Maybe it's just me, maybe it's just my perspective, but it seems like certain events in my life start me thinking about the things Dad did right and wrong while bringing us up. When I was twenty, I did that a lot. At that age though, I was far more keenly aware of his faults than I seem to be now and nearly blind to the things he did spectacularly well. Now that I am approaching the age that was Dad's entire life span, I feel more qualified to evaluate his job performance and of course, sad that I can't share my opinions with him. Board games, the closeness of our ages, and the wonderful experiences of eating together at the dinner table are all big on the hit parade, but I'll save those for another day.
What got me started on this train of thought was the experience, on Tuesday, of putting some money into C.D. (Certificate of Deposit). As C.D.s go, this is a dinky one, but for that particular chunk of cash the interest is 5% instead of the savings account's 1%.

I can't remember saving ten cents throughout my entire childhood; We had the opportunity, we had allowance, but that was usually gone by noon the same day we got it. Dad offered us credit for large purchases (interest-free of course) which is how Roger got his drums if I remember correctly, but I wish he'd talked with me about saving money. I feel like that would have been a better lesson than buying on credit -even cheap credit.
I also wish Dad had involved me more in his car maintenance. He must have done the basics, like changing the oil at intervals, but I don't remember ever seeing it happen. Maybe I wasn't paying enough attention.
One of the lessons I did pay attention to was the value of making people laugh. Dad was sure good at that. I've worked to become good enough at that to know when what I have to say is funny, and when it isn't worth saying. I'm pretty confident in my ability to know the difference. He wasn't my only teacher in that subject, but he was my favorite. Cheesy Saturday afternoon movies on T.V. just aren't the same without him.

We've had a real roller-coaster ride at work this week. On Monday we were told that a coworker (Ken) had crashed his motorcycle during a race in Tulare over the weekend. It's only Wednesday and so far we've been told that;
-Ken is on full life support,
-There's no hope for Ken to recover,
-He has "flat-lined" a couple of times,
-Ken has a 50/50 chance of recovery according to a specialist,
-Recovery (if it happens) could still leave Ken blind and partially paralyzed.

     Ken's family is struggling with a lot of questions and options right now. If there is no improvement, Ken may be removed from life support some time this weekend. We all hope Ken would be strong enough to keep living and healing, but that hope seems dim.
     We've heard that Ken is responding to voices and the sound of his name, so we're recording verbal messages today here at work to be played at his bedside with the hope that it may help. I'm usually stumped trying to sign a birthday card; what do you say to a coworker who isn't expected to survive? Lots of people told Ken that we're praying for him, some read scripture. I mentioned his being a bass player and that I hoped he'd be playing again soon. Goodbye didn't seem to be the right thing to say. Your prayers would be appreciated.

More about Ken, including pictures can be found here
flattrack.com

 

In my last post I described the layout of the tribes camped around the tabernacle (Numbers ch 2) ; to the North -Dan, who would judge his people; to the South -Reuben, firstborn son who is judged for sin; to the East -Judah, a lion's whelp; and to the west -Ephraim, born in bondage and slavery.

Next we'll go to Ezekiel chapter 1. In verse 4 a storm comes out of the North. There is a great cloud, fire and a bright light. In the midst of this are figures resembling four living beings. Each has four faces. There are other characteristics listed, but the faces are what I'll focus on.

Verse 10 says each had the face of a man, the face of a lion on the right, a bull on the left, and all four had the face of an eagle. Since verse 4 tells us the beings came from the North, it's logical to assume Ezekiel faced North to look at them. If you face north like Ezekiel, East is to the right, West is to the left so we can know that the lion was to the East, The bull to the West.

If the face of the man faced South and the eagle North, Ezekiel would see the human face first and the face of the eagle last. Since that is the order they're mentioned in it doesn't seem like much of a stretch to believe that was how they were arranged.

A similar set of four creatures is seen in Revelation ch. 4 verse 7. The setting is heaven. The first creature is like a lion, the second like a calf, the third has the face of a man, the fourth is like a flying eagle. One difference is that where the beings in Ezekiel ch 1 have 4 wings each, the creatures in Rev ch 4 have 6 wings each.

Why the difference in wing count? In my opinion, the beings in Ezekiel aren't the creatures in Revelation. Why are they so similar? They're both designed to reflect attributes of God.

Jesus is our God; our judge and king. He came as a humble servant who bore our sins and judgement. A lion like the one to the East is a common symbol for a king, directly opposite is a bull. Bulls in agricultural societies were beasts of burden used for plowing and pulling heavy loads. Jer. 49:22 is an example of judgement coming as if on the wings of eagles. Opposite the eagle is a firstborn son who is judged.

Another interesting detail is in Ezek.1:12 "And each went straight forward; wherever the spirit was about to go, they would go, without turning as they went" (NASB). I take this to mean that the lion, for instance was always facing to the East, the bull to the West etc. Though the being came from the North, it had all 4 characteristics at all times. God doesn't stop ruling to serve or judge.

 My Bible cover has the usual assortment of pockets, zipper pouches, pen holders... places for pens, highlighters, a calender, checkbook... the usual stuff. One unusual thing I attached to my cover is a compass. It's the kind you might find for $10 or so at REI. It's there to remind me that a compass is a Bible study tool. A study of compass points in the Bible will start in Genesis, end in Revelation and show God's hand at work in the inspiration of scripture.

A good place to start is Numbers chapter 2. God is instructing Moses on how Israel is to set up camp around the tabernacle.

-At the head of the column to the East is Judah (Nu 2:3). Judah is called a lions whelp and the holder of the scepter (Gen 49:9-10). A king, prince, or ruler would be a good image to associate with Judah.

-To the South is Reuben (Nu 2:10), Reuben is Jacob's firstborn son, is judged for sin and told he will not prosper in the midst of his father's blessing (Gen 49:3-4).

-To the West is Ephraim (Nu 2:18), a son of Joseph, not Jacob. His name means fruitful. Ephraim was born in Egypt (Gen 41:50-52). The nation of Israel remembered Egypt as a place of bondage, slavery and servitude.

-Finally to the North is Dan (Nu 2:25). Dan will judge his people (Gen 49:17).

To recap, to the North of the tabernacle we have a judge (Dan).

To the East, we have a king (Judah).

To the South, a son under judgement (Reuben).

To the West, a slave or servant (Ephraim).

In my next few posts I'll explore this as a picture of Jesus.

 

T.T.B. means through the Bible. If you've never read all the way through the Bible I would recommend it. The bug first hit me quite a few years ago when it occurred to me that I wanted to be sure I had read every word in the book. Since then I've read the King James, New King James, New International, New American Standard, Living, and New Living versions at least once each. Once through per year isn't difficult (even the Old King James) and is a very good habit to cultivate; it will change your outlook, and your life.

This being the case, January is the month I read Genesis. When I reached the verse (Gen.6:14) in which God tells Noah to "pitch" the ark inside and out something occurred to me which I hadn't thought of before. What will happen to Noah's ark when it is found? If that sounds like a leap, ask yourself why God specified inside and outside for pitch? Pitch? Pitch can be sticky, gooey tar, or boiled tree sap with powdered charcoal mixed in. It's purpose would be to water-proof the boat. Wooden boats are usually pitched on the outside to keep water from saturating the wood...good idea. Since God said to pitch the inside as well, it seems that either; A) God was unsure of what He was doing, or B) there was a reason to pitch the inside. I choose B.

Pitching the inside would preserve the wood and facilitate discovery of the ark at a much later date. I first heard this idea from a very intelligent man who is an experienced mountaineer and felt at that time that God had chosen him to find the ark. My initial reaction was that God alone would decide when the ark will be found and that it would be a very good idea to be cautious about saying that God chose you for the task. All of my friend's several requests to the Turkish government to climb Mt. Ararat have been denied. Access through Iran (sneaking across the Turkish border) is possible, but seems to me to be a bad idea. If he is the one to find the ark, God bless him, I'm sure He will show him the way.

Back to the question, what happens then? No doubt many would want a genuine piece of the true ark. Some would argue for cutting it up into toothpick sized splinters suitable for framing or mounting on keychains, rosaries... who knows what else. A suitable safe haven for it would be discussed at length. I doubt both scenarios though. My guess is that the ark's discovery will happen after the church has been raptured. We won't have any input. So what will happen to the ark? The pitch having kept the wood dry enough to prevent fossilization, it will still be wood and flammable. I believe whoever has it in their power will burn the ark into ashes. I also believe that those who burn it will be deceived into thinking that it is a fake. As a symbol (actually, an example) of God providing protection from judgement, the destruction of the ark will be one of the world's final rejections of His mercy.

As a disclaimer, this is speculation and my personal opinion of what may happen; no claim of define inspiration or prophecy.

 

When is it okay to applaud in church?

1) After an especially good sermon?

2) After especially good worship?

3) After the announcement of some good work the congregation is doing?

4) After the announcement of especially good results at an outreach?

Does applause even belong in church? There are times I think it does, but rarely. After hearing an especially good message or set of worship I appreciate the time and effort given to the church by the pastor or worship team to serve God and His people well. My concern is that applause can be seductive and could become a stumbling block. In my experience leading worship for small group Bible studies I sometimes get more praise than I deserve or want. My usual response is that I'm happy to do it and grateful that God has given me the ability. Look at the priesthood in the Gospels. Any church official who went after the prestige that came with their position and loved the praise of men ended up being called out as a hypocrite. I've seen a lot of people get applause in church. I'm glad to say I've never seen anyone ask for it.

I'm always happy to hear about work our church is doing for others. Distributing food, clothes, Bibles, disaster relief, etc. Letting the congregation know what's being done with their tithes is encouraging, and is a form of accountability. I think it's good to announce these things, but it seems strange when we applaud when we hear the news. It seems like we're giving ourselves a hand. Hearing about, or seeing people respond to the gospel or an alter call is different for me. That seems like applause for work God has done in someone's heart. I'm happy to applaud that.

Forbidding applause in church would be legalism. The church goers clapping only mean to celebrate God's goodness. I take this as a personal conviction, nothing I would require in others.

 Last Sunday I attended the yearly Christmas party for a non-profit I help support. Nice party, good food, lots of people. I talked for a while with the husband of one of the volunteers and found out we had some mutual acquaintances. He had gone to his junior prom with Carolyn Flournoy. His Sunday school teacher had been Mr. Flournoy..."The Admiral". One of the Triumvirate of Burford St. Admiral Flournoy, Father Stevely, and Mayor Shirley represented the three branches of neighborhood government; the military, the church, and the politburo. Coincidentally, they each had very attractive daughters.
Fr. Stevely and the Mrs. (unusual for a priest even these days) seemed to have warned their five blonde daughters that boys were the devil incarnate. Each girl waged her own brave spiritual warfare against fraternization up to about the age fifteen when the warnings actually began to seem like the truth. By then the local boys had acquired a WMD... Lee Gangloff. Up to that point the biggest gun in our arsenal had been the naughty Sea Shanty record Eric's dad had brought home from Hong Kong (Aboard the good ship Venus, you really should've seen us...Etc.)
Mayor Shirley's greatest concern was his Hi-Fi system. It was tragically condemned to a lifetime of playing bagpipe records WAY TOO LOUD (to show off all the dazzling highs and dramatic lows that one would hear if they were wearing a live cat-fight as a hat). His son Scott was the keeper of the pool and had each guest sign a written vow not to spit in the water and submit to a DNA test whenever a random bubble was found floating on the surface.
Admiral Flournoy was a veteran of The Great Snow Battle of 1975 Or So. His landing craft (a white station wagon) took a direct hit amidships, but with no thought to his own personal safety, he left the vehicle in mid street to pursue the insurgent who had attacked his vessel. The local populace wouldn't point out the guilty party (me) and I managed to blend into the local surroundings.
The tech sector lived next door to the Admiral. The name escapes me (something Russian I think) but I fondly remember their donation of approximately ten cubic yards of fan-fold computer paper at our first fictional paper drive (usually used to supply paper to cover local cars). No one had that quantity of fan-fold just lying around in those days (or today either I guess). Quickly realizing it was a smoking gun, we elected to get the stuff out of sight by moving it directly from Tommy's wagon to the nearest storm drain.
Months later came the storm...
Then came the flood...
Then came the scuba divers.
Today it would probably be called enviro-terror and get referred to Homeland Security, back then the term used was "the darndest thing"

 

If you've ever hired someone to work on your car, paint a room (or a whole house), do yard work, - any number of jobs- you have probably worried at least a little if the work would be done well and on time. Likewise, if you’re self-employed and you’ve been hired to do such work, you have probably worried at least a little if you would get paid the amount agreed to, or if there would be a lot of quibbling, or even acrimony about whether your work met the customer’s standards. In the “real world” people do shoddy work sometimes, just like some people write bad checks, promise to pay “later”, or suddenly discover their checkbook is smaller than their eyes when the work is complete.

That’s life in the big city. What’s sad is that sometimes it’s life in the church as well. I know Christians who do good work and make those that hire them (Christian or not) glad they did. Unfortunately, most if not all of them have, at least once, finished a job only to be told that money’s tight so they need to wait for payment or maybe settle for less than their customer said they would pay for the work. Lots of these customers simply never call back so the guy (or gal) who held up their side of the deal has to either 1) act like a collection agency and harass their brother or sister; or 2) write it off and hope the work they got paid for will cover their bills.

On the other hand, lots of Christians I know are very leery of hiring other Christians after getting poor quality work done and being told “hey, it’s my ministry” when they tell the person they hired that frankly, they expected more for their money. When the recently blind man saw men moving about like trees, Jesus didn't say “It’s not like I’m getting paid for this”.

In my opinion, no one who does secular work for money should call that their ministry. If they give up a Saturday to help someone in need by doing the same work for free, that’s ministry. Your conduct on your secular job can and should be a ministry. The title “ministry” however, is not a coat of paint you can slop onto anything you do for a living.

I wish I had the impression that most self-employed Christians are better than average in their chosen field. Many though give me the impression of being unable to hold down a regular job. By the same token, since none of us would have the nerve to tell the bank they’ll receive a heavenly reward instead of the mortgage this month, we shouldn't’t even consider treating each other that way.

Let our yes be yes, our no be no. let’s do our work as unto the LORD (where have I heard that before?). As for myself, I’m certain that if I were self-employed I would starve; I’m far too disorganized to succeed at that, but I’m very happy that I know it and accept that limitation.

 

Maybe every neighborhood has one; a house cloaked in mystery, whether benign or sinister, that only the nearby residents are aware of. The gangster, haunted, wealthy, nudist, hippie rock band, dead kid, or maybe even space alien house. Ours wasn't sinister, it just didn't look like it belonged on our street. Instead of the usual Clairemont ranch style tan box, this house looked like a Zen meditation clinic. It seemed lower and longer than usual and was a dusty rose color with a wider entryway than it's neighbors. Flanking the door (with it's knob in the center -not at the edge like an American door) was that wavy glass you can't really see through. The whole place looked peacefully Chinese and I'm sure it would have made a perfect home for a wind chime collector. Seeing a car in the driveway was the rarest of events and usually sparked a week of whispering and speculation.
Being a pack of eleven-year-olds, some of whom had read Tom Sawyer, we were certain to try to learn more about this strange house and it's occupants. We had already discovered the wonderful secret of the run-down house on the corner; they had a marvelous array of owls, ravens and other birds of prey in the backyard which we were told not to even look at. It turns out that if you look directly at a B-O-P, they take it to mean you want to make them lunch and get very offended.
We decided to look at the mysterious back yard for clues as to our unseen neighbors. A swing set, swimming pool, putting green, anything that would shed some light. What we found was a garden with three key ingredients. 1) a tangelo tree with juicy sweet ripe fruit in ample supply; 2) a small bamboo patch with stalks flexible enough to catapult surplus Tangelos into the sky; and 3) an avocado tree. We didn't care much for avocados, but Ricky's mom liked them enough to give us her proxy permission to enter the back yard on the condition that we brought her back the goods. For some reason, the Tangelos were treasure to us, but the undesired avocados were dirty things the birds had probably contaminated. Ricky's mom could have them.
We never got caught. I've never had a store bought tangelo as good. Maybe I should buy a tree, put up some barbed wire and wait for summer. In the mean time I can only envy the Zen nudist rock stars as they await their mothership.
Steve

 

I always hated telling my Dad that I had done something wrong when I was a kid. I remember an event that happened when I was five or six years old. I simply couldn't bring myself to go straight home after school. There was always an invitation to go to my friend Kipper's house to play, and the canyon nearby always held infinite irresistible promises of fun and adventure. After being told time and again that I had better get home before sunset, one evening as I was walking up to our front door it dawned on me that I was in trouble... it was dark! On top of that, I was covered head to toe in dirt from the great outdoors. I stopped in my tracks. I could hear the family having dinner in the house. If I went inside my father would be angry, so I sat down on the brick planter just outside the front door to think through my options. I sat and thought about things long enough to realize that dinner had ended and it had become even darker than when I first got to the front door. I was one forlorn little boy and I started to cry. After a little while my Dad heard me, came out to get me, laughed at how ridiculous I looked, then he sent me to get a bath and had dinner on the table for me when I was clean.

One day not nearly as long ago I realized that God used that memory to teach me a lesson about His love. He is the Father who deserves respect and a healthy fear, but He's not unloving, and doesn't want us to be driven away from Him in terror. This also made me wonder about the world that is rejecting Him. How many people are there in the world who are going through the same thing I did as a child? Knowing that they will have to answer to God, yet not knowing Him well enough to realize that God wants them at His table with His other children? How many are close enough to the kingdom to hear the joy and laughter, yet afraid of the scolding they think they'll get if they walk in the door? I suspect the numbers are huge, and that it breaks God's heart. It isn't easy to come to God and admit you sinned. Sitting outside His kingdom seems easier for a while, but it doesn't make anything better. There is room at the table. The feast is ready, come and eat.

My friend Richard encourages the people in our Bible study to find and memorize "life verses" as they read through the Bible. A life verse is one that has in impact on your life. When you find one, it usually is easy to commit to memory because it speaks to you in a very personal way. You're going to want to have it at hand because you're sure to refer back to it often. 
One of my life verses is Eccl.10:10. "If the axe is dull and he does not sharpen its edge, then he must exert more strength. Wisdom has the advantage of giving success." That's the NASB version. The Living Bible puts it even more simply "A dull axe requires great strength; be wise and sharpen the blade".
When God first caused this scripture to come to my attention I had read through the Bible at least twice before. This time though I was in the middle of struggling with a relationship that wasn't going the way I wanted. I suddenly saw myself as the man with the dull axe trying to swing harder and harder till this pitiful tool felt more like a hammer than an axe.
It was time to stop destructively bashing away at the problem. It was the right tool, but it (I) needed to be sharpened. You have to stop chopping in order to sharpen the edge. Even a good axe needs resharpening when it is being used. God's word and the godly friends in my help me to stay sharp. I hope I don;t ever take that sharpness for granted.
Steve

 

I used to think Christmas was the season of miracles but the monopoly seems to have been broken. On Halloween morning as I was headed to work I stopped at a red light (as usual), waited about 30 seconds or so, then got rear-ended. Not hard enough to be hurt, but too hard for my car to just shrug it off. The guy who hit me could have made things so much nicer if he had bumped me directly from behind, but in his mind the logical thing to do was to split between the two lanes and scrape along the side of my car so as to do far more damage. Maybe he was actually trying to hit two cars; I didn't ask so I cannot say for sure. As it is, his black, rubber, partially biodegraded bumper left a kind of skid mark (with bent metal and plastic) which started at the corner of my rear bumper and wrapped around to just behind the rear wheel on the driver's side of my car. I guess it's possible that this may have involved some highly skilled driving, I'm just the wrong demographic to appreciate the payoff for the hours of practice it must have taken.

The only other explanation I can come up with is that guy who hit me must have some tragic form of reverse color blindness that renders all white objects invisible. Not just any white, that trademark Toyota Arctic White we see on roughly 70% of the world's Corollas. On a sunny day, I suspect I'm visible from the MIR space station, he should have seen me.

So. We pull over, get out and etc... I've been hit by a 20something kid with Kenny G hair, a '91 Chevy Cavalier, who is moving soon(he says), and his only phone number is a cell out of St Louis Missouri. My guess is that I'm badly hosed on this one. Then I saw my first miracle that day... HE HAS INSURANCE! With a card and everything. The angels must have wept at the sight. I let him know I wasn't going to sue him, I just wanted my car fixed. He agreed it was his fault, but verbal means nothing and I don't expect a written confession. I went to work and began calling around to my and his insurance companies to get repairs started, worrying he may change his story and claim I rolled back into him... people try it.

Around mid-day I called my voice mail to check my messages and behold, my second miracle! There's a message from TGWHM (the guy who hit me -no need to share his name). The message = Hi, I'm TGWHY (the guy who hit you).. sorry (admission of guilt), and maybe I could just pay you and lets not talk to any insurance people. Oh well, too late for that. Besides, having dodged one serious hosing, why double down for a second one? What a relief. That message is a keeper. Still makes me laugh.

For now I'm driving a rental. A Suzuki Forenza... I'm not angry though. In fact, after my car is fixed, if he still has the same out of state cell number, I'll offer to send him a half pound of Kona coffee to let him know I appreciate his honesty.

-Steve

 

A few weeks ago my sister and her son came to my place so we could have lunch together. As we walked to her car she apologized in advance for her new bumper sticker, adding that she was thinking of removing it since it seemed a little too angry. The sticker said "It takes more than a chrome fish pal". She knows I'm a Christian and that I'm not afraid to defend my beliefs so I think she was surprised when I told her that aside from the snarky sounding "pal" at the end, I really liked the sticker and thought they would probably sell to Christians as simply "It takes more than a chrome fish ".

I personally don't have a fish or any other stickers on my car that ID me as a Christian. The main reason is that I know that fish would be the only thing someone would see if I accidentally cut them off or was guilty of some other infraction, real or imagined. I don't want to cause someone to say "Learn to drive fundy" or launch into some profanity-laced tirade. There are more than enough people trying to pin a target on Jesus, I don't want to help them.

A cross around your neck doesn't make you a Christian, and a fish on your bumper doesn't mean you'll go driving through those Pearly Gates with the A-C on as St. Peter waves you through after checking your parking sticker(the chrome fish) with a smile. Real Christianity is not for the lazy. Good servants use their talents rather than burying them (check Matthew 25:14-30). Yes, it does take more than a chrome fish. Most Christians already know that.

What strikes me as at least a little ironic about the snarky version of the sticker is that it would probably be pretty tough to find anyone with that sticker on their car who would actually want to encourage spiritual growth in someone. The real message seems to be "people with fish on their cars are all jerks"... maybe because they're too judgemental?

I'm happy to say my sister isn't as angry as her bumper sticker. I don't think she's the demographic they had in mind. She's one of my best friends in the world and the things we don't completely agree on wont change that.

Steve

 

    Elephant races? That was how my father used to describe the sound of my three siblings and me thundering from room to room (upstairs) as kids. Born between September 1959 and January 1963, I see my siblings as one of the greatest gifts I've received in life. We were four smart kids who loved making each other laugh; usually at the expense of someone on the "idiot box". We picked up our senses of humor from dad (mom was sort of "missing" for quite a few of those years). As a single parent working full time, there must have been many times that we tried dad's patience. Sometimes when we were all doing our best to make each other hysterical my dad would come in (annoyed) and tell us it sounded like an idiot contest. Though I can't recall a single time I wasn't declared the winner, I decided to name the blog Elephant Races. I've won and defended the idiot crown many times, there's nothing left for me to prove there.

The blog will touch on my family a lot, I'm sure. The blog's basically about me, but I'll do my best not to get self indulgent. My sibs and family mean a lot to me. I'll express that, and (I hope) tell a good story and make some people laugh.

-Steve