Where Will We Go?

August 30, 2016August 30, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

My old friend came in and sat down. It seemed like a morning for remembering the past.

It turned out to be a morning for looking to the future.

Somehow though, there are always more important things to consider than those that are most obvious. We talk about life as we know it, but larger truths lie waiting to be appropriated.

Our conversation was interrupted a time or two by customers, come to replenish their supply of guitar picks, or banjo strings. Then she came in lugging a case that could only hold a trombone. I remembered the young lady from her visit just days ago.

“I did what you suggested. I brought it by to be sure it’s not going to be a bad horn for my son. Do you mind taking a look at it?”

I didn’t mind. It was a good horn and I told her so, suggesting a few things she might do to keep it in that condition. She thanked me and left.

As I returned to my seat, my friend, who had listened and watched the interlude carefully, stared at me—a mixture of surprise and annoyance written on his face.

He wanted to know how she had the nerve to walk in with an instrument she had purchased elsewhere and ask me to help her determine its suitability. He had also noted that there was no request on my part for a fee, nor had she offered one.

I brushed his concerns aside.

“I told her to do it. I want to be sure as many kids as possible get good instruments, even when I’m not the one to provide them.”

He sat in silence for a moment or two. Mouth hanging open in disbelief and hands waving in the air, he digested the concept.

In a return—of sorts—to our earlier conversation, he asked one more question.

“Where are they going to go to get that done when you’re not around anymore?”

My friend avers that we offer a service no other business would offer. I’m sure he’s wrong, but I can’t prove it.

I do wish I could answer his question. It bothers me.

I have thought about it before. I thought about it more after he left today.

It’s an odd thing, though. That more important truth I mentioned earlier keeps intruding on my consideration.

Peter said to the Master, “Lord, to whom would we go? You have the only words capable of giving life. There is no one else.” (John 6:67-69)

A large number of people who had been following Jesus were deserting Him, not able to accept the truths He was teaching. He had wondered aloud if the original disciples were also going to abandon Him.

Peter and his comrades knew the truth. There was no one else to turn to. No other person who walked the earth, no other teacher who offered his version of truth, had words that could give eternal life. There was no one else.

There was no one else.

There never will be.

You know, my friend is wrong.

Others will come behind me. If they don’t do the same things, the new methods will suffice.

The music will not die. It didn’t really need me in the first place.

The same cannot be said of those who follow Jesus. There will never be a different Savior. There will never be another Son of God.

No one else will ever offer the words of life.

Ever.

No one else will ever offer the words of life. Ever. Click To Tweet

And unlike me, He won’t be retiring. His offer stands. To every generation. Until the end of days.

Come unto me, all who are weary and burdened with care, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28)

Leave your money at home. You can’t afford this service.

He wouldn’t accept it anyway.

The graveyards are full of indispensable men.
(Charles DeGaulle ~ French statesman ~ 1890-1970)

Your eternal word, O Lord,
stands firm in heaven.
Your faithfulness extends to every generation,
as enduring as the earth you created.
(Psalm 119:89-90 ~ NLT)

Good to all People

March 11, 2016March 11, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 3 Comments

The old man is rumpled and smudged.

You might think I’m only speaking of his clothes, but indeed, the man himself fits the description to a tee. His clothes are themselves rumpled, but so too, is his demeanor and his facial features.

Wrinkled and sad, he pushes inside my store to stand before me—his dirty, smudged clothes hanging from him as he asks me his favor.

“I have some things to sell. Do you think you might be interested?”

It is a question that comes with some regularity these days. I tell him I’ll look at what he’s got and follow him out to the old battered pickup truck—itself rumpled and smudged. Another man, looking much like my new friend, is sitting in the cab, awaiting the verdict.

As I look through the hodge-podge of items which he pulls, one by one, from the bed, he tells his story. They’ve all got a story these days; it seems to be a requirement to include one in their pitch.

“I can’t pay my insurance. If I don’t have insurance, I can’t work.”

I ask him what kind of work he does and he tells me that he buys junk and resells it. I should have guessed. Everything he has shown me fits that description—junk.

I am tempted to leave it all in the truck and walk away, but I cannot. We make a deal for a couple of items and he returns with me inside the store to take care of the details.

I am surprised as I view his ID (a legal requirement for me) and learn the old rumpled man is less than a year older than I.

With his own filthy, gnarled one, he grasps my hand in gratitude as he takes the small amount of cash. Turning, he walks out waving the bills above his head triumphantly to show his bounty to his companion. I shake my head, knowing that the scene will be played out several times more, either today or in the very near future.

The stories will vary; the players will be taller, or fatter, or of a different gender, but all will be rumpled and smudged, and all will need my help. I stare at the side of my store building, looking for the mark which I often suspect is there, but I cannot see it.

The mark?

Go back in our country’s history nearly a century. We were in the midst of a depression, with high unemployment and many folks losing their homes and businesses. It seems that it may have been a lot like the present day, only a good bit worse.

Many of the unemployed took to the highways and country roads in search of temporary work, but little was to be found. These people, mostly men, were forced to beg for food, a practice which soon turned many of the more fortunate against them.

The hobos soon developed a system of signs to communicate to others coming after them by the same way. The signs would be placed along the road and on buildings, written with coal or chalk. They would warn of antagonistic officers of the law or stingy housewives, as well as declaring the location of a generous soul.

This last category came to be known as an easy mark. We use the term today. I often use it to describe myself, when thinking about people who are in need. Perhaps, they do too.

Apparently though, there is no necessity of a written mark for my location. Word of mouth seems to suffice, as more come each week.

Can I let you in on a secret?

Recently, I have grown weary of it. To be blunt, I don’t have a lot of ready cash. I’m not what you would describe as a wealthy man, a fact my banker could easily corroborate.

Wherever the mark is, I wish they would remove it. I might even erase it myself, if I could locate it.

But, as I sit and wallow in self-pity, almost enjoying the little party it inspires, I am reminded that there is much more to this than the simple transaction of handing over a bit of cash.

I am a follower of Jesus, with all that is attached to that statement.

Specifically, it’s probably a prerequisite that I follow His teachings.

Many of my fellow believers have come to the conclusion that only the doctrinal, intellectual part of their religion is of importance. I am not able to separate the intellectual from the physical.

The Teacher gave instructions—indeed, He gave an example—as He walked with his original followers. He used words like cups of cold water, hungry and feed, naked and clothe, thirsty and something to drink. (Matthew 25:31-46)

His instructions were not for us to provide intellectual comfort, but to actually do something.

If I claim to be a follower, I must do just that—Follow.

Follow His instructions—His example—His Word.

I know many who give much more than I do, many who are actively involved day after day in helping those in need. Mine is not a heavy burden; I just seem to be getting weary of bearing it.

Every once in awhile though, I remember what the Apostle said as he encouraged the folks under his care.

Don’t grow weary of doing what is right. At the proper time, a harvest of blessings will be ready to reap, provided we don’t give up. (Galatians 6:9)

The day for harvesting doesn’t seem to be much nearer, but who can say?

Tomorrow might be the day.

I’ll be here, either to do the work or to enjoy the bounty. There is still plenty of work to go around. You looking for a job?

Oh, when you do come by, could you look to see if you can find that mark on my building?

I’d still like to have it removed. . .

Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people. . .
(Galatians 6:10a~NIV)

Charity never humiliated him who profited by it, nor bound him by the chains of gratitude, since it was not to him, but to God that the gift was made.
(Antoine de Saint-Exupery~French author~1900-1944)

New Things

February 29, 2016November 2, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

Open your eyes. I am going to do a new thing.

The voice in my head was as clear as if someone in the room had spoken. The only problem was no one else was there. The Lovely Lady had already left for her morning of work at the library.

I was by myself. There was not a soul in the house besides me.

I’m not a dreams and visions type person. I’ve always believed that God gives us wisdom and intelligence to follow the path laid out before us. As we make educated decisions, His Spirit guides us. Gently.

I never wanted to hear a voice in my ear as I awake in the morning. Well, except for the Lovely Lady’s telling me there are doughnuts to go with the coffee. . .

I would understand it if I had just been reading that specific chapter in the Bible right before retiring. Isaiah 43 is a powerful chapter, with reminders of who our God is, and what He intends to do. I’ve read the passage several times since that morning.

But, I hadn’t read it in ages. I don’t think it was put in my head by anything I had heard or read with a similar message.

The words just hung in the air.

A new thing? Really?

I don’t like new things all that much.

My shoes, I like comfortable and broken in. I’m using the same cash register at my music store I was using in the 1990s. It’s not that it’s a great piece of machinery, but I understand how to make it work, and that’s enough.

I like to eat Kraft Macaroni and Cheese with fried tuna patties every Thursday evening. Don’t ask me out to eat on Thursday. Comfort food night is almost like going to church. If I have my mac and cheese, I can almost believe everything is right with the world.

I don’t really care for new places, or new experiences, or new flavors.

I bought a bicycle the other day. It sat for two weeks before I even threw a leg over the saddle. Another two weeks later, I actually wheeled it out of the front door.

On Saturday, I put air in the tires and did something I had never done. I locked my shoes into the clip-less pedals and took a turn around the parking lot out front. I wasn’t happy to see a couple of big, burly fellows sitting on the roof across the street, working on the sign hanging there. I certainly didn’t want to look foolish to them.

But then, I got started pedaling and it seemed to go well. At first.

I actually thought the words as I rounded the lot for the first time.

See! I am doing a new thing!

Not for long did I keep that foolish thought in my head. You see, I quickly discovered that I knew nothing about changing the gears on this particular setup. It was right about that time I realized I would have to unlock my shoes from the pedals soon, too. Without falling over.

Bicycles have only two tires, you know. They don’t balance when they’re not moving forward. This one would come to a stop very soon, and I couldn’t remember which foot I had decided it would be best to put down first. I started to unclip the right foot, just as I slowed to a near stop. It was right about then I remembered I had decided I should unclip the left foot first.

It was also right about then the seat tube decided to slide down about six inches. Whump!

Did I tell you I was worried about looking foolish?

I looked foolish.

I hate it when I look foolish. Hate it.

And perhaps, we have actually uncovered why I dislike new things so much. Unfamiliar territory is territory where I make mistakes. I don’t appear intelligent and wise. I don’t impress.

I am embarrassed. Frequently.

I want it to stop. I am approaching sixty years old, an age at which I believe it is my right to retain my dignity at all times.

I shouldn’t be expected to learn new skills, to venture out on untried bridges, to balance on two micro-thin rubber tires while remembering which foot is which and which shifter changes what gear.

But tonight, I’m wondering—I who have declared in my brashest voice that I am a follower of the Son of God—I’m wondering what it means to really follow Him.

Is it enough that I have followed Him for these few years, the decades of youth and middle-age?

Is that enough?

What if He says to me, Better things are waiting—out there? What then? Click To Tweet

What if He says to me, Better things are waiting—out there—across the bridge?

Would I take the chance—the adventure—and strike out to a new and unknown field?

I’ve never been over there.

What if there are strange people?

Is the bridge safe?

Will I have plenty to eat, a warm place to stay, a comfy bed in which to sleep when I reach the end of each day?

On the best day fishing Peter and his partners had ever had—the best day—the Teacher told them He had better things for them to accomplish. (Luke 5:9-11)

They abandoned their boats and nets—and fantastic catch—on the shore and followed.

They followed.

A new thing.

Maybe it was only learning to ride a different bicycle for me. Perhaps, that will be the end of the matter.

Perhaps not.

Probably not.

I wonder. Could I cross the bridge, abandoning the comfortable, familiar place I’m in? I want to believe that I could.

I might look ridiculous—foolish even.

Would you laugh?

Or, would you cross it with me?

Companions on the road are nothing to sneer at.

Companions on the road are nothing to sneer at. Click To Tweet

I don’t know where we’re going yet.

He does.

It will be enough.

Do not remember the former things,
Nor consider the things of old.
Behold, I will do a new thing,
Now it shall spring forth;
Shall you not know it?
I will even make a road in the wilderness
And rivers in the desert.
(Isaiah 43:18, 19 ~ NKJV)

“Doubtless,” said the Prince. “This signifies that Aslan will be our good lord, whether he means us to live or die. And all’s one, for that. Now, by my counsel, we shall . . . all shake hands one with another, as true friends that may shortly be parted. And then, let us descend into the City and take the adventure that is sent us.”
(From The Silver Chair ~ C.S. Lewis ~ British novelist ~ 1898-1963)

Winding Paths

January 18, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

I’ve believed it for a long time. I’ve even used the illustration myself before.

I’m not so sure anymore.

The boy learning to plow tries his hand at running the tractor. Completing his first row, he turns back proudly to view the result of his effort only to see a wobbly, wandering furrow.

You’ve heard it before, of course. If you’ve read enough of my writing, you know how much I love a moral. There’s definitely a moral to this one.

Eyes on the prize.

Somehow, I’m not sure this one is as clear-cut as it used to be.

The old farmer takes the wheel of the tractor and turns it around, suggesting to the lad that he needs to keep his eye on the goal. Pick a landmark far ahead and steer a course straight toward that. Don’t look at the ground; focus on the target. He plows a straight furrow every time.

Long term goals.

We revere men of straight paths. Focused on their destination, they move steadily in the same direction, never faltering, ever resolute.

Is there such a man? Perhaps. I have thought I knew some, but I’ve been disappointed before. We live in a world of distractions. Even the most focused human is bound to falter, maybe even to veer off the path, given the right diversion.

We make idols of men, believing a lie.

Only one Man lived a faithful life of purpose, never faltering from His purpose.

True, He’s the one we follow. Still, we take wrong turns. We misplace our resolve.

I spoke with a friend today, sadly relating my experience of watching a life lived in a straight line for many years, only to see it veer off on a incredible tangent just as the person neared the goal. So close—close and yet so very far.

A long obedience in the same direction, only to disappoint as the prize was within their grasp.

I wonder. Is there something wrong with the assumption that a straight line is the only way this following thing works?

When the Teacher told them to follow Him, was He asking those men to pick a target way out in the future, at the very end of their life and aim for that? I somehow don’t think that was what He had in mind. He didn’t ask them to pledge their lifelong service

He just said, “Follow me.”

That’s it. Follow.

I don’t have to know where the end of the road is. I don’t have to worry about interchanges and alternate routes before I get there. I’m not a navigator.

A follower, that’s what I am. I’m not that good at it, but it’s all I’ve ever claimed to be.

It seems that we want to set our sights on the straight-liners, the ones who stride along, head held high, secure in the knowledge they are on the right road. If we do, we’ll be disappointed nearly every time.

We weren’t called to follow them.

We’re only called to follow the One who faithfully followed His Father. Every step. (John 15:10)

Probably, the furrow He plowed would not have appeared to be a straight one to any onlookers. Certainly, it wasn’t to the religious leaders of that day. They knew the right path. Knew it.

But, they didn’t recognize the one He walked. He stopped in at too many parties, got caught in too many storms at sea, and touched too many lepers. Surely, this one couldn’t be following God!

We can’t be sure how straight the road will be from here on out. I don’t think we need to be worried about it.

If we stick close, we’ll be able to make the sharp turns when He does.

We may not stride in with head held high. But stumbling in with head hanging, knowing we followed all the way will be enough.

Oh. We should probably be ready to make a detour or two to visit a sick friend—or check on that fellow in jail.

The path is not all that straight, after all.

Then Jesus said to His disciples, “If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.
(Matthew 16:24 ~ NASB)

All the way my Savior leads me,
Cheers each winding path I tread,
Gives me grace for every trial,
Feeds me with the living bread.
(Fanny J Crosby ~ American hymn-writer ~ 1820-1915)

Do What You Are

March 27, 2015March 28, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I almost laughed at the silly statement. Then, I sat still and considered the depth of understanding demonstrated by the author.

I was reading one of those ubiquitous habits of a highly successful person lists. They seem to be everywhere and to be tailored for every possible profession. This one had to do with writers.

I’d like to be a writer when I grow up. It makes sense for me to pay attention when free advice is offered.

I don’t know what the first five habits were. Can’t remember anything about them, really. I think there was something about reading more, and maybe a suggestion that I find someplace quiet to do it. I really don’t remember.

It doesn’t matter. I can remember the important habit. The silly one.

The list was full of good advice which I will, no doubt, ignore completely. The helpful author ended with one piece of counsel which I will not ignore.

The last item on the list said simply: Successful writers write.

They write. They do what they do.

More than that, they do what they are.

It really does seem unnecessary to even make the statement, doesn’t it? Of course, they write! How could you call yourself a writer if you didn’t write?

I remembered the principle quite by chance the other day. I was talking with a young man at church about a great piano solo his brother had played that morning. As is common with such conversations, I felt the need to throw in the statement that I was a pianist, too.

The young man didn’t let that get past without comment. “Oh. You play, too? Where do you play?”

I was taken aback. I haven’t played the piano anywhere for years. Seriously. Years. I won’t even play at home anymore. Oh, once in awhile, I strike a chord and a melody of about four notes and I’m done.

I don’t play the piano. I had to admit as much to the nice fellow. He was kind and didn’t press the subject further.

I’m not a pianist. I do know how to play the piano, but I don’t do it.

The list of these natural correlations would be endless, so I’ll just mention a few to reinforce the obvious.

Dieters diet. Runners run. Builders build. Preachers preach. Drivers drive. Actors act. Photographers photograph.

The concept is pretty clear, isn’t it? Also, pretty unassailable. If one is something, they do that something.

I promise, I sat down tonight with only one goal in mind–to write. When nothing came immediately to mind, that phrase, writers write, began to go through my thoughts and I simply started to do just that–to write. My problem is, as usually happens, a bigger lesson is just begging to be learned from my poverty of original ideas.

I’m wondering if too many of us are claiming to be something, but are not actually putting that something into practice. It is true of many things, but I’m especially thinking about our faith as I write this.

If I claim to be a disciple of someone or something, but there is no discipline practiced, am I really a disciple?

Should I put it more clearly?

If I claim to be a follower of Christ (the name Christian means exactly that), but don’t actually follow His teachings, I’m not actually His follower, am I?

The words are misused so often, but He is the one who spoke them, long ago now. They still haven’t lost their impact.

By their fruit, they shall be known.

I can’t be a writer if I don’t write. I’m not a pianist if I don’t play the piano. What I am, I will put into practice.

Always.

And what of grace? Lest it appear that I am suggesting that we must work ourselves into God’s presence, I will say unequivocally that the work of salvation is wholly and completely His. Grace is freely given. Freely.

Our walk with the Giver of grace is another story. The story of our life.

It’s time to do what we are. Past time.

I’m going to keep writing, too.

I want to be a writer when I grow up. Someday.

“You will know them by their fruits. Grapes are not gathered from thorn bushes nor figs from thistles, are they?
(Matthew 7:16 ~ NASB)

“Enough had been thought, and said, and felt, and imagined. It was about time that something should be done.”
(from Surprised by Joy ~ C.S. Lewis ~ British theologian/novelist ~ 1989-1963)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

disciple

Where Will We Go?

New Things

Winding Paths

Do What You Are