A Wife Worth Living

So excited about the book cover for my new book. Finding a bizarre guy and girl in a wheelchair wasn’t easy. But it reflects the spirit of the story. It’s NOW available on Amazon.

Christian novels without the cheese

Are you fed up with reading Christian novels that are:

1) Cheesy romance stories with endings you could have predicted by page 10?

2) Ones that give you PTSD around the End Times?

3) How about preachy ones with stereotypical advice on why you’re not measuring up?

Then, I invite you to read, mine, for what I believe will be a refreshing, out-of-the-box, belly-laughing, yet insightful change: “When Elephants Fight” and “A Wife Worth Living,” both available on Amazon Kindle.Christian novels without the cheese

 

Job had badass faith.

When a Christian suffers, is it because he has sinned and needs correction, or are there other reasons that are far more probable? The best example given in God’s Word concerning suffering and trials is found in the Book of Job. Job lost everything he had, his possessions, his family, and even his health. There are some who believe that when a Christian suffers, it is because God is correcting them for some unconfessed sin in their lives. Although this can be true, it is far from the most common reason. Usually, the suffering, mature Christian has no idea why he is experiencing a trial. If he did, the growth he could gain in faith would be lessened, so God often allows the saint not to know the “whys.”

Job is the story of a good man suffering for no apparent reason. In contrast, the Apostle Paul suffered for his “thorn in the flesh,” knowing that it was to keep him from becoming overly puffed up by all the revelations he was receiving. We know this because Paul specifically asked God about the “whys,” and God told him. We know that David lost his child that was born to him from his adulterous relationship with Bathsheba and because he murdered her husband.  This time, God told him that the child’s death was punishment for his sins. And the sin in the Garden, well, we all know what that cost our first parents.

But outside of these examples, I know of no other instance in the Bible where God explained to a godly person why they were suffering. So, why did Job suffer the loss of everything? I believe one reason was that he was the perfect target for Satan, not because of sin, but because of his righteousness, and God had confidence that Job was badass enough to handle it.  serveimage (2)His trial was not punishment or correction, but a back-handed compliment from God that he was up for the challenge, and that forever he would prove as an example of how godly people should respond to tragedies and other distressing situations in their lives. An additional reason, I believe, was to be a witness to unbelievers of the reality of God and his faithfulness, even in the worst of circumstances. And as an aside, that when the devil boasted that Job would curse God to His face, it had to be satisfying for God to put it back in the devil’s face instead.

I believe another reason for Job’s ordeal was so that God could confront his “friends,” and their legalistic, judgmentalism toward Job. Often times, the worst part of a righteous person’s suffering is the condemning attitude of the very people that should be a comfort to them. Finger-pointing, pharisaical, self-righteous critics, who apparently believe the Holy Spirit has retired and has appointed them as His replacement, only increase the believer’s misery and often leads them to self-condemnation and isolation. The more mature you are, the more likely God lets you experience trials that have nothing to do with you, but He allows them for the sake of others.

When Elephants Fight by Alan Kern

Why did Solomon Tate punch out a fellow missionary, befriend a witch doctor, experience a “holy laughter” manifestation, while trying to expose its dangers, and stare down a wild bull elephant?  How will he conquer his fear of confronting abusive church leaders? What choices will two Xhosa brothers make when they are confronted with the Gospel and compelled to choose between cultural witchcraft and biblical Christianity, and how will they live out those consequences? What spiritual connection is there between the lidloti spirits, dancing in the “borrowed bodies” of an African sangoma, and the involuntary convulsions of hyper-charismatics?

Why did Solomon Tate punch out a fellow missionary, befriend a witch doctor, experience a “holy laughter” manifestation, while trying to expose its dangers, and stare down a wild bull elephant?  How will he conquer his fear of confronting abusive church leaders? What choices will two Xhosa brothers make when they are confronted with the Gospel and compelled to choose between cultural witchcraft and biblical Christianity, and how will they live out those consequences? What spiritual connection is there between the lidloti spirits, dancing in the “borrowed bodies” of an African sangoma, and the involuntary convulsions of hyper-charismatics?

Blog 14: “Grace”

 

 

 

 

Yesterday, Laurie and I made our first visit across the bay to the island of Cozumel.
Half hour by ferry—they say if you’re prone to seasickness you shouldn’t worry about this trip. Half way across, I asked for the plastic bag, but thankfully, I didn’t need it. We went there for Laurie’s neurologist’s visit, but we had been given an incomplete address and several taxi drivers I spoke with had no idea where the doctor’s office was. So, I approached a police pickup and inquired. They didn’t know either, but they invited us onboard while they drove around and figured it out. And they did, getting us to the doctor with five minutes to spare. I reciprocated by buying the three of them lunch.20180712_064059

Afterwards, we taxied the twelve miles to Punta Morena, on the far side of the island, away from the tourists, much less developed, but far better beaches and ate fifty feet from the crashing waves. Laurie was in beachcombing heaven. On the ferry back, Laurie rode on the upper deck with the wind blowing through her hair, while I chose to read “The Good Years” by Walter Lord in the a/c, cushioned seats down below. I’m not sure where the term “Montezuma’s Revenge” came from, I’ll have to look it up.

 

 

In the gospels, there’s a scene where Jesus’ disciples want to know who will be greatest in the Kingdom. Jesus takes a child and sets him on his lap for a demonstration. Children in that culture were not viewed as they are today, like treasured things that adults revolve their lives around. In that day, children were not valued much at all. Another thing about children is that there isn´t one thing they can do, good or bad, to increase or decrease their parent’s love or position with them.

So, there were at least two reasons Jesus used the child to demonstrate God’s love. One: Jesus is not looking for the high and mighty who wear their blue ribbons of religious activities like prized bulls at the county fair. He’s far more interested in those whose halos are a bit tarnished, bent up out of shape, cracked, and occasionally sliding off their heads, but He has their heart. Also, God isn´t judging us by our perfections or imperfections but by His unchanging perfect righteousness that He is freely given to us.

Maybe this isn’t much of a revelation to you, but for me, having come out of a legalistic church group after thirty years, where you were judged by how many times you punched the time clock for church attendance, it is this grace that I desperately need. I remember part of a praise song from those days that went like this: “I have climbed up, that much higher, in that good old Gospel way.” Since we never heard any sermons on grace, it never occurred to me that you couldn’t climb up higher. They did, however, mock a church across town called “Grace Chapel,” for having “greasy grace.” But I need that grace, and I don´t care how greasy it is. In fact, I´ve got a lot of ”greasy grace” to catch up on, because my halo of self-sufficient religiosity has taken a hit.

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If you´ve been battered by life’s circumstances, at least you know you’re in good company with millions of saints that have gone before. In fact, the godliest of them all suffered the most rejection, abuse by religious Pharisee’s, family rebuffs, misunderstandings, slander, betrayals, not to mention physical torture and death. Now, there’s a happy thought.

So, man up Buckwheat, the best is always yet to come. This world is passing like a comet, never to be seen the same again. Those who are clinging to it as if it’s the greatest necessity in life will be the ones holding onto empty hopes and dreams. Our hope is unfading, untarnished, unblemished, “which is reserved in heaven for us, that is beyond the reach of change or decay.” 1Peter 1:4

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Blog 13 Father’s Day

I haven’ blogged lately because I’m doing the final edit of my novel: Working title, When Elephants Fight. It should be out in e-book by the end of June and I expect all three of you following my blog to buy ten copies each and tell fifty friends to do the same. Or not.

In shooting “hoops” this morning, a teenaged boy, who had been sleeping on the court, was awakened by my playing. He packed up his sleeping gear, and noticing a few coins I had by my stuff (I no longer bring my cell phone, for obvious reasons), he asked me if he could have a one-peso coin, about a nickel in U.S. change. I gladly gave it to him. Had he asked for much more he would have gotten it.
A recent sermon from our new pastor here at Cornerstone Church, preached recently on prayer. One particular statement he made has stuck with me: ¨When you pray, pray for large things. God likes to be challenged.” Just like that boy who only asked for a single peso, I know I have often asked too small of very large and generous God. So, Laurie and are asking for enough funds in our budget, after we visit family in Oregon, to be able to live wherever we like, in an English speaking Caribbean island, so we don’t have a language barrier.
Yesterday, as I was walking some distance to a pharmacy to get medications for Laurie, I felt God’s presence, actually I have felt Him closer for the past two months, ever since we arrived in Mexico and Laurie had her stroke. I thanked God for His presence, favor, and provision for our lives (the insurance company covered our medical bills). I felt Him speak back to me that He’s always been there. I knew this was true, in theory, but most of my forty-one years of salvation I’ve never felt Him this close. I don’t have anyone now between me and God interpreting this relationship for me, and that has made the difference.
Laurie received some wrong medications two weeks ago and it set her back physically. She’s back on the right stuff now and is much better again these past few days, the strongest she’s been since the stroke. She spent the entire day, church and a restaurant with no wheelchair, only a cane

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Today was Father’s Day and she took me out for the biggest ribeye steak I’ve ever seen. The owners of the restaurant, 500 Gramos Grill, Josie the Italian chef and Maury from Chile, told us Mexico has great cuts of steaks, but they don’t know how to fix them (no argument from me). 20180617_141246-1.jpgTruly, it was the best steak of my life. Happy Father’s Day to all.

 

Blog 13 “Mexican Justice at Dawn”

On the way to my pre-dawn basketball shooting routine, I pass by three mom and pop tortilla-making shops. Old machinery clacks away by the hour, stacking the corn tortillas that will supply the local restaurants. Other small shopkeepers are setting up their produce of fresh vegetables, fruit, and eggs in the narrow street. The bakery vender pedals his bike with a front-loaded basket on wheels, loaded with fresh bread and pastries, squeezing a toy horn to announce his arrival as he slowly moves through the neighborhood. A flatbed truck loaded with propane tanks cruises the streets, blasting recorded music through tinny loudspeakers, announcing its product to prospective customers. Workmen with reflective orange vests and bag lunches trudge toward their steamy ten-hour day. And then there’s me, an old white guy carrying a basketball, in shorts, tank top, and fluorescent orange tennis shoes. I catch their eyes and we nod and smile, greeting each other in our native tongues.20180524_162648.jpg

Yesterday morning´s shooting took a wild twist. He had been watching me and eyeing my backpack at the foot of the basket. He grabbed a trash bag and started helping the old maintenance man pick up trash, working his way closer to me as I was shooting hoops. I thought it strange; the old guy had never had a helper before. Did he just want to make a few pesos?

Then he made his move, from my left side. By the time I saw him, he was already rifling through my stuff. He went for my small backpack, an easy grab, but it was empty, but then he saw my cell phone under it and grabbed that instead. The race was on.20180526_044218

He was young and fast and bolted around the side of the court and into the street. One thing that he didn´t figure into his plan was how fast this old man could run. The thought of losing my phone in Mexico, a major hassle beyond just the expense, fueled my sprint, amazing myself, the thief, the elderly maintenance man, and several mothers who were walking their children to school.

Holding up my basketball trunks, that were not accustomed to this kind of speed, I kept yelling, “STOP, THIEF” to whoever would listen and care. After the first block, at which point I was totally gassed, a small posse began to form at the next crossroads. The thief hoped to allude them by bolting to the left down another street. Now, he was out of my sight and I feared he would get away.

I don’t remember if I prayed earlier, but now I shouted out to God, “DON’T LET HIM GET AWAY!” Whether it was angels or men who blocked his escape, I never saw them, but he quickly tore back through the intersection, back into my sight and into the next street, but now the net was closing in on him. My posse had fresh legs, and the thief had mostly used his up, but he made one last impressive surge to outrun them and he almost made it, before a young strapping man in a work uniform corralled him around the neck like a rugby front-liner and dropped him with an open-field takedown. Now, the posse formed around him like coyotes celebrating their kill.

When I lived in South Africa, I learned the term “township justice.” When the neighborhood vigilantes would run down a thief, they knew the police wouldn´t do much, so they owed it to the community to mete out the punishment themselves. Playing the role of judge, jury, and chastiser, they tied the thief to a tree and, well you can guess the rest.

My posse practiced their own township justice. As the thief laid on the ground, surrounded by four court members, they took turns punching and kicking him. Each time he pleaded his innocence, they kicked him again. By the time I finally caught up, I had missed the trial, but since it was an open and shut case, they didn´t need my testimony.

I yelled down at the thief, “WHERE’S MY CELL PHONE?” While the three others continued administering justice, the rugby front-liner thrust my phone toward me, as if he was presenting it as a trophy of his Mexican manhood. Winded, relieved, and grateful, I thanked the four of them, while they continued performing their duties.

20180525_120346.jpgPlaya del Carmen is a safe area—all of the State of Quintana Roo, also known as the Riviera Maya, is fairly crime-free, notwithstanding the lone thief and the occasional cartel member. They know tourists live among them, and they welcome them, boosting their struggling economy, and they and the police are motivated to protect them.20180516_084725

I´ve been thinking about that scripture that says, “faith without works is dead.” In prayer, I needed faith to believe God for what I was asking for. I had demonstrated at least mustard seed faith simply by asking God. But I also needed to do the part God wanted me to do. Sometimes God wants us to “stand down” and just trust Him with our prayers, but I´ve usually found He wants us to get involved.

If I hadn´t chased the thief, but instead, stayed on the court and prayed for God to stop him, though God certainly could have done that, I doubt He would have. But because I was participating, I saw God move in a way that gave Him glory.

I mean, what kind of story could I write if the thief had escaped?