Alive Again

For all of you who sit in cubicles, work out of your car, or slave over a hot stove day after day, enjoy this picturesque reminder that God’s handiwork is all around us to quicken our spirits within.  If time and funds allow, try to spend at least a day on a beach yet this summer and be reminded that even the seas declare the glory of God.  I wrote this little poem for my wife’s birthday a few years back, since she grew up in Florida and the coast never failed to awaken her awareness of the One who made her.  Enjoy!

The Beach

by Tim Dommer

At first sight of the blue horizon, 

the smell of the ocean’s salty breezes 

and the sounds of lapping waves 

as they caress the coast:

I am alive again.

Left behind are dreamless days; 

I walk along the contoured sand 

while gritty pathways ‘neath my feet 

remind me of my Father’s love. 

His thoughts toward me 

outnumber every grain. 

I am alive again.

Here it is that I’m a child— 

shoeless on this holy ground. 

I think that nowhere else on earth 

can make me long for heaven’s shores 

quite like this beautiful display. 

I am alive again.          

                                                                                     

Confronted by such evidence 

of my unique significance,

I join the symphony

of this vast sanctuary: 

“The seas have lifted up their voice…” 

I raise my hands in newborn wonder. 

I am alive again.  

tad

The Power of a Moment

Have you ever wondered what you’re going to be when you grow up?  Whether you’re an adult or not, many of us struggle with this question throughout our life.  Part of it is this: as fallen creatures, made in the image of God, we intuitively know we are in process.  But also contributing to our restlessness is an awareness that even while time is marching on, we are prone to devalue or even waste it.  Christian songwriter Chris Rice expressed it this way:

What am I gonna be when I grow up?

How am I gonna make my mark in history?

And what are they gonna write about me when I’m gone?

These are the questions that shape the way I think about what matters

But I have no guarantee of my next heartbeat

And my world’s too big to make a name for myself

And what if no one wants to read about me when I’m gone?

Seems to me that right now’s the only moment that matters.

The chorus of this song, “The Power of a Moment,” went like this:                                                                                                                                                                

You know the number of my days

So come paint Your pictures on the canvas in my head

And come write Your wisdom on my heart

Teach me the power of a moment.

These words suggest that we don’t naturally default to placing a high value on time.  The One who has ordained the number of our days has to teach us to live in the moment.  Left to ourselves, we tend to live as if time will never run out.  Much like the makeup opportunities we have for everything from missed piano lessons to college entrance exams, we assume that we can always do just about anything later.

The prophet Isaiah warned: “Seek the Lord while He may found; call on Him while He is near.” The apostle Paul reiterates this in 2 Corinthians 6:2 “In the time of my favor, I heard you, and in the day of salvation I helped you.”  I tell you, now is the time of God’s favor; now is the day of salvation.”  If none of us can really control how much time we have left, then what we can choose to do is make the most of what we have—namely, this moment!  Honestly, we don’t even have the rest of today, tomorrow, or next week guaranteed to us.  I think about a friend I had, in the earlier days of my ministry, who was picnicking with his wife and two young children, suffered an aneurism, and died before he hit the grass under the table.  My point is not to be maudlin or to scare you into action.  It’s to encourage you to maximize each moment God gives you.

Think back to your childhood.  For a moment, don’t reflect on periods of time (your first summer camp experience, your favorite Christmas, the year your parents split up, etc.).  Instead, let your mind lock in to certain specific moments that have really had an impact on you.  For many, if not all, of you, it might be the day you received Christ as your Savior and Lord.  Maybe it was the birth of your first child, or the day you left home.  For others, it could be a historic event, such as the day JFK or Martin Luther King were assassinated, or the day the space shuttle Challenger exploded before our very eyes. 

But what about those moments which seemingly came out of nowhere which not only impacted you but also really shaped who you are today or how you look at life?  I still remember my Aunt Millie cupping my face in her hands and telling me I had “smiling eyes.”  I think I was nine.  I still remember it like it was yesterday.  And yet there was an even more powerful moment in my childhood which left an indelible print on my mind and heart.  It involved my mother and me.  It was not planned.  It was not pretty.  But it was profound. 

Our family of eight lived in a small parsonage (preacher’s home owned by the church) in Aberdeen, South Dakota.  The smallest room in the house, other than the one bathroom, was the kitchen.  It was separated from the dining room by a swinging door.  On one special occasion when we were preparing to have company for dinner, I was helping set the table (don’t think too highly of this action—I’m sure it was conscripted service).  I remember being in a bit of a hurry, and as I rushed into the kitchen for more tableware, I swung the door into my mother, who was standing on the other side holding a bowl of beans.  Like I said, it was not pretty.  Nor was her reaction.  She screamed at me, and I, being the young stud that I was, ran screaming up the stairs to my bedroom.  Soon after, I was summoned back to the kitchen to my mom’s waiting arms for a big hug and an apology for her tirade.  She admitted that it was obvious I was only trying to help.

In truth, I believe that moment was so powerful mainly because her physical gesture of approval was so rare. She had a very difficult time expressing those kinds of tender emotions, having grown up in the home of an abusive, alcoholic father.   And yet in a moment, she decided to swallow her pride and dial into my pain.  In a moment, she modeled the need for even big people to admit their faults to little people.  And she chose to kneel down, make a physical connection, and reassure me of her love, even when time was running out before our guests arrived. 

Are moments powerful? Chris concludes his song with these words:

I get so distracted by my bigger schemes

Show me the importance of the simple things

Like a word, a seed, a thorn, a nail

And a cup of cold water.

Who in your sphere of influence needs an encouraging word from you today?  Who needs a cup of cold water?  Who needs to hear that thorns and nails were endured on their behalf by a loving Savior?  Look around.  Don’t miss…better yet, take full advantage of the power of a moment.            

                                                                                                                                                                                                tad

Even Bert

As a worship pastor who spends much of my time seeking ways to help others discover and express intimacy with God, I have had no shortage of personal experiences from which to draw my own beliefs about such matters.  That He has left me His Word as the compass and authority for my life would be gift enough. But He is not limited to its pages.  At times, He meets me through the words of a hymn or poem, viewing a stunning work of art, or listening to a symphony. Often, He pulls back the curtain and shows off some of His amazing handiwork in nature when I am not even looking for it.  But the revelations of greatest impact that have made me want to know Him more have actually been in listening to His still small voice.  No, I’m not talking about “voices”, lest you begin worrying that the porch light’s on but nobody’s home.  I am referring to those quiet, inner spirit kind of nudgings that God give us through His Spirit, that actually comfort, exhort, and in some cases direct us.  Jesus himself said in John 10: “My sheep hear my voice and I know them, and they follow Me.”

If God desires intimacy with me, surely it is a living, active, and current thing.  Much, if not most, of my knowledge of Him comes from His Word, and all subsequent “leadings” must agree with that revelation. But His ability to communicate with me is not limited to that collection of dogma, family history, and love letters.  In other words, He still wants to connect with me moment by moment…by His Spirit.  But this form of intimacy takes time to develop.  Like any other close relationship, time is of the essence. 

Describing what he calls “The Cycle of Intimacy,” Wayne Gordon, a pastor of an outreach ministry in urban Chicago says this:  “Knowing God is a process that can no more be exhausted than the exploration of the universe.  There is always another blazing aspect to discover in God.”  He speaks of the cycle of intimacy with God as outlined in John 14:23: ‘If anyone loves me, He will obey my teaching. My Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.’”

Here, then, is the cycle:

1. The more we get to know God personally, scripturally, as He really is, the more we will fall in love with Him.

2. The more we fall in love with Him, the more we will want to hear His voice, to please Him with our lives, and surrender more of ourselves to His love and power.

3. The more we walk in obedience, the more God will make Himself known to us and manifest His presence in our lives.

Notice I didn’t say, the more we obey, the more He will love us.  That is simply not possible, for God is love.  But with listening and obeying will come intimacy…intimacy with the living God.

While I could share vast numbers of examples in my life where my response to God’s voice was all too passive and impotent, I do recall learning a valuable lesson from God about this cycle of intimacy when I encountered a man named Bert.  Bert was a crusty old curmudgeon I happened to be visiting in the hospital several years ago in Chicago.  I was serving a church there as the pastor’s assistant, and as luck would have it, when the pastor left town things often happened that I was not equipped to handle.  Not in the flesh, anyway. On one such occasion,  I was called to Bert’s bedside by his daughter, who, knowing he was near death, asked that I come pray for him.

Bert was not a believer, mind you, at least not to my knowledge.  He wasn’t a church goer—not of our church or any other.  He wasn’t even a nice man.  He had few friends, his family had all but disowned him, and on a previous visit, he had told me he wanted to kill the doctors who he blamed for his wife’s recent death.  As I walked into his room that afternoon, I was struck by my utter lack of qualifications to help this situation or bring any comfort to anyone.  I was also struck by the fact that there was no one there to comfort, for there lay Bert…alone, in a coma, the death rattle from his advanced emphysema growing increasingly slower and weaker. 

And then it happened.  As clearly as anything has ever been communicated to me, God revealed to me that Bert was not beyond redemption, that before he slipped into eternity he needed to experience God’s unconditional favor, and that he had sent me to be the messenger.  But I would not get off with merely reading aloud a few scriptures.  No, the Lord wanted me to literally get up on Bert’s bed and hold him in my arms and just say over and over, ‘God loves you, Bert, He will forgive you, Bert.  Trust Jesus, Bert.’

Of course, then the dialogue began, “God!  What if someone walks in?  Or worse yet, what if Bert wakes up?!”  Despite the protests, I knew what I had to do.  As I lay there hugging and loving this crusty, rattling old man, I learned a new depth of God’s unconditional love for me, for all of mankind. If His pursuit of me, of us is that strong, that He will send someone to our deathbed so that we might know and experience His embrace to the end, what manner of love is this? 

In my experience with Bert, loving God merely meant taking the risk of looking a little silly.  But when I laid him to rest three days later before a grand total of six mourners, I longed for more opportunities to experience this wonderful God.  Through His Spirit, God had revealed Himself to me in a way that caused me to love Him more and want to go deeper with Him. 

Our God wants to come close, and not just to hug, but to heal. “For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him.” The offer is to the whole world.  Even folks like Bert.

tad