Ignoring Warnings

I heard the sound in the distance growing louder so  I walked out the front door and saw the helicopter as it zoomed over the housetops.  My young son was standing on the sidewalk filled with excitement at the sight of the blades flashing in the sunlight. But my heart immediately grew nervous.  It was the first day of summer vacation in our little town and the aircraft was heading towards the lake that lay in the distance.  I hoped that this was not evidence of tragedy, but too many times just such a sight had led me into the house of mourning; the teenagers huddled in the waiting room unable to believe that their friends had died on that corner.  The young man in tears sitting in his bedroom as he remembered his best friends last words before he jumped into the lake, only to hit the log that was submerged just below the surface. The church filled to overflow with high schoolers, still numb over losing their friend who had slipped off the boat deck into the water, his body retrieved later by rescue divers. As a youth pastor, the sounds of sirens in the distance clutch at my heart, and always bring forth from the recesses of my memory seasons of mourning for lives cut too short.

As I sit here writing these words, the 14 year old passenger is still in the hospital with numerous injuries.  The other young passenger in the car escaped serious injuries and the16 year old driver is waiting to hear if he will face charges of some kind.  They are fortunate....For they ignored the warnings.

The road around the lake cuts along the hillside and contains many curves and dips in the road.  Each corner is clearly marked by an obvious sign which gives directions as to what is coming and the proper speed at which to take it.  The dips and bumps are also clearly marked and painted in such a way as to be readily seen.  The corner they missed was marked in just such a fashion....But the greatest warning can be found just off the roadside among the grass.  On the very same corner that these three teenagers went off the road sits three small crosses marking the spot where three teenagers previously  lost their lives.  Over the years since their deaths, I have pointed out these crosses to my children, along with the story of one of the girls who was dear to my heart.  Not just as a reminder to drive carefully, but as a reminder to heed the warnings in life.

I see marriages fail.  I see children hating their parents and parents angry towards their children.  I see relationships crumble and people turning to addictive lifestyles to numb the pain.  I see warnings all around me. In the hurts that I witness, I hear the sirens calling out to be heard and am reminded of the words found in Jeremiah..

"I appointed watchmen over you and said,
    ‘Listen to the sound of the trumpet!’Jer. 6:17

I drive around the lake and slowly round the corner past the recent tiremarks and weather worn crosses and wonder how these kids could have ignored all the signs, the warnings.  But I am reminded that most of us ignore signs and warnings everyday.  Signs of relational weakness.  Signs of impending financial disaster.  All around us are memorials marking paths that have led to heartache and yet these paths are filled with people convinced that they will be the exception, merrily marching to their death. 

So many times as I have tried to comfort people who have experienced the heartache that lies at the end of the paths they have taken, they have asked in some form, " How could God allow this to happen?".  In those times, I want to remind them of the warnings that they ignored, warnings that God gave them.  And I want them to know that we warn those that we love. 

 Its why I drove my kids to that corner that I hate once again and slowed so that they could take in the scene.  A tragedy narrowly averted next to three crosses marking a tragedy occurred.  Warnings from a father to the children he loves.

Where Are You Going?

When I was around 8 or 9 years old, my dad decided to take the family on a nice and relaxing hike.  So my parents loaded my two brothers, my sister and I into our '76 Blazer and we headed across the mountains to Smith Rock State Park. I remember how hot and thick with dust the trail was as we set out on our little hike.  Thinking the trails would be clearly marked, my dad had not saw it necessary to bring a trail map. As we meandered throughout the towering peaks deeper and deeper into more and more rugged terrain, it became slowly obvious that his lack of foresight had been a mistake.  As the afternoon drug on, my father led us all around that park, choosing paths at random with the hope that the next turn would lead us out.  As I recall, we had not packed enough water to last much more than a quick hike in and out, something which was causing no small amount of irritation amongst my parents.  Finally, late in the afternoon, we saw a group of hikers on a ridge and my dad was able to get their attention through a series of screams, gutteral grunts and calisthenics.  They  were able to provide directions as to how we could escape our plight.  I do not recall the hike out nor the drive to Redmond.  But I do remember sitting on an open tailgate in the parking lot at Safeway and the delicious feel of an ice cold grape soda as it trickled down my parched throat....

Standing in the middle of those towering cliffs, my father did not need a solution to a problem.  He was not looking for an answer as his eyes searched the ridge.  What he needed was the right direction.  He had led his family down the wrong path and now he was standing where every wrong path leads..The wrong destination.  He knew that only the right path would lead us to where we wanted to go.  Lately, that truth has been becoming more apparent every day as I observe people all around me moving quickly and hastily down paths that all lead to well established outcomes.  But even more painfully, I find myself on paths that I do not even recall choosing, but well on my way to the wrong destination.  I have relationships that mean more to me than my own life which, seemingly overnight, became strained.  My reactions becoming steps down a path that is well worn with the regrets of those who walked it before me. But what to do?!...

When I was 18 years old, my girlfriend and I drove down to Eugene to go shopping.  We took Brush Creek Road, a winding highway that cut through the hills.  It was a particularly desolate stretch of road, marked occasionally by ramshackle houses and crumbling outbuildings.  It was upon our return trip that my car broke down.  In the age before cell phones, my car sputtered to a shuddering stop on the side of an unlit stretch of country road, far from anyone we knew.  As the evening grew inky black, we waited and hoped that someone would stop, but the few cars that were on the road that night seemed to be in a hurry to escape the very stretch of road which we found ourselves stranded upon.  Finally, I saw dim headlights approaching.  As the car drew near, it slowed down  and I was able to identify an old beat-up Honda cvcc.  As It slowly drew past, I noticed it was missing its rear window, more room for the pit-bull to stick his head through.  The car drove past us and then slowly turned around and parked behind us.  I got out of the car and walked to meet the man who emerged from the Honda. 

He was a gaunt looking man wearing camo pants and a sleeveless shirt.  His greasy hair hung long from beneath his stained trucker hat.  As he approached, my eyes were drawn to his belt, where a .38 sat in a holster.  He asked if we needed help and, as I stood in the dark alone and scared, I told him yes.  He returned to his car and pulled it in front of mine.  Getting out, he reached into the back of his car past the dog which was staring at me, and pulled a length of chain out which he attached to the front of my car and the rear of his.  He returned to his car and with a jolt we began to slowly move. After a bit, as we slowly lurched along that lonely highway, the unthinkable happened.  His car suddenly swerved onto a road leading into the darkness away from the highway which led home....

My girlfriend began screaming, my thoughts raced to my parents and friends who would find out about our deaths from the newspaper... My heart beating, pounding, my nose running, I knew I did not want to go down that path!...So I hit my brakes with all my strength and I ground that Honda to a stop!!  I yelled at my girlfriend to stay in the car, opened the door and stepped out into the darkness to meet the man who was approaching our car.  I walked quickly to close the space between us as he reached towards his belt....

I will stop my story there to let my point sink in...I knew I did not want to go down that path so I used all my strength to STOP!! I did not have a car problem, I was going in the wrong direction; away from safety, away from home, towards destruction....


So I find myself today on a path that is leading away from where I want to go.  What do I do?  I first  must STOP.  And then, much like my father that day standing on that dusty trail, his eyes searching the ridge, I look for direction, from The One who always offers it.

What path are you on today? What is its natural destination? Is it leading away from safey, towards destruction?...Stop and return to the path that leads home..


Hear, my son, and accept my sayings
And the years of your life will be many.
I have directed you in the way of wisdom;
I have led you in upright paths.
When you walk, your steps will not be impeded;
And if you run, you will not stumble.
Take hold of instruction; do not let go.
Guard her, for she is your life.
Do not enter the path of the wicked
And do not proceed in the way of evil men.
Avoid it, do not pass by it;
Turn away from it and pass on.
-Proverbs 4:10-15

When my Heart is Dark, I Still Have Hope

I was raised within the church.  In a sense, quite literally raised.  I can not recall a childhood memory that is not somehow bookended by my time spent there.  Sunday school was followed by listening to Brother Allen's sermon at First Baptist Church. All the while, I sat next to my mother on a wooden pew trying to distinguish the patterns on the stained glass windows.  As soon as the final prayer ended, we kids would run down the steps and play in the large expanse of yard, often making it as far as Ames Creek to look for Crawdads beneath the mossy rocks.  Later that evening we would head back to church to listen to another sermon and then play tag to the dim glow cast by the streetlights.  As I got older, Wednesday Awanas was replaced by Royal Ambassadors .
Arts and craft times in the basement of our old church.  Youth sleepovers and afternoon potlucks.  The sound of the choir, never entirely on pitch, but resplendent in their scarlet robes.  Mr. Shockey shuffling  down the middle aisle, sitting in a chair beneath the pulpit and pulling out his accordion as my friends and I would muffle giggles beneath the disapproving gaze of our moms.   These are the memories of my childhood.  But there  are even more.
Summer mornings filling the hot sanctuary with squirmy children as we began Vacation Bible School.  Standing to the procession of the flags. The third floor of our church transformed into a walk of terror on Halloween as adults would pop out of darkened doorways eliciting screams from me and my church friends.  Being hauled out of church by my mother, my toes barely scraping the floor, for some offense deemed too severe to ignore.  The swift and painful discipline administered as soon as the heavy door swung shut behind us. Stepping out from my pew and walking down the aisle, feeling all the eyes upon me, to the strains of " Just As I Am".  Brother Allen leaning into my nine year old ear and whispering, " Hold your breath" as he baptized me in the baptismal behind the stage.  The sound of the applause of our little church family.

 I have taken wonderful memories with me as I left that old church and began a life that has ultimately led me to ministry.  But I also took something else, an affliction that has stayed with me throughout these years. As I listened to those sermons on sin, I began to focus on my behaviors and and took my eyes off of my Savior.  "How am I doing" became more important to me than what Jesus had already done. Consequently my faith became a lifestyle, a series of rules and guidelines dictating which behaviors were acceptable and which were not.  I lost sight of what I knew at nine, that Christ forgave my sins, and put all my effort into becoming more righteous.  As I grew older, I became even more accustomed to looking within my self for the strength to navigate the shifting sands of this life. The work of Christ on the cross became an afterthought, not the center of my faith.

But As I have grown older, I have faced circumstances beyond my strength.  Beat down, discouraged and weary, I looked inward, not to my faith, but to the strength I brought to my faith, and discovered that all my best efforts collapsed beneath the weight of my circumstances.     

Romans 5:1 says, “Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”.  It goes on to say in verse 10  that we’ve already been “reconciled to God by the death of his Son".  As I have looked down at my circumstances, I have looked inward for strength.  Discovering I lack it, I have looked up and found that the strength I need is present in the finished work of Christ. Where my heart lacks peace, the promises of Christ abound with it.  Even in my darkest seasons, when my heart is weak and my faith seems small, I still have hope. Not because of who I am, but because of what He did.

"True faith takes its character and quality from its object and not from itself. Faith gets a man out of himself and into Christ. Its strength therefore depends on the character of Christ. Even those of us who have weak faith have the same strong Christ as others"!-Sinclair Fergusen

As I write these words, my mind goes back to the small church of my childhood...And I can picture Brother Allen smiling.

Set Your Sights For The Shore

Florence Chadwick preparing for her first attempt

On August 8, 1950, Florence Chadwick crossed the English Channel in 13 hours and 20 minutes, breaking the  world record. One year later, Chadwick crossed the English Channel yet again, from England to France making her the first woman to swim the English Channel in both directions.  But she had even more goals in mind.  So it was that Florence found herself  two years later, at the age of 34, preparing to become the first woman to swim the 26 miles between Catalina Island and the California coastline.  On the fourth of July 1952, Florence waded into the frigid water and began her journey.  She was flanked by small boats whose job was to watch for sharks and offer assistance if necessary.  Several times the boats fired upon sharks that swam alarmingly close to Florence. Hour after hour Florence swam, but after about 15 hours, as a thick, heavy fog set in, Florence began to doubt her ability.   She told her mother, who was in one of the nearby boats, shrouded in fog, that she didn’t think she could make it.  Both her mother and  trainer  offered encouragement. They told her it couldn't be much further, but she continued to grow discouraged.   They urged her not to quit, something she had never done . . . Until that day.

As she sat in the boat, Florence found out she had stopped swimming less than one mile away from the California shoreline. It was not the frigid water, not the sharks nor the exhaustion that caused her to lose hope.  Florence explained that she stopped swimming because she could no longer see the coastline.  There was simply too much fog. Having lost sight of her goal, she had quit.

Does that seem somehow familiar?  We live in a world that competes for our attention.  It tells us how we should look, how we should speak, what to drive, whether we are attractive or not.  Every commercial and magazine is communicating a message as to what we should focus upon. On top of that, we often give our best: to school, sports, relationships, only to experience heartache in return.  Even for the most ardent of believers, the temptation to lose focus is nearly overwhelming when it seems our efforts never seem to work out as we had hoped.  Life is hard, and the fog can be overwhelming.

But where is the shoreline?  For a parent, it is the vision of their child fully grown and living for Christ.  For a spouse, its a lifetime of faithfulness 'till death do they part.  For a teenager, its standing pure before his bride on his wedding day.  As life hurls its slings and arrows at all of us, it is the clear vision of our goal that keeps us moving forward.  But it is not just a vision of a future, but the future rewards that give us the strength to persevere, to carry on despite the troubles that attempt to weight us down.  Its why athletes put in the work, the time, and never call it a sacrifice.  They believe that the completion of their goal will bring a reward which outweighs anything they may have "given up".

"..I count all things loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my lord.."  -Philippians 3:8

The surpassing value of knowing Christ as our Lord, Savior and friend should be the north star that pulls us home.  Even as the fog grows thick and our hearts grow weak, it is the knowledge that His promises are true that serves as a beacon.

Two months after Florence Chadwick climbed into the boat, she tried again. This time, despite the same dense fog, she swam with her faith intact and her goal clearly pictured in her mind. She knew that somewhere behind that fog was land and this time she made it! Florence Chadwick became the first woman to swim the Catalina Channel, eclipsing the men’s record by two hours.

Florence completing the swim

Shackled By Shame

I heard a story as a child of a Mafia Don.  He was offering " protection " to several businesses in the city but was having trouble with his collections as the local police would pick up his collectors and easily get the information from them regarding  the payments and the whereabouts of the money.  After much deliberation, he decided to hire a deaf mute named Tony to pick up the cash from the various businesses.  His thinking was that if Tony were ever picked up by the police, they would have a difficult time extracting information from him.  So Tony began  picking up the payments for the Mafia Don from the numerous businesses he was extorting.  Day after day, Tony made his rounds.  At the end of the first week, as Tony was preparing to take the money to the Don, he counted the cash and discovered he was holding over half a million dollars.  Feeling greedy, he hid the money where only he could find it and began to plan his getaway. But the Don, becoming nervous when Tony had been late in delivering the money, had sent his henchmen to find him.  They quickly located him and brought him to the Mafia Don.  The Don summoned an interpreter from his gang and had him sign to Tony," Where is my money?".  Tony signed back," What money?".  The interpreter told the Don, " He says 'what money?'".  The Don pulled a pistol from his jacket, pointed it and shot a vase sitting inches from Tonys head. He then put the pistol in Tony's ear and told the interpreter, " Ask him again".  Again, the interpreter signed to Tony, " Wheres the money?".  Quickly, Tony's hands began to fly through the air.  " The money is hidden in Central park 100 paces from the big oak tree at the northern entrance.  There you will find a rose bush.  Behind it are three rocks pointing east.  Walk 10 paces to a large metal garbage can and lift it.  The money is buried there in a small canvas backpack".  With that, Tony's hands fell into his lap and he slumped in his chair.  The interpreter paused for a moment, turned towards the Don and told him, " He says you don't have the guts to pull that trigger"....

While this story never fails to elicit chuckles, it demonstrates a larger point.  A lie believed is as powerful as the truth. So many of us live out our days believing lies that steal the fullness of joy promised in Jesus.  Many of these untruths are spoken in the tapes that replay within our own heads. For many of us, it is our past failures that haunt our thoughts and speak a lie into our lives.  For others of us, it is our present pain that becomes our focus.  As the tape in your head plays on and on, nothing less than your very self-identity is at stake.  You see, the question at hand is this; Are you a product of your sins, your failures, your pains? Do they define who you are? Or... Are are you something much, much greater?

Many of us live our lives imprisoned by shame and guilt; shame over the the things we have done and the things done to us, guilt over our inability to be who we want to be.  If left unchecked, our guilt slowly becomes our identity, and we die slowly and privately, shackled by our shame. But to hide our shame is to embrace a lie. Shame over a behavior is a call to repent.  Romans 6:14 tells us that "Sin shall not be master over you".  Hiding our shame is to believe that the grace God promises, while available to others,  is not sufficient to redeem our sin.

Tragically, there is another type of shame too many of us carry around.  It is a burden not of our own making.  It is the shame of the victim, it is false shame.  Those wounded by the actions of others are in their own battle for their identity as their self-worth is distorted by the lie, that they are what has been done to them.   The abandoned spouse, the abused child, they often keep their pain secret.  But it keeps them from genuine relationships as they live without a true sense of who they are in Christ.

BUT...You are not what you have done nor what others have done to you.  God doesn't love you because you deserve it.  Nor does He love you because its just what He does.  He loves you because its who He is.  And because of that, we can take our shame and guilt, without fear, and lay them at the cross.  But many of us have lived with shame or guilt for so long that removing it leaves us struggling to know who we are apart from it.  Well, let me summarize....

You are wonderfully and fearfully made. You are His masterpiece, a poem.  He sings over you, a child of the living God.  You are a light on a hill , salt to the earth. You are saved through the limitless love of God!  You are a new creation( 2 Cor. 5:17)
We are not imprisoned, we are empowered to break down every stronghold whether they be past pains or present addictions.  

" For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things to come, nor powers, nor heighth, nor depth, nor any other created thing shall be able to separate us from the love of God!"- Romans 8:38


“The great thing to remember is that though our feelings come and go Gods love for us does not.” - C.S. Lewis

Tokyo Rose Whispers in Your Ear

During World War II, American GI's stationed in the Pacific were living and fighting in strange and inhospitable conditions.  Dense jungle foliage, thick muggy air and the ever present hum of insects with a taste for blood were the backdrop of their lives as they fought bloody battles against a brutal enemy.  With an average age of 26 years old, these American soldiers had left girlfriends, wives and new families behind.  Careers, just begun, were abandoned as they were sent thousands of miles away and placed in harms way.  There, lonely, homesick and longing for something familiar, they gathered in groups around a radio and searched the dial for sounds reminiscent of the life they had left at home.  And they found them, for deep within the South Pacific, their hungry ears were treated to the sound of American music.  Song after song would crackle from the radio, taking them back, in their minds, to the warm embrace of home, the voices of their loved ones filling their thoughts. But then... Another voice began to speak.  This lovely, lilting female voice began to make suggestive comments about what their wives and girlfriends were doing back home without them. She referred to the GI's as the "Orphans of the Pacific" and lamented the tragedy of their plight.  While they were valiantly fighting, she told them,  those men too scared to fight were at home taking their women, their jobs, their futures.   Furthermore, this seductress even seemed to know the locations of key American ships and troops.  This temptress urged them to abandon the lost cause.  The GI's named this voice Tokyo Rose.

Over the years, I have seen men abandon the brides of their youth for a momentary affair.  I have seen women run off with a co-worker, leaving their families adrift and broken.  I have witnessed children turn to drugs and alcohol to escape the harsh realities of life.  I have seen ministers caught in financial immorality.
 I have also seen people leave the church and their faith over the pain delivered upon them by other people.  I have seen marriages crumble and the participants abandon their faith, angry at God.  I have watched as people have slowly slipped into bitterness and rage over the tragedies in their lives. All of these scenarios, seemingly so different, had a common thread.  They believed the lies.

Those individuals who made decisions which led to relational tragedy believed the lie that they should focus upon themselves, their needs, their wants, their desires, their happiness. Those who abandoned the faith did not believe that God could bring about healing, thereby believing the lie that He doesn't care.  What they did not believe was the truth.  And what is the Truth?

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly."-John 10:10...The truth is, Christ offers a life of blessings greater than your petty desires could ever deliver...

"For I know the plans that I have for you, declares the LORD, ‘plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope".- Jeremiah 29:11.. You see,  God does care.  He cares intimately about your life and has plans to bring prosperity into it despite the wounds which this world delivers..

Yet even as I write this, I am struck by my own inadequacies,  the mistakes I have made.  A voice, much like Tokyo Rose crackling from that radio, assails me with doubts. It vies for my attention as the enemy of my soul conspires with my flesh to undermine my determination to hold true to Gods promises.  Does He love me?  Will He bless me?  Can I trust Him when all seems lost?  The seductress in my ear tells me no.  She whispers that He has left me.  But is that the truth?  As it turns out, Tokyo Rose had no real information about troops or ships.  She was the desperate brainchild of an enemy who knew the power of the force it faced.  And so it is with the father of lies.  As he whispers falsehoods into our ears, tempting and seducing, the greatest weapon we have is the truth....

And I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse, and He who sat on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness He judges and wages war. ¹² His eyes are a flame of fire, and on His head are many diadems; and He has a name written on Him which no one knows except Himself. ¹³ He is clothed with a robe dipped in blood, and His name is called The Word of God.- Revelation 19:11-13



We win.....

Choosing to Weep

Some years ago, my wife and I were going through a period where it seemed as if every phone call or conversation brought fresh news of some tragedy or relational failing in the lives of people we cared about.  During that time, I was teaching a class on Wednesdays at our church on various Old Testament books.  The majority of the attendees were older than myself, many of them in their retired years.  At the end of one particular evening, I asked for prayer as I felt that our community was under a unique attack from the enemy.  I was feeling overwhelmed by the weight of so many stories of hurt and loss, the likes of which I had never previously experienced.  We prayed as a class and then milled about in conversation as people began to move towards the door.  One older gentleman approached me and put his arm around me in a hug.  As the others trickled out of the classroom, he shared that what I was experiencing was not unique, nor was it new, I was just getting older.

When my wife and I got married, many of our friends were in the same season of their lives.  We all entered this exciting time with visions of how our futures would unfold.  In our dreams, our kids were always healthy, our jobs fulfilling and our marriages strong.  But over the years, our best plans were often sidetracked.  Many of my friends gave themselves over to sin, costing them their families.  Others were forced to come to grips with the reality of sick children and the uncertain futures they must now face.  Even others worked long hours and made plans to become financially secure only to discover that their security disappeared seemingly overnight.   As my older friend lovingly shared with me that night  in an empty church classroom, the passing years have simply provided me more opportunities  to witness peoples pains and failings.  But my friend went on to share that as I became older, perhaps even wiser, I would find that my response to these tragedies would change. 

Early in our marriage, the news of peoples personal failings would prompt me to condemn them.  " How could they?!" was a common response, followed closely by " I would never!"...Over the years, I have rushed to share someones failings with others under some thinly veiled pretense or another.  Looking back, pointing out their mistakes was easier than looking at my own.  The more public the failing, the better to make me feel superior as it was played out in every corner of our small community.  As it turned out, focusing on their failings was easier than focusing on my own desperate need for grace.

But my friend was correct.  As my body has changed over the years, so has my response to the failings in the lives of others.  My heart breaks with the news of a family in the throes of pain and shame.  My heart breaks when I consider a spouse dealing with the fallout of decisions not their own.  My heart breaks over the news of relationships hanging by a thread.  And  the more public their failing, the more fervently I pray for God to provide strength...  I choose to weep alongside them..

15Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.   ¹⁶Be of the same mind toward one another; do not be haughty in mind, but associate with the lowly. Do not be wise in your own estimation.  Romans 15-16


I see within other peoples struggles and failings the overwhelming Grace of God in my own life, poured out so freely while I did not deserve it.  In light of that, I realize my own brokenness as I see it in others.  How then can I feel superior, "haughty"? With the memory of my own failings, I weep for their pain. With the knowledge of the grace I so desperately needed,  I pray for their restoration. 

¹ Brethren, even if anyone is caught in any trespass, you who are spiritual, restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness; each one looking to yourself, so that you too will not be tempted. ² Bear one another’s burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ. - Galatians 6:1-2