This last Saturday evening at Heartland Community Church, Pastor Ed continued his ‘Vitals’ message series with living a life of generosity. He explained that generosity should always be part of our lives and should always be focused on people.

At the beginning of that service I was given a sealed envelope and told that Ed would ask for it at the end of the service. And to their word he did. In the envelope was 5, $20 bills that I could give away anyway I wanted to. It was like I won the lottery!

I had my first opportunity to be generous in the parking lot soon after. Mike White, another husband and wife, and Diane and I were talking when this man walked up and told us the most creative ‘I need gas to get home to Tampa’ story that I’ve heard.

Seems everyone’s home and various seriously ill or dead or dying relatives live either there or in Orlando. Just as I was telling him to meet me at the Shell station next door so I could put $20 worth of gas in his truck, the wife of the other couple took out $20 to give him. He looked and took the money from her while at the same time telling me he didn’t need me to do that.

He hugged and ‘God Blessed’ everyone and walked away. As he got in the truck, his wife waved and they both drove away like they stole it. I watched as the truck sped through the Shell station parking lot and out the other side without stopping for that ‘much needed’ gas.

The generous wife said afterwards, that after hearing Ed’s powerful message she couldn’t help but respond and give. Now I don’t mean to give anyone the impression that I’m critical of her giving spontaneously from her heart…I’m not…I’m just amazed how brazen this man was invoking God’s blessing on everyone while at the same time (in my opinion) stealing from God.

God does give us discernment as well as resources to give. Although he asked for only $20 for gas I most likely would have filled his tank anyway - going the extra mile. He got exactly what he asked for and nothing more and at the same time missed an opportunity to be blessed over and above.

Moral of the story: Satan always wants to stiffen the generosity of God’s people.

After the ‘close encounter of the huckster kind’ Saturday evening, I wondered just how to approach Ed’s challenge. Maybe the main idea was to be thoughtful, kind, and generous while seasoning everyone’s life with God’s love.

So I began thinking about different places I could go to bless people and successfully complete my assigned mission. Gas stations, convenience stores, McDonald’s, Wendy’s, and Wal-Mart were all possibilities. But the more I thought about it, hanging out at these places watching people would make me look more like a stalker than a benevolent angel. I quickly dismissed that plan.

Now there’s nothing wrong with picking up other folk’s tabs but I wanted to do something different. I wanted to find someone that needed help. But how would I know who? And what does ‘need’ really look like? Does need look elderly? Is it poorly dressed? Or is it lonely, feeble, or sickly? How would I know?

While riding to work Monday morning I thought of all the kids I see everyday at my school that have that ‘look’. I can see it in their eyes, the worry, the weariness, the way they carry themselves, and how they try to look the best they can with what they have. Maybe this is what I needed to do…touch a young life.

Later that morning I spoke with our school social worker Carol and asked if there was any student that needed help. She mentioned a 10^th grade boy by the name of Cody. His family was struggling just to survive. In fact she had just gotten off the phone with his mother who needed help with (you won’t believe this) gas for their vehicle and generator.

This family of 4 lives in a travel trailer in a remote public park east of River Ranch. Since there is no electricity, the generator is their only source of power. They are afraid to run the AC for fear of burning up the generator. The dad is unable to work and is recovering from his 2nd colon cancer surgery (he has stage 4 cancer) and the mom (with a herniated disk) is taking care of him. The only source of income is their 2 son’s social security payments and a minimum amount from Medicaid.

As I was deciding what to do I could hear my father say “Now Gary, don’t spend it all in one place.” but once hearing the story I knew what I needed to do.

Carol had just put a little money in an envelope and was going to give it to Cody later. I opened my wallet and handed her all of the money. She looked at me and said that this had to be a ‘God thing’. Me just walking in and giving wasn’t a coincidence.

I then explained why I gave. Not only did I get to help someone but I got a blessing too.

Now the story doesn’t end there. That evening at our Heartgroup I shared about the family. As Diane and I were leaving someone handed me $70 for Cody’s family. Tuesday morning I gave the money to Carol and she was just amazed at the generosity of our church and Heartgroup. She didn’t get to see Cody that day so she put it away.

Wednesday morning Carol came to my office to share with me what was going on with Cody’s family and asked me if I minded helping another family out with the money I gave her Tuesday. She explained that a young man was working everyday after school and weekends to provide for his mother and brothers and sisters. And of course I said yes (sorry Dad).

Sometimes if we just take time to look around us, we’ll always find someone in need of a helping hand. And out of our generosity we will surely be blessed.

Even though distance and time may separate us, I will always keep him close to my heart…on his journey to become a man he has made me laugh, made me proud, left me frustrated, and on a few occasions, made me cry…but that’s what comes with being a Dad…as the years go by we are becoming more like good friends than father and son…he is a gift from God that I have been blessed with. And as the years rapidly pass me by I am becoming more the child and he more the parent.

“Time is relevant only if you count in the smallest indicator that represents its passage.”

Gary Michael LaSpina, 9/28/11
A thought on the passing of time while sending birthday wishes to a young friend.

“Whatever your life’s desires are, make sure you strive to fulfill them with all the passion and intensity that’s within you so that others will have no doubt where your dreams are taking you.” 

Gary Michael LaSpina, 11/21/11

These series of stories aren’t about me finding religion. It’s about me getting lost looking for my destiny and discovering after 7 years that my destiny actually had instead found me. It’s about my life as I remember it. Time may have blurred some of the details but it hasn’t taken away the experiences, the emotions I felt, and the reasons why they changed me. Most of the names have been changed but they were real people. A word of caution: I speak rather frankly at times.

I need to say this first so you don’t get the wrong idea. I was raised right by my Dad and Mom. They set the example for me as best they could everyday and brought me to church with them every Sunday. They made sure I participated in all church youth activities. I did have a conversion experience when I was 12. And looking back on that experience it was just as real then as it is now. But something happened… Here is my journey as I remember it…

Part 2 – losing my way

Have you ever lost your way? You’re headed somewhere that you’ve never been before. The directions you’ve been given aren’t very clear. Your Tom-Tom is sounding more like a bad Waka Flocka Flame song (is there a good one?) and makes about the same sense. Your phone’s GPS doesn’t work because NASA in their infinite wisdom decided that satellites didn’t need to cover the area you’re in because no one ever goes there. You miss a turn and find yourself in a neighborhood that only Chuck Norris would drive through. So your first thought is to drive faster because you know that the faster you go the less lost you’ll be. But the only thing that’s happening is you’re getting so deep into enemy territory that only a black ops team will be able to find and extract you.

Did that ever happen to you? It did me… I was 16, a senior in high school, and trapped between being a boy and a man. The draft and Viet Nam were waiting for me as soon as I graduated. My draft number was so low that I was a guaranteed that I’d get to travel to foreign lands, meet new and interesting people, and kill them. And to be honest with you, I was scared shitless that in less than a year I’d be spending Christmas walking through rice paddies in Viet Nam.

And with all that on my mind I was still trying to figure out who in the hell I was and where in the hell I was headed. I was riding that emotional roller coaster just about every day…wanting to get out of school but scared about what was waiting for me. My biggest decisions I ever made was finding someone stupid enough to buy me booze for the weekend, where I was going to hide it once I got it, and how drunk I was going to get.

I wanted to get away from my parents and get a place of my own. I was tired of being told what to do, when to be home and who I could hang out with… but had no money to make the change. I had doubts about everything and was really confused. The only plan I had working was avoiding Viet Nam by joining the Air Force. And did I say have a good time getting drunk? I was lost…but would get even further lost before I found my way again 7 years later.

- 16

I was very shy and quiet around most people growing up and had only a few friends in school that I hung out with. As most teens do I began to take on their personalities and do the same things they did so they would accept me.  You know the gig; cussing, talking about getting laid, and drinking.

Cussing did come easy for me and at the time was kind of fun trying to come up with the proper, more colorful adjectives, saying them with the right timing, and of course ensuring their proper placement in a sentence for it to make sense and sound cool. It seemed almost daily that my cussing would draw unwanted attention from the enemy and garnered plenty of cynical remarks about having a poor vocabulary. And these comments usually came from those who took the art of cussing to a whole new level.

The getting laid part never seemed to work out either. I wish I could say it was because of strong moral and religious beliefs. It wasn’t. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to. There were several reasons that contributed to my virgin state; one about the act itself and my complete lack of experience, another about the possibilities of getting her pregnant and finally the obligatory, unsolicited comments of my mother telling me what kind of diseases I could get that would result in my private parts falling off, didn’t spur me on to fulfill my sexual desires either…so go figure.  My ‘friends’ and others referring to me as the virgin Gary didn’t make me feel any better about my lack of sexual prowess or improve my self-esteem. Looking back now I’m very confident that most of the comments like that came from those who only drooled over naked women in magazines while they fantasized and touched themselves.

I did become very good at drinking though. At only 114 pounds I was a cheap drunk since it didn’t take much for me to get wasted. Alcohol in any form became my drug of choice. Doing dope wasn’t an option. Especially in Fort Meade during 1968 and 1969 only the hippies did that. Dope was mainly part of the college scene. It wasn’t until years later that I smoked the noble weed.

At the beginning of my senior year I started drinking only on Saturday nights but going into the last half I progressed to getting drunk every Friday and Saturday night, as long as I could find someone to buy it for me. And by the way it wasn’t to be social. I didn’t sit around with my friends and talk about how hard acquiring knowledge was at school that week, or who really shot JFK, or the moral quandary of going to fight in Viet Nam. My goal was to get as messed up as possible. And I accomplished that quiet well every weekend sitting in the middle of a cow pasture, listening to great music playing on my 8 track player, blasting from the Craig speakers in our car doors; music like Credence Clearwater Revival, Steppenwolf, Three Dog Night, Chicago, Blood, Sweat, and Tears, Grand Funk Railroad, The Rascals, and Tommy James and the Shondells. And if we would have ever been honest with ourselves, it was nothing more than a way for us to forget… forget about our insecurities… our fears… and our troubles. Even if it was just for that one night, we could become something that we weren’t, boys with smooth moves and all the right answers.

I continued to get further lost into the party scene throughout high school and into college. Well, party probably isn’t the best description because a party consists of more than one person. I gave a whole new meaning to George Thorogood’s, I Drink Alone. A majority of my partying was done just driving around town and drinking… alone. Most of my Friday and Saturday nights ended up the same way. Drunk. Now I didn’t always mean to, all I wanted was just a buzz. That’s the way I started but I couldn’t stop. One drink always led to another.

My normal Friday and Saturday nights were pretty consistent. I would head out just around dark, usually 7pm. Drive to Barnett’s Gulf (where the Sunoco is now), get a small bottled Coke from the vending machine, pour out about a third, and top it off with my favorite, Seagrams Canadian Mist blended whiskey. I’d crank up my 8 track tape of Credence or Grand Funk and drive around town drinking my g-spot cocktail, making the Fort Meade social loop (Broadway to Edgewood to 9^th to Charleston and back to Broadway) with the occasional drive throughs of the Miner’s Den Drive-in, and maybe a short stop or two at Barnett’s Gulf or Langston’s Standard if anyone was sitting there. About 2 passes around the loop and I’d stop again for another Coke. Each time I was pouring out more Coke and topping it off with even more Seagrams. It wasn’t unusual for me to finish off a fifth by myself each night.

Now going home was always the greatest challenge. It ranked right up there with trying to find someone to buy me booze. My parents didn’t give me a key to the house until I was in college. Until then I would have to go around the house to their bedroom window and knock for someone to let me in. Dad never got up. I guess he knew what was going on but never said anything. Mom would open the door just wide enough for me to slide in sideways by her. I could hear her sniffing as I slid by trying to catch the smell of alcohol or marijuana. I was always guilty on the alcohol but the only thing I smoked was Marlboro menthol cigarettes. Sometimes she’d ask if I’d been smoking and I would lie and say that I was around someone who was. I guess the smoke masked the booze.

After passing through Mom’s sobriety gauntlet, I had to go through the obstacle course of the living room that always seemed to change from the time I left to go out. Mom would always move the ottomans out into the middle of the living room for me to navigate around. It was always a challenge but each time I managed to make it to my bedroom with only minor difficulties (that I can remember).

My bedroom was just down a very short hallway from my parent’s room with a small bathroom in between. I tell you that because I always would get so sick when I would lie down. The bed would begin to spin and I would get up as quick as I could to keep from throwing up. The first time I got sick I tried making to the bathroom toilet. As I got the bathroom door I projected the entire contents of my stomach in the general direction of the toilet, key word - general. I thought I’d cleaned up everything but between gagging and still being drunk I didn’t quiet clean up everything. Mom came and woke me up and asked what had happened. I lied of course and said it was some bad tomatoes I had on a hamburger. Not quite sure she believed me.

Our house had old ballast windows with wooden framed screens with latches on them. So from that point on, whenever I’d go out, I would always open the window a couple of inches and unlatch the screen by the closest window to my bed. That way, when I felt sick, I could stick my head out and throw-up. Usually during this time of involuntary purging I would always say, “God, if you get me through this and allow me to live I won’t ever do this again!” well…at least until I felt better and usually just in time for the weekend.

I didn’t always drink alone or just whiskey. When drinking with ‘friends’ it was either beer or wine. I became quite a coinsurer of the finer wines like the ones from the Boones Farm wine cellar - Strawberry Hill and Wild Mountain, Mad Dog (Mogan-David) 20/20, Thunderbird, and of course the ever popular Ripple. There were the occasional group parties out on Story Road east of town at the McDaniel’s house, the Cow Pens on Keller Road, and at an old house south on the Old Bowling Green Road.

Most parties were BYOB but on occasion someone would provide a community keg of beer or a trash can full of what we called Planter’s Punch but what I would respectfully begin calling it after one eventful night, thunder juice.  Take one new steel trash can (not galvanized), pour in several fifths of 190 proof Everclear grain alcohol and several cans of different fruit juices, add to that some cut up oranges and grapefruit and voila! Planter’s Punch. Not every batch was ever mixed the same. Some nights it would be just a little bit stronger than other nights. It just so happens that this one night was that night that it was extra special.

After several cups of this sweet but potent magnificent nectar, I noticed my face was slowly becoming numb. My internal gyro started slowing down causing my legs to say to the rest of my body, ‘you’re on your own.’ I tried to lean against an oak tree to steady my balance but misjudged the distance. Luckily I managed to break the fall with my face, glancing off the tree, and ending up lying on the ground staring up at the night sky. It felt so good and was so cool down there. But all good things must come to an end and the stars began to spin. I needed to get up or throw up. I not sure how but someone must have helped me up and leaned me against the tree. I needed to go home but couldn’t remember where I had parked my car. And as always no one cared how or if I got home. Remembering that I parked in the nearby grove and began my quest to find it.

My attempt at walking was more of a controlled fall in the direction I was trying to go. With that reality in mind, I immediately concluded that most of my basic motor skills were gone. I’d walk a step or two, stop and let my head catch up with the rest of my body before I’d try again. With my vision at best blurry, finding my white ’64 Chevy Bel-Air in the orange grove became a struggle as the ground came up to meet each of my steps.

Orange trees suddenly appeared, blocking my path with their sharp pointed branches, stabbing me as I fell through them. I finally decided that the only one that could find my car was God and began begging Him to help me. He must have been playing with me because it seemed like forever before I finally got to it. I hugged my car like it was the girl friend I didn’t have. It must be true that God looks after drunks and fools because somehow I managed to make it home.

I parked the car in the front yard and stumbled to Mom & Dad’s bedroom window and knocked to wake someone up to let me in. Tonight was especially tricky for me because I could barely stand up.

I held my breath, as I slid my massive 114 pound frame through the gaping 12” door opening while Mom used her nose as a breathalyzer and smoke detector. Managing that successfully, I now moved onto the living room with the ever changing labyrinth of ottomans. Using my keenly impaired navigational skills I managed to conquer the ‘gottcha room’ of doom. Saying good night and I love you, I quickly went into my bedroom and shut the door.

Mom sometimes would come to my door and stand. With wooden floors in a wood frame house you couldn’t sneak around so I knew when she was there. I guess she was listening for any unusual noises, like me stumbling around or throwing up. I waited until I heard her go into her bedroom and after hearing the door shut, I began getting undressed. If there had been a camera videoing, it would have looked like I was removing my clothes in slow motion. (Trust me there’s nothing sexy about a drunk getting undressed.) Any sudden jerking of clothes made me lose my balance. Finally undressed I realized that if I lay down on the bed too quick it would begin spinning, so I attempted a slow decent onto the bed. Of course that was a failure and I collapsed onto the bed. For just a brief moment I felt fine but that quickly changed to nausea and impending doom. I quickly rushed to the west window which was closest to the bed, raised it up, pushed open the screen, and the purging of alcohol from my stomach started. I immediately began my heavenly petitions as I always seemed to do every weekend, “God, if you get me through this and allow me to live I won’t ever do this again!” He always answered that prayer but I couldn’t seem to ever uphold my part of the bargain.

To be continued… next, issues

We can’t change what has already been ‘shot’ and ‘in the can’, but with each new day that God gives us, we get one more chance for another ‘do over’… maybe this time we can get it right on the first take…

- gary laspina

As I wrote this, I had been more than a little hesitant to post it wondering how it would be received. Some will say that I’ve said too much by not saying enough… I know that doesn’t make much since but many of the adults I deal with are like that… I’ve heard over the last several years too much misinformation about sex so I’ve decided to take a different approach… so please hear me out…

The other day I heard one of the best discussions about sex between a father and his son. It was on a show and it sparked my interest to the point I felt that I needed to share these thoughts. This discussion validated everything I’ve said in the past and that many of you have heard me say. The father didn’t bring out the scriptures and talk about sin, but regardless it was some of the best advice that I have recently heard that wasn’t condemning and worthy of placing a Scarlet ’F’ on someone’s forehead. It was just practical advice…something worth listening to.

I’ve paraphrased much of the discussion but this is the main idea. He explained to his son that for most guys sex is something that they always want to do because it’s fun and feels good. There isn’t much thought about emotions felt by them or how the other person feels inside. Women are different because they go beyond the physical. For them it’s about intimacy; the total giving of themselves; the emotion called love.

The father continued. If you allow it, intimacy will expose you; it will make you more vulnerable. Lots of guys have gotten way too involved with girls who said it was alright with them just to have sex; if you will recreational sex. Suddenly the roles are reversed and the girl has taken on the attitude what many guys have. And the guys can’t handle the rejection or the competition.

Are you surprised or do you recognize these feelings or situations? I’d be willing to say for most the later is true, that we’ve had or are having these feelings, been or are presently in these situations. I’m not condemning, just an observation. I’ve been at these points in my life also.

I’ve heard a lot of talk over the years by teens and young adults about their (supposed) conquests. Every one of them has said that they’ll settle down one day with the ‘right’ woman or man. The problem is when you have the idea that sex is just sex and nothing more, it will become too easy to justify. Once you start doing it you’re not going to want to stop. It then becomes nothing more than the pursuit and conquest.

I was talking to a young man in his late twenties a few months ago and he confided in me something a little surprising. He said that he has had many women. The more he had the more he wanted. It became nothing more than something to do and it had become boring to him and he needed to find one woman.

For sex to have meaning it should be used to be intimate with someone; to connect with that special someone and go much deeper into the relationship. It should never be taken lightly. And it should only be with someone that you care deeply about and that they feel the same about you.

The most important thing to remember is not to throw yourself at anybody that you think will have you or that you think loves you. Know that they love you. Don’t use sex as a way to get someone or even worse, keep someone from leaving you.

By now you want to know when should I have sex? The possible consequences you already know. It’s not the unpardonable sin to have sex before marriage - some think it is. Should you wait for marriage? Still more will say that’s the best choice. I’ll say that the possibility that you’ll get caught up in the heat of the moment and passion will take control is a strong possibility. Especially if both of you don’t have an escape plan - mutally setting limits before you’ve gone to far and respecting each others decision to stop.

So after saying all that I have, my best advice to you on romance, passion, and sex is this. Always guard and protect the passions of your heart by first focusing on romance. The chase is far more fun and exciting than the sex. Yes, it’s enjoyable and fun but those feelings won’t last. A relationship built by romancing your love will last while one built on sex won’t.

Having sex and making love are two different things. Just having sex is a selfish act, caring more about your personal pleasure. Making love is more intimate and personal where both care about pleasing each other. You may think you know a lot about sex, but you need to know a lot more about romance.

Finally, you’ll both know when it’s the right time for the intimacy of making love and it will be truly special and mean something.

Morris Albert’s song ‘Feelings’ seems to always come to my mind when I begin talking to someone about what it signifies – “Feelings, nothing more than feelings… Feelings, for all my life I’ll feel it… Feelings, wo-o-o feelings…” Of course he was singing about love lost but actually I believe it can apply to almost every life experience we have.

Webster defines a feeling as a consciousness or vague awareness; an emotion or emotional perception or attitude; a capacity for emotion, especially compassion; a sentiment; attitude; opinion.

If you notice Webster doesn’t mention anything about feelings being based on logic or reality or even faith.

Our life is constantly being shaped by experiences. We are in a constant state of flux all our lives. These experiences we have produce feelings. Feelings about those experiences shape future decisions. So I ask this question: Are feelings an emotion shaped by experiences or are our experiences shaped by emotion?

My 17 years of Methodist upbringing plus my attending Baptist churches since I was a senior in high school has shaped (some may say warped) my belief system.

I believe that most evangelical Christians live with some form of guilt that they aren’t doing enough for the cause of Christ. The stress can be self imposed but it usually results from what one hears every Sunday from the pulpit. Pastors tell their congregations that if they just did more of everything that they are preaching about, the church would be full and larger ones would need to be built to hold everybody.

 In some churches most but not all sermons require the hearer to have a greater level of service; more witnessing at work or school; more door to door witnessing; more time reading and studying the Bible (can always do more); more acts of service; and of course more monetary giving (20% usually give 80% of the budget). If the hearer would do all of these things then joy and peace would come but what happens many times discouragement not joy comes. They discover that there isn’t enough time to accomplish all of what they’ve heard. There needs to be time for them and their families.

I’ve felt more stress being associated with evangelical churches than when I was in the military. You expect their demands and expectations. At church you go expecting to receive renewing, refreshment, and encouragement but instead (in many churches) you receive a list of don’ts; lists of what you’re not doing; and lists of what you should be doing to correct the first two.

It’s like I’ve been a contestant on a TV game show called “What can I do without committing a local church sin”. The rules of the game seem to change from one church to another. The list of things some churches consider sinful sound like a list used during the Inquisition by the Grand Inquisitor. It would be one thing if the church leadership stuck to what is in the Bible but many times the extra lists are their interpretations.

Since sin is regional, only certain ones are stressed from the pulpit. For instance churches along beaches rarely condemn the clothing style or how little you wear, while many churches away from the beach make extreme modesty rules. In my almost 4 years living in North Carolina, where tobacco is grown, I never heard any sermon against smoking, chewing, or dipping. And I can only presume that around the 24 different cities and communities in Kentucky and Tennessee where each produce their own blend of whiskey will one hear strong condemnation about drinking of alcohol since a good number of their congregation most likely work at the local distillery or depend on it for their jobs. But what you eat, read, watch on TV or see at the movies, or even word choice (just who decided what was a dirty word anyway? …just askin’) will receive equal condemnation by saying they are ‘rightly dividing the truth’.

Now after saying this you may think that I’m bitter. I’m not really. I’m just more aware of who I am, how far I’ve come, and where I’m headed.  The church that we are attending now doesn’t resemble the church descriptions I’ve given above. We receive a balance of encouragement (what we’re doing right), reproof (what we aren’t doing right), and instruction (the how to do it right).  I’m just concerned about those who seem to blindly trust church leaders who say if you question a pastor then you’re opposing God’s servant’s leadership and judgment which will (in their opinion) cause division in the church and it’s a sin to do so.

I’ve further addressed worship style preferences and why many churches congregations are in decline in a past blog of mine called ‘What is Worship’. It can be read at http://mrgary.tumblr.com/what_is_worship.

This long preface leads up to my Facebook post that a friend wrote to me about…

My life is at the point of absurdity. I have no semblance of a balanced life. On the scale’s left side is ‘what is expected of me’ and on the scale’s right side is ‘what I can actually do’. No matter how hard I try it’s never enough to balance the scale. I can’t ever get it right nor do enough. At times it sucks being me. Not depressed just frustrated - my lot in life at least for now - but it’s all fixin’ to change.

He responded…
Your post sounded like textbook performance orientation. That road led me to despair. Performance orientation at best will lead us to the end of ourselves, and most of us need to arrive at that spot in order to experience something better.

And I replied…
Then I must have arrived too…as I said, not depressed but frustrated and should have added disappointed, in myself but more in others I trusted. My sudden revelation of things that has happened… guess I’ve been too trusting as always but that’s because I’ve a servant’s heart (so I’ve been told)… but regardless of these trivial facts, God’s still in control… prodding me in a different direction… my future looks extremely bright, promising, and exciting…

After 24 years in the military, I became use to the daily high performance expectations. I strived to give everything my all and thrived on the pressures that it brought not realizing the level of stress I was under until after retiring. It was extremely difficult not to continue. I’ve always had a servant’s heart which I would say exponentially increased the need to produce a high quality product. So most of the stress was and is now, to a point, self imposed. Being successful in producing the very best brought euphoric feelings. Sometimes, depending on the amount of effort put into the project, at the conclusion, and out of exhaustion, I would have a few days of mild depression. And then it was on to the next big thing.

Now translate this to the Christian walk. The book of James mentions that works is proof of real faith not the normal ‘sit and soak’ faith. So how do you define works? Is it just witnessing? Or is it tithing? Could it be doing good deeds? And if all of these are, just to what lengths do we go? Do we spend every waking moment telling everyone we meet of Christ? Do we go beyond the 10% of the tithe? Is that proof of faith? Do we constantly look for ways to do things for others? Or should we pick just one and concentrate all our energies on it? Will doing one or more of these give us a feeling of accomplishment of service and bring joy?

Some pastors in their zeal to proclaim the gospel unwittingly make true joyous salvation unattainable or make it a tremendous burden or both. They’re quick to point out sin (real or perceived) but slow to point out their congregation’s spiritual growth and their accomplishments. There has to be a balance. I’ve always encouraged pastors if they are preaching in an expository manner that there should always be a practical application for today. If not, they’re not equipping their congregation for ‘good works’ and wasting not only their time but their congregations.

Until recently, one of my friends pastor was preaching every Sunday like the entire congregation needed to be resaved. They just weren’t doing enough for Jesus. Not enough proof of their salvation (perception – not enough works). My friend felt that he wasn’t really saved, couldn’t remember any works he had done lately and went after church to talk to the pastor. Of course the pastor eventually led him through the ‘sinner’s prayer’ and as far as the pastor was concerned he was now ‘truly’ saved. Of course the pastor put a stipulation that he should come forward the following Sunday and make it public with the unspoken inference, “if you won’t profess Jesus publicly, He won’t acknowledge you to the Father which is in heaven.”

Now I knew of his earlier salvation experience when he was young.  I reminded him of that experience and about his works of service he had done since like summer mission trips, yearly vacation bible schools, and his other services to the church. I explained what he was looking for was that ‘feeling’ he had when he first was saved. He didn’t need to be resaved just rededicate. But to be honest with you he didn’t need that. He just needed to be reminded that he was doing those things already, to be encouraged; he didn’t get that out of the sermon. I gave him several scripture verses and explanation about what they meant to include the setting of the scripture verses part of what we talked about can be found at http://mrgary.tumblr.com/walk_aisle. He was pursuing the feeling that the pastor said he must have.

And that may have been unintentional. I guess it’s just his style – don’t like it though because to me it’s manipulative and produces temporary Christians like the seeds in the parable of the Sower: Some fell on stony places, where they did not have much earth; they immediately sprang up because they had no depth of earth. But when the sun was up they were scorched, and because they had no root they withered away.

For some reason grace is spoken of as some mystical thing that’s hard to understand or grasp. I understand grace because I live under that every day. All Christians do. Without grace we have no salvation. Sanctification is simply dedication to God. Justification is a belief in Jesus and His act of sacrifice that removed our sins from God’s sight. Why is that so difficult? All it takes is a little faith. I wish that message wouldn’t be complicated by using seminary mumbo-jumbo theology and personal convictions that aren’t even addressed in the Bible. Stick to what’s there.
 
We all want to feel something. That something makes us alive, wanted, needed, and loved. But pursuing and doing things for God based on just our feelings is not rational and would be destructive.

If I had blamed God for my father’s death due to cancer then my ‘feelings’ towards God would be very negative most likely to the point of hate. If I had loved God only because Dad’s cancer went in to remission for almost a year, how would I have felt about Him when the cancer returned and he eventually died, my feelings towards God would also have turned to hate.

Feelings about anything is a human trait. There is no way around it. We’re not Vulcans where logic and rational reign supreme.

As far as the heart is concerned, over the years I have discovered that the heart is deceptive much of the time while the mind tries to rationalize too often what the heart is feeling.

You see, the heart is a window into our mind. We allow many things to shape our thoughts by what is seen through our heart. We love or hate with the heart while our mind tells us just how much and why we do. Our mind tries to rationalize these feelings based on past experiences and future hopes.

To fear to feel is just as destructive as striving to produce feelings about God (or anyone else) by doing things to please Him. My son John-Michael posted something on Facebook the other day that I thought was a unique insight: You can convince yourself you are in love… Sorry it’s there or it isn’t. No matter how persistent your status updates are; interpreted: ‘just because you post many times that you love someone doesn’t make it so’. That’s the problem with works. It can be so easily confused with salvation. To get that feeling is almost like taking a drug. You feel that you have to do even more to please Him when all He really wants is for us to love Him, love our selves and others who He has also created ‘for good works’. …if we could just get that right.

Just as the Army taught me to give my all, my very life to accomplish any mission, God has asked me to do the same. He has given me a wife and a son who I deeply love more than anything else. He has also given me an extended family of students whom I love as if they were my very own. They have been my ‘next big thing’. They are my responsibility. Yes I have strong feelings for them and can truly say that I love them. They’re my mission for now. It’s going to change somewhat in June but my feelings for them won’t.

I doubt that I’ll ever completely come off of the ‘feel good’ drug. I am wired this way and have known that since I was very young. But I’m trying hard to control its use. I’m learning how to prioritize my life and say no. Sometimes…

Many times the Big Picture eludes us. Mainly because we have just a small screen to look at. We need to move the camera around to see more of what is out there. We need to expand our world a little at a time until we like what we see, then get a larger screen, continuously moving the camera around to see even more than before. We never need to be completely satisfied. If we do then we’ll never be all God has intended for us to be. Now this may sound contradictory to what I’ve said but the Apostle Paul wrote that in what ever condition he found himself in, he was determined to be content. He was…at least for a while… Live long, Laugh lots, Love much…