Excavation

What’s buried in the concrete of your heart? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it (Genesis 4:7 NIV). The brand new Yankee Stadium, currently under construction in the Bronx, is a multi-million dollar project. With deadlines looming and costs mounting, you know that it would take a serious problem for workers to show up on a weekend to jackhammer newly-poured concrete. However, that’s exactly what happened on April 13th. Workers showed up to break apart two-and-a-half feet of concrete on what will eventually be a concourse. Structural problems? Not really. More like sabotage. By terrorists? Well, that would depend on who you ask, I suppose. The culprit, actually, is a construction worker from the Bronx named Gino Castignoli, who only worked one day on the project. But, that one day could have had serious consequences for the Yankees franchise, its fans, and the entire city of New York. Yankees president Randy Levine called Castignoli’s offense a “bad, dastardly act,” and the Yankees are discussing with the District Attorney the possibility of bringing charges against him. No, he didn’t use sub-standard material, or rig the part of the stadium he worked on to collapse. He buried a David Ortiz Boston Red Sox jersey in the concrete he laid. The Red Sox and Yankees are, of course, divisional rivals. Their animosity goes back at least as far as 1918, when the Sox traded a young pitcher named Babe Ruth to the Yankees. The trade, so the legend goes, cursed the Red Sox, who didn’t win another World Series until 2004. The two teams’ – and their fans’ – hatred of each other is arguably the most intense in sports. Rarely does a season go by in which at least one Yankees – Red Sox game isn’t interrupted by a brawl. Castignoli, a Red Sox fan who literally lives in the Yankees’ neighborhood, apparently hoped that burying the jersey in the stadium would “curse” the Yankees’ new home. Two other workers – Yankee loyalists, I guess – ratted Castignoli out. It’s a measure of how seriously the Yankees take the rivalry that they would take the time and expense to dig the jersey out. I mean, what, a couple of square feet of polyester and cotton twill? What harm could it possibly do to a gigantic concrete and steel stadium? Still, the Yankees preferred to take no chances, and out came the jackhammers. Best to dig it out now so there’s no chance of regretting it later. Maybe that’s a good attitude for us all to adopt toward the stuff that we might have buried in our lives where it doesn’t belong. “Sin” is the term that the Bible uses for that kind of thing. It really seems like sort of an old-fashioned word, doesn’t it – more appropriate for the “black or white” revival circuit than for life in today’s more complicated, “shades-of-grey” world? We prefer to speak of “mistakes” or “weaknesses” or “character flaws” or “addictions,” and those terms can all be helpful. The problem is that those are usually after-the-fact words that we use for the stuff that we might have had buried in our lives for a long, long time, before they come to light. I mean, we usually live with anger management problems for years before a broken marriage or family or friendship forces us to speak of the problem. Lust can lie buried beneath layers of respectability for a long time before adultery or other sexual immorality exposes it. Selfishness and greed can stay undisturbed for much of our lives, and leave us absolutely puzzled about why giving doesn’t bring us any joy or why what we attain is never enough to satisfy us. Genesis says that long before Cain raised his hand against his brother Abel, sin was “crouching at [his] door.” His jealousy, his anger, and his callous disregard for his own “flesh and blood” lay buried and untouched deep in his heart before it came spewing out in homicidal rage. Like most of us will do if left to ourselves, Cain tried to shift the blame for his actions; he wasn’t treated fairly, God didn’t appreciate him, and so on and so on. Not so different, really, from the layers of blame and bitterness that cover our own sins. If only my spouse appreciated me more. If only my boss wasn’t such a jerk. If only life would deal me a fair hand. If only my parents had been more loving or accepting. So we walk around angry, faces downcast, so focused on our hurt or anger or disappointment that we fail to deal with the real problem: down deep in our hearts lurks sin, waiting, biding its time, a curse waiting to happen. The good news, of course, is that it doesn’t have to be that way. The gospel proclaims that we have a Father in heaven who loves us, who sent his Son to die for our sins, and raised him to pour out his Spirit into our lives and hearts. “His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness …” That’s the overwhelming claim the apostle Peter makes in reflecting back on Jesus’ life and work (2 Peter 1:3-4). Peter goes on to say that through Jesus, God “has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature, having escaped the corruption in the world caused by evil desires.” In short, Peter reminds us that in Christ God has given us the awareness and the power to do some excavation: the integrity to be honest about what is buried in our hearts and the tools to dig it out. “Make every effort

The One Egg Special

How can they be the same and yet so different? For fourteen years, I’ve been having breakfast most Wednesday mornings at the infamous Towne Crier, meeting up with other preachers in town. As members have drifted back and forth from one church to another over “major differences,” we’ve just smiled, enjoyed our friendship and remembered that what goes around comes around. It’s rare for anyone to order anything other than the One Egg Special. (Yes, it may remind you of the Blue Plate Special that Barney used to order at the diner in Mayberry.) One egg, meat, and bread. We get the same thing. But we order it SO differently! I’m the “normal” one egg special guy: one egg over medium, bacon, and a biscuit – with water. No bells and whistles. Just pass me the strawberry jam. Eddie orders the same thing, except that he has iced tea. That’s right: iced tea for breakfast. When the waitresses see him coming, they know it’s time to pour the tea. Terry’s one egg special goes like this: one egg scrambled, bacon, and a pancake (believe it or not, they’ll substitute a pancake for the biscuit). Water. Don’s order adds an interesting twist: “I’d like the one egg special with an extra egg.” Now I’m not Einstein, but wouldn’t that be a two egg special? Apparently not. Coffee. Phil is Mr. Atkins. He asks for extra bacon instead of the biscuit. Bring on the protein; hold the carbs. Diet Dr. Pepper to drink. So there you have it. We place five “one egg special” orders. But they look very different. It’s funny to us that some of our members probably think our churches are vastly different. But we’re all just one egg specials. One may be low carb, one may have the extra egg, and another is downing iced tea. But we’re way more similar than most people suspect. In small worlds, minuscule differences can look VERY LARGE. Can you imagine how much energy is burned in many communities by members of various churches talking in outrage about what another church is teaching or doing? I’d like to think that in those communities, one morning a week the ministers are getting together for a bit of Towne Crier Koinonia: a one egg special, trust, deep concern, and a little humor. About the author: Mike is is intimately involved in New Wineskins magazine and Heartbeat, and his popular blog, Preacher Mike.

Who Could Ask for More?

Have you ever thought how much God cares for you? Many years ago on a beautiful warm spring day, my wife, Donna, was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on supper. Her day had been long and tiring. Our daughter, Megan, suddenly burst into the hot, percolating kitchen. This wasn’t her first burst! She had repeatedly invaded the kitchen just to be around her mom. Megan had no earth shattering needs. She wasn’t hurt. She had no pressing emergencies or great demands. She just wanted to be near her mom. “I need some ‘tention!” That was her way of saying she wanted our attention. At one level, Megan’s interruptions were childish ones. Her need, however, was significant to her mom! Donna handled each of these repeated interruptions tenderly. However, even the most patient moms reach their limits during supper preparation, so Donna suggested that she might go play in the yard till supper was ready. “That’s a great idea!” Megan said, as she flew out the door. Of course, it wasn’t long till she bounced back in with a handful of wilting buttercups for mommy to put in water. A few more minutes later, she flew in again. This time she was stuttering with excitement. She had forgotten to tell mommy about the huge, scary bee she had seen on the flowers when she picked them earlier. Ten minutes later, just as we were getting ready to eat, Megan bounced in again. This time she held up her crayon drawing. It was done in the “Early Preschool Impressionistic” motif – you know that kind of art where you say, “Wow! That’s beautiful, what do you call it?” As Donna gave the gurgling pans of food their last stir, put the veggies into their serving bowls, and dropped the ice into glasses, she also managed somehow to maintain eye contact, keep up with the conversation, and look at the beautiful work of art! The drawing was precious and meticulously drawn with great detail. In the picture was a house. There were also flowers. Then there was a huge bee. The bee was bigger than the house and the flowers combined! Down in the bottom were loops, scratches and a red heart. Our little angel explained, “Look, it says ‘I love you mommy!’” Bowls were put down, preparation came to a screeching stop, and Donna gathered Megan in her arms and gave her a big hug and kiss. She lovingly said: “I love you too, Megan!” God used this moment to reveal something of himself to me. You see, Donna didn’t tell our little girl, “Now Listen, I’ve got important things to do, don’t bother me right now.” She didn’t say, “Wait a minute! You’ve got to talk to me like an adult or I won’t listen.” She never demanded, “Go back and draw your picture in the right proportions.” No, for a crucial moment, a moment that may not be consciously remembered but forever will be etched our little girl’s heart, Megan was loved and received attention from the most important person in her life! God is that way. He doesn’t push us aside because he has more important things to do. He doesn’t require us to be impressive in our speech before he hears us. He doesn’t ask us to get our problems and our world in the right proportions before we come to him with them. In fact, when we come into his presence, he drops everything and gives us his undivided attention: the attention from the most important person in our lives. Who could ask anything more of a mother, or from our Father! About the author: Phil Ware has authored 11 years of daily devotionals, including VerseoftheDay.com, read by 500,000 people a day. He works with churches in transition with Interim Ministry Partners and for the past 21+ years, he has been editor and president of HEARTLIGHT Magazine, author of VerseoftheDay.com, God’s Holy Fire (on the Holy Spirit), and aYearwithJesus.com. Phil has also authored four books, daily devotionals on each of the four gospels.

To Be a Mockingbird

Would you still sing without your tree? Mockingbirds are not generally found at the top of the list of favorites in this part of the country. They are aggressive, driving other birds away from the feeders, and they are loud. Aggressive and loud seldom endears anything or anyone to others. Mockingbirds do not have the brilliant plumage of the Cardinal, the Indigo Bunting, or the Goldfinch, which are common this time of the year. Yet, in spite of these negatives, I have a Mockingbird that is among my very treasured acquaintances. For years, this Mockingbird has sung his loud and varied song in an old tree just outside my office window. He has always been loud enough to be heard, even in my office confines. He always brought a smile to me in the morning hours, when much of what I hear is depressing or lackluster. When we began the new building work and the renovation of the older section of our church plant, it was deemed necessary to remove the old tree. I considered chaining myself to the tree, but was of the opinion that my popularity in these waning years might not be enough to prohibit the chain saws, so I elected to watch the tree fall with only a slight sigh. One of my real concerns was for the welfare of the Mockingbird. I envisioned my Mockingbird buddy leaving, since the tree, which had always been his stage from which to perform, was no longer there. Happily, I was wrong! As though it was his special task to cheer me each morning, he just moved to the peak of the roof above me and continued his appointed destiny. Do you think we might learn a lesson from this persistent bird? He had a job to do and enjoyed doing it. Really big thunder storms temporarily distracted him, but ordinary rain just encouraged him. I often heard him in the midst of a summer shower singing at the top of his voice, in what appeared to be exuberant thanksgiving for the relief from the summer’s heat. I cannot help thinking of the attitude of the Apostle Paul when he wrote, “…I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am. I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:11-13 NASB) Jesus said, “Are not two sparrows sold for a cent? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.” (Matthew 10:29) I have no doubt that the God who knows when a sparrow falls must surely know my Mockingbird and hears his song. About the author: Bill is a long time minister in Nacogdoches, Texas who loves world missions. His passion for ministry has led him all over the world. In addition to his work as a minister, he is also a licensed professional counselor. Bill’s family is also involved in ministry and service to the world and community.

What the Kids Pick Up

What are your kids hearing in the background and from you? Ever wonder what kids pick up from the world of adults? If they are really paying attention? Do you ever naively hope they aren’t? Here is a true story of an event handled well that a young friend shared with me this week. The local news was on TV as five-year-old Kirk was playing nearby. Dad didn’t think he could hear – or cared to hear – what was being broadcast into their living room. His boy suddenly looked up with a troubled expression on his face. Rather than reply to an assumption, his father was smart enough to begin with a question. “What did you hear, son?” “The man on television, Daddy!” he began. “He said that woman was killed in a car wreck. Was she a Mommy?” “Yes, Kirk. That is what the man said. And that makes both of us very sad, doesn’t it? And she had two children – a little girl about your age and a baby boy.” Dad was feeling Kirk’s pain now. He saw the wheels turning in his trusting little boy’s mind. He was rather certain he knew the questions that were forming: Could that happen to my Mommy? Or to my Daddy? And what would I do then? Who would take care of me? Sure enough, with eyes that were sad now and with his little lip trembling, the boy asked his final question. “Daddy, who will take care of her babies?” The answer Kirk’s father gave him was from God. It was brilliant and should be the model more parents use with their kids. He held out his arms to him, picked him up, and hugged him for a minute. Only then did he say anything. “Son, your Mommy and I have taught you about Jesus and how he loves you. And your Mommy and I love you and your brother with all our hearts. We are here to love you and take care of you and be with you. But there are bad things that happen in this world too. And they remind us how much we need each other. “So let’s pray for that lady. And for her babies. And for the Daddy who will take care of them now that she is gone. Okay?” They did. And Kirk’s little feet hit the floor running. His Dad had given him just what he needed. Oh, he hadn’t given him an answer – for who can give a satisfying account of human pain and fear, evil and loss, death and loneliness? He gave him a hug. Told him he was loved. Made him feel safe in his tiny world. Then Kirk’s father did something else. He made his personal response to his son’s fears and his inability to keep him from ever being touched by them. He did what God himself must do for us. As Kirk left to play, his Dad had a good cry. Listen, my child, to what your father teaches you. Don’t neglect your mother’s teaching. What you learn from them will crown you with grace and clothe you with honor. (Proverbs 1:8-9 NLT) About the author: Rubel Shelly preached for decades and served as a professor of medical ethics, Bible, and philosophy at multiple universities. He was a former president of Rochester College and Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Lipscomb University. He was the author of more than 30 books and hundreds of inspirational articles. His commitment to a non-sectarian presentation of the gospel touched countless lives.

All Along, I Thought I Was Reading to Him

When is reading more than just reading? He will feed his flock like a shepherd. He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. … (Isaiah 40:11 NLT) My son was two years old. I often read one particular book to him, a child’s version of the parable of the lost sheep. You’re familiar with this story, right? It involves a shepherd who leaves ninety-nine sheep to look for one who has become lost. As an aside, that is not a logical choice to make, but it is God’s story, not mine. God usually tells stories quite differently than most of us would tell them! As usual, little Elijah was totally absorbed. The story and its accompanying illustrations had drawn him in again. But this time he was emotional. His chin quivered and his lips pouted. His eyes were moist and fixed. As we finished the part where the shepherd finds the lost sheep, Elijah reached for the picture. The sheep has fallen into a rocky place and clearly has a broken leg. The shepherd is about to bandage the wound. We looked at that image for a moment. I turned the page but Elijah turned it back. He wanted to look some more. We were quiet for a few moments. Then my son spoke. “Elijah sheep. Daddy shepherd.” And all along I thought I was reading the story to him. From Danny Sims blog. About the author: Danny Sims is the preaching minister at the Altamesa Church of Christ in Fort Worth, Texas, and a longtime Heartlight supporter and friend.

Undo Send: What a Great Idea!

Don’t you wish you could take back some things you’ve said? You’ve probably seen the TV commercial about the group sitting around a table, completing a conversation with the boss via phone conference, and hitting the mute button to trash talk him. Just at that moment, a technician walks in to explain he is there to fix the broken mute key. Uh-oh! Bad career move! In real life this past week, five of us were around a table, completed a phone conference with a person, and thought we had ended and hung up. I was seated immediately in front of the speakerphone and made some comments to our group about him and our call. Then we heard his voice! “You guys may need to hang up on your end,” he said. “I seem to be having trouble disconnecting.” Maybe that’s why an online article from CNN caught my eye the next day. It was about a new feature called “Undo Send” that Google’s Gmail is developing. “Undo Send” is an option someone can enable on her Gmail account. When she composes an e-mail and hits the send button, an “Undo” button will pop onto the screen for five seconds. Clicking it retrieves the e-mail in draft form and lets the author correct spelling, edit content, or simply cancel the message altogether. Don’t you wish you had a feature like that on your tongue! I could have used it countless times to save myself embarrassment. To keep from offending. To just keep my big mouth shut – instead of firing back some angry or hateful line. But without an “Undo Send” button, it was hurled across that space between me and a friend or mate or stranger. And I was left to try to clean up the mess. I admit to having learned a few things from living. One of them has to do with the importance of putting a bridle on my tongue. For all the times I still talk when I should be listening, I’m actually better at it than I used to be. My mother used to tell me to count to ten before speaking. (She saw my need early. I seldom got past about three or four.) Then I grew up, got married, and had more adult responsibilities. I learned the hard way that she had given me some really good advice. Having to apologize and to recoup relationships (when possible!) over time finally taught me the value of restraint. As you get ready to begin a new week, think about the value “Undo Send” could have for your electronic communications. Make a firm resolve to use its verbal equivalent in your workplace, family, and church this week. And pray for God to give you the restraint to follow through with your commitment. If you claim to be religious but don’t control your tongue, you are fooling yourself, and your religion is worthless (James 1:26 NLT). By the way, just in case you were wondering, I said some really positive things about the fellow on the other end of that open phone line. Whew! About the author: Rubel Shelly preached for decades and served as a professor of medical ethics, Bible, and philosophy at multiple universities. He was a former president of Rochester College and Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Lipscomb University. He was the author of more than 30 books and hundreds of inspirational articles. His commitment to a non-sectarian presentation of the gospel touched countless lives.

Sorry Rocks

What has repentance led you to change? “Produce fruit in keeping with repentance.” (Luke 3:8) Most weekdays, rocks arrive at Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park in Uluru, Australia. Some are nothing more than bits of gravel. Some weigh as much as 75 lbs. But rarely does a day go by without at least one. All of the rocks come from tourists to the park’s most famous attraction, the huge red sandstone formation called Uluru – better known as Ayers Rock. The stone, which in shifting light can seem to change color from reddish-orange to deep red, is considered sacred by the Anangu, the Aboriginal tribe that owns it. But over the years, tourists from all over the world have taken to chiseling out chunks of the holy site to keep as souvenirs of their visit. Recently, however, hearts have begun to change. Some return the rocks for superstitious reasons: one man included a note with his that said, “Please return to Uluru – six years’ bad luck is enough.” Others return rocks after gaining a new respect for aboriginal culture. One man, referring to the Australian government’s unwillingness to apologize to the Aborigines for the mistreatment they’ve suffered at the hands of whites, wrote, “Please return these rocks home as a symbol of one white man’s attempt to make amends for my people’s past.” His note went on, “Even if our leader is not sorry for what we have taken from you, I am.” Some simply write that they are motivated to send back their pieces of Uluru out of sadness and guilt. Whatever the reasons, dozens of boxes of “sorry rocks” now clutter the park office. Officials aren’t yet sure what they’ll do with them all, but they say they welcome them as evidence of a growing sensitivity to Aboriginal culture and a growing conviction that white people have been wrong in their treatment of Australia’s first inhabitants. Repentance is a tricky thing; a very personal act that often results in very public acts of contrition. Without the personal conviction of guilt and decision to make a change, any public acts of repentance are at best legalism and at worst hypocrisy. But, if personal conviction is not accompanied by observable action, then how real is it? “Produce fruit in keeping with repentance,” John the Baptist warned the crowds that came to hear him preach. “Don’t come here expecting a free pass from God’s imminent wrath, and don’t come waving your religiosity under God’s nose.” He demanded that greedy people begin to share, not just regret being greedy. He ordered tax collectors to stop collecting more than they should instead of just feeling guilty about their extravagant lifestyles. He told soldiers not to use their power to extort money – to be content with their pay. Repentance should motivate a change in behavior even if that change is inconvenient or uncomfortable. Anything less is not repentance at all. My fear is that repentance is such a religious, even liturgical word, that it no longer has any meaning outside the walls of a church building. We go to church, and at the appropriate time in the worship service, we feel sorry for our sins. Then we’re reassured of God’s grace and the efficacy of Christ’s work to forgive us. We rejoice and praise God, and then we go out unchanged to lives that look the same on Monday morning as they did the previous Saturday night. We celebrate God’s grace to the penitent, but perhaps we aren’t that penitent. Perhaps we’re just grateful to be able to pull a thin cloak of religion over secular lives for another week. The prodigal son came around because he was tired of being hungry and dirty and longed for his father’s house. Zaccheus was moved by Christ’s undeserved loved and acceptance. The thief on the cross saw his sinfulness in stark contrast with Christ’s innocence. Sometimes people are brought to repentance when their behavior hurts someone they love or when their lives are gutted by their sin. But however someone comes to repentance, there are always a few elements in common. There is stunning, crushing guilt and sorrow as the light of God’s holiness and love exposes our sins for what they are. There is a longing to have those sins removed, to be clean and pure and righteous again. And there is a resolve to put aside the sins that have caused us such regret and pain and to live differently. For such people God always has open arms. The Cross both calls us to repentance and sends us away forgiven. But, it’s never easy or neat or painless. Repentance is hard work. It is a discipline; basic training of the spirit that deconstructs our egos, tears us down and builds us up again. It forces us to take responsibility for our actions. It makes us confront our sins and decide between them and God. It makes it impossible for us to serve two masters; to turn and follow Christ is to leave our old lives behind. It is no coincidence that baptism is all at the same time the symbol for the death of the old life, the washing away of our sins, and the beginning of the new life. All of those moments converge at the point of repentance. If repentance has borne little fruit in your life, it might be time to ask yourself, “Why?” Why is your temper still just as unrestrained? Why do dishonesty and half-truth still characterize your speech? Why do you still hoard your possessions? Why do you still hold grudges against those who hurt you? Why do you still harbor prejudice? It is certainly true that the most penitent of us still sin, and that the hold of some sins on our lives is not easily or quickly broken. However, you should be able to point to some fruit that repentance has borne in your life, some way that repentance has made you different. New

A Tradition Like No Other

Do we have a Master’s tradition? The person who loves golf, particularly The Masters Golf Championship, will recognize those words as the Jim Nantz’ description of the CBS coverage of the tournament. For several years, the ads begin running in late February leading up to the first week in April when the greatest golfers in the world assemble in Augusta, Georgia, to compete in the greatest golf tournament in the world. The Masters Championship is not only a tradition in itself, but the tournament is full of traditions. The tournament traditions include the ceremonial legends of the game serving as honorary starters by teeing off early on the first day of the tournament. This year Arnold Palmer hit the first drive. Of course the green jacket is a tradition like no other. The fact that the tournament is often decided on the back nine on Sunday afternoon has become a tradition. Amen Corner is a tradition. The beauty of the azaleas and dogwoods is a tradition. Skipping the ball across the water on the 16th hole during practice rounds has become tradition that results in boos from the crowd if a golfer chooses not to participate. For many patrons, planting themselves by the 16th green or the 18th green is a tradition. Hearing Pat Summerall say, “CBS Sports proudly presents the Masters!” to introduce the broadcast is a tradition. Traditions are important in most areas of our lives. Our schools use traditions to build school spirit. There are winning traditions and losing traditions with sports teams. Families have food traditions, vacation traditions, holiday traditions, wedding traditions, anniversary traditions, and birthday traditions. Churches have traditions. Even those who vow to be non-traditional develop their own set of traditions. As best we can, we try to preserve our traditions. The Masters: a tradition like no other. You don’t mess with the traditions of the Masters. Those who run the tournament do all within their power to preserve the traditions of the Masters Tournament. Some traditions are easily accepted as traditions and can be changed or rejected or ignored with no risk of penalty. Then, there are those traditions worth fighting to preserve. When it comes to your life, what is the tradition that is like no other? Allow me to offer a suggestion based on what Jesus said: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and soul, and mind, and strength. Love your neighbor as yourself. When Jesus was asked what He considered as most important, this was His response (Matthew 22:34-40). These are often called “The Greatest Commands.” To adopt something like this as our “tradition like no other” will revolutionize our lives. Most of the traditions we hold onto will determine some of our direction and many of our actions. But to adopt “The Greatest Commands” as our greatest tradition, will alter the course of our futures. Nothing will be the same. These commands change how we treat people. They change how we think. They change how we worship. They change how we live. Now that’s a tradition like no other. Lord willing, I can look forward to the first weekend in April for years to come. I’ll look forward to watching the Masters and enjoy hearing Jim Nantz say, “The Masters, a tradition like no other.” Of greater importance, however, are the words of the Master that I hope to drive the course of my life, all the days of my life. A life of love lived for the Master. Now that’s truly “a tradition like no other!” About the author: Tom Norvell is the author of “A Norvell Note” — Thoughts and reflections on God, life, people, and living as a follower of Jesus. He has ministered with followers of Jesus for four decades and loves Jesus, his family, and those seeking Jesus, passionately.

Tuna Salad and the Rest of the Story

Most of them are wonderful human beings because someone gave them a leg up somewhere along the line, and they remember that. At least the good ones do. Over our 25 years, HEARTLIGHT.org has passed along the creative blessings of many famous authors who graciously shared their writing with our readers. This year as we celebrate “Shining the Light” for a quarter-century, we will highlight these special authors. Today, please enjoy one of Philip Gulley’s witty, folksy, and insightful stories. Paul Jr. wrote the introduction of one of my books. One day I was in Chicago on business with my friend, Stan. I remembered Paul Jr.’s address and decided to stop in to say hello and thank him for his help. It was lunchtime, so Paul Jr. invited us to stay and eat. “We’re having tuna salad sandwiches,” he said. “Is that okay?” My parents had taught me to eat what was put before me, so I said tuna salad was fine. Truthfully, tuna salad is not my favorite food, but since we hadn’t told him we were stopping by, I didn’t feel I should be picky. Stan said, “I really don’t care for tuna salad. Do you have anything else?” I wanted to slap him. Then Paul Jr. said, “We eat lunch with my mother and father, so we need to go next door.” I’ve listened to Paul Harvey on the radio all my life. (Few media people have been as well known and beloved for four decades as Paul Harvey. Listen below to a couple of classic and moving radio excerpts from November 1963, broadcasts concerning the assignation of President John F. Kennedy.) My father has listened to him for the past forty years. Now Stan and I were walking across his yard to have lunch with him! We went to the living room to wait for Mr. Harvey. There was a Bose Wave radio on the table. Mr. Harvey’s been telling us for years how wonderful they sound. Paul Jr. turned it on for me. We listened to a guy named Monty Vonny, or something like that. He’s not from these parts, so I’d never heard of him. The only Monty I knew was Monty Chadwick, who owned the Jiffy Carwash back in my hometown of Danville. But it was pretty music. I may save up and buy one of his CDs. Then Mr. Harvey walked into the room. He looked at me and said, “Well, I’ll be; Phil Gulley is standing in my living room. I can’t believe it!” I couldn’t believe it, either. I shook his hand and introduced him to Stan. “Is this the guy who doesn’t like tuna salad?” he asked, pointing to Stan. “The same,” I answered. Mr. Harvey asked me if I liked that Monty Vonny fellow. I told him I didn’t know; I’d never met him. Then I told him all about Monty Chadwick and the Jiffy Carwash. If Mr. Harvey ever comes to Danville, we’re going to take our cars there and get them washed. My treat, I told him. They’ve added a foaming brush that really gets the dirt off. Mr. Harvey said he’s looking forward to it. We ate in the breakfast nook just off their kitchen. Stan ate chicken salad and toasted cheese. I ate my tuna salad. They put three of those little tomatoes on my plate, but I didn’t eat them. Tomatoes make me burp, and I didn’t want to do that in front of Mr. Harvey. He told me how he got his start in radio. He is one of the kindest men I’ve ever met. After lunch, we sat around the table and visited awhile. Then it was time to go. They walked us out to our car. As we drove away, Stan turned to me and said, “I can’t believe we just ate lunch in Paul Harvey’s kitchen.” I said, “I can’t believe you told them you didn’t like tuna salad.” He said, “I can’t help it. I tell the truth without even thinking about it.” I told him it was obvious he wasn’t thinking. As famous as Mr. Harvey is, I wasn’t too nervous about meeting him. I’ve been around famous people before. I met Michael Landon back when he was Little Joe on Bonanza and came to Danville to give a speech on the courthouse lawn. I was six years old and remembered being mad he didn’t bring his horse. My cousin, Matt Griffith, once dated a beauty queen from Florida. She was Miss Navel Orange of 1972. He brought her to our house for a visit. She was wearing a sash and a crown topped with a gold-orange. She signed a Sunkist for me, but the next day my brother Glenn ate it for breakfast. Here’s what I learned about famous people. Most of them are wonderful human beings because someone gave them a leg up somewhere along the line, and they remember that. At least the good ones do. When Paul Harvey was fourteen years old, his teacher took him in hand and introduced him to the folks at the local radio station. Over half a century later, he remembers it still. None of us ever got anywhere except through the kindness of others. Sometimes we boast about being self-made, but that’s just a lie we tell ourselves to feel important. We’re all indebted to someone. Next time you’re driving by the house of someone who has done you a good turn, knock on his door and thank him. He’ll appreciate it. Who knows, you might even be offered a tuna salad sandwich. If you are, sit down and eat it. And be sure to put the napkin on your lap instead of tucking it into your shirt collar like my friend Stan did. Boy, I can’t take that guy anywhere. And, as Mr. Harvey so famously said, “Now you know the rest of the story!” Most of us who were alive on this fateful day