Little Things

Nature was calling. Actually, nature was yelling. Loudly.

So I turned off the highway at the next exit, found a convenience store, and hustled into its restroom. The only available location for relief was a sit-down model inside a stall. So up went the seat, I answered call #1, and that was that.

Or so I thought.

As I turned to leave the stall, something made me hesitate, and look back to see a few yellowish drops sprinkled onto the rim of the bowl. If the mothers and wives of the world could get a word in here, I’m sure they would say it is all too commonplace from us boys, no matter what our age.

Typically, I would have thought, “Gross. Well, I’m glad they pay people to clean that stuff up. I’m outta here,” and left. But instead, a little ditty popped into my head: “If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat.”

My brow furrowed in confusion. The seat was up. Upon further inspection of the seat in its upright position, sure enough, several drops had somehow defied all logic, gravity, and laws of fluid dynamics to end up on the top surface of the seat as well. Yes, on the raised seat. Believe me, I grew up with a single mother and we shared a bathroom. My aim is good.

My typical reaction bulldozed its way to the front of my thoughts, and demanded the hired help deal with it. But a quiet and firm voice insisted I clean up my mess since it would be the right thing to do. So, my good side and my not-so-good side decided to have a non-verbal argument inside my head as I stood inside the stall, brow still furrowed. Hopefully, no one else was dancing outside the stall, putting nature’s call on hold.

“You really should wipe that up.”

“I’m not gonna wipe that up.”

“Please be a nice guy and wipe that up.”

“Why me? This place is a dump. Everybody else leaves it. Maybe it’s not even mine.”

Back and forth, back and forth it went like a tennis volley, until the good side simply said, “If you came in here and had to sit there, would you want to find that on the seat?”

“No.”

“Then, why would you leave it for someone else?”

Correct me if I’m wrong, but “If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat” is not in the Bible, but “Treat others the same way you want them to treat you” most definitely is (Luke 6:31, NASB). Cleaning up after myself in a bathroom seemed like such a inconsequential, unimportant and insignificant act. Even though nobody would ever know about it and I would never get a “Thank you” for it, my one simple act served the next guy who would come into that stall, whoever that might be. The Lord was not asking me to serve people by venturing off to be a missionary in darkest Africa, or by giving away my entire paycheck to the poor. I was in a convenience store men’s room, for crying out loud.

The Lord fills every day with these seemingly trivial events, but actually, they are tests. Tests to find out who understands His Word, who will do what He asks, and who He can have confidence in. By continuing to answer the test questions correctly, our responsibilities will grow and grow and grow. But if we cannot . . . well, . . . as Jesus said “Unless you are faithful in small matters, you won't be faithful in large ones. If you cheat even a little, you won't be honest with greater responsibilities” (Luke 16:10, NLT).

We cannot leapfrog past the simple tests because they provide the foundation for knowing what to do when bigger and harder tests come along. There is no telling what great and awesome things the Lord has in store for us. Maybe He will send us to Africa someday. But we had better show Him that we can take care of the little things in our lives correctly first, like cleaning off a toilet and not expecting to receive any credit.

Ants



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 For being so small, ants are held in high regard by the writers of Proverbs. We should consider the ways of the ant and be wise (Proverbs 6:6-8 and 30:24-25). The ants’ continuous work draws stark contrasts with laziness. Ants are always working as a community, and their industrious nature keeps them working together toward a common goal. They’re always doing something – searching, moving, gathering, building, storing, advancing – and Proverbs implies we should imitate their habits.


I hate the little buggers.

And when they started searching, moving, gathering, building, storing and advancing inside our house, I went on a primal ant-killing rampage. Squashing them, poaching them by pouring boiling water onto the anthill outside, and spraying them (Helpful ant-extermination tip: 1 teaspoon rubbing alcohol, 1.5 teaspoons liquid dish soap, and a few cups of water in a spray bottle works just as good as Raid, smells better, and is cheaper, too!). It was satisfying because I felt like I was doing something. But they used that much-lauded industrial nature, and the army kept coming.

For all my bloodlust against the invaders, it didn’t do me much good. For every visible ant I eliminated, there were many, many more I could not see, including the roots of the problem – the nest and the queen. The ants would keep coming and coming unless they were eliminated at the source.

To do get to the nest and queen requires the bait and wait approach. Laying out bait they think is food, but is actually poison, which they carry back to the nest and spread around.

Then you wait.

And you trust the poison will do its job without seeing any results instantly. Which is the problem for an ant-hater like me. I wanted immediate proof. Instead, ironically, I got a lesson in patience from the tiny workaholics.

What problems are you facing that seem to demand a quick response, but actually require a healthy dose of patience? We all want immediate results. The quicker the better, usually. But if we want God’s help to get to the root of the problem, therefore providing a true long-term solution, we’ll just have to exercise some prayer and faith, and wait for Him to work. When we do that, “the end of the matter is better than its beginning” because “patience is better than pride” (Ecclesiastes 7:8).

Vegas

“So, we’re planning on taking Todd’s RV to St. George for some golf on a long weekend down where it’s warm. It’s going to be like a mini retreat. Some fellowship, some study, some reflection, Steve’s bringing his guitar. Just some good Godly time on the road with the group.” My men’s small group had decided to make a road trip for a little getaway. Seven guys, one RV, 780 miles and one God. Those numbers sounded pretty good to me.

During the trip, however, it didn’t take long for God to be pushed aside. The RV became more like a traveling locker room, in language, attitude and smell. After 10 hours on the road and an entire day on the golf course, the supposed focus of our trip – God – had barely been mentioned. That evening, someone hatched an idea to head south to Las Vegas instead of staying in St. George for another golf day. Vegas was so close, so easy to get to, so tempting. But if we hadn’t made the Lord the focus of the trip up to this point, we sure weren’t going to now.

Until, of course, He stepped in.

While making a 50-point turn at a gas station, Todd caught the back corner of his RV on a concrete post, partially tearing the rear wall away from the rest of the vehicle. Daylight shined clearly through three of the four sides along the perimeter, meaning we were stranded until it got fixed. Tempers flared, and frustration boiled over.

God forced us to stop and reconsider why we were supposed to be on this trip. Before the Lord leads us beside quiet waters and restores our soul, He makes us lie down in green pastures (Psalm 23:2-3, my emphasis). Oh, He made us lay down all right, so that we had nowhere to go, no way to get anywhere, and nothing to do, until we asked Him to join us. Our quiet waters and green pastures were outside of an RV repair shop in the middle of the desert. While waiting for the rear end to be re-attached, we finally got together, apologized to each other and to Him, and invited Jesus along for the trip home.

On the way back, we had some fellowship, some reflection, some study, and sang some songs while Steve played guitar, like a mini retreat. Just the way God wanted the trip to be in the first place.

Ringing Rocks

Ever listened to a pile of rocks? Individually, a rock may thud or clicked when struck. But if you put the right pile of rocks together, they can make music in a variety of notes and tones. The Ringing Rocks, near Pipestone Pass east of Butte, not only look different from the other rocks in the area, this jumble of various sized chunks of rock and nooks and cracks and shapes sound different, too. In fact, due to their high iron content, they don’t sound like rocks at all. When struck with a hammer, the rocks in the pile chime and resonate like bells.


Each ringing rock sounds different. The sound varies depending on the rock’s size, and the size of the gaps formed by the other rocks surrounding it. To silence one of the rocks, just isolate it from the pile. Then it sounds like every other rock. No chime. No bell sound. No point in trying to find the right combination to tap out a rockin’ version of Stairway to Heaven, dude.

My Bible study small group bears a striking resemblance to that pile of rocks. As members have come and gone, our backgrounds and life experiences have been widely diverse: plumber, lawyer, engineer, safety professional, human resource manager, analyst, computer geek, politician, electrician, stay-at-home dad, musician, etc. If God had not put us misfits together, most of us may never have crossed paths, let alone unconditionally loved each other.

Over the 11 years the group has been meeting, our diversity has helped us all complement each other. One’s strength helps overcome another’s weakness. One’s experience informs and teaches another. One’s inspiration helps another press on. One’s knowledge expands another’s understanding. Without their support, I am sure someone else would be writing these devotional-like messages each month, not me. The group has helped each of us become better fathers, better husbands, and better Christians so we at least have some idea about how to act and react with the world around us, no matter how tough it gets.

We all need to be part of some kind of group that provides support, insight, warning, correction and encouragement, because “as iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another” (Proverbs 27:17). The Lord did not intend for us to be isolated individuals because a single lump of iron can’t do much. But together, we can start to become formed into who He wants us to be. The right group’s support can even help a seemingly dull, hard, irregular and rock-like individual make beautiful music.

Due Date

With just a snippet of information, I knew the future. Holding the unopened envelope up to the bright sun, two letters written by an ultrasound technician – “rl” – became visible, and just like that, I knew the gender of our baby. My still-pregnant wife questioned what exactly I thought I was doing . . . since I apparently forgot our conversation from several minutes earlier about not finding out the baby’s gender.

Once I glimpsed the contents of the envelope, I knew a daughter was coming into our lives. But precisely when she would arrive remained somewhat of a mystery. Doctors took into account gestational information, used high-tech gadgets to peer into my wife’s womb, listened to the strength of the heartbeat, and then announced the date they predicted our daughter to arrive. But despite all that brain power and technology, any family can tell you how often babies are actually born on their due dates.

Listening to the preacher who emphatically predicted Jesus’s return on May 21, 2011, I couldn’t help but draw parallels. He knew one snippet of information: Jesus is coming back to Earth (Revelation 19, Acts 1:1-11, 1 Thessalonians 4:16). Then using various calculations and estimations, he supposedly peered into the Scriptures and predicted the date Jesus would arrive.

Predicted due dates are notoriously slippery things, gestationally and spiritually. Gestationally, they rarely pinpoint the exact date of birth, often missing the mark by days, weeks, and even months. We had been told throughout our pregnancy to expect a baby in October. Our daughter arrived in August – a month and a half early. And, yes, her abrupt arrival did catch us off guard.

Spiritually, predicting the date of Jesus’s return so slippery, it’s like trying to walk upright using roller skates on a steeply-pitched sheet of smooth ice covered with grease-coated banana peels. “No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Matthew 24:36, my emphasis). Instead of focusing on and trying to figure out the specific date of His return, we are told to continually “be ready, because the son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him” (Matthew 24:44), kind of like a baby abruptly arriving sometime during the last trimester.

Both a baby and Jesus will appear on the scene whenever God determines the time is right according to His master plan, whether or not we have prepared for either event. Based on my experience with our daughter’s birth, it is no coincidence that Paul warns us, “the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night . . . suddenly, as labor pains on a pregnant woman” (1 Thessalonians 5:2-3).

Sidney

Sidney sits in the far eastern edge of Montana, surrounded by wide open, vacant spaces. Its “airport” consists of four walls, a roof, and a waiting area about the size of a large living room. It is the extreme, 180 degree opposite of the enormous, crowded airports I am used to travelling through. Flights depart from Gate 1, a door out to the tarmac. There is no Gate 2.



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Being so used to the bustle of larger airports, it unnerved me to walk in to an airport, no matter how small, and immediately realize I was totally alone. Well, almost alone. I interrupted a woman behind the desk using the telephone. “Hold on,” she murmured into the receiver when she saw me enter, then she called out with a smile, “Hey. You must be Sean.”

Caught off guard, I froze, and looked at her quizzically. People at the check-in counters in airports don’t know my name until I tell them, and they certainly do not act like they knew I was coming.

But this was Sidney. “You’re the only one flying out today. So, you’re the only name on the passenger list.” She laughed and waved me in, like she was welcoming me into a party. “C’mon in!”

Oddly, this woman in the middle of nowhere, whom I had never met before, acted so familiar toward me. She only knew my name and where I was going. But she was welcoming, friendly, and happy to see me.

Imagine the welcoming God will give each of us, since He knows so much more about us, and is intimately familiar with each of us. After all, He says, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you” (Jeremiah 1:5, NIV). Because He made us, He knows intimate details about each of us, like the exact number of hairs on our heads (Matthew 10:30, NIV). To be “known” by God goes far beyond knowing just our names.

But to be known by Him requires something on our part, too: “If one loves God truly [with affectionate reverence, prompt obedience, and grateful recognition of His blessing], he is known by God [recognized as worthy of His intimacy and love, and he is owned by Him]” (1 Corinthians 8:3, AMP).

If we truly love God, He’ll be waiting to greet us. He will have already written our names on His list, allowing us to pass through Gate 1 on our journey to our eternal home.

The Last Mile

I was running out of time and ready to give up. Coasting easily to the finish sounded so tempting, and after 12 miles of a 13 mile race, my legs pleaded to just stop. But that guy several hundred yards in front of me . . . my little competitive voice kept drifting up through the pain: “Go get him.” I had been trailing him for several miles, near the completion of the Missoula Half Marathon. Even if I didn’t pass this guy, I would have been satisfied with my time and effort.


I lost sight of him as he rounded the next corner a block away. Crowd noise and an announcer’s voice wafting through the trees meant the finish line was close. I inhaled deeply and looked down, beginning to accept the fact I would not catch the guy and could coast to the finish.

As I exhaled and looked back up, there on the corner stood a lone woman, clapping.

Now, most spectators along race routes say encouraging, yet banal, things as you run past – “Way to go,” “Nice job,” or “You’re doing great.” This woman, however, made eye direct contact with me as I rounded the corner, cocked her head toward the other guy, and said excitedly, “Oh yeah, I think you got him.”

As I rounded the corner, the guy came into view, no closer than before. But in that instant, I knew the mystery woman was right. With her encouragement, I felt suddenly energized, and began to pick up the pace. The guy got closer and closer and closer as I chased him down, eventually churning past him without letting up until the finish line. I didn’t win the race – not by a long shot – but it sure felt like I had. All it took was a little encouragement.

We feel run down at times. We just get tired. We know plenty of people in the same condition. But targeted and meaningful words, more than the usual trite words, delivered at the right time can be uplifting and invigorating. “Gracious speech is like clover honey – good taste to the soul, quick energy for the body” (Proverbs 16:24, MSG), energy for us all to push on a little farther than we think possible. “Therefore encourage one another and build each other up” (1 Thes. 5:11, NIV) so we can all finish strong together.