So Big!

And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. (Ephesians 3:17b-19)

I’ve decided that there are two kinds of people in the world: those who prefer the mountains, and those who prefer the beach. Or those who prefer both. Or those who prefer neither.

I guess there are four types of people in the world.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. I am one who loves the mountains, though I also have great appreciation for the beach. One of the things that I love about both is that at the mountains and the beach one can really grasp the vastness of our planet. The giant rugged peaks piercing the sky are amazing to behold in their grandeur and majesty. The endless horizon across the ocean leaves me breathless to consider how deep and wide the water is.

Things like the grandeur of the mountains and the vast expanse of the ocean are how I feel like I should measure the magnitude of God’s love. Paul prays that we will be able to “grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ,” all the while knowing that, truly, we cannot even begin to comprehend how great God’s love is. 

When I look at the 14,000 foot mountain across the valley from our family cabin in Colorado, I know that God’s love is even greater than that. 

When I look out from on high and see the sun rising well beyond the collection of peaks before me, I know that God’s love exceeds even that distance. 

When I stand on the beach with my wife and watch the sun rise over the
ocean more than 92 million miles away – that still doesn’t capture the whole measure of God’s love.

The truth be told, there is no adequate human measure for the love of God, because God’s love is infinite. Truly, God’s love surpasses knowledge.

Paul’s prayer for us – and my prayer for you – is that you will be able to experience God’s love today, because there is more love being poured upon you than you can possibly realize.

"I pray that you... know this love that surpasses knowledge"

I’ve thought of one other way to express the vast measure of God’s love. When our children were toddlers, we would ask them how big they were. And, with a bit of coaching from us, they would burst out in a smile, spread their arms clumsily out and over their heads, and they would say “Sooooo big!”

That’s God’s love: Sooooo big!

May you experience some of God’s “sooooo big” love today. 

And every day.

Butterflies and Faith, part 2

Butterflies and Faith, part 2.

“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.” (Matthew 6:28-29)

“I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works.” (Psalm 139:14)

I like butterflies.

But you know that already, at least if you have read this blog or followed me on Instagram (@revshw) or Facebook. 

Butterflies reflect some wonderful things about my faith. For one thing, butterflies are a beautiful reminder of new life in Christ. I might have already told you that.

Butterflies also remind me that God is a detail-oriented God. Very detail-oriented.

When they are flying or flittering from flower to flower, it’s hard to appreciate the detail of their beauty. But when I capture them in a photo, I am amazed at how intricately designed – decorated, really – the butterflies really are. Every line, every circle, every dot, every swirl is wonderfully painted onto the butterfly by a Master Artist. 

Even the bottom of the wing is different from the top of the wing. 

Jesus spoke of the beauty of the lilies of the field, unmatched by even the most glorious human design. If I were to expand upon Jesus’ teaching (not that Jesus’ teaching ever needs expanding upon), I would point out the same truth with butterflies. Solomon’s most fabulous clothing could never hold a candle to the beauty and glory of the butterflies.

Butterflies are fearfully and wonderfully made. They are beautifully and individually created by God. 

So are you. So am I.

You see, there isn’t a single detail in our being that doesn’t have the imprint of the Creator. You are a masterpiece, intricately designed for beauty and purpose by God. If God cares enough to provide for the beauty of butterflies, don’t you think God cares about you?

Of course he does. God cares deeply about you, infinitely deeper than you can possibly imagine.

So the next time you look at a butterfly and consider its beauty, consider this also: You are a beautiful, fearfully and wonderfully made masterpiece. Every detail of your being has the touch of the Master.

Lord, I Want to See

“Lord, I want to see...” (Luke 18:41)

The other day I just had to get outside and walk around. So I went to a nearby botanical garden, hopeful that there would be some winter flowers in bloom. At one point, I walked down the trail that goes along the edge of the Cape Fear River. It was an area of the botanical garden property that had been completely submerged in the aftermath of Hurricane Florence in September, 2018. Flood stage on the river is 35 feet. In September, the river crested at 61.4 feet, threatening the main area of the botanical garden. Everywhere along the trail I saw evidence of the flood – downed trees, debris that had washed up in the waters, muddy water marks on the trees way above me.

The trail was closed on one end, so I turned around and walked back the way I had come down. As I made my way back up, I noticed a beautiful carpet of new green growth coming from the saturated ground. I stopped to take a picture (because that’s what I do when I see something beautiful), and then continued the hike back to the main gardens. Later that day I posted several of my pictures on Facebook (again, because that’s what I do when I have captured something beautiful on my camera).

The next day I was reviewing the “Likes” I had gotten on my pictures (because – you guessed it – that’s what I do…), and I saw someone had “liked” the picture with the green growth. Now, from a photographer’s perspective, there really isn’t anything spectacular or notable about the picture – the lighting is not very good, and in general all the trees in the background make for a busy picture.

But when I was looking at this picture again, suddenly I saw something that I hadn’t seen before. I really don’t know why I hadn’t seen it – probably because I was in a hurry when I took the picture. But there it was, and now I can’t un-see it. It’s a cross, formed by a limb that was swept onto a dead tree.

It’s not a “perfect” cross, because the limb has an offshoot branch. But still, it is a cross. It is an unmistakable reminder of God’s goodness and love.

It got me to thinking: How many times every day do I fail to notice signs of God’s mercy and redemption? In my everyday busy-ness, am I so focused on getting from point A to point B, that I fail to see the beauty God gives me along the way?

In the Gospel According to Luke, a blind beggar calls out to Jesus. While some of the crowd with Jesus thinks the man is acting rudely and inappropriately, Jesus calls the blind man to him. “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asks. The man replies very simply: “Lord, I want to see.” And then Jesus restores the sight of the blind man.

“Lord, I want to see.” What a beautiful prayer! Shouldn’t that petition be a regular part of our prayer repertoire? We know that blindness is not limited to a physical condition; indeed, all of us are blind to a myriad of things, either by choice or unintentionally.

I don’t want to miss the glory of God in the everyday things I encounter. Lord, I want to see.

I don’t want to fail to see the image of God in the person who comes to my office to talk about life. Lord, I want to see.

I don’t want to pass up an opportunity to help a person in need. Lord, I want to see.

Open my eyes, that I may see

glimpses of truth thou hast for me…

Open my eyes, illumine me, Spirit Divine!

Open the eyes of my heart, Lord.

I want to see you.

Let us pray:

Lord, I want to see. Amen.

Walking the Level Path

“Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground.”(Psalm 143:10)

Carol and I went on a quick vacation to Colorado recently. I love the mountains – the cool, thin air; the ever-changing horizon; the awe-inspiring vistas at every turn of the road or trail. One of our favorite destinations is the Rocky Mountain National Park. There are dozens of trails with hundreds of miles of exhilarating and breath-taking sights.

On our fourth day at the park, we were driving along the Trail Ridge Road (the highest continuously paved highway in the U.S.). This year we had Carol's sister and brother-in-law, and a good friend from Texas with us. As we were beginning to make our way down the road back to our cabin, I turned to Bill (my brother-in-law) and said, “You know, there's a trail up ahead that I've always wanted to hike. It will take us all the way down into the park, and Carol can come pick us up in a couple of hours.” Bill said, “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

So we pulled over at the Ute Trail trailhead, and Bill and I got out of the car. We put a couple of water bottles in a backpack, a rain jacket, and at the last minute I grabbed the hat that Carol had put in the back of the car. We told the women good-bye. Then I knocked on the car window, and when Carol rolled the window down, I told her in my most serious dramatic voice, “If anything happens to us, know that I love you.” Carol laughed and said, “Be careful. I love you too.” Then I grinned, turned around, and Bill and I began our six and a half mile hike.

The Ute Trail starts above tree line. For the first two miles of our hike, we were treated to beautiful mountain views on our right, and left, in front of us and behind us. Above tree line, plants and animals have to scrap for life; the fierce winds and the long winters make for harsh living conditions. Nevertheless, we saw some beautiful wildflowers, some of them growing in lush green grass, some of them growing in the shelter of big boulders.

The trail at that point was relatively flat, and was well-worn. For the first two miles, Bill and I were able to walk at a nice pace, given the high altitude (about 11,500 feet above sea level). After a little more than an hour, we could see that the trail would begin to descend at a crest just beyond an outcropping of rock. Then, as the saying goes, it would be all downhill from there.

A picture of me. Just before my trip
Notice that the trail is not flat.
And there are lots of rocks.
Photo credit: Bill Hays

At the outcropping of rock, the trail became less distinct. I was in the lead, with the backpack on my back and my camera hanging around my neck. As I was walking along, I looked to the left and to the right, trying to discern the trail. I should've been looking straight ahead and down at my feet, because I tripped on a rock. I don't really know what happened, but I know that I stumbled a couple of times and then I was propelled head first into a sizable rock on the ground.

Life lesson: When your foot hits a rock that is firmly embedded in the ground, the rock wins. Every. Time. And when your head is propelled into a rock that is firmly embedded in the ground, the rock wins. Every. Time.

There I was, on all fours, at 11,500 feet. I let out some sort of guttural noise (maybe even a few choice words), and grabbed my hand. I knew right away that I had cut my head. Poor Bill, he saw the whole thing, and he got to me just as I took off my hat and exposed my wound.

At this point, I need to say a word of thanks to my Mom. Mom taught me a long time ago to keep a handkerchief in my pocket. So I took my hanky out of my pocket and pressed it on my head wound to stop the bleeding. It worked like a charm.

Bill and I sat there for a few minutes. I know my adrenalin was pumping, and I think Bill's was too. I took stock of my state – no broken bones, no bruised knees or twisted ankles. Just a gash on my head, and that was under control. So I said to Bill, “I think we can make it all the way down to the trailhead where Carol will be waiting for us. Let's go.”

We didn't have any first aid stuff with us (another life lesson, I suppose). So I took off my sweatshirt and tied it around my head to keep the handkerchief on the wound.

Another picture of me. After my trip.
Photo credit: Bill Hays

Dorky, but effective.

Fast forward to the end (because I know you don't want to hear about the entire hike): We met up with Carol a couple of hours later; she took me to the ER in Estes Park (shout out to the fine people there!), where I was in and out in less than an hour. My souvenir for the trip: seven staples in my head, and a throbbing headache. We were back on the trail the next day.

After our return to South Carolina, I found myself at my desk at home during my quiet time one morning. These words of the psalmist jumped out at me:

“Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground.”Psalm 143:10

Hint: it's the part about “level ground” that really struck a chord with me. I have learned that level ground is much easier to navigate. It's also easier to stay vertical on level ground.

What is true regarding the paths our feet tread is also true regarding the path we choose to follow in life. You see, if we veer from the way God leads us, we will find ourselves on rocky soil. And we'll trip and fall. And probably get hurt.

God has shown us the way we should go. He has given us his word, the Bible. 

“Your word is a lamp for my feet, and a light for my path.” (Psalm 119:105) “How can a young person stay on the path of purity? By living according to your word.” (Psalm 119:9)

Even more, God has given us his Word, Jesus Christ. “Follow me,” he says. “Come to me, and I will give you rest.”

Look, I'm not narrowing God's word down to a bunch of rules that say “thou shalt,” and “thou shalt not.” To be sure, those are in the Bible, and we need to heed them. But really, I'm talking about the life-giving nature of God's word. Because the more our lives are informed by God's word, the more we will discover God's love, God's righteousness, God's truth. And God's truth is life. Abundant, everlasting life. Choose the level path that God has made for you.

I learned a little bit about level paths while I was in Colorado. But I also learned of the goodness of God, who delivered me. Even though I stumbled and fell, God got me up and he delivered me to safety. From now on, I'm going to be more careful about the paths I choose to hike.

Listen, I know that sometimes we make wrong choices, and we take the wrong path. And we stumble and fall. But God is gracious and compassionate, and he will pick us up and give us the opportunity to get on the right path again. 

And again. 

And again. 

That's the kind of God we have. His love is everlasting.

“Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Jeremiah 6:16)  

On Being a Good Neighbor

“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he fell into the hands of robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan ...came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him.”

Luke 10:30-33

Early one morning Carol and I were walking along the beach. We were on an uninhabited stretch of shoreline, and the tide had been ebbing for a couple of hours. After about a half hour, I noticed something in the sand ahead of us. As we got closer, I could tell it was a horseshoe crab, lying on its back. At first I thought it was dead, but then when I tapped it with the toe of my shoe it moved. Evidently the tide had turned the crab upside down, and now it was stuck.

Like a turtle on its back, the horseshoe crab is totally defenseless. The sun will quickly scorch the crab's body, and it will die. Plus, the seagulls and other birds would soon come and begin to peck at it mercilessly. It was a gruesome thought.

This was the first time I had ever seen a horseshoe crab, other than in places like a children's museum. In those instances, the crab was always on its belly, and all saw saw were the shell and the tail, which are harmless. But on its back, it looks kinda scary.

Part of me wanted to help the poor, defenseless thing; it would die without help. But part of me was scared—I mean, there are a lot of pointed things under the shell. Sharp-looking pointed things.

Finally, I realized that I could probably turn it over where it was, and then pick it up on the outside of the shell and position it where the water was coming up onto the beach. So that's what I did. And lo and behold, the crab started to move—ever so slowly—right into the oncoming surf. Soon it had returned to the safety of the water.

I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself, when a couple of hundred yards later I saw another horseshoe crab. This one was much larger, and it was also farther up the beach, to the highest point the tide had reached. It was going to take a lot longer for this one to reach the water, so I ended up picking it up and carrying it part of the way.

So that day I saved, not one, but TWO lives. I did it. Yep, me. Go ahead and nod approvingly—I most certainly deserve it.

But later I thought to myself, “What if I had just walked past the crabs, and did nothing?” They almost certainly would've died...

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Jesus told the story of the man who was robbed and beaten and left for dead on the side of the road. The first two people who came upon the man – the official representatives of God – passed by on the other side of the road. They looked the other way. They did nothing.

Jesus doesn't say why they don't stop to help the man. People have speculated that maybe they were afraid it was a trap, and that robbers would come as soon as they stooped over to help the man. Maybe they were in a hurry and couldn't afford the time to stop and help. Maybe they were aware that contact with blood and/or a dead body would make them ritually unclean and unable to work for at least a week. Maybe they just afraid. We really don't know why; we just know that they didn't stop to help the man.

Whenever I've read that story, I have always shaken my head and whispered, “Tsssk, Tsssk” at the priest and the Levite. “Shameful, they are,” I think to myself.

And yet, how far from them am I, really? I know that there are times when I can offer my help, but I don't. You know the excuses—too busy, not sure I'd know what to do, what if I say or do something wrong?, I'm afraid of messing up...

It turns out that I cross to the other side of the street more than I want to admit. Please don't “Tsssk, Tsssk” me. I'm not proud of it. I don't want to be the one who plays the part of the priest and the Levite. And I'm sure you don't want to be that person, either.

Believe it or not, this actually has something to do with my “heroic” rescue of the horseshoe crabs. You see, when I came across the horseshoe crabs, I was afraid. They scared me. But I took the time to confront my fears, and sought to do the right thing. I didn't let my first impression prevent me from helping one of God's creatures in need.

My encounter with the crabs reminded me how important it is to struggle past the excuses, and offer a helping hand. Compassion and care needs to overcome our fears and our hesitancy. I know this is hard, especially when it means helping a stranger. Strangers can be intimidating, simply because there is so much that we don't know about them. But Jesus reminds us that strangers are our neighbors, too. Or, to be more precise, we are to be a neighbor even to strangers.

Recently a woman came into the office at church. She is a “regular” who comes off the street just about every month. We all know her by name. My first instinct, I'll admit, was, “I'm going to send her on her way. I don't have time for her today.” But then I felt a little nudge (probably God, or the Holy Spirit, go figure): “Let her into the office; hear what she has to say.”

So I spent a little time with her. She has to live off of $735 in disability, and $30 in food stamps each month. She has to pay her own rent and utilities with that money, and feed herself and buy basic necessities like clothing and toilet paper and laundry. She broke down into tears, “Steve, I actually begged for money from a stranger in the parking lot at the store today. I can't do that—the police will arrest me if I do that.”

I gave her a little bit of money. She won't spend it on alcohol or tobacco; I think I know her well enough for that. It's not enough even for her to get what she needs for the rest of the month. But it was something. As she left, I gave her hand a little squeeze, put my arm on my shoulder, and assured her that she would be okay.

She was one for whom Jesus says I am to be a neighbor. I hope that she left with something of a sense of God's love for her. She is struggling to find God's love in her life, so I hope that just to spend a few minutes with her was a way to let her know that she is loved.

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Here's an interesting tidbit about the horseshoe crab: I learned later on that medical equipment is tested for contamination with a product made from the blood of the horseshoe crab. There are people who catch the crabs, gently extract a little bit of their blood, and then return the crabs to the ocean. And then they make a serum that is used to detect impurities and contaminants on medical equipment.

It turns out that maybe I helped someone else when I put those two crabs back into the ocean.

It just goes to show, you never know how far down your good deed will go. So, be a good neighbor to those in need. It's probably going to do a lot more good than you think.