Dreaming, Better Late than Never..

   This morning I got stuck on a small chapter of the book I have been reading, The Circle Maker, by Mark Batterson.

   It was a chapter on Dreaming, and filled with nuggets that seemed to apply to my own life in this present time. Words such as:

"Neuroimaging has shown that as we age, the center of cognitive gravity tends to shift from the imaginative right brain to the logical left brain."

"At some point, most of us stop living out of imagination and start living out of memory. Instead of creating the future, we start repeating the past. Instead of living by faith, we live by logic."

"God wants you to keep dreaming until the day you die. You’re never too old to go after the dreams God has put in your heart. And for the record, you’re never too young either. Age is never a valid excuse."

"Our date of death is not the date etched on our tombstone. The day we stop dreaming is the day we start dying. When imagination is sacrificed on the altar of logic, God is robbed of the glory that rightfully belongs to Him."

"May you keep dreaming until the day you die. May imagination overtake memory. May you die young at a ripe old age."

   They seem right. They resonate with me, but what can they mean and how do they play out in real life, a life filled with responsibilities, with roles to play?

   There are fears also that go along with dreams.

   The fear of being selfish in interpreting dreams as what I want to do.

   The fear of telling someone else what these dreams are and then failing to follow up them.

   And there is always the creeping fear that I am not close enough to God, to see His Will and hear His voice. That I am hearing what I want to hear and shutting out the rest. But he has given me a couple of quiet hours to read and think and dream this morning, and I am thankful.

   So I will continue my reading and listening.

   And being grateful for the sunrise of another day of possibilities.

My World Is Too Small

   A Story of an Encounter

   A few days back, as I walked the path around part of our golf course in the early time of the day, I noticed a man coming toward me with his dog. I had not seen this person before, and his dress marked him as military. He was dressed in olive drab tee shirt, camo fatigues, army boots, and he had a distinctive army haircut.

   I spoke a "good morning" as we passed and went on our separate ways.

   But the man and his dog were there the next morning also, and so I stopped and asked him about his dog, a good sized German Shepherd. He introduced himself and told me the dog's name was Ike and that they were here on temporary assignment from the Department of Defense, teaching at FLETC, the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center over in Brunswick.

   As the dog and trainer moved on south on the path, and I went north toward the condo, I turned and watched them.

   I wondered about their lives and what role they played in the country. As we met several times in the next week, and as we stopped and talked a few moments each time, I learned of their role in the defense of our country. Their assignment was protecting us from any bad guys out there, all up and down the East Coast, and training others to do the same.

   They were a part of a homeland defense force that worked behind the scenes, letting the rest of us walk in safety and freedom. Unseen by most, but there, none the less.

   How much goes on around me, in my world, that I do not see or think of at all?  How many men, and dogs, work so that my life can be normal?

   If all this is true in my physical world, how much more so in the spiritual world? The Bible speaks of angels, unseen by men, working all round.

   I snapped a shot one day as I watched them walk away. A faceless pair of helpers active in my world, without me knowing or even caring.

   And I was grateful for them and their work on my behalf, and all the others that served.

   And the reminder of God's care and protection.

A Disquieting…..

   Walking into my study room, really an unused bedroom, I noticed an envelope on the dresser, one that I had placed the name on the outside, but did not have an address with which to send it. Realizing that I had an email on the computer from last night that gave me that address, I opened the laptop and searched for that email. Finding it, I put it on a note, so as to remember to mail the card, and glanced at the inbox to see what else was there.

   I noticed a message from a site called I commit to Pray, a prayer site of The Voice of the Martyrs, which encourages Christians to pray for other believers around the world who are facing hard times and persecution. I had signed up some weeks back to receive these messages, but this morning felt led to actually read the story. Sadly, I had been in the recent habit of just deleting these emails, just not taking the time to care about these people. When you sign up on a site called "I Commit to Pray" and then don't, something is wrong.

   Then the questions come:

   Why don't I pray?

   Do I really believe that it is important?

   Do I believe that there is power there in that place of prayer?

   Is it just a religious exercise for me?

   Do I really connect with the One that I pray to?

   Are my prayers just thrown out there on the wind with a hope that there is something or someone out there that hears and cares?

   My pastor, in a meeting yesterday, spoke about a book, The Circle Maker, that changed his life and thinking on all of this, and I knew that my life needed that change.

   So I downloaded the book on my Kindle and began to read.

   After only one chapter I can't report on a new prayer life, or even a new understanding on its importance, I can only report on an act of obedience to a prompting and a seeking after answers to those questions that disturb my spirit this morning.

   And a prayer that God will guide me through His Spirit into what He wants for my life.

The Story of No. 133

   There is a picture running through my mind this morning, probably because I watch too much of the Tour de France these days. Even as I flick on the TV for a moment before sitting down to read and write, there is the Tour again. They have already started on Stage 16, and I am caught up in it for a few minutes before I remember why I am sitting here on this couch in this early hour.

   I see this picture, taken from the helicopter showing this giant snake of riders writhing down some back road in a far away country. This, of course, is the peloton, the mass of riders from participating teams as they do their jobs on the way to the end of the day's race.

   But here is the shot that presents what I see in the Tour:

   A mass of faceless riders, filling the road, trying to do their individual jobs on a team that is looking to capture a prize at the end of 21 days of racing.

   The book I want to read is one written by a member of the peloton, a man that no one outside his family and friends knows, a man that is only known to those who watch the race by the number on his back, the man that rides in the peloton, with other men in the same situation, who has a story to tell.

    I see that 198 men began this tour on Stage 1. Now there are 169 left on Stage 16. The TV media has been quick to tell us about the leaders of the race, the men who are in the hunt for the four jerseys presented on the podium in Paris at the end of Stage 21, but how about the rest? How about No. 133 in the red and black? What is his story?

   No. 133 does have a story, but so does No. 83 and No. 46 as well as the faceless No. ??? farther up or behind in that pack of riders. There are 169 stories in the group in Stage 16 on today's ride. These are all connected by the effort of the peloton, but each has a life before the race and one after. They may connect again, but maybe not. Stories abound.

   This morning already I have talked to a man with his dog on the cart path, waved to a man practicing on the golf course, another wave to a man backing out of his driveway, a nod to the yard workman trimming a bush and a wave to a stranger going by in a car. All those people are living in a story that is important to them.

   Sometimes I wonder what their life might be like. What are their thoughts, fears, triumphs or concerns?

   Then I wonder to myself, is it just curiosity on my part as I think about others, or do I really care about them, especially those that I do not even know?

   Faceless people inhabit my world. They will be out there today. If I think on them at all, will it be curiosity or something else?

   I pray for eyes to see and a heart to care.

   Their stories are important, too…..

 

 

Domestiques in Life

   I have spent quite a few hours over the past couple of weeks watching the Tour de France. There is no telling how much cumulative time I have spent watching those race stages over the past years, glued to the TV set, seeing life played out in the form of an endurance trial.

   I cannot imagine the training that goes into each one of those who race. Eight hour days alone on the road getting in shape physically and mentally for this race. But more than the training, the Race itself, with all of its challenges, becomes the life for each of its riders.

   This year I believe just short of 200 riders made up the field at the beginning  of Stage 1, and now there are those who have been injured in falls, or for other reasons, have had to abandon the race. The majority of the TV time has been spent on the leaders of the Race, or those who have the big names in cycling, but my attention has been drawn to those nameless others who are also no less dedicated to the sport and the race.

   Sure, there are these guys…

   But there are also many others riding in the peloton…

   And there are the domestiques…

   These are the guys that have a role to play for their teams, giving themselves for the benefit of the leaders of their team. These guys are good, they are elite cyclists, but they are also team players.

   I see them dropping back to help a team member that has crashed, even giving them their bike to continue on and not fall too far back of the field. I see them taking the bag of water from the team cars and moving back up to the peloton, passing out the bottles to the team members so they can stay hydrated for the hard work.

   I see these guys surrounding their team leader, keeping him out of trouble and in position to win a stage or shepherd his energy for the task ahead..

   In short, I see the mass of the Church, working in obscurity in many cases, so that the work of Christ can go forward. Without fanfare, without yellow jerseys, without TV time, but being faithful to the cause.

   Domestiques, the backbone and the glue that holds together the greater work, in life, in the Race, and in the Church.

   They are my heroes. those that I want to imitate.

I Need To...

   When I sit down to read, pray, meditate and write in the mornings, I expect to find in the Scripture passage some comforting words, but often find an exhortation to do something or other that I already have on my radar and have just put off because it is not convenient.

   Such is the case today.

   There is a letter on my desk that needs answering, but it is not just a letter, it is a friendship that has developed over the years, one that needs more than a letter and a few minutes of my time, it needs my attention and concern to a greater degree than that.

   I need to make a trip to prison. I need to show that I really care about a man that is incarcerated here, in Lee State Prison, Leesburg, GA.

   This is not a convenient thing to do. This place is 4 hours west of here, and so it is a journey that will take a whole day to accomplish, but as I read in Matthew's Gospel this morning:

" I was in prison and you came to me."

   I need to go.

   I met a man in Ware State Prison back in the 90s when I worked in the Kairos prison ministry. He and I hit it off and have kept in touch with each other for all the years after that. I have even visited him in other GA prisons as he has been moved around, but since he has been in Lee, I have not gone.

   He is in for life, and, what family he has, lives pretty far away. He needs a friend on the outside, and I can be that one for him. His crime may not let him taste the free life for the rest of his days on earth, but perhaps I can encourage him on his Christian walk.

   From what I can see of prison life two of the major hangups for the inmates is a lack of communication with the outside and a corresponding feeling that really no one cares about them anyway. They become just a number in a system and are forgotten and know it.

   But they are human beings, made in God's image. Sure they have done some mean and nasty things, but some have also found forgiveness from God while serving time, and they are trying to live for him in that environment. A lot of times this is a hostile environment, and God can, and will, help them live there, but maybe I can help, too.

   So I will write him today. I need to ask him which Saturday in the month is the best one for him, and to make sure that I am on his visitation list, but that will tell him what I plan to do.

   Then I am committed to do everything in my power to make that visit. Not out of duty, but out of love for a friend, and for his God whom he serves there.

   And for the chance in a few months to write another blog about that visit.

   Look for it.

An Oft Needed Reminder

   Most every evening, after supper and the heat has abated a bit, we like to get out and walk. There is a certain sameness about these strolls. Same streets, same golf course, same environments. But then there are ones like this.

      They came out to watch us.

      Would you be drawn to this house?

      A pause for reflection at the end of the day.

      The glory of it all.

   At the end of a day, one that moved along like so many before it, God stopped us in our tracks and seemed to say…

   "Consider this day as special, treat it as such. Each and every day is a gift, appreciate it."