"We honor the old prophets, we honor the Tozers and Spurgeons but we don't want to pay the price they paid, and they paid the price by being men who walked alone who lived with God and who loved his word."
"Most of you live your life on flimsy little songs, not upon the word of God."
Paul Washer
A Catholic priest and a nun were taking a rare afternoon off and enjoying a round of golf. The priest stepped up to the first tee and took a mighty swing. He missed the ball entirely and said "Shit, I missed." The good Sister told him to watch his language.
On his next swing, he missed again. "Shit, I missed." "Father, I'm not going to play with you if you keep swearing," The nun said tartly.. The priest promised to do better and the round continued. On the 4th tee, he misses again. The usual comment followed.
Sister is really mad now and says, "Father John, God is going to Strike you dead if you keep swearing like that." On the next tee, Father John swings and misses again.
"Shit, I missed."
A terrible rumble is heard and a gigantic bolt of lightning comes Out of the sky and strikes Sister Marie dead in her tracks.
And from the sky comes a booming voice........ SHIT I MISSED!
Dear Friend
by Max Lucado
Dear Friend,
I’m writing to say thanks. I wish I could thank you personally, but I don’t know where you are. I wish I could call you, but I don’t know your name. If I knew your appearance, I’d look for you, but your face is fuzzy in my memory. But I’ll never forget what you did.
There you were, leaning against your pickup in the West Texas oil field. An engineer of some sort. A supervisor on the job. Your khakis and clean shirt set you apart from us roustabouts. In the oil field pecking order, we were at the bottom. You were the boss. We were the workers. You read the blueprints. We dug the ditches. You inspected the pipe. We laid it. You ate with the bosses in the shed. We ate with each other in the shade.
Except that day.
I remember wondering why you did it.
We weren’t much to look at. What wasn’t sweaty was oily. Faces burnt from the sun; skin black from the grease. Didn’t bother me, though. I was there only for the summer. A high-school boy earning good money laying pipe.
We weren’t much to listen to, either. Our language was sandpaper coarse. After lunch, we’d light the cigarettes and begin the jokes. Someone always had a deck of cards with lacy-clad girls on the back. For thirty minutes in the heat of the day, the oil patch became Las Vegas—replete with foul language, dirty stories, blackjack, and barstools that doubled as lunch pails.
In the middle of such a game, you approached us. I thought you had a job for us that couldn’t wait another few minutes. Like the others, I groaned when I saw you coming.
You were nervous. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other as you began to speak.
“Uh, fellows,” you started.
We turned and looked up at you.
“I, uh, I just wanted, uh, to invite … ”
You were way out of your comfort zone. I had no idea what you might be about to say, but I knew that it had nothing to do with work.
“I just wanted to tell you that, uh, our church is having a service tonight and, uh … ”
“What?” I couldn’t believe it. “He’s talking church? Out here? With us?”
“I wanted to invite any of you to come along.”
Silence. Screaming silence.
Several guys stared at the dirt. A few shot glances at the others. Snickers rose just inches from the surface.
“Well, that’s it. Uh, if any of you want to go … uh, let me know.”
After you turned and left, we turned and laughed. We called you “reverend,” “preacher,” and “the pope.” We poked fun at each other, daring one another to go. You became the butt of the day’s jokes.
I’m sure you knew that. I’m sure you went back to your truck knowing the only good you’d done was to make a good fool out of yourself. If that’s what you thought, then you were wrong.
That’s the reason for this letter.
Some five years later, a college sophomore was struggling with a decision. He had drifted from the faith given to him by his parents. He wanted to come back. He wanted to come home. But the price was high. His friends might laugh. His habits would have to change. His reputation would have to be overcome.
Could he do it? Did he have the courage?
That’s when I thought of you. As I sat in my dorm room late one night, looking for the guts to do what I knew was right, I thought of you.
I thought of how your love for God had been greater than your love for your reputation.
I thought of how your obedience had been greater than your common sense.
I remembered how you had cared more about making disciples than about making a good first impression. And when I thought of you, your memory became my motivation.
So I came home.
I’ve told your story dozens of times to thousands of people. Each time the reaction is the same: The audience becomes a sea of smiles, and heads bob in understanding. Some smile because they think of the “clean-shirted engineers” in their lives. They remember the neighbor who brought the cake, the aunt who wrote the letter, the teacher who listened …
Others smile because they have done what you did. And they, too, wonder if their “lunchtime loyalty” was worth the effort.
You wondered that. What you did that day wasn’t much. And I’m sure you walked away that day thinking that your efforts had been wasted.
They weren’t.
So I’m writing to say thanks. Thanks for the example. Thanks for the courage. Thanks for giving your lunch to God. He did something with it; it became the Bread of Life for me.
Gratefully,
Max
P.S. If by some remarkable coincidence you read this and remember that day, please give me a call. I owe you lunch.
From In the Eye of the Storm
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1997) Max Lucado
Never Casted Away
“Be confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6)
Take comfort in the thought that the Lord Jesus does not cast off those who believe in him because of their failures and imperfections.
He knows what they are. He takes them, as the husband takes the wife, with all their blemishes and defects, and once joined to Him by faith, will never leave them. He is a merciful and compassionate High Priest.
He knew what they were before conversion – wicked, guilty, and defiled; yet He loved them. He knows what they will be after conversion – weak, erring, and frail; yet He loves them.
He has promised to save them, despite all their shortcomings, and what He has promised He will perform.
- J.C. Ryle
“The Lord is near the broken-hearted.” – Psalm 34:18
The world cares very little for broken hearts, but the God of the Bible is the God of the broken-hearted.
People often break the heart’s of other by their cruelty, their falseness, their injustice and their coldness. But God cares. Broken-heartedness draws Him down from heaven.
Doctors don’t treat the healthy but the sick. It’s the same with God. It’s not to the whole and the well, but to the broken and the wounded, that He comes with sweetest tenderness. Jesus said of His mission: “He has sent Me to bind up the broken-hearted.” (Isaiah 61:1)
God repairs and restores the hurt and ruined life. He takes the bruised reed and, by His gentle skill, makes it whole again until it grows into fairest beauty.
The love, pity, and grace of God ministers sweet blessings of comfort and healing to restore the broken and wounded hearts of His people. The God of the Bible is the God of those brought low, whom He lifts up into His strength.
God is the God of those who fail — not that He loves those who stumble and fall better than those who walk without stumbling — but He helps them more. The weak believers get more of His grace than those who are strong believers.
There is a special divine promise which says, “My power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Cor 12:9) When we are aware of our own insufficiency, then we are ready to receive His divine sufficiency. And so our very weakness is an element of strength. Our weakness is an empty cup which God fills with His own strength.
You may think that your weakness disqualifies you for noble, strong, beautiful living, or for sweet, gentle, helpful serving. But really it’s something which, if you give it to Christ, He can transform into a blessing, a source of His power.
- J. R. Miller
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