Those Choices We Make

Saturday afternoon the University of Southern Mississippi football team stood tall in Central Florida University's stadium. The Golden Eagles soared away with a big win. The team was beside itself. The coaches were elated.

Sometime later, an undetermined number of those young men made a choice that will live with them for the rest of their lives. They visited a local "club." That is a cover name for a place of raucous behavior. Reports reveal that as many as 1,000 people will visit this "club" on Friday and Saturday nights. It's an accident waiting to happen.

And it did.

But it wasn't an accident.

Three of those young men found themselves at odds with an unidentified individual. For whatever reason (very few of them could be good reasons in a place like that), he wanted to put them in their place. Security personnel sent them out into the parking lot. The unidentified person pulled a gun, aimed it at the three young men and pulled the trigger. One is now paralyzed. One's vocal chords were severed. One was hit in the chest.

Thankfully, all will live. Sadly, all three lives have been changed. One, barring a miracle from the Lord Jesus, may never walk again. One, barring that same miraculous presence, may never speak again.

I pray for the miracles.

I grieve for the young men and their families.

I also grieve for the choice that motivated them to follow their passionate desires and to visit a place like that.

I grieve for the nation that has created the expectation that, if it is fun, it must be okay to do. So choose "fun," whatever form it takes.

I grieve for the expectation that we must sow those wild oats, as they were once called. So choose to sow those wild oats.

Those choices we make have consequences. Many of the consequences are good. Some are bad. Some lead to tragedy.

Pray for these three unnamed (by me) young men. Pray for the next choice to be one that brings them under the care of the Great Shepherd.

Life, or Something Like It

Amazingly, keeping up with current news and doing things like blogging is becoming more and more challenging. I find myself occupied with a great calling. And it is great.

This past Sunday was a very stirring time for me, personally. I listened to an "M" to Oaxaca, Mexico challenge us to reach the lost with the gospel so that all nations may glorify God. His words carried great authority, far more than he realized in the moment (he had told me he was not good at public speaking). The conviction of the Holy Spirit swept over our congregation.

Then Sunday night I shared from Mt. 24. If I could preach on the return of Christ each week and keep it fresh, I would. The greatest news we can share is that Christ came, that he died for us, that we can be redeemed and forgiven in His name; but also that he is coming again. As the hymn says it, the skies will roll back like a scroll and Jesus will step from eternity into time once again.

Then came last night--Monday. What is special about Mondays? Nothing, really; but last night we saw fruit from our outreach ministry, called "Beyond Our Walls." Close to ten of us went beyond our walls and we were able to share the gospel. My associate pastor for youth has a great group he calls his E-Team. They converge on one of the two university campuses and witness to the students there. Last night one of those students repented and believed the gospel. I mention him because I am acquainted with him. What are the chances that our E-Team would find one out of 16,000 that I have seen and spoken with in another town? It was a divine encounter. Before the team left him, the young man was giving his life to Christ. My heart soared when I heard the great news. I was a half mile away with another team when this encounter took place. I thought I heard thunderous praise from the angels in heaven...

One more now stands with arms outstretched, hands raised towards heaven, singing hallelujahs to the King of kings.

And now we are looking at Tuesday. Aside from enjoying the presence of the Lord, I find that life goes on. Dishes are still staring back at me in the sink. The dog still stinks and needs grooming. And I ran out of Oreos, an all-important staple in this household's daily life. Now THAT comes close to a crisis...

Somewhere in Southern America, end of week one

We are once more in southern America. We have now been here one week. In many ways, life in the northern hemisphere has been the same as it was in South America. In other ways, it is quite different.

Life is faster here. Now, that's not necessarily a criticism; it's more an observation. Everything seems faster. Meals are consumed more quickly. People drive more quickly. People seem to want to do everything more quickly. Why, I would not be surprised if the speed of light was faster. Okay, maybe that's too much. But I hope you get my point.

If there is a criticism about the high velocity living of North Americans in Southern America, it's the stark reality that this kind of living may be good for business, but bad for relationships. We have even adopted a philosophy of quality time, thinking that if we pack more personal attention into five or ten minutes, we have had some kind of significant relationship. It bleeds over into everything we do: doctor's visits, sermons, time with children--everything. The result? We hardly know one another!

I purpose in my heart to avoid high velocity living. Life is simply too good not to enjoy the ride!

Kevin, in southern America

The Great Adventure

Today is a milestone for me. I surrendered to preach the gospel message 31 years ago today. I still remember the battle, which had begun quite a long time before that. The battle heated up on March 5th, when the revival preacher said, “I believe God has called some young man to preach the gospel.” My heart nearly burst inside me. My knees grew weak. I began sweating and trembling. I gripped the pew and held on for all I had, hoping that invitation would end. Every night during that revival meeting the story was the same. I stood there, my sweat showering every one nearby, waiting for that conviction to pass so I could relax again.

A week later another guest preacher asked us if we were right with God to show it by giving him the right hand of fellowship. He did not want to take mine; I had hair past my ears and on my collar. No one dressed like that could be right with God, so far as he was concerned. I was just recovering from spinal paralysis (a herniated disc left me unable to move my legs at all), so it was difficult to make it down that aisle. But down I went. On my way home, singing the invitation hymn (I Surrender All) for all I was worth, God spoke. He said, “You’re lying.” The conviction began all over again. I asked the Lord why he said that. He told me I knew why. And I did. I could hardly get home. I got into the family room and fell to my knees; my parents were on the coast visiting family. I cried out for mercy. There was none. The path was clear. The call was clear. I grabbed my father’s topical Bible, looking for verses about the call to the ministry. My eyes fell on Is. 6:8. And I cried out again. This time Isaiah’s words were mine. It was only then that peace came.

It was there that the greatest journey of my life began. Before that day, to stand before anyone was emotional torture for me. I trembled so badly that I could not control my motions or my voice. After that moment, if I stand to preach, I am a completely different person. God takes over. I am empowered. There is no fear. There is only a burning passion to make clear every word God has spoken to me. I would not trade it for anything in the world.

Some do not believe that there is such a thing as “surrendering to preach.” Some well-meaning theologians ignore that possibility. If you did not have to surrender, fine. But believe me: I did not want to preach. I wanted to make money. I was not opposed to the ministry; I just wanted to do God’s work on my terms. So for me, I had to surrender. I surrendered all my dreams. I surrendered my will. I surrendered my entire future. I had to crawl back onto the cross and die to self. I had to remind myself I was crucified with Christ. I had to remember that the life I live today is the Christ-life. He makes my plans. He chooses my path. I just walk where he points. I say what he says to say. I am his. And he is mine.

As I said, I would not trade it for anything in the world. It’s a great adventure.

Making the Most of It

We just returned from watching The Bucket List. Language aside, it was one of the finest movies Hollywood has produced in a very long time. The pathos alone runs too deep for words.

The premise of the movie is how to spend your remaining time on earth. Two older men, as different as night and day, discover they are dying. One begins to make a list, called "the bucket list;" what to do before you kick the bucket. So these two men set out to do what they wrote on their list. We laughed and cried as we watched this great movie. It's such a good movie I think most movie critics will give it low marks (which is part of how I choose my movies; if they like them, I usually don't; and if they dislike them, I usually like them).

The movie is very thought-provoking. So let me ask you: what would YOU do if you only had a year left to live? How would you spend that year? I faced that question tonight. I have faced it before--not because of anything that has happened to me, but because of others I loved and respected who were given the news that they had a short time left.

Will you end those last months with peace in your heart, a peace that only comes from knowing the Lord? Or will you be like the fool who says, "Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we may die?"

The bottom line of my list is this: I want to be pleasing to the Lord Jesus Christ. Whatever I do, I want to do it for his honor and glory.

In fact, I try to live every day as though it were my last one...

Somewhere in South[ern] America

Last Wednesday I left my wife and youngest daughter and headed for the airport. Check-in, normally a lengthy process, was a breeze. I was walking upstairs to enjoy a cup of coffee within 5 minutes of my arrival at the airport.

I walked down to the advertised gate--gate 19. As I looked out at our Boeing 767-300, I relished the idea of a daytime flight; we always travel at night. This was going to be delightful. But something was not quite right. The ground crew was lounging on the steps, not loading luggage, not readying the plane.

My suspicions were finally confirmed. That plane was not leaving for Miami. The dreaded words, "We're sorry to inform you that Flight 510 to Miami has been delayed," were announced to the chagrin of more than one hundred travellers. I meandered up to an agent and asked her how long of a delay. She told me she would let me know at 11. Eleven came and went. I went back. "Oh," she said. "I've been looking for you (I was no more than 20 feet away at any given time). You are one of 3 passengers who will miss their connections in Miami. We have to make other arrangements."

Now folks, I have always wanted to hear some of those words: "you are one of 3. . ." But I wanted it to end with ". . . winners, chosen at random for an all-expense paid trip around the world, culminating in box seats at next year's Super Bowl." Or, maybe, ". . .one of 3 winners of a new Lotus, plus five years of gasoline." But I did not want to hear that I was going to miss my connection.

I should have been more spiritual. I should have said, "Great! That means there is someone in Miami that needs to hear the gospel." But I was not so spiritual. I was not angry; after all, it was not that agent's fault that the plane had technical problems (to put it in her words). I was pretty glad I was not on that plane, in the air, only to discover that there was a mechanical failure that would mean we would get to discover the skill level of the pilot as he took us down into the cold Pacific Ocean. I really was not interested in seeing if my life vest would inflate.

But my mind was set. My course was set. I was ready to be in South[ern] America. It wasn't going to happen on my timetable. By the way, I said something about that a few weeks ago. The plans of the heart belong to man... Mine were interrupted and took one of those interesting turns.

The airline was good to me. They put me up in a nice hotel; they gave me a $20 supper ticket in a place where one course alone cost that much. But at least I got that. And I got a free ride to and from the airport.

So the next day, Thursday, I arrived quite early at the Miami Airport. Guess what? I was once again one of the specially chosen ones. This time it was for the full search of my person and my carry-ons. I let them know I knew the drill and that it happened every single time I had ever traveled through the Miami Airport. I was only glad I had come to the airport early. Those kinds of delays have been known to make one miss a flight.

I made it to my final destination with no more troubles. Except one: I bought a soft drink from a vending machine in Atlanta. Those bottles hold 20 ounces. How on earth does one manage to drink that much liquid at one time? And WHY?? It's one more evidence of the self-indulging nature of many Americans. As the man said in his movie, SUPER SIZE ME! Once you drink those things, you have to (please forgive!) get rid of it at some point in time. So guess what? The stewardess (or whatever they are now called) announced, "Sorry, ladies and gentlemen; the 'facilities' on this plane are out of order." Do you know what such announcements do for you? It's a pyschological thing; but they make you want to go use "the facilities." It's like running water.

Now I am in the process of settling in. There is much to be done. Pam and Melissa are still back in South America. I am here, tending to issues we have to face. I want things to be smooth when they arrive. Our host church has gone a long way in making that possible. The home we are going to live in is nice and very comfortable. I even cooked a meal there tonight. We will be blessed in that home and church, I have no doubt.

So now it begins; a new chapter in a new volume. For the next ten months, more or less, we are somewhere in South[ern] America.

Shalom.

The Next Pitch

I just returned from south Tennessee, just north of Corinth, MS and west of Memphis, TN. It was my turn at the plate. By day I was to seek out men and women who may be interested in volunteering for a mission trip. By night I was the guest preacher for my host church. It was a splendid time.

We were situated just off Shiloh National Military Park, one of the famous sites of the Civil War. I went there to walk in the shade of the beautiful trees. I oohed and aahed over the beauty around me. I enjoyed the wildlife: deer, turkey, and other animals promenaded about us.

At the same time I pondered the complexity of mankind. Thousands of men died in this quiet, beautiful spot. Nobody won; everyone lost. It was a bittersweet place to walk. I was able to clear my head, to think. And I waited for the next pitch.

There were no curves thrown on this leg of the trip. Things went as expected; well, almost.

I expected to see men and women moved by the Spirit of God. Some were. Far too many did not seem to be impressed by God's presence. Perhaps they will be in some future date. One thing I do know: those moments were preserved somehow in eternity.

I hit the proverbial balls that were pitched to me. Now I must wait and see what results those hits will bring.

I almost sat out for the last inning. I am glad I did not. This morning I spoke with about eight men who now burn with the Spirit's fire. Their hearts burn for the lost around the world.

I have to call that a good hit.

When Life Throws a Curve Ball

I watched a baseball game today between my favorite team and one of my least favorites. I watched in glee as my team's pitcher struck out players, or as the fielders skillfully handled the balls that came their way.

I have always enjoyed watching the pitcher. But more than that, I have always enjoyed hitting a well-pitched ball. So did those 18 men I watched play. But more than once today the different pitchers would throw a very well-placed curve and strike out their opponent.

And so I was reminded that life can be like that; for I was watching that game from within the confines of a comfortable hospital room. Now I am here in North America so I can recruit men and women to help me in South America. I had all my game plan laid out long ago. I had my visits lined up. I knew how much time I had for each planned event, including down time with my two older daughters, my mother, and my siblings, as well as my in-laws. It was carefully planned.

Then came the curve. It was so skillfully pitched that I never saw it coming. So for four precious days I sat in one hospital room or another, seeking some way to remedy the problem that arose. The problem in and of itself is not germane to this discussion. Some of you have been thrown curves, too. You have problems that have sidelined your plans. You have been sent back to the dugout, wondering what in the name of all that is good happened.

If you are anything like I am, you wanted to kick the dirt and toss your bat into the proverbial stands. But you have to be careful doing that. You can hit someone who came to cheer you along. But don't we do it? Are we too often like the spoiled multi-millionaire ball players who hurl their bats into the stands when they are outwitted by a good pitcher? It's like they are screaming how unfair it was that someone dared throw them a curve.

But don't we do that? Don't we tend to bark at the ones who want to attempt to encourage us when we have been thrown a curve? Don't we cry that it is unfair? Someone last night told me how unfair life has been. I agree. Life is unfair.

It is unfair that Christ had to die in my place so that I could live with him at his place. It is unfair that he had to be separated from the Father because he was black with my sin. The stripes on his body were unfair. The beard and hair ripped from his face and head was something unfair. The crown of thorns. The unbearably heavy cross beam he was forced to carry. The spit. The ridicule. The humiliation of dying naked before men, women, and children. It was all unfair. But he did it to throw his own curve in the third inning.

It is unfair that death claims the young and old alike. I heard death cries while at that hospital. I heard disheartened families. I saw discouraged patients. I saw discouraged staff. I felt their load.

The thing that separates the best from the good is how the respond to the curve. Today I saw some smile and wait for the next pitch. I saw others leave in a huff when they struck out. I saw a few look at the pitcher with some due respect.

We need to respond well to the curves that come our way. We need to demonstrate more than a hint of godliness. We need to be examples of grace and lives molded by the Holy Spirit. We need to show our encouragers that we appreciate their encouragement.

Do not be deceived; life will throw you a curve. When it does, look well as to how you select the next pitch.

Oh, by the way, it's a new inning. I am back at homeplate, waiting for the next pitch.

Life on a Hillside

This morning, Victor (one of our helpers) and I went to a section of town called Las Torres de la Rinconada. It means, "The Towers in the Corner." It's a very appropriate name. The community is up on a high hill, towering over the other communities. We are helping them with a community development project. This area is a high-risk landslide zone. So we are using general relief funds, given by Southern Baptists for this kind of work, to build retaining walls and sets of stairs up and down the very steep hills.

It's a hard life that they have to live. There is no running water in this part of our city. What lights they have are from makeshift connections, pulled from a part of town where there are power cables. In other words, they steal the electricity from an electrified zone. So the wires are thin, mostly useless for the long distances they have to pull the power.

Today we went to check on the progress of the work and then to lead those interested in a Bible study. Some 35 adults, plus a few small children came to the study. It was a precious sight to see. Some of them actually knew something about the Bible. Others seemed to know the Lord. Victor taught. He shared a lesson about the Law of God. The whole point, of course, is that the Law cannot save; only Jesus saves. When his lesson culminated in the plan of salvation, about half the adults indicated that they wanted to repent and place their faith in the Lord Jesus. It was a blessed moment, but a short-lived one.

As we took time to register the professions of faith, one of the residents of the community called to me from outside. She looked concerned. She looked very concerned. Her name, incidently, is Mercy. Mercy told me that a 14-year-old boy had fallen some 2 hours earlier and could not get up. I called out and had one of the men go up and bring him down so that we could take him to the hospital. We were in Victor's borrowed car. The boy's name is Junior. We laid him on the back seat, borrowed some oil from a store owner, anointed the boy, and prayed for him. Then we drove like crazy to the hospital.

The boy could not feel his legs, though he did have some motion. He cried with fear. He trembled. My prayer all the way to the hospital was that God not let that boy die. He is old enough to know that he is a sinner. We did not believe today was the appropriate time to share the gospel with him, or with his mother. Some may use such an emotional moment. I did not want a "fox-hole conversion." I want to see Junior up and walking, and able to listen to the gospel. So I prayed for healing and for his life. Mercy rode in the back seat, along with Carlos, the man who carried Junior to the car.

We take so much for granted. We have so much that we often become blind to the reality that grips others. As one man said to me yesterday, if someone is poor and has Jesus, he is just a poor man. If, on the other hand, he is poor and does not know the Lord, he is in misery. God help us remember what is was like to be miserable! And God help us to be able to rejoice with those who rejoice, but weep with those who weep!