Some people are supposed to live forever. I know better in my head. But my head isn’t the space where I’m roaming at the moment.
Since 1972, when I first heard him preach, I have looked to Fred Wolfe as my pastor. Over time he became much more than that. He was mentor, friend, and profound encourager. A discipler in his own way. A mentor and coach of preachers, including the dozens of men whom God called into vocational ministry out of his.
I was one of those.
You could always tell when I had spent any time with him – I came away talking just like him. Other people, me included, try to shed the accents of their childhood. Not Brother Fred. He was as true to his South Carolina roots last month as he was when I first heard him. In my eighth-grade reckoning, to me he sounded like Jerry Clower.
The Twelve Pathways to Christmas, Chapter 7: The Way of Warfare
(This is a reprint from a previous post and a chapter in my book The Twelve Pathways to Christmas. See below for how you can purchase the book and help support missions.)
December 23
The first thing Ryan Fisher felt when he awakened was an obnoxious cold wind, pelting his face with sleet. The searing pain coursing down his legs and across his chest further aroused him. Opening his eyes, he saw movement outside, but the angle of his SUV in the ditch made it difficult to tell what was happening. One thing was sure – the distant siren and flashing lights were for him.
Another thing became certain pretty quickly. Assuming he lived, Ryan Fisher would spend Christmas alone. There’d be no plane to catch, and nobody boarding a plane back to Birmingham. Not in this storm.
It was the end of the day from hell, punctuating the week from hell, capping off the year from hell. And now, freezing and in shock, Ryan Fisher closed a mental door. He was done. [click to continue…]
It’s been more than 40 years, but the scene hasn’t changed all that much. Downhill run, dirt road, just north of the family farm. Back in the day I was driving my Granddaddy’s pickup and my grandmother was in the passenger seat. I don’t remember the occasion, but most likely we had taken Lucy or Dot or some other domestic help back to their house, and we were headed back.
Just as I cruised down the dirt road, flexing my pride in the manly art of driving, the pickup slipped off the road into a shallow little ditch.
“Ditch” is too harsh a word. More like a little soft trough where rain water would gently ease down the hill. Really wasn’t that big a deal.
“Oh, no, we’re stuck,” Grandmother said immediately.
Ridiculous! It wasn’t deep, we were doing downhill, and all I had to do was give it a little gas, turn the wheel, and…
Behold a sower went forth again to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the well-worn path. Knowing the vulnerability of the seed to the birds, the sower broke the hardened ground to enable the seed to grow. The birds came to search for food and found nothing there.
Others fell on the rocky places, where they did not have much soil. Knowing the vulnerability of the plant to the scorching sun, the sower dug out the rocks to deepen the roots. The seeds sprang up, but only when the roots went down. And when the sun had risen, the deep roots nourished the plant with life and strength.
Others fell among the thorns. Knowing the vulnerability of the plant to be choked and fruitless because of the thorns, the sower diligently weeded the field.
And others fell on the good soil and yielded a crop, some a hundredfold, some sixty, and some thirty. Knowing the potential of the seed to multiply, the sower ruthlessly pruned the plant to make it even more fruitful.
A Colorado highway director went out to see firsthand the aftermath of a sudden blizzard that struck just at the start of a holiday weekend.
Some vehicles had slid off the road into a ditch or snow bank. Without help they were powerless to move.
Other cars were on the shoulder. Their engines were still running for the time being, but they were not moving forward at all.
Some cars were in the slow lane, cautiously moving forward, but at a pace that made timely arrival at their destination virtually impossible.
Still other vehicles were equipped to drive in the fast lane – some going steadily, some quickly, some dangerously fast, but all headed for their destination.
One of my many “therapists” who came into the hospital room.
Well.
That was different.
It’s one thing to waste time. Save time. Time to stand still.
I’m making up for lost time.
Literally.
I seem to have misplaced about four hours last week. Oh, I lived it. And was pretty agitated about it. I just can’t remember it.
TIA, they called it. Which led to an MRI, an EEG, and a hospital with a big FEE.
I crack myself up.
That was not exactly how I had planned my day to be. But life – and LifeVesting – has a way of throwing curves. And those curveball experiences are their own version of sowing and reaping.
This post is part of a series of posts celebrating Father’s Day titled, “That Time My Kids Hacked My Blog.” To read more, click here.
Dear Dad,
You may not remember the day that I learned to ride a bicycle, but I do. We were living in Fayette, Alabama and all of my friends had already figured out how to ride and graduated to ten speeds. After spending several weeks trying to figure out how, I had resigned to give up.
I am not sure how long it was, in my mind it seems like it was years but I am sure it was only a few weeks, that Mom brought up the topic at dinner. I remember telling her that I couldn’t do it. While I am sure mom said something encouraging it was your response that made a lasting impact. You said, “Yes you can…let’s go.” Then you stood up and the two of was walked downstairs into the basement took the training wheels off my bike and went to the driveway. The next hour I fell several times but each time I did you picked me up, told me I was okay, and encouraged me to try again. It wasn’t long before I figured out how to balance and pedal. Up to that point in my life I am not sure I had ever felt so accomplished and to this day I still love riding a bike.
That day you taught me how to ride, but what I didn’t know at the time was that you were also teaching me how to live life. Time and time again I have seen you act in a similar manner. [click to continue…]
This post is part of a series of posts celebrating Father’s Day titled, “That Time My Kids Hacked My Blog.” To read more, click here.
Dear Daddy,
You’ve done a lot of things right as a parent, and the three of us are the adults that we are today because of your influence. You’ve been my greatest teacher, encourager and influencer, and I’m so grateful for all that you’ve taught me. There have been so many words of wisdom and encouragement over the past 31 years that it’s hard to identify the best or most influential, but there’s one thing that sticks out – there hasn’t been a single day of my life that I’ve doubted your love for me, or your pride in me. Because you’ve always told me.
I see clients in my counseling office all the time who wonder. They wonder if they’ve been enough, done enough, or said enough to make their fathers proud. [click to continue…]
This post is part of a series of posts celebrating Father’s Day titled, “That Time My Kids Hacked My Blog.” To read more, click here.
Daddy,
One of my favorite things about you is how you relate to people. You don’t make other people fit in your box, rather you relate to them in a way that not only allows them the freedom to be themselves but you encourage it. You seek out the unique things about a person that make them, well, THEM. The way you have parented follows suit. I have watched you relate to Cassie and Joel at times and noticed how different it is from how you and I relate. I’ve never felt sad about that because I know this great quality about you. In fact, it makes me feel more special because I know that our relationship is one of a kind, even though you have three kids.
I like to think the way you and I relate is through “moments”. These little snapshots of time that make up significant and meaningful times that we share. We’ve never really talked about it out loud before, but sometimes when we catch each other’s eyes I feel like we are on the same page, having a moment. (If that’s not what you are thinking will you just pretend that it is since this is a public letter??) Some of our moments are big and life changing and some of them are just small conversations that soften my heart. All of them I treasure.
{Disclosure: This blog has been hacked. This blog post and the three that follow today do not represent the thoughts, ideas, intelligence, creative perspective, sense of humor, theological viewpoints, or grammar skills of Andy Wood Ph.D. and he is hereby released from any responsibility, liability, culpability, and general other abilities related to said posts. He did, however, sire, raise and influence all three authors – so make what judgments you will.}
Today’s a pretty significant day. It’s a day that is set aside to purposefully honor fathers, or father-like figures in people’s lives. Now, we might be a little biased, but we kind of think that we hit the jackpot when it comes to dads. Our father is loving, creative, funny and has spent his life pointing us to Jesus. He is an excellent communicator, a generous giver, and puts up with our family vacations to Disney World. So it makes pretty logical sense that on this day dedicated to dads, we would want to come up with a really cool gift idea, right? Right! Let the brainstorming begin! [click to continue…]
Dear Dad,
Daddy,
Today’s a pretty significant day. It’s a day that is set aside to purposefully honor fathers, or father-like figures in people’s lives. Now, we might be a little biased, but we kind of think that we hit the jackpot when it comes to dads. Our father is loving, creative, funny and has spent his life pointing us to Jesus. He is an excellent communicator, a generous giver, and puts up with our family vacations to Disney World. So it makes pretty logical sense that on this day dedicated to dads, we would want to come up with a really cool gift idea, right? Right! Let the brainstorming begin!