“A RUT IS NOTHING MORE THAN A GRAVE with the ends knocked out,” a wise old wag once told me. Ever since,I have desired never to get myself into a rut, but sadly I have found myself there more times than I care to acknowledge.
Why do we often find ourselves in those ruts? One reason, I suppose, is because there is safety in a rut. Dig one deep enough and you can stand up and nobody can even see you. Lay down and they’ll take you for dead. There’s a certain comfort in that. If they can’t see me, or if they think I’m “gone,” then they will not bother me. I can keep to myself, do my own thing, be my own boss, live within the box that I have created. (A box? In a rut? Not a pretty picture given the description above!)
Forty-five years of “doing church” in the San Lorenzo Valley, not a bad track record. What will it be for the next forty-five? A rut? A grave? Business as usual? I pray not! Ten years of ministry for my family and me here at Felton Bible Church, what will the future hold? A rut? A box? Business as usual? I pray not!
This morning we hold one of our regular Annual Congregational Meetings, a time to look forward as we approve our 2008 budget and elect new Ministry Team members. It’s a time to take seriously the business of the church. It is a time to remember: Whose we are, why we are, where we are, and to pray about where we are going. Will it be a rut? A box? Business as usual?
I pray not!

I’VE BEEN TO PRISON. Well, just as a visitor, but I have been there. In fact, I have been to one of the highest security level prisons there are; Pelican Bay State Prison, located in northern hinterlands of California. There is that old saying, “It’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t not want to live there.” Well, it’s not even a nice place to visit.
Pelican Bay State Prison is filled with some of the worst of the worst when it comes to criminals, and yet in the midst of that very dark place God is at work, and lives are being changed. They are changed because someone cares enough to bring God’s light into the midst of the darkness. Sometimes the light is brought through the preaching of the Word of God by a visiting volunteer chaplain, like myself. Sometimes it is brought by someone linking with an inmate through a ministry like Prison Fellowship, and sometimes the light is lived through the life of a correctional officer who is a follower of Jesus.
This Sunday we join with thousands as we remember the International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church. It is a time when we focus on the reality that throughout our world it is not only criminals who find themselves imprisoned, but there are thousands who suffer many forms of imprisonment simply because the bear the name of Christian. To us here in America these brothers and sisters are nameless and faceless to us, but they are no less our family. We may not be afforded the blessing of visiting them in prison, as we could an inmate in our county jail, but through the power of prayer we can still have an impact in their lives.
Let us therefore heed the Word of the God, from Hebrews 13, “Keep on loving each other as brothers. Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it. Remember those in prison as if you were their fellow prisoners, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering.”
Not only today…but everyday.

ON THE WALL ABOVE MY DESK are a few reminders of those for which I am thankful. There is a picture of my wife, a picture of my family, and a pen and ink drawing of Jesus upon the cross, and a watercolor of pelicans skimming the waves. Each of these pictures move my heart to thankfulness to the Lord.
I am thankful for the love of God exhibited in Jesus Christ. I am thankful for the love of a wife, exhibited in Linda. I am thankful for the love of family, exhibited in Trinity, Krista, Lizzie and Jordan. I am thankful for the God’s amazing creation, exhibited in the wingtip-to-water flights of the Brown Pelican.
Because I am thankful for each of these I am constrained to give forth, with an open hand. Because of God’s first gift of love I am able to love in return. Because of God’s gift of my gracious wife, I am moved to meet her deepest desires. Because of God’s gift of my family, I am moved to fulfill their needs, and hopes. Because of God’s gift of creation, I am moved to be a good steward of it.
I have been blessed beyond belief and thus, my heart is filled with gratefulness, and my hands are moved to extend the gift that has been given. Yes, a grateful heart is attached to giving hands.
I encourage you to take a look around you today. Gather in through sight, sound, smell, taste and touch, the blessings that God has lavished upon you. Let your heart be glad, and with a glad heart give a blessing in return.
Let thanks-giving flow!

SOME INSECTS ARE MEAN-SPIRITED. Yellow-jackets are one such insect. About a week ago I was involved in a 5k race to benefit San Lorenzo Valley Elementary School. The course took us on an out-and-back trip through Fall Creek State Park. As I started to head up one of the steeper grades one of the course volunteers alerted us to the presence of yellow-jackets. Needless to say, I didn’t stick around long to discover what kind of mood they were in. But, by the time I was on the return leg of the race the race officials had changed the course and were taking us down “let’s-break-an-ankle-hill.” Ah, such are the choices in trail running; yellow-jackets or broken ankles.
At the finish line the bites (stings?) were counted, and ice-packs were applied and the stories were told, some with tears, of the yellow-jacket encounters. What was interesting to me is that some got stung (bit?) and some didn’t. Often one runner was attacked, while next was not. What made the difference? Could it be the speed of the runner? (That wouldn’t be a fact in my case.) Could it be the color of clothing? (That didn’t seem to matter.) Could it be that the little nemesis had the ability to smell fear? (Then I should have been attacked, I’m always afraid when I race.) None of these things seem to make a difference. It all came down to: some got stung and others didn’t. No rhyme, no reason, just life.
As I contemplate the tragic fires sweeping over Southern California this week, I ask myself the question raised above. Why are some “stung” and others not? The fire destroys one home and leaps over the next. Some neighborhoods leveled, while others stand. Why? The choice of God? The results of living in a broke world? I don’t have the answer for that.
So, what are we to do?
Me? I weep for those who have lost everything. I celebrate with those who “made it through.” And, I pray for God’s mercy to fall on all of us…for we all need it…stung or not.