Shortly after I left the church, I began seeing ‘God is my Co-pilot’ bumper stickers everywhere. I have to say that I was seething with disgust over that one hypocritical statement.
These were Christians who claimed to put God first and above all else, and yet here they were putting themselves above God. Everyone knows that the co-pilot is lower-ranking and under the command of the pilot.
I was dumb-founded as to how any Christian could make this statement with a clear conscience. How could they so blatantly relegate their God to a secondary position?
I realize now that I was looking at the illustration from the wrong perspective. I was looking strictly at the rank of the two positions as opposed to looking at it from the perspective of the job descriptions.
I see now that I am indeed the pilot of my life. I have the throttle and the stick in my hands. It’s my own actions that determine where I’m going and how fast I’m going to get there.
I can veer off course and take a different route all-together. I can slow my journey down by making excuses for not doing something or I can charge full-bore into a project and get it done. Not that that’s necessarily good either as it might not be the right direction to be going.
So enters God as my co-pilot. Not only a co-pilot, but also my navigator. When I fall asleep at the stick, he’s there to pull me out of my tailspin. When I stall the engine, he gets it moving again. When I throttle up, he’s there to steady my space. And when I’m clearly on the wrong path, he’s there to steer me back onto the right path.
He doesn’t always react immediately. He sometimes lets me blunder into hazardous situations, but he’s always there beside me whispering in my ear. However, that is another tale in itself.
So, while I may be the pilot, and God gave me the free-will to fly my life the way I want to, I still need a co-pilot. I need someone to back me up and catch me when I fail. I need someone to tell me how to get home. Without Him, I’m just the prideful pilot who thinks he knows what he’s doing.
Take the stick and fly high, but never forget that you don’t fly alone. Listen to your co-pilot, He’ll always bring you home.
Monday, June 8, 2009
The Best is Yet to Come...
Having turned my back on God for 18 years of my life, I often feel like an infant when it comes to religious knowledge and experience. I feel over-whelmed with all the years of learning that I missed out on. Years that I wasted.
At times like these, I wonder what I could ever accomplish. How can I be of use when I have so much to catch up on?
Today’s reading reminds me that God did warn me and that I’m only caught off guard due to my own stubbornness. He called out to me over and over and never failed to provide for me whether I saw it or not and irregardless of my failure to give him recognition.
However, I’m also reassured that God has a plan for me. I may have wasted a lot of time, but He isn’t finished with me yet. I have no doubt that my purpose will be fulfilled and my experiences will factor greatly in accomplishing my task.
“Your last chapters can be your best. Your final song can be your greatest. It could be that all of your life has prepared you for a grand exit. God’s oldest have always been among his choicest.”*
The prologue is written. The first song is sung. The first scene is acted out. Here’s to the rest of the story, the ball, and the play. The best is yet to come…
*Max Lucado, He Still Moves Stones
At times like these, I wonder what I could ever accomplish. How can I be of use when I have so much to catch up on?
Today’s reading reminds me that God did warn me and that I’m only caught off guard due to my own stubbornness. He called out to me over and over and never failed to provide for me whether I saw it or not and irregardless of my failure to give him recognition.
However, I’m also reassured that God has a plan for me. I may have wasted a lot of time, but He isn’t finished with me yet. I have no doubt that my purpose will be fulfilled and my experiences will factor greatly in accomplishing my task.
“Your last chapters can be your best. Your final song can be your greatest. It could be that all of your life has prepared you for a grand exit. God’s oldest have always been among his choicest.”*
The prologue is written. The first song is sung. The first scene is acted out. Here’s to the rest of the story, the ball, and the play. The best is yet to come…
*Max Lucado, He Still Moves Stones
Friday, May 29, 2009
Just a profound realization...
My children are not my own. They do not belong to me. I have no claim on them.
I am merely a steward that was chosen to guide them...teach them...care for them.
They were a gift entrusted to me.
Sadly, I haven't been much of a steward.
I can only pray that God will allow me another opportunity to set things right...to be a proper steward to His sons and daughters...
"From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked." Luke 12:48b
I am merely a steward that was chosen to guide them...teach them...care for them.
They were a gift entrusted to me.
Sadly, I haven't been much of a steward.
I can only pray that God will allow me another opportunity to set things right...to be a proper steward to His sons and daughters...
"From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked." Luke 12:48b
Monday, May 25, 2009
The Unseen Miracles...
I've been pondering what to write about since I posted the last blog and I've been left completely blank as to what to say. Then out of nowhere one simple question came into my mind: What was the happiest day of my life?
The answer was immediately at the front of my mind. It wasn't so much the happiest 'day' as it was the happiest 'event' of my life. And by far, the scariest and most nerve-wracking adventure I'd ever thought I would experience. That wonderous event was the birth of my second daughter.
That's not to say that the birth of my other 4 children weren't joyous occasions, mind you. But there are some extenuating circumstances that just put this one over the top. I'm sure you'll see for yourself as the story unfolds.
I came home from Basic Training and AIT on September 22, 1992. I hadn't been scheduled to come home until late October, just two weeks before my daughter's due date. For some unknown reason, my school had been cut short by five weeks. Glad to be home, I settled back into the civilian life and enjoyed what was to be the last few months of the pregnancy.
Things changed very quickly on October 20. My wife began having labor pains six weeks early. Having been through numerous false labors with our first daughter, we didn't think much of it but drove to the hospital just in case. And a good thing we did.
Sure enough, she was in labor. The doctor ordered drugs to try to stop the labor. It seemed to slow down for a bit and we started thinking we were going to be in the clear. But then the water broke. No turning back now. The contractions intensified and an epidural was administered.
Having a low tolerence for meds, my wife could feel nothing at all other than a slight pressure when a contraction hit. We settled in to wait it out and she slipped into a restless sleep.
Not long after, her eyes shot open and squeezed my hand telling me that she was feeling a LOT of pressure. I reassured her and reminded her not to push as it was still to early. She finally calmed down as the pressure subsided, but I called a nurse in to check things out.
We explained what had happened and the nurse asked a few questions before putting some gloves on to check the dilation of the cervix. Mind you, several minutes had now passed since the beginning of the episode.
You can imagine the shock, surprise, and fear that coursed through me as the nurse threw the covers back and I saw our daughter laying there, fully birthed between her mother's legs. We had no idea just how long she'd been there or if she was even still alive!
The next minute seemed to drag for hours and I can't believe everything that happened in that little time. The nurse flew into motion calling an emergency and then checking to make sure our little girl was still breathing. By the time she finished, the room was full of nurses and doctors who also went into action and cut her umbilical cord and whisked her off to the NICU.
The only thing we knew at this point was the our baby was alive and breathing. We didn't know if she was ok beyond that. Being a little over six weeks premature, there were a slew of things that could be wrong and even the chances of her living were to close for a doctor to call.
It took an hour or two for us to get an official answer to anything as there were numerous tests to run and what-not. But finally, the word came down that aside from the lungs being under-developed, our baby was perfectly fine. In cases such as these, the issue with the lungs was common and there was a med to speed the growth process up but she'd be in NICU for several weeks.
We spent as much time at the hospital as we could for the next few weeks, but even with the positive outlook and the relatively good health of Miranda, it was a terrifying and stressful few weeks. Somehow, we all made it through and we were eventually able to bring her home.
Thus began a whole new string of stresses. It's incredibly odd feeding a child from a syringe, measuring out the amount of food they eat by the cc. Shopping for clothes in the doll section was strangely eerie as well. But I think the most difficult thing to deal with was just her size.
I have big hands to begin with, but even still, the ability to hold my daughter in my hand was unfathomable. I could place her little bottom in the center of the palm of my hand and cradle the back of her head with my fingers. Her little feet all curled up didn't even make it down to my wrist. My pinkie and thumb were big enough to act as the sides of a crib and kept her from rolling out of my hand.
There I would sit, day after day, holding her in the palm of my hand, feeding her from a syringe with the other. A look of utter amazement on my face the entire time. The next few months would be filled with milestone after milestone.
I mean, here's a guy that would think nothing of eating a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon, by myself, for breakfast. Or wolfing down a 32 oz. t-bone, baked potato, and veggies for supper. And I was feeding my daughter from a syringe!!
She finally sucked down 1/2 an ounce one day. Yes, half an ounce!!!!! What a day that was. And then an ounce. Then two. I was dumb-founded the entire time as to how any living being could survive on such little food. And yet, she was healthy and never had a lick of problems.
While it was a trying time, each new milestone brought joy beyond belief.
Today, she's nearly 17 and I wonder where all the time went. She's grown into a beautiful young woman. Bright, intelligent, and easily the most spirited of the five. And still the fighter she was the day she was born.
All of this happened a few years after I had walked away from the church and turned my back on God. As I look back on it now, I realize how blind I was. And I'm amazed that after everything I had done, God was still there. Still calling me. Still reaching out to me.
He provided miracle after miracle and I didn't see a single one of them. He shortened my training so I could be at home in this critical time for my daughter. Despite the problems with her birth she came out of it with no health issues whatsoever. She graduated from cc's to partial ounces to full bottles. From preemie diapers to regular ones. From doll clothes to newborns.
All the while, as I was holding her in the palm of my hand and I was marveling at this amazing little version of me and not giving up on her, He was there holding both of us in the palm of His hand, providing for us and taking care of us. And I refused to acknowledge Him.
The joy and happiness of the event, as much as it is, is only increased by the knowledge of the miracles and intervention of God. There's not praise enough to thank God for everything He did but I'm sure going to try.
The answer was immediately at the front of my mind. It wasn't so much the happiest 'day' as it was the happiest 'event' of my life. And by far, the scariest and most nerve-wracking adventure I'd ever thought I would experience. That wonderous event was the birth of my second daughter.
That's not to say that the birth of my other 4 children weren't joyous occasions, mind you. But there are some extenuating circumstances that just put this one over the top. I'm sure you'll see for yourself as the story unfolds.
I came home from Basic Training and AIT on September 22, 1992. I hadn't been scheduled to come home until late October, just two weeks before my daughter's due date. For some unknown reason, my school had been cut short by five weeks. Glad to be home, I settled back into the civilian life and enjoyed what was to be the last few months of the pregnancy.
Things changed very quickly on October 20. My wife began having labor pains six weeks early. Having been through numerous false labors with our first daughter, we didn't think much of it but drove to the hospital just in case. And a good thing we did.
Sure enough, she was in labor. The doctor ordered drugs to try to stop the labor. It seemed to slow down for a bit and we started thinking we were going to be in the clear. But then the water broke. No turning back now. The contractions intensified and an epidural was administered.
Having a low tolerence for meds, my wife could feel nothing at all other than a slight pressure when a contraction hit. We settled in to wait it out and she slipped into a restless sleep.
Not long after, her eyes shot open and squeezed my hand telling me that she was feeling a LOT of pressure. I reassured her and reminded her not to push as it was still to early. She finally calmed down as the pressure subsided, but I called a nurse in to check things out.
We explained what had happened and the nurse asked a few questions before putting some gloves on to check the dilation of the cervix. Mind you, several minutes had now passed since the beginning of the episode.
You can imagine the shock, surprise, and fear that coursed through me as the nurse threw the covers back and I saw our daughter laying there, fully birthed between her mother's legs. We had no idea just how long she'd been there or if she was even still alive!
The next minute seemed to drag for hours and I can't believe everything that happened in that little time. The nurse flew into motion calling an emergency and then checking to make sure our little girl was still breathing. By the time she finished, the room was full of nurses and doctors who also went into action and cut her umbilical cord and whisked her off to the NICU.
The only thing we knew at this point was the our baby was alive and breathing. We didn't know if she was ok beyond that. Being a little over six weeks premature, there were a slew of things that could be wrong and even the chances of her living were to close for a doctor to call.
It took an hour or two for us to get an official answer to anything as there were numerous tests to run and what-not. But finally, the word came down that aside from the lungs being under-developed, our baby was perfectly fine. In cases such as these, the issue with the lungs was common and there was a med to speed the growth process up but she'd be in NICU for several weeks.
We spent as much time at the hospital as we could for the next few weeks, but even with the positive outlook and the relatively good health of Miranda, it was a terrifying and stressful few weeks. Somehow, we all made it through and we were eventually able to bring her home.
Thus began a whole new string of stresses. It's incredibly odd feeding a child from a syringe, measuring out the amount of food they eat by the cc. Shopping for clothes in the doll section was strangely eerie as well. But I think the most difficult thing to deal with was just her size.
I have big hands to begin with, but even still, the ability to hold my daughter in my hand was unfathomable. I could place her little bottom in the center of the palm of my hand and cradle the back of her head with my fingers. Her little feet all curled up didn't even make it down to my wrist. My pinkie and thumb were big enough to act as the sides of a crib and kept her from rolling out of my hand.
There I would sit, day after day, holding her in the palm of my hand, feeding her from a syringe with the other. A look of utter amazement on my face the entire time. The next few months would be filled with milestone after milestone.
I mean, here's a guy that would think nothing of eating a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon, by myself, for breakfast. Or wolfing down a 32 oz. t-bone, baked potato, and veggies for supper. And I was feeding my daughter from a syringe!!
She finally sucked down 1/2 an ounce one day. Yes, half an ounce!!!!! What a day that was. And then an ounce. Then two. I was dumb-founded the entire time as to how any living being could survive on such little food. And yet, she was healthy and never had a lick of problems.
While it was a trying time, each new milestone brought joy beyond belief.
Today, she's nearly 17 and I wonder where all the time went. She's grown into a beautiful young woman. Bright, intelligent, and easily the most spirited of the five. And still the fighter she was the day she was born.
All of this happened a few years after I had walked away from the church and turned my back on God. As I look back on it now, I realize how blind I was. And I'm amazed that after everything I had done, God was still there. Still calling me. Still reaching out to me.
He provided miracle after miracle and I didn't see a single one of them. He shortened my training so I could be at home in this critical time for my daughter. Despite the problems with her birth she came out of it with no health issues whatsoever. She graduated from cc's to partial ounces to full bottles. From preemie diapers to regular ones. From doll clothes to newborns.
All the while, as I was holding her in the palm of my hand and I was marveling at this amazing little version of me and not giving up on her, He was there holding both of us in the palm of His hand, providing for us and taking care of us. And I refused to acknowledge Him.
The joy and happiness of the event, as much as it is, is only increased by the knowledge of the miracles and intervention of God. There's not praise enough to thank God for everything He did but I'm sure going to try.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Motivation
The men's group I attend every Saturday morning has been discussing our jobs and our attitudes towards them. How we tend to hate our jobs and dread going to work every day. Ultimately, we all agreed that it wasn't so much our jobs that were the problem, but our motivation for doing them. It was a good discussion and provided me with a lot of insight. However, it wasn't until I got home and discussed the topic with my fair lady that I truly 'got it'.
I sat down with her and explained to her what the topic was and the message that I received like I usually do. And then began the inquisition. (Smile, Love, I use the term light-heartedly.) Anyhow, she began firing off questions about my motivations for doing just about everything in the past. She took the lesson I had received to a whole new level. And WOW!! I coulda had a V8!
You see, I was raised in the church. I was taught how to fear God and love Jesus. How I was supposed to go to church and Sunday school and youth group. What Bible verses to memorize and how to say the right things. But I was never really taught why I was supposed to do all this. I was never really given the understanding of just what it all really means.
Life goes on and I'm a senior in high school. At some point in that year, my mom and I began to really have it out and I eventually ended up moving out the second I turned 18 in March of that year. Then a month later, my 'one true love' dumped me just hours before our prom. Just weeks after that, all my college plans went down the drain along with every other plan I had made for my future. I was in a tailspin. And I was lost.
Naturally, I did what we all tend to do in times like these. I turned against the church. And I turned against God. I mean really, I did everything I was supposed to do. I went to church. I memorized my scriptures like a good little Christian. I went on missions trips. I suffered through the endless torture of being called '(bible)thumper' at school. I behaved in a (relatively) Christian manner. And in the end, what good did it do me? Where was God's hand in helping me achieve my goals in life? So yeah, I walked away from the hypocrisy of it all.
I went on with my life. Started doing what I wanted to do. Got married on a whim and had kids way to soon. I wasn't the greatest husband, and definitely not the greatest father. Not that I didn't have good intentions in the husband/fatherhood department, but you all know what they say about good intentions. Ended up divorced, remarried, and with another child. Again, all way to soon and having no business to be in such a situation.
Through it all, I continued to do what I wanted to do. Played games into the wee hours of the morning. Flirted with woman I had no right to even be talking to. Etc, etc...you get the picture. Eventually ended up divorced again.
Then along comes my Love. By this time I figured out what I truly wanted in a relationship and what I was willing to give to the right person. Everything started out amazingly grand. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could tear us apart. But slowly, things again started to decline bit by bit. I just wanted a little bit of respect for the things I did for her. Sadly, every time I felt like I wasn't getting what I deserved, I got angry and gave her every reason not to have the least bit of respect for me.
Over the next year and a half, I gradually descended deeper and deeper into the darkest pits of hell. On New Year's Eve of 2008, I had the absolute worst night of my life. In a flash, out of nowhere, I was one mere step from taking the final step over the precipice.
Finally, after hours and hours of exhausting torture, given and taken, Love and I were at a crossroads. Turn back now or continue on into the point of no return. We committed to bringing God into our lives.
We had always talked about how we knew we needed to start going to church, but there was forever something in the way. Mainly our relationship, we needed to get it fixed first. Then, we'd start going.
As it turned out, doing things backwards (in my eyes, anyhow), turned out to be just the right thing and our relationship did a 180 overnight. Sure, there are still bugs in it here and there, but overall, we're doing pretty darn good I think.
What's the point of all this endless rambling? Motivation.
All through my life, even growing up in the church, the motivation behind everything I did was just that. A great...big...I.
I was the only teenager in the church choir because I wanted the praise. I went on missions trips so I could show how great a Christian I was. I left the church because God didn't support the plans I had made. I started doing what I wanted to do because that's what I wanted to do and everyone else just had to deal with it because that's who I was. I did great work at my jobs because I wanted the prestige of fast advancement. Yadda, yadda, yadda...blah, blah, blah...I, I, I, I, I.
Pathetic, I know.
My motivation was all wrong and I'm brought to a saying that I've been hearing repeatedly for the last few months: Don't think less of yourself, but think of yourself less. Begin thinking of others more. God being the first and foremost of the others. God should be our motivation. Doing His work. Pleasing Him.
Colossians 3:17 tells us: And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.
Yep, you heard right. Everything we do, yes, everything!, should be done to in Christ's name, giving thanks to God the Father. We should be happy just to have the opportunity to be doing the things we do. Give it all to God, and while doing so (with apologies to Jack):
Ask not what your God can do for you; ask what you can do for your God.
I sat down with her and explained to her what the topic was and the message that I received like I usually do. And then began the inquisition. (Smile, Love, I use the term light-heartedly.) Anyhow, she began firing off questions about my motivations for doing just about everything in the past. She took the lesson I had received to a whole new level. And WOW!! I coulda had a V8!
You see, I was raised in the church. I was taught how to fear God and love Jesus. How I was supposed to go to church and Sunday school and youth group. What Bible verses to memorize and how to say the right things. But I was never really taught why I was supposed to do all this. I was never really given the understanding of just what it all really means.
Life goes on and I'm a senior in high school. At some point in that year, my mom and I began to really have it out and I eventually ended up moving out the second I turned 18 in March of that year. Then a month later, my 'one true love' dumped me just hours before our prom. Just weeks after that, all my college plans went down the drain along with every other plan I had made for my future. I was in a tailspin. And I was lost.
Naturally, I did what we all tend to do in times like these. I turned against the church. And I turned against God. I mean really, I did everything I was supposed to do. I went to church. I memorized my scriptures like a good little Christian. I went on missions trips. I suffered through the endless torture of being called '(bible)thumper' at school. I behaved in a (relatively) Christian manner. And in the end, what good did it do me? Where was God's hand in helping me achieve my goals in life? So yeah, I walked away from the hypocrisy of it all.
I went on with my life. Started doing what I wanted to do. Got married on a whim and had kids way to soon. I wasn't the greatest husband, and definitely not the greatest father. Not that I didn't have good intentions in the husband/fatherhood department, but you all know what they say about good intentions. Ended up divorced, remarried, and with another child. Again, all way to soon and having no business to be in such a situation.
Through it all, I continued to do what I wanted to do. Played games into the wee hours of the morning. Flirted with woman I had no right to even be talking to. Etc, etc...you get the picture. Eventually ended up divorced again.
Then along comes my Love. By this time I figured out what I truly wanted in a relationship and what I was willing to give to the right person. Everything started out amazingly grand. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could tear us apart. But slowly, things again started to decline bit by bit. I just wanted a little bit of respect for the things I did for her. Sadly, every time I felt like I wasn't getting what I deserved, I got angry and gave her every reason not to have the least bit of respect for me.
Over the next year and a half, I gradually descended deeper and deeper into the darkest pits of hell. On New Year's Eve of 2008, I had the absolute worst night of my life. In a flash, out of nowhere, I was one mere step from taking the final step over the precipice.
Finally, after hours and hours of exhausting torture, given and taken, Love and I were at a crossroads. Turn back now or continue on into the point of no return. We committed to bringing God into our lives.
We had always talked about how we knew we needed to start going to church, but there was forever something in the way. Mainly our relationship, we needed to get it fixed first. Then, we'd start going.
As it turned out, doing things backwards (in my eyes, anyhow), turned out to be just the right thing and our relationship did a 180 overnight. Sure, there are still bugs in it here and there, but overall, we're doing pretty darn good I think.
What's the point of all this endless rambling? Motivation.
All through my life, even growing up in the church, the motivation behind everything I did was just that. A great...big...I.
I was the only teenager in the church choir because I wanted the praise. I went on missions trips so I could show how great a Christian I was. I left the church because God didn't support the plans I had made. I started doing what I wanted to do because that's what I wanted to do and everyone else just had to deal with it because that's who I was. I did great work at my jobs because I wanted the prestige of fast advancement. Yadda, yadda, yadda...blah, blah, blah...I, I, I, I, I.
Pathetic, I know.
My motivation was all wrong and I'm brought to a saying that I've been hearing repeatedly for the last few months: Don't think less of yourself, but think of yourself less. Begin thinking of others more. God being the first and foremost of the others. God should be our motivation. Doing His work. Pleasing Him.
Colossians 3:17 tells us: And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.
Yep, you heard right. Everything we do, yes, everything!, should be done to in Christ's name, giving thanks to God the Father. We should be happy just to have the opportunity to be doing the things we do. Give it all to God, and while doing so (with apologies to Jack):
Ask not what your God can do for you; ask what you can do for your God.
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