The Blessing

Biblical Truth, Christian Discipleship, Inspiration,
Just hearing the word “blessing” takes me back to as early as I can remember– when our family gathered around the meal table, three times a day, and heard Mom or Dad ask, “Whose gonna say the blessing?”

Or in many cases, “Mark, put that pully-bone back!  We haven’t said the blessing yet!”  ( For those who don’t know, all chickens used to have a “pully-bone.” It was delicious meat surrounding a small y-shaped bone that was every kid’s delight to share in a pulling contest after the bone had been sucked dry of its tender white meat. Alas, it seems that KFC,  Zaxby’s and Popeye’s have chosen to relegate the treasured pully-bone to the ash heap of history. It’s really a shame.)

Although it was never said by anyone, I somehow imagined that if we didn’t say the blessing at mealtime the chances were good that a terrible judgement of food poisoning for the family might be around the corner. In other words, “the blessing” is for killing germs. Obviously, that quid pro quo was a bit misguided. In my case, the idea of gratitude for the abundance of food took time to grasp.  I think that my grandmother’s constant reminders of the plight of starving children around the world gave me insight into gratefulness. Still I always wondered how eating all of the boiled okra on MY plate could actually help those kids with empty plates. Nevertheless it worked on me. Thanks, Grandma Nichols.

But “the blessing” is not just a meal time thing. The Bible is full of incredible teaching about what it means to receive “a blessing.”  In both the Old and New Testaments, blessings were spoken over individuals, families, and nations by prophets, priests, fathers, and by God Himself.  There’s something absolutely supernatural about a blessing–  going far beyond the prayer at the family table.

Isaac blessed Jacob, Jacob blessed his sons, Samuel blessed David, Aaron blessed the people– it is consistent through the scriptures. We actually have the words of Aaron’s blessing over Israel in Numbers 6:22-26

The Lord said to Moses, “Tell Aaron and his sons, ‘This is how you are to bless the Israelites. Say to them:

This blessing was not Aaron’s blessing– it was GOD’S blessing, and it still is.  We are His people and it is His desire to bless us.  It is not something we beg for, it is something we receive by faith from the outstretched hands of our Father in Heaven.

I did an intense Hebrew word study that gave me so much insight on this blessing. I want to share it with all of my readers.  Let’s take it phrase by phrase:

“The Lord bless you…..”   Bless, in Hebrew, is barack, made up of three letters bayt, raysh, and kaf.  Bayt means “in/from the house;”  Reysh means “leader steps forth;” and Kaf means “cover with the hands”   The picture of “bless” is:  the leader of the house (father, pastor, king, etc.) comes out of the house with his hands stretched out to provide cover.  That’s absolutely powerful!  God has you covered!  All of your needs are met!  He’s got it!

…and keep you,”  Keep, in Hebrew, is shamar, meaning “to watch constantly, protect, preserve, to act as a watchman at the gate” Your Heavenly Father does NOT lose you in the busyness of this life. He is well aware of everything– he sees it all– and he is on 24 hour watch over you.

...the Lord make His face shine upon you…”  You might remember reading several prayers in the scriptures where someone asks God NOT to hide His Face from him.  In other words, they want to clearly know that God is near, and that He sees the trouble they’re facing. When I was a little boy performing on a stage at a PTA meeting or a Christmas program, I always had to find my parents in the crowd and make sure they were watching me.  If they were, I gained the strength to do my part to the best of my ability. If I could not find their faces in the crowd, I panicked. And it really helped if they smiled at me while I was under pressure– and they always did. That’s exactly what God does when He “makes His face shine upon you.”  He is a good Father looking in your direction and smiling.

” …and be gracious to you.”   This is where it really gets good. God doesn’t just make His faces shine upon you when you get everything right.  He doesn’t turn you away because you blow it. He is full of GRACE to help you in your weakness. As a kid on stage, I didn’t always remember my lines perfectly, or sing the right words, or stand where I was supposed to stand. But my parents’ smile was still mine to see. I can see Mom rooting for me to get through it– with a smile– not embarrassed at my mistake, but thrilled that I was looking in her direction. God delights when you look in His direction, wanting His approval above all.

“…the Lord turn his face toward you…”  In middle eastern culture when a person turns their face away from you, they are shunning you.  They are expressing deep shame and signaling a broken connection between two people.  You may have heard of a family member in that culture expressing something like, “You are not my son, you are dead to me,” refusing to even make eye contact with the object of the person’s scorn. Well, God is NOT LIKE THAT at all. I always remember the words of Romans 5:8,  “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”  Our Father does not reject you, shun you, or shame you when you fail.  He looks at you straight in the eyes and says, “I am FOR you, not against you!  Let me help you.”

“…and give you peace.”   The Hebrew word for peace is “shalom.”  Shalom does not simply mean the absence of violence and war.  It means much more than that. Shalom means completeness, wholeness, health, peace, welfare, safety  tranquility, prosperity, perfectness, fullness, rest, harmony, the absence of anxiety and discord. Shalom comes from the root verb shalom meaning to be complete, perfect and full. In modern Hebrew the word Shelem means to pay for, and Shulam means to be fully paid.  Through Jesus Christ and His sacrifice on the cross, the price for your SHALOM has already been paid.

“….Amen.”    “Amen” means “so be it,” or “I agree with all my being.”  Align yourself with God by saying “I agree” with his incredible blessing over you.  Amen!! Amen!!

And God’s blessing thorough Aaron is only one of many.   Look at this blessing from Deuteronomy 7:3:

“Know therefore that the Lord your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commandments.”

And this one is my favorite.  It is found in Deuteronomy 28:

God’s blessing inside the city,
God’s blessing in the country;
God’s blessing on your children,
the crops of your land,
the young of your livestock,
the calves of your herds,
the lambs of your flocks.
God’s blessing on your basket and bread bowl;
God’s blessing in your coming in,
God’s blessing in your going out.
God will defeat your enemies who attack you. They’ll come at you on one road and run away on seven roads.
God will order a blessing on your barns and workplaces; he’ll bless you in the land that God, your God, is giving you.    (Message Bible)

In the midst of the present Coronavirus crisis, I have been listening to an incredible song by Kari Jobe, Cody Carnes and Elevation worship. I’ve played it over and over and over.  Since it is straight from the mouth of God in scripture, it is trustworthy and truly supernatural.  I think you will be blessed by The Blessing.

I Have A Confession To Make

Family, Humor, Small Town America, True Stories

Yes. I have to finally get it off my chest. My beloved parents went to their graves without ever knowing about it.

Starting at the moment it occurred there was a cover-up, and the authorities never knew that little 7-year-old Mark was both the culprit and the victim. Oh yes, a handful of others knew, but they were all in on the cover-up. Fifty-six years later I think it’s high time I blow my cover and confess. 

It all happened at a high school basketball game in my hometown of Ashland. It all started so innocently.  While my father did his Jaycees duty in manning the concession stand, I was required to stay with my older brother and his friends in the bleachers. My brother Mike is five years my senior, so I was not an easy fit with his junior high aged crew. Without a doubt I was the pesky little shrimp that was assigned to his watch, but being an independent social animal I did not find it necessary to sit next to my brother at all times. I knew his friends and they knew me. I was safe as long as I stayed close to the pack. After all, this was the arrangement at least once or twice a week during basketball season. Occasionally during the game I was allowed to make my way to the concession stand to get a snack. Dad allowed me to put it on his tab for the night.

Ashland had a small town school with a small but crowded gym, and an enormous amount of school spirit. The town’s civic pride rose and fell on the success of the Ashland Panthers regardless of the season’s sport. Home court and home field victories were each celebrated as if  they were national championships. That’s just the way it was in Ashland, and the way it should be. Everyone in town agreed.

I don’t remember who the mighty Panthers were playing that night. In those days I didn’t know them by their school name, only by their colors. We, of course sported white uniforms with blue numbers and trim. Blue and white are STILL my favorite colors. I vaguely remember that the opposing team that night wore blue and gold, which could have been any one of several teams in our area. i know for sure it wasn’t Lineville– our arch rival from six miles down highway 9. They were red and black and I would have definitely remembered if it was Lineville. Nevertheless, I’m sure the game was an important one. At age seven I understood very little about basketball. I was more interested in the colors, the sounds, the cheers, the popcorn, and the crazy fans.

At some point during the last half of the game (probably at a crucial time as the game was in the balance– I don’t remember) one of Mike’s friends stuck a metal referee’s whistle in my face and said, “Blow it as hard as you can!”  And I did exactly as I was told. 

Suddenly, the entire gymnasium grew silent.  The blue and gold player racing down the court with the ball stopped cold in his tracks. The refs looked at one another in total confusion and the game came to an awkward halt. Amidst the cheering and screaming, the sound of the whistle had echoed through the gym’s high ceilings in a way that made the source almost untraceable. Meanwhile the instigator, a.k.a. “whistle owner ” (who will forever remain anonymous) leaned down and gave me a quick but commanding, “shhhhhhh.” Then he tucked the offending whistle into his coat pocket and pretended to be as startled as everyone else in the gym.  And again, I did exactly as I was told.  I shushed.

In about fifteen seconds, our highly annoyed principal, Mr. Kermit Traylor began patrolling the floor in front of the home bleachers, back and forth, pointing his long finger toward the crowd of students and parents, “Who has a whistle?   Who has that whistle?!” 

Well, I certainly didn’t respond!  I just sat there, half-covered up by the few around me who knew the truth.  After all, I didn’t have that whistle, and never really had it.  I just blew it.  That’s all.  My little seven-year-old heart pounded out of my chest, and I’m SURE my face appeared as guilty as sin. My mom could ALWAYS tell when I was guilty just by looking into my eyes. But fortunately, Mom was not at the game! Mr. Traylor finally gave up his attempt to locate the guilty party.  So without  a confessor– or a tattle-tale– the basketball game resumed.

I have no foggy idea who won the game that night.  I do not remember.  But I DO remember my brother being really mad at the guy who had directed me to blow the whistle, AND I clearly remember Mike’s firm command, “Whatever you do, don’t you dare tell Dad and Mom what you did!”

And again, I did exactly as I was told.  

So, for the first time in fifty-six years I brought it all up to my brother a couple of weeks ago on a phone call– and it all came back to him.  Yes, Mike also found it somewhere in his distant memory bank.  Laughing he stated, “If Mom or Dad had asked me about it, I would not have lied.  But since they didn’t, I didn’t see any reason for them to have to worry about it.”  Amen to that, brother.

Truth be known, I actually only remembered it recently while watching my little granddaughter Charlotte play basketball in a church gym.  Multiple games were being played at the same time and the abundance of referee whistles confused everyone. That’s when it all flooded back into my mind, and our family has enjoyed laughing about it ever since.

So now, it’s out. It’s done. I have confessed.

And boy do I feel better!

“There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known.”    Luke 12:2

Convinced

Biblical Truth, Christian Discipleship, Inspiration,

Lately it has become my new favorite word. “Convinced.” What does it really mean? If we start with a dictionary definition this is what we find for the passive use of the verb:

Convinced– “having been brought to a rock-solid belief in something.”

These days it’s hard to find folk with a rock solid belief in anything. We live in a subjective world where everything is relative– up for grabs. Our culture gets grayer by the moment as certainty falls by the wayside. Relativism is a popular alternative to moral absolutism.

Relativism– “the doctrine that knowledge, truth, and morality exist in relation to culture, society, or historical context, and are not absolute.”

To declare that something is either right or wrong will usually attract a challenge on the grounds that no one has the absolute moral authority to do so. And it’s not limited to issues of morality. Now even scientific fact and mathematical certitude are in danger of being roundly rejected. Everything is considered fluid– even gender! Individuals who make-up their own facts are placed on an even plane with those who live according proven and established facts. That’s a frightening world to live in.

How long can a legal system of “equal justice under law” function in a relativist society? Are there such thing as “rock solid facts” anymore? Can facts ever be established beyond a reasonable doubt? If not, then how will justice ever be carried out fairly and evenly?

I’m aware that everything is not simply black or white. I agree that some things ARE relative– things based on personal opinion, bias, and even cultural context. And we certainly cannot predict future events and call them facts.

But when there is nothing firm to stand on, we have nothing to build our lives upon. That’s why I am a firm believer in the Bible and the God of the Bible. I don’t understand everything in that amazing timeless book, nor do I claim to see all things clearly. But there are many things of which I am CONVINCED– those things have become my convictions– and they are not up for grabs. There are many more that I could list, but here are three that are the most rock solid of all.

  1. I know, that I know, that I know that God loves me, and wants the very best for my life. He doesn’t love me because I’m good, or because I’m smart, or because I’m super dedicated to Him. He just loves me, period. I am convinced!
  2. I know, that I know, that I know that He is a miracle worker. “Miracle” is defined as: “a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.” I can’t make miracles happen, I cannot deserve miracles to happen, nor can I demand that miracles happen. But God has given us the right to pray for miracles, and I will do it for as long as I remain on the earth. I am no longer a skeptic. I am a firm believer in the miracle power of God. I am convinced!
  3. I know, that I know, that I know, that Jesus Christ has forgiven my many sins, and has washed me clean through what He did for me on the cross. The Holy Spirit lives inside of me and I have a daily relationship with my Creator. I am a member of His family. I have meaning and purpose in my life because I belong to the Father. I know my identity, and will not trade it for anything.

I am CONVINCED that in this crazy, mixed-up, relativist world I am not a victim. I am absolutely confident that I have A PLACE TO STAND.

“I came to you in weakness—timid and trembling. And my message and my preaching were very plain. Rather than using clever and persuasive speeches, I relied only on the power of the Holy Spirit. I did this so you would trust not in human wisdom but in the power of God.” 1 Corinthians 2:3–5 (NLT)

Mark Spitz and Me

Humor, Inspiration, True Stories, ,

In the early 1970’s Mark Spitz was the man. His face was emblazoned on the Wheaties cereal box for several years. Between 1968 and 1972, Olympic swimmer Spitz won nine Olympic golds, a silver, and a bronze. He was only the third athlete in history to win nine Olympic gold medals. He won seven gold medals at the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich, all in world record time. This was an achievement that lasted for 36 years until it was surpassed by fellow American Michael Phelps, who won eight golds at the 2008 games in Beijing.

In an era when other swimmers, male and female, were shaving body hair, Mark Sptiz swam with a moustache. Spitz is quoted as saying, “When I went to the Olympics, I had every intention of shaving my moustache off, but I realized I was getting so many comments about it—and everybody was talking about it—that I decided to keep it.”

Needless to say, Mark Spitz was an American hero to me and everyone else in the USA. I think he’s the reason I decided to take swimming courses to complete my physical ed requirements in college in 1974-75. I actually earned six credits for swimming in my college days. I was a fairly good swimmer although I was a late bloomer– not learning to swim until I was about nine years old, and despite several frustrating years of swimming lessons. (For details, see my  January 2017 post– The Lady of the Lake)

Besides the name “Mark,” I shared some things in common with Mark Spitz– swimming experience, a thick helmet of dark hair, and a mustache. But it was what I DIDN’T have in common with Spitz that was the most telling.

Me 1975

At Samford University, I was placed in the advanced swimming class for some reason. It was probably because that semester there were only two choices– beginners and advanced. I was happy to be considered “advanced” but in reality I was apprehensive about what was expected of me. After a couple of classes I saw that I was not over my head, but was clearly up to my nostrils.

Our instructor was the Samford ladies swimming coach. She was friendly, fair, and tough. After a few weeks of remedial training on the four strokes used in competition,  she introduced freestyle sprinting to us as a method of pushing us to improve. At the end of each class period, she made everyone race against another class member until everyone (except the last poor soul) had won at least one sprint.

The freestyle sprint included swimming as fast as possible down the length of the olympic sized pool, performing a flip turn, and sprinting back to the starting position. The winner of each sprint got to exit to the locker rooms and was done for the day. The loser had to get in line to race against another loser, until there was only one multi-defeated loser left.

I broke out in a cold sweat in fear that I would be the loser of losers. How embarrassing would that be? Unimaginable. Of the twelve members in the swimming class, I could easily end up the runt of the litter. It all rested on who the coach paired me with in the initial sprint.

Fortunately, she had pre-arranged the matches. They were all based on what she perceived to be pairings based on similar swimming skills.  I don’t remember the name of the guy I was first paired with, but I do know that he looked nothing like Mark Spitz and me. I was just happy it wasn’t a tall dude with a legit swimmers build. Luckily I had eaten a hearty breakfast that morning and felt quite full of energy.

When it was my time to swim, I stood at my lane and stared into the sparkling blue water below me praying that my thick head of hair and mustache would not slow me down. I would definitely need all the aquadynamic help (that’s aerodynamics in water) I could get. Then in mid-thought I heard the magic word ring out– GO!!

I made a smooth entrance into the water and gave it all I had. I don’t know if I was breathing correctly (not sure I was even breathing at all), but I made it to the other end neck-and-neck with my opponent. Doing a perfect flip turn was not my specialty, but I performed it well that day. In fact, it was just a little bit better than the other guy’s turn, giving me a quick boost of confidence and a tiny lead.

Adrenaline kicked in and I swam like a crazed man in an alligator pit, skimming across the water like my life was in jeopardy. Approaching the finish I stretched out my fingers to touch the wall right on time!  Victory!  With one fluid motion I touched the wall, pushed myself up and hopped out of the pool in a blaze of glory. I had punched my ticket out of that day’s class on my first try, and breathed in the satisfaction of my accomplishment. No embarrassment for me today! No doubt Mark Spitz must have felt this way in Munich.

Taking two confident steps down the side of the pool in the direction of the locker room, I suddenly felt woozy, dizzy, sick. And then without warning, I puked all over the pool deck and into the water. The hearty breakfast had come back to haunt me– literally.

There were no more sprints to be held that day.  The pool had to be closed and disinfected.  I had become the reason there would be no biggest loser.  Every hypothetical loser in the room thanked me for their timely escape. Let’s just say that my name, like Mark Spitz’s, was left in high regard after I had won the big race.  It’s as close to Spitz and olympic gold as I would ever get.

“The race is not to the swift
or the battle to the strong,
nor does food come to the wise
or wealth to the brilliant
or favor to the learned;
but time and chance happen to them all.”                                                                                      

Ecclesiastes 9:11

Speaking Finnish

Humor, Inspiration, Master's Commission, True Stories, ,

Two weeks ago I submitted a post about a visit to Finland– to Santa Claus Village on the edge of the Arctic Circle. I have actually made four visits to the beautiful and amazing nation of Finland. The people are warm and friendly, and Finnish culture is so rich.

Finland is unique among the other Nordic countries of Northern Europe. It borders Russia in the east and Sweden in the west, but its language and history is entirely separate from both the Slavic Russians and the Scandinavian Swedes. The Finnish people call their nation, “Suomi.” Their complicated language is more akin to Estonian and Hungarian than any other– containing lots of double vowels, and double consonants, and spelling rules that are quite challenging to the English speaker. Still, most of the Finnish youth are bi- and tri-lingual– usually Finnish, English, plus a third (Swedish, Russian, or German, etc). They are a well educated people; not backward at all. Finland is the home of Nokia Telecom and other advanced technology companies. While in Finland, I was NOT the most educated person around– for sure. Other than “kiitos” (“thank-you,”) I did not try to speak any Finnish. I was just happy to let the Finns practice their English on me!

On my very first visit to Finland, my friend Israel and I stayed in the home of a wonderful couple named Tuulikki and Kalevi, who remain my friends today. Tuulikki understood and spoke good English, but her husband Kalevi did not. One cold Finnish morning we were treated to an incredible homemade breakfast prepared by Kalevi after his wife had left for work. There was no need for a common language between us. Kalevi did all his speaking through his culinary skills! He provided an array of all kinds of sweets, meats, cheeses, pancakes, fruits, and breads. Delicious!! And the coffee was from heaven!

There was only ONE item at the breakfast feast that we ate sparingly. It was a bread that was dark, dry, and packed with FIBER: Finnish Rye Bread (Ruisleipä)  One small piece gave us all the fiber we would need for a month or more! Kalevi handed me a second piece, but I hid it in my jacket pocket. Israel did the same when he was handed his second one. Each time we hid one, kind Kalevi just offered us another, thinking we loved it.

Not knowing Finnish, I looked for another way to politely refuse his offers. Then is dawned on me– NO means NO in most every language. But of course I didn’t stop at a simple, “No, kiitos.” Instead I motioned “no” with my hand and said, “No, kiitos, we can’t handle any more styrofoam.” It seemed to be a safe thing to say since Kalevi didn’t understand English. Besides, my comment got a little chuckle from Israel. Our host nodded his head signaling that he saw that we were stuffed already. Our happy faces showed our gratitude for the delicious mega-breakfast.

In the evening we returned to our host’s home for a relaxing end to the day. Tuulikki offered us use of the hot sauna that was located in the home. We had been instructed by our Finnish leaders that going to sauna at the close of the day is the very definition of hospitality in Finland, so we knew to not refuse the offer. Finnish saunas are unlike anything in American gyms. They are much hotter, and provide eucalyptus water to throw on the hot coals every few minutes. It is quite therapeutic for the skin, the lungs, and the circulation.

Finnish Sauna

Handing us two towels, Tuulikki intended to politely ask if we knew what to do in the sauna, but used the wrong English word in the process. She meant to say, “Do you know how to be in the sauna?” But instead said, “Do you know how to pee in the sauna?” Izzy quickly whispered to me, “Do we have to do that?” I simply nodded to Tuulikki in the affirmative. At the moment, ignorance seemed better than inquiring about using the sauna as a bathroom.

The sauna was nice, and (of course) we did NOT relieve ourselves there. Later, we returned to the family room and thanked them kindly for the wonderful sauna experience. With a broad smile Tuulikki was eager to say, “I’m sorry. I think I said the wrong word to you earlier. I should have used a B instead of a P.“ Together we laughed about the language mixup. Izzy and I were just glad that we didn’t follow her original instruction!

Then, Tuulikki added, “My husband is also very sorry that he offered you styrofoam for breakfast this morning.”

Izzy and I froze in embarrassment, but Tuulikki and Kalevi continued smiling. I was absolutely mortified at what I had said. How could I have been so rude and stupid?

“I’m so sorry,” I finally said. “Please forgive me. I thought Kalevi didn’t understand English, and I was just trying to be funny with Israel.”

“We’re so sorry,” Israel pleaded alongside me. “The breakfast was wonderful.”

“Oh, no worries,” Tuulikki answered. “It is true that Kalevi does not speak any English. But the Finnish word for styrofoam happens to be, ‘styrofoam.'” Unfortunately, I spoke more Finnish than I thought.

The Northern Lights

“Fools multiply words. No one knows what is coming….” Ecclesiastes 10:14