Fumbled

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=huDZPiFwE_A

Fumbled

Some men came carrying a paralyzed man on a sleeping mat. They tried to take him inside to Jesus, but they couldn’t reach him because of the crowd. So they went up to the roof and took off some tiles. Then they lowered the sick man on his mat down into the crowd, right in front of Jesus. Seeing their faith, Jesus said to the man, “Young man, your sins are forgiven.” (Luke 5:18-20)

Noble Doss dropped the ball, and it has haunted him ever since. And that was in 1941. "I cost us a national championship," he says. That year, the University of Texas football team was ranked number one in the nation. Hoping for an undefeated season and a berth in the Rose Bowl, they played their conference rival, Baylor. With a 7-0 lead in the third quarter, the Longhorn quarterback launched a deep pass to a wide-open Doss. "The only thing I had between me and the goal," he recalls, "was twenty yards of grass." The throw was on target, and the sure-handed Doss spotted the ball and reached out to catch the perfect spiral. But the ball slipped through his hands. Baylor rallied late in the game and tied the score with only seconds left to play. Texas lost their top ranking and, consequently, their chance at the Rose Bowl. "I think about that play every day," Doss admits. Most fans remember the plays Doss made and the passes he caught. But Doss only remembers the one that he missed.

Memories of dropped passes fade slowly from our minds. They stir a fear that we’ve disappointed people; that we’ve let down the team; that we've come up short. A fear that, when needed, we didn't do our part; that others suffered because of our fumbles. And we’d gladly swap our blunders for Doss'. Because, deep down, we fear that we’ve out-sinned God’s patience. "God's well of grace must have a bottom to it," we reason. "A person can request forgiveness only so often," goes our common sense. "Cash in too many mercy checks, and sooner or later one of them is going to bounce!"

The devil, of course, loves this line of logic. If he can convince us that God's grace has limited funds, we'll draw the only logical conclusion – that the account is empty; that God’s locked the door to his throne room. Pound all you want; pray all you want. But there’s no access to God. And "No access to God" unleashes a beehive of concerns. We’re orphans – unprotected and exposed. Heaven, if there’s even such a place, has been removed from the itinerary. Vulnerable in this life and doomed in the next. The fear of disappointing God has teeth. But in Christ’s first reference to fear, he does some serious defanging. "Take courage, son; your sins are forgiven." (Matt. 9:2) Note how Jesus places “courage” and “forgiven sins” in the same sentence. Maybe bravery begins when the problem of sin is solved.

Jesus spoke these words to a person who couldn’t move. He was "a paralyzed man….” (v. 2) This disabled guy couldn't walk his dog or jog the neighborhood. But he did have four friends, and his friends had a hunch. When they got wind that Jesus was a guest in their town, they loaded their companion on a mat and went to go see the teacher. An audience with Christ might bode well for their buddy. But a standing-room-only crowd packed the residence where Jesus was speaking. People sat in windows, and crowded the doorways. But being the sort of fellows who don't give up easily, the friends concocted a plan. “So they went up to the roof and took off some tiles. Then they lowered the sick man on his mat down into the crowd, right in front of Jesus.” (v. 19) That’s a pretty risky strategy, don’t you think?

Most homeowners don't like to have their roofs torn apart. Most paraplegics aren't fond of a one-way bungee drop through a hole in the roof. And most teachers don't appreciate a spectacle in the middle of their lesson. We don't know the reaction of the homeowner or the man on the mat. But we know that Jesus didn't object. In fact, Matthew all but paints a smile on his face, and Christ issued a blessing before one was even requested. And he issued a blessing that no one expected: “Young man, your sins are forgiven.” (Luke 5:20)

Wouldn't you expect something different? I don’t know, but how about something like, "Hey, son. Your legs are healed and your paralysis is history. Go ahead and sign up for the Boston Marathon"? The man had limbs as sturdy as spaghetti, yet Jesus offered mercy, not muscles. What was he thinking? Simple. He was thinking about our deepest problem: sin. He was considering our deepest fear: the fear of failing God. Before Jesus healed the body, he treated the soul. "Young man, your sins are forgiven."

To sin is to disregard God, ignore his teachings, and deny his blessings. Sin is "God-less" living, centering life on the center letter of the word “sIn.” The sinner's life is me-focused, not God-focused. Wasn't that the choice of Adam and Eve? Prior to their sin they indwelled a fearless world. One with creation, one with God, one with each other. Eden was a "one-derful" world with one command: don't touch the tree of knowledge. Adam and Eve were given a choice, and each day they chose to trust God.

But then came the serpent, sowing seeds of doubt and offering a sweeter deal. "Has God indeed said . . . ?," he questioned. (Gen. 3:1) "You will be like God," he offered. (Gen. 3:5) And just like that, Eve was afraid. Some say she was pride-filled, defiant, and disobedient. But wasn't she afraid, first? Afraid that God was holding out, and that she was missing out? Afraid that Eden wasn't enough? Afraid that God wasn't enough? Afraid that God couldn't deliver?

They mishandled their fear, and fear did them in. Eve quit trusting God and took matters – and the fruit – into her own hands. "Just in case God can't do it, I will," and Adam followed suit. Adam and Eve did what fear-filled people do – they ran for their lives. "Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. Then the Lord God called to Adam and said to him, 'Where are you?' So he said, 'I heard Your voice in the garden, and I was afraid.'" (Gen. 3:8-10)

Fear, mismanaged, leads to sin. Sin leads to hiding. And since we've all sinned, we all hide. Not in bushes, perhaps, but in eighty-hour workweeks, temper tantrums, and religious busyness. We avoid contact with God. We’re convinced that God must hate our evil tendencies. We sure do. We don't like the things we do and say. We despise our lustful thoughts, harsh judgments and selfish deeds. If our sin nauseates us, how much more must it revolt a holy God? So, we draw a practical conclusion: God is irreparably ticked off at us. So what are we to do except duck into the bushes at the sound of his voice?

Jesus made forgiveness his first announcement. Yes, we’ve disappointed God. But, no, God hasn’t abandoned us. “He who believes in Him is not condemned.” (John 3:18) “Everyone who looks to the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day.” (John 6:40) “These things I have written to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, that you may know that you have eternal life.” (1 John 5:13) Jesus loves us too much to leave us in doubt about his grace. His "perfect love expels all fear." (1 John 4:18)

Now, if God loved with an imperfect love, we would have cause to worry. Imperfect love keeps a list of sins and consults it often. God keeps no list of our wrongs. His love casts out fear because he casts out our sin. Remember the words of John's epistle: "If our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart, and knows all things." (1 John 3:20) In other words, when you feel unforgiven, evict the feelings. Emotions don't get a vote. Go back to Scripture. God's Word holds rank over self-criticism and self-doubt. As Paul told Titus, "God's readiness to give and forgive is now public. Salvation's available for everyone! . . . Tell them all this. Build up their courage." (Titus 2:11)

Do you know God's grace? Nothing fosters courage like a clear grasp of grace. And nothing fosters fear like an ignorance of mercy. And if you haven't accepted God's forgiveness, you’re doomed to fear. Nothing can deliver you from that gnawing realization that you have disregarded your Maker and disobeyed his instruction. No pill, pep talk, psychiatrist, or possession can set the sinner's heart at ease. You may deaden the fear, but you can't remove it. Only God's grace can. So, have you accepted the forgiveness of Christ? "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." (1 John 1:9) If so, then live forgiven. Jesus has healed your legs, so walk. Because when Jesus sets you free, you’re free indeed. But you may need to silence a few roosters.

Booker T. Washington relates a story of the day his mother did just that. Every morning of his young life, Booker, along with all the plantation slaves, was awakened by the crow of a rooster. Long before daybreak the unwelcome noise would fill the sod shanties, reminding Booker and his fellow workers to crawl out of bed and leave for the cotton fields. The rooster's crow came to symbolize their dictated life of long days and backbreaking labor. But then came the Emancipation Proclamation.

Abraham Lincoln pronounced freedom for the slaves. The first morning after the Proclamation, young Booker was awakened by the rooster once again. Only this time his mother was chasing it around the barnyard with an ax. Later that day, the Washington family fried and ate their alarm clock for lunch. Their first act of freedom was to silence the reminder of their former slavery.

Any roosters stealing your sleep? You might need to sharpen your blade. Because the great news of the gospel is, yes, his grace is real. And so is our freedom.

Grace,

Randy

Sparrows

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bZBcYqqaM_U

Sparrows

What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows. (Matt. 10:29-31)

Do we matter? We fear we don't. We fear nothingness, insignificance. We fear evaporation. We fear that in the last tabulation we make no contribution to the final sum. We fear coming and going and no one knowing. That's why it bothers us when a friend forgets to call, or the teacher forgets our name, or a colleague takes credit for something we've done, or the airline loads us like cattle onto the next flight. They’re affirming our deepest trepidation: no one cares, because we aren't worth caring about.

For that reason we crave the attention of our spouse, or the affirmation of our boss. We drop names of important people in conversations, and wear college rings on our fingers. We put silicone in our breasts, flashy hubcaps on our cars, grills on our teeth, and silk ties around our necks. Fashion designers tell us, "You'll be somebody if you wear our jeans. Stick our name on your rear end and insignificance will vanish." So we do. Fashion redeems us from the world of littleness and nothingness, and we are something else. Why? Because we spent half a paycheck on a pair of Italian jeans.

But then, horror of horrors, styles change, the fad passes, the trend shifts from tight to baggy, faded to dark. And we're left wearing yesterday's jeans, feeling like yesterday's news. Maybe we can outsource our insignificance, we think. By coupling our identity with someone's Gulliver-sized achievement, we give our Lilliputian lives some kind of meaning. For instance, how else can you explain our society’s fascination with sports franchises and athletes?

I admit that I’m among the fascinated: an unabashed fan of Aztecs basketball. When they play basketball, I play basketball. When they score a basket, I score a basket. When they win, I shout with the 12,414 at Viejas Arena, "We won!" But how can I make such a statement? Did I attend a single practice? Scout an opposing team? Contribute a coaching tip, or sweat a drop of perspiration? No. I would if they asked, but I'm too insignificant, slow, old and uncoordinated. Still, I hook my wagon to their rising star. Why? Because it separates me from the plebeians. It momentarily elevates me; knights me.

Or sometimes, out of a fear of not mattering, we try to outlive life. When the billionaire realizes that he will run out of years before he runs out of money, he establishes a foundation. No doubt some altruism motivates the move, but so does a hunger to matter.

We have kids for the same reason. Giving birth gives meaning to ourselves. One day, when we die, our descendants will remember "Good ol' Dad," or "Sweet ol' Mom," and we will extend our lives through theirs. And there you have it. Italian jeans. Foundations. Legacies. Forever looking to prove Bertrand Russell wrong. He was the fatalistic atheist who concluded, "I believe that when I die my bones will rot and nothing shall remain of my ego."

"But he can't be right," we sigh. "He isn't right!" Jesus announces. And in some of the kindest words ever heard, he allays our fears. "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." (Matt. 10:29-31)

Now, what's more inglorious than hair? Who inventories follicles? We monitor other resources: the amount of money in the bank, gas in the tank, pounds on the scale. But hair on the skin? No one, not even the man with the expanding bald spot, posts tiny number signs adjacent to each strand. We style hair, color hair, cut hair . . . but we don't count hair. Well, God does. "The very hairs of your head are all numbered." Just like the sparrows in the field.

In the days of Jesus, like today, a penny was one of the smallest coins in circulation. One such penny would buy two sparrows. In other words, everyone could own a couple of sparrows. But why would they? What purpose did they serve? What goal would they accomplish? In Luke's gospel Jesus goes a tender step further. "Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God." (Luke 12:6) One penny would buy you two sparrows. Two pennies, however, would buy you five. Apparently, the seller threw in the fifth one for free.

Society still has its share of fifth sparrows: indistinct souls who feel dispensable, disposable, worth less than a penny. They drive in carpools and work in cubicles. Some sleep beneath cardboard on the sidewalks, and others beneath comforters in the suburbs. What they share is a feeling of smallness. In fact, you'll find a whole flock of fifth sparrows in a Chinese orphanage for the deaf and mute.

China's one-child policy has a way of weeding out the weak. Males are selected over females. Healthy babies outrank the impaired. Chinese children who cannot speak or hear stand little chance of a healthy, productive life. Every message tells them, "You don't matter." So when someone says otherwise, they melt. Chinese missionary, John Bentley, witnessed such a moment.

Deaf orphans in the Henan province were given a Mandarin translation of a children's book entitled, You Are Special. The story describes Punchinello, a wooden person in a village of wooden people. The villagers had a practice of sticking stars on the achievers and dots on the strugglers. Punchinello had so many dots that people gave him more dots just because. But then he met Eli, his maker. Eli affirmed him, telling him to disregard the opinion of others. "I made you," he explained. "I don't make mistakes." Punchinello had never heard such words. And when he did, his dots began to fall off. And when the children in the Chinese orphanage heard such words, their worlds began to change.

John explained, “When they first distributed these books to the children and staff of the deaf school, the most bizarre thing happened. At a certain point everyone started crying. I couldn’t understand this reaction. . . . Americans are somewhat used to the idea of positive reinforcement. . . . Not so in China, and particularly not for these children who are virtually abandoned and considered valueless by their natural parents because they were born ‘broken.’ When the idea came through in the reading that they are special simply because they were made by a loving creator . . . everyone started crying – including their teachers!” Do you need such a reminder? Any chance that these words are falling on the ears of a fifth sparrow? If so, it's time to deal with the fear of not mattering.

The fear that you are one big zero can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. It works like this. You're slugging away at a menial job that pays poorly and saps your energy. The salary covers the bills but not much else. Your God-given abilities languish like un-watered roses. But then you read of a job opening that capitalizes on your skills, and maximizes your abilities. So in a moment of uncharacteristic courage, you submit your application. The employer invites you in for an interview. "I'll never impress them," you moan. "I'll look stupid in the interview. They'll ask questions I can't answer. I'll never get the job." A mouse in a lions' den has better odds of success. So, you flop miserably and descend yet another level into the basement of self-defeat.

Or, consider the girl who’s asked out on a date by a good-looking guy. So good-looking that she wonders what he sees in her. He's completely out of her league. Once he gets to know her, he'll drop her. Why, she may not even be able to maintain his interest for more than one evening. So, insecurity drives her to use the only tool she trusts – her body. She sleeps with him on the first date for fear that there won't be a second. She ends up feeling like the disposable woman she didn't want to become. Fear of insignificance creates the result it dreads, arrives at the destination it tries to avoid, and facilitates the very scenario it disdains.

If a basketball player stands at the foul line repeating, "I'll never make the shot, I'll never make the shot," guess what? He'll never make the shot. If you pass your days mumbling, "I'll never make a difference; I'm not worth anything," guess what? You’ll be sentencing yourself to a life of gloom without parole. Even more, you’re disagreeing with God. Questioning his judgment. Second-guessing his taste. According to him you were "skillfully wrought." (Ps. 139:15) You were "fearfully and wonderfully made." (Ps. 139:14) He can't stop thinking about you. If you could count his thoughts about you, "they would be more in number than the sand." (Ps. 139:18)

Why does he love you so much? The same reason the artist loves his paintings, or the boat builder loves his vessel. You are his idea. And God has only good ideas. "For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago." (Eph. 2:10)

In the movie Hook, Peter Pan had grown up, become old and overweight, and looked nothing like the Peter that the lost boys knew. In the midst of the boys shouting that this was NOT Peter, one of the smallest boys took him by the hand and pulled him down to his level. He then placed his hands on Peter's face and proceeded to move the skin around, reshaping his face. The boy looked into Peter's eyes and said, "There you are, Peter!"

Sound familiar? God is saying the same words to you. Finding the beauty that the years bury, the sparkle that time tries to take. Seeing you and loving the you that he sees. "There you are,” he says. And that’s enough, isn’t it?

Grace,

Randy

Coup de Grace

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pH_ItdCnWo

Coup de Grâce

Then Jesus asked them, “When I sent you out to preach the Good News and you did not have money, a traveler’s bag, or an extra pair of sandals, did you need anything?” “No,” they replied. “But now,” he said, “take your money and a traveler’s bag. And if you don’t have a sword, sell your cloak and buy one! For the time has come for this prophecy about me to be fulfilled: ‘He was counted among the rebels.’ Yes, everything written about me by the prophets will come true.” (Luke 22:35-37)

A man and his dog are in a car. The dog’s howling. Caterwauling howls. Like firetrucks racing to a 4-alarm blaze. The man pleads with the mutt, promising a daily delivery of dog biscuit bouquets if the hound will only hush. After all, it's just a car wash. It never occurred to him – uh, me – that the car wash would scare my dog. But it did. Placing myself in his paws, I guess I can see why. A huge, noisy machine presses toward us, pounding our window with water, and banging against the door with brushes. “Duck! We're under attack,” my dog is pleading. "Don't panic. The car wash was my idea," I respond. "I've done this before." "It's for our own good," I reason. But have you ever tried to explain a car wash to a canine? Dog dictionaries are minus the words “brush” and “power-wash.” My words fell on fallen flaps. Nothing helped. He just did what dogs do; he wailed.

Actually, he did what we do. We howl too, don’t we? Not at car washes mind you, but at hospital stays and job transfers. Let the economy go south, or the kids move north and we have a wail of a time. And when our Master explains what's happening, we act like he's talking in a foreign language; we don't understand a word he says. Is your world wet and wild? It seems that God's greatest blessings often come costumed as disasters. And, if there are any doubters, all you need to do is ascend Calvary’s hill.

Jerusalem's collective opinion on that fateful Friday was this: Jesus is finished. What other conclusion made sense? The religious leaders had turned him in. Rome had refused to bail him out. His followers had tucked their tails and ran. He was nailed to a cross and left to die, which he did. They silenced his lips, sealed his tomb, and, as any priest worth the price of his phylactery would tell you, Jesus was history. Three years of power and promises were now decomposing in a borrowed grave. Search the crucifixion sky for a single ray of hope and you won't find one. That’s the view of his disciples, the opinion of his friends, and the outlook of his enemies. Label it the “dog-in-the-passenger-seat” view. But the Master who sits behind the wheel thinks much differently.

God is not surprised. His plan is right on schedule. Even in, or perhaps especially in death, Christ is still the king; the king over his own crucifixion. Want proof? During his final twenty-four hours on earth, what one word did Jesus speak the most? Search these verses for a recurring noun: "I, the Son of Man, must die, as the Scriptures declared long ago." (Matt. 26:24) "Tonight all of you will desert me," Jesus told them. "For the Scriptures say, 'God will strike the Shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.'" (Matt. 26:31) He could’ve called thousands of angels to help him but he didn't, and here’s why: "If I did, how would the Scriptures be fulfilled that describe what must happen now?" (Matt. 26:54)

Rather than fault the soldiers who arrested him, he explained that they were players in a drama they didn't write. "But this is all happening to fulfill the words of the prophets as recorded in the Scriptures." (Matt. 26:56) "The Scriptures declare, 'The one who shares my food has turned against me,' and this will soon come true." (John 13:18) To his heavenly Father he prayed: "I guarded them so that not one was lost, except the one headed for destruction, as the Scriptures foretold." (John 17:12) He said to them, "The Scripture says, 'He was treated like a criminal,' and I tell you this scripture must have its full meaning. It was written about me, and it is happening now." (Luke 22:37)

Did you see it? “Love; “Sacrifice;” “Devotion” – all terms that we might expect to read. But the noun that leads the list is “Scripture,” and it reveals this truth: Jesus orchestrated his final days to fulfill Old Testament prophecies, or Scripture. As if he was following a mental list, Jesus checked them off one by one. But why did Scripture matter so much to Christ? And why does it matter to us that it mattered to him? Why? Because Jesus loves the Thomas’ among us. Because while others kneel and worship, we typically stroke our chins and wonder if we could see some proof. "How can I know the death of Christ is anything more than the death of a man?" Well, begin the investigation with that noun – Scripture.

More Old Testament prophecy was realized during the crucifixion than on any other day. Twenty-nine different prophecies, the youngest of which was five hundred years old, were completed on the day of Christ's death. Now what are the odds of such a constellation? The answer even staggers the statisticians whose job it is to figure stuff like that out. Mathematician, Peter Stoner, estimates the probability of just eight prophecies being fulfilled in one lifetime this way: “Cover the state of Texas two feet deep in silver dollars. On one dollar place one mark. What is the probability that a person could, on the first attempt, select the marked dollar? Those are the same odds that eight prophecies would be satisfied in the life of one man.” But Christ fulfilled twenty-nine in one day! Want some examples?

“He was counted among the rebels.” (Isaiah 53.12) “But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement for our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed.” (Isa. 53:5) “They pierced My hands and My feet.” (Ps. 22:16) “They divide My garments among them, and for My clothing they cast lots.” (Ps. 22:18) "And it shall come to pass in that day," says the Lord GOD, "that I will make the sun go down at noon, and I will darken the earth in broad daylight." (Amos 8:9) So, don't call Jesus a victim of circumstances. Call him the orchestrator of circumstances. He engineered the actions of his enemies to fulfill prophecy. And he commandeered the tongues of his enemies to declare his truth.

For instance, Christ rarely spoke on that Friday. He didn't need to. His accusers provided accurate play-by-play commentary. Remember the sign nailed to the cross? “And Pilate posted a sign over him that read, ‘Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.’ The place where Jesus was crucified was near the city; and the sign was written in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek, so that many people could read it.” (John 19:19-20) Trilingual truth. Thank you, Pilate, for funding the first advertising campaign of the cross, and introducing Jesus as the King of the Jews. And thanks to the Pharisees for the sermon: “He saved others; himself he cannot save.” (Matt. 27:42) Could words have been any more accurate? Jesus could not, at the same time, save others and save himself, too. So he saved others.

And the award for the most unlikely spokesman goes to the high priest that day. Caiaphas said, "It is better for one man to die for the people than for the whole nation to be destroyed." (John 11:50) Was Caiaphas a believer? Sure sounds like one. And, in point of fact, it was better for Christ to die than for all of us to perish. Heaven gets no argument from him. You'd almost think heaven caused him to say what he said. And if that's what you were thinking, you’re right. “Caiaphas did not think of this himself. As high priest that year, he was really prophesying that Jesus would die for [the Jewish] nation and for God's scattered children to bring them all together and make them one.” (vv. 51-52)

What's going on here? Caiaphas preaching for Christ? The Pharisees explaining the cross? Pilate painting evangelistic billboards? Out of tragedy emerges triumph. Every disaster proves to be a victory. It reminds me of the mule who stumbled into a dry well. Parable has it that a mule fell down an old water shaft. The villagers compared the effort of a rescue with the value of the animal and decided to bury him. So, they started shoveling dirt into the cistern. But the mule had other ideas. As the clods hit his back, he shook them off and stomped them down. Each spade of earth lifted him higher. Eventually, he reached the top of the well and walked out, big-as-you-please. What his would-be killers thought would bury him actually delivered him. And the men who murdered Jesus did the same.

Their actions elevated Jesus. Everything – the bad and the good, the evil and the decent – worked together for the coup de grace of Christ. Should we be surprised? Didn't he promise this would happen? "We know that in everything God works for the good of those who love him." (Rom. 8:28) Everything? Yes, everything. Chicken-hearted disciples. A two-timing Judas. A pierced side. Spineless Pharisees. A hardhearted high priest. In everything God worked. I challenge you to find one element of the cross that he did not manage for good, or recycle for symbolism. Go ahead. Try. I think you'll find what I found – that every dark detail was actually a golden moment in the cause of Christ.

So, can't he do the same for you? Can't he turn your Friday into a Sunday? Some of you probably doubt that. I mean, how can God use cancer or death or divorce? Simple. He's smarter than we are. He is to you what I was to little five-year-old Amanda. I met her years ago in a pre-school Bible class at church. She asked me if I could write her name in her Bible. When I asked her name, she watched as I began to write, "A … m … a….”  She stopped me right there. With eyes wide and mouth open, she asked, "How did you know how to spell my name?" She was absolutely awestruck.

You aren't, though. You know the difference between the knowledge of a child and an adult. So, can you imagine the difference between the wisdom of a human and the wisdom of God? What’s impossible to us is like spelling "Amanda" to God. "For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts." (Isa. 55:9)

I still take my dog to the car wash. Gratefully, he’s howling a little less. I just don't think he understands the machinery. Guess he's learning to trust his master. We’d do well to do the same.

Grace,

Randy