In a previous post, I shared a Christmas memory of Becca, our daughter. I want to relate my favorite Christmas story of her. It was our first, or maybe second, Christmas in Owosso. Becca would have been two or three. After the Christmas Eve service, we had turned out the lights, locked the doors, and were heading for home. As usual, we were leaving through the door by the kitchen, but we couldn’t find Becca. Now, that year there was a Christmas tree in the fellowship hall with a little nativity scene beneath it. Becca had quietly slipped into the darkened fellowship hall. When I peaked in, I saw a picture, forever imprinted on my heart, of a little girl kneeling down and cradling the baby Jesus in her arms. “Good night Jesus . . . and Merry Christmas,” she said as she gently kissed him and laid him back down. 

Two times in Luke it says of Mary that she “treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” She had tucked away, in her mind’s curio box of special memories, a couple of treasured snapshots of her boy. She treasured and she pondered. How like a parent to remember in vivid detail scenes from long ago that bring a sense of joy and wonder to the heart. When I saw Becca, I was all at once overjoyed and saddened. I was overjoyed for the obvious reason. Yet, it was tinged with a sadness that she will one day grow up. That there will be forces which will conspire against her compelling her to forsake Jesus instead of holding Him in her heart. That one day she will no longer be so innocent. That one day . . . But I stop myself. God will take care of all the “one days” to come in her life, just as He took care of those of Jesus. But for now I will hold that memory and treasure it in my heart. It’s a reminder of Heaven where all innocence will be restored and all fear will be cast out by perfect love. It’s a reminder of the incredible blessings of God. It’s a memory of God’s love. And, for me, it’s a memory of God’s Son who didn’t stay a baby but grew to be a man and my Savior.

Why not take a moment to open the box of treasured Christmas memories of your children or loved ones? As you remember them, thank God for His goodness in giving you the gift of memories and special people.

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told. Luke 2:19&20

When Becca was a young child of about three we had a nativity set on our table. She used to love playing with the figurines. One day I came home to find her distraught. “We can’t find Jesus” she exclaimed. I wasn’t sure, at first, what she meant. But then it was revealed that the Jesus figurine from the nativity set was MIA. I assured her we would find it after dinner. Inwardly, I was a little irritated because I had frequently asked her to leave the nativity set alone—to look but not touch. It had straw that was messy and I was afraid that one of the pieces would get broken or misplaced. After dinner we looked high and low for Jesus. Finally, in desperation, I had a revelation. I spotted her backpack on the chair. A young child’s backpack is her world. Everything they value and treasure can be found in their backpack. In this case, a Dora the Explorer backpack. I reached in the backpack and found Jesus. “See,” I told her “Jesus was in your backpack ready to go to preschool with you tomorrow.”

I’ve often reflected on the search for our MIA Jesus, and I now realize that he wasn’t “missing in action” at all. He was in the middle of the action. His place in Becca’s backpack was divinely appropriate. There, in the midst of all the symbols of my daughter’s interests and activities, was the Lord of life. And that reality extends beyond 5-year-old girls.

As we face a new year crammed with commitments, each of us can begin the year confident that Jesus is right there in the middle of it all. As much as it drives us crazy not to have the Jesus piece in its proper place in the nativity scene, he belongs in our minivans, briefcases, purses, gym bags, suitcases, and checkbooks. As one person has said “God’s uncontainable love for his creation spilled over into a manger, a carpenter’s shop, a fishing boat, a tax collector’s home, a Roman execution scene, a rich man’s grave, and an upper room. The good news of Christmas that catapults us towards Easter (and beyond) is that we are not alone. The one who made us has come to us and remains with us in all that we attempt and experience.”

John proclaims “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” Wherever you are in this life—whether it’s a good place or a bad place—Jesus wants to dwell with you if you’ll let Him. Let’s make sure we invite and welcome the Lord into the, sometimes, messiness of our lives. It’s there that He really shines!

On coming to the house, they saw the child and his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshipped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh. Matthew 2:11

I have been often accused of not smiling enough. After so many years of people telling me this, I have no choice but to accept it as true. But do any of us smile enough? It’s not that I’m unhappy, it’s just that I guess I don’t have a smiley kind of face. I have a hard time smiling on cue—as in pictures. It always comes off looking fake. But it’s something I try to work on. But can you imagine not being able to smile even if you wanted to? Chelsea Thomas was born with Moebius Syndrome. Because she lacked a certain nerve in her brain, Chelsea was unable to smile. She just couldn’t! In December 1995, a team of doctors in Southern California operated on the sober-faced second grader. They removed a nerve from her leg and transplanted it in her face. Now, whenever Chelsea’s parents aim there camera in her direction, she can do more than just say “cheese.”

Maybe you feel the need for “smile surgery” at this time of year. Try as you may, you can’t seem to connect with the joy of the Christmas Season. It could be a memory problem. When we forget what we have to be grateful for, we stop feeling blessed. And when we lose sight of our blessings, joy evaporates with the morning dew. Before calling the doctor, try writing yourself a prescription. Take a sheet of paper and list five blessings God is allowing you to experience this Christmas. Focus on them and thank Him daily for His goodness . . . and smile! If I can do it, you can too.

. . . what a relief it is to see your friendly smile. It is like seeing the smile of God! Please take my gifts, for God has been very generous to me . . . Genesis 33:10&11 NLT

One day I received a picture in an email. I opened the picture, but all I could see was a formless mass of pixilated color. Fearing it was some horrible virus that would send my computer into the digital netherworld, I was about to delete it. But then I saw the real problem. The image was being displayed at the highest magnification level. All that could be seen was an extreme close up of one part of the picture. When I zoomed out and looked at the whole picture from a different perspective, it made sense.

Depending on the day and who you listen to the sky is falling and life as we know it is ending. At the very least, these are some very unsettling times. Adversity and uncertainty tend to cause tunnel vision. We become so focused on our current problems we lose sight of the bigger picture of what God may be doing. This was Job’s dilemma. He was consumed with the miniscule pixels of his suffering and was unable to see the big picture. He wanted answers. So God gave Job some much needed perspective in Job 38. “Where were you,” He asks for starters “when I laid the earth’s foundation?” God, then, asks a series of questions revealing Job’s limited perspective. Rebuked, Job is reminded that there are things he is unable to comprehend. He sees the big picture and trusts in God, the Creator.  

In varying degrees, we all suffer from a myopic view. It’s like trying to appreciate a Mozart symphony by listening only to nine notes or capturing the beauty of a Monet painting from two inches away. Both require some distance and a larger perspective to appreciate them.

After Jesus’ crucifixion, His followers were bogged down in uncertainty, sorrow, and fear. We see this because of where they looked for Jesus on the first day of the week–in a cemetery (Mark 16:6). Myopic vision sees the word “crucified” and, convinced it’s all over, looks for Jesus among the dead. Panoramic vision sees “He has risen! He is not here” and knows that God is not yet done. The angel at the tomb testified that something more incredible than they could ever imagine had happened. And so we trust that God is not finished with us yet. We trust in our God who laid the earth’s foundation, set the constellations in place, and defeated death. If we can trust God with our deaths, we can surely trust Him with our lives. I think this is good news in these times of fear and uncertainty.

(Originally published in The Lookout magazine, reprinted with permission)

I am old. Not only am I old, but (with all deference to my calling and chosen clerical profession as well as apologies to those who might be offended, though not surprised by this revelation) I am an old fart. I always knew the day would come when I would be a part of that age old fraternity of being old and feeling out of touch. Yet I never thought I would become an active member of the geriatric sub committee known as “the old farts.”

Being and feeling old is a relative stage of life and sort of creeps up on a body. One day you feel in touch and “with it.” The next day you are forgetting things and appointments, feel out of touch with current thoughts and trends, and are critical of things you don’t understand. It’s this last aspect of being old–being unnecessarily critical and negative toward things you don’t understand–which promotes one into the OFC (Old Fart Club–I’ll use this acronym henceforth to avoid the repetitive use of a word, fart, which might offend some. So, I’ll not use that word anymore . . . the word fart, I mean). By the way, here’s a little tip which you might want to file away for future use: It’s not a good idea to take Nighttime NyQuil shortly before you blog. It might make you say things that are uncharacteristic and potentially offensive. Anyway, where was I . . . See what I mean?

Oh yes, getting old. At 42, relatively younger than many, I may not be considered old by some. AARP has not sent me a welcome packet yet. But it seems that in the past couple of months I have become more aware of my age. I am getting quite forgetful. For example, our elders were planning a Christmas get together and it seemed everyone had been called with the date except for me. As it turns out (and I’ll deny this as long as I’m alive–which probably won’t be long) one of our elders’ wife called me and talked to me on the phone about the party. I have no recollection of this. Now, to my defense, I believe I had been asleep when she called. Yet, this too is another aspect of growing old: Random napping throughout the day. Another, more painful example, came when my wife was leaving for a weekend trip and asked me to do some things while she was gone. Upon her return home she noticed that I didn’t do them. She, very sweetly, brought them to my attention. I had to admit I had no recollection of her instructions.

And then the coup de gras (is that how you spell that?–Awe, I don’t care. As a member of the OFC, I don’t have to care about whether I spell things right) . . . I had arranged to take Andrew and Becca for haircuts not too long ago. We sat in the waiting area for about ten minutes. Tina, our family hair cutter of seven years came out and looked at me. “Chris, I have to ask you what’s going on?” I looked at Tina, who is roughly my age, and felt pity for her that she had forgotten our appointments. She informed me I had made the kids’ appointments for Friday, one day later. I told her she was mistaken, proceeding to show her the appointment card. I’m sure it’s no surprise to you by now that I was wrong and had forgotten the day of the appointment.

All of this is well and good. Just par for the course for an aging, too busy, preoccupied pastor–sort of a lovable, daffy, absent minded professor. Yet I feel myself moving lately into the clubhouse of the OFC. I have always considered myself on the cutting edge of what was happening in my worlds–technology, ministry, church, society, etc. Not that I uncritically accept as valid or true or helpful everything. But, at least, I was aware of the movers and shakers and trends of my corner of the world. Not that I want to be a slave to every shifting sand and blowing wind, but I will admit that, at some point, I fell behind in even being aware of the changes and trends around me. And then, proceeding to be critical of new things in much the same way Archie Bunker would complain when Edith replaced his favorite, familiar chair with a new one.

I became aware of this recently when I signed up and created a presence on the social networking site Facebook. I had been very critical of these social networking sites and those who “waste their time” messing with them. And there is a lot to be wary of regarding them: it can be a colossal time waster, leads to procrastination, dangers to youth of predators, etc. I made the decision to do something I thought I would have no interest in simply to experience that which I derided. I have to admit that I was wrong and have seen the benefit of it. I have enjoyed immensely getting caught up with past friends. Seeing the profiles and pictures of kids I had in youth group fifteen years ago, or hearing from people I baptized while pastoring in Indiana has been really cool. And being able to have one more avenue of connection with my kids and current friends is also great. It has been cool that because of my Facebook page some folks from my past have gone to our church website and listened to sermons or have read my blog. This phenomenon of modern technology has much potential for some really cool positive things. So what I’m saying is that there is good and bad in most everything. When one learns the secret handshake and becomes a member of the OFC, the tendency is to only look at the bad and negative. Again, not that we should uncritically embrace everything that comes down the pike. But we must make an effort to understand and embrace the good in things that might not come naturally to us.

I’m reminded of what Jesus said when asked about fasting. He talked about the danger of pouring new wine into old, used wineskins. The danger in this, he said, was that the old skins would burst because they don’t have the ability to stretch when the fermenting grape juice expands. Very simply, we need to be able to expand our minds and understanding of new things. How easy it is to get set in our ways and close off our minds to things that are new or things we don’t understand. It’s much easier to stop stretching and growing and thinking. But, like the old wineskin, we become brittle and fragile when we do that. Not that we simply fill our wineskin with every new thing out there. Much of it needs to be rejected as unbiblical, harmful, or simply inane. Yet, there is much which is helpful and new to be examined, analyzed, and digested. The motto of the OFC is “Never Change–If it was good enough in my day, it’s good enough for today!”

Yet we serve a God who does a new thing and wants to make us new creations and has sent His Son to save the world from its sin. We call this the Gospel–the Good News.

So we grow old and get forgetful. It’s a part of life. But we can avoid becoming a grumpy old man or a bitter old woman. As for me. There is still something that keeps me young (in addition to my kids and my wife who is two years my junior yet looks like she is much younger). I still have my motorcycle. I love to ride for many reasons. It makes me feel young and alive and vibrant. It also keeps my mind and reflexes sharp. When you’re going 80 on two wheels every sense you have is engaged (except your common sense, some would argue). There is no auto pilot when you’re riding a motorcycle. It keeps me sharp and feeling alive. I know I can’t ride it right now with all the snow, but I think I’ll go out to the garage and fire her up. Just sitting on that roaring beast will make me feel younger. If only I could find the key.