Call me weird, but on occasion I get the feeling I should say a quick prayer for someone I’m passing in traffic. I’m sure we all have prayed at least once for every light to turn green and every car to get out of the way so we can make it to work on time. And if you tell me you’ve never prayed that you won’t get a ticket when going 30 miles an hour over the limit, forgive me for not believing you. Been there, done that. (And at 40 years old, never gotten a ticket, either).

But back to the prayer deal. I was on I-285 a few days ago and happened to pass by a large truck with Brad Keselowski’s name on it. The name meant absolutely nothing to me but it was clear from the images on the truck that he is a race car driver. As for me, I never could get interested in NASCAR racing. I’m incredibly impressed that someone can drive 200mph all day long and not get himself killed, but I just can’t get interested in watching it.

Anyway, as I passed the truck, I felt I was supposed to say a prayer for Brad, whoever he was. Nothing fancy, just a prayer that he would be blessed and kept safe. Pulling away from the truck on my way home that day, I never expected to hear his name again.

But last night a funny thing happened. I was at a friend’s house and we were standing in the kitchen where he had a tiny television pointed toward a race in progress at Talladega Superspeedway in Alabama. Almost immediately there was a big wreck, and a few minutes later there was another big pile-up. I watched for a few minutes since my friend was watching, and then we turned and went downstairs for awhile. I didn’t know it before, but apparently my friend is a racing fan, as he turned to the race on the TV downstairs. At that point the race had just ended, and guess who won?

Brad Keselowski. The highway we were on just so happened to be a connecting point to put the driver and Brad’s car on his way toward Talladega.

After doing a little research, I found that 19 cars failed to finish that day, a seasonal record. In what nascar.com’s web site described as a “massive chain reaction”, the “herd thinned considerably” as car after car smashed up and left the race. Stars ranging from Jeff Gordon to Michael Waltrip to Tony Stewart either wrecked or were left in the dust as Brad’s car crossed the finish line by 0.304 second. I would have thought that was an amazingly close race, but the web site described it as a “relative whipping at a track where wins typically are measured in thousandths of a second.” Someone who posted a comment said, “If that wreck at the end didn’t happen, there was NO WAY he would have won.”

Really? Was it a late-race wreck that caused him to win, or could it have been prayer?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not taking the slightest amount of credit for his win. He’s quite obviously a very talented racer. But I can’t shake the feeling that he should have been one of the many casualties of the multiple wrecks.

Let me give you another example. My mother in law is in the middle of a messy legal proceeding to take guardianship of her elderly father’s business. His mental capacity has diminished to the point where he is not able to do even basic bookkeeping, and though it had to happen, she and her brother and sister are nonetheless placed in the unenviable position of having to wrest control so the business will not collapse. I did a short period of prayer and fasting, asking God to grant them success and in a way so as to preserve good relationships within the family.

A few days later I received an email from my mother in law. She marveled that her brother “admitted yesterday that it almost seemed like someone was causing everything to fall into place for us.”

And people wonder why I still pray.

It’s simple; because it works. We know from Scripture that the sincere prayers of the righteous are powerful and effective. Not because I’ve got it all together or because I’ve been anywhere near where I should be on a spiritual level. I pray because God answers prayers. I could go on and on about this, because these two examples are just the ones from the past few weeks. God really does answer prayers.

So what are you praying for?

Regardless of whether you’re a “Mac” or a “PC”, your life has been changed by the inventions of Steve Jobs, one of the two geniuses that founded Apple Computer. Though not an engineer or even a programmer himself, he is credited with everything from the Apple, the Mac, and pretty much any product that starts with a lowercase i. Through his vision he is credited with bringing graphical user interfaces to the masses, changing the way the world purchases music, and even changing the entertainment industry through an incredible string of ten blockbuster movies in a row when he was the driving force behind Pixar. It is doubtful Toy Story, the delightful movie that ushered in a bold, new era of digital animation, would have seen the light of day had it not been for the millions he poured into the struggling, unknown company. If Walt Disney introduced the world to the joys of quality animation, it was Steve Jobs who oversaw the development of technology that would give rise to the amazingly life-like animated feature films we now take for granted.

But all was not sweetness and light when it came to this pivotal man. Through a lengthy and unhealthy drama worthy of a bad reality show, in 1985 he was thrown out of Apple by a corporate president he personally had hired. In the ensuing decade that followed, Apple’s stock floundered and its product innovation ship plowed into the sand. Even worse, the company’s future looked bleak as rival Microsoft capitalized on technology Apple had developed and capture the desktop computing market with Windows. The top talent was leaving, finances were in shambles, and Apple’s chairman of the board admitted that the way things currently stood, “there’s only a 10% chance we will avoid bankruptcy.”

Then a funny thing happened. While Apple contemplated its dire situation, Steve Jobs plotted a comeback bid. Though he had long sold his $100 million in stock, he had kept a single share so he could join future shareholder meetings if he ever wanted to. And in 1997, Steve Jobs came back to Apple. In a historic keynote address that shook the technology world, he reasserted his role as the head of a truly great company. The result? By the end of that day, Apple’s stock rose by $830 million dollars.

I love technology, and as I sat in the lobby of a hotel early on New Year’s Day, 2012, while waiting for my family to wake up, I read about Job’s triumphant return to Apple in Walter Isaacson’s biography titled, simply enough, “Steve Jobs”.

Then it hit me.

I put down the book and stared in amazement. Not at what the man accomplished, but at the immediate, extraordinary impact he had when he walked back in the doors. His very presence rallied the party faithful and immediately began a rebound which ultimately would catapult Apple into being the most valuable company on the planet. The thing that hit me was that when he walked back in the doors, Apple was still Apple. The iMac, iPod, iPhone, and iMac didn’t exist. It still had the same demoralized workforce. It produced the same uninspiring products. Its financial statements bore testament to the stark reality of a company headed inexorably to the proverbial tar pits.

And yet when the founder re-entered the picture, the picture fundamentally changed in a way that everyone could see. The spiritual parallel that immediately drove me upstairs to grab my laptop and find a place to start writing was as clear as the coastal skies outside the hotel window.

See, for so many of us we have forgotten what makes us successful. We have engineered an informal but very real ouster of the one charismatic leader in our lives that gives us meaning. Like the doomed man selected to replace Steve Jobs in 1985, we have seized control and injected our own plans, our own strategies, and our own will into the way our lives are run. And, more than we tend to admit, we have suffered as a result.

“But I’m still a Christian!” To that, I respond, “Great!” But the brutal fact of the matter is that most of the Christians I know don’t lead vibrant, exciting lives. The passion is gone. The joy of life has been replaced by the mundane. People who used to be excited about their marriage tell me “things are okay”. People who used to be smack dab in the middle of the most exciting businesses and ministries I’ve ever seen have tucked tail and retreated into the shadows. God-given plans have been shelved by people too intimidated by economic uncertainties. The floor is littered with fantastic dreams gasping for breath, begging not to die.

There is something fundamentally wrong with this picture! God did not give you the breath of life so you could, well, merely exist. He did not gift you with incredible talents so you could display them on a shelf, like an old trophy from high school that once meant something to you. God created you with a definite purpose; an exciting plan; and a very real reason for waking up each day.

Being that it is New Year’s Day, it is the best time of year for me to put some resolutions in place. Sure, I fast in January of each year and enjoy the spiritual, practical, and health benefits associated with giving my body a good re-boot. But I didn’t set out to make this about a resolution. It just hit me that if we would resign our untenable position as CEO of our lives and invite our founder back into his old office, we, too, would see an immediate re-valuation of our lives that would energize us, revitalize us, and yes, save us from living out our days in a manner far beneath our calling.

This article isn’t at all about Stephen Paul Jobs, but someone with similar initials. This is about the need to re-invite our Savior, Precious Jesus, back into His rightful place as the awesome and unquestioned leader of our lives.

If you’re like me you can point to times where things just didn’t turn out the way they were supposed to. In my case it was a business that crashed and burned. For others a ministry that didn’t work out. For others, a marriage that started out great but just didn’t make it. I’ve done my fair share of dumb things and have paid for it dearly. Maybe you have, too. But you know what? God knew what we would do, when we would do it, and how we would get to the place we now stand. HE GAVE US THOSE DREAMS ANYWAY. And He said, “go for it.” There cannot be a more positive message for us today than that of the Creator reminding us of our incredible value. We’ve got to get God back in the center of our lives, re-focus, re-plan, and re-executed. It’s time for version 2 of our future to begin. Future 2.0, myFuture Pro, iFuture Premium Edition, or whatever you want to call it. But let’s go for it.

There exists a growing cacophony of voices proclaiming more doom and gloom for 2012. Some even point to an ancient Mayan calendar (which ominously stops in 2012), as evidence that the world is about to end. But don’t let the supposed predictions of a long-dead civilization detract you from the certain promise of God’s Word: “‘For I know the plans I have for you’, declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future’” (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV).

As a result of the three-year study that ultimately produced 100 Tough Questions For God, I believe the single common denominator of those who experience a true turn-around in their personal lives is when we consider our ways. As long as things are business as usual, things will continue to be business as usual. But when we give careful consideration to how we do things and ask God for a better way, things happen. God has issued a personal challenge to everyone who wants great things to happen: “Give careful thought to your ways. You have planted much, but have harvested little. You eat, but never have enough. You drink, but never have your fill. You put on clothes, but are not warm. You earn wages, only to put them in a purse with holes in it… You expected much, but see, it turned out to be little” (Haggai 1:1-9, NIV).

Wow. Maybe there are things in your life that by this point should have turned out far better or become far more substantial. If so, today is the day to get back on track. If you look back and see that nothing has improved over the past ten years, don’t fret. Just make sure you don’t remain on the same dead-end track that will cause you to say the same thing in ten more years. Wherever you are, today is the day to consider your ways. Today is the day to say, “God, what direction do I go in?” And today is the day to resolve to do just what the Good Doctor orders. As they say, your future awaits.

I don’t know when the Second Coming of Christ will be any more than the next guy. But as far as our personal lives go, commit to making this year the year we say: “He’s back. Jesus is back in the forefront of our lives where He should be, and where He can do the most amazing things. Things we never dreamed of. Things we have long since given up on. Things we couldn’t possibly do on our own.” Yeah, I like the sound of that; it’s just what we need. He’s back.

10/20/2011

St. Louis, Missouri. You heard it here first; there has been a rip in the space-time continuum.

Game 2 of the 2011 World Series began tonight in earnest, with 47,288 fans bundled against the cold in Busch Stadium where the St. Louis Cardinals started with a one-game lead in the best-of-seven Series. But before we talk about what happened tonight, let’s see what happened last night in the same stadium. Late in the game there was no score; St. Louis Cardinal Allen Craig was up to bat against Texas Ranger pitcher Alexi Ogando. Craig was pinch hitting, and Ogando was the reliever. Ogando threw a pitch, Craig connected, and was safely on base. That eventually resulted in St. Louis taking the lead.

I better move quickly here since my wife is reading this and is quickly getting bored with the play-by-play analysis here. But now, 24 hours later, the same thing happened with uncanny, even eerie accuracy. Once again it is late in the game, and once again Ogando has been called in to relieve the Texas starting pitcher. Once again there is no score, and it just so happened that Craig was again called in to pinch hit for one of the Cardinals’ regular hitters. Once again Ogando threw the exact same type of pitch. It was even placed in the same part of the strike zone. And once again Craig connected, sending the ball into play and ultimate giving the Cardinals the go-ahead run two World Series games in a row.

Did you hear the rip?

This has never happened before, and I don’t know why the rest of the sports world hasn’t jumped all over this. Thus far all I’ve heard about it was when the game’s announcer said this is the first time in history a pinch hitter has produced the go-ahead run two World Series games in a row. Now Ogando is a superb pitcher, there’s no doubt, but if I were him right now I would be ramming my head against my locker and asking, “WHY did I have to throw him the exact same pitch? WHY did I have to give him the same ammunition I gave him just yesterday so he could burn me again with it?”

To my wife’s relief the sports part of this blog is now complete. But whether we care in the least who wins the World Series, this question is absolutely relevant to us today. Why? Because many of us are still doing the exact same things we did yesterday and predictably are getting the exact same results.

· We still argue with our spouse about <fill in the blanks>, and as a result our marriage is still in the dumps.

· We still smoke 2 packs a day, and our health is still a mess.

· We still watch 4 hours of TV a day and lament (during commercial breaks) that we have no time to pursue the dreams that God put us here to accomplish.

· We approach our job the same way we always have, and we’re in the same spot career-wise we were 20 years ago.

A friend of mine told me that “nothing happens until something moves”. Whether or not that was an original statement, he is absolutely correct. And it just so happens that we don’t move enough. It is very easy to become comfortable with the present situation regardless of how bad it might be. The Israelites certainly did so; they were brutally oppressed by Pharaoh in Egyptian captivity, yet almost no sooner did God send Moses to lead them to safety than they were complaining about how much better they had it in Egypt.

And so it begins. Circumstances beyond our control make it harder to do the things we know we should do. Resignation sets in, then apathy, and without a whisper we enter the blissfully ignorant realm of laziness.

How many millions in this nation are propped up unnecessarily by the government for the rest of their lives, not because they are genuinely unable to help themselves but because they no longer wish to do so? They have traded their dignity for guaranteed government benefits, and given enough time, they patently cannot see any other reality than society owing it to them.

I’ve been on the wrong track before and in more than one way. I once owed scores of thousands of dollars to credit card companies, not for consumer purchases but due to business debt when the housing market crashed, taking 2 of our investment houses with it and forcing us to sell the rest. The easiest thing would have been to declare bankruptcy and be done with it, but we worked painfully for three long years to settle debt after debt. Let’s just say I won’t be making that particular mistake again.

Moving forward is not easy, and embracing change takes guts and faith. But it’s time we get over the unfairness of it all and get moving. Many of us complain about the same situation we complained about ten years ago, but since we haven’t done anything about it, the situation hasn’t fundamentally changed. Is our plan to complain another ten years and hope for different results? Brilliant!

So what needs to change in your life, and what will you do about it this today? This week? This month? The cold, hard reality is that if you haven’t made a change by this time next month, you’ll be throwing that exact same pitch as Ogando did, and seeing life best you once again.

Pensacola, Florida, August 2011.  We are enjoying our family vacation in Destin, about an hour’s drive from here.  Having wanted to visit a lighthouse for some time, we took the opportunity to take a bit of a detour to the Pensacola Lighthouse and Museum.  After walking up 177 steep steps to the top, our legs had much in common with plates of Jell-O.  The trip back down those same steps didn’t necessarily look too appealing, but at the top of the lighthouse was a sign (really!) that strictly warned against jumping, saying, “Survivors will be prosecuted”.  That kind of sign makes you wonder how many people jumped before the authorities realized they needed a sign.  But would someone nutty enough to jump pay attention to a sign?  It seemed like certain death to me, and not having any bungee gear on me, we dutifully made the slow, but much easier, trip back to ground level.

But speaking of certain death, we passed the historic St. Michael’s Cemetery while leaving Pensacola and decided it merited a quick walk through.  Consisting of eight acres and 3,200 graves, it is rich with history. Situated in what was originally part of a small frontier outpost, the King of Spain designated it an official cemetery in 1807, many years before Florida gained statehood.  We were the only (living) ones there that day, and the place was as quiet, well, it was as quiet as a graveyard. There is something sobering about walking through a cemetery, and today was no exception.

I immediately initiated a contest to see who could find the oldest and largest grave. “Oldest” would be defined as the earliest birth date we could find.  As it turned out, my son Wesley found the largest one and my daughter Katie found the oldest one, dated 1744. The oldest official burial site was listed as 1812. Walking among the various sites, I grew quiet while studying my surroundings. There was one Albert Riera, identified with the rank of Private in the Confederate States Army. There was a massive granite construction to the memory of the Sullivan family, with both an outer iron gate and an inner gate guarding its departed occupants.  Both gates were locked.

There was Dorothy Walton, the wife of George Walton, whose signature adorns the Declaration of Independence. Impressed with this bit of history, I kept walking. There was Julia Washington Blount, a descendant of the family of our first President. And of course there were thousands of others whose names, titles, and legacies are perhaps lost among the faded paged of history. I reached out and examined the texture of an ancient tombstone whose markings were largely eroded by time. Hurricane Ivan left his own impact in 2004, adding to the natural damage of age and as well as some vandalism.

In marked contrast to the graves with obscured markings, one of the newer tombstones contained a surprisingly shiny picture of a woman. There were the graves of those who lived into their nineties (and probably beyond), and I noted sadly the short graves of small children, perhaps even the stillborn. Having lost our first child due to an ectopic pregnancy, my heart ached for the parents who once stood in that very spot and said their goodbyes to a beautiful child they would never know.

As the name suggests, St. Michaels was originally designated a Catholic cemetery, but many faiths are represented on these grounds. There were large stones in the shape of crosses, presumably identifying its inhabitants as believers in Jesus Christ.  If so, their eternities are beautifully assured. Then there were those whose markings were of Freemasonry, an occult revival of the ancient mystery religions of pagan Egypt.  Call it what you want and dress it up for Western consumption all you like, but for the dead worshippers of Isis and Osiris, no amount of prayer would help them now.

And then it gets personal. This year I have been a pallbearer not once but twice, following the loss of my father’s brother as well as my maternal grandmother. Death touches us all, and once again I am reminded by the various religious markings on those tombstones of the unfathomable spiritual consequences of our lives. Oh yes, I examined my heart while walking through the well-manicured grounds of that cemetery. As it happened, this week I celebrated my fortieth birthday, and I certainly have enough graying hair to prove it. How many years will pass before my time comes? Only God knows, and I haven’t asked Him. But one thing I do know: my time to live life to the fullest is now. My time to make sure things are right with God is today. So is yours.

I’m posting this a bit late, but today was my day to get roped into another mountain biking expedition. My friend and colleague Forrest is a self-described marathon freak, with a lengthy list of triathlons and other athletic feats to his credit. Me, on the other hand, well, let’s just say my list of credits could be considered somewhat shorter. I do enjoy biking, but training for a triathlon thus far has just proven more than I have been willing to tackle. Nevertheless, I realized that as much grief as I give him for “getting me into” these things, everyone needs a Forrest to encourage them to stretch and do things they otherwise would never do.

For example, without Forrest, I would not be able to say I have ridden one hundred miles on a bicycle on a single day. But a few years back that’s exactly what we did. We trained for months, camped out in Claxton, Georgia, got up about 4:45am, biked through freezing cold and then suffocating heat all the way to just past the 100 mile mark. If it weren’t for Forrest, I wouldn’t be mountain biking today. So let’s see how this goes.

After church, we met at a certain trailhead on Georgia’s well-known Silver Comet Trail and got started. I had already put a 2 ½ hour limit on the outing due to some later plans in the evening, so how bad could it be? I was about to find out.

As you would expect, mountain biking is about getting up close with nature, not experiencing a tranquil ride down a scenic, tree-lined path, which is what the Silver Comet trail is famous for. The grade for the carefully engineered paved path is only about 2%, so it is practically flat. But running somewhat parallel to the trail is an unofficial dirt path that is anything but flat. The dirt path provides the cyclist with many of the same features as its paved counterpart, but with the added benefit of allowing the cyclist to experience a far greater chance of getting bitten by a snake or crashing head-first into a Georgia pine. I only saw one snake today, a very small one that I rode by about a foot to my right. It wasn’t moving though, so I guess I should thank Forrest for helpfully running over it moments before. And so the ride began. Barely had we begun when we had our first bone-jarring run, with rocks and sticks littering the path so much that it seemed to momentarily turn your brain into jelly. It took only minutes to work up a sweat, so I started to reach down and grab my water bottle, which was – gone? Apparently going down a steep hill, the bottle had slid out and I had been too preoccupied with trying not to get killed to notice. That water bottle is my lifeline on bike trips, and just knowing that I had nothing left increased my thirst. But there was nothing to do but keep pedaling.

And so we pedaled. We pedaled uphill, and then uphill some more. We went through small streams and through long stretches of mud, an unwelcome present from the thunderstorm of the previous day. At length the dirt trail converged briefly with the main trail, and a passing biker saw my mud-covered bike (and body), and pointed to the nice, paved trail and gave me an incredulous look that plainly said, “What on earth are you doing, why not ride on the pavement like everyone else?”

I was wondering the same thing myself. Here I was, covered in mud, throat parched, trying in vain to pedal uphill on a muddy trail that just leaves your tires spinning, aching, and riding an old pseudo-mountain bike. Did I mention my bike has bad brakes? Whatever happened to taking a nap on Sunday afternoon like a normal person? At times the trail was so narrow that I had to squeeze my elbows in to keep from leaving any skin on the trees that we passed at great speed. At other times there were no trees, but a miscalculation at the wrong time would nonetheless send you crashing down a steep hill towards a rocky creek-bed thirty feet below. More than once I graciously reflected on the vision and foresight of my boss, the president and founder of our company, for providing an employer-sponsored health plan. I might just need it today.

That question again: Why am I here? I reflected on a book we’re studying right now called One Month To Live, by Kerry & Chris Shook, which encourages you to live each day as if you only had one month to live. So lately I have tried to say “no” less often and spend more time with friends and family. So that’s how I came to be here.

But a funny thing happened as I wondered anew if I had lost all semblance of sanity by agreeing to this outing. We reached the top of a hill and almost without realizing it, was headed straight down a stretch of hill that God made specifically for mountain bikers. The trail widened for a short while and was smooth enough that you picked up significant speed before sending you through a series of breath-taking turns that were just perfect. The wind was in your face, it was a perfect spring day, and all of a sudden the day just couldn’t possibly have been any better. The trail narrowed abruptly, but we were still going downhill so it turned tricky and dangerous in an instant. Trees and branches whizzed by inches from my face, and one wrong move would result in my getting intimately acquainted with a tree, a rock, or both. I’m sure my heart was racing, and I was braking for all I was worth with little results. And all of a sudden it hit me that I was smiling. Yes! Grinning from ear to ear!

I smiled I as took turn after turn with confidence. I smiled as I nearly collided with a tree only to have the presence of mind to steer the bike back on the trail with a tenth of a second to spare. I smiled as I headed further downhill and narrowly avoided a concrete structure that appeared out of nowhere. This was living!

And at that moment I realized the real reason why I was there. I like R&R as much as the next guy, but I wasn’t put on the earth to watch TV and take naps all day. Would I honor God by eating the idle fruit of laziness, or by daring to do something that would require exercising every fiber of my being? I think we all know the answer.

You know what? That trip hurt. I fully expect to be sore tomorrow, and the bike will need to be pressure washed to get all that mud off. I have at least one open blister and another one threatening to open at any moment. But I had a blast, and no one can take those memories from me. When I finally realized this on the trail today, I thought about a great quote by Beth Moore: “Life shouldn’t be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather, to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly shouting, ‘Wow! What a ride! Thank You, Lord!’”

My thoughts exactly. Lord, just give me the wisdom to live each day as though I have only one month to live. Not in doing foolish things or foolhardy things, but to dare to live a life worth living. Wow, what a ride, indeed.

I’m sure we’ve all seen an image captioned, “what’s wrong with this picture?” It usually is a humorous attempt to point out something quite obviously wrong. But this picture wasn’t funny, and I wasn’t laughing.

In fact, it was the second week in a row that found me in a funeral home. Just last week I paid my respects to a friend who had passed away at the good old age of 88. He was a well-loved minister and I have no doubts that God’s plan for his life had been filled. But this week it hit much closer to home, with my father’s only brother being promoted to glory, as they say. He was only 68.

My uncle Verlyn was a cowboy, and I don’t mean that he owned a cowboy hat and watched an occasional western. I mean he was a true cowboy, and “Cowboy” in fact was his nickname. So while you might have an uncle who is a cowboy, my uncle was the National Endurance Riding Champion of 1977. He loved horses and loved rodeos, and to honor his memory, there I sat in the funeral home dressed as much like a cowboy as I could manage. And so was pretty much everyone else.

But back to that picture. As I sat in the room adjoining where my uncle lay in state, I noticed a picture directly opposite me that I felt had no place in a funeral home. There between two lamps and presiding above an elaborate sofa was a picture of a storm-tossed sea. It immediately struck me as curious, because funeral homes seem to go to such lengths to project images of peace, serenity, and dignity at every turn. As if to subtly position friends and family to focus on natural and heavenly beauty.

I would expect to see an inviting meadow. A calm lake. A panoramic expanse of vast mountaintops. And if it were a painting of an ocean, I would expect to see bright sunlight filtering through a serene beach, with gentle waves lapping at the sandy shore. But this? I stared in puzzlement at the waves crashing loudly on rocks, as if warning any ships not to venture too close lest its passengers meet with disaster. I noted the dark clouds above, and the gloomy air, as if the heavens were about to open with cold, unwelcome gusts of rain.

And I thought, what’s wrong with this picture?

In short order, the funeral home director called for the pallbearers to make their way towards the chapel. My cousins and I filed in and sat in the front row to await the beginning of the service. My heartbroken aunt sat a few feet to my left, with her youngest son draping an arm around her and my grandmother sitting next to him. How unfair for my grandmother to be expected to sit through the funeral service of her own son. I shake my head, silently begging that God will never ask that of me. God, let me be taken before my children no matter how old they are. Please.

The soothing notes of guitar music wafted to the ceiling of that chapel. My uncle would have approved of the choice of music. And as the music continued, I stared unseeing at the front of the chapel and wondered some more about that picture. Why did the decorator deem it appropriate to install a picture of an angry sea in a funeral home? Was it not an affront to those who needed peace and solace? Even worse, was it a cruel reminder of the dark days ahead for those who had just lost a loved one?

Then I realized I was looking at things from the wrong point of view. As I sat on a wooden pew in that funeral home chapel, I considered that maybe the picture was a throwback to the storm-tossed Sea of Galilee where Jesus’ disciples frantically wondered if they had witnessed their last sunrise. And yet Jesus calmed the storm.

As it hit me, I smiled in spite of myself, remembering how many storms God has led me through. I considered how many other funerals I have been to over the years, yet I am still standing and in perfect health. I considered a real estate business that seemed to implode amid a crashed market, and yet I never lacked for any necessity even during the worst of that financial storm. I can list no shortage of faults and failures, and yet I smile when I think of the undeserved blessings I have received from God’s outstretched hands.

It reminded me of the famous “footprints in the sand” story, where the man pointed out to God that during life’s toughest times he could only see one set of footprints. He assumed that he had been totally alone during those times. But he, too, had looked at things from the wrong point of view. And God told him that the reason there was only set of footprints during those times was because that was when God carried him. Who knows, maybe the “footprints in the sand” picture was in fact taken on the same beach as the storm-tossed picture that caught my eye in the funeral home. How fitting that would be!

So it reminded me that true peace isn’t found in an idealistic picture of bright, sunny meadows. True peace is a daily reminder that the same God who brought us through life’s previous storms will lead us safely through any future storms we may encounter. It is a reminder that while a life fully experienced includes a certain amount of grief and pain, God alone knows how to navigate us toward calmer waters. And because of that, I know that my uncle is not in my past but in my future. I know that when my time comes, I’ll get a big bear hug from him. And I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he is wearing a cowboy hat.

I took a photo of that picture, and I think I’ll keep it.

To pass the time, a friend suggested I download a program called FlightControl onto my iPhone. With FlightControl, you are the air traffic controller, using your finger to direct a variety of planes to different landing areas. It starts out very simple and very easy, with only one or two planes moving slowly across the screen. All you have to do is use your fingers to draw a flight plan, and the planes or helicopters follow your plans precisely. Then some faster planes arrive, and you realize that putting a slower plane in front of a faster one is a disaster. Several minutes into the game, you have 3 different types of planes flying at 3 different speeds, and maybe 10 or 12 planes in front of you at once and moving in a complex web of your own design. That’s mighty hard to do, and if you lose your concentration even for an instant, you’re bound to have two or more simultaneous crashes. And with FlightControl you don’t get any extra chances; one crash spells G-a-m-e

O-v-e-r.

Recently I fastened my seatbelt in a United Airlines jet at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, maybe 15 miles from my home. (I know we need a longer name for that airport, but I can’t think of one.) But as I settled in and felt the plane taxi slowly down the runway in preparation for take-off, I though it would be fitting for me to pull out the old FlightControl game and have some fun.

Then I stopped. As the plane taxied past the various terminals, I noticed row after row after row of airplanes everywhere. Hartsfield is the world’s busiest airport, encompassing over 4,700 acres, and it seemed the entire area was a hotbed of urgent activity, with planes coming, planes going, maintenance crews working, and luggage crews trying desperately to keep up with it all. Last year there were over 970,000 arrivals and departures, ferrying a total of over 88 million passengers safely to their destinations. If I simplify the math and not factor in the obvious seasonal fluctuations, that comes out to an average of close to a quarter of a million passengers each and every day. As luck would have it, my destination was the Chicago O’Hare airport, which is the second busiest airport in America and the third busiest in the world. And to think that in the middle of this aviation symphony we actually departed the gate one minute early!

All of a sudden I looked back at my iPhone app and felt renewed appreciation for the more than 58,000 airport workers (really!) who make it all possible. My current high score with FlightControl is 202 airplanes safely landed. So that means that no matter how hard I have tried, the best of my abilities have resulted in me safely handling the equivalent of about 18,000 passengers before I get a large number of innocent people killed. Looked at another way, my name would be displayed in disgrace all over the front-page news long before the air traffic controllers at Hartsfield finished their morning coffee.

But I kept thinking and realized that as much volume as the Hartsfield controllers handle each day, it nonetheless is but child’s play compared to what God does. Here we have a God who can answer the prayers of every single passenger at Hartsfield and a hundred other airports around the world without missing a beat. He deals with the triumphs, setbacks, and personal disasters of billions of people, weaving a tapestry of unfathomable proportions that slowly but surely advances His positive plan for mankind.

I was quite impressed with the statistics above that give one a picture of how busy the Atlanta airport is. But how would I begin to research the statistics on how many prayers God handles every second of every day? Go ahead, google the phrase “how many prayers does God answer daily”. You will get exactly zero results.  Why? Because not even the smartest folks at google have the dimmest clue. Now try “how many miracles does God perform daily”.  Bzzt. You’ll get no results there, too. How about “how many disasters does God prevent daily”?  Same thing.

There simply is no way for mortal man to know these things, regardless of how big our airports are or how advanced our civilization has become. And so there I was, taxiing down that runway, completely humbled as I realized that my highest plans and grandest goals were nothing when compared to God. Hubris breeds deception, and we are deceived if we think we can safely navigate the crowded airspace of life on our own.

We might weather a little turbulence on occasion and congratulate ourselves on a job well done. But while we thought we were doing so well with a minor problem, God directly prevented another plane from blindsiding us. That realization is enough to bring me back down to earth and give honor where it is due – all to God.

I don’t quite know where my flight plan will take me. But I know one thing: I don’t want to be the one in the pilot’s seat. Psalm 37 says that God orders the steps of the righteous, and more than anything I want God to be handling the guidance system of my life. So maybe I better scoot over and let God fly this baby.

Today I started again through the New Testament, beginning in Matthew chapter 1. At the rate I read it’ll take awhile for me to go through it, and I almost skipped the first chapter since it was just a list of family names. Why bother reading through a bunch of names from Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, all the way through 42 generations to Jesus? What’s the point?

But read it, I did, and a few minutes later I realized how relevant and timely that chapter really is. The importance has little, if anything, to do with the list of names. Who in the world is Hezron? Or Joram? Or Abiud? I sure hope I never have to read that list publicly as everyone will be laughing at my futile attempts at correct pronunciation. Even though some of these men were kings, nevertheless, the list itself appears to have little meaning to us today.

But as I painstakingly neared the end of the chapter I realized that this is a picture of God’s plan for us. From the time God made his promise to Abram to the time Mary first gasped in wonder at the baby Jesus squirming in her young arms, was 42 generations. Forty-two generations. God didn’t tell Abram the plan and then wrap up the plan in a few weeks or even a few years. And you know what? I’m glad He didn’t, because if God’s plan had been completed back in Abram’s day, you and I might never have been born. If God worked on our timetables and answered prayers in the way most of us would prefer, somehow I doubt history would have progressed very far.

Not convinced? Let’s fast-forward to the first century church, just shortly after Jesus returned to heaven to prepare a place for the saints. There was great expectation that the risen Savior would return literally at any moment, and that’s of course what the church prayed for. The early church experienced such incredible persecution that it literally scattered believers across the known world. How many thousands of Christians were fed to the lions or crucified? No wonder they wanted Jesus to return quickly! But if Jesus had answered their prayers, history would have ended nearly 2,000 years ago.

Just think: you’d never have had a chance to fall in love. Your hopes and dreams would never have lit up your eyes. Those with children would never have known the joy of watching their children mature into all that God intended for them to be.

So I’m glad God’s plan continues to unfold. I know we have needs and desires today, and we can’t wait 42 generations for God to supply those needs. But I sure am glad the Creator can see the end from the beginning, and that he knows in advance what each day will bring us. So instead of worrying about tomorrow, let’s honor God with the time we have now and let Him take care of the rest.

My good friend Bobby teaches a Sunday School class, and with Easter Sunday a mere three days away, his thoughts naturally turned towards the resurrection. The entire Christian faith centers around one undeniable fact: that Jesus rose from the dead. Without the resurrection there is no faith, since if Jesus didn’t conquer death, neither will we. Now I know there are in fact those who dispute the resurrection, but the fact is, hundreds of people witnessed Jesus walking around in perfectly good health after the miraculous resurrection as recorded by eyewitnesses. Keep in mind that professional Roman soldiers were responsible for ensuring Jesus’ death. After being beaten, tortured, hung on a cross in a position medically shown to cause the most hideously painful muscular contortions imaginable, and finally stabbed in the side with a spear, any reasonable person would conclude that the battle-hardened Roman soldiers who performed thousands of crucifixions, would make absolutely sure their victims were dead. Their own lives depended upon it.

But what if?

Bobby’s question to his class this Sunday will be this, “What if there is a report that comes out that proves without a doubt that the resurrection was fabricated and in fact never happened? How would you feel?” Which raises the next question, which is, “what implications over the next month, year, and years, would this report have on the world?” It’s an interesting question, isn’t it? Well, there would of course be many among the faithful who would ignore the report, if for no other reason than the fact that the implications are too terrible. Others would react, as I did, and say “scientists can come up with any report they like that ‘proves’ I was never born, but I know I was born anyway!’ Nevertheless, I’ll tell you what I think would happen if such a report were to be widely accepted as truth.

1. Virtually all giving and charity would slow to a trickle. It’s the Christians who give, because Christ is the ultimate Giver. Find me one major, non-Christian charity that isn’t funded by a government entity. Thought so.

2. Some comedians would be unemployed, because a shameful percentage of their material consists of jibes against Christ and His followers. With God out of the picture, they would be forced to find real work, and that’s funny.

3. Immorality would escalate, since if there is no resurrection, there is no redemption. If God doesn’t exist, then there is no accountability for sin. The deadly onslaught of unabashed immorality Hollywood applauds would result in a flood even larger than that experienced by Noah. Never mind, if the resurrection didn’t occur, I’m sure Noah’s Ark was nothing but fable.

4. Humanity would degenerate back to the dark ages of barbarism.

5. The U.S. government would abandon its true friend, Israel, faster than an unemployed comedian can file for benefits. The underlying reason for our support of this great nation is because of our common religious heritage, since Christianity of course sprang from Judaism, and there is still a critical mass of believers who understand that God hasn’t forgotten about Israel.

6. At least six godless nations would observe the fact that Israel is completely alone, and would launch a coordinated aerial or nuclear attack to completely annihilate them. The balance of power in the Middle East would shift immediately on such a scale as to throw the entire region into utter chaos.

7. Suicides would jump through the roof as all the anti-depressants in the world couldn’t stem the tide of hopelessness. You think there’s a lot of anti-depressant commercials on TV now? Just wait.

8. A political vacuum would occur in the United States, as Christians of both political parties abandoned the long-held guiding principles that built this great nation to begin with. Some would tender their resignations, seeing nothing worth fighting for.

9. Speaking of fighting, many of our armed services members would be AWOL because there’s nothing worth fighting for. Would “God, duty, country” become “Duty, country?” I wouldn’t risk my life fighting for an immoral regime, would you?

10. Our paper money and coinage would have to be re-printed, since there would be no point in mentioning our trust in God. Ditto the Ten Commandments and any trace of the Christian faith in our government offices, civic centers, schools, and public places. Hopefully we can find a nice statue of Karl Marx on eBay.

11. Every Christian pastor, teacher, author, and minister would be out of a job, and my friend Bobby would be forced to go fishing every Sunday. At least he wouldn’t have to feel guilty any more for fishing on Sunday.

To be sure, the above wouldn’t happen overnight. How long it would take certainly is a matter of dispute. But the very thought is depressing. Either way you cut it, the above represents the downward spiral of society with no possible solution. With a population of around 6.5 billion people, the earth simply could not sustain a godless society. Anarchy and lawlessness would spiral out of control, and the world really would be in “the last days”. Not because the book of Revelation was correct, mind you, but because the foolishness and deadliness of godless man would render all mankind’s days numbered. So what if? What if the resurrection never happened?

If it never happened, then God help us.

Wait, if God didn’t exist, who would help us?