I like God's sense of humor.
Sometimes I find humor in places in which it was not intended.
Our Bethel Bible Study is looking at the nation of Israel in its infancy; one reading came from Joshua 5. Joshua, who was learning that he would be the new leader of the budding nation, encountered a "man" with a drawn sword.
The "man" was obviously not ordinary (my opinion is that this was a pre-incarnate encounter with Christ) and so Joshua wisely asked: "are you for us or for our adversaries?".
This is where I like God's humor.
The "man" replied, "No."
I can just see Joshua looking all confused and askance - as if to say... "wait, that wasn't one of the choices".
I believe it was Tony Evans that I heard say once in a Promise keepers meeting that when God shows up, He doesn't come to pick sides . . . He comes to take over.
I like that.
The implication to Joshua was that the question was phrased incorrectly. As the "man" continued, He pointed out that He was come as the "Commander of the Lord's army"; so clearly Joshua should have asked - "whose side am I on?"
God is steadfast. He doesn't switch teams. So if there is any changing to be done - we have to be the one's to do it.
In Matthew 16, Simon Peter appears to have "switched teams" within about 8 verses. In verse 16 he confessed that Jesus was "the Christ" and Jesus affirmed him and his statement, and called it "the Rock" on which He would build His kingdom and Peter's stock appeared to be on the rise.
However, about a paragraph down the page, at verse 23, we find Peter rebuking Jesus - to which the Saviour replies "get behind me, Satan!".
From "the Rock" to "Satan"; Peter, just whose side are you on?
That's me, more often than I would like to admit - like Joshua and Peter - I fail to see how I should quit trying to get Jesus to join my team. Instead I should be figuring out how to be on His.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
\ä-kyə-pī\
Okay so this is just too rich to pass up.
I was doing a little reading on the "Occupy Wall Street" crowd and how the cold weather is bringing them a very real lesson on capitalism and what it is really all about.
The AP article I was reading pointed out how people from the Boston OWS group have "raised about $35,000.00 which could help buy winter supplies". American capitalism is simply about making products available that people need or want and earning a profit from that transaction. Hopefully, some clever entrepreneur will leap on this opportunity.
Anyway - here's the "rich" part ...ooooh ... probably shouldn't use that word in relating a story about the OWS crowd... Anyway, here is the extremely-humorous-and-wonderfully-fulfilling- on-behalf-of the-greed-driven-capitalists' - part; it is taken directly from the site - www.occupywallst.org and is heralding all the groups endorsing the OWS movement (?). The NAACP is among all the many labor unions in that group of endorsers ... note the statement from their president:
Not only is his statement about protecting the desire of every American to build and retain wealth ridiculously ironic when juxtaposed with the fact that this is exactly what OWS is moaning and crying about.
But his name ... his NAME ... that's what is so rich - er funny ...Ben Jealous ... how well that name correlates to the entire thrust behind this class-envy movement.
Have you, Ben Jealous, been jealous?
bahahahahaha
I am sure this is offensive to a number of people in so many ways, but really ... has this group (OWS) done anything that would prompt anyone to take them serious?
When they protest Wall Street but fail to make the very obvious link between Wall Street and White House policies... should they be taken serious?
When they do strange things like the off-shoot group from "Occupy Atlanta" that formed a circle around a building and chanted in an attempt to levitate the building?!? (I kid you not) ... should they be taken seriously?
When they decry having to pay back student loans that they - in good faith - asked for... should they be taken serious?
When they give those hilarious speeches in 3 syllable chunks, repeated by the crowd so that "every voice can be heard" ...should they be taken seriously?... "should - they - be ...." "...tak - en - serious - ly ...?"
When they moan about government bail-outs for "Wall Street" types but then ask for one for themselves... is there any room for serious reasoning with such a group?
Their message - if and when it is ever coherent - is very simply one of jealously and envy. It is clearly meant, not to foster a national discussion, but rather to fuel the fires of discontent among the dupes that will listen to their jaded tales.
Clear thinking Americans must be careful to avoid accepting the original premise of the arguments espoused by this crowd (something the Republican leadership has failed to learn). Capitalism is an amazing concept and it is good. However it is sometimes tough and for one to succeed there are at times, winners and losers. Capitalism allows losers the opportunity to get back up and try again. . . it doesn't feed their victim-hood.
I was doing a little reading on the "Occupy Wall Street" crowd and how the cold weather is bringing them a very real lesson on capitalism and what it is really all about.
The AP article I was reading pointed out how people from the Boston OWS group have "raised about $35,000.00 which could help buy winter supplies". American capitalism is simply about making products available that people need or want and earning a profit from that transaction. Hopefully, some clever entrepreneur will leap on this opportunity.
Anyway - here's the "rich" part ...ooooh ... probably shouldn't use that word in relating a story about the OWS crowd... Anyway, here is the extremely-humorous-and-wonderfully-fulfilling- on-behalf-of the-greed-driven-capitalists' - part; it is taken directly from the site - www.occupywallst.org and is heralding all the groups endorsing the OWS movement (?). The NAACP is among all the many labor unions in that group of endorsers ... note the statement from their president:
Earlier this week the NAACP put out a statement in support of the Occupy Wall Street / 99% movement:
“For over 102 years the NAACP has supported, and continues to support, policies which create, preserve and expand living wage jobs, increase economic opportunity and protect the desire of every American to build and retain wealth and equity,” said Ben Jealous, NAACP President and CEO. President Jealous went on to say that the largely peaceful protests are true to “the non-violent traditions and philosophies upon which the NAACP is based and has operated under for our entire existence.”
Not only is his statement about protecting the desire of every American to build and retain wealth ridiculously ironic when juxtaposed with the fact that this is exactly what OWS is moaning and crying about.
But his name ... his NAME ... that's what is so rich - er funny ...Ben Jealous ... how well that name correlates to the entire thrust behind this class-envy movement.
Have you, Ben Jealous, been jealous?
bahahahahaha
I am sure this is offensive to a number of people in so many ways, but really ... has this group (OWS) done anything that would prompt anyone to take them serious?
When they protest Wall Street but fail to make the very obvious link between Wall Street and White House policies... should they be taken serious?
When they do strange things like the off-shoot group from "Occupy Atlanta" that formed a circle around a building and chanted in an attempt to levitate the building?!? (I kid you not) ... should they be taken seriously?
When they decry having to pay back student loans that they - in good faith - asked for... should they be taken serious?
When they give those hilarious speeches in 3 syllable chunks, repeated by the crowd so that "every voice can be heard" ...should they be taken seriously?... "should - they - be ...." "...tak - en - serious - ly ...?"
When they moan about government bail-outs for "Wall Street" types but then ask for one for themselves... is there any room for serious reasoning with such a group?
Their message - if and when it is ever coherent - is very simply one of jealously and envy. It is clearly meant, not to foster a national discussion, but rather to fuel the fires of discontent among the dupes that will listen to their jaded tales.
Clear thinking Americans must be careful to avoid accepting the original premise of the arguments espoused by this crowd (something the Republican leadership has failed to learn). Capitalism is an amazing concept and it is good. However it is sometimes tough and for one to succeed there are at times, winners and losers. Capitalism allows losers the opportunity to get back up and try again. . . it doesn't feed their victim-hood.
Do not answer a fool according to his folly, Lest you also be like him. Proverbs 26:4 NKJV
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Awkward
I think that is the word that best describes my pre-adolescent and teen years: awkward.
I write this post for my daughter who finds herself on the threshold of those years and has just commented to me on how awful her hair looks.
During those years, every misstep, every flaw, every blemish seems to play over and over on a huge mega tron screen in your head. Everything has an exclamation point. If it's good - it's TREMENDOUS! If it's bad - it's horrendous.
There is very little room for middle ground in the middle school.
Recently, as I thought about her - I remembered me and I could still feel the sting of embarrassment from those days.
Here's a little story from my past, for what it's worth.
In the eighth grade at LaFayette Junior High School everyone was Baptist. They all seemed to go to the largest church in town - LaFayette First Baptist. It was a good church and had a strong youth program. When they had youth events the whole school seemed to buzz. Most of my friends went there.
The "buzz" in late January - early February of 1975, was about a "Valentine's Day Dance" at First Baptist, and all the guys were planning to "get dates".
I didn't attend the First Baptist Church . . . that felt awkward. Instead, I attended a small Pentecostal church with some strict teachings: we didn't go to dances. It was a kind of sad church for a young teenager, honestly they just didn't have much to offer.
But there was something like a buzz that was beginning to stir at our little church; the church had hired an assistant pastor who focused on getting something going for the young people. Our youth group was a sparse one with an age range from maybe 8 or 9 years old to one guy who had a mustache and may have been 20.
We had begun to have some social events and were planning a "Valentine's Day Banquet" at the Chattanooga Choo-Choo. If all the guys at school were getting dates for the dance - maybe I would just get a date for that banquet.
Betsy was by no means a ravishing beauty, but she had that "girl next door" quality about her. Chestnut hair and just the right amount of freckles. We sat near each other in class and I set my sights on her.
I had already caught wind that a friend of mine was thinking about asking her to the dance - so that fear of missing out, provided the right motivation for me to move quickly. I usually remember details pretty vividly (whether or not they actually happened) but I can't for the life of me remember how I asked her. What matters is that somehow I asked - and somehow she accepted! Betsy would be going with me to the banquet.
To understand my glee, you have to know, as far as I was concerned: Betsy was not only out of my league - we weren't even playing the same sport.
In 1975 nostalgia was big. With movies like Paper Moon, and the popularity of television shows like The Waltons: folks were dressing like the 1930's. In preparation for the big date, I had gone shopping and purchased hounds tooth pants, a blazer and a polka-dot bow tie ... all stacked on the closest thing to 3-inch heels I could find.
The night of the big date arrived and we all loaded onto the church bus and made the drive to Chattanooga, Tennessee and the Chattanooga Choo-Choo. The grand station had been converted into a fancy restaurant. I remember that we had some sort of glazed chicken and rice dish. With my sweaty palms I had tried to hold my silverware properly and slice up that chicken, but he put up a good fight. When we left there was a ring of rice that surrounded my plate. I tried to cover some of it with my napkin.
We rode a trolley and walked around a bit, but I couldn't tell you a thing we talked about - or if we talked at all.
Finally, we made the trip back home. When we arrived at church, we all went to the preacher's house next to the church and gathered in the living room to call our parents to come take us home.
That was when the big AWKWARD really hit.
I had no ambition -oddly enough - for a good night kiss. Didn't even expect to shake her hand. In fact, I had given very little thought to how the night would end.
So when my parents arrived first - I darted out the door, bidding everyone a goodnight.
It was not until I sat safely in the back seat of Dad's Oldsmobile - that I realized that I had left that poor little girl there among complete strangers - just left her there to fend for herself. It was my parents that pointed out the flaw in my actions and bade me return to wait with her until her parents arrived. I argued the point - feeling much more inclined to crawl under the seat and hide for a couple of months. Finally, I submitted and returned.
By now, at the ripe old age of fifty, I have had enough "egg on my face" to start a McMuffin Franchise - but then, at that tender ... awkward age - it was a hard thing to go back and face Betsy and all those people.
Lest anyone mistook my actions for anything closely resembling chivalry or honor - I quickly explained to those in the living room - and Betsy - that "my parents" thought I should return and wait with her.
At almost that very moment, Betsy's mother arrived and we waived a friendly good-bye in the front yard.
I remember that the rest of that weekend, I was smarting from the hangover of that awkward night - almost to tears a few times. To this day, that event still carries the twinge of embarrassment for me.
Betsy and I remained friends but never "dated" again. In fact, my dating career -which I envisioned as having a glorious launch - would go on sabbatical for another five years.
The bumps and bruises my heart suffered during those pre-teen and teen years may have been "just a part of growing up"; but they were bumps and bruises just the same. They are very real; but very few people make to adulthood without them.
I write this post for my daughter who finds herself on the threshold of those years and has just commented to me on how awful her hair looks.
During those years, every misstep, every flaw, every blemish seems to play over and over on a huge mega tron screen in your head. Everything has an exclamation point. If it's good - it's TREMENDOUS! If it's bad - it's horrendous.
There is very little room for middle ground in the middle school.
Recently, as I thought about her - I remembered me and I could still feel the sting of embarrassment from those days.
Here's a little story from my past, for what it's worth.
In the eighth grade at LaFayette Junior High School everyone was Baptist. They all seemed to go to the largest church in town - LaFayette First Baptist. It was a good church and had a strong youth program. When they had youth events the whole school seemed to buzz. Most of my friends went there.
The "buzz" in late January - early February of 1975, was about a "Valentine's Day Dance" at First Baptist, and all the guys were planning to "get dates".
I didn't attend the First Baptist Church . . . that felt awkward. Instead, I attended a small Pentecostal church with some strict teachings: we didn't go to dances. It was a kind of sad church for a young teenager, honestly they just didn't have much to offer.
But there was something like a buzz that was beginning to stir at our little church; the church had hired an assistant pastor who focused on getting something going for the young people. Our youth group was a sparse one with an age range from maybe 8 or 9 years old to one guy who had a mustache and may have been 20.
We had begun to have some social events and were planning a "Valentine's Day Banquet" at the Chattanooga Choo-Choo. If all the guys at school were getting dates for the dance - maybe I would just get a date for that banquet.
Betsy was by no means a ravishing beauty, but she had that "girl next door" quality about her. Chestnut hair and just the right amount of freckles. We sat near each other in class and I set my sights on her.
I had already caught wind that a friend of mine was thinking about asking her to the dance - so that fear of missing out, provided the right motivation for me to move quickly. I usually remember details pretty vividly (whether or not they actually happened) but I can't for the life of me remember how I asked her. What matters is that somehow I asked - and somehow she accepted! Betsy would be going with me to the banquet.
To understand my glee, you have to know, as far as I was concerned: Betsy was not only out of my league - we weren't even playing the same sport.
In 1975 nostalgia was big. With movies like Paper Moon, and the popularity of television shows like The Waltons: folks were dressing like the 1930's. In preparation for the big date, I had gone shopping and purchased hounds tooth pants, a blazer and a polka-dot bow tie ... all stacked on the closest thing to 3-inch heels I could find.
The night of the big date arrived and we all loaded onto the church bus and made the drive to Chattanooga, Tennessee and the Chattanooga Choo-Choo. The grand station had been converted into a fancy restaurant. I remember that we had some sort of glazed chicken and rice dish. With my sweaty palms I had tried to hold my silverware properly and slice up that chicken, but he put up a good fight. When we left there was a ring of rice that surrounded my plate. I tried to cover some of it with my napkin.
We rode a trolley and walked around a bit, but I couldn't tell you a thing we talked about - or if we talked at all.
Finally, we made the trip back home. When we arrived at church, we all went to the preacher's house next to the church and gathered in the living room to call our parents to come take us home.
That was when the big AWKWARD really hit.
I had no ambition -oddly enough - for a good night kiss. Didn't even expect to shake her hand. In fact, I had given very little thought to how the night would end.
So when my parents arrived first - I darted out the door, bidding everyone a goodnight.
It was not until I sat safely in the back seat of Dad's Oldsmobile - that I realized that I had left that poor little girl there among complete strangers - just left her there to fend for herself. It was my parents that pointed out the flaw in my actions and bade me return to wait with her until her parents arrived. I argued the point - feeling much more inclined to crawl under the seat and hide for a couple of months. Finally, I submitted and returned.
By now, at the ripe old age of fifty, I have had enough "egg on my face" to start a McMuffin Franchise - but then, at that tender ... awkward age - it was a hard thing to go back and face Betsy and all those people.
Lest anyone mistook my actions for anything closely resembling chivalry or honor - I quickly explained to those in the living room - and Betsy - that "my parents" thought I should return and wait with her.
At almost that very moment, Betsy's mother arrived and we waived a friendly good-bye in the front yard.
I remember that the rest of that weekend, I was smarting from the hangover of that awkward night - almost to tears a few times. To this day, that event still carries the twinge of embarrassment for me.
Betsy and I remained friends but never "dated" again. In fact, my dating career -which I envisioned as having a glorious launch - would go on sabbatical for another five years.
The bumps and bruises my heart suffered during those pre-teen and teen years may have been "just a part of growing up"; but they were bumps and bruises just the same. They are very real; but very few people make to adulthood without them.
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