It all started with that 55-mph speed limit. In the mid-1970s, Americans traded in their muscle cars for Toyotas and slowed down.
But a certain segment of the population balked. These people were paid to transport goods to their destinations in a timely manner, and felt that the new speed limits were doing considerable harm to their livelihood. So they started working together to cover each other’s back.
This created a fad that spawned a counterculture, complete with its own lingo, music, and personal identities. Everybody, it seemed, rushed out to get a CB radio.
Once the stuff of rescue workers, hobbyists, and the like, citizens-band radios became standard equipment in many vehicles. Gone were the official call-letters used by the “legal eagles” who actually paid for a license to use the things (KFN 0508, if you even remotely care what ours was). Everybody used a “handle.”
A handle was a nickname you gave yourself so that people could “grab hold” of you by saying something along the lines of, “Break, one-nine. How ‘bout that Blue Goose? You got your ears on”? And you, assuming that was your handle, would reply something like, “Ten-four, good buddy.”
No, children, I’m not making this up.
CBs, for the most part, have gone the way of the 55-mph speed limit, though our trucker friends still use them. But you still have a handle – a unique identity by which you can be “grabbed.” [click to continue…]
I have a friend who used to say, every time somebody asked how he was, “It’s a good day to be dead.”
No, he was not a Klingon, or a descendent of Crazy Horse. He was actually referring to one of the most revolutionary truths in the Christian life. And truth be told, he wouldn’t just stop with the whole dead thing. He’d say, “It’s a good day to be dead, and alive in Christ.”
The truth to which he was referring is expressed most succinctly in Galatians 2:20. Here’s how the New Century Version translates it:
I was put to death on the cross with Christ, and I do not live anymore — it is Christ who lives in me. I still live in my body, but I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself to save me.
The implications of Paul’s simple declaration are profound. It tells me what I have received in order to live victoriously in this life, and to fulfill my purpose for which God created me and saved me.
I have received the life of Christ (“Christ lives in me”).
I have received Christ’s faith (“the faith of the Son of God” – a possible translation).
And I have received Christ’s self-giving love.
There is no situation, no bondage, no need for transformation, no frustration, no failure that the life, the love, and the faith of Jesus in me cannot respond to with power. And the same is true for you, assuming you have trusted Christ as your Lord and Savior.
Jugglers fascinate me. Not the run-of-mill, three-balls-in-the-air type, but the ones I call the Master Jugglers. I love the guys or gals who can toss torches, chainsaws, balls and small animals all at the same time. Well, maybe not the small animals part, but you get the point.
In a sense, we’re all jugglers. Only, instead of swords or bowling pins, we juggle life. And that’s who this article is for – the jugglers. For the ones who have multiple “balls” in the air – time balls, relationship balls, money balls, even ambition balls. Every one claims to be a priority. Every one demands attention, and often wants it now. In the middle of all that, you and I have a choice: Handle them – or they will handle you.
In order to successfully juggle rather than being tossed around yourself, there are four issues you will need to settle: [click to continue…]
The boys of summer are back. You’ll find them hanging out in Florida and Arizona ballparks, getting those winter cobwebs cleared out, and setting out to prove they’re worth all that money (or should be paid all that money).
But while it still has to be worked out on the field, and the first word to start the proceedings is still, “Play,” make no mistake about it. The 2010 version of this game got started as soon as Mark Teixeira caught the last out of the ’09 World Series. And it was all business. That game is played by General Managers on telephones and at conference hotels and in corporate offices throughout North America and, in some cases, in island Caribbean nations or the Pacific Rim.
They were about the business of building a team. And not just for 2010.
Your payroll may be slightly less and your personnel decision may not involve as many people. But wherever you connect with others to get things done, you or somebody is building a team. And the decisions you make today can affect the quality of your team(s) for years to come.
Just ask Bobby Cox, who is retiring this year after 50 years in the game. Cox has the distinction of hiring his own boss as the GM of the Atlanta Braves and “demoting” himself back to the field manager in 1991. Between him and John Schuerholz, the Braves reeled off 14 consecutive division titles – a feat unmatched in professional sports anywhere.
So what can we learn from the likes of Cox/Schuerholz, or the New York Yankees, who won their 27th World Series title last year? [click to continue…]
In the previous post I introduced you to The Law of the Nail. A corollary to the Law of the Hammer (“If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail”), the Law of the Nail says,
If you are a nail, and especially if you’ve been pounded a time or two, everything (and everybody) looks like a hammer.
That’s even true when you’re a light bulb, not a hammer. Just watch the video:
Everybody gets banged up by people or by life sooner or later. But sometimes we are faced with situations in which we must work with, lead, or love people who, in nail terminology, are really bent up.
Because you are on the same planet, much less in the same building or room, they don’t trust you. Doesn’t matter whether you have earned their mistrust or not. They perceive, speak, and reason through their woundedness. And as far as they’re concerned, you’re just another hammer, waiting for your chance to pound away at them.
So what do you do with these people? Make their fears come true? Write them off? Get offended? Ignore them?
I’d like to suggest that you have an opportunity to both get the job done (whatever “the job” is) and be an instrument of healing. Here are some ideas: [click to continue…]
In the last post I shared some ideas based on the experience of a prophet in the Bible named Elijah about what to do when we try to draw from familiar sources of support, provision (income), encouragement, or direction – only to find that they simply aren’t there anymore. In the two days since then, I have talked to
a man who needed counsel and didn’t have a pastor,
a missionary who has seen a significant decrease in support,
a former lay leader in churches who is struggling to find a church home,
a pastor whose congregation is struggling both financially and in attendance,
a student whose marriage engagement has broken off,
a church member in another city whose pastor was terminated, then abruptly died.
What they all have in common – in the language of Elijah’s experience, their “brooks have dried up.”
I fully expect that nearly half the conversations I have tomorrow will be in the same vein.
It could alter traffic, change work schedules, and send us into bone-chilled terror. When we weren’t busting out laughing.
I’m talking about “The Look.”
Mama copped to it – even called it “The JoAnne Look.”
My most recent encounter with it came last October when we were sitting in the lobby of Providence Hospital waiting for my dad to get a test. Secluded in a waiting area, we could hear somebody on the other side setting up some sort of display by dragging eight-foot tables with an annoying racket. Especially annoying if you had a bad headache, as Mama did.
You read it right. I need to be saved. Not in the sense we church folk usually toss the word around, but I need it nonetheless.
Yes, I have repented of my sins, and I have trusted Christ as my Lord. I know I’m going to heaven and that I’m a child of God, a joint heir with Jesus Christ. But more than ever, I need the wholeness, the deliverance, and the healing that only He can offer. I need to be saved.
Salvation is a three‑faced experience. I have been saved; I am being saved; I will be saved. Past, present, and future. The Bible words: justification, sanctification, glorification. All of this is possible through the sacrifice of Christ on the cross and His victorious resurrection. And all of it comes as a package deal.
Sometimes we get the idea that we can be justified (forgiven of our sins) and glorified (taken to heaven) and bypass the sanctification (being conformed into Christ’s image). But the fact is, there is no salvation without sanctification. If you see no evidence of the Holy Spirit transforming you into the image of Jesus, you’d best check out whatever it is you call your “profession of faith.”
It’s an old cliche, usually relegated to church bulletin boards and refrigerator magnets. But the truth is still painfully real: “Seven days without prayer makes one weak.” But if you think that’s bad, try seven weeks. Or seven months. Or… you guessed it, seven years.
Moreover, what’s true for individuals is also true for fellowships and churches. Jesus addressed a group of spiritually-bankrupt church leaders with these blistering words: “My Father’s house shall be called a house of prayer. But you have made it a den of thieves.” I want to suggest that when we cease to make the Father’s house a place of prayer, it will become a den of thieves by default.
Today I give up my small ambitions.
I will give thanks for the pleasures God has designed for me to enjoy,
But no longer will I allow my life to be driven by the pursuit of pleasure.
I will no longer sacrifice joy on the altar of happiness.
I will never again measure my success by my ability to escape pain.
Today I give up my small ambitions.
I will give thanks for the material blessings God entrusts to me,
But no longer will I associate money with happiness.
Never again will I believe the lie that gain is godliness,
Or that my worth is measured by what I own.
From this day forward, I will use things and love people,
Not the other way around.
Today I give up my small ambitions.
I will give thanks to God for the ways
I can be a blessing to others.
I will accept with humility
The words of gratitude and honor I receive from others.
But I will never again live to please other men.
Today I choose to get off the pedestal,
Knowing that I don’t have to live in the gutter to do so.
I will find my honor in being no more than a man,
But no less than a child of God.
Today I give up my small ambitions.
And instead, I reach for the stars.
I will spend my life in pursuit of my God-given destiny.
By His grace I will fulfill the purpose for which
I was created and redeemed by Christ.
By His love I will touch the lives of those He died for.
And by His power
I will span the breech between time and eternity.
From this day forward,
I will seek dreams as big as the heart of my God
And visions as great as the need of this world.
And though through human failure
I may never see all those dreams come true,
When I stand to face my Lord and my God,
I pray He will see a heart determined to do exploits for His glory.
It all started with that 55-mph speed limit. In the mid-1970s, Americans traded in their muscle cars for Toyotas and slowed down.
You read it right. I need to be saved. Not in the sense we church folk usually toss the word around, but I need it nonetheless. 
It’s an old cliche, usually relegated to church bulletin boards and refrigerator magnets. But the truth is still painfully real: “Seven days without prayer makes one weak.” But if you think that’s bad, try seven weeks. Or seven months. Or… you guessed it, seven years.
Today I give up my small ambitions.