Home and Warm

January 4, 2017January 4, 2017 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

I nearly tripped over her in the dark.

The coal-black Labrador was lopped across the back stoop when I stepped out a few moments ago. Her brother, almost as black, wasn’t far away.

It is twenty-four degrees outside. The wind-chill (if you believe in such things) is below twenty.

Their heated doghouse, with its cedar-mulch covered floor is thirty-five feet away.

Why in the world are they lying in this corner of the yard with the wind whistling around them?

I, being much more intelligent, scurried to take care of my errand and get back to my fire-side easy chair. Warm.

Home and warm.

But, I sit beside my warm fire and absently-mindedly pursue an elusive shadow through the dark and chilly pathways of my memory. Now, what was that?

Dogs lying outside the door waiting for their master. . .

Sleeping in the cold when they could have been home and warm. . .

David was a man after God’s own heart. Now, where did that come from? Ah! Now, I have it!

Uriah (who was a fighting man from a pagan tribe) refused to go home to his warm bed and his waiting wife. Uriah the Hittite waited outside the door of the king’s house—cold and sleepless. (2 Samuel 11:9-13)

But, honorable.

More honorable than the man who dwelled within, Uriah was certain that comfort was not his until all could live in comfort. He would wait until he had completed his task. An honorable man.

Almost like the dogs who lie outside my back door. Their allegiance is to their master. All they want is a word from his mouth and his hand gently scratching their chest.

It is enough. Payment in full for waiting in the cold.

I like being home and warm. You?

Stupid question, huh?

Comfort is what we want. But, we have no promise of comfort. Yet.

This world can be a cold place. Cold and dark.

Our destination is anything but those. If, as our lessons in science led us to believe, light produces heat, we’ll have no lack of either light or warmth there.

The One we serve is (unlike me—or King David) honorable far above our understanding. He won’t leave us out in the cold one moment past what is necessary.

One day—one day—the door will open and we’ll be home.

Home and warm.

One day—one day—the door will open and we'll be home. Home and warm. Click To Tweet

And the city has no need of sun or moon, for the glory of God illuminates the city, and the Lamb is its light.
(Revelation 21:23 ~ NLT)

Turn up the lights. I don’t want to go home in the dark.
(O. Henry ~ American author ~ 1862-1910)

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)

Glory Follows

February 26, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

Gloria virtutem tamquam umbra sequitur.

My son has a huge cardboard box full of trophies that still sits in a closet in my house. Now in his thirties, he values them not at all. It’s funny, but even back when he was a kid, they didn’t mean all that much to him.

Except a few. The ones that actually were given for accomplishing something had a place of honor on his dresser. The participation trophies? Relegated to the closet.

I will freely admit it. I may have been part of the reason for his disdain of the you-matter-because-you-showed-up awards. I never vocally disrespected them, but I did praise the hard work which went into earning the championship team awards, and the Best in Class plaques.

Praise should be given when praise is earned. Accomplishment earns a reward.

Don’t misunderstand me. I am an encourager. Atta-boys and way-to-give-it-your-best-shot messages are important, even essential, in the development of a child. If all they live with is high expectations, without support, they become bitter and discouraged. But, a pat on the back is not a trophy.

Encouragement is not glory.

The Apostle, my namesake, was clear in how he put it. In a race, everybody runs the best they can, but only one person gets the glory—the trophy. (1 Corinthians 9:24)

In encouragement, no one could fault the Apostle. Always, he built up his readers, coaxing them to reach new heights, but in this instance, he was blunt.

Run so you can win.

Period.

All of life, every part of it, takes place on the race course. It’s not a dash—not a challenging five kilometer run—not even a half-marathon. As exhausted as it makes me to contemplate it, the race is more like an Ironman Triathlon, only longer.

Swim nearly two and a half miles. Make equipment/clothing adjustments and hop onto your bicycle. Ride one hundred and twelve miles. Yes. One hundred and twelve. Make whatever wardrobe changes are necessary. Run just over twenty-six miles.

The whole course. If you want to win, you must run the entire series of races. They’re all part of the whole. Then and only then will a winner be handed the prize.

Did you notice the quotation at the top of this little essay? Cicero, a Roman philosopher, who lived in the first century B.C. said the words.

What’s that? Oh. You don’t read Latin. Neither do I, if it comes down to it. Let me try again.

Glory follows virtue as if it were its shadow.

As if it were its shadow.

Imagine. You’re in the race, swimming the first leg of the course. Two and a half miles, you have battled. Victory is yours! The crowd waiting at the water’s edge goes crazy with adulation as you wade out of the shallows, well ahead of the closest competitor.

Glory! They love you! What an accomplishment!

You plow into the crowd, high-fiving and fist-bumping as you go. Basking in the glory—glory you earned for yourself—you relax and exult in your accomplishment.

What’s that? What do you mean I’m not finished yet? I won, didn’t I?

Of course, you understand that it cannot be. One leg is not the entire race. While you were beguiled by the praise and glory of a partial victory, others have gone on ahead to complete the course.

Enamored by the shadow—glory—you turned away from the task at hand. And, just like that, the glory has disappeared.

Just for a moment, will you look with me at the picture Cicero has drawn with his words? If it helps you may even want to glance at the photo that accompanies these thoughts.

Shadows follow behind. As we walk toward the source of light, the shadow follows. It never precedes us. Never.

Glory only follows if we continue in virtue.

It almost seems cruel, doesn’t it? We achieve, but we have no time to enjoy the reward.

Can I tell you a secret?

Glory was never our goal. Never.

Virtue.

That’s our goal, always before us. Righteousness.

As we follow closely after God though, His glory will be evident—to those looking on. He himself upholds us. For His Glory.

His. Glory.

It stays only as long as our faces are to the Light, pursuing the prize. Turn to revel in the moment and it is lost.

Face to the sun, we keep running—or swimming—or riding.

Face to the Sun.

Glory follows.

My soul follows close behind You;
Your right hand upholds me.
(Psalm 63:8 ~ NKJV)

Swim 2.4 miles! Bike 112 miles! Run 26.2 miles! Brag for the rest of your life!
Whoever finishes first, we’ll call him the Ironman.
(Commander John Collins, USN ~ founder of 1st Ironman Triathlon ~ 1978)

Shaken Together, Running Over

February 4, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 5 Comments

I’ve told the story before. Stop me if you’ve already heard it.

It is the story of a Yankee spinster who left her family behind in Pennsylvania and made her way to the southern hills of Oklahoma and Arkansas, with a detour through Chicago.

I suppose the road to the hills actually was the detour. Chicago was in the master-plan. But, the road should have led from there to China instead of Oklahoma.

Oklahoma and Arkansas are a long way from China. When one is aiming for the Orient, the back roads of the central U.S. might seem like a disappointment.

Failure even.

Perhaps I should just tell the story. I’ll try to keep it short—or not. Probably not.

Miss Peggy was called to be a missionary to China. She just knew it. She even knew what to do about it. In Chicago, a little Bible school called Moody Bible Institute had been started about thirty years before by the great evangelist, Dwight L. Moody. They would give her the training she needed.

She started there. China would be the next stop.

Only it wasn’t.

Political unrest had already begun in that country, with the result being that no mission organization would allow a single woman to go there by herself. She didn’t know what to do. She was called to go to China. Called.

A young man in her class at the Bible Institute heard of her dilemma and asked to meet with her. In that fateful meeting, he explained that he had been called to minister to the rural communities in Northwest Arkansas and Eastern Oklahoma. But, having heard that she was being forced to abandon her plans, he wondered if there might not be another solution.

The mission boards were still sending single men to China. Perhaps, he could go in her place. There was one stipulation though. She would have to take his place in rural Oklahoma and Arkansas.

It wasn’t what she wanted, but it made sense. She agreed and headed for the hills when her classes at the institute were completed. For sixty years, she faithfully taught Bible classes to the children in rural schools throughout the region.

Sixty years. She was allowed to travel to the schools and given a classroom to teach children who wanted to learn Bible verses and listen to her stories. Flannelgraphs were manipulated, and mimeographed papers were handed out to the eager students. The ones who memorized the most Scripture verses were the envy of the other kids, because Miss Peggy awarded them little New Testaments of their very own.

Sixty years, she was faithful to her task. Can you imagine the number of children who heard the Gospel story from her lips. Can you imagine the spiritual legacy?

I said she was faithful for sixty years. And, so she was. But, for every one of those sixty years, she mourned for her beloved China and her calling.

She was called to China!

Because of her great love for the Chinese people, she made an effort to meet and befriend all of the Chinese folks who came within her reach over the years. To that end, she contacted the local university in our little town regularly to inquire of new students from that great country. They were happy to arrange for the sweet old lady to meet the newcomers, whenever there were any.

Sam and his wife had left China under a cloud, his father having been arrested for preaching the gospel in a land where it was forbidden. His father died in prison and there was a fear that Sam might suffer the same fate. So, they came to the United States under a student visa and made their way to this little town of ten thousand and the Christian university here.

Miss Peggy wasn’t long in befriending Sam and his family. When I say befriending, I mean they spent hours together, talking of China and the secret Church, along with many mealtimes spent discussing the Lord they all loved, and His great care for all His children.

By this time, Miss Peggy was nearly blind from the disease of macular degeneration, and had lost much of her hearing. Still, her love for China, and this Chinese family in particular, drove her to ignore any hardships caused by the additional activity.

It would be an understatement of huge proportion to say she was not prepared for what happened one Sunday afternoon after they had shared a meal at Sam’s house.

Somehow, as they sat drinking tea and relaxing, the discussion turned to his family in China and he took out the family Bible, written in Chinese. Reading the names from the front of the big book, he spoke with love and respect of several who had already gone to be with the Lord.

Suddenly, Miss Peggy jumped as if an electrical current had gone through her.

“Stop! Go back and read that again!”

Sam looked up with a quizzical expression, but did as he was bid. Reading the name and Scripture verse the person had inserted into the record on the page, he explained that this American missionary had been instrumental in bringing his father to faith in God and also had encouraged him to enter the ministry. Then he stopped speaking and looked at the little elderly lady again.

The look of shock on Miss Peggy’s face was almost comical. Mouth open and unseeing eyes like saucers, she raised her hands to her face and the tears began to fall.

It was the very man who had traded places with her! The very man. And here, right in front of her, were the products of that transaction.

As the impact of their discovery hit them, there were more folks than the old missionary crying. Imagine! Out of the millions of people in China—out of the multiple countries this family could have fled to—out of the thousands of schools they could have attended—they came to the one place they needed to be.

I can’t imagine a more fulfilling moment in the ninety-four years the dear saint lived on this earth. In that moment, she realized that her life’s ambition, the one thing she had ever desired more than anything else, had been achieved.

She had given it up to take a detour to the backwoods of Oklahoma and Arkansas. Sixty years, she had served faithfully, keeping a bargain she had made under duress. Thousands already, had benefited from her service. Now, in her last days on earth, she realized that her deepest desires had been fulfilled.

She was called to China!

Talk about a pay off!

And the Teacher told His followers, give and you will receive it back—more than your cup can hold—sifted and blended, it will run over into your lap and onto the floor. (Luke 6:38)

Life doesn’t always go the way we’ve planned. Oddly enough, it seldom goes the way we’ve planned.

The road leads to places we never dreamed of.

We walk it anyway.

The years take away our physical strength and abilities. We keep moving ahead.

The pay-off lies up there. Ahead. Beyond the hills, past the valleys, through the flooded streams.

And, after all the toil and hardship, we find that God gives good gifts.

Always.

Even after sixty years of waiting.

Winners never quit and quitters never win.
(Vince Lombardi ~ American football coach ~ 1913-1970)

Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him…Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.
(James 1: 12, 17 ~ NIV)

Lost and Found

January 8, 2016January 8, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

He left the wallet. Just walked away from it.

The set of strings he needed for his guitar paid for, he inserted his debit card back into the slot. Folding the cloth-covered wallet closed, he walked to the back of the music store, carrying it still in his hand.

I didn’t notice the stray item until long after he had walked on down the road. Even then, I knew it was his.

How do you do that? Walk away from your wallet, I mean.

He took his little guitar. Strapped it over his shoulder carefully before opening the front door to the shop. Carefully.

The guitar is worth, perhaps, forty dollars.

He took the guitar, but left the wallet.

I looked in the wallet. There was no cash—not that I expected any. There were, however, several items I would not like to lose myself.

The debit card was there, for starters. How do you function without that? Perhaps the absence of cash in the wallet meant there was an ample supply of the same in his pocket. It seems though, that he would have used cash for a small purchase such as he had made earlier, if he had it.

No. The debit card was his connection to cash. He left that with the wallet.

There was a drivers license. How would he answer the nice policeman, when he said the words driver’s license and registration, please? How would he cash a check? It’s likely he’d need to, since the debit card was you-know-where.

There was a lot more. I didn’t sift through it all. The only reason I looked at all was to find a way to contact the man. I found nothing of the sort.

I did see one more thing though—an item, well two items, really—both more important that any of the others I found.

I found a photo of the man’s grandson. Then, one of his son. Treasure! Good-looking young men, both of them. How do you leave those behind?

Over two weeks ago, he left the wallet. Two weeks, and not one phone call. He never asked. Never.

Not even today, when he came back into the store to buy more strings.

I looked at him and smiled, knowing he’d mention the missing wallet soon. It had to be weighing on him heavily. Perhaps, he even felt guilty about neglecting to come back and retrieve the item. Surely, he’d mention it presently.

He never did.

I couldn’t stand it. I handed him the wallet, smiling expectantly.

He grinned sheepishly and said, “Oh, there it is. I wondered if I’d have to contact the bank soon.”

When his wife arrived to pick him up later, he didn’t even mention the wallet to her.

I’m confused. And, a little disappointed. Well? I wanted him to shake my hand vigorously and exclaim in a loud voice about the little cloth single-fold wallet and its contents.

It’s what I would have done.

Oh. There it is.

It’s not the epitome of relief—not the pinnacle of joy—is it?

I have more to say tonight, much more.

I want to talk about treasures we leave behind, purposely and accidentally.

I want to speak of our search for false treasure, while genuine treasure is staring us in the face.

I wish I could awaken the desire in each reader to seek that which has been lost for so long.

Still. The Teacher thought it enough to simply tell the stories of losing—and finding—that which had been lost. He was sure His listeners would understand His meaning. (Luke 15)

The red-headed lady who raised me always asked the same question when I was looking for something I had lost.

Where did you last see it?

It seems we lose many things over the course of a lifetime—love, joy, passion, purpose. Maybe, it’s time we began to seek them again.

I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that at the end of our search, whatever it is we seek, He’ll be waiting. After all, He’s the One who promised if we ask we’ll receive, if we seek we’ll find, and if we knock doors will be opened. (Luke 11:9-10)

Start where you last saw it. It’s sure to be close by.

Oh. A little enthusiasm when we find what was lost would be nice, too.

There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something.
(J.R.R. Tolkien ~ English educator/writer/poet ~ 1892-1973)

Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one. Doesn’t she light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it?And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.
(Luke 15:8-10 ~ NIV)

Robbery

August 28, 2015August 28, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Twice. In two days.

Twice in two days, I did good things. Because they were in front of me to do. And, like a student who has memorized his lessons well, I knew what must be done.

Love your neighbor as yourself.

“Twenty dollars. It needs more, but I’ll fix just the one thing to make it play.”

He had no more money to invest and I could help by giving the instrument a lick and a promise, as the red-headed lady who raised me used to say. Only, as I did the repair, it became evident that the minimum that could actually be done was a sixty dollar job. It would never play otherwise.

I had promised to make it play. I would do that. And, I would cover the difference.

I was proud of myself. I had memorized the lesson and followed its instructions to the letter.

He came to pick up the instrument. I mentioned that I had to do more. I might have even told him I did three times as much. I waited for his gratitude to bubble over. Surely he would at least shake my hand and thank me.

“I don’t know why I’m spending this money anyway. She’ll probably not play it at all.”

With that, he was gone.

Robbed! I’ve been robbed!

No, not of money. I’ve been robbed of the gratitude that should have been mine. Where is my praise for being such a good person? That’s it? A word of complaint and he walks out?

I want what is rightfully mine!

Truly I say to you—they have their reward in full.

The next morning, a vehicle pulled up to the store. The folks took care of their business and left. No. Scratch that. They tried to leave. The vehicle wouldn’t start. It was out of gas.

Hey! Another chance! I bolted to the storage barn and pulled out my gas can. It was nearly empty, but there should be enough to get them a block down the road for gas. I told them to use it all. No—I don’t need any money. I’m just glad I can help.

Unfortunately, after they poured all that was in the can in their tank, the car still wouldn’t start, so they sent someone up the road with the now-empty can to fill it up and bring it back. I needed to take care of other customers, so I told them they could just leave the can in the storage barn when they were through.

What do you suppose they did? Well—not what I expected. They left the can in the storage barn and drove out of the parking lot! Seriously!

I’ve been robbed again! They just drove away without another word!

And worse, they left the gas can completely empty in my barn. Everyone knows you leave gas to pay back for what you used. Everyone!

I want what’s rightfully mine!

…and your Father, who sees what you do in secret will be the One who rewards you.

Clearly, someone in this narrative doesn’t understand the expectations of the love your neighbor as yourself directive.

Clearly.

May I take just a moment and assure you that I registered my complaint? Vociferously. Both with family members and with God. They listened sympathetically.

He didn’t.

You see—the someone in this narrative who doesn’t understand is me.

Only me.

Sometimes, when we do the right thing, the good thing, all we hear in response is crickets. Sure, sometimes the person we help gushes with gratitude. It’s nice when it happens, but if that’s what we’re going for, we’ve missed the point of the original instructions.

If what I anticipate when I determine to share with folks who are in need is the reward of their gratitude, or the loud proclamation of praise, all I have done is to initiate a transaction.

I believe the Latin term is quid pro quo.

Something for something.

I give you something. You give me something in return. The end.

It’s the way our economic system operates. It’s not a bad system, as human systems go.

It’s just not God’s system.

He says give without expectation of repayment. Give so that no one knows you’re doing it.

And then He says, I’ll be the one who settles accounts—when the time is right.

Like Job in the Old Testament, I sit here with my mouth open, grasping for words, but all that comes out is, I had heard about You, but now I see clearly for myself and I am ashamed.

I said at the start it was twice. Twice, I did good things. It may have been more than that.

I am determined it will be more than that.

I just won’t be telling you about it.

To give and then not feel that one has given is the very best of all ways of giving.
(Max Beerbohm ~ English essayist ~ 1872-1956)

Give your gifts in private, and your Father, who sees everything, will reward you.
(Matthew 6:4 ~ NLT)

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