Held Fast

October 31, 2023 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

image by Autumn Mott Rodeheaver on Unsplash

Today, at least where I live, is a day that proves why we call this season fall.

A heavy frost this morning has the leaves tumbling—gyrating and spinning this way and that—as they make their final journey to the earth below.

Moments ago, I stood under some of those trees raining down their leaves in the crisp frozen air, and couldn’t stop the song I was hearing in my head.

My niece in Mississippi (I claim her, whether or no she does me) asked her friends to tell her their favorite hymn yesterday.

How do I pick a favorite? There are so many, fraught with wisdom and deep meaning.

I did anyway.

O Love That Will Not Let Me Go is truly one of my favorites. A song that reminds us our Savior has promised to hold us close to his heart no matter what.

Its tune (and words) sounded clearly in my brain as I paused in the plummeting leaves earlier.

The leaf fall continues outside my window as I sit by the warm fire now.

You don’t need more words from me.

Perhaps, words from our old friend David say it more clearly than I can:

“But they delight in the law of the Lord, meditating on it day and night. They are like trees planted along the riverbank, bearing fruit each season. Their leaves never wither, and they prosper in all they do.” (Psalm 1: 2-3, NLT)

I’ve seen the mighty oak trees clinging to their leaves. Longer than any of the others nearby, they hold them.

And yet, in the end, they too fly—and flutter—and fall. To the earth below to be ground into dust.

His love, stronger than the mighty oak, never—never—lets go.

Ever.

Held in His strong and loving hands. What could be better?

Keepers Kept

October 5, 2023October 5, 2023 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“She’s a keeper, Paul!”

My sister-in-law had just met the Lovely Young Lady for the first time. She wasn’t wrong. I’ve done my best to hold onto her for the last forty-five years.

A keeper.

“That’s a keeper, Paul!”

The neighbor boy, Warren, yelled the phrase down the banks of the drainage ditch. I had just landed a large perch with my old cane pole, my bait being one of the long, wriggly earthworms we had dug up just moments before. We kept the perch, along with a few more that day.

“You kids need a keeper!”

The words of disgust came from the lips of an aging passerby in the shopping mall. They were aimed at the group of rowdy band kids who hooted, and whistled, and wrestled, oblivious to the constant parade of grown-ups around them.

We probably did. Need a keeper, that is.

All of the above events came to mind during my sleepless hours last night. My brain has been wrestling, trying to come to grips with the immense meaning of a tiny word.

Keep.

Our use of the word is almost exclusively understood to mean retain possession of. It means that. It does.

But, it means that and so much more. The original meaning of the word implies (besides possessing) holding tightly, guarding closely, and even fighting for.

Castles in medieval times had a keep, a fortified castle within the castle, intended as a last defense, a place of ultimate shelter where enemies could not break through. It was a place of protection for the defenseless, of strength for the weak, of safety for all that was valued.

The passages in the Bible that speak of God keeping and blessing mean well more than simply being His; they imply being held and guarded against all dangers, dwelling in His fortress—His castle keep.

A strange subject to mull over in the small hours of the morning, you think?

I don’t disagree.

The fodder for my thoughts had only been introduced moments before I finally succumbed to the tyranny of the clock, well after midnight. I laid myself on the bed knowing I would not sleep because of the turmoil inside my brain.

Often, the late night hours are a time when I chase my ancestors into the past—perusing old books, searching online databases, and thumbing through materials in my keeping from family members who are gone but not forgotten. Last night, I found something that grabbed my attention.

I’ve flipped through the pages of the old Bible before. It was my great-grandfather’s, given to him by his mother in his 18th year. The date on the flyleaf is January 1, 1881.

I’ve never found anything of value to my search in its pages before, besides the mourning ribbon for President Garfield upon his assassination nine months after my forebear received the Bible. I think I may have even seen this little yellow ribbon previously and gone past, dismissing its message in my search for facts.

The ribbon in the pages of the little Bible says simply, “Keepers.” I cannot find any context for it in my searches for who my great-grandfather was.

And yet, there is context to be found.

It’s easy to believe, at times, that we are worthless—merely sinners living in a fallen world. We who follow Christ know that we are redeemed, but often we are discouraged, believing that things will never change—that we will never change.

The reality—a reality reinforced again and again in the old Book—is that we are keepers.

Worth being held.

Worth being protected.

Worth being valued.

Keepers. Kept by a Keeper. Who will do all those things. And more.

That ribbon has clearly lodged at the same place for many, many years. You can see where the color has leached into the paper on either side of it.

Last night, I read the passage where it sits. I think I needed to be reminded.

For you have been born again, but not to a life that will quickly end. Your new life will last forever because it comes from the eternal, living word of God. As the Scriptures say,
“People are like grass;
their beauty is like a flower in the field.
The grass withers and the flower fades.
But the word of the Lord remains forever.”
(1 Peter 1: 23-25, NLT)

I’m keeping the Bible. And the ribbon.

I’m still looking for clues to who my ancestors were. But, I know who I am. It’s who you are, too.

Keepers.

With a Keeper.

Living here in His keep.

Protected. And, blessed.

The Lord bless you and keep you;
The Lord make His face shine upon you,
And be gracious to you;
The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace.
(Numbers 6:24-26, NKJV)

The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. (Maya Angelou)

Living Life in the Open

July 19, 2019July 19, 2019 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

It’s time to tear down walls instead of building more.

I never knew him.

The same could be said of many whose voices have fallen on my ears — whose hands I have shaken — whose eyes I’ve looked into.

Him, I never spoke with — never laid eyes on.

The young African-American man was moved by an article I wrote and was kind enough to send a note telling me so.

We were connected only by the information superhighway, a mode of transport that never brought us closer than a note here, a click of the “like” button there.

Friends, they call it.

As if applying the label could tie the knots to bind individuals together. As if we could struggle past our differences in locale and in community.

He was a student of the martial arts; I a student of classical music. He was city through and through; I lock the doors to my car on the outskirts of any urban center, unlocking them only if there is no other choice or when I have passed the city limits sign on the other side.

And yet, it seemed there was something there — a connection of sorts.

Tears filled my eyes on the day he wrote the words: He’s gone. Sitting right across the table from me, and he dropped dead.

His best friend had died of a massive heart attack as they sat eating and joking. He never got over it.

I wrote a note, which he acknowledged. We exchanged other notes, but they were vague and disconnected. Something had changed.

A few months later, I was shocked to read the words from a relative in a message to the young man’s online friends.

Tonight, he decided there was nothing left worth living for. I’m sorry to have to tell you this way. Thanks for being his friends.

I know. I cry too easily. This was different.

A friend died, his life ended before he was a quarter of a century old.

I never knew him.

Still, he was my friend, my brother. The tears flowed.

They fill my eyes even now.

Can I tell you something? Even if I had never exchanged a word with him, we would have been connected. Even if his name had never been in the listing of friends I had made in my social network, it would be true.

If I haven’t made it clear enough before in my writing, let me say it again here:

We are all connected. All.

There was one Man who insisted on it. At the crossroads of history, He stood and said:

If I do this — if I allow myself to be the sacrifice — it will be for every human whose heart beats within his breast. I will draw all men to myself. (John 12:32 ~ my paraphrase)

I am not a universalist. Many who are drawn will not come. I know that.

And yet, what if all that is standing between one who is drawn and the Man-God I claim to follow is me?

Or what if — on the flip side of the coin — what if I’m the one who will help that one who is drawn to make up his or her mind?

If I say I love God, but do not love my brother, I am a liar. The truth is not to be found in me. (1 John 4:20 ~ my paraphrase)

I watch with horror as the barriers are being erected. High and strong, the walls are being fortified.

Brothers dwell within every fortification, but few will venture out from behind their safety. Few can abandon their petty claims — to hold out a hand in friendship, to embrace family.

Family.

We argue about words and slogans, while people die. We insist on our version of truth, while souls hang in the balance.

I’m convinced we will meet again one day, where no barrier stands

Together, beyond that dividing line between this earthly existence and eternity in Heaven, we’ll stand and will weep as we realize the powerful truth of His words.

All men. Black, white, brown — called out of every nation, every tribe.

Drawn to Him — away from the worship of false gods, from following false prophets, from teaching false doctrines.

We’ll weep until He wipes away the tears from our eyes Himself. (Revelation 21:4)

I said earlier that I cry too easily. I wonder.

Perhaps we need to cry more while we’re here, not less.

My young friend who abandoned hope sat and listened to music right before he took his last breath. Missing his friend who had died before his eyes, he thought he heard in the words of the song an invitation to join him.

Sadly, it seemed easier than walking a difficult, lonely road without him.

Another young friend, who also has known the horrible pain and emptiness of losing someone he loves, wrote recently of his struggle to comprehend a God who allows such things.

He has reached the conclusion — not lightly nor easily — that likely, it’s our understanding of God that is flawed and not the other way around.

We build a box and stuff God in it, much as we do with people.

Neither will stay in the boxes we have built.

God is too big.

People are too stubborn.

And yet, out in the open seems dangerous, doesn’t it? Too exposed, too brightly lit, too vulnerable.

But we’ve tried hiding. It achieves nothing lasting, leaving only suspicion and hatred.

Perhaps, it’s time to try openness.

There’s more room for hugging and handshakes out here.

There will even be some tears.

Somehow, I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

So let the light guide your way, yeah
Hold every memory as you go
And every road you take, will always lead you home, home

It’s been a long day without you, my friend
And I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again
We’ve come a long way from where we began
Oh, I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again
When I see you again.
(from See You Again ~ Franks, Puth, Thomaz ~ 2014)

How wonderful and pleasant it is
when brothers live together in harmony!
For harmony is as precious as the anointing oil
that was poured over Aaron’s head,
that ran down his beard
and onto the border of his robe.
Harmony is as refreshing as the dew from Mount Hermon
that falls on the mountains of Zion.
And there the Lord has pronounced his blessing,
even life everlasting.
(Psalm 133 ~ NLT)

Not Lightly

January 24, 2019January 24, 2019 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

It’s one of the reasons I can’t always listen to music while I write. You’d think I would have to have music. It soothes the savage breast, they say. It washes away the layers of dust from the day’s travels.

It does those things. It does. But, it also shanghais the words on the page, rearranging them and forming ideas I never intended to lay out in cohesive concepts. Before I know it, I’ve ended up in a completely different locale than where I was headed when I began the journey.

I sat in front of a screen recently, clicking the keys as fast as my fumbling fingers would allow, and listened to a CD from one of my favorite singers. The CD has a handwritten title, scribbled right on the disc with a Sharpie, reminiscent of what we once did with what we called mix tapes.

Only, it wasn’t. Not anything like what we used to make.

The voice coming from the little computer speakers was a familiar one, that of a friend. She knows how to write a song. And, how to sing one.

Friends. Recently, my mind has been wandering more and more to the people in my life. It does that, you know.

My mind, I mean. Wandering.

I’ve written before of the great gift we’ve been given in those we can call by the name friend. I don’t repent the words.

On the night I’m thinking about, my mind was on other things, but the song she sang hijacked my train of thought. Held it at gunpoint, forcing a new direction.

I, like most men, have a one-track mind (one that can only focus on one thing at a time), so hijack is the right word to use here. And, as the train gathered momentum down the new track, the clacking keys of my keyboard fell silent.

One line. As I write, it’s all I remember from the song. It’s enough.

“You will not pass lightly through my years.”

I can’t write the words without feeling the presence of many people. The memories come non-stop. Some, I don’t want to consider beyond the first glimmer of recognition. Others, I hold tight and savor, reliving cherished moments again and again, like a CD on repeat.

Our lives, from earliest interactions, have been shaped by the people in them. Family, teachers, friends, bullies, attackers, employers, pastors, neighbors—people who have walked through our journey—and left footprints there.

Some have stayed and walked beside us for miles and miles. Others have only appeared and then disappeared, leaving barely a trace in our lives at all.

A few merely stay long enough to inflict intense pain—pain which will last for as long as we are on the journey.

And others, even fewer in number, stay to help ease the pain which has been left behind. These, we turn to over and over.

Gifts they are, from a loving Father above.

All of them. Gifts.

Wait. All of them?

Are the ones who inflict pain gifts, as well as the ones who ease it?

This is getting a little uncomfortable, isn’t it?

The words hit way too close to home for me, as well. Perhaps, I shouldn’t camp out on this for very long. I’ll just say this and move on:

God uses whatever tools He chooses to make us into the mature followers He needs.

God uses whatever tools He chooses to make us into the mature followers He needs. Click To Tweet

Perhaps the words of Joseph, speaking to his murderous, jealous brothers, say it best: You meant to harm me beyond belief. God always intended that great good would come of it. (Genesis 50:20)

And Jesus laid out the expectation clearly: Love the haters. Bless them when they curse you. Pray for the hurtful. Give to the thief who steals from you. God did it. Follow His lead. (Luke 6:27-36)

Well. That standard’s not too high, is it?

Here’s the thing. I really want someone to say the words about me someday.

You did not pass lightly through my years.

I don’t want to be the fellow who made a cameo appearance, never making a difference to the scene whatsoever.

Friends make a difference. They make a lasting impression. A good one.

What we call the Golden Rule didn’t come from some do-gooder making up slogans. It came from the One who, walking through the lives of humanity, has left a clearer footprint than anyone else ever could.

Don’t treat people the way they deserve; treat them the way you’d like to be treated. (Matthew 7:12)

I don’t know about you, but my standard for how I think I should be treated is fairly high.

No. Higher than that.

Really. Higher.

So, my standard for how I treat my fellow travelers—every one of them—must be just as high. And still higher.

And someday, if the words do fall from someone else’s lips about me, those words about not passing lightly, I hope they know the reason.

It’s not because of the way I want to be treated. That’s not the why of our treatment of others, only the how.

The why is that we love, simply because He loved us. (1 John 4:19)

When we travel through the lives of others, passing (lightly or otherwise) with love, we leave behind the sweet aroma of the One we follow. (2 Corinthians 2:14b)

It’s better than the stench I know I’ve left more often than I care to discuss here. A lot better.

On we walk. Friends helping friends on the way home.

Really.

Home.

Leaving footprints that point the way to a Savior.

Not lightly.

We leave traces of ourselves wherever we go, on whatever we touch.
(Lewis Thomas ~ American physician/scientist/writer ~ 1913-1993)

I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world.
(Thomas A Edison ~ American inventor ~ 1847-1931)

Click below to listen to the song I mentioned in the article:

“Forever Friends” by Nancy Jesser-Halsey

I Feel Better Now

February 9, 2017February 9, 2017 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 5 Comments

She asked me about it this afternoon.

Is it time to get going on that little project yet?

She knows I’ve been thinking about it this week. I told her I was. Thinking about it.

What I really meant was I was thinking about how I was feeling guilty about not doing it.

So, this afternoon, we stood around—the Lovely Lady and I—and talked about the project.

Well? It is what one does.

Oh, I know I could just do the project. When I say we stood around and talked about it, I don’t pretend that there were any special revelations. It was all information I had a firm grasp on already.

Still, I feel better about it now.

I haven’t started the project yet; I’m just not feeling guilty about not starting it. We planned. We organized.

Really. I feel much better now.

Planning and organizing. It’s what we do best.

We are far more competent at discussing the process than we are at actually getting the job done.

Well. I am, anyway.

His followers did it too. You know, the Teacher’s rag-tag group of outcasts and blue-collar laborers. His disciples.

They had a discussion about what to do. This was serious stuff. They needed to wrap their heads around it. What they did was pray. (Matthew 14:13-21)

Well, kind of. They begged their Teacher to fix the problem for them. It was a prayer—of sorts.

These people, Teacher. They need to eat. We need You to take care of this. Send them home. Please.

We call the story: Jesus Feeds Five Thousand. We always have.

It isn’t what happened.

The name of the story is: Twelve Men Feed Five Thousand.

You’re skeptical. I understand that. But, it’s right there in the Book.

He looked at them and said, You feed them. (Matthew 14:16)

You feed them.

And, they did.

They did.

I wonder. Why is it so difficult for us to understand? We know what to do. What keeps us from accomplishing it?

The Teacher told of a wealthy man who prepared an amazing feast. The hall was ready. The food was on the table. All that was missing were the folks who needed to eat. The chairs were empty.

Go out there and give them every reason—every reason—to come and eat. Every person you see. Compel them to come in. (Luke 14:23)

Love compels. It doesn’t sit and write plans. It doesn’t draw flow charts. It doesn’t ask for direction when direction has already been given.

Love compels.

Love compels. It doesn't sit and write plans. Click To Tweet

Love that compels is love that grabs a neighbor by the heart and draws them inexorably to the God who forgives.

Love that compels is love that brushes aside the insult of ten minutes ago and the bitterness of ten years ago and holds tight in an embrace that forces out all but itself.

But, we have to start.

The time to plan has passed.

The time to pray for guidance has passed.

It’s time to act.

Today.

Oh. And, I’ve still got that little project to get started on.

But, I do feel better about it now.

It’s the job that’s never started as takes longest to finish.
(Lord of the Rings ~ J.R.R. Tolkien ~ English novelist/educator ~ 1892-1973)

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful.
(2 Timothy 4:7 ~ NLT)

Debt Piles Up

July 27, 2016July 27, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

God will reward your generosity.

The words came unexpectedly. I didn’t even know the man was paying attention to the transaction which had just occurred in the music store.

I’ve mentioned on several occasions, that with increasing regularity, opportunities pop up to help folks in less advantageous circumstances. Believing that we have been put where we are with a better purpose than amassing wealth, I attempt to make a habit of helping when I can, usually in a mostly insignificant way.

“God will reward your generosity.”

Without thinking, I glanced up at the man in front of me.

“He already has.”

I said the three words that came to me. Nothing more. A total of eight words were spoken on the subject.

We moved on to our business and the terse conversation was forgotten.

I think it needs to be revisited. In a way, it actually was for me later in the day.

A customer from Pennsylvania called to request a CD we didn’t have. I found a company which could provide it and walked the aging man through the process to purchase it on their website.

He was extremely grateful and said essentially the same thing the fellow in my store had earlier.

“God will bless you for this.”

I wonder.

All my life, I’ve listened to the talk of rewards and blessings. I’m confused.

God has given—given—us the magnificent gift of grace. The penalty for our sins has been paid in full. The gift of God is salvation, not of works, but by grace through faith. It’s all Him. All of it. (Ephesians 2:8-9)

And now, if all I do is obey Him, He owes me more?

If I love my neighbor, be he in my music store, or across the country in Philadelphia, I get to keep track of it and present the expense statement for repayment?

I don’t mean to be cynical and I certainly don’t mean to ruffle feathers. Still, I’m looking for the day when we look at the good that others do and simply acknowledge it’s what we all should be doing all the time.

I want us to realize that our love for each other is simply servicing a debt we owe to a Creator who loves us more than words can express.

It’s a debt that can never be paid off.

Never.

I want to be very clear. God owes me nothing.

If I did nothing but good for those around me until the instant of my death, there would never be a hint of any blessing owed me in the ledger kept for such things. Not a feather’s weight would tip the scale in my favor.

I owe Him everything. I always will.

It is true for every saint and sinner who ever walked this dusty earth.

We owe.

But, understand this as well. He never forces us to lift a finger in repayment of the debt.

His love though—His love—makes us into people who cannot help but recognize the claim He has on our actions and attitudes.

We love. Because He loved us first, we love. (1 John 4:19)

Period.

Blessed? Beyond any ability of man to describe.

Rewarded? In ways I will never know—so far out of balance to what I owe.

I owe. Maybe you do too.

We need to be paying up every day we live. Without coercion and without a profit motive on our part, we should give. God loves a cheerful giver. (2 Corinthians 9:7)

We pay on our love debt by helping others. It’s the way the system is designed to work.

The world is sitting with their hands out, waiting for them to be filled.

It’s time for us to pay up.

He’s already blessed us for it.

Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for whoever loves others has fulfilled the law.
(Romans 13:8 ~ NIV)

The world does not understand theology and dogma, but it understands love and sympathy.
(Dwight L Moody ~ American evangelist/pastor ~ 1837-1899)

I Like Mike

July 26, 2016July 26, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The big man looked uncomfortable, waiting there on the sidewalk for me. I don’t suppose he could have been waiting too long.

I was mowing my lawn, focusing on keeping the lines straight, but I could hardly have missed him for even one pass of the lawn.

He waved a big, ham-sized hand at me when he knew I had seen him—a clear message he wanted me to stop and talk with him.

Never one to miss an opportunity to shirk my lawn tending labors, I complied.

“Do you have a power screwdriver I could borrow?”

The question seemed a little odd.

I looked around, but saw no car or, for that matter, any other indication of which direction the unfamiliar man had come from. I don’t normally loan tools to strangers walking down the street, so I looked back at him and wondered aloud what he needed the tool for.

He waved that same large hand over his shoulder and explained sheepishly:

“I’m visiting my mother-in-law up there, and was backing out of her driveway, but I hit the mailbox across the street.”

Glancing up the direction he indicated, I saw the mailbox lying on the grass and nodded.

“No one is home and I want to fix it, but I don’t have any tools at the house at all.” He thought for a minute as if to be sure he wanted to say the next words.

“I’ll pay you.”

I brushed aside his offer and told him I wouldn’t take money for helping neighbors. Leaving the mower where it sat, I went inside and grabbed my handy-dandy battery-powered screwdriver, with attachments.

Heading across the street to where he was standing by then, I spent the next half hour reconstructing the mailbox with him. We talked as we labored, making the short job go by even more quickly.

Mike is a rough-cut retired trucker, who understands that neighbors are high up on the scale of significant people, even when he is not in his own neighborhood.

I liked him.

We laughed as we worked and sweated in the hot sun, enjoying the camaraderie which comes from accomplishing a worthwhile task together.

I bent down to put away my tools and as I stood again, he stuck out that big hand to shake mine, which was completely engulfed in his grip. As I took my hand away and looked down at it, I saw he had left a ten dollar bill in my palm.

“No. I’m just helping a neighbor, too,” I protested.

He wasn’t listening. “You didn’t have to help me, but you did. Thanks.”

I shoved the bill in my pocket, telling him as I did that I would pass it on to someone else who needed it worse than I. He nodded, smiling, and waved, a huge gesture in the air above his head, as he walked toward his mother-in-law’s front door.

I headed back across the street to start my mower again, still grinning to myself. But, somehow, there was the shadow of a negative thought gnawing at the back of my brain.

I saw another mailbox in my head, years ago–now where did that come from?

Oh, yes. Thirty -five years ago, it was.

“He just knocked it over! Never told anyone–just drove away.”

The irate voice on the telephone belonged to a lady I knew only slightly. She had attended our church off and on—more off than on at the time.

I asked for more information to fill in the gaps and fill them in, she did.

“That preacher came and got the church bus last night. It’s parked right next door, you know. Well, when he backed out, he hit the mailbox across the street. He knew he did it too, because he got out and looked at the back of the bus. Then he glanced around to make sure no one saw him, got back in, and drove away.”

Obviously, she was angry–with good reason. I didn’t know what to tell her.

Thirty-five years later, I still don’t.

And, that’s the reason for my pesky negative thoughts, as I consider my new friend Mike and his actions that hot summer day.

You see, Mike isn’t an intellectual man, hasn’t spent a lifetime studying the scriptures, but he understands that neighbors are important people.

No one saw him back into the mailbox. He won’t be back to visit for months, yet he wouldn’t think about driving away without making amends for his accident.

The preacher, on the other hand, had all the knowledge necessary to understand, without any ambiguity, what was required of him.

What made him drive away instead? Was it arrogance? Fear? Impatience? Did he just have more important things to do?

I can’t answer the questions.

And, maybe that’s a good thing, since it keeps me from pointing my finger too squarely at him.

I do know more is required of me. I know more is required of each of us.

I wonder if I need to clarify that we are no longer talking about mailboxes and next-door neighbors. That is a tiny part of it, but there is a much bigger picture.

The cautionary tale of the old truck driver and the preacher should serve to knock apart any preconceived notions we may have about who really understands right and wrong.

If God’s love hasn’t reached into the depths of our hearts, what comes to the surface, embodied in our actions, will be ungodly, regardless of our claims of a personal relationship with Him. (Luke 16:10-15)

A degree in theology scribbled behind our name doesn’t void this; a lifetime spent in church won’t alter it.

Only a clear sense of our own debt to love can lead to the realization that we must–absolutely must–extend that same love to our neighbor.

I’m pretty sure that if they breathe the same air I breathe, they are my neighbors.

There is no human being to whom I do not owe the great debt of love. Not one.

I’ve backed over some mailboxes myself.

Okay, not actually mailboxes. But still, I’ve done a good deal of damage in my lifetime. I’ve driven away time and again without a backward look.

No more.

I want to be like Mike.

How about it? I wonder if someone out there has a tool or two that I could borrow.

Maybe, if I ask a friend, I could even get a helping hand.

I’m asking.

But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”
(Luke 10:29~NIV)

Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses.
(from The Weight of Glory ~ C.S. Lewis~English educator/author~1898-1963)

Two Sides

July 8, 2016July 8, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Starts.
Stops.
I write words.
They’re not right.

Peace.
Fear.
I claim one.
One claims me.

Justice.
Violence.
In my prayers.
Still it preys.

Love.
Fear.
It casts out.
Outcasts makes.

Love.
~~Fear.~~
It casts out.
~~Outcasts makes.~~

Love.

Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without, and know we cannot live within.
(James Arthur Baldwin ~ American playwright/social critic ~ 1924-1987)

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.
We love because he first loved us. Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen. And he has given us this command: Anyone who loves God must also love their brother and sister.
(1 John 4:18-21 ~ NIV)

Just Standing Here

July 1, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Do you know where I can find a bar in this town?

The young man was wandering around my music store, having pulled down a guitar or two from the rack to whack at the strings a few seconds on each one.

He was agitated—angry, even.

We had talked about him being new in town and had even discussed his new profession in the construction business. He was almost smiling as he described his boss and how his new job was working out.

Then a shadow descended over his face as he told of being fired from the previous job which first drew him here, only a few weeks ago.

He showed me his arm and the evidence of a badly healed broken wrist bone, all the while ranting about the inequity of losing a job because of a previous injury. The job required repetitive motion and strength in his forearms and the company was not willing to risk the liability, so they let him go.

Anger spilling from his core, he asked me about the bar.

I told him where one could be found and waited for him to respond. I was pretty sure the bar wouldn’t help his state of mind, but it didn’t seem that my saying so would either. I simply waited.

Acknowledging the directions I had given him, he seemed to be searching for his next words. I expected to hear more vitriol aimed at the company that had left him high and dry, looking for a new job.

“I just ended my marriage. That’s why I’m headed to the bar.”

My mind raced, trying to change gears and catch up with the new direction this conversation was taking. As it raced, a completely new thought came to me.

I’m no bartender! Why does he think I want to hear to his sob story?

The internal conversation took me a minute, but I realized he was explaining this new twist in his biography, so I tried to concentrate on his words.

“Yeah. Just a few minutes ago. I walked out and told her to be gone when I get home.”

Four months, they made it before calling it quits. It’s not my story, so I’m not going to divulge any more of the details, but as he talked, my mind was asking questions.

Not of him. Of myself.

Okay. So you’re no bartender. But, you could say something about God. How about quoting some scripture?

Don’t you have any wisdom to share? Anything?

Sometimes, words won’t come. I just stood there, listening.

It’s a good thing.

When I try to fix things for others, I usually just make a mess. Most of the time, folks in his position simply need a listening ear. Somehow, in the quietness, God can speak into hearts what we can never communicate on our own.

The young man, calm now, looked at me and smiled.

“Thanks for listening. I’m going to go see if I can make some new friends, but I’ll be back.”

He reached out his hand and gripped mine. “My name’s Josh. Maybe you could pray for me or something.”

With that, he was gone.

I stood looking at the door. How did he know I would pray for him? Is that what bartenders do?

No, I guess not.

It is what I do.

It is what I will do for him.

Some days are like that. People don’t need your wisdom, don’t need your great store of knowledge, don’t even need your amazing skills, to make things better.

They just need you. To stand there.

Listening.

And praying.

Listening is such a simple act. It requires us to be present, and that takes practice, but we don’t have to do anything else. We don’t have to advise, or coach, or sound wise. We just have to be willing to sit there and listen.
(Margaret Wheatley ~ American writer/consultant)

So confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person has great effectiveness.
(James 5:16 ~ NET Bible)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

God’s Love