Highlights and Shoes

Every now and then, I have what I like to call a “highlight reel” moment.  No, it’s not me dunking a basketball or diving for a winning touchdown.  I’d probably injure myself if I even attempted either of those things.  For me a “highlight reel” moment is when I see or experience something that begins a mental collage of images, sounds, smells, or conversations from my past.

These moments are triggered by all sorts of things.  I heard “Mr. Blue Sky” by ELO and got a bit misty as a life of precious memories with my late uncle flooded into my mind (he was the world’s biggest ELO fan).  Certain diesel engines create an aroma that takes me back to days of working on jet engines in the hangar of the U.S.S Peleliu.  Every time I see a car like one I used to own, I remember every turn I ever made in it.

The other night, I saw something that started a highlight reel.  Normally I would be upset at seeing the pink, canvas sneakers of my daughter lying carelessly in the living room floor.  But something was different that night.  My mind didn’t immediately wonder whether or not her room was as messy as the living room floor.  Instead, it started thinking about the little girl that wore those shoes.  I remembered the slippers that she wore as a baby.  I thought about how her older sister would help her tie her first “real” shoes or how we struggled with her to even wear shoes.

It is remarkable how many memories come with a pair of shoes.  Ballet shoes take me back to dance recitals with butterfly wings and leotards for both of my little ladies.  Fuzzy slippers tell the story of the hippie daughter waving a peace sign.  High heels remind me of high school dances complete with formal gowns.  Rugged sneakers recall a 12 mile hike in the North Georgia mountains that wiped us out.

A highlight reel of memories – all because of a pair of pink shoes on my living room floor.  While giving me a great sense of warmth and joy, the memories also bring a tinge of pain.  I know that it will be far too soon that there will be no more shoes lying in my living room.  They’ll be in her own home with her own family before I can blink my eyes.  And I will wonder – did I do a good job?  Did I make the most of every opportunity?  Did I mess up my girls for life with any number of parenting mistakes?

My girls often ask me what I want for my birthday / Father’s Day / Christmas, and I always struggle to answer.  There is really only one thing I want, and they can only play a partial role in making that desire come true.  I know that some day I will stand before God and answer for all that I have done.  Even now, I can hear Him saying, “I gave you the responsibility to raise those two girls.  I charged you with bringing them up in such a way that they would know of me, that they would love me, and that they would be a reflection of my own goodness and character.”  As He then looks over the lives of my daughters and considers the kind of women that they became, I have but one burning desire.  I hope to hear Him say, “Well done.”

With one daughter off to college and another nearing high school, I know all too well those precious, pink sneakers will one day walk out of my home and into her own.  I wonder what the highlight reel will look like then.

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The Money Mirage

As a boy growing up in Texas, I remember taking a number of road trips.  We were not an affluent family and routinely used the road trip as the principal method for having a vacation.  Most of the time, those vacations would take place right in our home state.

For those not familiar with a map, Texas covers an enormous amount of land.  We drove for hours on end without coming close to any of the state’s borders.  Trips to Padre Island, San Antonio, Amarillo (an odd vacation choice, I know), and family reunions in arid, dusty west Texas were all destinations for our highway adventures.

The road trips were complete with all of the trimmings – riding with our feet hanging out the windows, filling the car with RC Cola-powered, Dorito-smelling belches, playing “slug-a-bug”, and stopping at every highway tourist trap imaginable.  Rest areas were never safe from three boys anxious to get out of a cramped car if even for the briefest of moments.

We saw a lot of interesting things on the road.  Mile after mile of perfectly lined corn rows, run-over armadillos, tarantulas crossing the highway in swarms, tumbleweeds, and even the occasional pile-up.  But one of the things that fascinated me the most was the highway mirage.  You know what I’m talking about.  On a long stretch of flat road beneath a blazing sun, parts of the road ahead look as though they are covered in water.  You see something that really isn’t there.  Once you arrive at that spot, you discover that it’s just plain asphalt like the last 100 miles.

I thought about that this week as I read the Parable of the Sower.  In that parable, Jesus talks about the man who cast seed on different types of soil with different results.  One type of soil represented the person that heard God’s good news, but allowed the worries of life and the “deceitfulness of wealth” to choke it and make it unfruitful.

Jesus never condemned wealth itself.  He taught us the importance of avoiding debt, of using our earthly wealth to build up heavenly treasures by helping others, and of being faithful stewards of whatever wealth God gives us.  But He also warns us repeatedly against the love of money and serving money.  He knew that wealth had the power to deceive us and to steal away our heart and affections.  Essentially, Jesus warned us that wealth is a mirage on the road trip of life.

From a distance, we see all of the things that money promises us – security, comfort, and peace.  But after spending our lives in the pursuit of wealth, we discover that it’s all been a mirage.  Security falters when economies collapse.  Peace can evaporate as pressures of maintaining wealth and acquiring more destroy relationships and create inner turmoil.

Jesus warned us about the deceitfulness of wealth because He knew its power.  It can pull away our hearts and lure us with false hope.  He knew that only He held the keys to true, lasting peace.  Only He gave everlasting security that would extend far beyond our retirement years.  And despite the pressures and problems created by the collapsing mirage that our culture has embraced, He still promises peace and security today.  If you’ve been chasing a mirage, consider chasing God’s promises instead.  They are the only thing worth banking on.

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Shortcut to Nowhere

Every work day, I join thousands of other cars in slugging down the highway 400 artery.  Artery may be a generous term, as it often flows more like a varicose vein.  For my non-Atlanta readers, state highway 400 is the corridor into Atlanta from the northern suburbs.  On the weekends, the road becomes an Autobahn.  During rush hour, it becomes an asphalt heart attack.

Like many other commuters, I have thrown up my hands, pulled on my hair (what little is left), and sat in disbelief at how a highway could turn into a parking lot.  Sometimes, I am rewarded with a curbside view of flashing lights, broken glass, and drivers exchanging insurance cards.  At least then I can see the source of the jam.  Occasionally, the traffic breaks free for no apparent reason at all.  Then I’m left to wonder why we were all stuck in the first place.

As tough as the highway can be, I have found that it is almost always the shortest route.  I can’t count the number of times that I have hopped off at the nearest exit in a state of disgust, laughed at the poor saps stuck on the freeway, then screeched to a halt every few feet on the back roads.  The “shortcuts” almost always take more time than just bearing it out on the highway.  Embarrassingly, I have even abandoned my “shortcut” to return to the road.  It may be slow at times, but I know that it will get me there.

The immediate gratification disease can tempt us to take shortcuts.  Rather than saving up for something, we buy on debt.  Other times we want something more substantive but without the hard route.  A desire for a fulfilling relationship can lead to divorcing the current spouse and finding a new partner.  Perhaps we want a stronger relationship with God, but refuse to invest the time studying His word, talking to Him in prayer, and communing with His people.

These shortcuts can lead to devastating results.  Spending what we don’t have can bankrupt our families – and our nation.  Finding a new lover instead of rebuilding the relationship with our current one can create a repeating cycle of emptiness.  Wanting a strong faith without the disciplines or constraints can lure us into a spiritual wasteland filled with disenchantment, frustration, and despair.

Like you, I’ve tried the shortcut route before in one way or another.  Funny how it just never seems to work out the way we think it will.  So what’s the best plan of action when our shortcuts lead us deep into the wilderness?  Do we press on blindly hoping to find our way out?  Or is there another, wiser course to take?

C.S. Lewis once said, “We all want progress, but if you’re on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive.”

Maybe you find yourself today in the midst of a shortcut that isn’t working out.  Perhaps your finances are in tatters, your marriage is in ruins, your relationships are broken, or even your faith in God is shaken as a result.  If so, I’ve got good news for you.  God invites us to make a U-turn.  He wants to help us mend our relationships and even balance our checkbooks.  More importantly, He wants to draw us back to Himself.

Consider charting a new course.  Head back to the main road.  It may seem slow going at times, but it’s the only way that will lead you home.

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Getting the Message

Tattoos colored the arms, legs, backs, and chests of a great many of my fellow soldiers.  It seemed at times that you really couldn’t call yourself a Marine without an eagle, globe, and anchor tattoo somewhere on your body.  In my boot camp platoon, there were at least three guys dumb enough to put the emblem on their bodies before ever arriving at boot camp.  Drill instructors did not look favorably on those arrogant enough to brand themselves with an unearned title and were not bashful about expressing those feelings.

The tattoo that I will always remember best was not one of the finest.  Quite the contrary.  Private First Class Smith (not his real name) showed up for work one morning ready to show off his new marking.  It seems that PFC Smith had a pretty wild weekend that culminated with a shiny, new branding.  As we gathered round to offer our critiques, he rolled up his pant leg to reveal his U.S. Marine Corps tattoo on his ankle.  There was one slight problem.  Apparently, he had been too inebriated to realize that the tattoo did not say, “U.S. Marine Corps.”  It read, “U.S. Marine Core.”

Being the tender, compassionate brothers in arms that we were, we reeled in laughter, pointed, and ridiculed him until we could barely breathe.  Then we did it again.  Ah, the good old days.

PFC Smith had wanted to convey a message of patriotism and pride in his service.  What he unintentionally conveyed was something different.

Sometimes the message gets lost in the noble attempt to communicate it.  It’s happened to all of us.  Fortunately, most of us do not wear the confused message in ink permanently stamped into our flesh.  The well-intentioned husband trying to compliment his wife’s cooking might say, “Wow, this isn’t burned!  It tastes really good!”  Or the wife trying to reassure her husband of her affections might offer the “You look really sexy with less hair!” compliment.

It can happen with more important messages, too.  Even God’s message can be muddied.  During Jesus’ day, what God had tried to communicate to His people had become badly distorted.  Pharisees had taken God’s commands and added a weight of rules and regulations that missed the point entirely.  They became focused on legalism rather than the human heart.  They looked down upon “sinners” and sought recognition for their own righteousness.

Jesus swept away all of their hypocrisy and brought the message back into clarity.  God already knew that we were sinners.  That’s what His law was supposed to show us.  But rather than kick dirt in the faces of sinners, God desired to bring them back into a relationship with Himself.  Jesus was the one and only way to that reconciliation.  Rather than scorn the sinners, Jesus sought them out.  He entered their homes, healed their sick, forgave them of their sins, and helped them turn from their wicked ways.  Ultimately, He would bear upon Himself the price for the sins of the entire world.  He would give Himself in our place so that we could have a way back to God.

May we as Christians guard closely against our own typo-tattoos.  May we be ever vigilant to communicate that it really is all about God loving the world and sending His Son to save it.

And if you ever happen to be sitting by the pool and notice a guy with “U.S. Marine Core” on his ankle, just lean over and thank him for his service.  He’ll get the message.

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A Redneck Carol

Christmas music spills into the airwaves at every turn this time of year.  A quick glance through any CD rack reveals that every band on the planet has at least one Christmas album.  Classic Christmas carols seem to be an endangered species.

Most people I know grew up in one of two types of homes.  The first type, the Classic Christmas home, was typified by the families that would go caroling with their church groups wearing matching plaid sweaters and scarves.  I, for better or worse, belonged to the other type – the Redneck home.  For people like me, “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer” was a classic.  Elvis Presley had the only Christmas album worth hearing.  “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” was a bigger hit than “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” – unless you were talking about the Elvis version, of course.

Imagine my surprise to realize that somewhere down the road, I had built my own family around the Classic Christmas model.  In fact, my first dance with my youngest daughter was to the melodious sounds of Nat King Cole singing “The Christmas Song”.  The music that stirs our family this time of year is not about Rudolph, but rather about a “Silent Night” bringing “Joy to the World”.  When had the tide turned for me?  What spurred the changing of the guard from “Jingle Bell Rock” to “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”?

About 17 years ago, my church was hosting a Christmas caroling event, complete with candles and travelling guitar.  It really wasn’t my bag – until I found out that a certain smokin’ hot girl would be going.  With that news, I transformed from a bad Elvis impersonator into Bing Crosby.  Naturally, I stuck to her like glue.  The only problem was that the words to these classic carols might as well have been Latin.  I was more than prepared to bust out a healthy “Well, it’s Christmas time, pretty baby” by Elvis, but utterly stumped by the songs that they were singing.

While everyone else sang, I tried to move my lips in silence without betraying my ignorance.  Then I heard this angelic young lady by my side begin to sing, “O, Holy Night”.  I had never heard anything like that voice.  It was the first time in my life that I had ever heard that song.  Wow, could that girl sing!

A couple of years later, the transformation would be complete.  As a young Marine stationed aboard the USS Peleliu anchored in the Persian Gulf, I had just climbed into my rack for a night’s rest.  Christmas was only a few days away, and my mind was filled with thoughts of the angelic-voiced lady that was now my wife.  It was tough to think about being away from her and our two daughters.  As my mind meditated on their faces, the ship’s whistle blew as it did every night about that time.  And, like each night prior, a Christmas carol was played over the ship’s intercom.  That’s when I heard Nat King Cole singing, “O, Holy Night”.  In that moment, there was no greater comfort that I could have received.  Not only did it remind me of the pretty girl carrying the candle, it reminded me of the “night divine” – the night when Christ was born.  It was a night when angels in full splendor announced the birth of a Savior – Immanuel.

I guess my neck will always be a little pink.  I still think that grandmas all over the world should be careful of stampeding reindeer, and my cell phone ring tone is Elvis’ “Winter Wonderland”.  But the joy of the Yuletide season and the news of God with us will always be found in “O, Holy Night”.

May your Christmas be filled with warmth and love, and may it overflow with the good news of that Holy, Holy Night.

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Pointing Fingers

Fingerprints remain a vital part of any background check.  I once tried to recall every occasion my prints had been taken.  There was the military processing center, many job screenings, government applications, and probably an event or two that I’d prefer not to talk about.

The technology behind fingerprinting has come a long way.  In the old days, ink stained your fingers until a messy, gooey soap got them clean.  Today, ink is a distant memory as prints are simply scanned like a copy machine.  Likewise, background checks themselves happen at the speed of electrons.  The instances of actual law enforcement agents making visits to your grade school teacher, pastor, and the lady down the street – whose window you broke with a stray baseball – rarely ever happen.  The internet gathers, sorts, and prioritizes every lawsuit, traffic ticket, and embarrassing Facebook post you have made in a matter of seconds.

Perhaps the ease of background checks has made them much more prevalent.  It seems everything requires one.  It proves difficult to imagine a job that does not mandate some form of a background screening – except, perhaps, for any number of elected and appointed offices in the executive branch of government.  Want to work with children in a daycare center or within a church ministry?  Need security clearance?  Want a concealed carry permit?  Get ready for the background check.  If you want a job handling money, you should probably prepare for the extended screening.  A credit check, drug screen, and a very uncomfortable visit to a doctor could all be prerequisites.

Pray that you have not had too many traffic tickets, missed a payment or two, not paid your taxes, or lost a lawsuit.  The opportunity that you are hoping for could easily vanish.  Criminally convicted of something?  You may as well move to another country.  This useful tool designed to screen out the bad guys does not allow for past mistakes or personal redemption.  The results paint a black and white picture.

Imagine the consequences if God used a background check.  How could anyone measure up?  My own results would likely send off alarms and trigger angelic security to escort me from the premises.  Heaven itself would be an empty place since everyone would fall short.  Our fingerprinting would lead to finger pointing.  We would condemn ourselves by forensic proof of our own failures.

Remarkably, when Jesus came He deliberately sought out the people with long rap sheets.  He made a bee-line for adulterers, prostitutes, thieves, traitors, and even tax collectors.  It was the sick that needed the doctor, not the healthy.  He ate in their homes, healed their sicknesses, and forgave their sins.  He offered them a way to pass God’s background check.  To all who were willing to accept Him, He gave the right to become children of God.  He is the only one with fingerprints tied to a spotless record.

Think of it this way.  A massive vault door stands between us and heaven.  A thumb scanner opens the door, but it recognizes just one print.  Jesus stands next to the door and waits for those that are His own.  When we approach the door, He says, “I got this” and presses His own thumb to the pad.  The door springs open, and He welcomes us home.  May we prepare for the only background check that will ever matter by substituting His righteousness for our own.

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A Heart for Heaven

Sam (far right) as pictured in a mural at his coffee house

Some days live forever in your mind.  Most of us know exactly where we were for national tragedies – the assassination attempt of Ronald Reagan, the space shuttle explosion, or the terrorist attacks of 9/11.  Some remember the bombing of Pearl Harbor or the assassination attempt of JFK.

Likewise, the private mind remembers every detail of personal triumphs and tragedies.  News of the first pregnancy, the loss of a home, an engagement, the day the labs results arrived, or the first words of a child.  The memories are burned into the soul.

Such was the case for me this past Thanksgiving.  After a wonderful day of giving thanks and celebration, the phone brought terrible news.  My uncle had suffered a sudden heart attack and was rushed to the hospital.  This 53 year old man had no history of heart problems.  An hour later, the phone rang again.  I’ll never forget the moment that I heard the words I feared most – “He’s gone.”

This past week I have wept, shared memories, laughed, re-connected with family and friends, and grieved.  Sam was so much more than just an uncle.  He was like a big brother, best friend, and even a touch of father figure all rolled into one.

The last time I saw him face to face, he shared with me a book that he had been reading called “Heaven” by Randy Alcorn.  It had really captivated him and filled his imagination.  He was consumed with thoughts of our heavenly home.  Well, I’ve thought a lot about that the last few days.

My uncle had a heart for heaven, and it showed in how he lived his life.  He found happiness and pleasure in the simplest of things.  He never forgot to live and always stopped to smell the roses.  He was quick to laugh, eager to give, and ready to love.

I share this not simply to tell you of a great person that has gone to his eternal home.  We all could tell stories of such men and women.  But I learned from his example something worth sharing.  While it was on display during Sam’s life, the witness of this lesson was profound in his death.

In life, we only know reality from our experience in the world in which we live.  Heaven seems like an ethereal place – almost an idea.  It is easy to believe that this world is the reality.  But what if we’ve got it exactly backwards?  What if heaven is the reality and this life is just a shadow?  The heaven of the Bible dwarfs anything that we can imagine.  God gave us many descriptions of this very real, very physical place.  By comparison, this world hardly registers as even a shadow.

There’s something about the person that has a heaven-bound mind.  The heart for the home in the hereafter has a unique way of living in the here and now.  There is an unhurried attitude, a celebration of all of life’s victories and even its failures.  The heaven seeker has a longing for the real home, but carries a peace in the temporary one.

The heaven-bound mind knows the struggles of this world, but wears them lightly.  He knows that he is just passing through.  His heart is for heaven.  Sam had a heaven-bound mind.

C.S. Lewis once wrote, “Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in.  Aim at earth and you get neither.”  I think Sam got it exactly right.  May we, too, turn our hearts toward heaven.

The Hope of Nations

A little more than a year ago, a plurality of the voting American people selected the promise of Hope and Change over its competitor.  To a majority of these voters, a developing recession and seven years of war led to a desire for something better.  Along came a smooth-talking orator promising exactly what they were looking for.  Specifics proved to be elusive, but the promises piled up.  Our enemies would like us.  Racism would cease.  The economy would recover.  Unemployment would never reach 10%.  Even the oceans would slow their rise, and our very planet would heal if we would just trust the one who promised Hope and Change.

And so America did.

Judging from plunging approval numbers that reflect harsh economic realities, soaring deficits, and a dithering war policy, Americans are beginning to express disillusionment.  But, really, should we be surprised that Hope and Change have failed to live up to their promise?

Despite our current situation, this really isn’t about any particular politician or political party.  Political leaders have been crowing Messianic-like promises for decades.  To one degree or another, both parties have promised us that we can fix our weight problems by eating more candy.  The responsible message simply doesn’t sell.

The real tragedy lies in the American people putting their faith in these self-serving, promise peddlers.  We routinely suspend our rational thinking to blindly believe the impossible.  We buy the snake oil from whichever salesman offers the most compelling pitch.  Then we suffer from disappointment as the financial, security, and moral consequences take hold – as they always will.

Even in this terrible death cycle, there is good news.  History has shown us time and again that when things get bad enough, God’s people begin to recognize that there is only One person who can truly bring Hope and Change.

In ancient times, God’s chosen nation of Israel consistently vacillated in its commitment to God.  One season, they would trust Him for everything and commit their lives to seeking His face and obeying His commands.  Victories and blessing inevitably followed.  Then, drunk with prosperity, they would forsake God and His ways, assimilate into the godless cultures around them, and begin a downward spiral.  The result was oppression, economic collapse, famine, military failures, or a combination of all.

Like the Hebrew nation of old, America shares the same experience.  Ancient Israel thought that a king would bring them the Hope and Change that they desired.  God rightly saw it as a rejection of Himself by His people.  He sees it the same way today when we put our faith and trust in any politician over Him.  Since God’s laws never change, the consequences of such a decision always have the same result.

It is easy to see this season of America as the onset of complete desolation.  Yet I believe that it may simply be the dark winter before our brightest spring if we will return our faith to the One that rightly deserves it.  Let us repent of seeking salvation from smooth-talking politicians that promise the world.  May we choose only leaders that reflect the will of the only One that can bring real Hope and lasting Change.  There is a Hope of Nations.  His name is Jesus.

The Barber’s Chair

Sometimes you hear a story that is so powerful that you wonder if it could possibly be true.  I am the first one to hit www.snopes.com when I think I’ve been told a whopper.  Truth be told, I even checked it for the story that I am about to share.  But after some research, I believe it to be true.  I spoke with the retired Reverend Jerome Hamm recently to verify its veracity.  Reverend Hamm heard it around the spring of 1962 in a sermon preached by the very student that had been involved.  He heard the firsthand account.

Around 1960, a young seminary student was attending Emory University.  One of his regular routines was to get his haircut at a hotel barbershop in the Druid Hills area.  The barber that cut his hair was a short man with thick, dark hair and a strong Jewish accent.  Like most barbers of the day, he wore a long-sleeve, smock-like garment.

One day, their casual friendship took on an entirely new meaning.

The Georgia heat and a blown air conditioner had taken their toll on the barbershop that day.  Gone was the familiar long-sleeve smock that the student had come to know.  On this day, the young man saw his barber sporting a short-sleeve shirt.  As he sat down, the young man noticed something that he had never seen before.

The old, Jewish barber had a tattoo.  He bore a crudely etched number in his forearm.  The realization of its meaning landed squarely in the mind of the student.  He couldn’t help but ask about this mark of a Holocaust survivor.

The old barber put his scissors down and sat next to his young friend to tell the story.  The barber was more than just a Holocaust survivor – so much more.

He told of how he had lived in a Nazi concentration camp with many other Jews bearing marks like his own.  The unimaginable horrors of that experience began anew each day.  Every morning, the soldiers would line up the Jews, open a large book, and call out ten random numbers.  If the called number was written on your arm, you had to step forward.  The soldiers would then put a bullet into the head of each of those ten Jews.

Every prisoner lived in grave fear that his number would be called and felt all hope drain away.  One morning, the barber said that he heard his number called.  He couldn’t breathe, let alone move.  His legs failed to work.  The number was called again.  Before he could bring himself to face his fate, he saw from the corner of his eye another man stepping forward.  What could this mean?

Just as they did every morning, the Nazis executed the man that came forward.  And like every other morning, they crossed out the numbers that they had called from their book.

The barber broke down in tears as he remembered the sacrifice.  He knew that no matter how bad things would get, his number would never be called again.  It had been struck from the book.  He didn’t know the mystery man that took his place.  But as he wept, he said, “That man died for me.  I wouldn’t be alive without him.”

As the student would later share, this story mirrored the story of the Christian faith.  We, too, had been living in an enemy’s camp.  Our eventual fate would be death and eternal separation from God due to our sin.  But when the debt of sin was to be collected, God sent His own Son as our substitute to bear the consequence for us.  He gave us assurance that no matter how bad things got on this earth, we would never be separated from Him again.  Our sins were blotted out of the book to be forgotten and recalled no more.

By His sacrifice, He has broken the power of sin and death.  He has set us free.  “And if the Son has set you free, then you are free indeed.”

Preferential Treatment

I recently began shopping for a new cell phone provider.  One site allowed me to build my own plan, customized for my personal needs.  Pandora, an online radio station, allowed me to build a series of my own radio stations featuring only artists that I like.  Even a trip to the grocery store shows my own preferences.  My shopping cart varies wildly from the next person in line.  In the very clothing on my back, my choices reflect my own tastes and sense of fashion (or lack thereof).

We live in a world that is completely customizable.  Think about the scores of choices that identify you just within your home.  Your wall coverings reflect your style.  Your furniture meets your own needs and tastes and is likely different than your neighbors’ furniture.  The music playing on your stereo, the programs broadcasting through your television, and the food cooking in your oven all reflect something about you.  They reflect your choices and preferences.

When we think about which political candidates will get our vote, we pick the ones that most closely reflect our values.  Even in our seasons of romance, we tend to project onto the other person qualities that we want them to have, whether they have them or not.  Everything fits neatly into our personalized world.

But what about God?  What do we believe about Him?  Do we all hold the same view, or do we each have a customized God?  The famous French philosopher Voltaire once said, “If God created us in his own image, we have more than reciprocated.”  Unfortunately, Voltaire nailed it.

If you polled your friends about God, you would likely hear a lot of different and contradictory ideas.  Comments like, “The God I believe in would never do that!” or “My God isn’t like that at all” would be commonplace.  And why not?  We customize everything else in our world.  Relativism comes easily.  We like to pick and choose the things about God that we want to believe and create our own personal God.

Yet on this question, the only question with eternal consequence, we must ask – what is the truth?  Who is God, really?  Can we know?  The answer brings both good and bad news.

The good news is that God can be known and wants to be known.  He has revealed Himself to us through His Son, Jesus.  He has shown us His nature and character in the Bible.  The bad news is that accepting this truth will likely disrupt our views and destroy the personalized God that we have created.

The God of the Bible is far bigger, greater, and more awesome than we realize.  He is love – but He is also holy.  He is forgiving – but He is also righteous.  He holds the universe in His hands, yet knows the very number of hairs on your head.  His laws and His character do not turn with culture or the changing of the times.  They are fixed and cannot be customized to fit our own situation.

Christian musical artist Wayne Watson once penned the lyrics that describe our struggle to break free from making God in our own image.

“I wonder if I’d know you now.
Or have the images I’ve painted so distorted who You are
That even if the world was looking, they could not see You, the real You?
Have I changed the true reflection, to fulfill my own design
Making you what I want , not showing You forth divine, divine?”

Accepting Him for who He is rather than who we would like Him to be requires a difficult, yet liberating decision.  It is a decision of submission, yet a choice of freedom.  It will turn your world upside down and inside out – and it’s the only choice worth making.

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