Gum Won’t Fix It

By Jodi Whisenhunt –

Just so you know, gum won’t fix a decapitated snowman. Legend has it, on a slushy Christmas Eve, 1986, as two brothers tossed a football in the sleet and snow, Frosty’s distant relative (of the Styrofoam cutout clan) went for the interception and encountered a personal foul. The snowman’s head dropped into the receiver’s hands while the ball slid under the bushes.

Being the responsible teens that they were, the brothers attempted to re-head the snowman with the only adhesive available, chewed up bubble gum. Now, either it was really sticky gum, or it froze quickly in the twenty-eight degree night.

Daylight betrayed the boys’ blunder and exposed their cover-up. When the sun thawed the Bubblicious, the snowman’s head slid down his shoulder and rested on the broomstick in his hand. My husband and brother-in-law, the kids in question, learned then that God “brings hidden things to light” (Job 28:11b NIV), for “He reveals deep and hidden things; he knows what lies in darkness, and light dwells with him” (Daniel 2:22 NIV).

Christmas morning, instead of tearing into ribboned boxes of cassette tapes and Atari games, the boys led their mom out to the yard. The snowman’s tilted noggin made her giggle. She wrapped her scarf around his neck to secure the gum repair, then stepped back and hugged her boys. Her gift of forgiveness was their most treasured present that year.

An errant pass broke the snowman, but sin, like the deception of hiding a wrong-doing, severs God’s children from the body of Christ. The world’s biggest gumball couldn’t begin to mend such separation.

Fortunately, the Christ child born in a manger two thousand years ago, who knew no sin, took on the sin of the world. He, the Bright and Morning Star, revealed the Truth. He did not conceal our transgressions; however, He washed them all away so that we may sparkle as new-fallen snow.

This Christmas, when you gather with loved ones, sipping hot cocoa and watching flurries flutter, remember to acknowledge your sin to the Father, for He did not blanket our iniquities but forgave the guilt of our sin (Psalm 32:5 NIV).

Jodi Whisenhunt is an Amy Award-winning freelance writer and editor in McKinney, Texas. You can find her at www.jodiwhisenhunt.com or www.magicalmouseschoolhouse.com, where Disney IS school.

Let’s Talk Turkey!

By Kathi Macias –

It’s November, and I want to talk turkey. Trust me. I know a lot about the dirty birds. I’ve spent my life dreaming of soaring with the eagles, but…well, you get the picture. In fact, something tells me I’m not the only one who’s spent more time with turkeys than with eagles, am I right? Unfortunately, in my family, the chances of breaking out of that worm-pecking, bug-eating flock on the ground to join that majestic bunch in the sky are just about zero and none.

Let me explain. My late father (who was never late for anything in his life!) lived by the adage that there was “a place for everything, and everything in its place”; the “early bird catches the worm”; and “if it’s worth doing at all, it’s worth doing right.” On top of that, he was German! And since I was the firstborn (and the only girl), I caught the brunt of his “how to become self-disciplined and accept responsibility” lessons. I learned them well.

Now, as a so-called grown-up, if I don’t arrive absolutely everywhere at least fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, I think I’m late. If something goes wrong within five miles of me, it has to be my fault. If it happened beyond that five-mile limit, it was also my fault because if I’d been there, it might not have happened at all.

You get the picture: overly responsible type-A firstborn, devastated when I receive a 98 percent score on a test because all I can see are the two I missed, volunteering for everything and striving to succeed—yet never quite making the grade in my own eyes.

Why does that make me a turkey? It doesn’t. But it keeps me from soaring with the eagles because I’m always looking down at the ground, hunting and pecking to see if I’ve missed a bug or a worm, or if the dirt needs raking or the sidewalk needs sweeping. As a result, I miss a whole lot of the soaring that’s going on over my head.

My two younger brothers, on the other hand, have always been just the opposite. Bob, the typical middle child, was oblivious to such things as dirt or worms or bugs because he felt no responsibility whatsoever to clean them up. After all, he already had me to do it for him! And Jerry, the baby? Puh-leeze! All he had to do was whimper, and we all came to his rescue!

Most people think firstborns are the ones who come out on top—the eagles, so to speak. Shows how much they know! Reminds me of the cartoon of the man walking his dog. The canine is having a great time, while the owner walks obediently beside him, carrying a scooper and a little plastic bag. In the thought balloon for the dog it says, “And he thinks he’s in charge!”

Firstborns are a lot like that. We think we’re in charge. We think we’re responsible. We think we’ve got it all together, but we also think it’s all our fault—everything! We can never just relax and go with the flow—which sometimes turns out to be an updraft that carries all who are willing on eagles’ wings, far above the everyday drudgery of turkey-type living. While everyone else is soaring and swooping overhead, we’re missing out because we’re still trying to clean up and fix the mess below.

I love and appreciate all that my disciplined father taught me, traits that enabled me to be a hard worker and a respected citizen. But sometimes we turkeys need to stop trying so hard and just look up—way up!—and maybe catch a whoosh of Holy Spirit wind and let God carry us for a while. I’ve heard the view up there is something else!

And with Thanksgiving just around the corner, I’d like a slightly different perspective than that of a turkey, wouldn’t you?

Kathi Macias (www.kathimacias.com; http://kathieasywritermacias.blogspot.com) is an occasional radio host (www.blogtalkradio.com/communicatethevision) and award-winning author of more than 30 books, including the popular Extreme Devotion series from new Hope Publishers and Valeria’s Cross from Abingdon Press. She and her husband, Al, live in Southern California where they spend their spare time riding Al’s Harley—hence, Kathi’s “road name” of Easy Writer!

Scratching Where It Itches

By Rhonda Rhea –

I confess I don’t have the greenest thumb on the block. As a matter of fact, I was thinking it might be easier to just give up on all other greenery and grow a poison ivy garden instead. Except that at this point I’d have to start from scratch.

Scratch? Get it? Anyway, I decided it would probably be better not do anything that rash.

That’s because we really do have to be careful what we plant. We will reap what we sow. It’s right there in Galatians 6:7. And according to the verse that follows, not only should we be careful what we plant, but we’re told if we choose to live only to please our own sinful selves, we’ll reap a harvest of death and decay. I think I’ve grown that kind of plant before. But when we’re talking about what we’re growing spiritually, we’re talking about an especially ugly garden. Eternally worse than poison ivy. Don’t even bother with the weed-whacker. Round-Up won’t cut it either.

Take a look at the passage: “Don’t be misled—you cannot mock the justice of God. You will always harvest what you plant. Those who live only to satisfy their own sinful nature will harvest decay and death from that sinful nature. But those who live to please the Spirit will harvest everlasting life from the Spirit. So let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up. Therefore, whenever we have the opportunity, we should do good to everyone—especially to those in the family of faith” (Galatians 6:7-10 NLT).

I love how Paul rounds out his point in verse 9 with the big “so.” “So let’s not get tired of doing what is good.” He lets us know that the harvest kind of thinking and learning to live to please the Spirit instead of the flesh leads to staying energized in doing good things for the Kingdom—to not give up. And that leads to a harvest of everlasting blessing.

Our gardening time here is short. We need to stay on task. Second Timothy 4:2-5 charges us to “Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage—with great patience and careful instruction. For the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths. But you, keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry” (NIV).

Instead of catering to the poison-ivy-itchy-ears of those who simply want the easy way, and instead of letting them distract us, we’re called to keep our heads and to steadfastly keep on working in whatever ministry God has called us to. The passages in Galatians 6 and 2 Timothy 4 are the kinds of sound-the-charge verses we can put to memory. They can remind us all along the way to stay tenaciously resolute in our service. It’s then that we can become more and more the kind of Christ followers who don’t just tickle itchy ears, but truly scratch those eternal itches.

So, ready to write down those passages? First you’ll need some scratch paper.

Rhonda Rhea is a radio personality, conference speaker, humor columnist and author of seven books, including High Heels in High Places and her newest book, Whatsoever Things Are Lovely: Must-Have Accessories for God’s Perfect Peace. You can find out more at www.RhondaRhea.org.

Some Days the Fish, Some Days the Bait

By Jodi Whisenhunt –

My husband and brother used to fish together. Used to, that is, until one day when the bait nearly hooked the wrong fish.

The two men waded chest-deep into a small stream. My husband held his reel, flipped it back to cast, and heard, “Yeeeow!” He had smacked my brother in the cheek with a bloody chicken liver. Fortunately, the hook did not set. My brother, however, did back upstream another twenty feet.

“‘Come, follow Me,’ Jesus said, ‘and I will make you fishers of men’” (Matthew 4:19 NIV). My husband must have taken that verse literally. I have to wonder, though, if Jesus had told them they’d be the bait, would the disciples so quickly have bitten the hook? It’s easier to tell someone about Jesus with words than it is to live out faith. It’s a lot easier to stand in front of a large crowd and speak than it is to lose an infant daughter, suffer disease, watch your mother die, and proclaim your love for the Lord while maintaining your hope in Him. It’s way harder to smile through pain than to say, “Jesus died for you.”

Bait. When you can be the answer to the question of how a loving God allows bad things to happen, you are the bait.

When men cast lures into the water, they can’t see the fish. They can’t see the fish. When you are in the midst of a trial, you’re often too submerged in murky misery to see what you’re fishing for. In those times, pray God will remove the cloudy me-ness and make apparent those who are missing His message. Find them in their hiding places, like the bass among the branches. They are often hard to spot through the fog of, “I’m fine,” but they hunger for the healing that only Jesus can provide. Sometimes living out faith is the only way to catch and relieve a desperate soul.

Gently reel if you feel a tug. Offer sincerity, or you’ll break the line. Reveal God’s provision. Be the bait, meet the fish’s need, and you will demonstrate that God works all things for the benefit of those who love Him and allow His control.

May it not hurt to be the bait.

Jodi Whisenhunt is an Amy Award-winning freelance writer and editor in McKinney, Texas. You can find her at www.jodiwhisenhunt.com or www.magicalmouseschoolhouse.com, where Disney IS school.

Times Are, Uh, Changing

By Lynn Rebuck –

I was on time for church Sunday. It was purely coincidental. It is that rare annual event that happens only on the unique fall morning that we are to set our clocks back one hour to end Daylight Savings Time.

I under-slept Sunday morning and ended up arriving fifteen minutes early for church. At first I was startled by the number of cars pulling into the parking lot. Next I was overwhelmed by the selection of parking spaces available. When I walked into the near-deserted building, I was fascinated by the rows of empty seats.

Mind you, I would adjust my watch to the correct time if I could, but it seems the people who wrote the miniaturized instruction leaflet are the same ones who inscribed the entire Bible on the head of a pin.

Here we are days past the shift in the time-space continuum, and not all of my clocks are adjusted. My kitchen stove claims one time, my car professes another, and my DVD player still innocently blinks midnight.

I am convinced that the old song by the band Chicago, “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?” (which you will likely hum for the rest of the day now that I’ve mentioned it), was written just after the switch from Daylight Savings Time.

Yesterday I went watch shopping. The clerk approached me as I gazed at the timepieces in the case. “Can I help you find something?” she asked helpfully.

“Yes, I’d like to get a new watch,” I said.

“What features are you looking for?”

“It has to be accurate,” I replied.

“All of our watches keep time very well,” she said proudly. “Perhaps I can interest you in this one that is waterproof to a depth of ten meters.”

“Do I look like I dive for abalone? I only need one that’s waterproof to the depth of my washing machine,” I replied. My eyes kept searching the hopeful faces in the case.

Finally, I spotted it. “I’ll take that one there,” I said, pointing to a purple-faced watch that had a band larger than a collar for a St. Bernard.

“Which one, this one?” she asked, and then proceeded to tease me by touching every watch surrounding the watch I had selected. (I have found this to be a favorite game of jewelry store salespeople.)

She accidentally brushed the box of my chosen timepiece and I excitedly yelled, “That’s the one!”

“My,” she said, “you really seem to like this watch. It is an excellent choice, as it has a dual alarm, international time zones, a backlight, chronograph, split-lap stopwatch, is waterproof to 50 meters, and can even withstand severe shocks.”

“Severe shocks like being driven by your teenager? Great, I’ll take it.”

“Why did you choose this one?” she asked.

“It has the correct time on it.”

She rang up the sale and I snatched the bag from her hand. As I headed for the door I called back over my shoulder, “See you in the spring!”

Lynn Rebuck is an award-winning humor columnist, comedian, and speaker. She once tried to adjust a sun dial for Daylight Savings Time. Read her humor blog on www.LynnRebuck.com, fan her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, and email her at LynnRebuck@gmail.com no matter what time it is. © 2010 Lynn Rebuck

« Previous Page — Next Page »