“… so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine… Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ.” – Ephesians 4:14-15
Young children live in the moment—they focus on “being.” A toddler concerns herself with splashing in the tub, not being able to swim laps. A preschooler is preoccupied with ramming his tricycle into a chair, not winning the Tour de France. For young children, existing in the moment—being—is enough.
As children mature, they transition from the simplicity of “being” to the promise of “becoming.” No longer content to just splash water in the tub, a young girl may notice an Olympic swimmer on television. She wonders what it would be like to swim like that. She may even ask for swimming lessons. A young boy transitions from tricycle to bicycle and then watches his teenage brother ride a dirt bike on a mountain trail. “I want to do that!” he declares. Being—the status quo—is no longer enough. The focus shifts to becoming something more.
While there are childlike traits that Jesus admires (See Matthew 18:3), we can’t afford to remain spiritual infants. Christians are called to grow in our faith—to become more like Jesus every day. The note from the margin reads: Spiritual growth is a sign—evidence of our faith.
We find concerns over spiritual stagnancy throughout the Bible. We’re told to “move beyond the elementary teachings about Christ and be taken forward to maturity” (Hebrews 6:1). We’re encouraged to “grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Peter 3:18; See also Colossians 1:10). The writer of Hebrews also calls us to transition from elementary truths— “milk”—to solid food (See Hebrews 5:12-14).
Our young swimmer and bicyclist will not become something grand overnight. They’ll need sustained determination, training, proper nutrition, and a few encouraging mentors along the way. We need the same on our spiritual journeys. Our attitude should be like that of the apostles who said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!” (Luke 17:5).
An adult playfully splashing in a child’s swimming pool is a humorous sight. An adult Christian who never leaves the spiritual shallow end to become something more isn’t funny at all.
Instead, let’s strive to become something more this year. Let’s grow, a little more each day, into the image of Christ. With 2023, we have a new year, a fresh start, full of new opportunities.
Merry Christmas from Da Johnsons and welcome to our 35th consecutive holiday update!
I finally felt like my life was back on track this year, post-Covid, and then Janet convinced me to take a home sleep apnea test. Why? Because, according to her, “Every night a freight train parks in our bed and revs its engine for several hours.” Although I suspected these were menopause-induced hallucinations, I agreed to take the test. Big mistake. The results confirmed “mild sleep apnea” and the VA recommended a “Certain People Are Chubby” (CPAP) machine—thus ending any chance of me living a normal life.
He was never the same…
So now, every night, I get to clamp a plastic facepiece to my mouth and nose, supported by a head strap and four elastic, facial abrasion-inducing Velcro bands. Visually, I fall somewhere between “8th grade dork” and Darth Vader. On the first night of usage, Janet, who brought this on, had the nerve to ask, “Is it comfortable?”
“Sure, hon,” I replied. “I love having a polycarbonate octopus sucking my face throughout the night, forcing compressed air into my mouth and nose, with a tube tethering me to a mother ship, and some pimply-faced VA lab technician downloading my results in order to give me a “Sleep Score” and condemnation for not sleeping well enough! It’s the best! And as a guy who has to pee twice/night and has neuropathy in both feet, it’s so much easier traversing our bedroom in the dark and kicking furniture with a facemask strapped on. Then I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror with a horror not felt since Sigourney first locked eyes with the Alien back in ’79. Thanks, hon! Maybe next year I can get cactus needle-lined boxer shorts to wear to bed!”
Recently, Janet suggested I “remove the mask”—code for some unspecified romantic purpose. Determined to get my revenge, I shook my head and, in my deepest voice, responded, “Luke, I am your father.”
Despite this troubling development in the bedroom, Janet continues to be a caregiver extraordinaire to her parents, managing meds and appointments and keeping everyone fed and sane. She always has some church outreach project going on, sharing Christ’s love with the community. In her spare time, you’ll find her crocheting gnomes, hats, pumpkins, and anything she puts her mind to or gets a request for. She also agreed to help me sub in the 18–24-month class at Knoxville Christian School one day and ended up changing 13 diapers while I did puzzles! (That’s my girl!) She’s looking forward to speaking at another Ladies Day in Texas in February.
Our live-in blessings
I continue to write, speak, sub, and do disaster relief and mission work. My 6th book, Journey Through Genesis, is a devotional commentary on the book of Genesis and available on Amazon. Disaster relief took me to Kentucky twice this year and then to Fort Myers with Janet. Lots of hurting people out there. Mission work took me to Honduras, the local prison on Thursday nights, and another month of preaching in Maui—tough gig but someone has to do it! We were thankful that our kiddos were able to join us in Hawaii this year for some swimming with turtles, volcano hiking, and Loco Moco.
D.R. Kentucky… Who Ya Gonna Call?
In February, I was invited to speak on “love and romance” at a church’s Valentine’s Banquet in Knoxville. After hearing my talk, Janet checked my I.D., certain I was an imposter. In April, we traveled to Tampa so I could officiate the wedding of Caleb & Kylie, 2 of my former students. Seven years earlier, before they were dating, I had a hunch and told them they would one day get married. They laughed. Well, who’s laughing now? I also got to speak on being a Christian dad at a men’s retreat in Florida and about my AT thru-hike at the Old Courthouse in Blairsville, Georgia (with friend, fellow AT thru-hiker & Lipscomb grad, Ralston Drake).
In May, Jason, whose health and career were turned upside down by Lyme Disease, and wife Rachel, sold their home and moved in with us for 5 months during his recovery. Despite the circumstances, it was a blessing having 3 generations under one roof and an occasional golfing buddy. Jason is now doing much better (praise God!), and they have returned to North Carolina, where he is day trading, and they are “test driving” Elkin as a landing spot. Meanwhile, Kyle and Laci continue to enjoy preaching and occupational therapy, respectively, near St Louis. We took a road trip with Jason & Rachel to see them over the summer. While there, we hit a few of our “old haunts” from our Air Force assignment across the river.
Eckerts Fix
Grandpa didn’t get the memo!
In July we headed to Cape Cod for a wedding celebration and a week of camping with our long-time friends, the Diamond family! Sitting on the front row with the energetic Diamonds for a local theater company’s presentation of Mama Mia would have been worth the trip by itself, but we also got to hike, beach, shop, and eat fresh seafood. (For your own taste of Diamond family joy, check out the link at the bottom of this blog.) Later that month, we headed to Cincinnati to see Steve’s dad and his bride and take in a Reds v. Cardinals game with several extended family members. We returned in November to take him and Gail to his old alma mater, Kenyon College, the details of which are in an earlier blog.
Love us some Diamonds!
We were grateful for a full table at Thanksgiving filled with our kids and Janet’s sister and her husband, Carol and Scott. We ate tons of food, played games, and laughed till our bellies hurt.
Thanksgiving with Santa!
In other news, we discovered this year that Janet’s father, Papa Raymond, who lives with us, eats his Cheetos with a fork! I mean, who does that? As troubling as that discovery was, he’ll be 90 in July and it’s not like we can just put him out on the street. That would be wrong. However, if we ever decide to put him out on the street, I’ll be sure to send him with two days’ provisions and a used CPAP machine.
Come see us in Mur-vul!
On a sadder note, we said farewell this year to Rachel’s father, Ron Swift, who went to be with his Lord sooner than anyone expected. His memorial—his life—is a reminder of the importance of treating everyone you meet with respect and dignity—making each person you encounter feel valued. Ron did that better than anyone. His passing also reminded us that life is short, to make each day count, to be in Christ, and to never miss an opportunity to express love to others. So, with Ron’s legacy in mind, we’ll close this annual update by reminding you that God loves you and we do too! Merry Christmas!
“So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth.” – 1 Corinthians 3:7
The current mantra for the Philadelphia 76er’s basketball team is “Trust the Process.” They believe that if they consistently focus on making good decisions and doing the right things, good outcomes will follow. Conversely, if they become preoccupied with outcomes—especially short-term failure—they won’t address the root causes of that failure, and nothing will ever change.
Christians need to trust the process. I’m afraid we sometimes become disheartened by outcomes—a congregation’s size, attendance trends, or number of baptisms. Instead, we need to focus on praying, meditating on God’s Word, loving our neighbors, evangelizing, and striving to live more like Jesus. When we work on those foundational aspects of Christianity, good outcomes usually follow.
I’m part of a weekly prison ministry. Prior to this past summer, we had talked to more than a thousand prisoners over six years. We’d told them about Jesus and invited them to worship with us upon their release. No one ever did. We taught and hopefully encouraged struggling men, but that hadn’t translated into a tangible outcome. It was easy to ask, “Are we making any difference?”
That all changed in the summer of 2022. One inmate who had faithfully attended our classes was released from prison and decided to pay our congregation a visit. For someone who hadn’t stepped foot inside a church building for several years, this was a bold step. We studied with him some more, and he was baptized into Christ. He’s turned his life around and now attends regularly. Praise God!
Since then, four other former prisoners have visited and two are regulars. We’re working with each of them to address reintegration needs and, more importantly, spiritual needs. After watching us plant over a thousand seeds over six years, God brought forth a harvest in His perfect timing. In retrospect, I’m so thankful we didn’t give up on the ministry due to a perceived lack of success.
Trusting the process brings peace. We let go and let God. We learn to develop patience, knowing that some harvests take longer than others. As Robert Louis Stevenson put it, “Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.” The note from the margin reads: Seed-planting is process. The outcome—the harvest—belongs to God.
“for I find my delight in your commandments, which I love. I will lift up my hands toward your commandments, which I love, and I will meditate on your statutes.” – Psalm 119:47-48
My preacher friend, Wayne, recently made a comment that stuck with me for days. During a sermon, he said, “We tend to like what we study and study what we like.” The more time we spend in God’s Word, the more we appreciate what it has to offer. And the more we appreciate what the Bible offers, the more time we’ll want to spend reading and meditating upon it.
Wayne said the principle is true for just about any pursuit and referred to music. He’s not a fan of classical music and thus doesn’t appreciate what it offers. He may recognize the most popular pieces but doesn’t seek them out and can’t tell you much about them.
Another friend of mine, Jenny Diamond, a music expert, backed this up. She said a trained person can listen to a classical piece and tell you exactly which instrument, like the oboe or French horn, is playing the melody. Her young music students often cannot. She added that a trained musician can tell you what musical period a piece of classical music comes from, be it the Renaissance, Baroque, or Romantic period, just by listening to it. There are characteristics in the writing of composers from each period that a trained ear can recognize.
Jenny listens to and knows classical music. A lifetime of study allows her to appreciate the subtleties, and she’s able to convey those to her students. The more she listens and studies, the more she learns. And the more she learns, the more she wants to listen and study. The two go hand in hand. Her passion for music didn’t happen by chance.
Wayne and I, on the other hand, are classical music novices. We don’t recognize the subtleties or time periods. We can’t pick out the oboe in the melody. We haven’t invested time and energy in this type of music and, as a result, our appreciation for it is at the surface level.
The note from the margin reads: Don’t expect to love, delight in, or lift your hands to something on which you have not meditated. Our love for something—be it a person, a hobby, or a type of music—flows from the investment we make in it.
If you find yourself not loving or even understanding the Bible, ask yourself, “Have I invested in it?”
As we approached the hill on which the village of Gambier, Ohio sits, my father, who had been quiet for most of the 3-hour journey, suddenly sat up and began to sing.
He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, And founded Kenyon College there. He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, And founded Kenyon College there!
Dad was pumped! This was his first visit back to his alma mater, Kenyon College, since 1959, the year he graduated. His first time visiting the campus where he came of age, starred on the football team, and earned an Economics degree. His first opportunity to finally show his second wife, eldest daughter, son-in-law, and me the place from which all his crazy college stories originated.
A lot has changed since ’59, of course, most notably for my 85-year-old dad. Over the past 7 years, he has overcome the death of his beloved spouse, bouts with lung, brain, and skin cancer, and memory loss brought on by early dementia. He is as kind and funny as ever, but his mind is an etch-a-sketch. While he can recall details from various Vietnam flying missions with ease, he can’t always remember what he had for breakfast, what’s on the agenda for the day, or the answer to a question asked moments earlier. That’s all a part of the wonderful man he is, and those around him are patient and roll with it. We all have issues, right?
As we reached the top of the hill, the stunning Kenyon campus came into view, and something ignited in Dad’s hippocampus.
“That’s Middle Path!” he declared. “It’s the main artery on campus. Everything happens along Middle Path. See that concrete post over there on the path? We used to jump over it on our way down Middle Path. It’s all coming back!”
The Post on Middle Path
After lunch on campus at the Village Inn, we walked back down the hill to see the Kenyon football team take on DePauw University. With Kenyon down by 38 points at the end of the third quarter, Dad offered to suit up and go in at right halfback, his old position. Had that been allowed, it would have provided the most fascinating and terrifying moments of 2022.
Instead, we climbed back up the hill, with my winded father providing the soundtrack.
He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, (gasping) And founded Kenyon College there. He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, (more gasping) And founded Kenyon College there!
At the coffee shop, we met up with a representative from the Development Office. Unsure how much Dad would remember, I had arranged a special campus tour for him. Kate, our tour guide, was energetic and knowledgeable. She also had no idea what she was getting into with my dad! As she highlighted features of the campus, Dad offered side commentary.
“See that rock over there by the bike rack? We used to pee on that rock. I’m not sure why.”
“Is that Rosse Hall, over there? My my! My buddy tried to cheat on an exam there one time. There were a few questions to answer on a clipboard. He sat by the window and managed to drop the clipboard out the window to a friend, who took the questions back to the dorm to answer, then passed them back up to him through the window. He thought he had gotten away with it, until the professor called him to the front the next day and asked him how he had managed to type his answers!”
Dad was dumbfounded when learning that Kenyon’s annual cost, including tuition, room, and board, is over $80,000, making it one of the most expensive private schools in the country.
“It was expensive back then, too. My good friends, the Beese brothers, were from a wealthy family and were going to Kenyon, so I wanted to go too. It was an all-boys school at the time. My parents wanted me to get a college education, so my mom went to work for Monarch Chemical, and her salary, along with my football scholarship, made it possible for me to attend.”
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t doing well my first semester. The rigorous academics here were nothing like what I had been through at Green High School. My academic advisor told me I had to get my GPA up in order to keep my scholarship and stay in school. He said I needed “an easy A” and offered a few options, including ROTC. So, I took ROTC solely for the A, which I got, but that led to a 30-year Air Force career. Funny how life works.”
We continued strolling along Middle Path, with our guide providing campus updates and Dad offering more commentary.
“Over there is where I took my Economics classes, and that building up ahead, Old Kenyon, was my dorm the last couple of years here. Kenyon was all-male then, but Peggy would come for dances and other visits. She was the Homecoming Queen, in fact, and her picture was up at Peirce Dining Hall.”
Moments later, inside the dining hall, the memories came flooding back to him. The grand hall looked like something out of Hogwarts.
Same table, 63 years later
“That’s the table I sat at every day, me and my friends, four on each side. To offset my tuition, they had me bring out trays of orange juice and food to serve the students. Parents would come and stand up on the balcony watching us. On Sundays, we would sing the alma mater for them. Have I sung it for you?”
“Yes, Dad, you have.”
As we neared the end of our tour, someone asked about Kenyon’s most famous graduates and Dad was quick to respond. With a smile and a wink, he said, “There are three: Paul Newman, the actor and salad dressing guy… Rutherford B. Hayes, the President… and Brad Johnson.”
That night, Dad reflected on our special day and told my sister, “This trip has breathed new life into me.” After returning to his home in Cincinnati the next morning, I asked him if he wanted to play some golf before I returned home.
“Wow, I haven’t played golf in years. I’m willing to try but can’t promise anything. I’m not even sure I can still hit the ball.”
“Well, I brought your old clubs with me,” I said. “Let’s hit a bucket of balls and go from there.”
The next morning at the driving range, we learned Dad can still hit a golf ball. 95% of his drives went perfectly straight and about 100 yards. In the golfing circles I run in, that’s elite.
“It’s coming back to me. Let’s play a few holes.”
“Best ball?” I asked.
“No, I think I’ll hit my own shots. You’re not that good.”
So, Dad hit his own shots and hit them well. Straight down the middle, about a hundred yards. He smiled after each shot and had the stamina to complete nine holes and give me a run for my money.
Who’s Your Caddy?
Of course, it wasn’t about scoring. No, this was about spending time with my old man. This was about reliving glory on a college campus and driving the green on a couple of par threes. This was about staring down dementia and saying, “You haven’t won yet.”
Let me encourage you to take the trip. Go see your aging parents while you still have them. Make it a priority. Someday, memories will be all you have, so make them now. Store them up—as many as you can. And pray that when you’re at that ripe old age, your kids will do the same for you.
As Dad and I finished the 9th hole and drove the cart up the hill to the clubhouse, he looked over at me, pumped his fist, and had one final thing to say…
He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, And founded Kenyon College there. He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, And founded Kenyon College there!
My first encounter with Ron Swift involved the negotiation of a bride price, as practiced in many countries in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East. My eldest son, Jason, had spent the summer of 2013 Facebook-stalking Ron’s daughter, Rachel, as she did mission work, rode elephants, and sported dreadlocks in Cambodia. I may have looked over Jason’s shoulder a time or two, wondering if Rachel was the one. Quite boldly and prematurely, I messaged Ron, offering 50 camels in exchange for Rachel, so that my son would have a life companion and someone to make him Ramen noodles. When Ron immediately accepted my offer, I knew that regardless of what happened with our children, he and I would get along just fine.
My next significant encounter with Ron occurred on the eve of Jason and Rachel’s 2014 wedding. The wedding venue had just held another event, and we couldn’t set up the outdoor seating until around midnight. So, in the light of the moon, Ron and I and a few others set up rows of chairs in a field in a place called Bald Knob. (Ron and I never saw any knobs, bald or otherwise.) The next morning, while officiating the ceremony, I walked up to Ron and handed him the 50th and final camel, this one about three inches tall. The bride price was paid. The exchange of “I do’s” and rings soon followed.
Over the past eight years, my love and appreciation for Ron has only grown. He and his wife, Jackie, were crazy full-time RVers like my wife and I once were… living “in a van down by the river.” His love for Jackie, his children (Rachel and Nathan), my son, Jason, and the rest of his family was expressed regularly and never in doubt. You knew where you stood with Ron and that was a good place to be. The same could be said for “Libby,” his “best dog ever.” Ron understood dogs and dogs understood Ron.
Aside from his family, his dog, and his faith, Ron’s big passion was long-distance bike racing. He was good at it and found community with his fellow racers. When deciding the best places to park their RV for the next season, Ron always factored in the availability of suitable bike trails. Even after taking a nasty spill (or two or three) and injuring himself, he always looked forward to healing up and getting back on his bike.
Ron also faced a challenge most of us will never face—Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD). This condition resulted from many years of intense, stressful work as an anesthesiologist—specifically while taking care of critically ill or injured patients in the operating room. Few know the pressure of holding someone’s life in their hands. I mention it here because Ron never shied away from the subject. In fact, he and Jackie allowed me to interview them and include their story in my book, Faith in the Margins. Ron called the condition his “thorn in the flesh.” He shared his story because he wanted to help others going through similar struggles. He was empathetic to what others were facing.
In discussing his illness, Ron would refer to 2 Corinthians 12:7-9. Like Paul, Ron pleaded with God to take away his illness. As with Paul, the Lord’s response was, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Like Paul, Ron was willing to, “boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” Although PTSD was devastating to Ron, he told me he was learning to trust God’s sufficient grace. With each episode, God’s grace emerged.
So, Ron and his faithful companion, Jackie, endured much. He suffered many rough, debilitating days in anguish, unable to function. But there were also some peaceful days—some mountaintops. Playing guitar for family at Christmas. Exploring new places by RV with Jackie. Riding with friends. Vacations with family. Wrestling with his dog. All mountaintops.
But the valleys were deep. Jackie told me that Satan gives you this false hope that things will improve, but sometimes they don’t. She said that if Satan was using this illness to crush Ron—to put him in a headlock—we must remember that Christ has Satan in a headlock.
Toward the end of the interview, Ron said, “We know how the story ends. Christ wins the battle. And I’m in Christ. If that doesn’t give me peace, nothing will. Listen, I wish the situation were different. I pray that it will get better. It might. But it might not. If God doesn’t take this away—if this is as good as it gets, so be it. I’m at peace with that. Let him use me for his glory.” Jackie added, “We have a home in Heaven. And we belong to a heavenly Father who loves us and gives us sonship through Christ (See Galatians 3:26-29).”
Ron said, “I’m counting on that sonship. Think about the prodigal son for a moment. He made some bad choices and ends up eating with pigs, an experience not unlike the valleys mental illness will put you in. But the story doesn’t end there. He ends up expecting, best case scenario, to be a servant to his father. To just be shown mercy. But his father does the unimaginable—he elevates his lost, messed up son to an heir! And he throws a party! My only hope in all this is that God will somehow do the same for me. I’m counting on it.”
Yesterday afternoon, God called Ron home. His family, friends, and all who knew Ron are devastated. In losing Ron, we lost someone special.
But death doesn’t get the last word here. Satan doesn’t have the final say.
Ron was a Christian, you see, and that changes everything. 1 John 5:4 says, “For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith.” As a result, we can proclaim, “Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting? … But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord, Jesus Christ” (1 Cor. 15:54-57). What a promise!
In the end, Ron’s words to me were prophetic: “We know how the story ends. Christ wins the battle. And I’m in Christ.”
I paid a silly bride price of camels for Rachel, but Christ quite seriously gave his very life to purchase those who are in Him. And Ron was, and remains, “in Him.”
We don’t know exactly what Heaven will be like, but we know it will be something special. Ron will exchange his RV for a mansion just over the hilltop. I envision him upgrading his bike for a faster one that doesn’t crash. He’ll exchange his bumps and bruises for a crown. And maybe, at least symbolically, he’ll be reunited with every dog he’s ever owned. I see them pinning him down and licking his face. I can hear his laughter.
No more valleys—only mountaintops. No more anguish—only peace. Heaven is… as good as it gets. So, even as we cry today and in the days ahead, and there will be plenty of tears, we also need to remember Ron and smile. He was another of God’s special gifts to us. And he fought the good fight, he finished the race, and he kept the faith.
I just published my sixth book, Journey Through Genesis. Here’s a peek behind the curtain…
What’s it about?
It’s a devotional commentary on Genesis—the first book of the Bible. I cover all 50 chapters of Genesis, but unlike traditional commentaries, I don’t go verse by verse. Instead, I try to bring out salient points from each chapter—the things that spoke to me. I discuss ideas and principles that are applicable to my life. Hopefully, my readers can relate to that.
How did the book come about?
The original idea came from a discussion I had with my sister, Stacy, several years ago during a family gathering at Christmas. We were discussing my dream of doing some faith-based writing, and she mentioned a need for more writing that helps ordinary people to better understand and relate to the Bible. She planted a seed.
She was on to something?
Absolutely! The Bible is the most important, life-changing book ever written, containing the very words of God, and yet a 2021 survey of Americans found that 29% of people never read it and only 11% read it daily. Half of Americans read the Bible less than three times/year. More than a problem, that’s heartbreaking. It’s devastating to our culture and our future. A relationship with God—the most important relationship that exists—is built on two-way communication. We speak to God through prayer (Philippians 4:6-7 & 1 Thessalonians 5:17-18) and He speaks to us through the Bible (2 Peter 1:21, John 16:12-13, & 1 Corinthians 14:37). When we don’t read our Bibles, we cut God off, and the relationship becomes one-sided. If we also don’t pray, there’s no communication. Imagine a marriage relationship where neither spouse or only one spouse communicates. That’s a problem. This book is my modest attempt to encourage people to open or re-open their Bibles and let God talk to them.
Why are fewer people reading the Bible these days?
Lots of reasons. We’re busy. Our days are full of activities—working, playing, raising children, maintaining stuff, etc. I’m afraid, at the end of a long day, too often “mindlessly streaming Netflix” or some other activity trumps “meditating on God’s Word.” Too often the Bible doesn’t bubble up on our list of priorities. And, if that sounds like finger-pointing, know that the first finger is pointed at myself. I’ve got work to do.
I also think sometimes people view the Bible as old and outdated—a relic from the past. The old, dusty family Bible sits on Grandma’s bookshelf, next to her VHS player and flip phone. Quaint, but rarely opened. In the opening of my book, I compare many people’s views of the Bible to the way the young man views a bowl of flaky cereal in the 1992 Super Bowl commercial. He’s not sold on it—thinks it’s kind of boring—until he tries it. Like the young man in the commercial, sometimes we must taste something again “for the first time” in order to appreciate it.
So, you want people to try the Bible again for the first time?
Technically, that’s not possible. You can only try something for the first time once. Figuratively, though, it’s possible to see an old, familiar product in a new and different light. Old married couples can reflect on what first attracted them to their spouse and try to recapture the magic. You can retrieve the old bicycle gathering dust in the garage, wipe it off, grease the wheels, and take it for a ride on a new, exciting trail. Old things can be reimagined.
I’ve probably read or been told the story of Noah’s ark 200 times in my life. So, it’s tempting to not read it the 201st time. I mean, what else could God possibly want to communicate to me through that story? It turns out, quite a lot. When I approached it, and the rest of Genesis, with an open heart and a fresh set of eyes, God opened the spigot. I saw things at age 56 that I hadn’t seen before, and I wrote down what I learned.
Why Genesis?
Genesis provides the stage-setting—the context—for the rest of the Bible. To understand where you are and where you’re going, it helps to know where and how you began. We get that in the first few pages. This book of beginnings, written by Moses under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, sets forth the origin of the universe, humanity, culture, languages, marriage, family, sin, death, sacrifice, redemption, cities, and civilization. Genesis answers some of the most basic, yet profound questions you’ll ever ponder. “How did I end up as a human being on Planet Earth?” “Who’s responsible for this magnificent universe we live in?” “Why am I here?” To better understand our heavenly Father’s actions toward humankind throughout the Bible, it’s valuable to know how He felt about us right from the start.
As with your other books, you continue to self-publish. Why is that?
Unlike some writers who consider writing a career, for me it’s a hobby. I enjoy and benefit from the process. This book, as an example, had me opening God’s Word almost every day for the past nearly two years. That’s a good thing—a useful hobby. I hope others enjoy and share my book with their friends and neighbors. But I don’t track sales or proceeds and do very little marketing. I don’t enjoy that aspect of the process and don’t get caught up in that—not at my age. Turning my hobby into a business would suck the joy out of it for me.
I also like having complete control over content. When I wrote my books on hiking the Appalachian Trail, I didn’t want an outdoor/adventure publisher asking me to take out all the “God stuff,” nor did I want a Christian publisher asking me to take out references to bodily functions. On the AT, I experienced God and experienced some odd, humorous moments of bodily functions. With my books, you get what’s on my heart—the raw, real me—for better or worse. I don’t have a publishing company telling me what, when, or how to write.
What’s on the horizon?
I currently have two irons in the fire. The first is a memoir of sorts—scenes from my life and what I’ve learned along the way. I’ve been going through scrapbooks and photo albums and talking to family members. I’m finding that looking back on my life and trying to make sense of it is a challenging and useful exercise. I’m also working on a sequel to Faith in the Margins. I’ve gotten good feedback on that book and there’s always new material coming in. Beyond that, who knows? Maybe a Journey Through Exodus? Whatever I’m working on, you’ll find me with a cup of coffee either at Vienna Coffee Shop, the Blount County library, or on my back porch.
Final Thoughts?
First, I want to thank the “Fab 5” who read and provided feedback to me on early drafts of this book. Chase Turner, Todd Tipton, and Janet, Jason, and Kyle Johnson took this journey with me and provided key insights that helped me shape the narrative. They saw things I had missed and simply made the book better. I am eternally grateful to them!
I also just want to encourage everyone to read their Bible. Like I said, it’s the most important, life-changing book ever written. Sure, there are parts that can be tough to get through. But other parts provide hope and meaning and purpose. God reveals His love and His plan for humankind. Jesus tells us and shows us how to please God and live the very best life. For me to know what God’s Word can do and not share it would be like a physician having a life-saving drug and not prescribing it. With whatever time I have left, I hope my books can in some way point people to our amazing God.
I hope Journey Through Genesis—available on Amazon—will encourage people to pick up the Bible and “read it again for the first time.” I hope it draws out some practical applications of the text for you. I hope you’ll share it with others because you are my only marketing team. But whether you read my book or not, read God’s Word. It’s inspired. It’s the one and only God who created you and loves you wanting to have a conversation with you. I promise you reading and meditating on the Bible will change your life for the better.
The call to assemble reverberated across Agua Viva, our mission center in Santa Ana, Honduras. Campus-wide declarations are normally reserved for emergencies, to announce that fresh guacamole is being served, and to declare the flushing of a toilet when showers are in use.
Not wanting to miss out, I grabbed my cup of coffee and moved quickly down the sidewalk toward the voice of Tim Hines, our team leader.
“Look up there! In the tree. Toward the top. It’s a macaw!”
I’ll be honest. I wasn’t sure what a macaw was. My first instinct was that this might be a pet nickname for one of Tim’s young grandsons, who are adept at climbing obstacles and swimming in mudholes. To find, say, Asher at the top of a tree would be more troubling than surprising.
As we gathered near the base of a large tree near hammock central, aka “the boat,” Tim directed our attention upward, like any good missionary should.
“Right there, through the gap in the branches! See the red, yellow, and blue? That’s a macaw!”
Sure enough, through a gap in the branches, perched high in the tree, the most colorful bird in the world came into view.
I was so excited; tears ran down my leg. I hadn’t felt this thrilled since the birth of my sons or the release of the Salomon XA PRO 3D v8 GORE-TEX trail running shoes. This was a magical moment in a faraway place, like something out of the Myst video game. Several of us retrieved our cell phones and jockeyed for position to get the best angle on this, the largest of about 350 species of parrots.
“I’ve been coming here for 15 years,” Tim declared. “And I’ve never seen a macaw in the wild. What a treat! Did you know that thing has the bite strength of 500 to 700 pounds per square inch, like a large dog bite?”
“I did not know that” I replied, as I strained my neck and took rapid-fired pictures. “The last time I saw one of these was on a Froot Loops box.”
“No, that’s a toucan,” someone interjected.
“Right.”
We stood there for several minutes, gawking at the 3-foot-long bird, waiting for it to flap its wings, or shed a bright red feather or belt a mating cry. Instead, it was content to perch quietly, taking in the coolness of our mile-high altitude at dusk.
The macaw was, of course, all the talk at dinner. The trip brochure promised house-building and other mission work, but no macaw-sightings. We had just experienced something mystical and magical—something special. A treat.
And then, the next day, Tim had to go and ruin everything.
As we assembled for the evening devotional, he informed us that our favorite bird—the magnificent, mystical creature—wasn’t wild after all.
“Our neighbor, up mountain, is the town mayor. Turns out the macaw is his elderly mother-in-law’s pet.”
Our hearts sank.
“She said it was overdue in having its wings clipped and got out.”
Devastating.
“She sent a laborer over this afternoon with a frying pan to retrieve it.”
In Honduras, there are basically two classes of people: those who own expensive, exotic birds as pets and those who are tasked to climb trees and retrieve them when they escape.
“Does the bird have a name?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. The young man went halfway up the tree, banged on the frying pan, and shouted, ‘Comida! Comida!’” (which means food or meal in Spanish)
I sighed and shook my head. Our beautiful, mystical moment had been reduced to an attempted capture of a soon-to-be clipped bird named Comida.
“Was he able to capture it?” I asked.
“Almost,” Tim answered. “The bird approached the frying pan, about halfway up the tree. But just as the man started to take hold of it, it took off flying. As far as I know, it’s still a free bird.”
Back home in Tennessee today, I don’t know Comida’s status or whereabouts. I don’t want to know. I’m afraid to know.
My hope is for something magical and mystical—something special. I hope she is free and unclipped, perched high in a tree. I hope other missionaries can view her in all her glory and be reminded that our creative God spent a little more time on this creature… not because He had to, but for us to enjoy.
And I hope, in the middle of the night, only the nearby fireflies can hear Comida, as she softly coos…
If I leave here tomorrow Would you still remember me? For I must be traveling on now ‘Cause there’s too many places I’ve got to see
If I stay here forever They’ll grab my wings and rearrange But I’m as free as a bird now And this bird you cannot change
On our way from the airport to the parsonage yesterday, I asked my friend Carl about projects needing done during our month in Maui. He thought for a moment and said, “If you see something that needs done, just do it.”
Hmmm.
I would have preferred, “Take out the garbage weekly.” Or “Offer an invitation at the end of your sermons.” Or “Brush your teeth regularly.” I also prefer when my wife tells me “The bed could be made” or “The grass is getting a little high.”
Doing what we’re told to do is FAR easier than doing what needs to be done. It takes less energy. Less perceptiveness. Less creativity. Carl, whether intentional or not, was challenging me to up my game—to raise the bar. I wish I hadn’t asked.
Of course, he didn’t invent “Just do it.” I think he got it from the suits at Nike. They may have gotten it from God, who may have said it to a puzzled Noah after telling him to build an ark. Yes, God gave Noah many specific instructions on how to build the floating container.
But my concern here is not doing what we’re told. That’s a good lesson for the 1st graders I occasionally teach. My concern is seeing something that needs done and just doing it. That’s graduate level Christianity. That’s our challenge on Maui, and that’s my challenge to you.
If the old man is hungry, feed him.
If the child needs clothes, clothe her.
If a single mom needs groceries, buy them.
If a jobless dad can’t pay a bill, pay it.
If students need mentoring, mentor them.
If a poor person in a foreign country needs a home, go build it.
If the Walmart checkout clerk needs a smile and compliment, offer them.
If a flood-ravaged home needs mud removed, remove it.
If the parents of a special-needs child need a break, provide it.
If the widow need encouraging, visit her.
If prisoners need hope, bring it to them.
If someone hasn’t met Jesus, introduce them.
Having to be reminded to take out the trash or make your bed is cute in your first month of earning a childhood allowance. Being told to “rinse the ‘hars’ out of the tub”—as my wife once put it—is funny in the first week of marriage. However, only doing what one is told to do grows tiresome. In matters of faith, it reflects spiritual immaturity.
The world doesn’t need more ideas. My restless mind pumps out ideas daily—the good, feasible ones are rare and mostly ineffectual. The world doesn’t need more critics. Yes, we know you would have done it a better way. The world doesn’t need more sideline observers. Change happens in the arena.
No, what the world needs are more doers—more Christians in the game. More Christians who have been taken hostage by James 1:27, which reads, “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.”
Today, I hope we make our beds, take out the trash, and mow the grass. Let’s do what we’re told. And then, I hope God gives us the eyes to see “something that needs done” and the courage to “just do it.”
