Dec 17 2009

I get emails…..


Each day my “inbox” has at least a few messages from some dishonest pin head whose goal is to separate me from my dollars. Those are easy enough to dismiss. I just report them as “Spam” and the next time they hit my system the are filed away in the “Spam” folder and forgotten.

More difficult to dismiss are the dozens of email messages I receive from good friends each month that go something like this.

Some cheesy poem or a prayer is followed by:

“If you send this to 10 of your friends you will have an unexpected blessing in 48 hours”. Or, “If you really love God you will forward this to all of your friends”

I get these mostly from people who are Christians and should be mature enough to know better.

I also regularly receive messages promising that if I forward the email to 100 people Bill Gates will send me some $$’s. It amazes me that grown ups can be so naive. I have news for you, baby there is not free ride! You are not going to get something for nothing from a company who wants to make a profit.

Thankfully, I get emails from people who are encouraging, enlightening,  entertaining, funny as can be, and with worthy news. I love those! And, I get a sprinkling of messages appreciating something I have written, I also love those messages almost to the point of being sinful. (All of us love the praise of men to some degree don’t we?)

Email, Facebook, and Twitter can be fun, informative, inspiring and very useful but they can also be robbing you of time that would be better spent elsewhere.

Lets make a deal, just me and you. Next time lets think about it a bit before before we hit the “forward” button. I believe just a bit of reason will eliminate some of the junk from our busy lives.

This rant was completely free and you have to do nothing in return.

Royce

P.S. If you forward this the link to this post to everyone on your contacts list and have them send me $1.00 through PayPal I will have minnow money for the summer. I know this will work! LOL

Dec 17 2009

Preachers are People Too


“Granville Oral Roberts was born into poverty in Bebee, Oklahoma, on January 24, 1918, according to a brief biography released by Ethridge. His Christian ministry began with what he described as his own miracle healing of tuberculosis at age 17.

Roberts pastored churches in Oklahoma and Georgia and preached at revivals around the country while studying at Oklahoma Baptist University and Phillips University in Oklahoma, according to the biography.

In 1947, he founded the Oral Roberts Evangelistic Association in Tulsa, “and began conducting crusades across America and around the world, attracting crowds of thousands — many who were sick and dying and in search of healing,” the biography said. “Through the years, he conducted more than 300 crusades on six continents” and “laid hands” on an estimated 2 million people, according to association officials.” (CNN)

Oral Roberts was the Godfather of modern Pentecostalism. I have vivid memories of watching those snowy telecasts on black and white TV where people gathered under a huge tent to hear this man talk about God and the Bible and to have him pray for their healing.

While I disagree with much of the theology in the Robert’s tradition I honor him as one who preached the gospel. Paul’s attitude should be mine when he said long ago of those preachers he disagreed with

Some indeed preach Christ from envy and rivalry, but others from good will. The latter do it out of love,knowing that I am put here for the defense of the gospel. The former proclaim Christ out of rivalry, not sincerely but thinking to afflict me in my imprisonment. What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed, and in that I rejoice.” (Philippians 1:15-18)

May God comfort the family and friends of Oral Roberts. RIP
_________

I heard the news today that Matt Chandler, pastor of the Village Church in Highland Village, Texas received word from his doctor that a tumor just removed proved to be malignant and that he couldn’t get it all.

As expected, Matt and his young family are taking the events with much grace and dignity. It is my hope and prayer that his life can be saved. But, I fully expect that whether he lives a long life or only a few more months he will glorify Christ the best he can.

I recently listened to a sermon Matt preached to a room of seminary students using as his text Hebrews 11. He pointed and sobering message made the case that there are many who want to stop the mouths of lions and be delivered from the flames but no one is lining up to be sawed into or sleep in a cave. Whatever their circumstance, all of those heroes of the faith were indeed ‘faithful and faith filled” people.

Now it is Matt’s time to live out his sermon. I fully expect many to consider Jesus as they watch this young man of God suffer and give God glory as he does.

Please remember Matt Chandler and his family, and the Village Church when you pray.

_____

John Piper, pastor, theologian, and author is a close friend of Matt Chandler and since they are both of the Reformed theological persuasion, have a lot in common. Piper himself was very young when he left a professorship to become a pastor.

In 2006 John Piper was diagnosed with prostate cancer and he published a sermon he preached at Bethlehem church, “Don’t Waste Your Cancer“. I recommend it, especially if you or a loved one has cancer. You might not agree with all of it, not sure I did, but it is very sobering and worthwhile.

I love and appreciate every person who stands before God’s saints with an open Bible and preaches biblical messages that lift up and honor Christ. I don’t know even one preacher with whom I agree about everything. But, unless they preach “another gospel” and pervert the gospel of the grace of God I’m for them and have deep respect for them.

Many folks think preachers only work a couple of hours a week and are way over appreciated and over paid. HOGWASH! If some of you hypocrites would follow a pastor around for a week you would that he carries a heavy weight of responsibility, is on call 24/7 just like a doctor, and is often treated like a second class citizen even by some of those supposedly mature brothers and sisters in his own congregation.

A word of advice. You had better be very careful how you treat God’s servant!

Royce

Dec 16 2009

Cowboy boots and contentment


Some of the greatest pleasures in a man’s life is the love of his wife, an ice cold glass of sweet tea on a hot day, a good early morning top water bite, and a good pair of boots.

On a cold and snowy winter day I waltzed into a Western store in Sanger, Texas and exited a few minutes later with a pair of Tony Lama full quill ostrich boots. I paid more for them than I had the Oldsmobile I was driving and I second guessed myself plenty on the way home. Twenty two years later, almost to the day, I’m still proud of my purchase.

This morning I retrieved my old boots from the closet and slid them on and instantly I felt satisfaction. They have always fit like a soft glove and are as comfortable as bedroom shoes. I wore those boots over eight years every work day on concrete and asphalt and likely a few years more since. They still look as good as another pair many years younger.

They don’t make boots like they once did. These old boys are as soft as glove leather and as tough as a rhino’s hide. I’d pay double for a new pair the same quality as these old familiar friends.

Why boots? Well, I an’t a cowboy, that’s for sure! The last time I was on a horse I returned from my one hour ride with two blisters on my other end the size of silver dollars. I don’t do well with horses, they step on me, bite me, and generally hurt me.

I suppose I like boots for the same reason a fellow likes a good cup of hot coffee about daylight. It’s a pleasure thing. I’ve had people with bad manners poke fun at me for wearing boots, especially since I left Texas, but I put a good pair of boots right up there with a good pick up truck or a boat motor that starts every time you try it. (I’ve got them too, I’m a lucky man!)

Don’t knock wearing cowboy boots ‘til you’ve tried them. You’re missing one of the finer things in life.

That’s they way I see it,

Royce

Dec 15 2009

Many Winters Ago, A White Christmas


We sat in a semicircle around the trusty Duotherm oil heater, the only warm place in our house, as the wind whistled through the limbs of the apple trees outside the windows. Nearby an Admiral radio emitted the wail of a country song by means of WSM in Nashville and the Grand Ole Opry.

Momma had made popcorn and she and Daddy and I enjoyed the salty treat interrupted only by an occasional sip of hot chocolate. This night could have been almost any winter Saturday night but I believe this one was probably 1951, the year I entered the 1st grade.

In the mountains of the Blue Ridge, a few miles east of the Smokey’s, snow in the winter was almost as common as the sun. But this year was different. We had several days of temperatures in the low 20’s and teens and freezing rain and sleet. The result was layers of ice about 4 to 6 inches deep over the whole surface of the mountain we lived on, lovingly dubbed “Grouchy Knob” by my mom. When the snow started it began as a sort of frozen dust and slowly the size increased so that by the 3rd or 4th day the snow flakes were the size of half dollars.

Our tiny two bed room house was about 50 paces from the top of the mountain with the only protection from the north wind being perhaps 10 to 15 miles distant where the Blue Ridge Parkway wound around the higher peaks toward Mt. Mitchell and finally to Virginia. Daddy used to say the only thing between us and the North Pole was one barbed wire fence and a row of white pines. We were completely unprotected from the frequent winter storms.

Our front porch was 3 steps up from ground level and already the snow was level from our front door across the gravel road and into the fields. Ice had formed on the “inside” of our windows so it was not easy to see outside. I found that if I stood on a chair and held my thumb in one place on the glass, long enough, the ice would melt and afford a small peep hole to view the yard and across the road. Daddy’s old Ford truck had snow well over the running boards and there were no tracks in the road.

We spent several days in the house that Christmas season. Except for those necessary trips to the outhouse, we stayed close to the oil heater and talked and listened to the radio. In the corner of the living room was a Christmas tree decorated with pop corn we strung on sewing thread, some tinsel, and a few lights with metal deflectors shaped like flowers. By any standard it was as ugly as a mud fence but we all pretended it was not so. Daddy had done his duty of cutting it and setting it up and Momma and I had done our best with what little we had and it was our Christmas tree and we enjoyed it.

I don’t know how we made it then… we had no TV, no telephone, no electronic games, it was just us. We were as poor as dirt but since no one had told us we didn’t know it and were as happy and content as could be.

I’m thankful that I came from that place and that time with those wonderful parents who shaped me and taught me to do right because it is right, to be nice to other people, to open doors for women, and take my hat off inside buildings. They taught me to tell the truth, a rather rare thing in some quarters today.

That Christmas, and many others I am certain, we were willing prisoners of the Blue Ridge winter, and those tough winters were loved, and I think helped to build into us mountain folks character and resolve that is more uncommon where life is much easier.

I don’t share the excitement of my Texan wife when we have a rare snow flurry here in North Louisiana. I had enough of the white stuff to last a life time growing up in the hills of my beautiful home, Western North Carolina.

While I cherish those days and revere their memory, I don’t crave to repeat them. A sunny, clear day in the low 70’s would be just fine this Christmas for me.

Merry Christmas all,

Royce