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My dad is fighting his second battle with cancer. This is a struggle that has been going on for years. There is no easy way to cheer on a loved one through this diffcult journey.
Years ago his medical check up revealed elevated PSA readings. Further tests led to a treatment regimen to battle his first encounter with cancer. Both chemotherapy and radiation were utilized.
Over time both treatments were “successful.” Our whole family breathed a sigh of relief. Had we beaten cancer?
On a regular scedule my dad went in for check ups. Each time the results were encouraging. He seemed to be cancer free.
With each successive good report we all began to relax a little more. It wasn’t being careless with our feelings, but the respite of concern was a boon for us all. Unfortunately, that rest came to an end last year.
Spots appeared on the test pictures of a scan. Cancer had come back. This time it was in my dad’s bones.
For months now, the frequent tests and treatments have been showing little success. Spots are growing darker and larger. Conversations with the medical personnel are becoming more and more professional.
I travelled across the country to spend some time with my dad. He is uncomfortable. For all of the years that I have known him he was NEVER a complainer. So to hear him express his personal discomfort means that he is seriously hurting.
He is wearing a chest brace to give him some relief. In the middle of his routine pain there were flashes of smiles and quiet laughter. After an early morning fishing trip, I brought home the first Brown Trout that I have ever caught in my life.
The thrill of that special moment was one that brought a smile to my dad’s face. He helped set up the display for the necessary pictures. My dad of very few words were, “You’ll have to move back here and repeat this just to prove that it wasn’t an accident.” Those words were the best invitation to come home that my dad could have ever spoken.
Since those special days my brothers and sister and I have been keeping up with each other by email. The latest medical tests on my dad are covered in detail. The battle rages. Cancer is an ugly word. There is nothing redeeming about it.
photo credit: Bruce Fong Photography
Billy was like the rest of us. He didn’t particularly stand out with great qualities or bad. But, Billy knew how to periodically change his class standing and raise his popularity.
One day he came to school with a fancy yo-yo. He did a few tricks during recess while we all stared in awe. Of course everyone wanted a try and Billy let us each have our turn.
Then, he told us that his uncle worked for the company that made these yo-yo’s. Our eyes bulged and mouths gaped. There was a clamoring by these eager youngsters to ask for a free yo-yo. They never came.
Another time, Billy was telling us about one of his relatives who worked at a meat factory. He grossed us out with tales of butchering, blood and guts. The guys loved it and the girls squealed in horror. That’s when Billy suggested that he could bring enough cow eyeballs for us to dissect during the science lab. We all shouted in unison that that would be so cool! We never saw any eyes.
After a while, Billy seemed to be by himself a lot. The kids never believed him any more. There were a lot of promises that were never fulfilled.
When the kids thought they could get something from Billy they gave him a lot of attention. He was the favorite on the playground. Everyone wanted to be around him. It wasn’t really his fault as much as it was all of us. We were all being selfish.
If I close my eyes and think back on those playground moments, I can still hear us calling out to Billy placing our orders for whatever he was promising. Maybe that lesson long ago is still the same for adults today. Whenever we play favorites it shows our own faults.
A selfish heart will attempt to garner favor with potential benefactors. Greed is a part of the sinful human heart. It certainly has nothing to do with righteousness.
James simply and boldly forbids us from showing favoritism. He is still in the mode to describing true righteousness. Favortism is not an expression of a righteous heart. That extra attention afforded to people with apparent wealth has a tug on our self-serving desires. We should treat all people with equality. Our investment into their lives should reflect our desire to share with them the love of Jesus Christ.
James 2:1-4
photo credit: Google image
A personal library is a long look into the life of the person who put those volumes together. It is a portrait of that person’s heart. When the book titles are reviewed, you can see the parts that make up the soul of the collector.
For the last several days I have been consolidating my “stuff.” Getting ready for a physical move makes the parrying down of possession sensible. I took a long look at the hundreds of volumes of books that I have amassed over forty years of ministry.
Separating myself from my books was a long and hard decision. But, I did not procrastinate. Once the decision was made I acted upon it.
I set up two long tables to help me do the unloading. Then, I put a door on two saw horses for added space. A smaller table became my sorting of boxes of books.
Some of my books that I was handling for the last time made me laugh. Charles Schultz and his Peanuts creation has a volume or two in my library. Some of my books were gifts from friends long ago. Many of these volumes helped me through Bible College, Seminary, my first time as an Assistant Pastor, my first time as a Sr. Pastor, my time as a Professor, as a Seminary President, and through the discovery of many sermons delivered all around the world.
If I wasn’t going to read the book again I stacked it up on the sorting table. The few that I kept in my study library I set aside. It was a more difficult time than I had expected.
Ken came to collect the books for the Michigan Theological Seminary Library. He asked me if it was hard to come to this decision. I gave the polictically correct answer. He could see through my words. We both know the value of a personal library in our calling in life.
To part with our library as a minister is like a carpenter giving away his tools. Or it may be like a biker handing the keys of his motor to another. Or it is like a lifetime cowboy, riding shotgun in his son’s pickup, watching his faithful steed in another man’s corral growing smaller in the rearview mirror.
This was a good decision. Many new leaders will learn from these pages as I have learned. But, it was still a very tough farewell.
My computer blinked with the announcement that I had email waiting to be read. The business mail was easy to spot. I sorted through those in my mind. It is like communication triage.
My determination to set those items up for attention was motivated by the other messages on my screen. Names of good friends were attached to messages waiting to be read. These notices made me sit up and beam.
One of my friends always brings me a smile. He has the gift of cheer. That’s how I always feel when I hear from him. When I clicked on his email, I was again left buoyed by his spirit. His simple words emerge out of cyberspace into real life.
My cellphone vibrated. Several text messages were waiting. I scrolled through the messages. Again there were business calls to return. I prioritized them. But, I was looking forward to reading the message from a special friend, a true friend. My voice mail played a message of encouragement. Hearing those words of faith and trust gave me hope.
Later on my cellphone rang. Another friend was on the line. We we talk, catch-up and laugh heartily.
The clock reminds me that it is time to leave the house. Four fun friends are waiting for me to join them for dinner. When my wife and I arrive, the cheer begins and never ends. Six of us laugh and dream. When encourage each other through the major changes that God has brought into our lives.
Then, there is so many who send an email, post a letter, leave voice mail, spend time with me, do favors, or just sit with us at church. One friend said that he is my friend not because of title or position but just because he enjoys me as a friend. Another told me that she still trusts me no matter what. Both friends touched me deeply.
My Oregon friends have a treasured place in my heart. They have taught me what true friends are. I have been blessed with tremendous friends.
So many of them have taught me to reach out to others. For some it is a text message conversation. With others we send out a lengthy email. Then, there are spirited telephone calls. Facebook sharing or a tweet also add sparkle to my days. Friends, true friends, are ond of God’s greatest blessings to us.
photo credit: Google image
As a youngster I used to wonder when a person is assigned a title. When friends came to school dressed in their Little League uniforms, I was envious. They are baseball players.
During the preparation for years of Christmas programs friends would decline invitations to “hang out” because they had rehearsals to attend. Many of my friends played instruments or sang. Clearly they are musicians.
Other friends were also busy during specific times during the year. They excitedly were memorizing lines, rehearsing for a play, and dressing in elaborate costumes. These friends are thespians.
For a special group of friends there were no uniforms. But, quietly they amazingly discovered and transformed life for the rest of us. They were the chess players, math wizards, and academic honor winners. From this special group of friends emerged some of our countries top scientists.
While I dabbled a little in all of these fields, I never donned the moniker of any one of them. But, I have admired them all at one time or another. The application of a title on someone because what they do is special.
One title that I do wear and work hard at honoring is “Christian.” I want to be known as a follower of Christ. But, even more important to me is to be an asset to His name.
But, wanting a title is not a matter of self-proclamation. We must fulfill the criteria. If standards are required, then, those have to be met.
James describes Christianity as “true religion.” He identifies three standards. One is that those who practice true religion keep a tight control over what they say. Words that do harm is not true religion.
Second, James says true religion cares for the widows and orphans. Women who are without their husbands and children without their fathers deserve help. Practical care for the needy is honoring to the Lord.
Third, while Christians must live in the world, they intentionally are not of the world. Instead, there is discernment that marks them. We properly display the name of Christ when we live lives that match God’s righteousness.
Christians should live an active faith. We should express true religion by controlling our tongues, caring for the widows and orphans, and living lives unpolluted by the world. This triple threat of true religion is how to have an eternal impact on this world for the Lord.
James 1:26-27
photo credit: Bruce Fong Photography
Ow! That really hurts. I was lying on my back. Pain was shooting through my right ankle. At least my brother-in-laws fishing rod was not damaged. Of course, my first brown trout was still with me too. But, I was wondering if the pain was temporary or if I had a major injury.
I knew that I would be able to get out of the wilderness. It was only 9 AM. My brother-in-law was near. His vehicle was well within reach. But, I was seriously hurting.
My favorite kind of fishing is following a stream to catch the elusive trout. Reading the water and locating hiding spots for leery fish is a challenge. Surrounded by the beautiful terrain of mountains, forests, meadows is awe inspiring. But, I was locked on to my mission: fish.
The morning had started with fishing for Rainbow trout in a small river. I was fishing under a bridge when a horde of other fishermen showed up. A tranquil morning turned into “combat fishing”. These guys were so close that I had to practice short casting. It was time to leave and find some solitude.
I hiked down stream. It lead me through a meadow that was peaceful and inviting. Habitat for fish seemed endless. Many casts were ignored by fish living in the stream. But, then, the line pull taut. My rod tip was dramatically bent over and the pulsating of a fighting fish shot adrenalin through my body.
Landing that trout gave me great satisfaction. I strung it up on a branch that was lying in the grass. That’s when I went in search of my brother-in-law to show him my catch.
Shortly after that I was walking along the banks of the river. The ground gave way to a decline hidden by the tall wet grass. An excruciating pain screamed in my twisted right ankle. I went down hard on the ground.
For the next several days I limped around. I’m moving better but having a bad wheel sure put a damper on all of my vacation adventures. My family went Bouldering, ATVing, shopping, walking, and Rock Climbing without me.
I did get a lot of reading done. There was more time to pray. For long hours I gazed out of the cabin window. The pain has subsided but the pause is staying around a little longer. Maybe it’s God’s mysterious way to make me rest.
photo credit: Google image
The fourth of July is quickly approaching. I’m in a resort town, staying with family in a cabin for a week of vacation. This entire community is gearing up for this holiday.
Merchants are looking forward to tourists filling the streets of this beautiful mountain town. The locals say that the fireworks shows should be spectacular. Neighbors here are quick to share a pleasant conversation just to get acquainted.
While our country is facing one of its worst historical chapters, there still is something about America that makes us citizens proud. “Proud to be an American” are great lyrics. It makes our hearts well up with patriotism.
People around town are putting up American flags in countless numbers. Fence rails and awnings are decked with red, white and blue banners. Stores are thematically sporting everything in the best known color combination in our nation.
I jumped in on the festivities. A special sale on patriotic T-shirts caught my eye. One is olive green with the letters USA emblazened on the front. The letters are cut out of camoflauge material.
This shirt appealed to me because of the added slogan. It’s a phrase from the National Anthem. Our nation knows that freedom is not free but enjoys that liberty because our country is “the home of the brave.”
As I enjoy this vacation home I am meeting so many people that make up America. There are those who are struggling to make an honest dollar at selling their wares at an Arts & Crafts fair. High Schoolers are doing a summer job slinging hash at a local breakfast eatery.
Then, there is the man who served us our lunch today, excited that he had been promoted from sweeping the floors to now serving what people have ordered. His cheer and good-natured teasing brought smiles to patrons of the burger joint. His smile was delightful and so much of what America is about.
When the word from Washington is only about sacrifice and the headlines in the papers only report bad news, we can find respite in the lives of the American people. Individuals who work hard, spread a word of cheer, and give courtesy to their fellow Americans are worth hoping in while our world is aching.
God Bless America! You are the home of the brave. You are our home and we are glad to be here!
photo credit: Bruce Fong Photography
Hillsboro, Oregon is a special location for a group of musicians. It is the home of the Rodger’s Organ Company. Years ago I visited this amazing facility.
In the Rodger’s factory, artisans construct every organ from the ground up. In a matter of weeks a console is contructed and fitted with the finest electonic components. Miles of cables, multiple speakers, and stops are combined to give a single musician access to thousands of voices.
Fond memories of the dedicatory concert of our Rodger’s Church organ are a part of my past. The organ was dubbed the King of instruments for a reason. When a trained musician applies hands and feet to this instrument, audiences are transported into another world.
This past week I sat in on another Rodger’s organ concert. It was held at the Mt. Hermon Camp and Conference Center near Santa Cruz, California. Dave Talbot is the resident keyboard extraodinaire.
When Dave climbed on to the Rodger’s bench, it reminded me of a jetfighter pilot climbing into the cockpit of an F-14 Tomcat supersonic carrier warplane. The picture of the four ranks of keyboards, over one hundred stops, glistening chromed pedal presets would intimidate the uninitiated. But, for a well-rehearsed master of the keys, it is familiar territory.
The music was layered and layered and volumously presented. Dave’s choice of a composition blended tradition classical styling with modern harmonies and intricate melodies. We were raptured into the world of music.
We gave a standing ovation. Dave’s smile warmly climaxed the evening performance. I love it when the deep pedal sounds crescendo and the low notes reverberate the floor.
I am not nearly as well trained in music as a professional who makes a living with sound. Nor am I gifted to natural combine, compose, and improvise the black notes on a musical score. But, I am a big fan.
I do not just appreciate good music. Rather, I passionately love it. Furthermore, I deeply respect the artists who dedicate their entire lives to hours of practice, countless dollars for lessons, and devoted concentrations of time delivered in concerts for the benefit of people like me.
To all of my musician friends, thank you! I applaud your love for your craft and your dedicate to advance your skills. As you play for the Creator of sound and music, may you be blessed for blessing all of us.
photo credit: Google image
Two elementary school boys were having an argument on the school playground. In their heated exchange there was no immediate resolution. That led to them getting personal.
One of the boys challenged to other in colorful language and with a cocky attitude, “I’ll bet you a dollar that I can tell you what you had for breakfast this morning.”
To that the other boy cinched up his pants and countered with unbridled defiance, “I bet that you can’t.”
Laughing with glee the challenger announced, “You owe me a dollar! You had eggs for breakfast. The egg yoke is all dried up around you mouth.”
Now, it was the other boy’s turn as he retorted with equal enthusiasm, “Ha! You owe me a dollar. I had eggs yesterday!”
Of course the boy with the face encrusted with two-day old egg yolk had seen what the mirror had told him at least sometime that day. The fact that he did nothing to clean his face makes us all a little queasy. For most of us the mirror tells us what needs to be fixed and then we go about fixing it.
Normal habits of hygiene come into mind with this story. These are habits that we all find natural and lessons that we teach our children. When we find children who are not familiar with these basics in life we automatically inform them.
This standard of cleanliness is what James is assuming every generation understands when they read his epistle. The parallel is someone who listens to God’s Word will be exposed to necessary changes in their life. Just as looking in a mirror identifies what needs to be washed, so our exposure to the Bible reveals areas in our life that spiritually need to be cleansed.
If we hear and understand God’s Word but go away and do nothing about it, then we are doing the same thing as seeing in a mirror dried up egg yolk on our face but refusing to do anything about it. The combination of having the knowledge that God’s Word brings but refusing to comply is a travesty that the Bible judges harshly.
God presses the point home. If we apply what we have learned in the Scriptures we will be blessed. Our actions to change and step into a life in pursuit of righteousness will result in a happy and fulfilling life. That’s His promise to us.
James 1.22-25
photo credit: Bruce Fong Photography
My brisk walk through the California Redwoods was a welcome immersion into the soft sounds of silence. The old growth Redwoods have showered the forest floor with coushioned foilage for years. It takes away any noise from clomping shoes.
It was early by Pacific Coast standards but well into the day by Eastern Time. My body is still three hours ahead of the locals here on the Left Coast. When the sunlight gave enough illumination to see where I was walking, I donned my New Balance shoes, slipped on my sweat shirt, grabbed my keys and I was off to let God’s refreshing creation have me for the next hour.
I had to traverse man-made asphalt-covered streets, dodge cars speeding along the highway, and hop over railroad tracks to enter the Redwood forest. But, the middle mile of a four mile journey was well worth the effort.
Towering old growth Redwoods was my arena for a quick stroll. Giant trees with their characteristic red color bark and arrow-straight trunks shot skyward. Over 200 feet high these spires branch out to form their own unique eco-system high above the forest floor.
I padded along the trail yard after yard. There was nothing that filled the air but a fresh breeze and chirping birds. It was still early and no other human beings were sharing the park with me. That’s why it was odd to hear the distinct sound of crunching branches, rustling leaves and pulling twigs.
I looked behind me to see if someone was following. There was nothing but an empty trail in my view. My curiosity grew because I knew that I was hearing something walking in the woods with me.
Before I could mentally answer the riddle forming in my mind, I swiftly came to a stop. Freezing in a motionless form, I smiled and gazed at the graceful form of a blacktail doe feeding on the tender leaves of a bush just 30 yards off of the walking trail. She was oblivious to any threat from me, because there was none to be had.
Moving only my eyes I scanned the woods for what I was certain to also be there. It took a few moments but my certainty was confirmed when a spotted fawn stepped out from behind a collection of fallen logs. It pranced after mom without even a glance toward me, a stranger in his woods.
photo credit: Bruce Fong Photography
