Let’s see — I could duct-tape it to my steering wheel. That won’t work. I don’t think I could resist imagining, every time I see it, a paramedic plucking volume control buttons out of my forehead. Maybe I could use tie straps and attach it to the emergency brake? Nah, it would just rotate around and look tacky. I’ve got it! I’ll mount it conveniently here on the dash right next to the, er, radio.

My little machinations on where to place a useless remote made me wonder if I’ve fallen prey to a culture super-saturated with selling the convenient. Ease of use. Fast-acting. Instant results. These are the catchphrases of our convenience-driven culture that we’re all steeped in. I admit, I love the gadgets it produces: mobile phones, iPads, drive-thru coffee; even a useless car stereo remote. But when it comes to matters of my heart toward others, there are a few questions I find myself asking, “Do I treat others with a convenience mindset? Am I only willing to reach out to those nearby? Those easiest to talk to? Those who reach out to me first? How much effort do I really put forth in improving my friendship with others? Are those whom I think most positively about merely those who make me feel good about myself?”

Those are important questions for me to consider. If I don’t take those questions seriously, I’m likely to be as helpful to others as a car stereo remote. Mine’s now conveniently tucked away somewhere in the bottom of my glovebox.

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“Jesus has overcome; And the grave is overwhelmed
The victory is won; He is risen from the dead”
- Chris Tomlin

May Worthy is the Lamb be the cry of your heart today.

Happy Easter, my friends. He is Risen!

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Tomorrow, November 1, the government gives us a refund. We get an hour back. Thanks to the expiration of Daylight Saving Time, we’ll add another hour to our day. It’s elusive, of course, because it gets taken away again next March.

Notable of government initiatives, the refund comes at the most convenient of times—2:00 a.m., during snorefest. I sure could have used that extra hour on Wednesday when I was pressing to get a presentation done before a meeting. Or Thursday evening when I was out enjoying an evening with Anna. And how many students, cramming for an exam, have ever prayed as Joshua did, “O sun, stand still.” (Joshua 10:12)? Wouldn’t it great to pull that spare hour out of your pocket when you needed it most?

No, instead, it comes when you’re least likely to think about it. As deftly silent as the deduction from a payroll check, you’ll get your refund of an hour. The question is, how will you spend it? How about investing it in something you wouldn’t ordinarily do? Whatever it is. Is there someone you need to catch up with? A book you’ve longed to read? A place you enjoy visiting? Or, if you’re rarely frivolous and want to learn all about Daylight Saving Time, here’s a fun website to explore.

That refund is yours, though. Don’t let it get away from you.

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Can you imagine that headline on a greeting card? Unless you’re giving it to a pregnant woman, it wouldn’t make any sense. Even then, you’d likely get your head kicked in if she were in hard labor. Or, how about a card that says, “Well done on your recent job loss?” Or, “That fire did wonders to your house?” Hardly. Cards like that wouldn’t inspire—and they probably wouldn’t sell.

As a culture, we don’t celebrate contractions. Symbols of celebration are reserved for expansion: new job, new baby, new spouse, new dog. You name it. Expansion equals success. Contraction equals failure…and anxiety.

Here’s another barometer: the stock market. News of employment or production expansion brings a rally. News of economic contraction brings on the bear, and lots of anxiety.

But nature expands because of contractions. To succumb to the thinking that contractions are always failure robs us of our vitality.  Let me illustrate. Jesus said, unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it cannot reproduce (John 12:23). He drew from nature a true principle for own lives. Multiplicative expansion follows seasons of contraction.

Astronomers tell us that stars are born from contracting gasses that gain sufficient mass to ignite a fusion reaction. It’s only then that they become a star, giving off expansive light, until eventually they exhaust their supply of hydrogen and expel the remaining gasses into a new nebulae. That remnant nebulae supplies the material for possibly hundreds of new stars.

Recently, when I was going through a period of personal contraction. I felt dry, perplexed and unproductive. I felt like a failure and wanted, more than anything, to get back to my highly-productive self. Then it occurred to me: what’s true for nature, as seen in the seeds and in the stars, is true for me as well. Jesus said as much. That was a powerful encouragement. I didn’t need to view a season of contraction as calamity or failure. Rather, I could see it for what it is—the breeding ground for, as yet unexpressed, expansive growth. Instead of pushing myself to resolve perplexity, I could anticipate new discoveries in a strangely peaceful way. A star would be born.

The next time you find yourself in a season of contraction, consider the new growth that is being formed in you because of it. Then, sit down and write yourself a congratulations card to celebrate.

“You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.” James 1:3-4 (The Message)

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Our family is fortunate to share our secluded suburban property with an astonishing array of wildlife. Deer, fox, wild turkey, rabbits, duck, geese, egrets, and herons are all frequent visitors. In his youth, our dog, an American Staffordshire Terrier, would give them chase. Twelve years later, age and cataracts have dampened both Casey’s vision and inclination. That was, until we had an unexpected visitor.

My neighbor dropped by recently while on a walk with his daughter. “Did you notice there’s a swan in your pond?” he asked. Astonished, I went around to the backyard and saw this amazingly large and beautiful creature. Apparently, our shortsighted dog hadn’t noticed it either—until I went inside to get my camera. By the time I returned, Casey had leapt through his “invisible fence” and was dog-paddling toward the middle of the pond in pursuit of his prey.

No shouts from his master standing on the shore would deter him. He paddled relentlessly onward. As he neared his target, the swan rose up and flew to the other side of the pond, as if to mock his doggedness. Undaunted, Casey changed course and continued the pursuit. More calls from his master. No effect. My cataract-laden dog had apparently lost his hearing, as well.

It occurred to me, after witnessing several of these course corrections, that Casey would either get the swan or die trying. At his age, the latter was more likely. Since I didn’t have the heart to tell my daughter that her dog had drowned himself from fatigue and my neighbor had no interest in explaining our dog’s death to his four-year old, we both piled into my paddle-boat to rescue “Dumb Dog” (as I was now calling him).

As I reflected on our excursion, it occurred to me that God often rescues Dumb Me from similar pursuits. There He is, standing on the shore, calling my name, and there I am, pushing blindly ahead toward an ever evasive goal.

Even as we drew near in our boat, Dumb Dog would ignore us and deadly fatigue in favor of the elusive swan. Not until we positioned the boat on an intercept course could we divert his attention.

Now I’m wondering, What swans am I pursuing so doggedly that I can no longer hear the Master’s voice calling from the shore? Who might He have put on an intercept course to rescue me with the truth? And, Am I open to evaluate the direction I am pursuing in my life? Proverbs 12:15 says, “The way of a fool seems right to him, but a wise man listens to advice.”

Perseverance is a godly trait; obstinance is a “dogly” trait. The difference always has been listening for and obeying the Master’s voice.

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Tackling a century ride (mine was a metric century – 100 km) is akin to climbing a mountain. You do it because it’s there – the goal is it’s own reward. Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself during the freezing onslaught of wind and rain. It’s easier to amuse yourself with thoughts of the finish line when enthusiasm and energy is still strong, however.

Someone once said that the size of your commitment can be measured by what it takes to stop you. By the time my three riding companions and I had reached the first rest stop at 25 miles, the strongest rider weighed in on the size of his commitment. Frozen fingers bested him. He packed it in. Before the day was over, more than a thousand others would join him.

Admittedly, when he bailed, I had second thoughts too. I might have been easily swayed to the comforts of a nice bath had my friend Andy not shown his resolve. He was my inspiration to endure and claim my prize. We may have been nuts to continue, to risk hypothermia, but because I did, I not only reached my goal, but I picked up a few reminders as well.

You do a lot of thinking over hours of pedal churning when the wind and rain are against you. I thought a lot about quitting. I really was nuts. Yet, every once in awhile I’d look up from my hunkered down position and see Andy, pedaling like a metronome. His presence inspired my grind. Who can I help keep going by being a constant companion in the storms of life?

When we turned into the wind, I thought about drafting. As the stronger rider, Andy silently encouraged me to follow in his draft by slowing his pace to mine. By tucking in behind him, his body acted as a shield from the headwinds, allowing me to preserve my energy for the long haul. Professional cyclists call it a slipstream and they use it, too, to nab their prize. Had Andy not slowed to my pace, I would have tired more quickly and may not have finished. Am I aware of the needs of those around me or am I oblivious as I race ahead?

When we crossed the finish line, I thought about gratitude. Certainly I was thankful the torment was over, but even more so, I was grateful for my riding companion who helped me endure. In my own personal storms, who can I express gratitude to?

My wife was right. It was nuts to be out there. But I was fortunate. I had a draft from the storm, and something more. I had new resolve to be a better draft for others.

SOUND OFF: How have you been helped by someone’s draft in difficult times?

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Fifteen years later, AT&T’s vision of the future is now passé. For each of those You Wills, we already have — with two differences. First, most of the experiences with technology we enjoy today are much better than AT&T envisioned. They could see only dimly what the future would hold.  Second, by and large, AT&T was not the company to bring it to us. Their vision was largely delivered by companies that weren’t even around in 1993. In fact, the more cynical among us would argue that it wasn’t even really AT&T’s vision — they merely borrowed from others for the expedience of marketing their brand.

Notwithstanding the commercial motivations for the ad, it occurs to me that this video holds two reminders for us bold adventurers as we dream about and work toward the future. First, no matter how we envision it, as long as we remain yielded to God’s leading, our future will always be better than we can imagine. The Apostle Paul reminds us that God “is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine” (Eph 3:20). Second, as was the case with AT&T, we are not the only ones building that future. He is working His dream out through the members of His body in ways He chooses and we can’t conceive.

Just as it sounds silly to hear AT&T promise to be the sole deliverer of technological wonders, it’s equally silly for us to believe that we are to deliver God’s dream alone as well.  While each of us have our own path to walk, we best do so in the context of community. Because dreams shared by many make a better future than dreams imagined alone, that’s really good news.  It also makes our encounters with others more stimulating.  Someone we will soon meet may carry the seed of our dream into the future.   And the dreams of someone we already know may be the inspiration for our next adventure.  The key is the willingness to release our dreams into others and to receive theirs for us in return.

SOUND OFF:  Have you been inspired recently by encounters with others that have given new perspectives on your dream?

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What better way to begin this day, than to jump on the bike for a long ride?  I was glad I hauled it along for our two week vacation from the deep freeze.  So I set out, with one goal — to pray during the entire thirty-one mile route.

That distance is not hard when you do it regularly.  Unfortunately, it had been too many months since I was last out.  So, the first five miles were easier on prayer than they were on the legs.  ”Lord, help my legs!”  A simple plea thrown in between pedal strokes and prayers of intercession for others.

Soon, I was warmed up and feeling better.  I also found myself drifting from a spirit of prayer into thoughts of work, the trip back home, the electrical short in my basement that occurred just before I left.  Thinking about anything was easier  than what I had set my mind to do.

Abruptly and out loud, I halted the mental cacophony, “Back to You, Jesus.”  Somehow that declaration brought me back to the Throne Room and I felt joy again as I resumed my time of prayer.  For a few more pedals at least.  Then more rushing thoughts.  Things to do.  Brilliant product ideas.  ”Geez, I need to capture these somehow.”  Once more, “Back to You, Jesus.”  I must have made that declaration nearly a dozen times during that ride.

I remember long ago reading the marvelous book The Fight, by John White, and his suggestion to thank God when we discover we’ve drifted in prayer because that discovery is really His hand of rescue.  We would naturally drift forever were it not for God’s grace bringing us the awareness of our disconnection.

Reflecting on that ride, I came to the realization that my declaration needs to be applied to more than my interrupted prayer times.  When I get discouraged that a business deal I was counting on, didn’t happen, its “Back to You, Jesus.”  When my car breaks down and costs me more time and money than I can afford, its “Back to You, Jesus.”  And when I received praise from someone for something I did, its “Back to You, Jesus.”

Yes, there’s no doubt 2009 will have it’s challenges.  My choice is to give it back to Jesus.  I’ve declared it to be my theme for this year.  ”For from him and through him and to him are all things.  To Him be the glory forever! Amen!” (Romans 11:36 NIV)

SOUND OFF:  What’s your theme for 2009?

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