A rock star pastor

Ladies and gentlemen... turn the sound up and hang on for the ride [persist through the boring part], lol. Some pastors will stop at nothing! And my brother Layne, my my! how misguided is he? he gets out of the small town and now he's been tricked into rapping for those big city churches! grin. He does look good in furs and bling, though, lol. And he can sing a bit! I like him better than the original... enjoy!

Subtitles for this post:

• My brother the rap star!
• "Oh, how the mighty have fallen!"
• Southern Bible Churches will stop at nothing!

Please submit your idea for the post title. Top two titles get included in this post and will finish in the money: My brother will buy you the reward with his royalty money, lol.

In memoriam of G.L. Mershimer

Today is the anniversary of my father’s death, and in honor of a great man, I offer this poem. It distills the virtues that dad tried to instill. He loved this poem, and for good reason: it contains the essence of bracing, manly character – truths of personhood that truly caring fathers and mothers would love to have reflected in their sons… and yet lost seemingly lost virtues in a postmodern age of victims and identity politics.

Here’s the classic poem by Rudyard Kipling, in honor of G.L. Mershimer:

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And – which is more – you'll be a Man my son!

Thanks, Dad!

I can still hear your words, “Fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run!”

Love,

Loy

Another Christmas scene...

Can anyone guess my noble contribution to the decorations? :-)

Every angle of mom's place is filled with Christmas goodness. Here's another angle, closeup, of the same scene... just click to enlarge. Enjoy!



p.s. Even the inside of the church is lit... as if to say, Merry Christmas! :-)

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

My mother expresses her artistry in crafts and cooking... and Christmas decorations! In Advent and Christmas, the house is a winter wonderland of love. And, don't worry, I'll share! :-) Enjoy!

A letter to dad

Today is my father's birthday, and as a special remembrance gift, mom gave me a letter that she found recently -- a letter long forgotten, kept with family letters written long ago. Dad was holding a series of meetings away from the family, and we all wrote him a letter... this is the letter I wrote as a young boy, come back to me on his birthday, of all days!

It's funny-neat to me, that even as a boy I was loving nature and drawing little artwork on the sides of my letters, lol. And, I drew Dad with really big ears, which he must have appreciated! And, my pictures of cars seem to be crashing, lol... some things are prophetic! And enduring, lol...

Anyway, Happy Birthday, Dad! I'm sure the Lord can share this blog post with you, and you can smile! :-)

And, Happy Anniversary, Mom! You are a wonderful mother, and I am so grateful for you!

:-)

O beautiful for spacious skies

A mercy more than life

I don’t have a lot of eloquent words tonight, but my heart is full of gratitude… I am overwhelmed by a sense of giftedness, here in America. I am captured by a sense of destiny and great responsibility.

I well understand Lincoln’s humble words on July 7, 1863. Days before, the people of Washington, D.C. heard the guns of Gettysburg grow silent, and they knew the matter had been decided. Word came on the wind of the Union victory at Gettysburg, and also Vicksburg, and Lincoln stood in the gloaming on the 7th, before a crowd of people and reporters.

Lincoln knew the occasion demanded high words, words of heart, character and valor – words of beauty and eternal nature. And yet, his heart was still overwhelmed by the gratitude of the moment: the battle tide had turned, as well he sensed. So with characteristic humility, and classic deference, he said, “Gentlemen,” he added, “this is a glorious theme, and a glorious occasion for a speech, but I am not prepared to make one worthy of the theme and worthy of the occasion.”

He briefly spoke of the glory of a people with representative rule… and how relatively short such experience had run on the world stage – facing now, in Civil War, what was at heart a great rebellion against that fragile experiment of human freedom. He then offered these words to the gathered throng:

Recent events bring up certain names, gallantly prominent, but I do not want to particularly name them at the expense of others, who are as justly entitled to our gratitude as they. I therefore do not upon this occasion name a single man. And now I have said about as much as I ought to say in this impromptu manner, and if you please, I'll take the music.

Catch that? The occasion was so high that he dared not besmirch it with impromptu words. That, my friends, is the heart of Lincoln, and a snapshot of America's ideal.

It’s the way I feel tonight. My heart is full of the glory of this freedom, this spacious place free from restriction… standing tonight in the shadows of my room are family members who fought in major conflicts… Sebastian Mershimer is there, still carrying the scars of Valley Forge, the hard endurance of seven years of war. And there, behind him, a glimpse of a bloody Civil War uniform… Another steps forward, with the mud of France on his WWI boots… and another, of the greatest generation, bearing the hallowed badges of WWII... and here, stern and compassioned, my grandfather Loy Sebastian and father Gerald Loy… men who lived so well the responsibilities of freedom!

My silent room grows full, as faithful men and women file in… root and branch from whence I am sprung, lovely and glowing eyes of heritage that demand from me something more than self, a courage, a love of mercy more than life.

And so I write, with heart full, to express gratitude… but not to write!

As Lincoln later returned to the stage with words well worthy of the moment, words that would echo in the chambers of the heavens, words that would cause Gettysburg crippled to weep with gratitude, that they had the honor of giving arms and legs and sight for something greater than themselves, so I may return if God wills. But not tonight!

Tonight, my heart is full of music… full of gratitude. So, ‘if you please, I’ll take the music.’

Goodnight!

Selah.

“Isaiah 35:6, Loy!”

Then shall the lame man leap like a deer,
and the silent shall sing for joy!
Springs will gush forth in the wilderness,
and streams will water the wasteland.

Isaiah 35:6

Isaiah 35: A meditation of life in the desert

Last week was the anniversary of my dad’s death. It’s always a tough time of the year, especially for mom… but it’s good to remember, and good to talk about love that never dies. We celebrated in low-key style: my mother, aunt and I shared a wonderful meal, giving thanks for the blessings of life and family, remembering in hope.

This meditation is a celebration of my dad’s faith – the conquering faith that framed his life and lives on even after his passing. May it encourage you to conquer too, today!

A spiritual reality of the desert

The prophecy of Isaiah faces us with the reality of the desert – and not just any desert, but the desert of spirit – the wasteland… the dry, barren places of the heart. The prophecy carries special meaning for those in exile, those facing the lonely stretches of life, perhaps with unanswered prayer or silence from God.

In a sense, the ancient people of Israel lived with one foot in the desert. They understood barrenness. Historically, their nation passed through 40 years of wilderness wandering before inheriting the land. And, even when entering the Promised Land, found that large portions of it were rocky and dry, with few naturally fertile areas, limited water and little planting soil.

They understood the physical desert, and faced it with irrigation and hard work. But today’s text references a far more fearsome desert: the desert of the soul, spiritual loneliness and apparent desertion by God: a desert beyond human resource.

Verses 3 and 4 hint at the emotional depression of this spiritual desert:

Strengthen the trembling hands, steady the weakened knees;
Say to those with fearful hearts, “Be strong, do not fear...”

There are some things in life that go far beyond what our human resources can handle. The times when prayers aren’t clearly answered, when medicine can’t seem to help, when doctors shake their heads, when counsel of friends just rings hollow… when the heart seems silent and cold.

Anyone who has walked the dry and barren places of life will understand the feeling of Israel in the spiritual desert. You will understand the cry of the faithful captives, “How long, O Lord how long?” [Psalm 89:46, et al].

Behind these verses of Isaiah is a picture of people in Exile. Can you see them there in a foreign land, with harps hung by the rivers of Babylon? Slaves in a far away land, they lived with only endless desert between them and home... an emptiness deep inside... silenced music of the heart.

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down
And there we wept, when we remembered Zion (Psalm 137:1).

The people of Israel faced the problem of the desert. It is our problem too.

The text offers two windows of desert resolution, and both are related to the character of God. The problem of the desert is countered with the presence and promise of God.

A holy presence in the desert

The presence of God is promised in verse 4:

Say to those with fearful hearts, “Be strong, do not fear;
Your God will come, He will come with vengeance;
With divine retribution He will come to save you.”

God will come with justice and salvation! These were the words they were waiting to hear!

Verses 5 through 7 flesh out this thought:

Then will the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped.
Then will the lame leap like a deer, and the mute tongue shout for joy.
Water will gush forth in the wilderness and streams in the desert.
The burning sand will become a pool, and the thirsty ground a bubbling spring.

This is an incredible prophecy of God’s future presence, but for people in immediate distress, often these are only words.

Our Lord Jesus said “I will never leave you nor forsake you,” but sometimes it feels as if He has forsaken us. Honestly, don’t you sometimes feel as if you are alone in the journey? If so, realize that in the spiritual desert, this is often a normal feeling.

“My God, why have you forsaken me?” [Psalm 22:1].
“You said great things would happen, but I don’t see them in my life.”

Even John the Baptist felt this way. John was chosen by God to precede Christ, preaching repentance: “Prepare the way of the Lord!” John’s ministry reflected supernatural blessing. He was filled with the Holy Spirit from birth. Yet he was thrown in prison for faithfulness to the Gospel! Sitting there on death row, praying for intervention, he fell into depression. He had only done what was right, and now faced the price of his life. In desperation he sent two messengers to Jesus to ask, “Are you the One, or should we look for another?”

In other words, “If you are the Christ, what am I doing in prison?”

It is fascinating that Jesus answered this question with words from Isaiah:

Go and tell John the things you have seen and heard: that the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the gospel preached to them [Luke 7:22, et al].

In other words, “The kingdom is among you, God has arrived, Messiah is here!” Even in prison, John, rejoice in the presence of God! The work of God is here, in Christ. Say to those with fearful hearts, “Be strong, do not fear...Your God will come...” (v. 4).

This is the prophecy of presence in the wastelands, God’s presence for those who believe... the first window of hope in the desert.

A promise of return

The second window of the text is a promise of return.

In the haunts where the jackals once lay, grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.
And a highway will be there; and it will be called the Way of Holiness.
The unclean will not journey on it; it will be for those who walk in the Way (v. 7b-8).
Therefore the redeemed of the Lord shall return, and come with singing unto Zion, and everlasting joy shall be upon their heads.
Gladness and joy will overwhelm them, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away (v. 10).

This prophecy of Isaiah captures two time frames, two dimensions – human and cosmic.

The human dimension of this prophecy was fulfilled in part when the sons and daughters of Judah danced through the gates of Zion in return from Babylonian Exile, singing the song of God: “Therefore the redeemed of the Lord shall return, and come with singing unto Zion!”

This human aspect was also partially fulfilled in 1948 when, against all odds, Israel once again became a nation, Jews returning to Jerusalem from the scattered corners of the earth.

A tension in desert promise

But today we live in the harsh reality of bombs and terrorists in the city of David. The haunt of jackals has not yet been replaced by flowering plants. Every bomb that explodes only proves that the cosmic reach of this prophecy is yet to be fulfilled.

The cosmic dimension promises a Highway of Holiness, purity of heart and conquered jackals.

But we aren’t there yet.

This is the striking tension of the kingdom: God’s presence is with us, yet at times we walk in silence; the promise of return is real, yet the desert has not fully blossomed.

The Highway of Holiness is not yet perfectly clear. We still walk the haunts of jackals. In a very real sense there is both now and not yet to the kingdom of God. Jesus said that the rule of God would be now in our hearts, yet it was to come over all the earth.

This is the exact vision that Job saw in darkness. In the midst of pain and doubt, he looked up and saw the truth: I know that my Redeemer liveth, and He shall stand upon the earth on the latter day (Job 19:25f). “My Redeemer lives – but there is coming a time He will stand upon the earth.” “In my flesh I shall see God!”

This is the tension of faith. It is the desert.

It is the interim between God’s revelation and final rule.

For people in Exile, the promise was ironclad: return would happen, the wilderness would once again blossom, the “years that the locust had eaten would be restored” (Joel 2:25). But they waited for that in hope.

They took the promise on a balance of faith and believed the outcome a foregone conclusion.

“Isaiah 35:6, Loy!”

My father understood this concept very well. He was crippled by polio at an early age, yet did not give up faith. At 11 years old he went from being the fastest kid in his class to the one who could not walk. He went from being a baseball prodigy to the one who could not throw a ball. But stricken in body he did not shrink in soul. He accepted partial healing of body and the vast inner wholeness that Scripture brought him. He would do what he could, and then say with a smile, “Isaiah 35:6, boys!” “Isaiah 35:6!” “The lame man will leap like a deer!”’

In one of my last conversations with him, I had to leave for Chicago, knowing he was at death’s door. In tears I told him that if I did not see him again, I’d see him over there, and we’d play ball like we were meant to – with him in a whole body: No more sitting on a wooden box trying to bat a ball with one hand! No more wishing he could run with us! He would run whole and free. He looked at me, smiled, and in his weak voice said,

“Isaiah 35:6, Loy!” “Isaiah 35:6!” “I’m going to run like a deer!”

For him the words were yet not yet fulfilled, but he lived in the promise as a reality.

Is the desert real? Is it a problem? Yes, it is... but not without the presence and promise of God!

Christ’s victory is assured. He stands as conqueror over the gathered forces of darkness! There is great power for the one who will see, even while walking the burning sand, the vision of the dew kissed rose. Even within the haunts of jackals, rich grass yet will grow.

The thirsty ground will be a bubbling spring!

Perhaps you’ve been waiting long for the desert to bloom like a rose. If so, dare to believe that He is present and working now. Can you see your desert blossoming with future life?

On the basis of these verses, can you ask, “What is God doing in the barren places of my life?”

This text gives the supernatural truth that those who experience exile in their lives, those who pass through the wilderness, those who are weak and hard pressed may shout for joy, for God can and will transform all things.

Say to those with fearful hearts, “Be strong, do not fear;
Your God will come...With divine retribution he will come to save you.”
Then will the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped.
Then will the lame leap like a deer, and the mute tongue shout for joy.
Water will gush forth in the wilderness and streams in the desert.
The burning sand will become a pool, and the thirsty ground a bubbling spring!

Where you need it most, may it be so.

Selah.

A watercolor grinch Christmas

The Grinch, Mershimer edition

Here is an award winning painting by my nephew, Titus. His school is going to frame this and use it in subsequent Christmas decorations. Ok, ok -- I'm officially a proud uncle, lol.

However, perhaps the playing field wasn't equal, for the other children. I lovingly mentioned to my sister-in-law that maybe Titus had an unfair advantage, in seeing great modeling for the painting. For, as I astutely noted to her, this painting is a dead ringer for my sister-in-law on her Hulk pills, in her nightie! *grin x 2*

Needless to say, my life-expectancy just dramatically shortened, lol. If I suddenly disappear, or experience a polonium-210 kind of accident, you'll know what happened! :-)

Anyway, I hope your Christmas season is going well! Put away the grinch face and enjoy it, for awhile, lol...

Your sincerest and most wonderfulest Christmas blogger,

Loy

A conceptually challenged artisan ca. 1446 B.C.

Tagline reads: You are a leg-end in your own time, lol!

Thanks, Layne and Deborah, for an awesome card! Somehow it fits, lol. :-) I just love the look of the guy in the pink shirt, lol -- his expression says, "Now how in the heck can I worship THAT?" lol... and look at the apprentice craftsman in the brown smock: he's wondering what he ever did to help produce such a masterpiece! Ah, no wonder Moses was so upset, lol. Idolatry is one thing, but the ludicracy of it all just grabs ya! :-) lol...I feel a new edition coming on: Bible stories according to Loy, lol.

Divine love in a bruised reed

A coke machine and a psychiatric hotline

My first trip to a mental hospital didn’t go all that well.

I was only 14. My pastor father went to visit a person in the local State hospital; however, with his polio condition, Dad needed someone to assist him in walking. So I went along to be his extra “crutch,” accompanied by my friend Kevin. And while Dad consulted with the patient, Kevin and I were free to roam around – within careful limits!

Down the hall from the consulting room was a snack area with a Coca Cola machine. And so, naturally, we gravitated there to grab a Coke. And I’ll never forget the trauma, lol. Oh, the emotional turmoil! :-) I put in the coins and pushed the Coke button. And voila! out came a Root Beer!

I stared at the can in my hand, and then at the button – can, button, can, button –; then I looked at Kevin and said, “If I wasn’t crazy before, I’m crazy now!” It was just one of those moments. We started laughing, gathered our change and tried more buttons: it was a “push one thing, get another” machine! Every different thing that came out we’d laugh all the more.

Truly, if a person was on the edge, wondering about his or her connection to reality, and tried that machine, it wouldn’t help matters in the slightest!

It was about as helpful as the infamous psychiatric hotline. Need help? Call 1-800-I MIND ME and this is what you’ll hear: “Hello! Welcome to the psychiatric hotline.”

• If you are obsessive-compulsive, please press 1 repeatedly.


• If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2.


• If you have multiple personality disorder, please press 3, 4, 5, and 6.


• If you are paranoid-delusional, we know who you are and what you want. Just stay on the line so we can trace the call.


• If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a little voice will tell you which number to press.


• If you are depressed, it doesn’t matter which number you press. No one will answer.


• If you are delusional and occasionally hallucinate, please be aware that the thing you are holding on the side of your head is alive and about to bite off your ear.

Some of you are probably thinking, “Loy, where’s the love?” “How can you laugh at a topic like this? How can you offer compassion to people needing emotional and mental health?” Well, just stay on the line, lol.

A man named Andy

I’ve learned that persons struggling with emotional and mental health are often the ones closest to God. “God’s power encamps on weakness,” Scripture says. And for those honest enough to be themselves before God, for those strong enough to actually admit their weakness and dependence on Him, God draws near to them. God reveals himself to them and through them. Some of the most brilliant shafts of divine light have come to me through people struggling with issues of wholeness.

Such was the case several years later at that same State hospital.

When I returned to my home area after college, I began taking youth over to this same hospital to use their gymnasiums and take part in volunteer programs. We’d play basketball or volleyball on Friday nights and then several of us would volunteer as assistants for special events.

It was the occasion for one of the most profound events of my life.

I volunteered the youth group for one of their hospital picnics – a picnic on the grounds on an idyllic September day. The patients well enough to participate were treated to hamburgers, chicken, fruits, salads, and an array of confectionary treats. A band played music and balloons floated on the breeze.

Our part in the event was to help with supervision and feeding. Some of the patients couldn’t feed themselves, others just needed someone to hold their hand or put an arm around them, or just to laugh and talk. So we mixed and mingled and shared love and laughter and a helping hand.

It was a powerful experience in itself, yet after the picnic they asked for volunteers to assist patients back to maximum-security wards. Against my ‘better judgment,’ I volunteered again! But this time I was on my own…the youth waited in the parking lot.

My task was to take patients from the transport vans and walk with them or wheel them to their secure areas. The building itself was secluded and the inner ward could only be reached through three sets of locked doors, each guarded by staff who would automatically open and then lock them behind us.

The first trip behind these doors chilled my soul…

Past the third set of doors I entered a common room – a room clouded with cigarette smoke and reeking of staleness. Listless inmates lounged around and watched blurry TVs, alternating between boredom and random questions, seemingly managing obsessions and passing time. These were the serious people who had not been allowed at the picnic…their eyes spoke of deep despair: hollow, lifeless and unfocused.

A heavy spirit of depression hung in the air. The atmosphere hit me like a physical force.

I immediately began crying out in my spirit: O God, how can anyone live like this? Where is grace? Where is hope?

Frankly, it staggered me. I continued to bring patients in, and greet other patients in the common room. But it ate at my soul. I tried to offer kindness and hope…yet the sense of despair overwhelmed me – it was contagious and undeniable.

In my mind I envisioned a flower wilting in an airless, sun-starved room. I couldn’t see how a human could be human in there…

However, the last person to be brought in was an elderly man in a wheelchair. I walked out to the van and the assistant said, ‘This is Andy.’ I looked down to see a grizzled face and hunched back, and a gray-haired man nodded at me from behind coke-bottle lenses. The van assistant winked at me: “Andy has a stash.” I looked, and sure enough, in the corners of his wheelchair and under the blanket covering his lap lurked boxes of cookies and candy bars and goodies he had stashed from the picnic. It was a pile of stuff! “Good for Andy!” I thought. “This guy has it together! He’s looking out for himself and saving stuff for a rainy day.” Something told me he probably wasn’t allowed to have all that contraband in the ward, but I wasn’t about to say anything to the nurses! My heart wouldn’t let me. I had already seen where he was going. He needed all the encouragement he could get…

Andy was quiet when I pushed his wheelchair back to the ward. He didn’t say much. I had mixed emotions: I was glad that Andy had scrounged some goodies, but I was half afraid that the nurses would see the huge stash and blame me. But we passed the first set of doors, the second, and then the third set of doors swung upon to his ward…and closed. We made it past the nurses!

And as I pushed Andy down the hall toward the common room, a cry went up from someone: “Andy’s coming!” Then another: “Andy’s coming!” Instantly, the cry echoed throughout the ward: ‘Andy’s coming, Andy’s coming!’

The room so listless and depressed now sprang to life. Smiles appeared on faces, and people stood up and cheered. They were actually smiling! Now I was doubly shocked: I’d have thought that only our Lord himself could have lifted that atmosphere. Yet here they were standing and cheering a hunched, gray-haired man in a wheelchair. “Andy! Andy’s here!”

Surprised isn’t the word.

My mind tried to process. But the information wouldn’t compute. “What is so special about this handicapped man?” I thought. Then, I saw. As I pushed him into the common area, Andy smiled a smile that would have won the world. He pulled back the blanket from his lap, and began handing out goodies, right and left. He gave away every single thing he brought back from the picnic.

These things weren’t for him at all.

He meant them for others. In his own way, he tried to bring back a bit of the picnic, a bit of the light and air and share it with them.

And he succeeded.

He touched them with a love that transcended time and space, brokenness and despair.

I walked back through those locked doors with a new perspective. A gentle, quiet Voice seemed to say, “Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of these…you have done it unto Me.” And then I realized that it was our Lord who had lifted that room. He had come in the hands and feet of one gray-haired man, a bent over, broken man who willfully chose to give of himself to meet the needs of others – even in a hopeless situation.

I had tears in my eyes when I walked out into the sunlight and air. The sunlight and air were gifts from Him, gifts in which I was free to move, to live and laugh and love. Yet how often had I not shared these gifts? How often had I kept them to myself?

How often had I not shared of my life, so rich and so blessed in the highest ways? How often had I let impossibility define me, instead of just giving away the gifts in loyal, self-giving love?

Andy reached me that day. He reached me with the love of the One I call my Lord. In living color he showed me the meaning of the words, “Greater love has no one than this, than that he lay down his life for a friend.”

And, you know, in this story, that act of love goes on. The memory of Andy is blessed.

Andy has reached out of those imprisoning walls, across the years, and touched you – you who read this story – with the love of Christ.

Will you look above your own impossible circumstances and receive this love? And will you dare to pass it on?

Selah.

A late happy birthday to an on-time girl

Happy B-Day: You go, girl!

I just received this pic of my sister-in-law Deborah, as she poses following a half-marathon, which she ran on her birthday -- in 26 degree weather, no less. Congratulations, Deborah! I'm impressed.

Of course, as I told her, running a half marathon is nothing compaired to the marathon she runs every day as the mother of three young boys. And, then, I caught myself: "No," I said, "Better make that four boys counting my brother, because you keep him in line, too!" And then honesty took over and I said, "Well, truly...make that four and a half boys, counting ME -- because you straighten me out when you are around me!" :-)

Truly a marathon woman, lol.

It is quite appropriate that she is born in the month of the great Presidents Washington and Lincoln, for she has those leadership skills.

Congrats, Deborah. And belated Happy Birthday!

:-)

The miracle of the lost lens

A story of mystery and grace

Would you like to hear a story tinged with mystery -- mystery of hope and faith?

The story begins with a February trip of my brother, Gerald. He traveled to Chicago from PA, for his birthday, to hang out and golf a bit. Yes, golf! :-) Hardy Mershimer souls see nothing wrong with golfing [or hunting, sometimes not much difference in the two, lol] in inclement weather. Nothing like a little chilling wind to sharpen the golf game and strengthen the character!

So, we planned it rather well. I met him on his way into town, at one of my favorite courses south of Chicago -- a great course, conveniently open for winter golf. The day actually wasn’t that bad and we had the course to ourselves, to laugh and talk smack: brotherly fellowship under an open sky, bracing canopy of nature.

Snow at the turn

Everything went rather normal until the turn. Weather blew in off the lake, and out of nowhere the skies started spitting snow. I looked at him, and said, “You think we should keep going for the back nine?” He scoffed in his best Marine bluster, “Sure, what’s a little bit of snow?” “I can handle it if you can!” I laughed and said, “Ok!” So we made the turn.

Holes 10 and 11 weren’t bad, but by number 12 it was a comedy of golf. The snow increased, and now blanketed the ground. Ever try finding your white golf ball in snow? lol, all I’ll say is don’t use your Titleist Pro V1’s in these conditions! It was truly funny… we left a few balls for the course, needless to say.

But we didn’t fret. It was a magical time, snow coming down and the world shut out, just us. We just went with the flow, laughing and having a good time. We'd clear enough snow to putt out on the greens… which were not ‘green’ anymore. And, as the ball would roll toward the hole, it would become a snowball, like a great rolled snowball from childhood, rolled sideways. The longer the putt the bigger the "snowball." Quite comical!

We frolicked in the snow until the 16th hole, where we teed off on a par 3. Now we were dealing with the thickening snow and early approaching darkness of a winter evening. I hit my shot somewhere to the left of the green; he hit his somewhere to the right, and we started out to find them, if we could.

The snowy plot thickens

I searched for awhile, and sure enough, found my ball. I readied to play it up on the whited-out 'green,' and looked out through the falling snow, to see Gerald stumbling around on the other side of the fairway, looking lost. “Can’t you find your ball?” I asked. “No,” he said. “But I’m worried about my lens.” “My right lens popped out of my glasses.” ‘What?” I said. “Do you know where?” “No,” he replied. “But I think somewhere over here…”

Come to find out, as he was walking, bent over, looking intently in the snow for his ball, falling snow pelting and melting on his face and hair and glasses, suddenly one lens was gone -- into the snow. And he didn’t even know the approximate place.

And, to make matters even worse, he had been walking around in circles so much, trying to find the ball, and now the lens, that his tracks went everywhere. If there had been a one percent chance of finding by backtracking slowly, now that chance was gone.

The impossible call

But he called out to me, “Come and help me find it.” “We just have to find it!”

I was shocked. “Gerald!” “Are you thinking clearly?” “That’s impossible!” “You don’t know where you dropped it, your tracks are everywhere.” “It could be anywhere, and even if you knew where, you still couldn’t find it, since it’s been snowing on top of it now for minutes!”

I reasoned with him, “Let’s just finish up the next two holes and then we can find a lens place somewhere, and get a new pair of glasses or new lens.” But he said, “No, you don’t understand!” He said something about lacking lens insurance and funds. “We just have to find this!” There was pleading in his voice, and I knew we weren’t moving on until I at least made some kind of effort.

So, kind of irritated about being forced on a fool’s errand, I walked over to his side of the fairway, taking great care to walk only in his footprints.

But it was impossible. His footprints seemed to go everywhere, and every minute gone by just added to the falling snow. “Gerald, this is impossible!” I said. “I know,” he said. “We have to pray.” “Come over here and let’s pray,” he said, calling me up near the green where he was looking.

“NO!” I replied. “I’m not coming over there to pray.” Honestly, I was a little bit aggravated at him for insisting we look for it. And now he was insisting that we pray, not apart, but together -- wasting even more time, in my mind. So I got stubborn. “I’m not coming over there to pray.” “You can pray, and I’ll look.”

So, he dropped to his knees, right there on the green.

True guidance and false

And I turned to face the wind and snow, looking out over the vast whiteness, and sorting through my emotions. I knew it would take a miracle to find this, and so I began just letting go and seeking guidance. “Lord, please guide me to this lens.” “There’s no way to find this in all this snow.” “Please tell me where to walk, and where to look.”

The thought ran through my mind that Gerald was half-blind, missing one lens and the other lens pelted with snow. So, it was on me to find it. And I felt that, and just breathed… a prayer, deeply. “Show me, Lord, please, in your will.”

Immediately a thought rushed in, strongly: “Not here… walk over to the left, and down the hill.” I started to move, but stopped. Where did that thought come from? I closed my eyes this time, and prayed, “Lord, I hear a lot of clamor in my own mind. Please lead me by your mind.” It was only seconds, but it seemed forever.

I stood still, not moving at all. No steps to the left or right, just listening in spirit. Calmness came over me, and I opened my eyes. That other clamor was gone.

The return of the lens

“Lord, this is a fool’s errand, but please watch over your fools,” I thought. I knelt down, right where I was… put my hand in the snow, and closed my fingers.

I felt something, and looked down… the most stunned person in seven states.

There, in my hand, lay the lens.

I had seen nothing with my conscious eyes, and only reached once into the snow, on a whim. And yet my fingers closed exactly on the lens. I stood, silently, holding a mystery.

Somewhat in a daze, I walked up to the green. Gerald was still on his knees, asking God’s intervention. “Is this your lens?” I asked, holding out my hand. He stared at me as if he were seeing a ghost. “You’re kidding, right?” “Are you joking?” he said.

I shook my head, and handed him the lens.

He was speechless. He stammered, stuttered, “W..wwh..what, how did you find this?” “I really don’t know,” I said. “I just put my hand in the snow and there it was.”

“Do you realize what this means?” he said. “Loy, you don’t know the prayers I was praying before I got here, and what this means to me!” “You have no idea,” he said. “This is a powerful sign to me, and an answer to prayer.”

“God is good,” I said, still in awe myself.

The treasures of the snow

We finished out the round, with a strong sense of grace all around us. I treasured up several thoughts, silently… considering the mystery of it all. What if I had listened to that first ‘guidance,’ that clamorous voice? And what were the chances of this happening by ‘chance?’

It was miraculous, if not a miracle.

Now, I know it was not a miracle in the classic sense, but a miracle of grace, an answer to prayer. And as far as the chances of that happening – reaching down once into that expanse of snow, several hundred square yards of fairway and rough, and coming away with the lens – a million to one, or greater.

But in God’s economy, the hopeless chance is the choice of grace.

A light from the shadows

What is lost to us is found to God. A good theme of grace ran through my soul, and a verse from the Return of the King echoed in my spirit…

From ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

God is good at finding lost things. What is lost to us is merely moved out of time for Him, out of the stream of common events, stored up for the sacred day: found again in good time. “When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth His son…” "I will give you the treasures of darkness, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who calls you by name."

Those of you who read these words: a word to you. Is there a lost ring, a lost lens in your life?

Maybe you feel as if you’ve lost your innocence, your joy, your trust -- your belief that God has a good plan for your life. Maybe you’ve lost your ability to dream, to live and dance in that vision of higher things… pulled down by life and stuff and earthly ‘wisdom.’

Maybe you've lost hope in the 'spacious place, free from restriction' -- that abundant life trusted in younger years...

Trust the blade to be re-forged, the love awoken, the ring renewed, the crown restored.

Here is a story from human time, to renew you in divine timing…

God bless these words to you!

Alleluia.

Birthday prayer

Last year, my sister sent me this photo for my birthday. No one knew this picture existed, but she found it in some of her stuff. It is a snapshot of my seventh year birthday party…replete with Mom’s homemade pizza, a cowboys and Indians cake, and mugs full of iced tea. Mmmm! What more could a boy ask? :-) Truly, king for a day!

I look at the picture, and it takes me to another place: Dad with his arms on both sides of me, leaning over for the photo [his crutch hidden behind me], Layne looking cute as a button [Layne, what happened, bro.? grin, lol], table spread in goodness. What love! It takes me to a place in time, the old Josephine homestead and a family built on love…not perfect, no! – After all the Mershimer boys were part of it, lol…but, truly a heritage where we were taught things of faith, of life and relation to God.

I look at Dad in this picture, healthy and hearty, with that classic look on his face…and I grieve his passing. I grieve the illness that took him before his time…the reality of sickness and death that we all must face in this human story…

But, I guess, most of all this picture tells me I am blessed. Everything about it speaks blessing -- even the ironed dress shirts which Mom insisted we wear...are signs of love and care.

I was given what so few children have…a blessing that many humans cannot claim: the heritage of righteousness, the comfort and safety of a sacred hearth, a table of love.

Thank you, Dad and Mom! And thank you, most of all, to the God and Father…of our Lord Jesus Christ! Abba, you’ve granted me, in Spirit and family, things I can never deserve. You are so good...

Thank you!

On my birthday I bless you, great Holy God who has so blessed me…

Please make me worthy of these blessings…

In Jesus’ name I pray,

Amen.

Amy Carmichael: Have you no scar?

Have You No Scar?

by Amy Carmichael

Jesus speaks to us:

Have you no scar? No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?
I hear you sung as mighty in the land.
I hear them hail your bright ascendant star.
Have you no scar?
Have you no wound?

Yet, I was wounded by the archers, spent, leaned me against the tree to die,
and rent -- by ravenous beasts that encompassed me
I swooned.
Have you no wound?
No wound? No scar?

Yes, as the master shall the servant be,
and pierced are the feet that follow Me,
but yours are whole.
Can he have followed far -- who has no wound? No scar?
Can she have followed far -- who has no wound? No scar?


[selah: silence]

[personal prayer]


Meditation on wounds

The Apostle James says that we are healed as we confess: Moral element to healing (5:16).

The Apostle John speaks of the one Christ told, ‘Take up your bed and walk!’ (John 5:1-9ff) Carry that which carried you: Emotional, vocational commitment to healing: Healing means that we accept God’s unknown over our comfortable [sick] known.

True healing: Willing to be weak where the world is strong; willing to be strong where the world is weak. Think about it…

God’s purposes for sickness: death (cf. 2 Kings 13:21), discipline (Heb. 12:5ff, Prov. 3:11f, et al), or the glory of God (John 9:3).

Not all who are physically ill are unhealed. Some are destined to receive healing through that illness…

Receiving healing: Accepting God's future over my past and present reality

My father, Rev. G. L. Mershimer contracted polio as a boy. He should have died, they said. But the disease left him without proper use of both legs, one arm and some other muscles. Dad often talked about his polio condition, and the part it played in bringing him to the ministry. He wondered if he’d have accepted God's calling on his life if polio hadn't entered. In his heart, he didn't believe he would have followed the call without the reverses of that illness, its deep struggle and pain. If that is true…then all of his subsequent life, his travelling across the country to attend school, his meeting mom...his marriage to her as he obeyed the call, his four children, his incredible, incarnational ministry -- all of this was due to a polio condition that God used to bring blessing through. If this is true, then my very existence is due to a wound. All of my actions that echo for good, every life I touch or prayer I pray, every word I say or write...this very blog...is a continuation of the healing that God brought through a wound: actions of a child that would not have been born without polio and the call. The Mershimer family is an entity called forth by God's healing power...still echoing in the world, through one polio condition.

What is your wound?

What healing does God want to bring to you and others through the condition you are currently in? What wholeness does God want to give as you hear the call in your scar? Open to His good purpose!

Open to His calling...

For it is good...there is trueness and wholeness. New life through the wound...

Alleluia!

Prayer: God, you can have all of me. I accept all of your purposes for me…even in my present condition, which is caught up in my past, I accept your future, your wholeness, and heed your call...in me, in this, in all. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.