Coming in to work this morning I was listening to the AFR station on the radio. The DJ was talking about the “old home place” where his wife’s grandparents lived. From the time he started dating his wife, she spoke of the wonderful summers that she spent at her grandparent’s farm and how precious memories of those times were locked in her mind.Â

He said that each time they would drive through any small rural town, she would say, “This is just like it was at my grandparent’s.” She’d talk about how neighbors helped neighbors; about how they shared produce, and the work of gathering and preparing produce to last through the winter months.

Not long ago, on a family vacation, he decided that they would go to the small town where his wife’s grandparents had lived, and would find that old country farm that generated all those wonderful stories she’d had shared with him over the years. It took some doing; the small town was no longer so small. And the childhood memories of his wife held little more than landmarks as directions.

When they found that old home place, she was shocked. The house was almost obscured from view by overgrowth. The beautiful pastureland was filled with tall trees. She was extremely disappointed until she saw a large tree in the backyard where the close-line once stood.

Oh, that tree. It was there just as she remembered. She pointed out to her husband and daughter the big tree and, “See the fork in the tree, it was in that fork where my grandmother would put me while she hung out the laundry. My grandmother would sit me up in the fork of that tree and I would eat a bowl of cereal and watch her hang out clothes. We did that every day.”

They slowly drove away and headed for their evening destination. Soon he noticed that his seven year old daughter was sitting (too) quietly in the back seat. He asked her what she was thinking. “Daddy,” she said in a melancholy way,”I just wish I could have gotten out and touched that tree.” Thinking that odd, he asked her why? “Well, sometimes I just like to touch history”

As I listened and thought about the story, I too began to have a melancholy type feeling sweep over me. As I thought, my mind went to the woman in Luke 8. For me to also “touch the hem of His garment” would be touching history. Jesus is seeking to produce in you and me the kind of faith. I thought of Peter stepping out of his boat, eyes intent on Jesus, and as he gazed at the turbulent seas he began to sink, but that hand of the Master reached out to him. I’d like to be able to touch that history. Jesus is seeking to produce in you and me the kind of faith.  I thought of the story in Luke 5, “Some men arrived carrying a paraplegic on a stretcher. They were looking for a way to get into the house and set him before Jesus. When they couldn’t find a way in because of the crowd, they went up on the roof, removed some tiles, and let him down in the middle of everyone, right in front of Jesus. Impressed by their bold belief, he said, ‘Friend, I forgive your sins.’” I would love to hold the corner of that mat in my hands and touch a piece of the history of one of my favorite Bible truths. Jesus is seeking to produce in you and me the kind of faith.Â

Jesus wants to develop in us a kind of faith that doesn’t require our able to physically touch history in order to make history. No one in those stories doubted that Jesus could and would change their lives. We can have that kind of faith. But it requires that we touch the most important tree in history. We must reach out and touch the cross. That is the only history that really matters. For on that tree, Jesus looked down at all humanity, those there on the hill, but more importantly, those of us who would come generation after generation. He stayed on that tree until His Father finished washing us with His blood. Touch that tree and we touch more than history, we touch eternity.

Today a co-worker sent me one of those “warm fuzzy” stories that we often see on the internet. I’m sharing it with you because of the truth housed in the simple story.Â

I remember being 10 years old and teaching my very first Sunday School lesson. I was a Girl Scout and our troop was doing a long weekend camping trip. Appalled that we would not be home on Sunday for Sunday School and Church, my mother helped me prepare a “lesson” to share with those who might want to have “Sunday School.” To my surprise, the whole troop attended. It was a lesson on how God keeps us under His protective wing. I’d not thought about that, my very first Sunday School teaching experience, until I read this today. The lesson is just as true today as it was almost 50 years ago.Â
A little something to put things in perspective…

After a forest fire in Yellowstone National Park, forest rangers began their trek up a mountain to assess the inferno’s damage.

One ranger found a bird literally petrified in ashes, perched statuesquely on the ground at the base of a tree. Somewhat sickened by the eerie sight, he knocked over the bird with a stick. When he gently struck it, three tiny chicks scurried from under their dead mother’s wings. The loving mother, keenly aware of impending disaster, had carried her offspring to the base of the tree and had gathered them under her wings, instinctively knowing that the toxic smoke would rise. She could have flown to safety but had refused to abandon her babies. Then the blaze had arrived and the heat had scorched her small body, the mother had remained steadfast …because she had been willing to die, so those under the cover of her wings would live.‘He will cover you with His feathers, And under His wings you will find refuge.’ (Psalm 91:4)

Being loved this much should make a difference in your life. Remember the One who loves you, and then be different because of it.

This morning I was reading an article entitled “Eat That Frog.” It was all about setting priorities correctly and having the carry-through to complete the most important priorities first. It was an interesting article. When I finished reading it, I was thrown into this tail-spin of “frog stories”.

My extended family has a family web site where we communicate with each other on a very regular basis. I have a couple of cousins that have the most off center sense of humor. I love it. I remember last summer they began sharing with the family how they were going to raise frogs to be sold for their frog-legs. And not just any frogs. These frogs were of the illegal variety. Daily we were kept up to date on the “frog” adventures. A cousin from military intelligence (civilian now) even tried to warn them of the consequences of such activities (he was the nephew of one of the frog farmers).

Of course the venture sadly ended when one day they checked out their pond of frogs and the frogs had all disappeared. Few in the family knew (or even know now) that the frog farm adventure was nothing more than a hoax from the minds of two cousins that can spin a tale so well it is hard to doubt them or see what they are saying for what it really is.

Bear with me as I share another story about frogs. Once, there was a frog that lived in the middle of a swamp. His entire family had lived in that swamp for generations, but this particular frog decided that he had had quite enough wetness to last him a lifetime. He decided that he was going to find a dry place to live instead. The only thing that separated him from dry land was a swampy, muddy, swiftly flowing river. But the river was home to all sorts of slippery, slithering snakes that loved nothing better than a good, plump frog for dinner, so Frog didn’t dare try to swim across. For many days, the frog stayed put, hopping along the bank, trying to think of a way to get across.

The snakes hissed and jeered at him, daring him to come closer, but he refused. Occasionally they would slither closer, jaws open to attack, but the frog always leaped out of the way. But no matter how far upstream he searched or how far downstream, the frog wasn’t able to find a way across the water. He had felt certain that there would be a bridge, or a place where the banks came together, yet all he found was more reeds and water. After a while, even the snakes stopped teasing him and went off in search of easier prey.

Suddenly, he spotted two big eyes staring at him from the water. The giant log-shaped animal opened its mouth and asked him, “What are you doing, Frog? Surely there are enough flies right there for a meal.” The frog croaked in surprise and leaped away from the crocodile. That creature could swallow him whole in a moment without thinking about it! Once he was satisfied that he was a safe distance away, he answered. “I’m tired of living in swampy waters, and I want to travel to the other side of the river. But if I swim across, the snakes will eat me.”

The crocodile harrumphed in agreement and sat, thinking, for a while. “Well, if you’re afraid of the snakes, I could give you a ride across,” he suggested.

Oh no, I don’t think so,” Frog answered quickly. “You’d eat me on the way over, or go underwater so the snakes could get me!”

“Now why would I let the snakes get you? I think they’re a terrible nuisance with all their hissing and slithering! The river would be much better off without them altogether! Anyway, if you’re so worried that I might eat you, you can ride on my tail.” The frog considered his offer. He did want to get to dry ground very badly, and there didn’t seem to be any other way across the river. He looked at the crocodile from his short, squat buggy eyes and wondered about the crocodile’s motives. But if he rode on the tail, the croc couldn’t eat him anyway. And he was right about the snakes–no self-respecting crocodile would give a meal to the snakes.

“Okay, it sounds like a good plan to me. Turn around so I can hop on your tail.” The crocodile flopped his tail into the marshy mud and let the frog climb on, then he waddled out to the river. But he couldn’t stick his tail into the water as a rudder because the frog was on it — and if he put his tail in the water, the snakes would eat the frog.

They clumsily floated downstream for a ways, until the crocodile said, “Hop onto my back so I can steer straight with my tail.” The frog moved, and the journey smoothed out. From where he was sitting, the frog couldn’t see much except the back of Crocodile’s head. “Why don’t you hop up on my head so you can see everything around us?” Crocodile invited.

“But I don’t want to see anything else,” the frog answered, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Oh, come now. It’s a beautiful view! Surely you don’t think that I’m going to eat you after we’re halfway across. My home is in the marsh– what would be the point of swimming across the river full of snakes if I didn’t leave you on the other bank?”

Frog was curious about what the river looked like, so he climbed on top of Crocodile’s head. The river looked almost pretty from this view. He watched dragonflies darting over the water and smiled in anticipation as he saw firm ground beyond the cattails. When the crocodile got close enough, the frog would leap off his head towards freedom. He wouldn’t give the croc a chance to eat him.

“My nose tickles,” the crocodile complained suddenly, breaking into the frog’s train of thought. “I think there might be a fly buzzing around it somewhere, or a piece of cattail fluff swept into it while I was taking you across the river.”

“I don’t see a fly,” the frog said, peering at the crocodile’s green snout. It seemed odd that anything could tickle a crocodile through its thick skin.

“Would you go check my nose for a piece of cattail fluff, then?” the crocodile begged, twitching his nose. “I’m afraid I’ll sneeze and send you flying. I don’t want to feed you to the snakes.” A tear seeped out of his eye, as if he was holding back a mighty sneeze.

The bank isn’t too far, the frog thought. And it’s the least he could do to repay him for bringing him over. So he hopped onto the crocodile’s snout and checked the nostrils.

Just a little closer, and he could jump… “I don’t see–” he began. Just then, with a terrific CHOMP! the frog disappeared. The crocodile licked his lips in satisfaction and gave a tiny half-sneeze. “Good, I feel much better already,” he smiled, and turned around to go back home.

It’s a tale with a moral; do not become complacent of danger – in a second it will suck you in. Bringing frog stories to the spiritual – how often are we complacent to the point of not recognizing that we are no longer “flirting” with danger but consumed by its draw?

One more frog story and I will stop. They say that if you put a frog into a pot of boiling water, it will leap out right away to escape the danger. if you put a frog in a kettle that is filled with water that is cool and pleasant, and then you heat the kettle until it starts boiling, the frog will not become aware of the threat until it is too late. The frog’s survival instincts are geared towards detecting sudden changes.

The same moral to the tale. Can you identify a slowly developing threat to your spiritual life? Not getting into the pot of cold water to begin with will certainly keep us out of the hot water in the end, so to speak. It’s a warning to keep us paying attention not just to the obvious threats but to more slowly developing ones.

Jeanine

The Parable of the Pup

We recently acquired another four-legged child in our household. Our male Yorkie, Toto now has a “sister” named Dorothy.  Dorothy weighs about a pound and is still getting used to 2 “parents”, another dog, and the run of the house.  Every time she sees either my husband or me she gets all excited and runs to us as if we’d been gone for days. However, she has a habit of darting under our feet and we have basically developed a shuffle when walking in the house for fear that she will dart under a foot and get stepped on.

This morning, I was walking from the bedroom to the dining room and Dorothy darted under my feet. Just as I was setting my foot down I felt her little head and immediately shifted my weight to my other foot. It really took everything in me to avoid a disaster and avert falling. Bottom line is that it scared her.

She started whining and then it was as if her whiner took over and she couldn’t stop it. I immediately grabbed her up in my arms – that seemed to only intensify the whimpers and whines.  As I consoled her and petted her tiny head she quickly calmed down and snuggled close to me. All along I was telling her, “You’re OK; you need to learn not to do that.”

Before I left for work she was scampering around and wagging her little stub of a tail. Seems she’d forgotten all about her little trauma 15 minutes earlier. As I was leaving I turned and saw her perched on the arm of the sofa. I placed her back on the floor and reminded her that she could not climb up on high things; given her size anything higher than a foot off the ground is just too high.

Driving to work it hit me. What a wonderful example of God’s love for us. Way too often we are like the little pup. Running head-strong we find ourselves in places we should not be. Maybe in an effort to do right, but we don’t first seek Godly guidance and wisdom, we get tangled up where we should not be or doing something we should not be doing. Like little Dorothy I find that in an effort to get ahead, I complicate things by rushing ahead and often get tangled up. And other times I find myself face down in grief.  When that happens, God’s mighty arms reach down and pick me up. He cradles me in His comforting arms. He brushes me off and reassures me that everything will be OK. He reminds me over and over how much He loves me.  I am admonished, “You’re OK; you need to learn not to do that.”

Getting tangled up in “things” is no more God’s plan for my life then Dorothy getting tangled in my feet was my plan for her life. And I realized that when I am not where God plans for me to be, often I not only harm myself, but I can also trip others that cross my path.  Like Dorothy, sometimes I forget what happens when I don’t stay on course, and I climb on things that are too high for me; again, places that God didn’t plan for my life. And gently, with that still small voice, He reminds me that I am His and He only wants what is the very best for me. He sets me back down and reminds me that He is there and that He is watching over me.  And I am admonished, “You’re OK; you need to learn not to do that.”

Lesson from the parable:

•  Life is short, stay focused on the right path.
• When I trip and fall I have the potential of taking others down with me.
•  God is always there, just look up and ask.
• In His arms I am safe and comforted.

Today we had a Staff Development educational program for the faculty and staff of the College.  The speaker shared the story of “The Parable of the Eagle.”  

 A certain man went through the forest seeking any bird of interest he might find. He caught a young eagle, brought it home, and put it among his fowls and ducks and turkeys and gave it chicken’s food to eat even though it was an eagle, the king of birds.Five years later a naturalist came to see him and, after passing through his garden, said, “That bird is an eagle, not a chicken.”“Yes,” said the owner. “But I have trained it to be a chicken. It is no longer an eagle. It is a chicken, even though it measures fifteen feet from tip to tip of its wings.”“No,” said the owner. “It is a chicken, and it will never fly.”They agreed to test it. The naturalist picked up the eagle and said to it, “Thou dost belong to the sky and not to this earth; stretch forth thy wings and fly.” The eagle turned this way and that and then, looking down, saw the chickens eating their food, and down he jumped. The owner said, “I told you it was a chicken.”“No,” said the naturalist. “It is an eagle. Give it another chance tomorrow.” So the next day he took it to the top of the house and said, “Eagle, thou art an eagle; stretch forth thy wings and fly.” But again with the eagle, seeing the chickens feeding, jumped down and fed with them. Then the owner said, “I told you it was a chicken.”No,” asserted the naturalist. “It is an eagle, and it still has the heart of an eagle. Only give it one more chance, and I will make it fly tomorrow.” The next morning he rose early and took the eagle outside the city, away from the houses to the foot of a high mountain. The sun was just rising, gliding the top of the mountain with gold, and every crag was glistening in the joy of that beautiful morning.He picked up the eagle and said to it, “Eagle, thou art an eagle. Thou dost belong to the sky and not to this earth. Stretch forth thy wings and fly” The eagle looked around and trembled as if new life were coming to it. But it did not fly.

The naturalist then then made it look straight at the sun. Suddenly it stretched out its wings and, with the screech of an eagle, flew.

(Written by James Aggrey in the early 1920’s)

As I listened to this story I thought about this blog site.  You say, “What in the world does that have to do with becoming ‘Fishers of Men’?”

Many of us are like the young eaglet. We live a life far beneath our potential; perhaps we don’t even realize the potential we have. God made us to be His hands on this earth. But if we are too busy “scratching the ground with the chickens” we may not realize or recognize who He has made us to be.

We can sit under the ministry of the “best” pastors. We can attend classes and seminars. We can be told who we are and how we should behave and believe. But like the eagle – who did not recognize who he was made to be until he looked high and at the sun – we must look beyond ourselves to recognize who we were made to be.

We too must look beyond what we believe our limitations may be and fix our eyes on the “Son”. It is not until that moment that we recognize and believe all that God has in store for us. It is only then that we soar to heights beyond our expectations.

It is then that we are truly all that God made us to be and we can do nothing but share that with others.

Let’s get out of the barnyard, seek the face of the Son, soar to unknown heights, and build the Kingdom of God!

Jeanine