Awakened from a short night’s sleep by a massive branch falling from an ancient live oak, a leisurely morning making my wife breakfast quickly changed to work boots and leather gloves, a chainsaw piercing the silence of the still-sleeping world. Amidst the raucous rattle, I discovered a certain peace in my soul. All the noise that once seemed so important faded into the background of the task at hand.

As the chainsaw took its inevitable pause, I glanced at busted knuckles covered in oily sawdust. I could hear my father say, “If you were a bit more patient, that might not have happened.” Yeah, just as if he was still here on this side of Heaven.

Grabbing a piece of shade to escape the oppressive 100-degree heat, I “… heard the sound of the Lord God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day.” Genesis 3:8 It seemed time stood still and maybe it did. We’re the only creatures whose lives are measured in minutes, yet time does constrain the One Who created it. In that moment, we walked. We talked some. I listened more. It turns out all my worries are insignificant in the light of eternity. In focusing only on the next step, I lost sight of direction, His direction. It took a mighty branch crashing down to turn my eyes to Jesus, again.

As the eighteen-year-old in me went to take a nap, the slightly older version of myself remained to do the work. Some things never change. During one pause, my wife asked if the chainsaw was broken again. “Nope, just aching knees and shoulders,” not to mention my heart.

Let’s just say we took a few more “walks in the garden” that day. I should do it more often, for God is always there, waiting.

 

 

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I had the honor of being part of two weddings. Both brides, longtime friends of our daughter. Both grooms well suited for the personalities of each. However, that is where similarity ends.

One wedding, a handful of guests in a backyard garden space. The other, a church full of friends and family. For the one, simple and easily flowing, with a home cooked meal on mismatched family china. The other, more structured, rules and traditions, with a catered dinner and dance. Both sweet and very special.

Despite the contrast in style, I was drawn back to the similarity. Each service began acknowledging the presence of God, each couple exchanged promises, their unions with Christ at the center.

Jesus attended a wedding in Cana, not as the focal point, but as a guest. They had run out of wine, and it would have ruined the celebration if not for Mary bringing the problem to Jesus. He took jars of water, blessed them and the water became wine, and not just any wine, but the finest of wines. The crowd, the families, perhaps even the married couple themselves were not aware of the miracle that had taken place.

At this weekend’s weddings, Jesus was not only at the center, but also a guest, performing miracles we were unaware of. How often is that the case in our lives?

In Cana, Jesus took something seemingly ordinary and made it exquisite. Knowing these two couples, some since grade-school, they are anything but ordinary. Yet with Jesus, their lives together will become extraordinary, exquisite. This is my prayer.

It is my prayer for you as well.

Amen.

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There is a woman battling giants. As one falls in defeat, another takes up his sword and continues the fight. Reaching into her quiver, she finds her arrows all spent. Swinging an empty bow until it shatters, she fights on with broken pieces. As the giant advances, she throws rocks and sticks and whatever is within her reach. She will not surrender even to her last breath.

As she stumbled, a fellow warrior lifted her to continue the battle. The strength of two failed to slow the giant. Disappointment dampened her faith. “Did I do something wrong? Could I have prayed harder? Prayed longer?”

Jesus said, “My precious child, you know it doesn’t work like that, for I am your strength.”

“Forgive me Lord, but it doesn’t seem like enough, though I know it is and You are.”

Jesus replied, “When I faced the cross, it was not because of your strength, but because of mine, and Our Father’s. On the road, I fell under its weight. Soldiers pulled a man from the crowd to help. How could you do more?

It wasn’t because of your faith, nor the extra hour of prayer you could have or should have spent. I did it because you needed Me and I love you that much.

When you spend another long day or sleepless night, you persevere because they need you and you love them that much. I love you that much too.”

“But it’s hard and I can’t do it on my own.”

“I know. Mountains only move when we push together.”

The warrior fell to her knees, but that is where she finds strength.

Disappointment sets in when we don’t see big miracles, but in looking for the forest, we fail to see the trees. Small miracles happen all around us: restful sleep if only for a short time, a phone call from a worried child, or even a sweaty hug after a hard morning’s workout.

Lord, we pray for healing, wholeness and Your abundant blessings; for strength and patience while we wait for miracles.

Amen.

 

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The morning air was thick, leaning into the fog just to force a step. The oppressive heat weighed on my shoulders like a sea-farer’s rope dragging against my sails. Without a hint of a breeze, I struggled through the waves, oars straining against the relentless tides. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I cried, “Lord, I haven’t the strength to move. Please, billow my sails.”

Lifting my eyes, I found the air just as still, the waves just as hard. I continued to row, searching for not as much a trade wind, but any breeze at all to aid in my quest. Feeling no relief, I ventured further, muscles aching from the effort.

“Lord, please billow my sails.”

Drawing alongside another struggling vessel, I extended a rope to lend aid, knowing full well my strength alone would not carry them far. Despite my diminished capacity, I positioned myself between their ship and the turbulent sea, breaking waves, freeing their path. As my sails remained unfurled, they caught what little breeze there was, propelling them onward. Still, I remained deflated.

“Lord, please billow my sails.”

Once more, I encountered another ship battling the unforgiving elements, unable to find safe harbor. Seizing the steering oar, I maneuvered around them, calming the waters in my wake. As they turned toward their destination, their sails caught the wind and hastened their journey. And still, I remained deflated.

“Lord, please billow my sails.”

“Lord, where is your breath? There is more struggle than my arms can manage. I am so tired.”

 

My son, I have made you strong to pull an oar when the seas battle against you.

I made the tree of which the oar would be hewn, to withstand the waves you must face.

Though your moment of riding the breeze has not arrived, you continue to row, yet you do not labor alone, My Hand is always there.

If you had been at full sail on the open seas, other ships would have struggled.

What you considered an obstacle in your journey allowed others to continue theirs.

Know that your day of billowed sails will come, and you will glide on the wings of the wind.

Until then, I AM with you in stormy seas, anchoring you, or in dense fog holding you fast, until it is time.

 

Take heart; pull the oar.

For I will billow your sails.

 

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The workweek greeted me with darkened skies and a rooster’s crow. A night of troubled sleep drew a fog in and around me. Beyond the reach of foreboding trees, whispers of golds and pinks gently pushed blue from the horizon. Taking a deep breath of morning air, I savored the hope of a new day as truth filled my senses.

For since the creation of the world, God’s invisible qualities – His eternal power and divine nature – have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse. Romans 1:20

Inclined to capture the moment on film, a whisper floated across the breeze:

This moment is for you. Even your best attempt would fail to replicate the glory I have placed before your eyes. Brushstrokes of magnificent color, a crisp in the air, a moment of silence. Imprint the experience on the canvas of your heart, for there it will dwell and warm inner spaces.

An artist sees the world through the confines of a lens yet fails to fully grasp the splendor lying beyond the frame.  Even in my desire to share this moment, words fell grossly inadequate. There were pinks and blues.

The morning illuminated the skies, folding clouds into shades of white with cotton candy edges; a reminder to embrace ever changing beauty at each turn.

Engulfed in the flame of a sunrise reflecting off a dirty windshield, the traffic light’s change was unnoticeable, until an adjacent commuter impatiently pounded her horn, frustrated with the extra second we sat at the intersection. Did she not see the brilliance cascaded across our view? Did impatience consume her colors rendering them a lifeless gray?

I’ll admit, I may have joined her quest had my focus not been drawn to the dance of pinks and blues.

As the sun fades into reds and golds, there will be many things that could have and should have been done. This will not change. It is the moments in between that truly matter.

This was my moment. I pray you find yours.

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Thy faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23

 

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Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Galatians 6:9

With a newborn in the house, weary parents persevere through another day, not for some grand, philosophical reward, but because the baby needs them. Things need to be done. “Not becoming weary” falls a bit short when you spend days wondering if the sleepless nights will end. They will, at least until your child drives off to college.

On the other end of life, the same parent who traded sleep for your comfort needs you to return the favor. To make sure they drink enough water or not fall in the night. Devoid of sleep once more, you wonder if the sleepless nights will end. And sadly, they will.

The days in between, spending countless hours in hospital chairs, watching to make sure she’s still breathing. Or flying half-way across the country on a moment’s notice because she needs you there.

“Let us not become weary” isn’t much good when I passed weary three days ago. I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. I know because the Bible says it, but even Jesus needed to recharge, and He is God. I am not.

When my eyes are heavy and I find precious moments on a pillow, I pray sleep, even if limited, will be peaceful and restful. Yet more often than not, my mind battles the endeavor.

Jesus spent the last week of His earthly life consumed with what was to come, and my salvation cost Him dearly. Even so, He took time to break bread and wash feet, to show us how. We were not made to face this alone. Jesus gently moves the rocking chair in the nursery, touches her forehead to break a fever, or places a hand on a shoulder as he drifts off to sleep, again. Now, it’s my time to do the same, for there are still feet to wash.

Lord, in this time of rest, whether eyes opened or closed, cover me like a warm blanket. Renew and restore my soul, body, and mind to face the days ahead, for only You know what they hold.

Amen…

 

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Oscar Wilde once challenged the notion of art imitating life, proposing instead that life imitates art. He marveled at how a foggy London sky, unremarkable to most, could transform into a thing of beauty through an artist’s vision. But would a sunrise appear less magnificent if a poet had not described it? Would my wife’s green eyes be less stunning if I never mentioned them in print? Who could even find words to describe such beauty which must be seen to be believed. Life does not imitate art, life is art.

In my own journey as a writer, I have been blessed with moments of clarity, seeing God’s hand in everything. Beauty in creation when I take the time to notice. And when unpleasant, there is a lesson as in “the stove is hot, don’t touch it.” Without a London fog, how could we appreciate the bright Texas sky?

My latest scribbling is a fictional quest of a man seeking his long-lost great-uncle. On the way, he re-ignites his faith and finds more of his uncle in the mirror than he expected.

Certain moments are somewhat auto biographical, and I struggle to make them less so. Yet when I visit that world, I am consumed by the story, and it becomes personal. Experts say it will resonate with the reader, but I seem to be walking the same road as our hero.

On more than one occasion, the chapter I happen to be writing oddly echoes my state of my mind at that very moment. The wisdom he stumbles upon resonates in my heart. God is speaking to me through the very book I am writing. Life imitating art?

In storytelling, when a character addresses the audience directly, it is called “breaking the fourth wall”, like when Ferris Bueller tells the audience “It’s over, go home.” In the same vein, there is a scene where our hero opens a devotional that I had previously written. He says the author (which is me) seems to know his heart, like he’s writing his life as he lives it. Funny, because I “am” writing it. Art imitating life imitating art? Kind of a gray area like that London fog.

The only real truth is we were created in the image of God, and our talents, in whatever form they appear were intentionally infused into our being by His Mighty Hand. Some may use those talents in ways that would appear opposite of God’s intention, but He has granted us free will to choose our own paths.

I have no doubt words flow through my pen only by His Hand that you may hear what He has to say (if I could be so blessed to be entrusted with those words).

Art may imitate life or vice versa, but for me, it is most important that life imitates not only art, but heart, God’s heart. As long as that remains true, all else will fall into place.

 

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Momentum in its most scientific sense is a measure of movement, the product of mass and velocity. It is also considered an increase in force created by an object in motion. Picture a stone rolling down a hill. It is much easier to stop it at the top than at the bottom.

Perpetual motion requires a machine that can continue indefinitely on the energy it generates without need of outside force or fuel. Suffering from what I call “Superman syndrome”, I often see myself as such, but like the hypothetical machine, this too is an impossibility.

Your car’s engine turns the generator, creating electricity, which fires the spark plug, igniting the fuel, pushing a piston which turns the crankshaft, which moves the generator and so on. Perpetual right? Except it requires fuel and an initial spark. In days past, an old truck with a dead battery would get a push, gain a bit of speed and we’d pop the clutch to start the same process. The energy of rolling momentum was transferred to the drive shaft making things turn, but it took friends pushing and someone in the driver’s seat steering and popping the clutch.

And fuel, don’t forget the fuel. Good fuel – loving, caring, prayer, scripture and positivity keep the momentum going after we receive a Heavenly shove. And for those who have put gasoline in a diesel engine, you know the opposite is true. Sin, anger, hatred, reliving past failures and negativity bring any forward momentum to a screeching halt.

On the basketball court, momentum is not a scientific calculation, it is purely emotional. A player delivers a thundering dunk, the home crowd goes wild, teammates stand taller, run faster, and shoot better. The opponent’s confidence crumbles and before you know it, the home team has dropped 10 points on you. The most proven way to stop the momentum is to call a time out, sit everyone down and just breathe. Remind them who they are and what got them here. Play to win, not just “not to lose.”

Playing “not to lose” keeps us focused more on not making mistakes and less on seeking victory. And despite our best efforts, we will make mistakes and momentum will turn against us. It’s then we need to stop, listen as our True Coach reminds us of who we are and Who got us here. Start a new momentum in His direction. God calls us to “play to win” not just “not to lose”.

I am truly grateful for friends who push, and push, and push and for He who climbs in the driver’s seat, grabs the wheel, and pops the clutch when my battery is drained.

 

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As massive engines thundered beyond my window, runways traveled faster and faster past my limited view, echoing the increased beating of my heart. Rounded walls pressed deeply into my left shoulder as travelers were packaged as tightly as airlines would allow, heightening my aversion to closed-in spaces. Breathing deeply of the canned air, I began a countdown, knowing that in no more than 30 seconds, ninety-five thousand pounds of aluminum, plastic and 200 beating hearts would break the bonds of gravity, laughing at the terra firma below. The rumble of landing gear gave way to smoother air as we continued our ascent. Earthen bound buildings became distant as we left the confines of earth.

As blood pressure and cabin pressure stabilized, my perspective slowed from the elevated vantage point. Familiar highways and intersections began to take shape as the entire city came into focus. I began to recognize familiar buildings, some of which our company had built over the past 25 years. Even the smallest of details came to mind, design elements and particular problems seemed as if it was yesterday.

In my day job, construction drawings float across my desk, two dimensional sketches of dreams yet to be realized. Stepping onto an undeveloped plot, I visualize what and where the building will be. Returning upon completion, I am amazed how closely reality mirrored my vision, but rarely do I get such a view from the sky. What it was, what it has become.

Flying out of Denver, above snow-capped mountains, what I considered my greatest builds pale in comparison to the Handiwork of the Creator in Chief. He saw what it was once, a lifeless blob, and formed it into a majestic masterpiece. What it was, what it has become.

Our lives here are just a breath, a moment, fading like a vapor. Yet just as I remembered the slightest details of a plan from 20+ years ago, in my heart, I know oh too well what I was. Thanks be to God that by His Grace and Mercy, He leads me from the bonds of the earth below, through the clouds to a clear blue sky, a glimpse of who I hope to be. And when I fail, He reaches out and draws me back to Himself. I pray that who I am becoming will be pleasing in His sight and that one day, in the brightest of skies, I will kneel in His presence, a man after His own heart.

 

If these words have been a blessing, reach out to me at John@LiftedKeys.com and tell me your story. I would love to know where and in what way God has guided His words through my pen.

A front-end loader’s bucket has length, width, and depth. Add in a little math with curves and angles, and you find a volume, and that’s what it holds. It can only move so many loads in a day, and that’s all. Mathematicians will tell you if you move 10% faster or put 10% more in the bucket, you will get 10% more done, but sometimes things get in the way, and it doesn’t happen.

We should apply the same logic to our own workday. If you are driving a loader, I just did the math, but at a desk, a task will take a certain amount of time and in the 8 to 5 (or 7 to 7, or 25 or 6 to 4), only so much can get done, and that is all. Those same mathematicians will say if you work just 6 more minutes an hour or become 10% more efficient, you will generate 10% more output, but again, sometimes things get in the way, and it doesn’t happen.

In my line of work, there are hard deadlines, and missed opportunities if they are not met. But sometimes things get in the way, and it doesn’t happen. So why is it so hard to accept? The loader only moves the dirt in the bucket. Who am I to think I can do more? Could I work all hours? Even more than that magic “six minutes”? Perhaps, but at what cost? Does my wife and life pass me by while I chase shiny things? Children grow up way too fast and they’ll never take first steps again.

Our friendly neighborhood front end loader has a certain lifespan, machine-hours until it begins to breakdown. Once broken beyond its usefulness, it is replaced. How much more are we? When cogs in a bigger machine fail to turn, are we not replaced just as easily?

So my heart began to despair over all my toilsome labor under the sun. For a person may labor with wisdom, knowledge and skill, and then they must leave all they own to another who has not toiled for it. This too is meaningless and a great misfortune. What do people get for all the toil and anxious striving with which they labor under the sun? All their days their work is grief and pain; even at night their minds do not rest. This too is meaningless.  Ecclesiastes 2:20-23

Solomon knows me better than I do, but he did not stop in the depths of despair.

To the person who pleases him, God gives wisdom, knowledge and happiness, but to the sinner he gives the task of gathering and storing up wealth to hand it over to the one who pleases God…Ecclesiastes 2:26

The Love of God is not measured in length or width or depth. There is no distance that could suffice. Jesus took bread and few fish and fed thousands, with baskets to spare, so when God empties a loader bucket of Grace upon us, know there is always more where that came from, and He teaches us to do the same. He is our never-ending source of grace and forgiveness no matter how many times we pour it all out.

So set your shoulder for the load God leads you to and work hard, for it is pleasing to Him. When the day is done, leave the front-end loader behind and focus on the real work, the kind that truly matters.

 

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Reach out to me at John@LiftedKeys.com and tell me your story. I would love to know where and in what way God has guided His words through my pen.