Pilot

Pilot - Audio/Visual

Pilot

The floods have risen up, O Lord. The floods have roared like thunder; the floods have lifted their pounding waves. But mightier than the violent raging of the seas, mightier than the breakers on the shore — the Lord above is mightier than these! (Psalm 93:4-5)

When I was teenager, I had a chance to join my dad on his company’s corporate jet bound for Corcoran, California. At the time, my dad worked for a company that grew and milled cotton in California's San Joaquin Valley. To this day, the company remains the country's largest producer of cotton. But on this particular day I wasn’t just a passenger, I was the co-pilot – seated alongside Dick Gillespie, the company’s long-time, full-time pilot.

He was standing at the cockpit entrance, greeting the corporate executives with whom I was privileged to fly that day. "Welcome aboard, Randy." I looked up and there was Mr. Gillespie. He was the Methuselah of the airways; he’d been flying forever. He was a decorated World War II pilot, and had logged thousands of flying hours. Dick was a great pilot. I knew that because my dad had told me so.

We chatted for a few minutes, and then I went to my seat with a sense of assurance – the co-pilot’s seat. What more could I ask? I thought. The pilot is experienced and proven, and I’m seated right next to him; I’m in very good hands. And that knowledge came in handy because about thirty minutes into the flight we hit a wall of winds. The executives gasped, dentures rattled, and Dick told us to check our seat belts and rosary beads. I've had smoother roller coaster rides. Unlike the other passengers, however, I stayed calm. I didn't have a death wish, but I had an advantage. I knew the pilot. I knew Dick, and I was seated right next to him. I knew his heart and trusted his skill. Dick can handle this, I told myself. The storm was bad, but the pilot was good. So as much as a teenaged co-pilot could relax, I did.

It's a stormy world out there. Every day brings turbulence. Moody economy; aging bodies; declining job market; increasing street violence; natural disasters. The question during these troubling times is this: Do we have a good pilot? The resounding response of the Bible is, “Yes.” “You are good, LORD.” (Ps. 25:7) “Good and upright is the LORD.” (Ps. 25:8) “You, Lord, are forgiving and good. (Ps. 86:5) God is good – good in skill and good in heart.

Most people suffer from small thoughts about God. In an effort to see him as our friend, we have lost his immensity. In our desire to understand him, we have sought to contain him. But the God of the Bible can’t be contained. He brought order out of chaos; he created creation. With a word he called Adam out of dust, and Eve out of a bone. He didn’t consult a committee, or seek independent counsel. He has no peer. "I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me." (Isa. 46:9)

Alexander the Great is a mound of dust in a tomb. The queen of England is called Her Majesty, but she has to eat and bathe and rest. The True Majesty, on the other hand, is never hungry. He never sleeps. He has never needed attention or assistance. From the tiniest microbe to the mightiest mountain, "he sustains everything by the mighty power of his command." (Heb. 1:3) He has authority over the world and . . . he has authority over your world.

Your sleep patterns. Your eating habits. Your salary. The traffic of your commute. The arthritis in your joints. God reigns over all of these. He's never surprised, and he has never, ever uttered the phrase "How’d that happen?" God's power is unsurpassed, and his heart is unblemished. "There’s nothing deceitful in God, nothing two-faced, nothing fickle." (James 1:17) No hidden agenda. No selfish motive. He loves with a good love and forgives with a good forgiveness. Good as in "beautiful, best, bountiful."

God's goodness is a major headline in the Bible, and I think I know why. If God were only mighty, we’d salute him. But since he’s merciful and mighty, we can approach him. No wonder the psalmist invited, "Taste and see that the LORD is good." (Ps. 34:8) A glimpse of God's goodness changes us. God's unrivaled goodness undergirds everything else we can say about prayer. Because if he’s like us, but only slightly stronger, then why pray? If he grows weary, then why bother? If he has limitations, questions and hesitations, then you might as well pray to the Wizard of Oz. However, if God is at once Father and Creator, holy – unlike us – and high above us, then we at any point are only a prayer away from help.

When I was my mid-twenties, I purchased a restored 1968 MGB from a friend. It was a beautiful car – not very practical for a young family, but my friend made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Candy apple red. Chrome spoke rims. Black tonneau cover. Four-speed transmission and dual carburetors on that four-cylinder English beast of an engine. It replaced the pickup truck I’d inherited from my folks.

I remember my friend handing me the keys. "You have to keep gas in the tank," he advised. "I know." "Air in the tires." "I know." "Can you change the oil?" "Of course I can," I lied. Truth be told, I didn't know the difference between a manifold and a windshield wiper. My friend, on the other hand, was a professional, and he made a hobby out of restoring cars. He worked on machines like Monet worked with watercolors. He tried to teach me, and I tried to learn, but when it came to machines, my brain was like Teflon. Nothing stuck, but I wasn't about to tell that to my friend.

As life would have it, my ineptitude surfaced one Saturday. My friend reminded me that it was probably time to change the oil in the MG and volunteered to help. "Do you know how to do it?" "Yes," I answered. "You want me to help you?" I should have said yes. I spent an hour under the car looking for the oil pan, and another hour wrestling with the plug. I finally removed it, drained the oil, crawled out, and poured in five new quarts. Finished at last. Or so I thought. During my misadventure, and perhaps sensing that I was mechanically challenged, my friend had come over and was waiting for me. "All done?" "All done." "You sure?" "Yessir." "Then what is that?" He pointed to a river of oil running down the asphalt – clean oil. I'd forgotten to replace the plug in the oil pan. "We need to talk," he said.

My friend then walked me over to his truck. He opened the side panel and showed me tray upon tray of tools. He began to describe the purpose of each. "I use this one to remove oil filters, this one to tighten clamps, this one to attach hoses, this one to . . . " He took me tool by tool through his truck. And after what seemed like an hour of show-and-tell, he closed the cabinet, locked it and then looked me straight in the eye. "Randy," he said, "I fix and restore things as a hobby. What’s hard for you is simple to me. I may not be good at everything, but I am good with cars. Let me help you. Cars are my passion. And, besides, I'm your friend." I never spilled another drop of oil.

Here’s what I think: our toughest challenges are simple oil changes to God. And here’s what else I think: a lot of us make unnecessary messes. But we can change that. Here’s how.

It's a Monday morning. The alarm clock lives up to its name. Clang! Clang! Clang! You groan, roll over and sit up. In the old days you would have made the coffee, turned on the news and begun your day with a briefing on the toxic problems in our world. But today you turn to prayer – a simple prayer. Still half asleep, you take your coffee and you lumber toward a chair and take a seat. You don't look like much: face pillow creased, hair smashed. No matter. You haven't come to look at you. You’ve come to look at God.

Father, Daddy, Abba . . . . The words come slowly at first. But you stick with it. You are good. Your heart is good. Your ways are right . . . The words stir you. Something within begins to awaken. The weather is bad, the economy is bad, but God … you’re awesome. And don't underestimate the power of that moment. You just opened the door to God and welcomed truth to enter your heart. Faith snuck in while despair was dozing. And who knows? You might even start to worship. Right there. In your chair. Morning breath and all. God doesn’t care what you look like, or even small like for that matter. He’s a lot more interested in your heart.

Is your world different because you prayed? In one sense, no. Wars still rage, traffic still clogs, heartbreakers and natural disasters still stalk the planet. But you’re different. You have peace. You've spent time with the Pilot. And the Pilot is up to the task.

Mr. Gillespie, as it turns out, got us through the storm that day just fine. He landed the plane and stood in the cockpit door as we exited the flight. "Got a little choppy there, Mr. Gillespie," I said as I was leaving my co-pilot’s seat. "Yeah," he agreed, “and you can call me Dick. Were you scared, Randy?" "No, not really," I replied. "Everything changes when you know the pilot. And better yet, I was sitting there right next to him, and now I have the privilege of calling him by his first name."

Grace,

 Randy

Daddy

Daddy - Audio/Visual

Daddy

And when you come before God, don’t turn that into a theatrical production either. All these people making a regular show out of their prayers, hoping for stardom! Do you think God sits in a box seat? Here’s what I want you to do: Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace. The world is full of so-called prayer warriors who are prayer-ignorant. They’re full of formulas and programs and advice, peddling techniques for getting what you want from God. Don’t fall for that nonsense. This is your Father you’re dealing with, and he knows better than you what you need. With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply. (Matt. 6:5-8; MSG)

When my oldest daughter was eight years old, she flubbed a wide-open goal on the pitch. She went on to become a terrific high school soccer player – was even offered a scholarship to play at a Southern California college. But everyone has an off day. She just happened to have hers in front of family, friends and onlookers – at a soccer tournament. Her performance started well; she dribbled and deked up the field like Mia Hamm. But just prior to taking her shot on goal, her efforts took a header and she missed right at what was, essentially, a wide-open goal. I can still see her staring straight ahead, eyes betrayed by what a right foot that had trained for thousands of hours knew how to do.

The silence in the stadium was broken only by the pounding of my heart. “That’s alright, Punkin’; it can happen to anyone,” I said to myself. But the damage had been done. She looked at her coach, chin quivering and eyes tearing. The audience offered compassionate applause. She stayed in the game, but her heart just wasn’t in it. By the end of the game, I’d left my seat and met her on the sidelines. She threw her arms around me and buried her face in my shirt. "Oh, Dad." I picked her up and bear-hugged her with affection. If a hug could have extracted embarrassment, that one would have. At that moment I would have given her the moon. And all she said was, "Oh, Dad." Prayer starts there.

Prayer begins with an honest, heartfelt "Oh, Daddy." Jesus taught us to begin our prayers by saying, "Our Father in heaven." (Matt. 6:9) More specifically, to begin with our "Abba in heaven." Abba is an intimate, tender, folksy term and is the warmest of Aramaic words for "father." It is formality stripped away, and proximity promised. Jesus invites us to approach God the way a child approaches his or her daddy. And how do children approach their daddies? Well, I went to a local school playground recently to find out. And when I arrived, I found a spot on the bench under a tree and took a few notes.

Most of the kids were picked up by their moms that day, but there were enough dads who had carpool duty for me to complete my research. When a five-year-old boy with a Superman backpack spotted his father in the parking lot, he shouted "Yippee!" "Ice creeeeaaaam!" said another, apparently referring to a promise made by the dad to his red-headed daughter. "Pops! Over here! Push me!" yelled a boy wearing a Padres cap. I heard requests, like "Daddy, can Tommy come home with me? His mom is on a trip, and he doesn't want to hang out with his big sister because she won't let him watch TV and makes him eat . . . ." His mouth was like a busted fire hydrant – the words just didn’t stop. I also heard questions like, "Are we going home?" And I heard excitement, too, "Dad! Look at what I did!"

Here's what I didn't hear: "Father, it is most gracious of thee to drive thy car to my place of education and provide me with domestic transportation. Please accept my deepest gratitude for your benevolence. For thou art splendid in thy attentive care and diligent in thy dedication." I didn’t hear that. I didn't hear formality or impressive vocabulary. I heard kids who were happy to see their dads and eager to talk. God invites us to approach him in the same way. And that’s a big relief, because I think a lot of us fear “mis-praying.”

For instance, what is the expected etiquette and dress code of prayer? What if I kneel instead of stand? What if I say the wrong words, or use the wrong tone? Am I apostate if I say "prostate" instead of "prostrate"? Jesus' answer? "Unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven." (Matt. 18:3) We are to become like little children – carefree; joy-filled; playful; trusting; curious, and excited. Forget greatness; seek littleness. Trust more, and strut less. Make lots of requests, and accept all the gifts. Come to God the way a child comes to his or her dad.

Daddy. The very word takes aim at our pride. Other salutations permit an air of sophistication. You know, deepen the tone of voice, and pause for dramatic effect. "O holy Lord . . . ." I allow the words to reverberate throughout the universe as I, the pontiff of petition, pontificate my prayer. "God, you are my King, and I am your prince." “You are the Maestro, and I am your minstrel." "You are the President, and I am your ambassador." But God prefers this greeting: "God, you’re my Daddy, and I’m your child." And here's why: it's hard to call God “Daddy” and show off all at the same time. In fact, it’s impossible.

And maybe that’s the point. Elsewhere, Jesus gives this instruction: "And when you come before God, don’t turn that into a theatrical production either. All these people making a regular show out of their prayers, hoping for stardom! Do you think God sits in a box seat?" (Matt. 6:5) Religious leaders loved (and still love) to make theater out of their prayers. They perched themselves at intersections and practiced public piety. Their show nauseated Jesus. "Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace." (Matt. 6:6)

These words probably stunned Jesus' audience. Prayer, they likely assumed, was reserved for special people in a special place. God met with the priest in the temple, behind the curtain in the Holy of Holies. The people, on the other hand, were simple farmers and craftsmen. Folks of the land and the earth. They couldn't enter the temple. But they could enter their closets – “But you, when you pray, enter your closet, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in secret.” (Vs. 6; MEV)

In the Palestinian culture of Jesus’ time, the room most likely to have a door was the storage closet. It held tools, seed and farming supplies. A chicken might even wander in occasionally. There was nothing holy about the closet. It was the day-to-day workroom of its time. For instance, my closet doesn’t have any fancy fixtures or impressive furniture. It has a cubby for my shoes (used on a hit-or-miss basis), a dirty-clothes hamper (more hit than miss), and shirts, pants, suits and ties. But I don't entertain guests in my closet. You'll never hear me tell visitors after dinner, "Hey, why don't we step into my closet for a chat?" I prefer the living room or family room, instead. But God apparently likes to chat in the closet. Why? Because he's low on fancy, and high on accessibility.

To pray at the Vatican can be very meaningful. But prayers offered at home carry just as much weight as prayers offered in Rome. Or, you could travel to the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem if you wanted to. But a prayer at your backyard fence is just as effective. The One who hears your prayers is your Daddy. You don’t have to woo him with your location, or wow him with your eloquence. But Jesus wasn’t finished there. "The world is full of so-called prayer warriors who are prayer-ignorant. They’re full of formulas and programs and advice, peddling techniques for getting what you want from God. Don’t fall for that nonsense. This is your Father you’re dealing with, and he knows better than you what you need. With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply." (Matt. 6:7-8)

Jesus downplayed the importance of words in prayers. Unfortunately, we tend to do the opposite. The more words the better. The better the words the better, for that matter. For instance, Muslim prayers, however impressive, must be properly recited at each of the five appointed times during the day. Hindu and Buddhist prayers, however profound, depend upon the repetition of mantras, words and syllables. Even branches of the Christian faith emphasize the appropriate prayer language, the latest prayer trend, and the holiest prayer terminology. Against all this emphasis on syllables and rituals, Jesus says, "Don't fall for that nonsense." (Matt. 6:7) Vocabulary and geography might impress people, but it doesn’t impress God.

The truth is that there’s no panel of angelic judges with numbered cards saying, "Wow, that prayer was a ten. God will definitely hear that one!" Or, "Wow, that was pretty bad. Couldn’t you have done just a little bit better? You only scored a two on that one this morning; you’d better go home and practice." Prayers aren't given style points, and prayer isn’t a competition. Just as a happy child cannot mis-hug a parent, the sincere heart cannot mis-pray. Heaven knows, life has enough burdens without the burden of having to pray correctly. Frankly, if prayer depended on how I pray, then I'm sunk. But if the power of prayer depends on the One who hears it, and if the One who hears the prayer is my Daddy, then I have hope. And so do you.

Prayer really is that simple. So, resist the urge to complicate it. Don't take undue pride in well-crafted prayers, and don't apologize for incoherent ones, either. No games. No cover-ups. Just be honest – honest to God. Climb into his lap. Tell him everything that’s on your heart, or tell him nothing at all. Just lift your heart to heaven and declare, “Daddy,” because sometimes "Daddy" is all we can muster. Stress. Fear. Guilt. Grief. Demands on all sides. Sometimes all we can summon is a plaintive, "Oh, Daddy." If so, that's enough.

It was for my daughter; she uttered only two words, and I wrapped her in my arms because I hurt for her breaking heart. And your heavenly Father will do the same; all you have to do is call His name.

Grace,

Randy

Pocket Prayer

Pocket Prayer - Audio/Visual

Pocket Prayer

Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he’s done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus. (Phil. 4:6-7)

I'm a recovering prayer wimp. I doze off when I pray. My thoughts zig, then zag, then zig-zag back again. Distractions swarm like moths drawn to a summer flame. If attention deficit disorder applies to prayer, then I’m afflicted. When I pray, I think of a thousand things I need to do, and I forget the one thing I actually wanted to do: pray. Some excel in prayer – they inhale heaven and exhale God. They’re the Seal Team Six of intercession; they’d rather pray than sleep. Me? Prayer is a sleep-inducement aid.

It's not that we don't pray at all. We all pray some. On tear-stained pillows we pray. In grand liturgies we pray. At the sight of geese in flight, or a sunrise, or an eclipse? We pray. In fact, this week alone, more of us will pray than will exercise, go to work, or have sex. Surveys indicate that one in five unbelievers pray daily. Why? Just in case? We pray to stay sober, centered or solvent. We pray when the lump is deemed malignant; when the money runs out before the month does; when the unborn baby hasn't kicked in a while. We all pray . . . some. But wouldn't we all like to pray more? Deeper? Stronger? With more fire, faith or fervency? Probably.

But we have kids to feed, bills to pay and deadlines to meet. The calendar pounces on our good intentions like a starving coyote on a skittering Ramona jackrabbit. We want to pray, but when? We want to pray, but why? We might as well admit it. Prayer is just a little odd; it’s … well … it’s weird.

Speaking into space. Lifting words into the sky. We can't even get the cable company to answer us, but God will? The doctor is too busy, but God isn't? We have our doubts about prayer. And we have our own checkered history with the experience: unmet expectations, unanswered requests. We can barely genuflect because of the scar tissue on our knees. God, to some, is the ultimate heartbreaker. Why keep tossing the coins of our longings into a silent fountain? He jilted me once . . . but not again.

We aren't the first to struggle with the subject. The sign-up sheet for Prayer 101 contains some pretty familiar names like the apostles John, James, Andrew and Peter. When one of Jesus' disciples requested, "Lord, teach us to pray" (Luke 11:1), none of the others apparently objected. No one walked away saying, "Naw, I’ve got this prayer thing figured out." It’s because the first followers of Jesus needed some prayer guidance, too.

In fact, the only tutorial they ever requested was on prayer. They could have asked for instructions on a lot of topics: bread multiplying, speech making, storm stilling. Jesus raised people from the dead. But a "How to Empty the Cemetery" seminar? His followers never asked for one. But they did want him to do this: "Lord, teach us to pray." Could their interest have had something to do with the jaw-dropping, eye-popping promises Jesus attached to prayer? "Ask and it will be given to you." (Matt. 7:7) "If you believe, you will get anything you ask for in prayer." (Matt. 21:22)

Jesus never attached that kind of power to other endeavors. "Plan and it will be given to you." Or, "You will get anything you work for." Those words aren’t in the Bible. But these are – “If you remain in me and follow my teachings, you can ask anything you want, and it will be given to you." (John 15:7) Jesus gave some pretty stunning prayer promises.

And he set a compelling prayer example. Jesus prayed before he ate. He prayed for children. He prayed for the sick. He prayed with thanks. He prayed with tears. He made the planets and shaped the stars, yet he prayed. He’s the Lord of angels and the Commander of heavenly hosts, yet he prayed. He’s the exact representation of the Holy One, but he devoted himself to prayer. He prayed in the desert, in the cemetery and in the garden. "He went out and departed to a solitary place; and there He prayed." (Mark 1:35) In fact, the following dialogue must have been pretty common among his friends: "Has anyone seen Jesus?" "Yeah. He's doing that again." "Praying?” "Yep; he’s been gone since sunrise." In fact, Jesus would even disappear for an entire night of prayer. Remember?

He'd just experienced one of the most stressful days of his ministry. The day began with the news of the murder of his cousin, John the Baptist. Jesus sought to retreat with his disciples, but a crowd of thousands followed him. Though grief-stricken, he spent the entire day teaching and healing people. And when they discovered that the people had no food to eat, Jesus multiplied bread out of a basket and fed the entire multitude. So, in the span of just a few hours, he battled sorrow, stress, demands and needs. He deserved a good night's rest. Yet when evening finally came, he told the crowd to leave and the disciples to board their boat so that he could go “up into the hills by himself to pray." (Mark 6:46)

Apparently, it was the right choice. A storm exploded over the Sea of Galilee that night, leaving the disciples "in trouble far away from land, for a strong wind had risen, and they were fighting heavy waves. About three o'clock in the morning Jesus came toward them, walking on the water." (Matt. 14:24-25) Jesus ascended the mountain depleted, and he reappeared invigorated. Because when he reached the water, he never broke stride. You'd have thought the water was a park lawn and the storm a spring breeze. Do you think the disciples made the prayer-power connection then? "Lord, teach us to pray like that. Teach us to find strength in prayer. To banish fear in prayer. To defy storms in prayer. To come off the mountain of prayer with the authority of a king."

The disciples faced angry waves and a watery grave. And you face angry clients, a turbulent economy, and raging seas of stress and sorrow. "Lord," we still request, "teach us to pray." And when the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray, he gave them a prayer. Not a lecture on prayer. Not the doctrine of prayer. He gave them a quotable, repeatable, portable prayer. (Luke 11:1-4)

It seems to me that the prayers of the Bible can be distilled into one. The result is a simple, easy-to-remember (for me), pocket-sized prayer: “Father, you are good. I need help. Please help me and forgive me. They need help; please help them, too. Thank you, God. In Jesus' name. Amen.” When applied, and as you begin your morning, it’s like, “Father, you are good.” And as you commute to work, or walk the hallways at school, it’s “I need help.” And as you wait in the grocery line, you note that “They need help; help them, too.” A prayer in your pocket as you pass through the day.

Prayer, for most of us, is not a matter of a month-long retreat, or even an hour of meditation. Prayer is a conversation with God while driving to work, or waiting for an appointment, or before interacting with a client. It doesn’t have to be lengthy. Peter prayer, “Lord, save me” when he found himself sinking after water-walking at Jesus’ invitation to “come.” (Matt. 14:30) Nehemiah’s prayer couldn’t have lasted more than a nanosecond when the King, seeing Nehemiah’s despondency, asked him what he could do to help his cupbearer in distress. (Neh. 2:4)

This much is sure, however: God will teach you to pray. Don't think for a minute that he’s glaring at you from a distance with arms crossed and a scowl, waiting for you to get your prayer life together. It’s just the opposite. "Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in and eat with you, and you will eat with me." (Rev. 3:20) Jesus is waiting on the porch. He’s standing at your threshold. He’s tapping on your door. He’s whispering your name. He’s waiting for you to pick up the phone.

Prayer is answering that ringtone. Opening that door. Prayer is the hand of faith on the door handle of your heart. That willing pull. That happy welcome to Jesus: "The kitchen’s a little messy, Lord, but come on in." Or, "I didn't clean up much, but come on in, Jesus." Even, "I'm not much of a conversationalist, but let’s talk."

I may be a prayer wimp, but I’m a recovering prayer wimp. Not where I long to be, but not where I was. My time in prayer has become my time of power. My simple prayer has become a cherished friend. Its phrases linger in my thoughts like a favorite song. Father, you are good. I need help. Please help me and forgive me. They need help; please help them, too. Thank you. In Jesus' name. Amen.

When we invite God into our world, he walks in. And he brings a host of gifts with him, too. Gifts like joy, patience, resilience. Anxieties come, but they don't stay. Fears surface and then depart. Regrets land on the windshield, but then comes the wiper of prayer. The devil still hands me rocks of guilt, but I turn and give them to Christ. Struggles come, for sure. But so does God. We speak. He listens. He speaks. We listen. That’s prayer in its purest form. God changes his people through moments like these.

Prayer is not a privilege for the pious, nor is it the art form of a chosen few. Prayer is simply a heartfelt conversation between God and his child. He wants to talk with you. Even now, as you read these words, he’s knocking on your door. So, open it. Welcome him in. Let the conversation begin. You’ll never know where the conversation will lead. But he does. He knows the way.

Grace,

Randy