The problem with outfield

Posted by & filed under Uncategorized.

Youth-baseball-gloves “Simon answered, ‘Master, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets.'” (Luke 5:5 NIV)

I have always loved baseball, but I never really enjoyed playing outfield. The action in outfield was just too intermittent and I have always been a kinetic personality. My mother used to wonder if I had “ants in my pants.” A valid question considering my love of the outdoors. But no, I just loved to be in motion.

The other problem with outfield was the failure/success ratio. I can remember games in little league where only one or two balls would be hit to outfield in an entire game. That’s a lot of pressure for a kid.

For the first couple of innings I’d be out there thinking and praying, “Lord, I’m ready. Let me catch one. OK this guy’s a lefty. I’m shifting. I’m ready, let me catch one…” This internal litany would continue throughout the first part of the game, while I rhythmically punched my fist into my glove and joined the team’s verbal “chatter.”

But if I hadn’t had a ball hit to me after three or four innings, the litany would change, “Lord, please don’t let them hit one out here. Let them strike out. I don’t need to catch one this game. Just let me be good at bat…” After a few innings with no activity, I went cold. I became nervous and fearful. I was afraid of failure.

An even worst scenario was when I missed a catch early in a game. This failure would so demoralize me that I couldn’t stop replaying the error in my mind. It’s like that one failure would become the enemy of my future success. I’d start playing it safe, afraid to charge the ball, not wanting it to get past me. Instead of running and diving for the ball, I would wait for the first hop, not wanting to fail again. Baseball wasn’t fun on days like that. My fear of failure stole the joy of the game.

Life and playing outfield have a lot in common. As a pastor I’ve had plenty of failures and successes. There’s the family that left our church because they didn’t feel my preaching was “deep” enough. Followed by the visiting preacher who told me he thought I was the best preacher he’d heard in Wilson. There’s the couple whose marriage failed even after I had spent hundreds of hours in counseling with them. Followed by the couple who told me that my prayers and counseling had “saved their marriage.” There was the Wednesday night Bible study where only two people showed up and they looked around at the empty room and decided to leave. Followed by a record-breaking Easter Sunday where people got saved and baptized.

When Jesus called Peter to go out into deep water and cast his nets for a catch, Peter had just come off of a night of failure. He had worked hard all night and hadn’t “caught anything.” Peter hadn’t quit the game of fishing, but he wasn’t ready to go back out yet. He was doing important stuff. The nets needed washing and mending. He was good at that. He would play it safe. He would go out again, soon, but not yet.

But Jesus called Peter to go back out immediately. Not only that, He called him to go deep. Not just in the shallows close to shore, but out there in the deep water, where the risks are greatest. And Jesus asked Peter to do one more thing, “let down your nets for a catch.” He challenged Peter to believe. He wanted Peter to learn to trust Him for success.

I’ve noticed that a past failure is perhaps the greatest enemy of future success. A failed business, a failed relationship, a failed attempt at a dream and we’re ready to give up. We become fixated on the time we “worked all night and caught nothing,” instead of obeying the Lord who calls us into the deep to make a “catch.”

I believe that the Lord is calling us into the deep now. Let’s put our past failures behind us. Let’s prepare to run and dive for a catch!

From house to house

Posted by & filed under Religion, Uncategorized, Weblogs.

07-30-2010 10;38;35AM “Day after day, in the temple courts and from house to house, they never stopped teaching and proclaiming the good news that Jesus is the Christ” (Acts 5:42 NIV).

The first house my wife and I lived in was on wheels. Convinced that we should be owners and not renters, we bought a 12×55 mobile home when we were first married. We couldn’t afford land, so we rented a lot in a trailer park (I guess we were renters after all). I still remember our address: Lot #17.

I’ve attached a photo here of Robin standing in the door, excited about our first snow, in our first house, in our first year of marriage (I thought you might appreciate the idea of snow during this hot summer we’re having).

We called this home for three years, but our children never knew this house. When we were expecting our firstborn, we sold our mobile home and bought a bigger place. We needed room for a nursery!

Through the years, the Combs clan has moved from house to house. Sometimes it was because we were expanding our family and sometimes because of a job transfer. Looking back, the only house that feels like home, is the one that we’re living in now. A house doesn’t make a home, love does. I know it’s a cliche, but home “is” where the heart is.

Our WCC church family started out in my living room. We met there for three months before launching our first Sunday worship service at Forest Hill Middle School. We continued to meet at my home on Wednesday nights for the first two years of the church. When we finally moved all of our services to the school, some people got upset and left us. They had become attached to my house. They said they missed sitting in my living room and eating at my table. They said that we were getting too big and they didn’t know everybody now. They didn’t want a new house. My house was home to them.

But we knew it was time to move on. It was either cling to my little house and stop growing, or move to a bigger house and keep growing. So, we moved.

For years, when we passed FHMS, my daughter would see cars in the parking lot there during the week and ask, “Daddy, why are there people at our church?”

She didn’t understand that it was a school building. She thought it was our church.

For nearly 19 years we’ve rented space for our church family all over town. We’ve had parties, picnics, Bible studies, get-togethers, baptisms, weddings and funerals, all at places that we rented or borrowed.

We’ve been called the “Roadie Church” by other churches that have seen us set up sound equipment for citywide events. They marvel at our adaptability and faithfulness.

I guess it’s appropriate that a guy who started his family in a “mobile” home would launch a “mobile” church. From day one our church family has repeated the phrase, “The church is not the steeple, it’s the people.” It’s part of our DNA, we’re a church on the move.

Now, we’re looking at moving into a “movie” theatre. Don’t you think that’s just perfect! But some will worry about this change. There are many uncertainties. I’m praying that our church family fully embraces the idea of moving into this new house.

I really believe it’s time. Like the first century church that “never stopped” carrying the good news from “house to house,” we mustn’t stop either. We’ve carried the gospel from “house to house” all over Wilson for years. Now, it’s time to carry it to another house. A house that can accomodate our dreams for being a city church, located in the center of things, open seven days a week, and able to draw people that would never hear the gospel otherwise.

While a house doesn’t make a home, a family does need a house in which to live and grow. I believe it’s time for the WCC family to buy a house. And when we move in, let’s continually remind each other to “never stop” preaching the love of Jesus. That’s the only way to make any house a home.

Staying focused when the heat is on

Posted by & filed under Current Affairs, Religion, Uncategorized, Weblogs.

Heat-thermometer “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart” (Hebrews 12:1-3 NIV).

It sure has been hot this summer! I read in the news that the 90 to 100 degree highs in June were record setting for the Eastern US. Heat this constant and high is hard to endure. Thank the Lord for air conditioning!

Speaking of A/C, both of my old but paid-for vehicles lost theirs during June. I had to spend my entire “Dave” emergency fund!

The auto repair man said, “Yeah, it’s your compressor, Mr. Combs. It’s shot.”

“It’s not my compressor.” I answered. “That’s the Lord’s compressor. It’s His car.”

“Well, whoever it belongs to, it sure is gonna be hot without air!” He responded with an odd questioning expression on his face.

“Fix it.” I said, as I mumbled a prayer to the Lord about how His cars were in need of replacement.

It’s easy to lose focus during a heat wave. There’s a kind of fatigue that affects both mind and body. It causes fuzzy thinking and fuzzy decision making. Sometimes, it makes you want to quit.

But Jesus stayed focused when He faced the cross. He looked past it to the goal which was our redemption. When we face hard times and heat waves, we can “fix our eyes” on Jesus. We can stay focused on Him. The One who endured will give us endurance. One of the ways that I practice the presence of Christ in my life is to remind myself (and auto repairmen) that everything belongs to God. Recognizing God’s ownership and control helps me to endure.

When I returned to pick up my second repaired vehicle in two weeks, I told the repairman that as much as I enjoyed seeing him again, I hoped it would be a while before my next visit. For some reason, he just opened up to me and started talking about his family and his life. He twisted his computer screen around and showed me photos of his daughters on his facebook profile.

“Hey, can I “friend” you?” I asked.

“Sure.” He replied.

“Cool.” I said, as I told him about our church and how great it would be for him, his wife and his beautiful daughters. “I’ll send you some links to our church website and some great info on parenting. You really ought to come check us out.” I continued.

“Great, I’ll try and come this Sunday!” He said, with a smile beaming on his face.

“I’ll be looking for you.” I replied, as I walked out onto the sun-baked asphalt, started my old Ford and cranked up the air. Adjusting the rearview mirror, I noticed my sweaty brow and something else…

I was smiling.

Freedom isn’t free

Posted by & filed under Current Affairs, Religion, Uncategorized, Weblogs.

DadKoreaEdit “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery” (Galatians 5:1 NIV).

The older I get the more I love history. I guess you have to have a little history of your own before you learn to appreciate it.

I also love researching my family ancestry. I think it’s because my father, Claude Combs, died when I was only eight. Since I haven’t been able to ask him personally, I do research.

These photos are of my father when he was serving in Korea. He was stationed in Seoul. I found these old B/W photos in my mother’s things when she died. I’m glad he wrote on the backs of most of them, otherwise I wouldn’t have a clue about their significance. In the photo below he is being congratulated by Major Jones for being the “Man of the Month.” If you look closely, you can see a sign in the background that says, “Motor Pool.”

DadKoreaEdit2 My father was an identical twin and both he and his brother, Clyde, lived on a farm with their parents and younger sister. When WWII broke out, Clyde was drafted and served. But they left Claude at home. After Clyde served his time. The Korean conflict began and they drafted my dad.

Both my father and my uncle never talked about these wars. They were part of the silent generation.

Their father and my grandfather, Taulbee Combs, fought in WWI. He fought in the trenches of France. I never heard him talk about it until he was in his 70s and started suffering from Alzheimers. After that, it seemed to be the only thing he could remember. He couldn’t always remember me, but he could remember the war.

“Yeah, I’d be in a ‘parlez-vous’ with those Frenchies when the bullets would start flying. They’d buzz by your head like bees. Just like bees!”

He would repeat this story over and over. Forgetting that he had just told it. What was it about war that an old man could forget everything in his life, but remember it?

In my research of the Combs family tree, I have discovered that we are part of an old line. The first Combs boy born in America was Archdale Combs, born in Rappahannock, Virginia in 1642. His parents, John and Elizabeth, were from England.

My branch of the Combs tree never strayed far from old Virginia. My grandfather’s grandfather, Samuel Combs, fought with Virginia’s 37th Infantry Regiment in the Civil War. He died at age 28 when his son (my great grandfather) Elbert was only two.

I wondered for some time about his early death. I couldn’t find anyone who knew why he’d died so young. But recently I discovered this entry in my online research:

“Samuel served in the Confederate Army during the Civil War. He was killed at the Battle of Cedar Creek in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia in October of 1864. And was buried at Culpepper, VA. He was apparently buried as an unknown. We could not find his name in either cemetery in Culpepper. He was shot in the leg and bled to death. The Rev. Joseph Kendrick, a close friend from Russell County was with him” (From the remembrances of Dixie Lee Lambert Sowers, Ancestry.com).

I never knew this amazing story. I guess we can easily take our freedom for granted, unless we understand that freedom isn’t free.

Someone had to sacrifice. Someone had to bleed and die, so that we can live free. That’s true for a nation called America.

And it’s true for all of us who believe in the Christ who died, so that we could be truly free.

Working it out

Posted by & filed under Religion, Uncategorized, Weblogs.

Gym “… continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose” (Philippians 2:12-13 NIV).

I’ve been trying to take better care of my health since turning 50. The last two years I’ve been pretty faithful in working out at the gym three days a week. It helps. I always feel better when I’m working out regularly. It’s amazing how expending energy makes me feel more energetic.

I actually joined the gym a couple of times before, but never really got into a workout routine. I joined and paid the monthly membership, but since I rarely went, I never saw any results. Too bad. Gym membership apparently isn’t enough. You actually have to go regularly and workout in order to see improvement.

I’ve done this before. I bought a workout bench and barbells. But after a furious couple of weeks of lifting, they ended up collecting dust in my garage. I’ve purchased booklets, plans, DVDs, equipment, etc. Nothing worked, until I started working it out.

God gave me my body. It has a heart and lungs. It has muscles (OK, not that well defined. But they’re there somewhere). He has given me all that I need for physical health. But I still have to “work out” what He has “worked in” me.

Spiritual health is not unlike this. Just as God gives us physical life, He is the only One who can make us alive spiritually. We cannot do this work. Only God can do the work of salvation in us. Only through His Son Jesus can we be born again spiritually.

Maybe you’ve joined a church and tried church membership. Maybe you’ve even paid your dues when the offering plate was passed. But it hasn’t worked for you. You still feel empty inside. You haven’t seen any spiritual results.

Perhaps it’s because you’ve never asked God to do His work of salvation in you. There’s nothing to “work out” unless God first “works in” us. Or perhaps God has begun that good work in you, but you’ve never worked it out by yielding every arena of your life to His control.

I want to be healthy physically, so I’m trying to work out more regularly. But even more importantly, I want to be healthy spiritually. I want to rely on God’s work within me and to submit myself more fully to Him, so that His inner work is “worked out” in my entire life.

We can be confident of God’s good work in our lives. He will finish what He started. Depending on His work in us, we can work out what He has worked in.

Who’s your daddy?

Posted by & filed under Religion, Weblogs.

“You received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father.'” (Romans 8:15 NIV).

“Which daddy are you calling?” My son, Jonathan asked, a quirky smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Robin had just called me to the table for Sunday dinner, when Jonathan decided that for matters of clarity, she should specify to which “daddy” she referred. After all, there are now three daddys in the house most Sundays, since my two sons have become fathers too.

My sons are shaping up to be very good fathers. They are tender and patient with their children. They change their diapers and feed them. They dress and bathe them. They rock and sing and play with them.

My son Stephen plays the acoustic guitar and sings to baby Cadence. He often picks her up and holds her close to his face to say, “I love you!” over and over again. Having a daughter has really messed him up.

Jonathan is appropriately more intense with Nathaniel. He shakes and bounces him from side to side while singing a rapper-like tune. He gets down on the floor and wrestles with him. But he is no less passionate when it comes to expressing his love. He tells Nate he loves him all the time.

Sons need to know that their fathers love them just as much as daughters. I still kiss my sons on the face and tell them that I love them. Is this manly? I think it is. But to be sure, I usually rub my beard against their cheek a little too, so that they know it’s me. Nothing like a little sandpaper-love from the old man.

I suppose I learned this from my mother’s father. He would always tell me he loved me and kiss me goodbye when he was about to leave. I called him “Papaw.”

“Gary, give your old Papaw some sugar.” He’d say, as he put on his hat and coat to leave. “I’ve got to go.”

“You don’t have any ‘backer in your mouth, do you Papaw?” I’d ask, because he was a tobacco farmer and he nearly always kept a big chew in his jaw. I didn’t mind that he chewed, but I didn’t want any of that brown spittle on my face.

“Oh no.” He’d respond, while shaking his head. He had the uncanny ability to hide the stuff while talking.

“OK then.” I’d say, tentatively offering my cheek.

He’d lean over and kiss me with a loud smaky sound. He always smelled of “Aqua Velva” and his beard was scratchy against my boyish face. Then, he’d suddenly stand back up and poke his chew out of his mouth at me. He’d hidden it in his mouth somehow. He’d laugh and slap me on the back.

“Yuck!” I’d exclaim with a quick wipe of my hand over my cheek. He’d never actually put any tobacco on me, but the possibility always existed.

This became a game that my grandfather played with me until I was a grown man.

My grandchildren haven’t started talking yet. Children’s first words are usually “Da-da” or “Ma-ma.” No matter the culture or language, the words for “Father” and “Mother” always have a simplified, more intimate version for young children.

The Aramaic word Abba is like that. Like “Daddy” or “Papa,” the word Abba has a short, simple sound that is easily mimicked.

Jesus is the first in the Bible to use it in reference to God. He teaches us that through faith in Him that we can become God’s children and have the same intimate relationship that He enjoys. We can cry, “Abba, Father” when we talk to God in prayer. We can know the love of “Our Father” God that Jesus knows.

Meanwhile, I’m teaching my grandchildren to say, “Papaw” when they refer to me. I don’t chew tobacco, but I’m sure I’ll come up with something for them to remember me by.

I guess Robin should start calling me Papaw too, especially when the whole family is around. That way they’ll know whose daddy she’s talking about.

Running on empty?

Posted by & filed under Health, Religion, Weblogs.

“Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain. In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat– for he grants sleep to those he loves” (Psalm 127:1-2 NIV).

Summer is here. School is out. Now what?

What we feel like doing is getting away from everything.

We say to ourselves, “Perhaps if we just escaped for a week or two, we could refuel and be ready to return to work with a full tank.”

With the goal of escaping and refueling in our minds we head to the beach or mountains and exhaust ourselves further with driving, chasing the kids, spending money, and trying to uncoil that tight feeling in our souls. We often return from these so-called “vacations” feeling more exhausted and empty than before. Some of us have to get back to work just to get some rest!

We’re so used to living life in the fast lane with our gas pedals pressed to the floor that we don’t know how to let up. Even our vacations look like work!

Is there a better way? Is there a way of life that is more balanced between work and rest?

The Bible says there is. The Psalmist said that there is a certain “vanity” in rising early and staying up late to toil in your own strength. There is an emptiness and a futility that comes over us when we build a life without the Builder’s help.

A good diagnostic question is implied in Psalm 127. Do you feel so tired that you can’t even sleep? Do you feel like you’re working but nothing is being accomplished. Does life feel like a constant treadmill? Then, perhaps you’re doing all the work in your own strength. Perhaps you’re building a life that excludes the Builder… God.

When we work in the strength of the Builder, when we receive His supply and direction, we will experience the real rest that He gives to those He loves.

This doesn’t mean we stop building. It means that we learn to let the Builder lead us to work and rest according to His direction and power.

An annual vacation won’t be enough to “refuel” our tanks. We must learn to lean on the Builder or not only will all our work be in vain, but all our “vacations” will too.

When do we take off the training wheels?

Posted by & filed under Religion, Weblogs.

“Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it” (Proverbs 22:6 KJV).

“Jesus answered, “I am the way…” (John 14:6 NIV).

When we first moved to North Carolina our children were ages five, two, and one. None of them could ride a bike without training wheels. The youngest was still mastering the art of walking.

Stephen, our oldest, hadn’t been able to practice riding at our previous home in Virginia. Our old driveway was too steep and it ended on a two-lane highway. Not a good place to learn how to ride a bike. But our new home in Wilson, NC had a long, level concrete driveway, perfect for bicycle practice. Plus, it had a fenced-in backyard with a gate closing off the driveway from the main road.

Stephen and his two-year old little brother, Jonathan, spent every day riding between the closed gate and the garage in the backyard. Stephen rode his little blue bike with training wheels and Jonathan followed on his “big wheel.” Little by little I raised the training wheels on Stephen’s bike, so that they only touched the ground when he leaned too far. Within a couple of months, Stephen was riding his bike without training wheels.

We also bought Jonathan a little red bike with training wheels that year. He was so focused on keeping up with his big brother that I started raising his training wheels too. Robin worried about this. She said, “I think he’s too little, Gary.”

But I’d been watching him and he really seemed to have the balance, so I took his training wheels off too. “He can do it.” I replied. “Just watch.”

And he did. Our little two-year old was soon chasing his big brother around the driveway without training wheels too. He was like a bicycle prodigy or something!

Before long I started leading my little bicycle tribe out onto the road in our subdivision. I had installed a child seat on the back of my old 10-speed, so baby Erin could join the fun. Before we headed out I always had a huddle with the team to plan our journey.

“Stephen, you lead the way, but don’t go too fast. Make sure your brother is keeping up. And remember to stop at the stop sign.” I instructed.

“OK, Daddy.” He replied.

“What?” I asked, with a perturbed look.

“Yes, my father.” He replied, a look of intensity in his eyes as he accepted the responsibility of leading (When I gave out formal mission plans, the boys had to respond with “My father.” It was part of the training).

“Jonathan, you follow your brother. Remember, to stay right behind him and don’t weave around and stuff. And most of all, don’t forget to use your brakes to stop.” I told my younger son, while looking in his eyes (Jonathan had a bad habit of stopping by dragging his feet on the ground rather than using the coaster brake.).

“Yes, my father.” He said with his little scratchy voice and a nod of his head. He was already bumping Stephen with his bike tire, rearing to get on the road.

“Are you ready, Erin?” I asked, leaning around to look at her there on the back of my bike.

She just nodded and smiled. She hadn’t worked out the talking thing yet.

We headed out onto the road with Stephen in the lead, Jonathan in the middle, and myself and Erin bringing up the rear. This put me in a position to keep an eye on the pack and shout instructions along the way.

“Turn left after stopping, Stephen.” I shouted.

“Yes Sir.” He said while gesturing a left turn with his arm (Yes, they had to use turn signals).

Little by little, we traveled farther and farther from home as the children grew. Time flew. It didn’t seem that long before I was handing each of them car keys and then seeing them graduate and marry. Every step we just kept raising the training wheels a little higher.

As I prepare to close out our parenting series this Sunday, I’m reminded of how much parenting and bike riding have in common. At first, they both involved use of my authority more than my influence. I had to teach them to obey my instructions. But along the way I also kept raising their training wheels, so that they had more and more authority of their own. I moved from a position of absolute authority, to the voice of influence.

The art of parenting is recognizing this transition from authority to influence. We exercise our authority while they are young, but as they grow we must exchange authority for influence. We must begin trusting them with more authority along the way as we teach them “the way.”

That’s the key. First, teach them to obey, then teach them to know “the way.” When we do this, our authority will gradually decrease, but it will be replaced by a growing influence that will last the rest of their days.

We want our children to ultimately be followers of God’s way. Our’s is a holy stewardship. God gives them to us and we give them back to Him.

Let the children come

Posted by & filed under Uncategorized.

Childs-praying-hands “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these” (Mark 10:14 NIV).

“You need to go upstairs and talk to Stephen. He’s really upset.” Robin informed me as she came down the steps from putting the kids to bed. She had a look of concern on her face. “I don’t know what you guys talked about earlier, but Stephen says he’s afraid that you’re going to die.”

“Hmmm… I think I know what it is. We were talking about my dad and how he died when I was eight years old. But he didn’t seem upset when I left the room.” I responded as I got up from my recliner to head up the stairs to the boy’s bedroom.

As I walked into the room, both boys lay in their captain’s quarters styled bunk beds visibly upset. Five year old Stephen was in the top bunk of the rough hewn beds rubbing his eyes and two year old Jonathan lay in the bottom bunk with his lower lip stuck out.

“What’s wrong up here?” I asked.

“Stephen is sad.” Jonathan said, a quiver in his voice. He was always very affected by his older brother’s emotional state.

“What’s wrong Stephen?” I asked.

“I don’t want you to die.” He mumbled, his voice breaking.

“What makes you think that I’m going to die?” I questioned, while stepping on the lower bunk and leaning in close to get face to face with Stephen.

“Well, your daddy died when you were little. And I’m afraid that you will too.” He stated matter-of-factly, trying to hold his emotion in check.

“I see.” I replied. “But as far as we know Jesus could come again before any of us die.” I told him, a smile on my face.

“I hope so. I hope Jesus comes before any of us die.” He said, finally relaxing a little.

“We don’t have to be afraid of death, Son. My Dad wasn’t afraid and neither am I. I know that if I die, I will be with Jesus. And I know that I will see my father again because he believed in Jesus too.” I told him, not holding back any of the truth.

“But I’m afraid to die, Daddy.” Stephen muttered, as his tears turned on again.

“Would you like to be sure that you would spend forever with Jesus in heaven? I asked.

“Uh huh.” He said, nodding his head.

“Come down and let’s talk to Jesus.” I said.

Stephen hurried out of the covers, climbed down the wooden ladder, and got down next to me. We leaned on the bottom bunk together. Stephen’s yellow pajamas exposed his bare ankles as he pulled his unsocked feet under him on the blue carpeted floor. His cotton top head bowed over folded hands.

I put my arm around him and asked, “Do you want me to pray and let you repeat after me?”

“No, I want to pray myself.” He said.

And he did. He must have been listening and thinking about this for sometime, because he prayed and asked Jesus to save him and forgive him for his sins as well as any adult. He even asked that Jesus take his fear of death away. When he finished, he raised his head and looked at me with a profound look of peace upon his face.

I hugged him and tucked him back into bed. He was as calm and untroubled as could be. The transformation was immediate and noticable. It appeared that our five year old had come to Jesus.

A few weeks later when Stephen walked forward at church to publically announce his decision and request baptism, I asked our pastor to come to our home that afternoon to discuss Stephen’s decision. Both Robin and I were concerned that he was too young. We wanted to be sure that Stephen understood.

Dr. Walker spent a few minutes asking Stephen questions about his faith. After a while, he turned to us with a smile on his face and said, “I think he understands better than most I’ve ever taught. I don’t think we should hinder him from baptism.”

We didn’t. Stephen was baptized the next Sunday.

I’m glad all three of our children came to Christ at an early age. Sure, they still had a lot of growing up to do. But I’m sure that they also avoided a lot of unnecessary heartache that living without faith would have brought.

I’m thankful that Jesus touched our children’s hearts and welcomed them into his arms.

Glad my Mom didn’t read Spock

Posted by & filed under Religion, Uncategorized, Weblogs.

DrSpockParentingBook “Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you punish him with the rod, he will not die” (Proverbs 23:13 NIV).

“Spanking teaches children that the larger, stronger person has the power to get his way, whether or not he is in the right. Some spanked children then feel quite justified in beating up on smaller ones. The American tradition of spanking may be one reason that there is much more violence in our country than in any other comparable nation” (Dr. Benjamin Spock).

“You march yourself right over here, young man!” My Mom said, while waving a maple switch in her hand, pointing at the ground in front of her.

“But Mahhmmm…” I whined, my eyes focused on the implement of discipline that she waved at me.

“Don’t ‘Mahhmmm’ me! You come here!” She repeated.

And so, I began the long walk down the even longer hallway in the ranch style house that was our family home. Mom stood in the kitchen at one end of the hall, having just reached to the top of the fridge to get the switch (That’s where she always kept that despised device). I was standing at the other end of the hall where the Family/TV room was. I kept my eyes on my feet as I slowly trekked down the hallway, not wanting to look at the image of her steely eyes, patting right foot, and “keen” maple switch in hand.

By the way, my Mom taught me the word “keen.” She would say, “If you don’t behave, I’m going to get a keen switch and spank you!”

The dictionary defines “keen” as, “sharp, cutting, quick, intense.” But I didn’t need Webster’s to understand what she meant. The sound of my mother waving her “keen” switch was like the sound of Zorro’s rapier cutting a “Z” in the air. That thing stung like bees!

Back to the hallway scene… I arrived at Mom’s end of the hall. She grabbed my hand and began switching my legs. I danced a jig around her, secured by her grasp. I circled her like a whirling dervish, calling out prayers for forgiveness. She struck me with a combination of corrective words and disciplining pain.

“The… next… time… I… tell… you… to do… something… you… better… do it!” She said while punctuating each word with a strike of her keen switch upon my tender legs.

“Yes Maammm! I prommiisse!” I said with a tearful voice, begging her to stop.

Then she took a seat at the kitchen table, pulling me towards her by the hand she had not yet released. She lay the switch on the table and took me by the shoulders, looking into my eyes.

She said, “Now you know I don’t like to punish you. I love you. But I can’t let you disobey or disrespect me like that. Do you understand?”

“Yes maam.” I stuttered, glad the pain was over and the hugging had begun.

When my mother spoke to me, her words had weight. Her words carried authority. She made sure of that. I’m glad she didn’t read Dr. Spock. She just followed the Word of God. She taught me to respect her words and she taught me to respect God’s Word too.

When Robin and I had kids of our own. We kept a “keen” switch for discipline. Where? Well, on top of the refrigerator, of course.