
we just forget them? That does happen.<br />
<br />
Or what about the challenges military families experience
during deployments? If a spouse is going
to be gone for three months, or six months, or longer, how do the families at
home keep those deployed close to their hearts when they’re not present physically? Marriages have been wrecked when out
of sight led to out of mind.<br />
<br />
But the statement “out of sight, out of mind,” is not an
inevitability, but only a danger. I have a dear friend I’ve known for over 40
years. In the last 20 years, he’s been “in sight” exactly three times, for only
a week at a time. But we work hard to stay “in mind” through weekly phone calls
and even more frequent emails and texts.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
We have a number of military families in our church, and
I’ve watched them during difficult deployments still figure out ways to keep
their loved ones near. Thank God for the wonders of texting, emails, and Skype.<br />
<br />
But even more urgent than keeping loved ones close while they’re
physically distant is the challenge for those of us who follow Christ. God
forbid that we succumb to “out of sight, out of mind” concerning our
Savior. It’s a tougher challenge because
so far He’s never been in physical sight.<br />
<br />
We are commanded to keep Him close, “in mind” as well as in
heart. Hebrews 3:1, for example, tells
us to <b>consider Jesus. </b>The Greek word
means <i>to fix your eyes or your mind upon
something, to contemplate.</i> Jesus should occupy the central place in our
thoughts and in our hearts. He should be the most important person in our lives.
He’s our Savior, Lord, Friend and King.<br />
<br />
We simply cannot allow the “out of sight” nature of our
relationship to dull our attention (and thus our obedience) to Jesus. But how
do we fix our minds on someone we cannot see?<br />
<br />
There are probably dozens of creative answers to that
question, but let me suggest three simple habits that will help keep Christ at
the center of our hearts and minds.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>1. Read His word
every day.</b> You cannot contemplate Christ if you don’t read the Bible. If
this isn’t already a habit, start here. Jesus said, “<span style="background: white; color: #001320;">You search the Scriptures because you
think that in them you have eternal life; and <b>it is they that bear witness about me</b>” (John 5:39, my emphasis).
And as you read, keep asking, <i>what does
this teach me about Jesus?</i></span><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>2. Become so familiar
with key scenes from Christ’s ministry that you can “replay” them in your mind.
</b>We all have “videos” in our memories. Some of them may be ugly and harmful.
But many involve sports - I can still see John Elway’s helicopter dive for a
touchdown in Super Bowl XXXII. Or family - Christmas with Zach on screen while
he was in Afghanistan. Or tender moments - when Dionne accepted my proposal of
marriage so long ago.<br />
<br />
Stories of Christ in the Gospels can become so well-known
that you can “watch” them in your mind. Here are three of my favorite scenes
that have helped build my faith and increase my awareness of the presence of
Christ:<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<ul>
<li>Jesus’ healing of the leper in Mark 1:40-45. See this poor man’s desperation, and savor Christ’s kindness, as He not only heals the man, but touches him while doing so.</li>
<li>Jesus’ raising the widow’s son in Luke 7:11-17. Notice how Jesus “just happened” to arrive at the exact moment the young man’s funeral was headed for the tombs, and how He spoke with such compassion to the grieving mother (“Don’t cry”).</li>
<li>Jesus’ calming of the storm at sea, Luke 8:22-25. Look at the fear of the disciples, experienced sailors, and the Savior’s effortless command that quelled the wind and waves.</li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Lord will lead you to many other stories which can be engraved in your memory to strengthen your sense of the nearness and greatness of your Savior.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>3. Tell someone else
how Christ has blessed you. </b>Telling a loved one what Christ means to you,
giving thanks at your small group Bible study about answered prayer, and
sharing the gospel with a neighbor or non-Christian friend are all ways to
demonstrate the reality of the presence of Christ in your life. Of course it’s
our responsibility to do these things, it’s our privilege to speak about the
Lord, but it is also an incredible personal boost to our own faith.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The truth is, Jesus is with us, He’s as near as our next
breath, and He’s at work in our lives. So let’s don’t ever let “out of sight”
become “out of mind.”</div>
Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-62735257615028924602018-08-18T10:44:00.000-07:002018-08-18T10:44:27.608-07:00Impatience and a 40 MPH Speed Limit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-upcmkwAOHP8/W3b60k2s7VI/AAAAAAAADXY/xEYKqS89IvA_pac0L_w4oMGePelSvO8nwCLcBGAs/s1600/impatient%2Bbehind%2Bthe%2Bwheel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="492" height="195" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-upcmkwAOHP8/W3b60k2s7VI/AAAAAAAADXY/xEYKqS89IvA_pac0L_w4oMGePelSvO8nwCLcBGAs/s320/impatient%2Bbehind%2Bthe%2Bwheel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I guess you’d say I’m an impatient person. Sometimes I yell
at the microwave: <i>Come on! One minute –
are you KIDDING me!</i><br />
<br />
I realize this is not one of my finer qualities. I like to
excuse myself by saying, <i>well, I just
want to get things done. I don’t have time to dawdle. </i>(How annoying is
that, with the undercurrent of ugly pride? Okay, you got me.)<br />
<br />
Anyhow I’m trying. I know patience is not only a virtue but
a fruit of the Holy Spirit’s ministry in me. Although some of the spiritual
fruit seem to be developing awfully slowly. (<i>Come ON!</i> Oh, oops…)<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Anyhow, one day I was driving to work. It takes me eight
minutes from my house. That is, if I don’t get stuck behind somebody who feels
that this is their time to meditate, or to take a ride to their
happy place. This particular morning I turned a corner and immediately slowed to a crawl. The
speed limit is 40. But the person in the car ahead of me apparently did not see
the zero.<br />
<br />
I could tell that the driver was an older lady. <i>Okay, someone I’m supposed to respect and
honor. And I guess that goes for every other person, too. Sweet.</i><br />
<br />
In my mind I could see myself pulling over
the double yellow lines, and screeching past her, all the while saying a few
things about how <i>some</i> people have
places to go and things to do. Yes, brothers and sisters, I was tempted.<br />
<br />
But I restrained myself and sank back in my seat. We crept
forward another two feet. I was going to be late for work. We crawled up the
little rise before you can see the church. <i>I
should have just walked to work. I could have passed this lady if I was on crutches.</i> Another few feet forward. Finally I saw the church, and the entrance to the
parking lot. I figured my ETA at about 20 more minutes.<br />
<br />
I rode the brake as we inched down the hill. An iceberg whizzed by, sloths were moon-walking past us, butterflies
streaked by in a blurry line of color. Convoys of turtles zoomed past. One of
the turtles looked back at me and snickered.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Please, dear Lord, help
me keep it together for just a few more feet.</i> I began to imagine finally
hitting the turn lane into the church property and being able to rocket past
the little old lady. One of the sloths was passing us again. Apparently, he had
lapped us by going round the block. We inched forward a little more.<br />
<br />
Down the hill we came. I think I saw some tiny animals,
maybe mice, leisurely crossing the street in front of us. It looked like a
conga line. <i>Help me, Lord.</i><br />
<br />
Suddenly I noticed that the "pace car" in front of me had its
left blinker on. The little old lady was turning into the church. Slowly. (But
you guessed that, right?)<br />
<br />
I turned in, too, still following her.
I parked, and as I got out of the car she was waiting for me and in a cheerful
voice called out, “Good morning, Pastor Jim. How are you today?”<br />
<br />
“Oh, hi, Helen. I didn’t notice
it was you in front of me.”<br />
<br />
Pray for me.Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-11288741433175429922018-08-15T18:26:00.002-07:002018-09-26T09:21:55.609-07:00A New Book<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W5tEnYTxlAA/W2uN4tq0xuI/AAAAAAAADXQ/sID_a1aS9ecmhJKdHakqh2dYVAhFX9eYQCEwYBhgL/s1600/book%2Bcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="328" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W5tEnYTxlAA/W2uN4tq0xuI/AAAAAAAADXQ/sID_a1aS9ecmhJKdHakqh2dYVAhFX9eYQCEwYBhgL/s400/book%2Bcover.jpg" width="262" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Leaning-into-Wind-other-stories/dp/0692142738/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1537978821&sr=8-1&keywords=leaning+into+the+wind+carpenter" target="_blank">I'm happy to announce I have a new book out - Leaning into the Wind - a collection of stories about Jesus and about family, with some humor and a little fiction mixed in.</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>From the back of the book</u>: </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><i>From a birthday paragliding adventure to a meditation on the death of a beloved pet, <u><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Leaning-into-Wind-other-stories/dp/0692142738/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1533847001&sr=8-1&keywords=leaning+into+the+wind+carpenter" target="_blank">Leaning into the Wind</a></u> reflects on the grace of God through all the seasons of life. Steeped in the love of family and a deep reverence for the sovereignty of God, Jim Carpenter tells stories about God's grace shining through our brokenness and pain.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">You will find a laugh or two (<i>Exploding Dog Food, My First
Colonoscopy</i>), some inspiring stories about the greatness of Jesus (<i>Miracles Before Time
Began, How God Healed My Son</i>), and some overall encouragement for your own journey of faith (<i>Don't Pull the Wagon Over Yet, Thanking Yourself Out of a Bad Mood</i>).</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Hope you like it. You can find it on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Leaning-into-Wind-other-stories/dp/0692142738/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1533847001&sr=8-1&keywords=leaning+into+the+wind+carpenter" target="_blank">Amazon</a>. (Just paperback for now, but Kindle's coming.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-82154428042888368612018-07-30T15:17:00.000-07:002018-08-20T23:42:08.252-07:00Don’t Spike the Ball before You Reach the End Zone: A Reflection on Finishing Well<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WcNa1ie_Uu0/W19fUJWEuZI/AAAAAAAADWY/GiXfE0EUD8wu2GLNZ07eQkN_x93VlM5JQCLcBGAs/s1600/spiking%2Bthe%2Bball%2Bearly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="257" data-original-width="480" height="171" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WcNa1ie_Uu0/W19fUJWEuZI/AAAAAAAADWY/GiXfE0EUD8wu2GLNZ07eQkN_x93VlM5JQCLcBGAs/s320/spiking%2Bthe%2Bball%2Bearly.jpg" width="320" /></a>Winning early is not the same as finishing
well. Everyone has a story about some hotshot who wowed his
company/school/coach and then flamed out before ever reaching the finishing
line. The Bible has stories about such people, too.<br />
<br />
I want to learn from those whose early success was marred (or erased) by a
later implosion of professional or personal failure.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Recently my wife and I were reading again the
terrible story of how Israel was torn in two after the death of King Solomon.
Rehoboam, Solomon’s son and successor, was a terrible king. A prideful, foolish
man occupied the throne of his humble grandfather David and his wise father
Solomon. Rehoboam’s hubris rent God’s unified people into two nations, northern
Israel and southern Judah.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">Rehoboam passed his rule to his son Abijah,
who like his father, was an ungodly man and a bad king. And then came Asa, third
king of Judah and first to rule under God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">When you start reading about Asa’s ascension to
the throne, you want to cheer. (Read his story in 2 Chronicles 14-16). You think, f<i>inally, a godly man is on the throne again!</i> He immediately began to steer the kingdom back into
submission to Yahweh. He removed the idolatrous high places from Judah’s
cities, led the nation in a covenant recommitting to worship and obedience of
Yahweh, and even deposed his own mother as queen mother because she worshiped
Asherah.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">The first crisis of Asa’s rule came with the
looming threat of a million-man army from Ethiopia. Though Asa had rebuilt
Judah’s military to respectable proportions, it was dwarfed by this terrible
invading horde. Asa turned to God, humbled himself and asked for God’s
help.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Lord fought the battle for Judah, and
routed the invaders. Then, because he had humbled himself and sought God’s
help, Asa received a prophetic commendation and an exhortation to continue
trusting Him. The Lord rewarded his devotion with peace in Judah for over
thirty years.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">Asa seemed like the perfect king!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">But in the thirty-sixth year of Asa’s reign he
stumbled badly. Faced with another threatening army (but nowhere near the size
of the army that had brought him to his knees decades before), Asa decided to
rely upon his own wisdom and accumulated wealth. He played a triangulation game
by bribing an ally of this immediate enemy. (Pallet loads of cash, you might
say.) That strategy worked after a fashion. The invaders, having lost a key
partner, retreated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">Asa may have forestalled an invasion, but he offended the God of the universe. This time a prophetic
word came to rebuke him for trusting in himself and not in Almighty God. But
instead of repenting, King Asa lashed out at God’s prophet and threw him in
prison. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">Asa ruled for thirty-five years in humble
obedience to the Lord. During that time he was a great, godly king. But the last six years of his reign were
marked by pride, cruelty, and national conflict. When he was struck with a
serious illness, he refused to turn to God, and sought only medical solutions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">Winning early is not the same thing as
finishing well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">No matter what our age, we all ought to
reflect on our life, death, and legacy, and to consider how we might avoid
repeating the last chapters of Asa’s life. Here are a few of my reflections:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN"><o:p> </o:p></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">First, and most obvious, we mustn’t assume
that winning early means finishing well. Don’t spike the ball before you reach
the end zone. The Christian life is a long walk of obedience, and we need
Christ as much each day as we did the moment we first met him. The great Apostle Pa<span style="font-family: inherit;">ul worried about this very thing, and spoke transparently about his need for godly discipline "</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #001320; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified" (1 Corinthians 9:27).</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">Second, we better learn to listen to
criticism. It just might be the voice of God. The need for humility, mid-course
corrections, and repentance does not diminish - it escalates - the longer you
walk with the Lord.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">Third, how thankful we must be for God’s
grace. Even at his death, Scripture portrays Asa as one of the good kings. Judah honored him as a hero. The Lord did not abandon him even when he
took a wrong turn at the end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN">I hope your legacy - and mine - will not be
written like Asa’s but like Paul’s. “I have fought the good fight, I have
finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me
the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to
me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his
appearing” (2 Timothy 4:7, 8).</span></div>
Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-59176192640148153762018-07-15T17:12:00.000-07:002018-07-15T17:16:21.572-07:00Another Reason to Look Forward to Heaven<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UWaLpp2tTUc/W0pF0XougbI/AAAAAAAADVk/fRV6PlGqtB4qfnlAsbdHJfQwcRLZ0Z8zQCLcBGAs/s1600/i%2Bcan%2Bonly%2Bimagine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="403" height="152" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UWaLpp2tTUc/W0pF0XougbI/AAAAAAAADVk/fRV6PlGqtB4qfnlAsbdHJfQwcRLZ0Z8zQCLcBGAs/s320/i%2Bcan%2Bonly%2Bimagine.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
main reason to look forward to heaven is the presence of Christ. When Jesus prayed for "His sheep," He emphasized that the highest blessing the Father could bestow on them is to bring them into His glorious presence forever: </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b>“</b>Father,
I desire that they also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to
see my glory that you have given me because you loved me before the foundation
of the world” (John 17:24).</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyone who truly loves Christ needs no other motivation to long for heaven. Like the Psalmist said, “</span><span lang="EN" style="background: rgb(253 , 254 , 255); font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Whom have I in
heaven but you?” (Psalm 73:25a)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="background: #fdfeff; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yet there are other reasons to look forward to heaven.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span lang="EN" style="background: #fdfeff; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> One of these is this - our loved ones who followed Christ will
be made perfect in heaven. When you love someone for any
length of time, you come<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to see their
faults and bad habits and character flaws. Because you love them, you try to overlook
these. A new bride might say of her husband, “he’s just perfect!” But of course
he’s not, nor is she. Thirty years later, that bride might say, “I
love him even more now than the day we were wed.” But it is doubtful that she
would ever repeat, “he’s just perfect.” Not even close. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="background: #fdfeff; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But heaven completes the sanctification that each of us
begins when we first follow Christ. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="background: #fdfeff; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It's what Romans 8:29 promises: "...he predestined [us] to be
conformed to the image of his Son…" Hebrews 2:10 speaks of “bringing many sons
to glory." It’s what John means when he said, "Beloved, we are God's children
now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears
we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And everyone who thus hopes in him purifies
himself as he is pure" (1 John 3:2, 3).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="background: #fdfeff; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Think what it will be like when you’re again with the
people you loved in this life. In heaven they will still be themselves, with all the unique and precious things you loved about them. But they will also be wondrously glorified in the image of Christ. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="background: #fdfeff; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For that matter, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you’ll
</i>be made perfect. Your fellowship will never again be marred by petty
disagreements, flashes of anger, selfishness, or self-protection. No more
ugly quirks of personality, no more brokenness from a terrible childhood or
from pre-Christian habits. Just an eternity of fellowship with our Jesus, the One we love the most, and with our dear ones, remade in His image.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="background: #fdfeff; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I can only imagine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-91062117351434049972018-07-13T20:45:00.000-07:002018-07-14T00:02:00.780-07:00No Bias in Agent Smirk. His Heart is Pure!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CjPDF27FH78/W0lowd6q73I/AAAAAAAADVc/JitGk9QSFN0Kw_8vmE0Ie89QsoT3LwaWwCEwYBhgL/s1600/testimony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CjPDF27FH78/W0lowd6q73I/AAAAAAAADVc/JitGk9QSFN0Kw_8vmE0Ie89QsoT3LwaWwCEwYBhgL/s320/testimony.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This week
I listened to the testimony of an FBI agent before a Senate Committee. I bet you know
who I’m talking about. Rather than use his actual name (which temptingly rhymes
with words I shouldn’t use), I’ll call him Peter Smirk. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr. Smirk’s bias
for Hillary Clinton and against Donald Trump was on clear display in text
messages he shared with his mistress, another FBI agent. When faced with the
evidence, he - unbelievably - defended himself by proclaiming that he is an
incredible patriot and would never, ever act out of bias.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s another
case of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">who you gonna believe - me or your
lying eyes? </i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Agent Smirk
wants everyone to trust that his inner motivations, attested to by him, should
trump (heh) the abundant evidence that he was acting to elevate one political
candidate and destroy another. <i>The arbiter of truth is my inner world which
only I can see. I will, therefore, simply tell you my truth, and you better
believe it.</i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Wow. Try saying,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I wasn’t really embezzling that money.
The fact that my bank account went up by $100,000, and the store’s bank account
went down by exactly the same amount is not even relevant. I would never, ever
steal money. I'm a good person. And that’s the end of it.</i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Even closer to
home, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I really, really love Jesus, and He
is the Lord of my life. You say I never attend church, never read the Bible,
cheat my customers, and more than once my wife has gone to the ER with broken
bones. That’s just your opinion. My heart tells me I am a true and faithful
Christian and a great husband. How dare you judge me! </i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Scripture has a
different approach than the beleaguered Agent Smirk (or the non-embezzler, or
the “true” Christian). Jesus said “For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder,
adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false witness, slander” (Matthew 15:19). In
other words, the outward actions are the only real evidence of inner truth. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When Christ
warned about false prophets, He said “You will recognize them by their fruits.
Are grapes gathered from thornbushes, or figs from thistles?” (Matthew 7:16).
We can’t read the minds or diagnose the motives. We’re going to have to go with the
fruit - what a person does, what the life actually produces</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“A quick way to
come to wisdom about yourself,” says Andrew Klavan, </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“</span>is to understand this:
you are what you do. You're not your good intentions. You're not your noble
feelings. Your deeds are what make you who you are.” (His entire article is great. Read the whole thing
<a href="https://pjmedia.com/andrewklavan/why-leftists-become-thugs/" target="_blank">here</a>.)</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Bible says
there’s coming a day when what’s really in a person’s heart will be revealed (see 1 Corinthians 4:5). </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Until then someone who writes exoneration reports before actually examining witnesses, who cheats
on his wife and lies about it, who texts his lover and promises to prevent the
election of one candidate over another, well, it's hard not to conclude such a man
is a liar and a cheat and the very epitome of biased. And the smirking of Mr.
Smirk doesn’t help.</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-51315766826219387702018-07-08T20:50:00.000-07:002018-07-08T20:50:53.317-07:00Is Extravagant Worship Simply Wasteful?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7qCZqXE2XsE/W0KneYPPcYI/AAAAAAAADVM/EL6NgVdtHS0PAieI4STPA73sMLYoaYvogCLcBGAs/s1600/alabaster%2Bflask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="537" height="154" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7qCZqXE2XsE/W0KneYPPcYI/AAAAAAAADVM/EL6NgVdtHS0PAieI4STPA73sMLYoaYvogCLcBGAs/s320/alabaster%2Bflask.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Many years ago I saw a documentary about volcanoes. There were plenty of shots of glowing lava moving moltenly and inexorably down the face of the mountain. But the image that has stayed with me was of a very wealthy businessman (I know he was very wealthy because that’s what the narrator said) hurling his super-expensive wrist watch into the lava. The watch thrower, the narrator further explained, did it as an act of worship to honor the god of the volcano.<br />
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(By the way, remember the “Deep Thoughts” of Jack Handey from early SNL:<i> If you ever drop your keys into a river of molten lava, let 'em go, because man, they're gone. </i>So don’t have second thoughts about your Rolex<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">™</span>.)<br />
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Anyhow, I’ve never forgotten that man and the extravagance of his devotion to an idol. <br /><br />I guess that’s the word - extravagance. One online dictionary defines extravagance as<i> an instance of excess or prodigality; specifically: an excessive outlay of money. </i>Extravagance seems to be a flowery way of saying what you did was excessive, too much, way more than necessary.<br />
<br />But I’ve also been thinking about an act of worship in the Gospels that we sometimes describe as extravagant. Remember how Mary, the sister of Lazarus and Martha, “took a pound of expensive ointment made from pure nard, and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume” (John 12:3).<br />
<br />That’s a lot of nard. Nard is extracted from the underground stems of a flowering plant that grows in the Himalayas. The essential oil from those stems was used as a perfume or an ointment. It was extremely costly. Judas, traitor and thief, knew about the price of such things, and groused that the ointment could have been sold for 300 denarii - about a year’s wages (see John 12:5).<br />
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So was Mary’s extravagant act of devotion a little, well, wasteful?<br />
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But you can’t really judge extravagance by the relative cost of the gift. Who’s to say that an outlay of a million dollars is extravagant? If the million dollars purchases medicine for hundreds of children, that’s hardly wasteful/extravagant. But if the million dollars is given to produce a pornographic film, we should conclude the gift was not only wasteful but evil. The extravagance of a gift can only be defined by the object or purpose for which it is given.<br />
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Throwing a Rolex<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">™</span> into the lava is wasteful and foolish, not because of the value of the watch, but because there is no real volcano god. Tossing the watch into the lava was an idolatrous act - like that of the Israelites when they melted their gold and forged a golden calf (see Exodus 32). <br /><br />So back to Mary and the ointment. Jesus is worthy of all praise. One day all of heaven will thunder in worship: "Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!" (Revelation 5:12) Spurgeon says of Mary’s gift, “It was very costly, but it had not cost a penny too much now that it could be used upon <i>him</i>. There was a pound of it, but there was none too much for <i>him</i>. It was very sweet, but none too sweet for <i>him</i>.” <br /><br />The only person who thought Mary’s gesture was wasteful was Judas. And the one who approved of it was Christ Himself (see John 12:7, 8). <br /><br />Jesus deserves and demands extravagant worship. He said we ought to pour out our entire lives to follow Him. “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself?” (Luke 9:23-25). <br /><br />Paul counseled us to give ourselves to the Lord as a “living sacrifice.” He said such extravagance is holy and acceptable to God (see Romans 12:1-2). <br /><br />Devoting everything to worship and serve Jesus will never come close to the extravagant sacrifice He made for us, where He spilled out His blood - not because we were worthy but because He is. Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-56858017610626484982018-05-09T13:54:00.000-07:002018-05-09T13:54:29.151-07:00Why God is Happy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SsImDEcmqOY/WvNcNF6PSWI/AAAAAAAADUU/GVUGEKdLJpUnVw0zM7nq1YiuGCq7WBhCACLcBGAs/s1600/small%2Bgift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="417" data-original-width="626" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SsImDEcmqOY/WvNcNF6PSWI/AAAAAAAADUU/GVUGEKdLJpUnVw0zM7nq1YiuGCq7WBhCACLcBGAs/s320/small%2Bgift.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">God is happy. </span>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Bible gives us ample reason to rejoice that our
God is happy. For example, when Nehemiah encouraged the people of Israel, he
reminded them that “the joy of the Lord” was their strength (Nehemiah 8:10). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When Jesus told the Parable of the Talents, the faithful
servant heard this judgment from the master: <span style="color: blue;">Well done, good and faithful
servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">Enter into the joy of your master </span></i>(Matthew
25:23, my emphasis). The <i>master's </i>joy!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;">Or Jesus Himself said, </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "times new roman", serif;">These things I have spoken to
you, that <b>my joy</b> may be in you, and that your joy may be full </span><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;">(John 15:11). He said it again
in John 17:13: </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: times new roman, serif;">But now I am coming to you, and these things I speak in the
world, that they may have </span><b style="color: blue; font-family: "times new roman", serif;">my joy</b><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span style="color: blue;"> fulfilled in themselves. </span><i>His </i>joy!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Why is God full of joy? Well, because He is God. Father, Son, and Spirit have forever been in a perfect relationship of love and friendship
and joy and intimate communication. The Lord has always been and will always be happy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">That’s the greater truth about God’s happiness – He is
happy because He is God. But recently I had a flash of insight about God’s nature which,
in a very small way, might explain a little about His happiness. That week I bought a
small gift for one of my grandchildren. Not a giant, ostentatious gift, but s
simple one, to remember a special adventure the two of us had shared. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So the next Sunday in church I had the little box in my pocket
during the worship service. I planned to give it to my granddaughter after the
church service. When I walked up to the pulpit to pray and to preach, I was
conscious of the box in my pocket.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I looked over the congregation and enjoyed seeing my
church family, some of whom have been part of my life for 15 years. Seated near
the front were my son and his wife and their four children. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I don’t think my granddaughter knew I had a gift for
her. But I knew, and as I stood
there, sharing God’s word, I had a special feeling of happiness knowing that I
would be giving her a gift I thought she would enjoy, one which would remind
her that her grandfather loved her and was thinking of her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I felt that way all morning, all through the church
service, and especially when I could watch her as I preached.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After church I did give it to her, and she did seem
to like it. She gave me a hug. “Thank you, Papa.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">God knows all the gifts He has for all His children,
and when He’s planning to give them. I
think that’s part of His happiness – knowing what’s in His pockets for each of
us.</span></div>
Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5658942500158412749.post-80354518917984205002018-04-23T21:10:00.000-07:002018-04-23T21:10:46.082-07:00Forgiven<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bopSN6ltE9A/Wt6WJN6pGZI/AAAAAAAADT8/anWz2XZrvg4q6Af4NcDq5y_QRanDADPLACLcBGAs/s1600/nailedtothecross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="1072" height="212" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bopSN6ltE9A/Wt6WJN6pGZI/AAAAAAAADT8/anWz2XZrvg4q6Af4NcDq5y_QRanDADPLACLcBGAs/s320/nailedtothecross.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One of the best questions I’ve ever
heard was asked by a father ashamed of his sons.</span>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The father was the Old Testament judge
Eli, and he was ashamed because his two grown sons were corrupt and ungodly men
who misused their privilege as priests for their own gain and carnal pleasure.
So Eli asked them this question:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“If someone sins against a man, God will
mediate for him, but<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> if someone sins
against the Lord, who can intercede for him?” (</b>1 Samuel 2:25a, my emphasis)</span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He stated so concisely the dilemma that
all sinners face. How can we be right with a holy God, given the fact that all
sin is an affront to Him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The book of
Hebrews focuses on answering that question in considerable detail.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The answer begins to appear in the first
few verses of the first chapter. So far we have looked at five of seven
wonderful descriptions: Christ is <a href="http://admiringchrist.blogspot.com/2018/02/heir-of-all-things.html" target="_blank">Heir of All Things</a>, <a href="http://admiringchrist.blogspot.com/2018/02/maker-of-redwoods.html" target="_blank">the Creator</a>, <a href="http://admiringchrist.blogspot.com/2018/02/staring-directly-at-sun.html" target="_blank">the Radiance of God’s glory</a>, <a href="http://admiringchrist.blogspot.com/2018/03/just-janitor.html" target="_blank">fully Go</a>d, and <a href="http://admiringchrist.blogspot.com/2018/03/where-are-you.html" target="_blank">the one who upholds the universe</a>. The sixth
description summarizes the answer to Eli’s question: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">HE CLEANSED US FROM OUR SINS.</b><span style="color: blue;"> After making
purification for sins, </span>is the way it’s written in v. 3<span style="color: blue;">.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hebrews describes what Jesus did in Old
Testament terms – in the language of high priests and blood sacrifices and a
portable worship center called a tabernacle. The old covenant demanded ongoing
sacrifices, millions of them. The priests literally never sat down - their
sacrificial duties were never done. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why? Because all those sacrifices only
“covered over” sins; they never actually took them away. <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">For it is impossible for the blood of bulls
and goats to take away sins</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: blue;"> (</span></b><span style="color: blue;">Hebrews 10:4). </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But Hebrews constantly reminds us that
this old system was always pointing to something better, to something that
would actually work. A blood sacrifice was coming that would actually cleanse
from sin, would finally and forever answer Eli’s question: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">if someone sins against the Lord, who can intercede for him? </i>Answer:
Only God Himself can do it. But that can happen
only if God becomes man and pays the penalty Himself.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hebrews exalts the supremacy of Christ
whose all-sufficient sacrifice cleansed His people from their sins. His
substitutionary atonement is expressed in a variety of ways.</span></div>
<ul>
<li><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He turned away God's wrath for our sins (2:17).</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He shed His own blood for our sins (9:12,22).</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He offered His body for our sins (10:10). </span></li>
<li><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He redeemed us by His death for our transgressions (9:15).</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He put our sins away so that God remembers them no more (8:12; 10:17).</span></li>
<li><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He satisfied God's justice forever (7:27; 9:12, 26; 10:10, 14).</span></li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> This is the truth that sets us free. And
if the Son sets you free, you’ll be free indeed. </span></div>
Jim Carpenterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12620904738076465335noreply@blogger.com