The Secret Sauce to Awesomeness

If I had $100 for every time I have heard, "I would give anything to have a Dad like yours!", I could drill many wells around the world. He IS magnificent. 93 years old, still serving, still making people laugh, trust, grow, and feel valued. I DO wish everyone had a Dad like him.  Although we can't go backwards and rewrite history, we ALL can give our children that kind of parent. David records exactly what to do and the promises that follow. That's what Dad did and does. Check it out.

Psalm 112 Living Bible

  Praise the Lord! For all who fear God and trust in him are blessed beyond expression. Yes, happy is the man who delights in doing his commands.

² His children shall be honored everywhere, for good men’s sons have a special heritage. ³ He himself shall be wealthy, and his good deeds will never be forgotten. ⁴ When darkness overtakes him, light will come bursting in. He is kind and merciful— ⁵ and all goes well for the generous man who conducts his business fairly.
⁶ Such a man will not be overthrown by evil circumstances. God’s constant care of him will make a deep impression on all who see it. ⁷ He does not fear bad news, nor live in dread of what may happen. For he is settled in his mind that Jehovah will take care of him. ⁸ That is why he is not afraid but can calmly face his foes.

When You Choose The Action...

I know many people who are angry at God, angry at people...just angry. Anger held long enough becomes bitterness, and bitterness changes who you are. Bitterness will not just affect YOU. It will affect every single person who comes into your life. The cost is so high for this kind of rage and anger. And what makes the cost so unbelievable is that most of the time, the anger is completely misdirected.

Here's the thing. When you choose the action, you choose the consequence. Consequences are inextricably bound to behaviors. We don't want that to be so, for ourselves or for the people we love. But God created humans with the exhilarating ability to consider and choose, and, barring a miracle, he doesn't intervene and circumvent the choices we make. It was true for Adam and Eve, and true for all of us, their children. God has never had a hidden agenda, never tried to trick us, bait and switch. He has told us the plain truth over and over again. He has written the laws into the universe. Whatever you sow, you reap. But we insist on sowing sin and foolishness and instant gratification--and then blame God and whoever else is in our range of fire if the crop doesn't fail.

I frequently am privy to rants of people who have sown neglect and immorality in front of their children, and then are angry when their children run off the tracks.

Or people whose loved one dies of an overdose or alcohol poisoning after they themselves have pleaded to deaf ears, "Don't do this!You are killing yourself!" But the moment death occurs, it's God's failure.

Some treat loved ones like disposable property, and then beg God to keep those loved ones from leaving. Others behave foolishly at work and lose the job, or try to live like a prince on money they don't have, and then...well, you know the drill.

On the other hand, we told our children, "If you drive like a maniac or under the influence and are killed, we will never say, 'God took our child'. If we are angry at anyone, it won't be God--it will be you. And we will always love you, but our grief will be that you were so foolish and strong-willed that you did this to yourself." 

Come on. You know it is true. Choices and consequences can't be separated. God loves us so much he gives us the ability and freedom to make choices. Wouldn't it be liberating if, when the consequences connected to our choices come thundering into our lives, we would have the integrity to point the finger at the one who made the choice, and then go to the One Who knows us best and loves us most for comfort, strength, and hope?

Harper's Super Bowl

I am "guest blogging" today. My friend Aaron Cunningham and his wife Tonya were featured in a blog I wrote a few months ago when their beautiful daughter, Harper, was born with heart defects and Down's syndrome. Since that time, she has valiantly endured cataract surgeries, and this stint in the hospital, with another coming up to repair her heart. Her parents are amazing, and she is a warrior princess.  Her Daddy Aaron just wrote this. Read and share widely.


Harper has had a few breathing trials since she has been in the hospital, which have not gone very well at all. Basically they turn off the intubation machine so that she is forced to take breaths on her own. They start by giving her a little higher oxygen concentration than what is normally in the air and give a little extra pressure to help push it into her lungs and if she is doing alright, they start to turn down the concentration and the pressure until they reach the same levels as in the normal atmosphere.
As Tonya and I stood at the foot of Harper’s bed at 10:30 tonight for the second attempt of the day (the first only lasting 5 minutes before her stats dropped), I was hoping she would do well, but I can honestly say I wasn’t holding my breath. As the clock started and she began to breathe on her own, we watched as her stats fluctuated and I found myself wondering if she would even really get fully started. I closed my eyes and began to pray that God would comfort her and give her the strength to do at least a little better this time. When I finished praying, which may have been 2 minutes, I was worried to even look up at the screen. Worried maybe that my prayers weren’t strong enough? Or maybe that this was just too tall of an order to be asking right now because of her condition? Writing this now, I feel ashamed that I would have even had any doubts that my prayers couldn’t or wouldn’t be answered.
When I looked at the screens, Harper was doing exactly what she needed to. Her breaths weren’t too fast or too slow. Her oxygen levels stayed in the necessary range. Her heart rate was also within range. She was breathing on her own with very little assistance. We stood and watched as the minutes went by and the respiratory specialist decreased the amount of assistance. Each time, I watched her stats to see if she would be able to handle the increased amount of work for her. I would silently cheer for her and encourage her. It felt like I was watching the most important Super Bowl of all time. If she began to fall down, my eyes would close and I would pray for more strength for her. But when I opened my eyes, I knew that she would be doing better. It felt like my team had just made a huge play on the final drive of the game.
After about 20 minutes (which was her new record), she was breathing normal air at normal pressure completely on her own. I was cheering so hard for her inside, but she was still only halfway down the field. When the machine would beep warning that some stat was almost out of range, I would close my eyes again. There was no doubt in my mind that she was going to get to their 45-minute goal for her. Some of her stats were even improving. Her heart rate slowly came down, her oxygen levels would get well above her necessary range. The 40-yard line. I was going wild for her. The 30. There was no way she was going to stop now. The 20. She needed another prayer and kept going. The 10. My heart was aching to see her reach her goal. It was the only thing that mattered to me in that instant. Touchdown! She made it! We made it! We won the most important game of all time! It’s the only way I can describe the amount of joy and excitement and pride I had for her when she met that goal. It was perfect! As the respiratory specialist turned the breathing machine back on, I watched as Harper relaxed and let the machine take back over for her. She felt like she had just ran a marathon. She completely stopped breathing on her own again. It was as if nothing had changed for her from 45 minutes before that.
And as I looked at her I realized we hadn’t just won the most important Super Bowl of all time. Not even close. We had just made the very first completion of the game. We were still so far from the end of the game. Now, some people might think that would make me sad to think about, but the exact opposite is true. If that was just a small example of the amount of joy and excitement and pride that Harper will bring us as she reaches goals and milestones in her life, I can’t wait to see what God has in store for this little brave warrior princess of ours.
"God, the LORD, created the heavens and stretched them out. He created the earth and everything in it. He gives breath to everyone, life to everyone who walks the earth." Isaiah 42:5

Son of a Preacher Man

My grandfather LeRoy Mason earned the money to raise his large family in the Great Depression as a coal miner in the Pennsylvania hills.He was a natural athlete, nicknamed "Cy" after the great Cy Young, but he gave up sports to raise his family well. The speed that gave him great advantage in baseball saved his life and made him legendary in his community as he outran a mine cave-in that crushed the men just behind him. But what made his heart beat fastest and gave him the greatest satisfaction was sharing the Word. He did it through teaching, leading Sunday School, leading Bible studies, and his favorite---preaching. Though he was always a lay preacher, assisting his pastors and speaking in countless nursing home services, he was well-known as that little community's "preacher man".

A son of that preacher man was, according to his little sister, "the baddest kid Dad ever had". Jim loved and respected his father and his father's way of life, but had no interest in it himself. No interest, that is, until after he miraculously escaped with his life from two of World War II's hottest spots. Back home, he bowed his knee and surrendered his life to the Sovereign Lord. Soon he was in the middle of an anointed calling--the "baddest kid Dad ever had" was now a preacher man. Pastor J.L. Mason.

Pastor Jim was an amazing father, and always took any of his children who would go with him to serve wherever he was serving. I was the daughter of that "preacher man", and nothing thrilled me more. I "preached" with the piano bench as my altar, and my brothers as reluctant and often misbehaving congregants. I tooled around in his office, read his books, tried to help him however he would allow. Together we visited countless nursing home residents, sharing scriptures and songs. Dad believed in me so much that I didn't know girls "weren't supposed to be preachers for real" until much later. Gradually I got the message from others that aspiring to be a preacher's wife was most appropriate for me, but it never felt right.

I did find a preacher man to marry anyway. Charlie was headed for dentistry when we first met, so I knew we could only be friends. To my amazement and delight, God put his hand on this Hoosier (another great "hick from French Lick"), and called him to preach. Like my father, Charlie Young believed in me, and threw the doors wide open for me to walk into my calling.

Two preachers under one roof. Quite a one-two punch for our 3 children. They were repeatedly told they had a lot to live up to, or to live down, depending on the pundit's perspective. We never felt that way. We only desired that they would each be who God created them to be, his unique fully devoted, faithfully following child. Gratefully, all 3 are that. We couldn't be prouder or more grateful that each one is exactly where God has called them, using their gifts to build the Kingdom of God.

And one of the sons of the preacher man (and woman) is himself a preacher. J.L. , or Jacob as he is also known, is a humble servant who powerfully declares the Word of God with the strength that only those can who know God has called them and they can do nothing else. This weekend his calling by God will be affirmed and confirmed by the Church as he is ordained an elder in the Free Methodist Church. I feel sure his Great Grandpa Mason will be in the great cloud of witnesses cheering him on from the stands of heaven. By the grace and mercy of God, his 93 year old grandfather James Mason will be with his father Charles Young and I and the other elders of the conference, joining the Bishop to lay hands on him in prayer to officially launch his lifelong calling as a preacher man.

Praise be to God.

Good...No, INCREDIBLE, Friday

Friday started on Thursday. Jesus showed his disciples the depth of his love by humbly serving their distracted, self-centered souls, giving them strength for the future they didn't even know they would need. He forgave his betrayer and their cowardice before it even happened, and then went to the Garden to agonize with his Father. After tears and pain beyond my power to comprehend, he surrendered everything. "Not my will, Yours be done", and then walked knowingly, willingly into
the hands of his captors. Handed himself over while ten thousand powerful warrior angels were restrained from wreaking fury on these insolent and arrogant humans--humans for whom he was going to the cross to pay a sin debt so large they could never imagine, let alone relieve.

Through the night he was mocked, abused, beaten, skin ripped and torn, stripped and humiliated. He never lost his composure, never traded love for hate, never backed away from his commitment to absorb the wrath of a holy God against sin for the very people who were sinning against him at the moment.

Daybreak slowly crept over the horizon, and with it the mock trials ended with, "Crucify him!"
"Justice" would be served for the heinous crimes of loving, healing, restoring, pointing the path to wholeness. Friday's first order of business was to find a cross for the criminal, lay it on his back, and begin the trek to Golgotha, the skull-shaped craggy hill outside Jerusalem.

Slowly, tortuously the Messiah carried my cross...your cross...our cross. The Via Dolorosa was packed on this Friday, people in Jerusalem for the Passover getting an unexpected carnival show--a man on his way to public death. He stumbled, fell, bled his way to the pinnacle where around 9 a.m. on that incredible Friday, Jesus Christ spread his arms on the cross beam, lowered his feet to the upright bar, and was nailed to the cross.

That incredible Friday, the day we call Good Friday, he was separated from his Father, bearing the weight of my sin, and died. That Good Friday, that INCREDIBLE Friday, is the reason that anything truly good has ever happened to me.