for the love of the game

If you were the kid who had to be repeatedly told to quit throwing the ball against the house, and didn't, you may understand the following better than most. If when called for dinner, you kept insisting "one more play," and two scoring drives later only came in because the kid who owned the ball had to go, you're not alone, but in good company. And if you had parents who couldn't understand shooting hoops or playing HORSE by a streetlight, you probably have a good understanding of being a kid. A time when football scores were 66-60, and you could have tied the game, but you really had to go to the bathroom, and your mom made you wash your hands, then sit and eat your cold hamburger. When throwing the ball into the square you drew on the side of the house, you were only one strike away from striking out the side and a perfect game, and your father appeared-game called on account of parent, and you had to abandon your dream, until the next day. When frustration was defined as trying to explain HORSE to your mother, who couldn't understand playing it in the dark. Try proving that shot!

These were simpler times of playing sports, before you got older and tried out for a team, and learned about rules. That there were only three strikes, you couldn't dribble with both hands, and the curb wasn't your out of bounds marker, and if you didn't score you gave the ball over-after a punt. There were no "do overs," and sometimes life was really a four point play-the two you lost when the ball was stolen, and the two they got after stealing it. You had rules, and somehow the game lost a lot of its fun. You learned winning and losing where before even the easiest catch was replayed in your hall of fame mind all day. And the fun was defined by innings, or worse yet by a clock. You quit playing while it was still light? Hey, you were just starting to have fun when the gun went off-game over. And times when you were hard at practice, would look over to the other field and see kids playing a game of touch football, and between drills would wonder over and say "hey kid, toss me the ball." Just waiting for the coach to say "drop and give me 20," when all you wanted to do was play the game they had turned into a job. And when you murmured something, were reminded you weren't there to have fun, a precursor to what laid ahead in adulthood. Rules, signs, plays, and lessons to learn-just so you could do what you had been doing for years-with rules, just without the fun.

The law and the spirit are always at odds with each other. And if you want to quench the spirit, add rules. And as Christians, we love rules-well some of you do. To young ones we tell them you have to read your Bible 20 minutes daily, pray for ten, and memorize Bible verses each week-this will make you a better Christian. And although those things are not inherently wrong, they just add rules-which is what we were trying to escape when we came to Christ-am I a bad Christian if I don't memorize the verses? What if I can only read 5 minutes per day? Are you better than me because you do? I believe the Bible says something about where the spirit of the Lord is there is liberty. Where is the freedom in the above example? But the spirit encourages us to want to do these things. And it doesn't stop there. As I even see Christian ministries, who will tell you they believe all the Bible, have rules. A major motorcycle ministry forbids communion at any of its events. But say, doesn't Jesus say "do this in remembrance of me?" If friends in that ministry are at my house and we have communion, are we in danger of having the organization tell us to roll up our patches-because we did as Jesus commanded?

I also know of ministries that are a narrow focus, and when seeing how the folly of rules interfered with their ministry-changed the rules, and followed God-allowing His spirit to be the ultimate referee. Because when you add rules, you not only quench the spirit, but you make it a performance based relationship-see I told you if you read the Bible 20 more minutes you would be holier! And some act like it! You see the law kills the spirit, and it becomes all about you, instead of all about Jesus. Now note, I am not saying this effects your salvation, but can certainly curtail any real growth and ministry desires you may have. Perhaps by quoting a mobster who got caught going to church. When accused of getting morals, he said " I ain't got no morals, I live by a set of rules." You see rules tell us when we are out of bounds, not in. They tell us when we are out, not safe. And when we have been fouled. Any questions? The rule police are out to get you-don't let them.

Living in the spirit, keeping your heart open to Jesus is where it is at. Getting closer to the God who created you, who wants to spend time with you and bless your ministry. Remember that next time you can't remember the Roman Road, or the four spiritual laws, or don't have your Bible. And the person you are with can, and then gives you grief because you shared Jesus without them. God gives the words, let Him.

My mind goes back to the Wrangler commercial with Brett Favre. Just some guys without uniforms playing some touch in the mud, and by the smiles on their face you could never score enough points to justify them. They are having fun, and even if you lost, you still won. And I can even remember forgetting the score, or who was even keeping it. Being in the spirit is like that. Score doesn't matter. Just looking forward to seeing your friends again next week. Just like a good church does-wanting you to return for more.

And at the end of the Natural, just watching two southpaws playing catch, and as Roy Hobbs' face breaks into a smile, finally is at peace. A peace not found, a smile not allowed when going for the championship-only found when doing what the spirit moves you to do. Maybe that is why Christians should have more fun than anyone else-but don't. Too many rules. So seek God, drop the rules, follow the spirit, and enjoy a full relationship with God. May even bring a smile to your face. And what good is fun if you don't enjoy it?

As for now, I just can't stand the ball bouncing off the house anymore. "Hey kid, quit throwing the ball against the house! Wait, hold it a minute, let me get my glove." Where two or three are gathered Jesus is among them. It just may take a ball to remind you. Remember just as some of the best games are not played on a field, the best times in God don't have to be spent in church. That's ministry, and a relationship.

Aren't you glad God doesn't keep score? Now, play ball! In the spirit, and leave the rules for those who need them. The one thing the Ten Commandments could not do was offer salvation-find it in Jesus today, in the spirit.

"Coach, can I get a drink of water now?" What was that about rules?

love with compassion, and having fun,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

mom never should let him have his friends over

If what P.T. Barnum said is correct, I can account for 15 minutes of his statement-that is that a sucker is born every minute. And the following may just prove his point. My boss Jack, the same one who thought he gave me ulcers, was going to have a party at his house for him and his buddies. His wife was going out of town, so they were going to stay up late, drink beer, eat pizza, smoke cigars, and do all the things mature men do when their wives are gone. I can only imagine the others making up stories or begging their wives to stay out late-not realizing their wives were thinking take the whole weekend off and give us a break! Jack was telling how this was to be the event of the year to his other hen pecked friends, when somebody asked, "you're not having any stag movies?" He hadn't thought of it, but what a brilliant idea, a way to make all his friends envious, and him party meister of Durango-at least in his own mind. Now none of his other friends would be so decadent, so he inquired of where to get one. Nobody was sure, this was Durango, after all, or what one to get. And this was a group of rather worldly men he was talking too, I was just another salesman at the meeting. Looking at me, I suggested jokingly, "The Black Stallion. Just call the video rental store and have them put it aside. Then you won't be embarrassed going in and asking for it." And he did it. All I can figure is it was the Jersey Factor, as this stupid suggestion was taken to heart, from a guy who wouldn't listen when I shared the gospel,but ridiculed me. But when it came to stag movies, he would listen. Maybe he figured since I was from NJ I was a reprobate anyway, so to really egg him on, I said it was made in the same city as Deep Throat-and the next weekend couldn't come fast enough. And I had to laugh-at least inside while in front of them-stupidity had hit a new high, or was it low?

So Jack called and reserved my made up movie, which turned out to be real as I had suspected, and all week we got sick of hearing about how they were going to watch this stag classic-xxx at its most decadent. And the legend of the Black Stallion grew with each story-some even claiming to have seen it, and making those who were really henpecked jealous. They had been invited but their wives said no. As the night arrived, they had bought the cigars, put the beer on ice, and ordered pizza, now they just were waiting for Jack to return with the movie so the debauchery could begin.

More pubescent than mature, they watched with anticipation as the movie began, at a farm, their reprobate minds only dreaming of what was next. For awhile it shows a ranch with horses, no women, and one genius states "they all start slow." And as the anticipation builds, they find the rancher and his wife begin to raise this black stallion, while fully clothed, and it begins to dawn on them, this isn't a porno flick. But no one wants to believe it, or to ruin their dream evening, so they continue to watch. Until after about 10 minutes someone yells-"I've seen this movie, my kids have it! This ain't no stag movie-it's about a horse!" And after a minute of wandering what kind of father would show his kids such a film, realize they were put together. Conned. Their lust overcame all their sense of common, and they were duped. Busted. The Black Stallion was about-a black stallion! And their weekend was ruined. And it was Jack's fault!

So he did the thing that was expected of him. Tearing the movie from the machine, he drove to the video store, and cursed, ranted, and raved all over the poor high school kid who had rented it to him. The same kid who had only done what he was told, unaware of the stupidity of the customer he would later have to deal with. And not having a clue as to what was going on. Because, as life teaches you, when pride interrupts your perfect night at the movies-you have to blame someone else. Sorry, kid-you should have seen it coming. And Jack, couldn't even ask if he was given the wrong film, too many people knew him, and the kid was under 18, so he couldn't have gotten it from him anyway-if it had even existed. A perfect con, that fit its audience so well. So he went back empty handed, to his friends with the by now cold pizza, warm beer, and cursed me-silently until he saw me, and they all sat with their dream weekend ruined. Lust had overtaken them, and they had no one to blame but themselves, so they blamed Jack. Who would blame me. Which brings up the question-why would you believe a Christian about a stag movie, but not about God? Which one would he be better suited to tell about? Yes, P.T., your 15 minutes of suckers was accounted for that night-and all in one room, together.

And as Christians, we can be no better at believing what we are told. Mr. Peabody, set the wayback machine for the first century church, about 45AD, and grab Sherman-let's see how somehow we haven't changed in 2000 years.

Peter, the tough fisherman who was brought to tears in the garden by a servant girl, and who later under the power of the Holy Spirit, led 3000 to the Lord on the day of Pentecost, was in jail for preaching the gospel. When word of his incarceration reached the others, they began to pray for his release. After praying for awhile, there is a knock at the door, and they keep knocking. And those in prayer begin to get upset-it's interrupting their prayer! Until someone says, "will somebody please answer the door and send whoever it is away, we're busy praying!" So finally someone answers the door-interrupting their prayer. And he comes back after answering the door, saying its Peter, and they get upset. Because he is interrupting their prayer for him to escape from prison, and he's where? And they couldn't and wouldn't believe it, until one of the stronger in faith said "let him in." And they did. And it was Peter. And I marvel sometimes, at those of us who can believe in Jesus, but can't or won't accept His answer to our prayers sometimes. Here they got what they asked for, but it interrupted their asking! What were they expecting? Can I get an amen, or is pride overcoming you? Or should I note you on Mr. Barnum's sucker list? Why is it easier to believe a lie rather than the truth? God tells us it is a mustard seed sized faith, but sometimes the lie takes even less.

And I think I know why. We don't trust, we try to understand. Jack and his friends could understand a porno flick, something they could see-but the gospel, how do I touch it, or hold it, or talk about it? Aren't you glad that the same Holy Spirit that released Peter goes before you, giving you the right words. It ain't about you, so don't make it about you. Jesus saves, so let Him!

I can't tell you what this did for my credibility, but I know what it did for Jack's. The Black Stallion was a children's movie-and maybe had the right audience that night-immature adults. But the gospel is for everyone, any night-even when your wife is home. So share it by living it. Remember, Adam didn't need to be talked into sinning with Eve, it just took the right moment. Use your moments wisely, loving instead of hating. And if you are invited to a friends house to watch a movie-and it's the Black Stallion-grin and smile, then ask can I bring my kids? First time your fault, second time mine.

See you at the movies-front row, center. There may be a sucker born every minute, but wouldn't you rather be part of a fellowship where suckers are born again-every minute? You bring the pizza, and I'll see you there. I wonder if Jack and his friends ever realized that the Bible if put on film would be rated X? Nah, that could never be true. Hollywood-are you listening? I have a great idea-it has harlots-Rahab, homosexuality-Sodom and Gomorrah, and war and adultery-King David. And a happy ending-where those saved live happily ever after-I even have a name for it-The Bible. It may be no Black Stallion, but then again...

love with compassion, on the aisle,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

a Christmas story

Mac Rebennek, Jr. aka Dr. John, the Night Tripper had a hit song back in the 70's called Right Place, Wrong Time. And I think a lot of us can associate with that. Like yesterday, while riding back from Malcolm Smith, stopped for a bike on the side of the road, like a lot of us try to do. Turned out it was a CHiPpie, cleaning his radar gun. He was surprised I stopped, and I explained why, he smiled. I took off fast, running the T bird through the gears-hoping his gun didn't work-just like I told him. Right idea, right place. But I have also been at the wrong place, at the right time, and gotten tickets when I wasn't speeding. I always hated getting stopped when I wasn't speeding, although five minutes earlier might have been going over 100! Those who follow karma, tell me that is what it is-I paid for something I had done earlier, so it is ok. To them I say, "forget the karma and get in the car." That is no way to live wondering if some past iniquity will chase you down. Hey man, Jesus bore my sin, I'm redeemed. Leave me alone.

As all you parents know, or will find out, this is the time of year for your kids to have Christmas programs-the time when the teachers have patiently taught your kids some songs, then had you dress them up cute to perform them for family and friends. And when my kids were young, I was pretty good at getting to them, between work obligations. But there was a streak that I missed a few, and Theresa made it clear that there would be no good excuse for missing Christopher's Christmas program. None, nada, no way. You will be there. So as I set out on my Coca Cola sales route that morning, I planned the drive to Bayfield in my day. I'll be there-just the the Jackson 5 song.

Now one of the benefits for working for Coke was I drank a lot of it for free, every where I went I could drink one and write it off. I was the guy who had the cooler in my truck, and on hot days would toss cans to the construction workers. Or toss them to kids at the schools when they asked for one-sorta like Santa for Coke-I was nice, didn't matter what they were. But on this morning, it all caught up with me. I was in City Market, and wiped my mouth. Fresh blood. Again, the same thing. So noting this wasn't good, I finished up and then started spitting out blood. Worse. But no way I was going to miss that program. So I figured, just stop by the hospital and they'll give me a pill-this was long before Obama care.

At the emergency room, looking at me spitting up blood, they took me in and pumped a full litre-more than a quart of blood from my stomach. This put a crimp in my plans, as I explained I had this program to go to-never told them of the threat behind it. The young doctor smiled, and said "the only place you are going is to a room, we are admitting you-this is serious." What would I tell Theresa? And Christopher?

It happened our neighbor Cathy was a nurse in the ER, and seeing me, took sympathy, and let me call Theresa. "Honey, something has come up, I can't make it." And then it only got worse. I heard how there was no good excuse, and my kids and her should be more important than work. I agreed. So what is your excuse this time, you better be sick or in the hospital.

To which I replied, "I am." Which made things worse, adding lying to the list. But Cathy, listening to me, took the phone and explained to Theresa my situation-which still didn't get me off the hook, but at least gave it some credibility. And after spending two day in the hospital-after an endoscopy found 21 small bleeding ulcers, I was home for Christmas. And I really did miss Christopher's program-as I love my kids.

But I also had a good time in the hospital. My manager, a guy named Jack aka "Jerk" Emerson, didn't like me. He had only gotten the job because he was best man in Terry Young's wedding, and Terry was hired by the old man to keep an eye on his son Don, so he wouldn't give the company away. Don had a reputation as being the only man who could screw up Coca Cola. So with this heritage, paranoid Jack thought he gave me the ulcers, and felt bad. And I helped him, it was fun watching him squirm and show a different side to me, rather than yelling and over reacting-did I mention he was lousy at his job? Not a people person at all. Hope he changed. But after two days, I went home-and the time spent watching Jack perform, was almost worth the time spent there. I missed my son's performance, but glad I didn't miss Jack's.

Hebrews 10:24-25 tells us let us consider one another in encouraging each other in good works. Now, my actions to Jack weren't the best. Although I encouraged, they may not have been the purest of methods, or even good works. But I hope it changed his heart, if only for a second or two. But the next verse tells us to exhort the assembling of the saints. The famous one used on all who miss church, important dates, and Christmas programs. Used to fill pews sometimes, it is not a verse of legalism, but one of encouragement, and should be used as one. Not the law-but the spirit, saying "get it together when you get together, and set an example for others to want to join in. No pressure, let your light shine, and be a witness without witnessing." And do it often, if not always, because the rapture is fast approaching-and the workers few. So get it together.

I don't know if Jack ever did, but he heard the gospel so much from me in other situations, he could never deny hearing it. How about you? What is your excuse? You may miss a performance or two on earth-don't miss the big show in heaven.

Theresa forgave me, but I try to make it to other's events. You see, your child is expecting you to show up, and that little face scanning the crowd only lights up when they see you. Don't let them down. Don't miss the blessing of seeing their face light up when they see their mom or dad in the audience. They tell others that's my mom, or that's my dad. Imagine how God's face lights up when we call on Him!

And don't let God down either, He is looking for you in the crowd. To be part of his crowd. That is why we have Christmas, for He sent Jesus to be the mediator, the savior to bring us back to Him. He is looking foreword to that day we are reunited in heaven. As for now, don't miss any opportunity to show His love.

The performance you give as a Christian could be the one that changes somebody else's life. To the ER techs, to Jack, to my sons, and my wife-Merry Christmas-and Happy Birthday Jesus! Hope to see you there.

And to Dr. John, this is the right time for Jesus-accept Him now, or it is the wrong place. Not the song we want to sing for eternity.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

global warming-one tree at a time

I somehow always feel slighted when walking up to somebody's hearth and feeling no heat from their roaring gas fire. Having lived the first six year of our marriage in Colorado, and heating with wood, I know the wonderful feel of a wood fire, and the even better warmth from a wood stove. The first winter in our cabin, we used coal, until we got sick of the kerosene odor-the old timers called it coal oil, a more apt description. Somehow living in a cabin that always smelled like a freshly fueled Kenworth had limited appeal. So we did what a lot of us poor people did, stopped every night at the aspen paneling plant in Bayfield-where we would build our house, and carefully load all the aspen rejects in our Rabbit that would fit. I couldn't give you a total count, but a lot of people used these scraps, the pile start as big as a house, then dwindle to nothing the next day-all for free. Neighbors helping neighbors. But being aspen, it burned fast, some could be lit with a match, and hot-so after the initial burst the temp would drop drastically until you fed the stove again, and again, and the first one up in the morning froze while they started the fire-but was also the first one warm after starting it.

For the last three years we lived in a house we had built by FmHA. To qualify you had to be poor-so we easily qualified. Great houses-built to great specs, and cheap-$137 month for a mortgage. And we had a hearth built from the bricks from Granny's Cycle Center that had mysteriously blown up, and a wood burning stove on it. It would get the house so hot that the smoke alarm at the other end of the house would go off, and generally kept all the snow melted off the roof. Keeping a pot of water on the top hot plate also kept the room humidified, adding spices gave a nice holiday aroma. And at 20 cords of wood per winter burned, kept us busy at wood camp every August.

There is an old saying that if you cut your own wood, your warm yourself twice-I know it to be true. Going with Tony and David Yarina, we all worked at Coke, was a true testament to warming yourself once for Tony. He liked to talk, and in between "Tony are you going to help?" , the same one who felled the tree on my truck, found time to smoke his two packs of Winstons per day. David had married Fred Horvat's daughter, Brendie Ann, named after her mother. Brenda was known in town as the bad witch, and I met her when assistant service manager at the Ford dealer, when she drove in and grown men hid-really. Fred, her husband was the opposite-a great guy, who hated everyone for some reason. Too short, too tall, too rich-he was an equal opportunity hater. But he liked me-scary huh? Fred was known for working for Coca Cola for 50 years, and when the old man-the president offered him lunch at Sambo's-anything you want off the menu-Fred told him he was busy and went off on his numerous other enterprises-sorta like Radar, who knew everyone and had more businesses going on the side. And this was the crew who we cut wood with. Our common denominator being poor, and needing wood. Not one time did we ever do anything social, but cut wood we did. And only when we went out without the Yarinas did we have trouble. Still not sure of the physical law that surrounds that one.

And we worked out a system that worked great. Warming ourselves five times, when a mere mortal would only be able to do it twice. We would cut down the trees-living in a 2.2 million acre national forest gave us plenty to choose from, and cut them to six foot lengths, and then load them in the trucks. Using rails, we could get them piled as high as the cab in my old Ford. Note-there is a reason why all the good trees are downhill from the road-only took us an afternoon of cutting and dragging them uphill to figure that one out. Then when we got home, threw them over the chain link fence, to be cut later. Then into 18" lengths, and stacked. And then split, usually when you had some aggression to get rid of was the best time, and then restacked before carrying in the house. And with wood going for $45/cord, we heated our house well for cheap, for the six months of winter.

Only one time did we stray from going with the Yarinas, Theresa and I went out on our own, just six miles from home, and found a group of trees already felled. First warming done. Rapidly loading the old Ford, we were making great time until I cut into a tree full of bees-and did the stupid thing-dropped the chain saw right on top of them! And ran with them in pursuit, only getting stung six times! But there sat the saw, amid the buzzing bees, with us staring at each other-knowing full well I would be the one to rescue it, since I was the stupid one to drop it. With only 50 feet separating me from my set of bee stings. So getting a running start-ran full speed-note, not very fast for a normal person, and grabbed the handle on the run and rescued the saw-with no more bee stings! And we loaded up the truck and got out of there fast-before they got on their bee hotline and the whole forest would be out looking for us! Lesson learned-two Yarinas are better than six bee stings.

Warm by the fire-nothing like it. A feeling of comfort, and warmth, and security. A heat found no in no other source. Our Lord is a lot like that, a love found in no other source. Just like there are many ways to keep warm, the world claims there are many ways to God. But God, knowing that many of us aren't as smart, or adept as we think, made it a one way, the only way to Him via Jesus. Who even as a baby was announced as king by the wise men, sending Herod off looking to kill all children under two years old. Although your manger may say so, the wise men weren't there at the manger, and showed up sometime later before He was two, and the number three isn't ever mentioned in scripture-but it does make for a great song. Even at His birth, He caused sides to be drawn-those who believed He was the savior, and those who wanted to kill Him because of His claim. And that sad Christmas tradition continues today. Those who want to take Christ out of Christmas, who deny Him, and curse the God that sent Him, so we could be free from our sins, and have a relationship with the loving, living God. But to those who believe, He is everything to us. Master and savior, friend and confidant, beginning and end-and everything in between.

So if you get the chance, while sitting by a warm fire, eating a S'more and drinking hot cider or cocoa-remember He is the reason for the season. And share Him with others. Just as cutting your own wood warms you twice, loving Him now gives you a peace twice-on earth and in heaven. Tell His story while warming yourself, and be thankful for all He has done. Make it your Christmas tradition to welcome into your home 365 days a year, and let His peace and goodwill to all men be shared by you to others. Just like a cozy fire, there is something very personal about Jesus. Warm your heart in Him today.

Think I'll just go put another log on the fire-seems more cozy and intimate than turning up the thermostat. For a savior who will take care of the rest. Sleep in heavenly peace-silently. Christ our savior is born-hallelujah!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

riding in a Ford and a prayer

She would have been 60 years old this year. And for the three and a half years we knew her, was a part of our family, while living in Bayfield. She cut wood with us for three winters, and was my older son's first baby sitter. She was a 1949 Ford F-3 pickup, commonly referred to as "the Tonner," but really a heavy duty 3/4 ton. We needed a truck when we moved to Bayfield to haul firewood, and so went looking. One weekend in the big city of Farmington, NM-Bayfield only had 631 residents, we saw her on a used car lot, and with no money, but a friend at the bank, wrote a check for $900 and drove her home.

And heavy duty she was. 21 leaf springs in the back, an 8' bed,and all original except for the 1955 T bird motor some one had replaced the old flathead with somewhere along the way. She was a strong runner, and true to form, that old Y block V-8 marked it spot wherever you parked it. Never changed the oil the whole time we had her, just added. The interior was in pretty good shape, although some of the dash pieces were cracked, and it did have a heater. Sort of. A box sat under the passenger side of the dash, and if you opened the doors to it, hot air came out. All the time, so we disconnected it in the summer by rerouting the heater hoses. Simple. You need defroster, open the side vent windows. And she was blessed with an old style 17" split rim wheel, which I could only find one guy to change them since they were so dangerous. And he was dangerous. But we only picked up one nail ever, so was ok there. It did have a spare, but it may have never been down as it was stuck in place and tire looked new.

Vermillion, or Ford's name for red was her color, and on one 4th of July, she even got compounded, changing her from a dull orange to a bright red. She was Christopher's first baby sitter, as he would sit in her for hours, "dumping it," and bouncing on the seat while working the shifter and shaking the steering wheel. But her purpose was to haul firewood, and over three winters hauled more than 60 cords. A tough truck, that even when one of the Yarina brothers was told "Tony don't fall trees close to the truck" did, and an 8" aspen fell across the roof, and broke in two when hitting the bed, barely scratching the roof.

The only repairs I ever did were to have Bob Abrams replace the clutch-he was owner of AAAAA Towing, I guess it was important to be first in listings in the yellow pages, for $122-he let me make payments and replace the battery. It came out of a Colorado State patrol car, my friend David used to do maintenenance on them, and offered it to me for $4, I won a double or nothing bet, and the old battery was mine for free. And even though it froze every winter, and expanded, the case never broke. And we learned to park it when cutting wood, actually using it as a trailer until we could build speed pulling it to make it start. She never left us stranded as long as someone could jump start her.

Then when I got transferred to Farmington with Coke, we didn't need her anymore, and sold her to a young guy who wanted to fix her up, and hot rod her. At the age of 35, she was getting another chance, and another family. I drove her the last 70 miles back to Farmington, and she had been running hot, even noticed some coolant under the truck, but hey, that was normal. But on this hot, spring day, in the 80's, a freeze plug let go, and she lost all her coolant. So stopping at Hogs R Us, filled her again, no coolant in system, but it never overheated, and got my friend Dave to replace the missing freeze plug. And also got an Alaskan Malamute in the deal, a story for another time. She made it to Farmington, exchanged money for title, and I never saw her again. I hope she didn't take it personal, and brought as much happiness to her new owner as she had our family. A true servant if there ever was one. One I can honestly say now I wish I had never sold.

I know many servants today in the body of Christ. A servant doesn't know when, where, how, who, or why they serve-they just do. And friends like Woody and Sandy, Dwight and Susan, and Roscoe and Shirley come to mind when I think of service. But the one I always remember is on a 100 degree day at a Hollister Rally. CMA hands out free water, and their booth was at the Veteran's Building. I saw this little guy going back and forth carrying two 5 gallon pails, and he was getting slower and hotter. I started to go to help, and was cautioned by the Holy Spirit. "Don't mess up his blessing!" was the message. You see he was enjoying serving, and didn't care about weight, temp, or how many trips he was making. He was enjoying being a servant, and seeing others refreshed. He didn't need my help. Nor desire it. Or even ask for it.

But the ultimate servant is Jesus. For while we were still sinners, He died on the cross for us. Like my old truck, He took abuse, but never complained. Just did whatever needed to be done, never receiving the credit due. But when we see Him in heaven, we will then be able to thank Him personally-right now our prayers and praise and worship will have to do. You see old trucks and Jesus both made an impact in my life. One acted as a life saver hauling wood for fires, the other rescued me from the fires of hell by being my savior, and I will be in heaven because of Him. Find Him today, and warm yourself by the fire with Him. Listen to His words, and if He starts by telling one of His stories, a parable, about a young couple in Colorado, and how He got them through their early years, so there would be later years-listen. There will millions of testimonies in heaven-I hope one is yours. See you there. If God can keep a truck running, imagine what He can do for you.

And I would do it all over again, given he opportunity.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

not just your average generation

Taking advantage of a rainy Saturday, the first rain we have had in over 170+ days, we stayed home and hung out. And while channel surfing, came upon PBS. PBS, the US tax payer funded channel, which every so often has telethons to raise more tax payer money, or fees from us to stay on the air. Too politically correct to advertise, they run specials-and today was a special one, that for the next two hours made me glad for the rain. It was on Big Band music, and swing music. The Big Band sounds of Harry James, Artie Shaw, Tommy Dorsey, and my favorite Glenn Miller. A sound Glenn Miller found in the 1930's, while we were in the Great Depression. Music listened to on thick 78rpm records, predating LP 33 1/3 by two decades, 8-tracks by a generation, cassettes by another 10 years, and CD's by 45 years. And when not able to listen to them on your parents Victrola, listened to them on their Philco, the big family radio, where tubes reproduced all the sounds, true sound not like the synthesized sound of today's microprocessors. Where Bing and Frank sounded real, and the Andrews Sisters harmonies made you smile, and Kate Smith bellowing God Bless America made you all stand up and salute.

But along came WWII, and these post Great War sounds-since there was no WWII yet, it wasn't referred to as WWI, and many went to war. And Glenn Miller was among them-bringing his sound via Army Bands they formed to keep the men refreshed-and anxious to get home to the girl next door-their hot rod-or their Mom's apple pie-Glenn kept the memories alive, until in 1944 over the English Channel his plane went down. But his music lives on.

And many celebrities also joined to fight the enemy. Clark Gable rose from Army private to Major. Jimmy Stewart flew numerous missions, and also was a major. Movie stars from Gene Autry, John Huston, William Holden, Burt Lancaster, and Burgess Meredith. Even one Spangler Arlington Brugh enlisted, aka as Robert Taylor, the man with the perfect profile. All gave up careers, at their height, to fight for America. Men of character, and patriotism-doing what was right. But my favorite was Teddy Ballgame, aka Ted Williams, who fought in two wars, the Big One and Korea, giving up years in his short career-the game never knowing what records he could set. Giving up playing the national pastime to insure a National pastime for future generations. The last guy to hit over .400, stood up and was counted when called. By setting an example of the right thing-by enlisting, both times.

And I contrast that with today's "stars" and wonder could you see Brad Pitt in Iraq? George Clooney in basic training? Surely Sean Penn would sign up to protect his freedom speech? How about the Kardashians serving food at the canteen to soldiers as Bette Davis, Jack Carson, John Garfield and others did? John Garfield who tried to enlist but his bad heart kept him out, dying shortly due to it. Could you see The View doing the same, or selling war bonds as Joan Crawford did? Character counted them, and it still does-except to that generation, the Greatest, as Tom Brokaw labeled it, took action. And to them we are thankful. Patriots all. God truly raises up the right people He needs at the right time.

The story goes that one night during WWII, a grandfather and his grandson were out walking in a small town. Noticing lights in several windows, he explained to his grandson that each light represented a son that family loved had lost in the war. They walked some more and the grandson noticing all the stars out that night, commented to his grandpa, "look at all the lights God has out. He must have lost many people He loved."

Walking some more, silently, the grandpa then pointed to the brightest star, and shared with his walking partner about the Christmas Star that God sent. And how God does understand and weeps with those who have lost sons, and daughters, for He lost a son too, Jesus. Who died on the cross so that we may live. And that star that God sent for the wise men to follow to Jesus, wise men today can still follow, and find Him. How such a simple lesson, on a simple walk can change a life, as we see that God understands our pain, sorrow, and our losses-for He sent His son to die, so we can be with Him when we die-in heaven.

There is no doubt that our land is hurting, and in trouble. And rotting from within. It needs healing, which starts with each one of us. There is no change in lifestyle until there is a change of heart, and only Jesus Christ changes hearts. And God promises healing our land, too. Simply, if Christians pray and humble themselves, and turn from their wicked ways-then He will hear from heaven and heal our land. We are all part of the process. And you may be the Glenn Miller whose songs bring hope to the hopeless. Or a celebrity doing right thing, country before career. Or Ted, putting his career on hold so we can enjoy a ballgame on a Sunday afternoon. Or the thousands of nameless and faceless who serve, known only to God. Who when the call of their heart came, answered in dutiful love. It takes an Army that is led by God, and you can be a part.

And somehow listening to In the Mood, Moonlight Serenade, Little Brown Jug, and American Patrol somehow remind of values that our parents had, and how we need to pass them on to our kids. Freedom isn't free, and has a cost. But true freedom is only found in Jesus Christ. Who paid the ultimate price, on the cross. As I travel I find it no coincidence that God and patriotism go hand in hand. Let us call out to God, while we still can, and thank Him for this country He shed His grace on. Crowned with brotherhood in the spirit, and let our light shine to others. We need healing-come soon Lord Jesus.

Lastly thanks to Irving Berlin for writing God Bless America. Now America-LET'S BLESS GOD!

You know if I close my eyes I can almost hear Ted Beneke and the Modernaires singing with Glenn Miller! A Sun Valley Serenade anybody?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

and a special thanks to all our troops serving faithfully today and those vets who have in the past

competition for your soul

Trying to explain the differences between a Ford or a Chevy Trophy Truck to a man who has never seen one was a difficult task. And try explaining to a redneck they don't have gun racks. Can it be a truck without one? And who stole the bed, where do I put my younguns when going to the drive-in? Now try to explain how they would race in a desert for 500 miles, and you really have a task on your hands. A what? In mountains and desert, in heat from 100+ to the low 30's, and you really get the deer in the headlights gaze. And that was what I was facing years ago when I worked for a fastener company who was a NASCAR Contingency Sponsor. Trying to get them to sponsor SCORE races. You see, they have no deserts in Cleveland, where their office was located, and although it is a barren city, they couldn't picture a desert, although they did have a river that caught fire! Try that one desert folks. But trying to describe something like desert racing to someone who has never seen a desert, or even off road trucks can be trying. Words such as like or the same as or similar to are used a lot, but unless you have seen one, you can't picture it. Trying to describe 38" of suspension travel, and miles and miles of open to space to use it on are foreign to someone who lives where there is miles of urban blight, and a glowing river. The fact you would race on open land, and not a track was only made more confusing by the pictures I sent-where do the fans sit? What appeared to be a simple request, turned into a major task, just explaining off road to them-there off road meant sitting on the shoulder of the highway waiting for a tow truck. But after months of persistence, and showing them magazines, books, and pictures of trucks racing, and people watching-not in stands, but standing-they reluctantly agreed to do a contingency series-although they could never understand why anyone would want to race in the desert, let alone get dirty-all from a group of people in Cleveland-a place that if you don't live there can't understand why anyone would! Nice weather-when? Crime-24/7. Outdoor activities-let's go watch the Cuyahoga smolder. I think it finally all made sense when I explained it was like driving on their pot holed streets, except the course looked like the vacant lots of urban decay, and then for some odd reason it all made sense. So I quit explaining and took the money and ran! And didn't answer the phone for a couple weeks. At least from them. The same only different-still not sure what they thought!

Trying to describe heaven is like that. Try to explain that we are from a place that no one has ever seen, no one can imagine, and a God that is a spirit and cannot be seen lives there. And once you get there can't return-but then why would you? There are no tickets, and you can't buy your way in. And then tell them that to go there you must believe that this God exists-that you are a sinner, and if you don't you are going to hell. A place of pain and suffering. Now I can dream about a place where there is no pain, crime, sin, or lousy neighbors-but I can't picture it. No place exists like heaven. But maybe I can imagine hell-for I have had lousy neighbors, migraines, been burned, and have endured sickness. But I still can't imagine it for eternity-hey I have trouble with today, let alone tomorrow or forever, sometimes. And yes the Bible talks about both-hell twice as much as heaven, and yes I don't want hell-but I just don't get heaven either. And trying to explain heaven is much like explaining a desert to a city person. Can you show me a picture, or a website? Who can I talk to that has been there?

Perhaps it takes the faith of my bosses in Cleveland, who had never seen a desert, but using what little faith they had, decided to participate. Evidence is good, and testimony can work too, but you see without faith, it is impossible to please God. And heaven is where Jesus is, sitting, at His right hand. More faith, no cameras in heaven. And when you get there, why would you want to come back? But still, why would I want to go to heaven, I only know I don't want to go to hell.

Do you want to go to heaven? It takes faith, and trust-trusting Jesus to atone for your sin, so you can be holy in a holy place, forever. Endless today's, and forever tomorrows. Unlike the world who tells us seeing is believing, God tells us believing is seeing-and these things shall follow them that believe. Just a little faith goes a long way-not to be confused with understanding-which won't get you anywhere but frustrated. Understand heaven-nope. Am I going-yup. Can't explain it, it's that personal. That's faith.

Next time someone tries to tell you about Jesus, listen to their words. They are spoken in love, and although you may not get-how do you describe the indescribable, call out to God. He hears, and better yet answers. For the person who is telling you about Jesus is sent by Him, a message you would never have sought on you own. Ask God to prove Himself-and get ready for the time of your life.

You see you just might be in a desert in your life-and all you can see is more dirt and desert. Or maybe the flames or the stench of the fire is overwhelming-don't despair. At just the right time-NOW-Jesus is asking you to trust Him. Believing, in faith-and having a hope you never had before.

And we are all racers-our race being the human race. Get to know Jesus before the finish like. DNF's are the same as second place-first losers-and there are no losers in heaven-we leave that behind.

Heaven-can't hear it, taste it, feel it, see it, or smell it. I only know I can't wait to get there. Where you finish your race is up to you. Hope yours is a podium finish-on Team Jesus! Take the trophy and run today! If people in Cleveland can envision a desert, certainly we can trust God!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com