The Perfect Solution for an I-Problem

 

The Perfect Solution for an I-Problem

The Perfect Solution for an I-Problem - Audio/Visual 

It’s who you are and the way you live that count before God. Your worship must engage your spirit in the pursuit of truth. That’s the kind of people the Father is out looking for: those who are simply and honestly themselves before him in their worship. God is sheer being itself — Spirit. Those who worship him must do it out of their very being, their spirits, their true selves, in adoration. (John 4:23-24)

I think a lot of us suffer from poor I-sight. No, not the kind of “eyesight” where glasses can correct the distortion. I’m talking about “I-sight.” A condition that doesn’t blur our view of the world so much as it does ourselves. For instance, some see self too highly. Maybe it's the PhD, or pedigree. A tattoo can do it; so can a new truck, or the Nobel Peace Prize. Whatever the cause, the result is always the same: "I have so many gifts that I can do anything." Brazenly self-assured and utterly self-sufficient, the I-focused strut beyond the city limits of self-confidence and into the state of cockiness. You wonder who puts the "air" in arrogance and the "vain" in vanity? Those who say, "I can do anything." You've probably said those words for a short time, at least, or maybe it’s been a lifetime. We all plead guilty to some level of superiority.

But don’t we also know the other extreme, i.e., the view from the "I can't do anything" perspective? Forget the thin air of pomposity; these folks breathe the swampy air of self-defeat. Cockroaches have higher self-esteem; earthworms stand taller. "I'm scum. The world would be better off without me." Divorce stirs that kind of crud. So do diseases and pink slips. Where the first group is arrogant, this group is diffident. Blame them for every mishap and they won't object. They'll just agree.

Two extremes of poor I-sight. Self-loving and self-loathing. We swing from one side to the other. Promotions and demotions bump us back and forth. One day too high on self, the next too hard and self-loathing. Neither is correct. Self-elevation and self-deprecation are equally inaccurate. So, where’s the truth? It’s between the "I can do anything," and the "I can't do anything" lies. The truth is that "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." (Phil. 4:13) Neither omnipotent nor impotent, neither God's MVP nor God's mistake. Not self-secure or insecure, but God-secure – a self-worth based upon our identity as children of God. The proper view of self is in the middle. But how do we get there? How do we park the pendulum in the center? Through counseling? Therapy? Self-help? Long walks? Perhaps, but they don't compare with God's cure for poor I-sight. His cure is worship. Surprised?

The word conjures up many thoughts, not all of which are positive. Outdated songs. Cliché-cluttered prayers. Irrelevant sermons. Meager offerings. Odd rituals. Why worship? What does worship have to do with curing I-sight? Well, honest worship lifts eyes off of self and sets them on God. Scripture's best-known worship leader wrote: "Give honor to the LORD, you angels; give honor to the LORD for his glory and strength. Give honor to the LORD for the glory of his name. Worship the LORD in the splendor of his holiness." (Ps. 29:1-2) Worship gives God honor; it offers him a standing ovation. Worship can happen every day and in every activity. We can make a big deal about God on Sundays with our songs, and then on Mondays with our talents. "Take your everyday, ordinary life – your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life – and place it before God as an offering." (Rom. 12:1)

Worship places God on center stage and us in a proper posture. King David knew that. In the Old Testament book of 1 Chronicles 29, the historian informs us that David and his men had just raised enough money to build the temple. This was the most successful fund-raising campaign in the history of God’s people – ever. Philanthropy magazine would have happily dedicated an entire issue to these fund-raising geniuses. However, they’re now sitting ducks for cockiness to set in. But before their heads could swell, their knees bowed, and David leads them in a prayer of worship. Read it . . . slowly:

“Praise be to you, O LORD, God of our father Israel, from everlasting to everlasting. Yours, O LORD, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the majesty and the splendor, for everything in heaven and earth is yours. Yours, O LORD, is the kingdom; you are exalted as head overall. Wealth and honor come from you; you are the ruler of all things. In your hands are strength and power to exalt and give strength to all. Now, our God, we give you thanks and praise your glorious name. But who am I, and who are my people, that we should be able to give as generously as this? Everything comes from you, and we have given you only what comes from your hand.” (1 Chron. 29:10-14)

Imagine a big-headed guy offering that prayer. He begins arrogantly – his chest puffed out and his thumbs in his lapels – but as the worship continues, reality begins to set in. As he recites phrases like "Yours . . . is the greatness," "Wealth and honor come from you" and "Everything comes from you," he dismounts his high horse. Worship humbles the smug. For the same reason, worship lifts the deflated. Read Psalm 27:10-11, 13-14 to see if the weak wouldn't be strengthened by these words: “Though my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will receive me. Teach me your way, O LORD; lead me in a straight path because of my oppressors. . . . I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD.”

Can't you see a head lifting and a back straightening? "The LORD will receive me. . . . I will see the goodness of the LORD." Can you see how these words would turn a face toward the Father and away from frailty? Worship does that. Like a chiropractor, worship adjusts us by lowering the chin of the haughty and straightening the back of the burdened. Breaking the bread and partaking in the cup. Bowing the knees and lifting the hands. This is worship whether in the solitude of a corporate cubicle or in the community of a church. Opening our mouths and singing to him our praise. Opening our hearts and offering to him our uniqueness. Worship properly positions the worshiper.

And all of us really need that because we walk through life so bent out of shape. Five-talent folks swaggering: "I bet God's glad to have me." One-talent folks struggling: "I bet God's sick and tired of putting up with me." So sold on ourselves that we think someone died and made us ruler; so down on ourselves that we think everyone died and simply left us behind. Try treating both conditions with worship. Set your eyes on our uncommon King.

One summer at Lake Havasu I took a sailing lesson from my uncle who owned a Hobie Cat. Ever puzzled by the difference in leeward, starboard and stern, I asked him a few questions. After a while, my uncle offered, "Would you like to sail us home?" I reminded him that a city-slicker had never won the America's Cup. He assured me that I would have no trouble and pointed to a rocky outcrop on the shore. "Target that cliff," he instructed. "Set your eyes and the boat on it."

But I found his instruction hard to follow. Other sights competed for my attention: the springy trampoline of the deck, the piercing blue sky, the rich foam cresting on the waves. I wanted to look at it all. But look too long and I risked losing course. The boat stayed on target so long as I set my eyes beyond the vessel. And worship helps us to do the same in life. It lifts our eyes off the boat with its fancy gadgets and sets them "on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits at God's right hand in the place of honor and power." (Col. 3:1) We worship God because we need to. But our need runs a turtle-paced distant second to the thoroughbred reason for worship itself. The chief reason for applauding God? He deserves it.

If singing did nothing but weary your voice, if giving only emptied your wallet – if worship did nothing for you – it would still be the right thing to do. God warrants our worship. How else do you respond to a being of blazing, blistering, unadulterated, unending holiness? No mark. No freckle. Not a bad thought, bad day or bad decision. Ever. What do you do with such holiness if not simply adore it? And his power. He churns forces that launch meteors, orbit planets and ignite stars. Commanding whales to spout salty air, petunias to perfume the night and songbirds to chirp joy into the spring. Above the earth, flotillas of clouds endlessly shape and reshape; within the earth, strata of groaning rocks shift and turn. Who are we to sojourn on a trembling, wonderful orb so shot through with His wonder?

And tenderness? God has never taken his eyes off of you. Not for a millisecond. He's always near. He lives to hear your heartbeat. He loves to hear your prayers. He'd die for your sin before he'd let you die in your sin. So, he did. What do you do with such a Savior? Don't you sing to him? Don't you celebrate him in baptism and elevate him in communion? Don't you bow your knee, lower your head, hammer a nail, feed the poor and lift up your gift in worship? Of course you do, or maybe you should.

So, worship God. Applaud him loud and often. For our sake, we need it. And for heaven's sake, God deserves it. So, save your money and forget the Bausch & Lomb. Try worship instead – it’s the doctor-recommended solution for your I-problem.

Grace,

Randy

The Cure for Loneliness

 

The Cure for Loneliness

The Cure for Loneliness - Audio/Visual 

An innocent person died for those who are guilty. Christ did this to bring you to God. (1 Peter 3:18)

The eighty-seven-year-old man moped through life, living in a sleepy village outside Rome, Italy, with his books and seven cats. His wife had died twelve years ago, and his only daughter worked in Afghanistan. He seldom ventured out, and rarely spoke to others. Life was drab and lonely. And on the day he decided to do something about it, Giorgio Angelozzi put himself up for adoption. Correct. The octogenarian placed a classified ad in Italy's largest daily newspaper: "Seeks family in need of a grandfather. Would bring 500 euros a month to a family willing to adopt him." The ad changed his life.

The paper ran a front-page article about him. Inquiries poured in from as far away as Brazil, New Zealand and New Jersey. Angelozzi became an overnight celebrity. He went from having nothing but time on his hands to having scarcely enough time to handle all the interviews and requests. A pop star responded. A millionaire offered servants and a seaside villa. But one letter stood out, Angelozzi explained, because every member of the family – father, mother, sister, brother – had signed it. He settled into their ground-floor apartment, took walks in the garden, and helped with dishes and homework. "I couldn't have chosen better," he said. "Maybe it was luck, or maybe it was God looking after me, I don't know. . . . I knew right away I had found my new home."

The latter explanation makes the most sense because heaven doesn’t export monotony. Christ once announced, "I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of." (John 10:10) Nor does God author loneliness. Among our Maker's first recorded words were these: "It is not good for the man to be alone." (Gen. 2:18) We may relish moments of solitude – but a lifetime of it? Probably not. Many of us, however, are far too fluent in the language of loneliness. “No one knows me,” we think. “People know my name, but not my heart.” “They know my face, but not my feelings.” And maybe the saddest . . . “No one's near me.” We hunger for physical contact.

Ever since Eve emerged from Adam’s rib, we've been reaching out to touch one another. We need to make a connection, and we need to make a difference. The anthem of the lonely heart has another verse, too: “No one needs me.” The kids used to need me . . . The business once needed me . . . My spouse no longer needs me . . . Lonely people fight feelings of insignificance. What do you do with those thoughts if you have them? How do you cope with these cries for significance? Some stay busy; others stay drunk. Some buy pets; others buy lovers. Some seek therapy. A few seek God.

But God invites all of us to seek him, and his treatment for insignificance won't lead you to a bar or a dating service, a spouse or even a social club. God's ultimate cure takes you to a manger. The babe of Bethlehem. Immanuel. Remember the promise of the angel? "'Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and bear a Son, and they shall call His name Immanuel,' which is translated, 'God with us.'" (Matt. 1:23) Immanuel. The name appears in the same Hebrew form as it did two thousand years ago. "Immanu" means "with us." "El" refers to Elohim, or God. Not an "above us God," or a "somewhere in the neighborhood God." He came as the "with us God." God with us.

Not "God with the rich," or "God with the religious" but God with us. All of us. Russians, Germans, Buddhists, Mormons, truck drivers, taxi drivers, even lawyers. God with us. And don't we love the word "with"? "Will you go with me?" we ask. "To the store; to the hospital; through my life?" God says he will. "I am with you always," Jesus said before he ascended to heaven, "to the very end of the age." (Matt. 28:20) Search for restrictions on that promise and you won’t find any. You won't find "I'll be with you if you behave . . . or when you believe.” Or “I'll be with you on Sundays during worship." No, none of that. There's no withholding tax on God's "with" promise. He is with us.

You see, prophets weren't enough. Apostles wouldn't do. God sent more than miracles and messages. He sent himself; he sent his Son. "The Word became flesh and dwelt among us." (John 1:14) For thousands of years, God gave us his voice. Prior to Bethlehem, he gave his messengers, his teachers, his words. But in the manger, God gave us himself. Many people have trouble with that teaching. Islam sees God as one who sends others. He may send angels, prophets or books, but God is too holy to come to us himself. Christianity, by contrast, celebrates God's surprising descent. His nature does not trap him in heaven but leads him to earth. In God's great Gospel, he not only sends, but he also becomes; he not only looks down, but he also lives among; he not only talks to us, but he also lives with us as one of us. He swims in Mary's womb. Totters as he learns to walk. Bounces on the back of a donkey. God with us.

He knows hurt – his siblings called him crazy. He knows exhaustion – so sleepy, he dozed in a storm-tossed boat. He knows betrayal – he gave Judas three years of love; Judas, in turn, gave Jesus a betrayer's kiss. Most of all, he knows sin. Not his own, mind you. But he knows yours. Every lie you've told; person you've hurt; dollar you've taken; promise you've broken; virtue you've abandoned; opportunity you've squandered. Every deed you've committed against God – for all sin is against God – Jesus knows. He knows them better than you do. He knows their price because he paid it. "For Christ also suffered once for sins, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God." (1 Pet. 3:18) Maybe little Blake Rogers can help us understand Jesus's heart-stopping act of grace.

Blake offered a remotely similar gift to his friend, Maura. Blake and Maura shared a kindergarten class. One day she started humming. Her teacher appreciated the music but told Maura to stop – it’s not polite to hum in class. She couldn't. The song in her head demanded to be hummed. After several warnings, the teacher took decisive action – she moved Maura's clothespin from the green spot on the chart to the dreaded blue spot. That meant trouble, and that meant a troubled Maura. Everyone else's clothespin hung in the green. Maura’s was blue, all by itself. Blake tried to help – he patted her on the back, made funny faces, even offered comforting words. But nothing worked. Maura still felt alone.

So, Blake made the ultimate sacrifice. Making sure the teacher was watching, he began to hum. The teacher warned him to stop. He didn't. So, she had no choice but to move his clothespin out of the green and into the blue. Blake smiled, and Maura stopped crying. She had a friend. And we have a picture of what Christ did for us because we’ve colored ourselves blue. Every single one of us has sinned a blue streak. Our clothespins hang from the wrong end of the rope. Our sins have separated us from God. But Jesus loved us too much to leave us alone. Like Blake, he voluntarily passed from green to blue, from righteous to unrighteous. But the analogy ends there. Because although Blake took Maura's loneliness, Christ took so much more. He took our place.

He passed from green to blue so that we might pass from blue to green. "For Christ also suffered once for sins, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God." (1 Pet. 3:18). Christ takes away your sin, and in doing so he takes away your anonymity. No longer do you have to say, "No one knows me," because God knows you. He engraved your name on his hand and keeps your tears in a bottle (Isa. 49:16; Ps. 56:8) "LORD, you . . . know all about me," David discovered. "You know when I sit down and when I get up. You know my thoughts before I think them. You know where I go and where I lie down. You know thoroughly everything I do. . . . You are all around me . . . and have put your hand on me." (Ps. 139:1-3, 5) God knows you. And he’s near you. How far is the shepherd from the sheep? (John 10:14) The branch from the vine? (John 15:5) That's how far God is from you. He’s that close.

See how these four words look taped to your bathroom mirror: "God is for me." (Ps. 56:9) It makes no sense to seek your God-given strength until you trust in his. And his kingdom needs you. The poor need you; the lonely need you; the church needs you . . . the cause of God needs you. You are part of "the overall purpose he is working out in everything and everyone." (Eph. 1:12) The kingdom needs you to discover and deploy your unique skill. So, use it to make much out of God.

Many years ago, I received an overdraft notice on the checking account of one of my daughters. I encouraged my children then, as I still do now, to monitor their accounts. Particularly now with all the clever scams. Even so, they sometimes overspent. So, what was I to do? Let the bank absorb it? They wouldn’t. Send her an angry letter? Admonition might help her later, but it wouldn’t satisfy the bank. Phone and tell her to make a deposit? Might as well ask donkeys to fly. I knew her liquidity. Zero. Transfer the money from my account to hers? Seemed to be the best option. After all, I had $25.37. I could replenish her account and pay the overdraft fee as well. Besides, that's my job because my children do something no one else can do: they call me Dad, or Pops. And since she calls me Pops, I did what dads do. I covered my daughter's mistake. When I told her she was overdrawn, she said she was very sorry. Still, she offered no deposit. She couldn’t. She was broke. She had only one option. "Dad, could you . . . ." I interrupted her mid-sentence. "Punkin,’ I already have." I met her need before she even knew she had one.

And long before you knew you needed grace, your Father did the same. Before you knew you needed a Savior, you had one. And when you place your trust in Christ, he places his Spirit in you. And when the Spirit comes, he brings gifts – housewarming gifts of a sort. When you become a child of God, the Holy Spirit requisitions your abilities for the expansion of God's kingdom, and they become spiritual gifts. The Holy Spirit may add other gifts according to his plan. But no one is gift deprived. Lonely? God is with you. Depleted? He funds the overdrawn. Weary of what seems like an ordinary life? Your spiritual adventure waits. He is near. Immanuel. God with us – the cure for loneliness. Forever.

Grace,

Randy

Out on a Limb or Hugging the Trunk?

 

Out on a Limb or Hugging the Trunk?

Are You Out on a Limb or Hugging the Trunk? - Audio/Visual 

God doesn't want us to be shy with his gifts, but bold and loving and sensible.

(2 Timothy 1:7)

What’s your perception of how God treats you? Do you think God treats you with the sensitivity of a prison guard, let’s say? If so, that assumption guarantees daily deliveries of dread. On the other hand, do you believe that God cherishes you like Stradivarius would his violin? Believe that and then you’ll extract your strengths with great joy. Jesus made this very point in his dramatic parable of the talents: “For the kingdom of heaven is like a man traveling to a far country, who called his own servants and delivered his goods to them. And to one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one, to each according to his own ability; and immediately he went on a journey.” (Matt. 25:14-15)

Before "talent" meant skill, it meant money – the largest unit of accounting in Greek currency, i.e., 10,000 denarii. According to the parable of the workers, a denarius represented a day's wage. (Matt. 20:2) So, multiply your daily wage by 10,000 and you’ll discover the value of a talent. For example, if you earn $40,000 a year and work 260 days in a year, you make around $154 a day. A talent in your case would be $1,540,000, or $154 x 10,000. Put into perspective, suppose a person earns $40,000 a year for 40 years. Her lifetime earnings would be $1,600,000, or about $60,000 more than a talent. One talent, then, roughly equals a lifetime’s earnings. That’s a lot of money, and a key point in the parable.

Your God-given design and uniqueness have high market value in heaven. God didn't entrust you with a $2 talent, or a $5 skill. Consider yourself a million-dollar investment, or a multi-million-dollar enterprise. God gives gifts, not miserly, but abundantly. And not randomly, but carefully – “to each according to each one's unique ability." (v. 15) Remember, no one else has your talents. No one. God elevates you from ordinary by matching your extraordinary abilities to fit custom-made assignments.

In the parable, the first two servants rewarded their master's trust. "Immediately the one who had received the five talents went and traded with them and gained five more talents. In the same manner the one who had received the two talents gained two more." (Matt. 25:16-17) The five-talent servant jumped to the task. He "went and traded" the money. He bought investment magazines and watched the business channel. A reliable tip led him to examine some property. He heard about a franchise looking for capital. He pondered his options, crunched the numbers, took a gulp and took the plunge. He invested the money. The second servant showed equal eagerness. He may have only had two talents, but he put them to work, too. Like the first servant, he negotiated, traded and invested.

Both took risks. Both dared to fail. Who’s to say their investments wouldn't NASDAQ into pennies? But they took the chance, nevertheless. And their master commended them. When he returned from his journey, he applauded the five-talent man: "Well done, good and faithful servant; you were faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things." (v. 21) With these words Jesus gives us a glimpse into the end of history, the unannounced day in which the "earth and all its works [will be] exposed to the scrutiny of Judgment." (2 Pet. 3:10) "Well done," Jesus will say to some.

Don’t you want to be numbered among them? To have your Maker look you in the eyes with all humanity watching and listening and telling you, "You did a good job"? Maybe your dad never praised you, or your teachers always criticized you, but God will applaud you. And he’ll call you "good." And when God says you’re good, it counts because only he can make bad sinners good. And only he makes the frail, faithful. "Well done, good and faithful." Not "good and flashy," or "good and famous." Not even "good and fruitful" – just faithful.

Having addressed the five-talent servant, the master turned to the two-talent worker. The master had heaped praise on the $5 million manager. What would he say to the $2 million man? Exactly the same words. "Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord." (Matt. 25:23) He altered no phrase and omitted no honor. The two-talent servant who faithfully fills soda cups for the homeless receives the same applause as the five-talent evangelist who fills stadiums with people. Different fruit, but equal praise. The point? Use your uniqueness to take great risks for God. If you're great with kids, volunteer at the orphanage. If you have a head for business, start a soup kitchen. If God bent you toward medicine, dedicate a day or a decade to helping God’s children. The only mistake is to not risk making one.

Such was the error of the one-talent servant. Did the master notice him? Yes, he did. And from the third servant we learn a very sobering lesson. "Then he who had received the one talent came and said, 'Lord, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you have not sown, and gathering where you have not scattered seed. And I was afraid and went and hid your talent in the ground.'" (vv. 24-25) Contrast the reaction of the third servant with that of the first two. The faithful servants "went and traded." (v. 16) The fearful one "went and dug." (v. 18) The first two invested. The last one buried. The first two went out on a limb. The third one hugged the trunk. He made the most tragic and common mistake of giftedness – he failed to benefit the master with his talent.

Everyone has talents, and this parable, indeed Scripture, assures us as much. But how many people invest their gifts to profit the Master? Many discover their "what," and maybe luck into "where" to use their "what." But "why"? Why did God pack your bag as he did? If you’re an accountant, how do you explain your number sense? And if you’re an investor, you read the stock market like Bobby Fischer reads a chessboard. Have you ever wondered why you have such a skill? Or, if you’re a linguist, foreign languages paralyze most tongues, but they liberate yours. Why? And if you’re a homemaker, you make your household purr like a Bentley. But why? So, people will love you? Pay you? Admire you? Hire you? If your answer involves only “you,” you've missed the big reason for your gift, and you're making an even bigger mistake because sin, at its ugly essence, confiscates heaven's gifts for selfish gain.

Which one of us hasn’t given a needy person some cash, only to see them staggering later in the day from the effects of too much alcohol? If you’re like me, you’re just a little perturbed. "I gave him that money to buy food, and he used it to get drunk?" Is it wrong to be upset? No. He misused the gift. So, is the Master wrong to be angry when we do the same? No. And according to the parable, God will be. Some invest their talents and give God credit. Others misuse their talents and give God grief. Some honor him with fruit, others insult him with excuses. The one-talent servant did. "I knew you to be a hard man," he said, and the master wouldn't have it. So, brace yourself for the force of his response.

"You wicked and lazy servant, you knew that I reap where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed. So, you ought to have deposited my money with the bankers, and at my coming I would have received back my own with interest." (Matt. 25:26-27) Whoa. What just happened? Why the blowtorch? You’ll find the answer in the missing phrase. The master repeated the assessment of the servant, word for word, with one exclusion. Did you note it? "I knew you to be a hard man." (v. 24) The master didn't repeat a description that he wouldn't accept. The servant had levied a cruel judgment by calling the master a “hard man.” In fact, the servant used the exact word for "hard" that Christ used to describe stiff-necked and stubborn Pharisees. (See, Matt. 19:8; Acts 7:51) The writer of Hebrews employed the term to beg readers not to harden their hearts. (Heb. 3:8) In other words, the one-talent servant called his master stiff-necked, stubborn and hard.

His sin was not mismanagement but misunderstanding. Was his master hard? He gave multi-million-dollar gifts to undeserving servants; he honored the two-talent worker as much as the five; he stood face to face with both at homecoming and announced before the audiences of heaven and hell, "Well done, good and faithful servant." Is that a hard master? Infinitely good, graciously abundant, yes. But hard? Not a chance. The problem is that the one-talent servant never knew his master. He should have. He lived under his roof and shared his address. He knew his face, his name, but he never knew his master's heart. And, as a result, he broke it. He could have known his master. The other servants did. He could have at least asked them. But he didn't. In the end the master instructed: "Get rid of this 'play-it-safe' who won't go out on a limb. Throw him out into utter darkness." (Matt. 25:29-30)

False servants populate the Master's house. They enjoy his universe, benefit from his earth; they know his name, his habits; they even frequent his presence. But they never know his passion, and as a result they misuse their talents. So, who is this unprofitable servant? Well, if you never use your gifts for God, you are, and you’ll live a life of buried talents. You'll stick your million-dollar skill in a coffee can, hide it in a drawer and earn nothing for God. You may use your uniqueness to build a reputation, a retirement, an investment account, or an empire, but you won't build God's kingdom. You may know your story, but you won't share his. Your heart will grow cold. For fear of doing the wrong thing for God, you'll do nothing for God. For fear of making the wrong kingdom decision, you'll make no kingdom decision. For fear of messing up, you'll miss out. You’ll give what this servant gave and hear what this servant heard: "You wicked and lazy servant." (v. 26)

But you don't have to. It's not too late to seek your Father's heart. Your God is a good God. He lavished you with strengths in this life, and a promise of the next. So, go out on a limb and don’t hug the trunk. Be audacious; he won't let you fall. Take a big risk; he won't let you fail. He invites you to dream of the day you feel his hand on your shoulder and his eyes on your face. "Well done," he’ll say, "good and faithful servant." Isn’t that what you want to hear? Otherwise, you’ll just be kindling. (v. 30)

Grace,

Randy