Self Imprisonment- It's as ridiculous as it sounds

Rodger sat in his cold concrete cell passing the time as he had for years. he paged through the book he had gotten from the book cart although he didn’t find it to be particularly interesting. He stared out the small window high on the west wall and watched the birds fly back and forth on their ever important errands. He scratched designs and shapes into the drab dreary paint on the rough cinder block walls alongside the markings of the previous occupants. It was a boring life that he lived all within the narrow confines of the small cold enclosure.

He deserved to be there, and he knew it. The land was governed by ten simple laws and he had broken most of them. He had come to accept his fate as the natural conclusion of the life he had chosen to live. His future would only exist within this prison. He would have no more opportunities to make his was in the world. He had only to live out his natural life in confinement and die. This was his lot in life and he had accepted it.

One day, as he sat paging through his assigned book, he heard a knock at his cell door followed closely be the clanging of the lock. The door slid open to the left and there in the opening stood the prison warden, Lucifer. The warden stood to one side, revealing a man in a black suit and a blue paisley tie.

“Hello there, Rodger,” the man in the paisley tie greeted him. “I am hear from the president’s office. he has offered you a pardon for all infractions, both past and future. All you have to do is accept it and you are free to go.”

Rodger sat on the edge of his steel framed cot with a look of sheer shock on his face. Surely there had been a mistake. He did not deserve a pardon. He was scum. He knew this because the warden had told him so every day since his incarceration. Surely, the man in the paisley tie was wrong.

“Look, Rodger,” the man continued. “I have a pretty good idea of what’s going through your head right now. You don’t think you deserve a pardon. You’re right. No one deserves a pardon. But that has no bearing on the president’s desire to offer you one. He’s offered pardons to thousands of prisoners. Millions even, and many of them don’t accept their pardons because they know they don’t deserve them. But don’t let their decisions color yours. There’s a life waiting for you outside this cell. All you have to do is sign the paperwork and walk out.”

Rodger got up from his cot and walked over to the cell door. He took the outstretched clipboard and signed his name at the bottom of the page. Th man in the tie gave a satisfied smile and tucked the clipboard under his left arm.

“Rodger,” he addressed the prisoner. “You are a free man. Now, go and live the life of freedom your president desires for you.”

The man walked down the prison corridor and waited in front of another cell. The warden stepped to the side to allow Rodger to exit his cell. Rodger turned towards the exit but stopped as the warden looked into his eyes. Rodger felt uncomfortable. The joy and elation he had felt at his release faded in the face of the warden’s cold judgmental gaze.

“Well, Scum,” the warden began. “I guess it’s your lucky day. You’re a free man, as they say. You and I both know that you don’t deserve freedom. No one on this block does. You’re free to walk out of here because the president says you are but, don’t forget where you belong. I’m going to leave this cell door open. When you are out there living your life, you’re going to remember that you are living a life you don’t deserve. When that happens, I want you back in this cell because this is where you belong.”

Rodger stared into the warden’s eyes for a few seconds as he tried to shake what he had just heard. Finally, he slipped past the warden and left the building. He was a free man. His life had a purpose now. He didn’t have to live in bondage anymore. He walked to the parking lot and found a car waiting for him.

The car took him to a halfway house for recently pardoned prisoners. Rodger was surprised at how many people were there. They all had stories very similar to his own. The people who ran the halfway house helped him secure a job and an apartment. They helped him learn how to interact with people again. They were exactly what Rodger needed to forget the warden’s cold indifference. These people cared. They loved Rodger and wanted to help him succeed.

Months went by, and Rodger succeeded. Eventually, years went by and Rodger found himself relying less and less on the proprietors of the halfway house. Ultimately, self-sufficiency was their goal so they were happy to see him doing so well. Rodger met a woman and fell in love. He and his wife had a child. Rodger’s career continued to advance.

 Rodger looked up from his desk on day and took in the family picture he kept at the office. He realized that he was living the life he had always wanted. And he remembered what the warden had said. You’re going to remember that you are living a life you don’t deserve. You’ll remember that you belong in here. Rodger shook the warden’s words from his head. Nobody deserved the life they lived, but everyone lived the life that the president wanted for them. That’s what Rodger had been told at the halfway house. The president wanted freedom for his citizens. That’s why he offered the pardons to everyone.

Rodger sat back  and thought over the last ten years since his release. He had done well, but not as well as he thought that he would. When he left the prison, he had told himself that he would never break the law again, but he had. He had been guilty of countless infractions since his release. The reality of his guilt weighed on him. He reached for the phone on his desk and called his wife. He told her that he wouldn’t be home that night or the night after. In fact, he wouldn’t be home until after work on the following Monday. He didn’t explain why, because he didn’t think she’d understand.

After work, he got into his car and drove to the prison. He walked into the booking center and addressed the person behind the counter.

“You don’t have to introduce yourself, Scum,” and gravelly voice cut him off. “I remember who you are. Your cell is waiting.”

Rodger recognized the warden’s accusing tone. The face of the counter clerk wasn’t that of the warden, but the voice was unmistakable. Rodger took the tan jumpsuit and stepped into a privacy booth to change. He put his three-piece suit into a paper bag along with his silver watch, briefcase, and wallet. He left his personal property with the clerk and walked through the open door to the prison block corridor. He found his cell in no time. It was just as he had left it. He walked through the open cell door and collapsed on the thin mattress of the cold steel bed. He buried his face in the musty pillow and cried himself to sleep.

He woke up to the sound of a stainless steel tray sliding across the hard concrete floor.

“Breakfast is served, Scum,” the warden’s voice sounded from the hallway. “Eat up. Guilt is no good on an empty stomach.”

Rodger looked up and was surprised to see that the warden was nowhere to be seen. The person who had addressed him was the woman pushing the food service cart. However, the voice was unmistakably the warden’s.

Rodger reached for the heavy tray and surveyed the meal before him. There was a mound of mush alongside a pile of scrambled eggs that weren’t quite the right color. Rodger picked up the plastic sport and plunged it into the mush and took a bite. He had almost gagged. The mush was thick, flavorless and was room temperature. He stabbed a chunk of the eggs and had a similar experience. He had forgotten how miserable the food of prison was. He took a deep breath and powered through. He deserved to be there, and he was going to take all the punishment that was in store for him, including the food.

Rodger spent the whole weekend in his cell remembering how much he didn’t deserve the freedom he had experienced of the last ten years. On Monday morning, he hit the showers and retrieved his personal affects from the counter clerk. He slid his suit jacket over his shoulders and turned towards the exit.

“See you next weekend, Scum,” the warden’s voice echoed from behind the counter.

Rodger paused for a moment before pushing through the heavy steel doors. He breathed a heavy sigh of resignation as he realized that the warden was right. He would be back behind bars for the next weekend.

Rodger was back behind bars the following weekend. In fact, he checked himself into the prison every weekend for the next six months. Even then, he didn’t feel it was enough. He still lived a life he didn’t deserve from Monday morning until Friday night. He knew he deserved to stay in prison all week, but he had responsibilities to his family. His time behind bars mystified his wife. She had also been pardoned and knew they were both living a life they didn’t deserve. However, she was content to live in the freedom provided by her pardon. Finally, one Friday afternoon, she dropped her son off at her mother’s house and went to her husband’s office.

Rodger walked out of his office building and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his wife.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her.

“I’m here to make sure that you come home,” his wife replied. “I’m sick and tired of you spending every weekend in jail when your pardon covered everything.”

“Don’t you understand?” Rodger pressed. “I deserve to be behind bars. I have continued to fail since I was released. I still belong behind bars.”

“Why do you think you belong behind bars?” she challenged him. “You were pardoned! You are free! Who told you that you’re not?”

“Nobody,” Rodger shrugged. “I know I’m free. But the warden says that I belong behind bars and you now what? He’s right! I don’t deserve freedom!”

At this statement, Rodger’s wife grabbed him by the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled his face close to hers. She looked deep into his eyes and spoke slowly as if to ensure that Rodger heard everything she had to say.

“I know you don’t deserve freedom,” she began through clenched teeth. “No one deserves freedom. But that doesn’t mean that you belong in prison. We were pardoned. Everyone who lives a free life was pardoned. We belong in freedom because the president said we do. The warden doesn’t make the rules. He told me the same thing he told you. He’s wrong. A free man does not belong in prison. Come home with me and live in freedom.”

Rodger stood there, looking into the eyes of the woman he loved. He heard what she said but he wasn’t sure she had it right. Maybe she had obeyed the law since her pardon. In her case, it made sense for her to live in freedom, but not his. No, he deserved to live in prison. He tried to pull away from her, but her grasp tightened.

“Do you think your freedom was free?” she asked him as her tone tightened. “Do you know what the president had to do to get us our pardons? He gave up his son! His only son was executed in exchange for our freedom and you have the gall to tell him that his pardon isn’t good enough?”

“Wait,” Rodger stuttered. “You mean to tell me that my pardon was paid for?”

“Yes! And every minute you spend behind bars is a slap in the face to the man who paid for it,” his wife exclaimed. “Now come home. You don’t belong in prison. Your freedom was bought and paid for and the warden no longer has power over you. The only power he has is the power you give him. The cell door is always open because he no longer has the power to lock it! It doesn’t matter what he says. That cell doesn’t belong to you anymore.”

Rodger stood for a moment before nodding his head.

“You’re right, dear. Let’s go home.”

I hope you enjoyed my little story. Here’s the message I was trying to convey. We are free from the shackles of sin thanks to the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. However, we often live our lives convincing ourselves that we live a life of freedom that’s not ours because we are in possession of a pardon we don’t deserve. These two concepts are not mutually inclusive. We don’t deserve the salvation we’ve been given but we are called to live in freedom from the shackles of our past lives. We as Christians need to stop walking back into the cells we were freed from just because the warden is telling us that we belong there. Jesus Christ told us we don’t.

“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery” -Galatians 5:1

“Live as people who are free, not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil, but living as servants of God.” -1 Peter 2:16

The Retirement of 2017

2017 walked into the large gray structure before him. He was retired. His time was up.  2018 was taking over. People were saying terrible things about him. They were acting like everything that happened while he was in charge was his fault. Everyone was looking forward to the next year like things could only get better. Needless to say, 2017 did not feel good about this. He heaved a sigh of disappointment and made his way to the front desk.

"Hello," welcomed the cheery receptionist with an all-to-prominent smile. "Welcome to the Annual Retirement Center. How can I help you?"

"Uh, yeah," 2017 sighed. "I'm 2017. I guess I need to check in or something."

"Oh! It's great to have you!" The receptionist replied with excessive enthusiasm. "We've been expecting you. Took a while to decide to come in, huh? That's pretty normal. Retirement can be a real ordeal for some years."

"Just some years?" 2017 self-consciously inquired.

"Well," the receptionist responded with her voice thick with understanding. "Some years are just ready to retire. For instance, 1941 and 2001 couldn't wait to get checked in. They had such exhausting careers. The 1920's, however, were angry to be retiring. They just wanted to keep in roaring. The Great Depression put things into perspective for them real quick."

"I see," 2017 replied as he signed the paperwork on the desk before him. "Thanks."

The receptionist nodded as the newly retired year made his way towards a vacant rocking chair in the center of the room. He sank into the chair and closed his eyes. He had a hard career in a lot of ways, but he thought he had done well. There were a lot of people who had a great year but their accolades had been drowned out by all the complaints of the unsatisfied customers. A lot of people were born in his year, but all people were talking about were the lives that had expired. 

"It's not like I choose who's up for expiration," 2017 muttered under his breath. "I get my orders from the Minister of Lifetime Durations just like every other year. I just have to do what I'm told."

The fact of the matter is that for every bad thing that happened under his watch, there were two or three good things that happened. People just don't always see the good. 

"Hey there," 2017's train of thought was interrupted. "You're new here. You must be 2017."

"Yup, that's me," 2017 replied as he turned towards the stranger. "The worst year in history."

The whole room erupted in laughter, much to 2017's surprise.

"I'm 2016," the year held out his hand in friendship. "I'm the previous owner of that title. This right here is 2015. He claimed that title before me. The fact of the matter is, there are precious few residents of this establishment that haven't been labeled as the worst year ever. All the way back to 2000 B.C., when Adam and Eve decided to eat the forbidden fruit, people have been looking forward to the next year after 'the worst year in history.' It's human nature."

"He's not kidding," a particularly weathered year chimed in. "One minute, people were hailing me as the year that brought the most significant technilogical advancements in history. The next, they were condemning me for being the year that saw the most collateral loss of life in a war."

"I'm sorry, but I don't recognize you," 2017 addressed the old year. "What's your name?"

"1945," the year responded. "The thing is, both statements are true, to a certain extent."

"You're the year that saw the creation and use of the atomic bomb?" 2017 questioned. "How do you live with that? People have been questioning those decisions for decades."

1945 shrugged as 2016 chimed in. 

"It's not his fault," he explained. "We are all just time that has run out. Everyone here is 365 or 366 days that existed purely for the use of humanity. None of us got to choose how we were used. That's up to the people. We were just a resource that humanity tapped for good and evil. 1859 saw the commercialization of oil in the United States. People hailed him as a hero among years. Now their blaming him for global warming. 1993 saw the creation of the European Union. People thought he was great. Now they're not so sure. There are a lot of years that were hailed as great who now exist in the disdain of humanity."

"Why is that?" 2017 questioned as he shook his head.

"People are fickle," 1989 replied. "People are always looking ahead to the next big thing. I oversaw the invention of the flip phone."

"The what?" 2017 asked, dumfounded.

"Exactly," 1989 laughed. "One upgrade after another and suddenly the flip phone is a relic of history. Human beings have developed into an upgrade species. The worst part is that they  see all upgrades as good. With the rise of the smart phone, true human interaction has declined to record lows. But people don't see the dangers because they've 'upgraded.' 2018 is just the next upgrade, therefore, in the minds of the people, he must be better than you."

"Will he be better than me?" 2017 self consciously asked of the years around him.

"Well, look around you," 2007 replied from his place at the pool table. "You're surrounded by thousands of years who were supposed to be better than the last. Precious few of us are, at no fault of our own. As '16 said, we're just a commodity at the disposal of humanity. It's up to them."

"I'll tell you one thing," 1517 interjected. "They're never going to make anything of 2018 without God. The problem with humanity is that they keep trying to make each year better than the last without help from the source of all good. The world has had some great years, but these years were not great purely on the merit of those living at the time. The only one who can make the years great is the one living outside of time. The greatest years here are the ones that saw the most dedicated service to the Lord of the universe."

"People don't believe in God anymore," 2017 argued. "The days of Martin Luther are long gone."

"I'm going to have to disagree with you on that one," came an interjection from the far corner.

"Who are you to disagree with me?" 2017 inquired with impatience thick in his voice. "I literally just retired. I should know what people believe in."

"I'm 54 AD," the year replied patiently. "I have the unfortunate distinction of watching Nero come to power in Rome. I was forced to watch as he destroyed my legacy by brutally killing everyone who claimed to follow God. I spent many a sleepless night assuming that this brand new religion was quickly entering into extinction. But Christianity is the largest religion in the world. Do you know why that is? It's because people still believe in God."

"So," 2017 sighed, having been soundly put in his place by the years around him. "What's the play? What's retirement like for us?"

"Here's the play, '17," 2016 replied with an encouraging smile. "We root for the home team. We're history. We're here for people to look back on. 2018 doesn't have a chance of being the best year ever unless we are available for humanity to learn from. As the saying goes, those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it. And let me tell you, there are a lot of us who have an uncanny resemblance to each other. Maybe, just maybe, enough people will look back and enough people will trust God to make 2018 one of the greats by the time he joins us in retirement."

Henry's Epiphany

Henry was a man who worked hard every day of his life. He felt a certain amount of pride in having earned everything he owned, but also felt some resentment in not getting the help in life that he felt others received. It was a strange dichotomy, being proud of his own accomplishments while wishing he didn’t have to accomplish everything on his own. He worked a regular job that wasn’t particularly fulfilling, but served the purpose of providing an income. The income wasn’t lavish, but was sufficient to provide everything he needed at the expense of many of the things he wanted. His home was acceptable. It was sturdy and big enough for him, but wasn’t the kind of home that warranted a second glance by a passerby. All things considered, he lived a good life, but felt it wasn’t quite the life he deserved. After all, he worked really hard for this life while he saw other people around him living a life seemingly well above his own while investing far less sweat equity than he had.

One day, on his way to his car in the parking lot at work, a man stepped out of the shadows and wrestled Henry to the ground. The stranger was strong, but didn’t seem interested in hurting Henry. Henry wrestled against the grip of the stranger but never called for help. After a few minutes, the stranger abruptly released his grip on Henry and retreated into the shadows before Henry could get a good look at him. Henry, exhausted from the struggle, lay on the concrete for a moment before rolling over and pushing himself to his feet.

He drove home, curious about his encounter in the parking lot. He pulled into his driveway and turned off his car, still perplexed by the events at work. He got out of his car and stretched. His muscles were tired from the struggle. His arms ached where the stranger had grabbed him and his head pounded from the increase in his blood pressure. He trudged into his home and dropped his lunch box on the kitchen floor. He didn’t have the energy to cook dinner, so he microwaved some leftovers from the night before. After dinner, he crawled into bed and went to sleep, knowing he had to be at work early the next day.

Henry woke up the next day, fairly refreshed but still sore from the encounter with the stranger the night before. He filled a cup full of cheerios to eat on the way to work and threw a few snack items into his lunch box to get himself through the day. He walked to his car and opened the door and sat his lunch box on the front seat and put his cheerios in the cup holder. No sooner had he released his grip on his breakfast cup that he was grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground with considerable force. He fought against his attacker with zeal and determination. Once again, Henry was able to fight off his attacker without calling for help.

He got up from the ground and brushed the dirt from his clothes and drove to work. This pattern repeated itself every day for several weeks. Henry would fall prey to a blitz attack by a stranger from the shadows. The two would struggle on the ground for a few moments with only grunts and gasps punctuating the event. Then the stranger would retreat as quickly as he had come, leaving Henry to wonder where the stranger had gone and why this kept happening to him. It seemed that he only got attacked when he was doing something that had to be done as part of his daily routine. He got attacked on the way to and from work. He got attacked at the grocery store and at the gym. He got attacked on the way to church and on the way to dinner with his family. He never got attacked in his own home when he was wasting time in front of the television or while he was hanging out at the bar with his work buddies.

            The effect that the conflicts with the stranger had on him were obvious to himself and everyone around him. He was exhausted all the time. His attitude, though not great to begin with, got worse and worse. He didn’t enjoy the things he had before. His hobbies were just one more thing using up his precious energy. The stranger from the shadows was wearing him down and making his mediocre life so much less bearable. Henry began to resent more and more about his life. Every little annoyance was like another ton of frustrating burden added to his shoulders.

All the same, he never asked for help. He insisted on bearing this ever-growing burden on his own. He could have spoken to his bosses at work about adding a security camera in the parking lot to catch the stranger. He could have spoken to his church family about having someone ride with him back and forth to work to lend a hand when the stranger attacked. He could have prayed to God for help, but he didn’t. In fact, his communications with God became more and more rare with every attack. To a certain extent, he began to blame the attacks on God. After all, God knew everything. He was aware of the attacks. God didn’t need a report from Henry detailing the issues he had been dealing with and what kind of help he needed. God knew all that.

 Henry even began to wonder if the attacks were from God. Maybe God was trying to tell him something. Maybe he wanted him to move or change careers. Maybe God was trying to push him in a direction Henry didn’t want to go. That worried Henry, but he refused to talk to God about it. As far as Henry was concerned, God was all-powerful. He could easily speak to Henry in a way that Henry would respond to. He didn’t have to attack him in the parking lot.

Henry chose through all this frustration, to keep silent and suffer alone.

One day, the stranger attacked him in his driveway with a particularly vicious attack. The stranger was so strong, and Henry was so exhausted from the earlier attacks. They rolled around in the driveway kicking and grunting. Henry swung his fists at the stranger and endured many blows in return. In the midst of the fight, Henry was reminded of the passage in the Bible where Jacob wrestled with the angel of God in the middle of the night. As he rolled over and put the stranger in a headlock, Henry spoke to the stranger for the first time.

“I wish you’d just dislocate my hip and bless me already,” Henry grunted. “This fighting is getting old.”

Henry felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned his head without letting go of the stranger. There behind him stood a figure that looked like a man, but not like any man Henry had seen before. A light emanated from the figure in a way that remined Henry of a solar eclipse. Like the figure was too bright to look at except that it was blocked by something or was turned away so that Henry could only see the figure’s backside.  Even so, the light of the figure was so bright, Henry could hardly stand it. The man pointed at the stranger and spoke to Henry.

“That’s not me you’re fighting with, Henry,” he explained, “He may dislocate your hip, but I guarantee that you won’t get a blessing out of him. That’s the devil. I’ve been right here every time he’s attacked you waiting for you to tap me in so that I could help you fight this battle, but you’ve been too focused on yourself to call for help.”

Henry let go of the stranger, who ran off into the darkness. Henry turned towards the man who shined in the darkness, averting his eyes slightly against the brightness.

“What are you talking about?” Henry asked with no small amount of confusion.

“Every attack you’ve endured has been at the hands of the devil and his servants,” the shining figure explained. “I’ve been with you every time but you refused to ask me for help. After a while, you even gave me the silent treatment. If you had been studying my Word as I have asked you to, you would have been so much more prepared for those attacks. More importantly, you would have known that those attacks were not from me. Had you been in more regular communication with me, you would have been ready and willing to call to me for help. You would have reached out to my other children in your life and leaned on them. Instead, you allowed your discontentment with your life and your anger at the attacks to be your guiding forces. You allowed your pride to keep you from the resources you had available to you.”

Henry stood before God unable to speak. He had finally gotten the communication had had desired and found himself completely unprepared for the message that God had for him.

“Look,” God continued. “I know you better than you know yourself. I knit you together in your mother’s womb. I know every thought you have and every desire you strive to fulfill. I know you in a way that’s completely incredible and incredibly embarrassing from your perspective at times. No one in this world knows you better than I do. The reason we don’t have the relationship we should is because you aren’t trying to get to know me anymore. I am completely unfathomable. You can study me every day for the rest of your life and into eternity and never get bored. I want a relationship with you that is more fulfilling than any career and any possession you could ever acquire. If you truly want fulfillment in life, search me, not the world. When you search the world, you’ll find strangers in the shadows. I’m your heavenly father, your steadfast friend. I have your best interests at heart. Lean on Me. Lean on the believers I’ve put in your life. Find your fulfillment in our relationship and you’ll find true happiness and complete contentment.”

With the utterance of that last word, the Figure faded into the evening. Henry stood there and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness as he thought about everything that had been said to him. He couldn’t deny anything. He hadn’t been in the Word. He probably wouldn’t have recognized God if he hadn’t literally tapped him on the shoulder. He hadn’t spoken to God for months. Even before the attacks started, he hadn’t been much of a conversationalist. He couldn’t remember the last time he had opened the Bible for any reason other than to follow along with the Sunday morning reading. How could he have been so dense as to think he could get what he wanted out of life by himself? He couldn’t even figure out what he wanted half the time.

Henry shook his head and walked into his house with a new resolve. He resolved to study God for the rest of his life and into eternity and never be bored again. He resolved to lean on God and his fellow believers and never fight alone.

Relating Through the Security Chain

George was just your average, ordinary, everyday kind of guy. He lived in his house alone and
he kinda liked it that way. One day, he was sitting on his couch watching the game when he heard a
knock at the door. He opened the door as far as his shiny security chain allowed and was greeted by the kind face of a stranger.

“Can I help you?” George inquired of the kind looking stranger.

 “Actually,” the stranger replied with a smile.  “I am hoping to help you. I would very much like
to become a part of your life. I want to help you as you live by giving you a positive outlook with an
eternal context. Our relationship won't necessarily make life easy, but I guarantee that the joy I bring
into your home will make the troubles of life easier to cope with. I also offer you eternal holdings in
my Father's estate.”

George was taken aback and stood for a moment without offering any response at all.
“What exactly will this relationship cost me?” He inquired of the stranger with a voice thick with suspision.

“I merely need your invitation,” the stranger responded. “The cost of this relationship rests
primarily on my shoulders.”

“Oh,” George responded with some relief. “Then, by all means, consider yourself invited.”

George, happy with his decision, left the stranger at the door and returned to his place on the
couch.  He sat down and reached for the remote, pleased to be able to return to his afternoon activities
with no more delay. There was just one thing he failed to do. George never disengaged the security
chain. A few minutes went by before the stranger addressed George through the three inch gap between the door and the doorjamb allowed by the short, silver chain.

“George,” the stranger ventured.  “Aren't you going to let me in?”

“No,” George replied after some consideration.  “We can have a relationship just how things
are. I could let you in, but you might wanna rearrange the furniture or cook dinner. I kinda like my
furniture where it's at and I really enjoy hamburger helper. I'm a little worried about how my friends
will react to you anyway. For now, I just wanna leave things the way they are. If I want more, I can
always adjust later."

And that's exactly what happened. Every once in awhile when George had a problem he was
struggling with he would go to the door and speak to the stranger through the crack in the doorway.
Sometimes the stranger would answer sometimes he wouldn't. Either way George didn't really allow
that to affect the way he lived. George would often have people over. He always let them in the back
door so they wouldn't have to experience the awkward stranger on the front step. They would have a
good time but occasionally the stranger would ask to be introduced. George always declined.

When George's best friend passed away in a car accident, he walked over to the door and sat on
the floor. The stranger was able to reach through the crack in the door to comfort him. The stranger
offered to come in and take some of the load off by helping out around the house and giving him more emotional support. George said no thanks. And this was how life when on.

Occasionally, the stranger would offer advice but more often than not George would ignore him.
Sometimes, George asked for help or money. Every once in a while, the stranger would give it to him.
The strange relationship sometimes confused George and it always frustrated the stranger. However,
George was more or less comfortable with the arrangement and was hesitant to change it.

Eventually George got up in years to the point where he was no longer able to take care of
himself. George's friends and family came to move all his furniture and personal items out and he was eventually moved to a nursing home.

He was not pleased with the surroundings. He was frustrated with the wall color and the carpet.
He was frustrated with his neighbors and the caregivers. No matter what the situation offered, he was
always disappointed in it. But the one constant in his life was the stranger at the doorway. Only since
his door was unable to lock, the stranger merely kept his distance. George was pleased that at least he
maintained the status quo.

One day, George was shuffling down the hallway and came upon another resident. They passed
each other, but George stopped as he heard the other resident humming a cheerful tune. George turned towards the resident and shook his head.

  “What are you so happy about?” he inquired with more than a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Well,” the resident responded thoughtfully. “I guess I'm happy because I don't have a good
reason not to be.” She paused for a moment. “My name is Joyce, by the way.”

“Well I can think of a good reason,” George responded, his voice rising slightly in pitch and
intensity. “ How about being here? Aren't you mad about getting your freedom taken away and ending up in this dreary place? I mean, come on. Doesn't your room kinda bug you?”

“First off, my freedom wasn't taken from me,” Joyce began. “I gave up control of my life a long
time ago because I knew I couldn't handle it on my own. Second, I like it here. I don't think it's dreary
at all. In fact, I think it's rather pleasant. And my room is lovely.”

“Wow,” George sighed. “Have you ever heard of rose-colored glasses?”

“Yes,” Joyce responded through a smile. “But my positive outlook has much more to do with
the influences in my life than the color of my spectacles.”

There was a pause as George stood there expectantly and Joyce simply smiled. George rolled
his eyes and finally pressed for more of an explanation.

“Do you wanna expand on that a little bit?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” Joyce responded with a coy smile. ?It's been quite a few years ago
by now, but one day, this fella knocked on my door. I say door but that isn't really accurate. I was living in a refrigerator box at the time. He said, 'Hi Joyce, I want you to know that I care very deeply for you. I want to help you and fill your life with joy. All I need is an invitation.' I didn't know what to say so I just nodded and pointed to a space beside me. He gave me a big smile and shook his head. He gave me his hand and pulled me up out of the box. I didn't really have anything to lose. I gave him complete control and followed him wherever he led me.”

“Where did you go?” George pressed as she paused to catch her breath.

“First we went to a diner for lunch and coffee,” she replied. “Then he wanted me to introduce
him to all my friends. Eventually, he helped me land a job and find a studio apartment. I never had
much, but it was always enough and the joy he promised me was always there.”

“Where is he now?” George inquired as he glanced down the hallway.

“Oh, he's here with me,” Joyce responded excitedly. “Let me introduce you to him.”

Joyce gestured down the hall at an approaching man. He looked somewhat familiar to George,but he couldn't quite place him. The man walked up to George and stuck out his hand.

“Hi George,” the stranger addressed him with a knowing smile.

George just stood there holding the hand of the stranger in an awkwardly prolonged handshake.

“Wait,” Joyce interjected, confusion thick in her voice. “You two know each other?”

“Yes we do,” the stranger responded through a sad smile.  “Although George might not
recognize me since he's never actually seen more than three inches of me at a time. We had a
relationship for years, but it never reached its full potential because of the limitations caused by the
security chain.”

“What security chain?” Joyce inquired with unmasked confusion written across her face.

“You know,” George replied as he realized how he knew the stranger. “The chain on the front
door that you use if you only want the door to open a little bit.”

Joyce looked at George with even more confusion and asked, “Why didn't you take the chain
off the door?”

“I didn't want my life to change too much.” George responded somewhat awkwardly. “It was
nice to have him around, but I didn't want him taking over.”

“With him, there's no such thing as too much change.” Joyce explained as she shook her head
slightly.  “Only exactly the right amount of change.”

Joyce glanced at the clock on the hallway wall. A growling in her stomach confirmed her
suspicions and she turned to address the stranger.

“Look, it seems that you two have some things to discuss. Dinner is ready, so I'm going to head
that direction. I'll save you a seat.”

The stranger nodded and turned back to George.

“You were right about one thing, George,” he began. “I did want to change your life. I wanted to
rearrange your furniture. I wanted to take your couch and turn it away from the TV and towards that
picture window in your living room. I wanted you to see the beauty of the creation I made for you. I
wanted to cook for you. I wanted to take away those bland boxed meals you always insisted on eating
and replace them with the flavor of my provision. I know how to put a meal together. I wanted you to
introduce me to your friends so that we could all enjoy the kind of community that my Father desires
for his heirs. I wanted to enrich the friendships you already had. But you declined. I wanted to change
your life completely by bringing you the joys and blessings of a full relationship with me, but you said 'No thanks' because you didn't trust me.”

George hung his head slightly in disappointment. That disappointment didn't last long, however. It soonturned into accusation.

 “Well,” He snapped at the stranger. “I think we both know that the chain could have been
broken if you had tried hard enough. Maybe that relationship you talk about isn't as important as you'd like me to believe.”

“George,” the stranger responded with a voice thick with sadness but completely devoid of
anger or frustration. “I have never in my entire existence forced myself into anyone’s life. Everyone hasto trust me enough to let me all the way into their lives. If you missed out on the blessings of a full
relationship, that's completely on you. I was available all those years for when you were finally ready to let me in. You made the decision to leave me on the front step. You missed out on a lot of blessings in this life, but it's not over just yet. You still have some time to enjoy our relationship. You know where I am. Just call my name when you're ready.”

George nodded as the stranger turned to walk down the hall.

“Wait!” George exclaimed. The stranger stopped and turned back towards George. George
continued with no small amount f shame evident in the tone of his voice. “I don't remember what your name is.”

“My name is Jesus,” the Stranger responded with a sad smile.

I wish I could tell you that George opened his door completely to his faithful friend, but the
story hasn't ended yet. George left that conversation that day and still struggles for control over his life. He still has an inheritance waiting for him from the Stranger's family estate, but to this day, he is still missing out on the joy of the relationship because he never took the security chain off the door.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight. -Proverbs 3:5-6

Ten Years later

The year was 2006 and my mom had cancer. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer two weeks before I started my freshman year at Bob Jones University. I was brought home for a week to visit when her condition had gotten particularly bad. I was home for a week when it was decided that it was time to make arrangements for what appeared to be the inevitable.

My older brother, my younger sister, and I went with our dad to the funeral home to make the arrangements. The somber task seemed so premature, but absolutely necessary. After that distasteful task was done, the four of us returned home to be with the rest of the family. After a while, it became apparent that a few members of the family were in need of a few clothing items. Once again, in spite of the apparent crassness of the situation, the four of us loaded into the family van and headed for town.

We milled about the clothing departments, halfheartedly sorting through dress shirts and ties, blouses and skirts. Everyone managed to find what they were looking for, but would have rather not needed. We checked out and made our way to our parking spot. Dad got a phone call on his cell phone just as he put the van in drive. I don't remember what he said, but the message was clear. I looked at my sister who was sitting next to me on the gray bench seat. Her lower lip quivered slightly as her eyes filled with tears. I reached over and rested my arm across her shoulders in a gesture that felt forced and awkward, but I didn't know what else to do. My dad and brother were silent in the front bucket seats.

The ride back to the family farm was a grueling forty-five minutes long. We drove up the long gravel driveway to the farmhouse and parked the van. We walked up the sidewalk towards the house. My youngest brother and sister were standing in the grass in front of the porch. I paused and took in the scene as my dad and older brother walked around me. The sun was bright in the western sky, casting long shadows across the lawn. The shadows across the faces of my family eclipsed all the rest. Looks of confusion, fear, and vulnerability were plastered across the faces of my younger siblings while my older brother and I fought against the expressions of pain and realization that threatened to emerge.

I walked into the house and looked into the room where my mother had been resting. The reality that I had already accepted was confirmed. I turned on my heel and took off towards the north eastern corner of the farm. 

I didn't have a destination or a plan. I just knew that my life, the lives of my siblings and my dad, and the lives of so many others had been changed forever. What were we going to do? How were we every going to be okay? I was nineteen years old and had three siblings that were even younger. How were we supposed to grow up without our mom? There was so much more that we needed from her, but she was gone. The eventual reality that we all knew to expect form an extensive family history of cancer had finally come to fruition and I was at a loss for how to survive this loss.

Eventually, a concerned family friend caught up to me and walked me back to the house. The services were a couple days later and after a week, I was off to college to continue my education.

That was exactly ten years ago. A lot has happened since the untimely passing of Christa Henning. The world is definitely a dimmer place without her. I miss her every day. My family has experienced other losses, but none have stung in quite the same manner. However, when I look at my brothers and sisters, I see two kind and strong men who could take an the world if the need arose and two beautiful and compassionate women who radiate Mom's kindness and compassion. Three of us are married and have children, and the other two are working good jobs and settling into adulthood. Our relationships with our father are stronger than they've ever been and we are better people because of his example.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't see Mom's touch in my life or the lives of those around us. We are better people for having known her.

In short... Ten years later, I can honestly say... I Guess We're Doing Okay.

It's Hard To Be the Clay

In the Christian community we use the illustration of the potter and the clay as a way to discuss the process of going from the lost and imperfect human beings we all were before God saved us to the people that God is working to make us. This illustration has obvious merit. It comes directly from the Bible. There are several passages relating to this illustration that can be found in Jeremiah eighteen, Isaiah sixty-four and Romans nine just to name a few. We as Christians often listen to sermons and songs based on these passages and respond something like this. “Isn't this a great illustration of how God can take my ugly humanity and turn it into something beautiful and useful for his kingdom.” And that's about as far as our thought process goes. 

Here's the thing. There isn't anything inherently wrong with that statement. But, much like most other art forms, there is a process involved in pottery that is extensive and messy. This is the part of the illustration we often gloss over.

The very first thing that a potter does with his clay is to cut it of the communal mass. He chooses a section and removes it from its comfort zone. Once we decide to follow Christ, we can expect to feel separated from our community. The reason for this is that we are separated from our community. There is a certain amount of discomfort that can be expected in response to this disconnection.

The next thing that the potter does is this. He takes his chosen chunk of clay and slams it down on the potters wheel with a substantial amount of force. He has taken the chunk of clay from its comfort zone and has placed it, not gently, in an environment that will make it possible to affect it in the way that he desires.

The next step is to center the clay. The potter spins the wheel and leans into the clay using his hands and his weight to push it into the center of the wheel. The potter will not stop this until the clay stops pushing back. Only when the clay is centered in the potters wheel can he continue his work.

Next, the potter has to knead the clay. This process involves working the clay on the wheel. He'll push his finger into the center of the clay and pull out a ring and then push it all back together. To the casual observer, and probably the clay, this seems pointless, like the potter is just messing with the clay. However, there is a point to this process. The goal is to find and remove impurities that can be detrimental to the process later on. All foreign matter and air bubbles must be removed. This will continue until the potter is convinced that he is working with a 'clean' chunk of clay.

Finally, after all this, the potter can begin to shape the clay. He'll find the center and plunge his finger deep into the clay. Then he'll pull out to the width he desires and begin pulling up the walls. This process can take a while. Clay can be difficult to work with. Sometimes, the potter will push it all down and start over. After a while, the clay will take on the shape that the potter desires but that's not the end.

The finished piece will sit on the shelf for a day or two and will return to the wheel. The potter will center it, attach it, and begin cutting. There's only so much that can be done with wet clay. Once the clay gets to the 'leather hard' stage, more can be done. The potter will use a variety of knives to refine the shape and style of the vessel and engrave various types of designs. This means that not all the parts of the vessel will make it to the final product. The clay has to be willing to let some parts of itself go.

Finally, the vessel goes to the kiln. For the first time. This is why the kneading stage is so important. During the bisque firing, the kiln temperature can range anywhere from 1300 degrees Fahrenheit to 2100 degrees Fahrenheit. At this temperature, the low levels of moisture in any stones left in the clay will cause the stones to explode. This will shatter the vessel. It's important not to rush through the purifying process because impurities won't make it through the firing.

After all this, the final vessel is dipped in a glaze and fired again. This firing goes up to 2300 degrees Fahrenheit. Finally it is removed from the kiln, the beautiful vessel the potter envisioned when he started.

By now, you're probably wondering why I've dragged you through this whole process. I wanted to make a point. It's not easy being the clay. The clay gets cut from its comfort zone and slammed down, worked, kneaded, pulled, stretched, cut, carved, fired, dipped and fired again. It takes a lot for the clay to go from ugly to beautiful. There's a reason that God chose this illustration to describe the process of achieving His vision for us. Why are we so surprised when life is hard? Why do we look at God like He's a brute when we feel life pushing and pulling us. Why do we think He's abandoned us when we feel like we're going through the fire? It's hard to be the clay, but here are some points to help us get trough the process. Let God center you in his will. Let Him work you until the impurities are gone. Let Him shape you into the vessel He has envisioned. Let Him cut away the parts of you that aren't useful to Him. And always remember that the clay doesn't get to decide whether it's going to be a cup, a mug, a plate, or a bowl. That is always up to the Potter. He is the perfect craftsman. We are so fortunate that He has placed us on his wheel.

Why Would We Ever Go Back?

We are born into the world with a sin nature. We are plucked from this worldly setting by the grace of God alone. We are offered an eternity of blissful communion with our Lord and Savior and a helping hand though the wilderness of this life. We are to walk away from the perks of the world as we are offered so much more in comparison. However, we so often we want to return to the worldly wasteland from which we were rescued. How can we not see that there is nothing worthwhile to which to return?

By way of example, let us consider the Israelites. God miraculously plucked them from the chains of the Egyptians with show of force that has never been rivaled. However, every time the Israelites felt things were a little tough, they wanted to go back to Egypt.

Let's consider that option for a moment. Before they left Egypt, there were a number of significant events that not only pushed Pharaoh to practically throw them out, but also undoubtedly left lasting scars an their land of captivity. I'm referring, of course, to the plagues.

The water of the Nile turned into blood. I'm fairly certain that there aren't a whole lot of freshwater, aquatic life forms that can survive when their environment is switched out for blood. Exodus 7:21 says that the fish of the Nile all died and the river began to stink. I'm not a scientist, but I am fairly certain that it would have taken some time for the fish to replenish after the Nile was returned to it's natural state. The river Nile was more or less the life source of the Egyptian culture. It's yearly floods irrigated the farmland and it was also a source of freshwater fish. Even a temporary removal of this natural resource would have had a devastating effect on the Egyptian economy.

Next came the frogs. Frogs swarmed all of Egypt until Pharaoh begged Moses to make them go away. The Lord ended the plague of the frogs, but he didn't really make them go away. They all died. They were piled up all over the countryside in sticky, stinky, rotting heaps. Eww.

Then came the gnats, followed closely by the flies. I bet Pharaoh was wishing he hadn't begged those frogs away. The list goes on. The Egyptian livestock died. The Egyptians got boils. Then came the hail. Hail, as we know, can be devastating. This hail was so bad it killed people in addition to destroying the crops. (I wonder if this plague might be the reason that the sphinx is missing it's nose?)

The eighth plague was locust. We're not talking about a couple of insects here. Exodus 10:14 describes the swarm as one having never been seen before and one never to be seen again. And these bugs brought their appetites. Verse fifteen says that not a green thing was left in the land of Egypt. (This may be the first recorded incident of what eventually became 'Russian scorched earth warfare.')

This plague was followed by darkness throughout the land. I imagine this left many an Egyptian child with a special brand of night terrors. Total darkness would be extremely unnerving for both children and adults. And Thomas Edison wouldn't make his appearance for some thousands of years later.

The final blow was the death of the firstborns. This was the gigantic straw that finally broke Pharaoh camel's back. Exodus 12:39 says the Israelites were thrust from the land of Egypt, and for good reason. I would have chased them out to, had I lost my firstborn because of the God of Israel. (Of course we know that the plagues were a direct result of Pharaoh’s stubbornness.)

Israel left is such haste that they didn't even let their dough rise. But on the way out, they plundered the Egyptians, but not by force. Exodus 12:36 says that the Lord gave them favor in the sight of the Egyptians so that they gave the people of Israel pretty much anything they asked for.

It didn't take long for Pharaoh to have second thoughts, however. He woke up a some time later with some serious regrets. He gathered his army of men, chariots, and horses and chased after God's chosen people. This is where we first hear the Israelites claim that they would have been better off as slaves in a foreign land. In Exodus 14:11-12 the people of Israel ask “Is it because there are no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us in bringing us out of Egypt? Is not this what we said to you in Egypt: ‘Leave us alone that we may serve the Egyptians’? For it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.” (Of course, with the death of the firstborns, the grave situation may have been an actual issue.) Then, God parted the Dead Sea, allowing His people to cross through on dry land. Then, he closed the sea on the Egyptians and destroyed a huge portion of the Egyptian army.

The reason that I have told you this whole story is to make a point. They left a country whose economy was crippled by an interruption of their main resource, the death of their cattle, and the destruction of their crops (every green thing, remember?). They left a people group who had been troubled by boils, prolonged darkness, and intense grief at the simultaneous loss of every firstborn child in the nation and the subsequent loss of the chief bread winners of thousands of families. And there were piles of rotting frogs everywhere, to boot. First of all, why would they ever want to go back to that? Second, why would they ever think for a moment that the Egyptians would let them back in?

Once we leave the world, we don't belong in it anymore. We belong in the Promised Land. We may have to spend a lot of time traveling through the wilderness to get there, but going back to Egypt is not an option. There is nothing worthwhile for us there.