Our Days are Numbered

You tell me.  What are your thoughts about it?  Have you looked it up?  These are the questions and comments we would get when we had a question about anything, but mostly Scripture.  Dad loved to read, and talk about the Scripture.  Dad and Mom, never let us think lazy.  He would not offer an answer when the world was our encyclopedia.  We needed to bring something to the conversation and he would gladly discuss it, dare I say debate it?

People have only so many days to live, but what people do and think and ask during those days can live beyond them.  18,108 days ago, I was given to Jim and Dee Lewis, I am forever their son.  How they lived, how they loved has kept right on living in and through me each and every hour for 434,605 hours.  That’s ominous if you think about it, and thanks to dad and mom, I think about it a lot.  What will live on after you?  That’s what I ask myself.  What have I been doing for 434,605 hours?  As I look back, I think so many things.  I dislike myself more and more with every thought.  I wish I could hide.

After about the first 3,650 days of my life, Dad used to take us on Sundays to the local Convalescent hospital where we would sing, and laugh and feel sick and watch as people at the very end of their days would “Well up” as Dad would say.  They cried, as Mom played the piano and 5 kids sang “Why should I feel discouraged?  Why should the shadows fall?  Why should my heart feel lonely, and long for heaven, and home?  When Jesus is my portion, my constant friend is He.  His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”   They cried as dad proclaimed to them that Jesus loved, could and would save them from eternal death, if they would only reach out to Him and ask Him to forgive them.  They would forever be sons and daughters.  Probably some heard, by God’s grace, and believed.  Who knows, but Dad and Mom did the work of an evangelist in those days.  That is how they lived and loved.

365 days ago, my Dad had 2 days left on earth.  24 hours earlier he left me a message because I did not have my phone with me.  “If you have time, maybe you can call the Neurologist and check on his findings from the tests. Don’t feel like you have to, I know you’re busy.”   He had lived 27,304 days the last 40 were the most challenging.

How could it be that the events of 15,000+/- days ago, singing, and laughing and crying during that simple little church service for dead people, at the end of their lives, could mean so much more to me, than it could ever have meant to them.  By God’s great grace I can look back, on those hours that formed me because of how a man and his wife, just a man and his wife, lived and loved.  And those Sundays continued on in my life and heart and mind as will that day 363 days ago when that man and his wife read together for the last time Ephesians 4:4-7 "There is one body and one Spirit--just as you were called to one hope when you were called—one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.  But to each one of us grace has been given as Christ apportioned it."

Just 2 more days and my Dad would, fall on his knees, with his head bowed low and “well up” and cry out in anguish, mixed with fear, and ask what does all this mean? And then in my mind’s eye dad would feel the fingers on the strong hand of Jesus reach out and lift his chin toward His own face and Jesus would ask dad in reply, What are your thoughts about it?  Have you looked it up? 

He had, more than 18,108 days before, many times.  He is forever a son.

From each according to his ability...

It’s freezing cold and windy out there.  There is not a single cloud above me but there are dark clouds way out there at the edge of the earth and right where the Pacific Ocean ends.  It’s amazing.  The wind is blowing east off the water at about 15 MPH.  The water is crashing hard on the rocky coast and I literally love every sight and sound.


As I sat, and looked out at the water, the wind blowing in my face, freezing my brain, I started thinking about the ocean again.  Did you know there are species of sea life that can not live at 20 or 30 feet below the surface?  They have to be miles below to survive.  Still others can’t live below 30 to 50 feet below the surface for too long.   There are multiple strata of Sea life that require different things from the ocean and give different things to the ocean so that the circle of life can continue.  Each is appointed to his lot.

As I looked at the water and thought, I saw a red-tailed hawk, there are lots of them out here on the west coast, soaring in one spot.  It is alone in the sky to my view.  There is no other bird flying overhead, or on the ground, or even at this moment in the ocean.  It is all by itself in this endeavor.  It did not move an inch; it just hovered, freezing cold wind blowing in its face.  It steels itself, immovable, tipping its wings to keep the wind flowing under it keeping it aloft while tilting its tail side to side to hold it steady.  Six minutes passed and I almost forgot about the ocean.  In an instant its tail tipped and its head pointed down to the earth.  It dropped like an arrow and deeply sank its talons into the flesh of a small field mouse.  The hawk now readied itself to eat.  Then an amazing thing happened, it was not 2 seconds and in flew a large black Raven to claim some portion of the prey. It was amazing.

It struck me that here you have in the ocean so many species each living out its life, each is appointed to its place and each cannot live or thrive outside of its place.   And with this backdrop to this scene of one hawk, willing to risk everything, work hard and brave the storm and claim the prize a Black Raven watched and lay in wait to do what it does best, steal.

I Saw…

Grandpa used to say a silly little limerick to us as kids “I see said the blind man to his deaf wife, as he picked up his hammer and saw.”

St. John tells us that the Angel said to him, LOOK, and I turned and I saw…
 

I am at the ocean today and all this past week.  Anyone that knows me knows that I love the ocean.  I sat on the Rock that I always sit on and I listened again.  It seems like it would be easy to swim out and reach the Horizon.  It’s not that far away really, it is really just right there.  The problem is that when you go looking for something you aren’t satisfied with the object of your first glance.  The further you go the further the Horizon is to you.  It moves away from you.  That’s what I saw as I looked at it from that Rock.
 

I looked at the Seals in the ocean; they peek out of the water and float like a bobber on the top of a small wave.  They dive directly into the big waves, not sure why I can’t see what they're doing.  Similar dilemma with the birds:  they float, they fly, they dive, they always eat.  They seem to be right where they want to be.  But they are still short of the Horizon by a long shot.  It’s like they have no clue what is out there for them.  I do. 
 

Walk with me for a minute along the shore.  It's easier to walk on the sand that has been washed by the ocean.  There’s that line where the tide has soaked the ground and made the normally loose sand more firm.  But the closer you get and the easier it is to walk the more imminent the potential danger “Rip Tides” the signs warn “NO LIFEGUARD.”  It’s the most dangerous place near the edge.   As I walk further from the shoreline the sand is dry and harder to walk in.  But you can smell that ocean so clean, and so self-sufficient.  It contains all that it needs to survive and to thrive.  The closer that I walk to the ocean, the more firm and solid my footsteps become and my feet don’t sink and slide back as I try to walk.
 

So that’s the beach, that’s the shoreline, but the goal is always the Horizon.  I want to reach that.  Not by plane or boat, or some other form of transportation, but me, I want to reach it.  It can’t really move.  It doesn’t really get further as I move toward it.  It just makes no sense.  That edge is where I need to be, and I will reach it.
 

Looking down from the Rock, and having been sitting here for about one hour, and listening to the crashing tide hitting the base of the Rock.  The Rock never moves, it is so incredible to sit on it and look out at that Horizon.  But back to the tide, listen to the sound of the tide when you are here.  It always sounds the same but never the same.  The sound is great.  The smell is just as good, salty, fishy, sandy, and full of clean oxygen.  Man, you can really breathe out here.  The sound and the smell are great but you can’t get over the feel of that tide as the waves crash on the Rock.  A mist, almost imperceptible, cools your face and any exposed skin on your body.  For me it’s typically my face, neck and arms.  Never really on the small of my back, that would be weird.  Sound, smell, feel, it nearly transports me from the Rock to that Horizon. 
 

Then I looked down and I saw the Tide from the Rock.  It was hitting the Rock but not angrily rather like it was saying “We’re together like we always have been.”  See, Creation is all about God, it is NOT God, but it proves God, His glory, His power, His beauty, His sweetness, His very character to the extent we can see it.
 

And for what seemed like the first time I Saw the Horizon in the Tide.  It doesn’t move away, It comes to us if we are on the Rock and it speaks to us, and breathes with us and touches our face and neck.

The Ring

To the Three Knights of Carmichaelia

…As they came into the clearing where the battle was being fought, they looked and saw the small, lifeless body of one of the best scribes ever to serve the King.  Giarc Siwel is gone…

Pulling his body behind the horse, they carried him to the Hill of Bones to place his body among byegone warriors.  Large rocks surround the hill, huge outcroppings as high as the highest trees, 10, 12, 15 times as tall as a man, and no entrance--it must be scaled.  In a way, it forms a giant crown, with its diadems polished by the flesh of those dead.  Moss covers the rocks partially; rain falls and grips the stones making it nearly impossible to climb.  The bodies of the dead are pulled up the sides of the stones; fresh blood dripping down them permanently stains the sides of the green slick boulders.  As they reach the top, they fall, and find themselves nestled among the remains of great men who served the King and died.

For a warrior, death is the next promotion.  The men know not to remove sword, rings or personal belongings, not even under garments, a warrior must be put to rest as he died, no change.  

The lifeless body Giarc is hoisted up, scraping the stone and aiding in the polish of the stone wall.  Slowly pulling the rope until his body drags up over the crowning edge and falls to the bottom on the opposite side of rock with men each greater and yet more humble than the other.  On his right hand Giarc bore a gold ring.

As the body of Giarc fell inside the citadel, each man struck the rock with his sword.  Seven strikes, three times, and the men sighed, deep, agonizing breaths, knowing the job on this battlefield, on this day was made more difficult by the loss of one of their own.  And the rock remained immovable. 

As they looked down, small bits of the stone lay there--some larger than others but the significance of this stone was immeasurable.  It was on this Stone that the King’s own Son swore off the finality of Scratch’s deadly bite.  Here, at this rock, He won the battle’s end, yet by His own mercy, allowed the battle to rage on.  These stones drizzled with the blood of the fight that they embody, were gathered to present to the Knights.  One stone for each Knight; each to remind them of the battle which rages, while won, no substitute could ever replace these first stones.  There is no “new stone” of this kind.

Careful selection was made of the gold that would hold the bits of stone for the Knights.  Gold previously won in battle, to remind them that only victory labored for is at once beautiful and savory, while painful and sweet.

They forged the rings, which held the stones.  The King personally inspected each stone, considered it, and commanded that His servant bless it.  Each shone with a color different than the other but each bore the blood of a warrior which had stained the stone of the great hill.  In each stone the King saw the Son, and in the Son He saw His martyrs, and the servant, and the Princess, and the Knights.  And in that Rock they remained, immovable.

And at the King’s command the servant said out loud:

Blessed art thou oh Lord Our God ruler of heaven and earth,
Who gives children as a gift;
Who makes each a diadem more valuable than diamonds;
Who forgives sin where no forgiveness is sought;
Who remembers the faithful;
And Who restores what is lost.

And with that, all that was lost was restored, and a new beginning began, and a Knight was returned to his place, never to be brought low again.

My Hero

Dad loved his family. He defended each one: their character, their position within the family, and their right to make their own choices.

He made us a team. He kept us together and we always played, and ate dinner, and went to sleep each night together without fail.

I remember (kind of) being dressed in a white T-shirt, tucked into my perfectly pressed jeans, and my Hoss Hat. Dad wore a yellowish short sleeve shirt, pants, and tennis shoes. I sat on the handlebars in front, and I knew I didn’t have to worry about a thing, so I guess I just fell asleep. Totally relaxed, because I also knew that dad was right behind me holding that bike up. He was my hero.

We lived in a small house on 1101 Silver Lake Dr., and I remember it like I lived there my whole life. So many good times. Dad hated it because it was a dangerous area and we could have gotten hurt. Looking back though, I can see that he kept his eye out for me and I never even thought about being in danger. He was always right there with me, and I never had to worry. I just rested.

After work sometimes, Dad would come home and I remember he almost always had candy in his pocket. He would hand it out to us, and that was nice, but we really loved when he would wrap his arms around us and wrestle us to the ground. Playing like that probably only lasted for a minute, but it seemed like the greatest hour of our day. He was really there. Really present. We would all play, and eat dinner, and sleep.

There was always the pallor of financial stress, but Dad kept things going like he does. We were a team He was right there with me and told me everything was going to be fine. He never responded with judgment or anger to my rants. He just stayed with me and I never had to really concern myself with the things outside the team. Outside in the world. I just slept and everything would be ok the next day.

I was right there with Dad the day he and Mom made the decision to leave town for a city far away to start over. I felt so empty and so very alone. I was afraid, but he encouraged me like Dad does, and in the end I still didn’t have to stress. I could always rest and sleep.

I called Dad a lot. I like to talk to him. I would just invent problems to run past him. What the problem was didn’t matter so long as I could hear him work it out with me. He always had ideas, and would hear mine. He stayed with me through all my problems real or not and the answer was the same as it always was. Just rest and sleep.

Dad always made sure I remembered that other people mattered more than me. Not to him, but to that innate selfish desire we all have just beneath the surface of our instincts. Work was first for God, then for others, then for me. This is not an easy lesson to learn, and I am still learning it today, but he always reminded me, and taught me, and all I had to do was grow and rest.

This year was tough. Dad got sick. He faced what really scared him. I could see it in his face, and hear it in his voice.  He would call me often and always opened with “O, hi son.” And then would ask for my help with something. That’s how we always talked when one of us was scared. I heard in his voice that morning that he was facing a real lion. The Lion was victorious as He inevitably always is, But to Dad, that day He was was a lamb, waiting to usher Dad to Himself and into the only place where Dad can play, and eat dinner, and rest.


That Lamb, that is a Lion, is my Hero.

Happy New Year!!!

2012, what a year this promises to be. If you're like me, you get a little nostalgic when you stop and think that time and space as we know it are scheduled to end this year. The Mayan's were very clear about this; December 21, 2012 is the last day that anyone will ever be able to calendar an event.

That's right; the Mayan's predicted a total end to calendars. I'm saddened by this because what will people that don't know me give me for Christmas now? I like the calendars I get each year. My favorite of course is the Ronald Reagan commemorative calendar with many of his notable quotes. I also like the little ones I get from insurance carriers and that place we buy pet food. Gosh, I'm gonna miss the Word of the Day. But I wax nostalgic.

I also get a little scared because "Hey: When will it be ok to start singing Auld Lang Syne?"

It has been said that "necessity is the mother of invention" and I am confident in the people of this country. Someone somewhere will pull themselves up by the boot straps and will draw a grid of 31 boxes and place a number in each box and we will dance. We will all start setting appointments again.

Until then I say, "Thank you Microsoft Outlook, I will use you!" "I will use you until the end of time."

Who is This King?

There is a song that starts “Who is this King of Glory that…” and I thought that is a great question. That is something that great men have contemplated for centuries. I can picture David sitting on the rock overlooking his sheep and asking himself, Who is this King?

I love the Ocean; I love the smell of it, the sound of it and the vast expanse. I sometimes am blessed to go to that place on Earth where God speaks to me the loudest, Bodega Bay, CA. Gorgeous, it is gorgeous. I love to put on my jeans in the morning, not early, and my T-shirt and Leather bomber jacket that was my grandfathers and go down to the ocean. I sit on a certain spot, on a certain outcropping of giant rock and I stop. And I hear the voice “as it were the sounds of many waters” and I seriously marvel. Don’t think I am some strange spiritualist that thinks that sound is Actually God. I don’t, I just imagine. I move closer to Him on that rock.

The ocean really does hold clues. He is the great distance between me and that edge of the earth where the water falls off and pours out into eternity. He is the depth that can not be searched or ever fully known. He is every hidden thing that never surfaces, and every known thing that jumps from the water and reflects the morning sun back at me. He is the one that has raised men up and pulled them down. He is at once calm and tumultuous.

What is amazing to me is that you can’t even come up with enough words to describe all that He is. But what is even more amazing is that like the ocean, while He can’t be fully known or ever tamed, He can be gazed upon and enjoyed. He supplies all that the mariner needs. He cares to be ridden from place to place. He longs to be searched and to those that will with fear and trembling, He opens up and meets the deepest desires of the heart.

So, I go on looking and contemplating this King of Glory? As I think about Him, my mind explodes with thoughts about him. So many I am unable to report them all.

He is the height of beauty. He is the spark and flame of wisdom;
He is the giver of knowledge and the Knowledge itself;
He is a friend and confidant;
He rules over every thought and action of mankind;
He quickens the beast and the spirit of man alike, but not the same;
He is the One who must be known but can’t be grasped;
He is the giver of life and that very Life;
He is the door, the only portal to the Throne;
He is the supreme oracle of the Father;
He is the very first and the very last;
He is the flower on the hill and the hill itself;
He is the Lilly of the valley and the Bright and morning star;
He is the Rose of Sharon and the Rock of Gibraltar;
He is my Deliverer and my Captor;
He is the Servant while Master of all;
He can be fed upon but never exhausted;
He provides out of His wealth and spends nothing;

Then the waves crash again, and I flinch at the thundering sound of it. It is His voice telling me “Yes, all of that and more.”

He is Jesus, the Christ, the King of Glory, the Alpha and Omega. Nothing that is, is, apart from Him. He is the one that quickened my dead heart and gave it life. I did not seek Him, I did not know Him. I could not. But while I was still dead, He died and I lived. And He moves closer to me on that Rock.