A little over two years ago in Illinois, I had what I’ll call an “in-body experience.” The day started like any typical Sunday; there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary going on. I woke up, got ready for church, loaded the kids into the van, and went to the early service. Again, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. I found myself in one conversation after another following the first service, and soon it was time for the next one to start. As soon as the service started, my body decided to have a conversation with me. It is not what you are thinking.
The pesky muscle ache between my shoulder blades began to scream. I became light-headed (I know what some of you are thinking). My legs felt rubbery, and my left arm was numbing. So I did two things. First I waited for the symptoms to dissipate; they didn’t. Then I walked to the men’s room, and splashed some water on my face. If you’re wondering why I did that, it’s because The Journal for the Definitive Understanding of the Male Body suggests those two treatments. Don’t try either of them at home, church, or anywhere - they didn’t help a bit, and they never will! I went to the church office, and as I walked in, a good friend asked me if I was O.K. I told him that I thought I was having a heart attack. My friend knew from his own personal experience that you just don’t mess with something like I was experiencing, so he drove me immediately to the E.R. On my way out of the church, I looked into the sanctuary and saw Roxanne playing her saxophone. She was on the worship team that day. I wondered if that would be the last time I saw her here on earth. I didn’t see my kids; they were in their respective kid’s groups. I didn’t have time to find them, and I hated that.
What I experienced was not a heart attack or anything related to the heart; it was anxiety. The doctor who treated me asked me if I had a lot of on-going stressful situations in my life, to which I said yes. I thought I was handling them just fine, but my sitting on an emergency room exam table said otherwise. God, using my body, had been talking to me for quite some time, but I didn’t hear it. To be more truthful, I wasn’t listening to it. Thankfully, I was able to go home that afternoon. I was granted another chance, and I was going to make a concerted effort to listen better. I prayed that God would make a way for me to live better than I had been. He more than made a way; He blessed me with a sabbatical, expanded my circle of friends, and gave me more time than ever with my family.
A little over two weeks ago, I decided to put the word out that I was looking for work again. I made the decision to interrupt the sabbatical God has gifted to me. My same friend, who drove me to the E.R., arranged some long distance work, and a project was e-mailed to me. As I was reviewing the material that was sent, I had another “in-body experience.” This time it wasn’t my physical body speaking so much as it was God’s Holy Spirit living in me. I heard the Holy Spirit quietly asking, “What do you think you are doing? It is not time yet. Your sabbatical is not over.”
In Ecclesiastes 3:1, God speaks that there is a time for everything, a season for every activity under heaven. Verse 14 in the same chapter speaks that whatever God does is final, and nothing can be subtracted from it or added to it. God’s purpose in this is that people should fear (respect/trust) Him. Having those words laid out before me, I can only say this: “I have no idea what I was thinking when I decided to break the sabbatical, but I’m glad that I heard His Spirit. More so, I’m glad that I listened.” I declined the work; trusting that God will make it clear when it is time for a new season to begin.
I’m not sure how much trouble it was for my friend to arrange the work, and if it will cause him or his associates any grief. I do know that stepping off the path of obedience always causes grief somewhere. I’m sorry to have done that. When I get off the path God has made for me, He will correct me. He usually starts out quietly, but He will raise his voice, and use other means if necessary to get my attention (back spasms, anxiety attacks, etc…).
I prefer responding to God’s whispers. I hope you do too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Dwayne’s World
In the both the book and film version of C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia, The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, an ornate wardrobe in an attic was a magical portal to a world called Narnia. The wardrobe transported some of the characters to another time and place. It would be a lot of fun going on such an adventure, but there is a reason they are called fantasy stories. Such things only exist in the minds of gifted writers like Lewis, who write so vividly that we feel we too have spent time in such strange and wonderful places. Being a fan of this genre, I have found myself sometimes wishing that I too had a wardrobe that could take me to another time and place.
Well, I don’t have a magic wardrobe in the attic. Truth is, I don’t even have an attic, but I do have a basement with a blue storage trunk, and I found my thoughts taken back to another time and place by way of that trunk. As I was putting it back onto a shelf, I thought of college in 1985. My friend Dwayne owned the trunk then. He gave it to me when he graduated from college and entered the U.S. Air Force. Normally, Dwayne would pack up the trunk with his books and stuff, then go back to Arizona, his home state. The summer of 1985 was different; he was off to flight school, and he no longer needed the trunk. He gave it to me out of friendship, not out of the year-end necessity to purge. I began to reminisce how we were the unlikeliest of friends, especially since we had a strong dislike for each other when we first met. I’m still not sure how it came to pass, but somewhere in between listening to Pink Floyd and throwing K.C. and the Sunshine Band albums out the dorm room window, we each realized that we could share our hopes, dreams, and fears with each other without cynicism. He didn’t share those inside details of his life very often, but when he did, it was kind of a privilege. It was in those moments that I was invited into “Dwayne’s World.”
Just like Narnia, it was filled with an array of good and bad things. A painful detail for me still, is Dwayne was an atheist. I say was, not because he became a believer, but because on my 23rd birthday I received the news that Dwayne was killed in a military plane crash during an air show in France. I wasn’t a believer then either. To quote the lyrics from a Pink Floyd song, we were “just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year….”; but by God’s grace, only several months after Dwayne’s death, I became a believer and God’s Holy Spirit came to live in me. Words from the same Pink Floyd song, “Wish You Were Here”, had taken on a whole new meaning. I wished Dwayne could have been there to see the change in my life.
Over the years I’ve kept some college memorabilia in the trunk, but it is mostly filled with letters from friends and especially letters from my best friend and wife Roxanne. The contents of the trunk serve as a reminder of how many other people have invited me into their “world.” Some of the letters are filled with their hopes, dreams, and fears.
The trunk now serves as a reminder of how God continues to bring so many new people into my life. I still wish I could be invited back into “Dwayne’s World” so I could tell him about the wonderful things God has done in my life, but the reality is that he isn’t coming back, and I won’t ever have that opportunity with him. That unrealized opportunity causes me to think about the story Jesus told of the three servants who were each given the responsibility to steward something valuable for their master. The story is found in Matthew 25:14-30. The story makes me very sober regarding the prospect that when God brings another “unlikeliest of friends” into my life, and that person invites me into their world through the sharing of their hopes, dreams and fears, I need to be clear regarding how valuable that is. More so, I need to be aware of how valuable that moment is to God. I need to be attuned to His Spirit and instruction so that I can be a good and faithful servant.
Unlike Narnia, each person’s “world” is real; and unlike Narnia, I don’t need a magic wardrobe to get there. God will supernaturally provide me the opportunities to spend time in other people’s “worlds.” They are strange and wonderful places, but most importantly they are very valuable to God. So, when He takes me to those places, I want to make the most of those opportunities. I hope you want to as well.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
Well, I don’t have a magic wardrobe in the attic. Truth is, I don’t even have an attic, but I do have a basement with a blue storage trunk, and I found my thoughts taken back to another time and place by way of that trunk. As I was putting it back onto a shelf, I thought of college in 1985. My friend Dwayne owned the trunk then. He gave it to me when he graduated from college and entered the U.S. Air Force. Normally, Dwayne would pack up the trunk with his books and stuff, then go back to Arizona, his home state. The summer of 1985 was different; he was off to flight school, and he no longer needed the trunk. He gave it to me out of friendship, not out of the year-end necessity to purge. I began to reminisce how we were the unlikeliest of friends, especially since we had a strong dislike for each other when we first met. I’m still not sure how it came to pass, but somewhere in between listening to Pink Floyd and throwing K.C. and the Sunshine Band albums out the dorm room window, we each realized that we could share our hopes, dreams, and fears with each other without cynicism. He didn’t share those inside details of his life very often, but when he did, it was kind of a privilege. It was in those moments that I was invited into “Dwayne’s World.”
Just like Narnia, it was filled with an array of good and bad things. A painful detail for me still, is Dwayne was an atheist. I say was, not because he became a believer, but because on my 23rd birthday I received the news that Dwayne was killed in a military plane crash during an air show in France. I wasn’t a believer then either. To quote the lyrics from a Pink Floyd song, we were “just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year….”; but by God’s grace, only several months after Dwayne’s death, I became a believer and God’s Holy Spirit came to live in me. Words from the same Pink Floyd song, “Wish You Were Here”, had taken on a whole new meaning. I wished Dwayne could have been there to see the change in my life.
Over the years I’ve kept some college memorabilia in the trunk, but it is mostly filled with letters from friends and especially letters from my best friend and wife Roxanne. The contents of the trunk serve as a reminder of how many other people have invited me into their “world.” Some of the letters are filled with their hopes, dreams, and fears.
The trunk now serves as a reminder of how God continues to bring so many new people into my life. I still wish I could be invited back into “Dwayne’s World” so I could tell him about the wonderful things God has done in my life, but the reality is that he isn’t coming back, and I won’t ever have that opportunity with him. That unrealized opportunity causes me to think about the story Jesus told of the three servants who were each given the responsibility to steward something valuable for their master. The story is found in Matthew 25:14-30. The story makes me very sober regarding the prospect that when God brings another “unlikeliest of friends” into my life, and that person invites me into their world through the sharing of their hopes, dreams and fears, I need to be clear regarding how valuable that is. More so, I need to be aware of how valuable that moment is to God. I need to be attuned to His Spirit and instruction so that I can be a good and faithful servant.
Unlike Narnia, each person’s “world” is real; and unlike Narnia, I don’t need a magic wardrobe to get there. God will supernaturally provide me the opportunities to spend time in other people’s “worlds.” They are strange and wonderful places, but most importantly they are very valuable to God. So, when He takes me to those places, I want to make the most of those opportunities. I hope you want to as well.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Story of the Lost Nut
About four weeks ago, I decided to cut up a stack of small fallen trees in the woods. This was part of my ongoing effort in clearing out the woods to make room for some new growth. I briefly thought about using a bow saw or pruning saw to cut up the stack, but I opted for the chainsaw instead. About mid-way thru the cutting, the chain jumped off the bar and was hanging all tangled from the saw. I noticed one of the two combination nut/washers, which held the chain brake and cutting chain in place had come loose, and had either fallen into the woodpile, the sawdust pile, or somewhere in the leaves; which were all over. The saw was rendered useless without this one small part. I looked for quite some time and decided it was futile. I then looked through my collection of miscellaneous hardware for a replacement without any luck either. Finding a needle in a haystack would have been easier. The easiest option was to go to a store that sells the saw and buy a replacement.
As it goes, the store only sold the complete saw; they didn’t sell parts. I spent about an hour scouring through the nut and bolt aisle of the hardware store trying to find a replacement, or at least something suitable. I did eventually find some cheap substitute that worked, and I did finish cutting up the trees. Finishing the job took longer than usual because I stopped often to look for that original nut; I never did find it.
Fast forward to last Thursday. I was in the checkout at Wal-Mart, when I noticed a large display of deluxe metal detectors. I thought, “If I had one of those, I would find that nut!” The idea of buying a deluxe metal detector to find a 75 cent nut was completely irrational, and I came to my senses when I realized that it would be cheaper to drive to the factory and buy a nut than it would be to pony up for a metal detector, (even at such an everyday low price.) I also realized, as you probably have by now, that losing that nut was making me nuts! I left the store without a metal detector. I came to the conclusion that if I wanted that original part badly enough, I needed to break down and order it from the manufacturer and pay 75 cents for the nut and $14.95 for shipping.
When I got home, I quickly became busy with other stuff like cleaning out the garages and wood shed so the cars could be parked inside for the winter. While sweeping the floor in the small garage, where I also store split firewood, I noticed something other than leaves, dirt and dust. It was a combination nut/washer.
I found it! It was on the garage floor this whole time. I called out to my son Mitchell and told him I found my lost nut/washer. I wanted him to be excited about it, and I couldn’t wait to tell Roxanne as well! I was so excited that I found the lost nut. I put it in my pocket and continued to sweep; the whole time smiling that I had finally found that lost nut. Instantly, the story Jesus told about a woman who had lost a coin filled my mind. The story is found in Luke, chapter 15:8-10. I could relate to her joy of finding what was lost. It felt good. Then, the strangest thing happened. I saw the nut/washer on the floor again. Did I have a hole in my pocket? No! It was another nut/washer. I realized that these were just some rejects from my miscellaneous collection that had fallen on the floor during my initial search to find a replacement. I didn’t find the original after all.
Turns out I found something much better than a metal nut; God used this experience to teach me something valuable. He gave me the opportunity to experience, in a small way, the joy God’s angels experience when even one sinner repents. In a small way, I better understood God’s longing for the lost. To any “rational” person, such longing is irrational. A “rational” person would just give up the search and buy a cheap substitute. But God isn’t like that at all. As it turns out, God would pay an exorbitant price to find the original nut. He’d have bought the metal detector, and wouldn’t have stopped looking until the original was found. How do I know this? Well, I know because I was reminded through this experience that I was a lost “nut”, and God paid an exorbitant price (Jesus) to find me.
It was worth losing that part to have that experience; I hope you think so too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
As it goes, the store only sold the complete saw; they didn’t sell parts. I spent about an hour scouring through the nut and bolt aisle of the hardware store trying to find a replacement, or at least something suitable. I did eventually find some cheap substitute that worked, and I did finish cutting up the trees. Finishing the job took longer than usual because I stopped often to look for that original nut; I never did find it.
Fast forward to last Thursday. I was in the checkout at Wal-Mart, when I noticed a large display of deluxe metal detectors. I thought, “If I had one of those, I would find that nut!” The idea of buying a deluxe metal detector to find a 75 cent nut was completely irrational, and I came to my senses when I realized that it would be cheaper to drive to the factory and buy a nut than it would be to pony up for a metal detector, (even at such an everyday low price.) I also realized, as you probably have by now, that losing that nut was making me nuts! I left the store without a metal detector. I came to the conclusion that if I wanted that original part badly enough, I needed to break down and order it from the manufacturer and pay 75 cents for the nut and $14.95 for shipping.
When I got home, I quickly became busy with other stuff like cleaning out the garages and wood shed so the cars could be parked inside for the winter. While sweeping the floor in the small garage, where I also store split firewood, I noticed something other than leaves, dirt and dust. It was a combination nut/washer.
I found it! It was on the garage floor this whole time. I called out to my son Mitchell and told him I found my lost nut/washer. I wanted him to be excited about it, and I couldn’t wait to tell Roxanne as well! I was so excited that I found the lost nut. I put it in my pocket and continued to sweep; the whole time smiling that I had finally found that lost nut. Instantly, the story Jesus told about a woman who had lost a coin filled my mind. The story is found in Luke, chapter 15:8-10. I could relate to her joy of finding what was lost. It felt good. Then, the strangest thing happened. I saw the nut/washer on the floor again. Did I have a hole in my pocket? No! It was another nut/washer. I realized that these were just some rejects from my miscellaneous collection that had fallen on the floor during my initial search to find a replacement. I didn’t find the original after all.
Turns out I found something much better than a metal nut; God used this experience to teach me something valuable. He gave me the opportunity to experience, in a small way, the joy God’s angels experience when even one sinner repents. In a small way, I better understood God’s longing for the lost. To any “rational” person, such longing is irrational. A “rational” person would just give up the search and buy a cheap substitute. But God isn’t like that at all. As it turns out, God would pay an exorbitant price to find the original nut. He’d have bought the metal detector, and wouldn’t have stopped looking until the original was found. How do I know this? Well, I know because I was reminded through this experience that I was a lost “nut”, and God paid an exorbitant price (Jesus) to find me.
It was worth losing that part to have that experience; I hope you think so too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Release
Once again, the Holy Spirit gave me some insight into something about myself through the behavior of my dog on a morning walk to the mailbox. It kinda made me wince a little bit. Not because it was harsh or threatening. Actually God was very friendly and gentle about it. It’s just that it is a little intimidating realizing that there is a lot to learn about myself, and humbling because sometimes the illustration is my dog! Couldn’t it be through something else? (That right there is a whole different lesson to learn.)
I’ll get back to the walk. Madison was full of energy and raring to go as usual. She was not heeling all too well and was either lagging to smell who-knows-what along the way or darting into the woods. I would show her the treats I brought and give the command to heel, and she would heel - for a little while. Then she would take off running and do her thing. I would firmly give the command to heel, and she would freeze and wait for me to catch up, and so it went. Heel, run, (command to heel from me) wait, heel, run, (command to heel from me) wait, heel, etc….
Arrrghhhh!!!!! I think you get the idea.
This is a pattern on many of our walks. As I was focusing on the routine, God spoke to me and said, “You’ve left something out.” I did leave something out; it didn’t seem important. Now here’s the whole story. After I would give the command to heel, Maddie would heel and she would do really well until I would praise her. I would say, “Good Girl!” to let her know how well she was doing and how pleased I was with her. But at the sound of those words, she would start to run. I’m starting to wonder if those words were used as a release by her former owners. It’s a way to free the dog from the previous command. You see, we got Madison when she was about 3-1/2 years old. Some of her previous commands and releases might be hard-wired into her brain. She reverts to her old life and is responding to me as if I were her old master.
These thoughts cause me to reflect on the fact that I too had a previous owner, and I used to live under him in the kingdom of darkness. That’s where the old master still lives. I also remember the times that I’ve had similar experiences in my walk with God. If He would have said, “Good going,” my old nature heard things like “You are free to go on your own, do whatever you want and in any manner you desire. You are your own man; you are released.” I interpreted and responded to my Father’s blessings as if they came from my old master.
Uggghhhh!!!!! I think you get the idea.
Now, after years of walking with my patient and loving Father, I have fully realized that there is no better place to go and no better person to be with. Where else would I want to be? Whom else would I want to be with? To whom would I want to be released? You see, I know I was purchased from my old master by Christ’s sacrifice and brought into His Dear Kingdom. As if being redeemed weren’t enough, He is also changing me and “re-wiring” me to respond to Him, and no other master.
Now that’s real release. I find that freeing. I hope you do too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
I’ll get back to the walk. Madison was full of energy and raring to go as usual. She was not heeling all too well and was either lagging to smell who-knows-what along the way or darting into the woods. I would show her the treats I brought and give the command to heel, and she would heel - for a little while. Then she would take off running and do her thing. I would firmly give the command to heel, and she would freeze and wait for me to catch up, and so it went. Heel, run, (command to heel from me) wait, heel, run, (command to heel from me) wait, heel, etc….
Arrrghhhh!!!!! I think you get the idea.
This is a pattern on many of our walks. As I was focusing on the routine, God spoke to me and said, “You’ve left something out.” I did leave something out; it didn’t seem important. Now here’s the whole story. After I would give the command to heel, Maddie would heel and she would do really well until I would praise her. I would say, “Good Girl!” to let her know how well she was doing and how pleased I was with her. But at the sound of those words, she would start to run. I’m starting to wonder if those words were used as a release by her former owners. It’s a way to free the dog from the previous command. You see, we got Madison when she was about 3-1/2 years old. Some of her previous commands and releases might be hard-wired into her brain. She reverts to her old life and is responding to me as if I were her old master.
These thoughts cause me to reflect on the fact that I too had a previous owner, and I used to live under him in the kingdom of darkness. That’s where the old master still lives. I also remember the times that I’ve had similar experiences in my walk with God. If He would have said, “Good going,” my old nature heard things like “You are free to go on your own, do whatever you want and in any manner you desire. You are your own man; you are released.” I interpreted and responded to my Father’s blessings as if they came from my old master.
Uggghhhh!!!!! I think you get the idea.
Now, after years of walking with my patient and loving Father, I have fully realized that there is no better place to go and no better person to be with. Where else would I want to be? Whom else would I want to be with? To whom would I want to be released? You see, I know I was purchased from my old master by Christ’s sacrifice and brought into His Dear Kingdom. As if being redeemed weren’t enough, He is also changing me and “re-wiring” me to respond to Him, and no other master.
Now that’s real release. I find that freeing. I hope you do too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
What’s that Buzz?
For the past five years around summer’s end, I have had a special visitor at my home. What’s made these visits particularly interesting is that I have never met this visitor face to face. That’s a good thing, because the visitor is a black bear. I know it’s been a bear because of the evidence it has left behind: things like destroyed bird feeders, blackberry colored scat, clawed-up apple trees, and honey combs devoid of honey next to a hole where a bee colony once existed. So I have come to expect sometime in the late summer each year, I’ll find a bear calling card somewhere on the property.
This year was no exception. My black bear friend (and I use that term loosely) paid a visit. This year’s clue was a tipped-over burn barrel. I was sure that it had mistaken the fifty-five gallon drum I had burned brush in for a garbage can. The moderate drought we experienced here had caused the bears to forage further from their usual territory to fatten up for the coming winter. Local newspaper articles chronicled some of the bear adventures into town, with bird feeders and garbage cans being the victims of choice. When I saw the barrel lying on its side with ashes on the ground, I immediately recognized it as bear sign. I went to right the barrel and clean up the mess, and that’s when the action started. It became apparent as soon as I started to lift the barrel that the bear wasn’t really interested in the contents of the barrel, but the prize which lay below it. As soon as I lifted the drum off the ground, my ears picked up a faint hum, which quickly intensified into what can only be described as a thousand tiny yellow and black chainsaws buzzing at full throttle. It was a swarm of very upset bees. That bear knew better, and at that moment I wished I had too!
My exit from that spot was less than regal. It was along the lines of Riverdance, the Chicken Dance, a Benny Hill chase scene, and Ernest goes to Chippewa Falls. Running away at full speed, I took my shirt off and flailed away at those angry defenders of the hive. As silly as it looked, my “strategy” resulted with my only getting stung once. It could have been worse - much worse.
I find it interesting and laughable that at times I believe I have a situation assessed properly, only to find out the hard way that I didn’t. Life, as usual, holds many surprises. In hindsight, I think I could have figured that the bear wasn’t really after ashes, and I should have known that it’s extraordinary sense of smell gave away the fact that no tasty morsels of any kind were present inside of it. I should have known that it was sensing something else, but I didn’t. I’m giving myself a break though, because life isn’t really lived in hindsight. I’ll learn from it, but there really wasn’t any way for me to have known that I was walking into a bad scene. Had I known, I would have done it differently.
The larger lesson in all of this is that if I find myself in a situation that is inconsistent with the life God calls me to, it is more important that I get out of there than how I look in the process. If I look silly or foolish in the eyes of men as I exit a situation that my Father wants me to leave, then so be it. God doesn’t want me to leave because He’s a killjoy; it’s because He doesn’t want me to get dirty, hurt, or stung.
I know I don’t have the foreknowledge of God, but I do have His Holy Spirit to sound the alarm when it’s time to avoid or time to get out. So when I hear the Spirit buzzing, I’m running. I hope you do too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
This year was no exception. My black bear friend (and I use that term loosely) paid a visit. This year’s clue was a tipped-over burn barrel. I was sure that it had mistaken the fifty-five gallon drum I had burned brush in for a garbage can. The moderate drought we experienced here had caused the bears to forage further from their usual territory to fatten up for the coming winter. Local newspaper articles chronicled some of the bear adventures into town, with bird feeders and garbage cans being the victims of choice. When I saw the barrel lying on its side with ashes on the ground, I immediately recognized it as bear sign. I went to right the barrel and clean up the mess, and that’s when the action started. It became apparent as soon as I started to lift the barrel that the bear wasn’t really interested in the contents of the barrel, but the prize which lay below it. As soon as I lifted the drum off the ground, my ears picked up a faint hum, which quickly intensified into what can only be described as a thousand tiny yellow and black chainsaws buzzing at full throttle. It was a swarm of very upset bees. That bear knew better, and at that moment I wished I had too!
My exit from that spot was less than regal. It was along the lines of Riverdance, the Chicken Dance, a Benny Hill chase scene, and Ernest goes to Chippewa Falls. Running away at full speed, I took my shirt off and flailed away at those angry defenders of the hive. As silly as it looked, my “strategy” resulted with my only getting stung once. It could have been worse - much worse.
I find it interesting and laughable that at times I believe I have a situation assessed properly, only to find out the hard way that I didn’t. Life, as usual, holds many surprises. In hindsight, I think I could have figured that the bear wasn’t really after ashes, and I should have known that it’s extraordinary sense of smell gave away the fact that no tasty morsels of any kind were present inside of it. I should have known that it was sensing something else, but I didn’t. I’m giving myself a break though, because life isn’t really lived in hindsight. I’ll learn from it, but there really wasn’t any way for me to have known that I was walking into a bad scene. Had I known, I would have done it differently.
The larger lesson in all of this is that if I find myself in a situation that is inconsistent with the life God calls me to, it is more important that I get out of there than how I look in the process. If I look silly or foolish in the eyes of men as I exit a situation that my Father wants me to leave, then so be it. God doesn’t want me to leave because He’s a killjoy; it’s because He doesn’t want me to get dirty, hurt, or stung.
I know I don’t have the foreknowledge of God, but I do have His Holy Spirit to sound the alarm when it’s time to avoid or time to get out. So when I hear the Spirit buzzing, I’m running. I hope you do too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
Monday, November 19, 2007
Thick as a Brick
Certain events in life are hard to forget. They leave an indelible mark, sometimes figuratively and sometimes literally. I have one such literal mark near my right eye. It is a reminder of the time I was hit with a large rock as I was walking in a park across the street from my home. I was about six years old, minding my own business, when the aforementioned rock smashed into the side of my head. My instinctive reaction was to try and dull the searing pain with my coat sleeve. It worked until I let my arm down and noticed my sleeve soaked in blood. The pain came back, joined by fear. As I began to run toward home, I noticed two boys behind a pile of dirt throwing large rocks at passers-by. It seemed like they were proud that they hit their target. I can still see them laughing, though like the scar, that image is fading.When I made it home, I realized that my mom and dad were out for the evening, so I was in the care of my grandmother and two of her sisters. The three of them worked on me like they were top corner men for a prizefighter. They had me patched up and ready for more action in no time. The action did not involve going back to the park for round two. It was more like eating a large bowl of popcorn and drinking a large cold glass of soda in front of the television. I don’t remember what was on the T.V. that evening. All that mattered to me was that I was healing in the company of people that loved me.Some thirty years later, I was walking with Roxanne in a plaza near the Alamo. We were minding our own business when I noticed a man standing off to the side of the plaza throwing bricks at the passers-by. They weren’t literal bricks; they were figurative bricks, but it was as troubling to me as if they were real. In fact, it might have been more troubling to me. Why?The man throwing the bricks was a Christian. I knew this because of what he was yelling. The “bricks” were actually God’s words. I recognized them as words from the Bible. He screamed at all of us in the plaza; He told us that we were all sinners and we were going to hell. We needed to repent and accept Jesus as our Savior. I was familiar with the words he was yelling, because I was already a Christian and knew them from my Bible studies. Best I could tell, that guy had a gift for memorizing the scriptures, and it seemed to me that he was proud of it. It almost seemed like he was laughing. Just like the rock incident when I was younger, I felt like I had been smashed in the side of the head. I wondered how many other people felt the same way. More specifically, I wondered how many people ran away from God in fear that day. That man’s yelling and screaming seemed more like an invitation to a house of pain, anger, and wrath instead of a house of healing and love.The Holy Spirit did not give me words to speak to him, or to shout to others that day, but the Spirit did point me to scripture that has stayed with me and, hopefully changed me since. It is 1Corinthians 13:1-8. These words are often read at weddings, but they are also appropriate for when we are in the park or in a plaza, or anywhere for that matter. In short, these verses are a call for us to use our spiritual gifts in love. They are a reminder for us to speak God’s power-filled words with love for others.I realized that day in San Antonio that the Bible was about as thick as a brick, but it isn’t one. If I hurl it around like a brick, I will more than likely just smash someone in the head, and more than likely cause someone to run away from God instead of running home to Him.I want to speak God’s words in such a way that those who hear them will find themselves being healed by God in the company of people who love them. I hope you do too.Grace to you.Dave Paukner
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Burn Barrel
For as long as I can remember, I have found fire to be absolutely fascinating. It is wildly powerful; yet with great caution and respect, it’s raw power can be corralled, even harnessed and put to good use. Obvious examples are wood stoves, fireplaces and furnaces. In a very controlled way, they each put fire to good use. Another example, though not as common, is a simple fifty-five gallon steel drum, a “burn barrel.” I use several to burn up dry brush from the woods. I’m amazed at how much brush I can burn in one barrel. If I get the fire hot enough, a load of brush is burned up by the time I gather the next load to burn. Very large brush piles that accumulated from a summer’s worth of pruning and windstorms disappear in no time at all. Well, they really don’t disappear. Rather, they are reduced to a pile of ashes. So instead of having to deal with large piles of dead wood, I only need to deal with small piles of ashes. To get rid of the ashes, I spread them around the woods and let the rain wash them into the ground; or sometimes I’ll just find a spot and bury them. It’s a much quicker way to put the ashes out of sight.
Just the other day, while emptying some ashes from one of the barrels, the Holy Spirit gave me a wonderful new perspective and picture about how God has dealt with sin. I had thought about it being similar to the process of burning and reducing the dead wood into ashes. I had the picture of my sin as the dead wood, and through the sacrifice of Jesus, my sins were burned up and reduced to ashes. Then in a spiritual sense, God spread them around for the rain to wash them into the ground; or, more expediently, He just buried them. They were out of sight. My analogy, though on the right track, fell far short of the truth of how God has dealt with my sins through Jesus’ sacrifice.
God recently reintroduced me to a word I have seen, heard, and even used many times before. It is found in Acts 3:19, where the Apostle Peter tells a crowd in the Temple to turn back to God so their sins could be cleansed, blotted out, obliterated.
OBLITERATED!
This very word itself obliterated what was in my mind’s eye when it came to this matter. If burning up dead wood (sin) into ashes fails to describe what God has accomplished, then I wanted a better picture to describe the obliteration of sin.
God pointed me to an account recorded in the Old Testament book of 1Kings, chapter 18, which was an event the crowd Peter addressed in the Temple would have been very familiar with. It was a contest which took place on Mount Carmel between God’s Prophet Elijah and the prophets of Baal to see who’s god was the real God. They were to prepare a sacrifice, place it on an altar, and summon their god to burn it up. Whichever god brought down fire and burned up the offering was the one true God. The prophets of Baal went first, and after many hours with no results, it was then Elijah’s turn. With the sacrifice placed on the altar, at about the time of the evening (3:00 p.m.) sacrifice, Elijah prayed that the people would know that the Lord is God, and that He would bring the people back to Himself. Immediately, the fire of the Lord flashed from heaven and burned the young bull sacrifice, the wood, the stone altar, the dust (ashes), and even the water that was in the ditch around the altar! There was nothing left; the whole thing was obliterated. God dealt with the matter quickly, decisively and completely.
Through this story, the Holy Spirit showed me how God’s wildly powerful fire, harnessed through the sacrifice of Christ, burned up my sins so completely that there is nothing left of them. There is nothing for the rain to wash away or anything left to bury. Even the altar was consumed, as a sign that it is no longer needed. God dealt with the matter quickly, decisively and completely.
Now, in my mind’s eye, I have a newer, better picture of how God has dealt with sin. I hope you do too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
Just the other day, while emptying some ashes from one of the barrels, the Holy Spirit gave me a wonderful new perspective and picture about how God has dealt with sin. I had thought about it being similar to the process of burning and reducing the dead wood into ashes. I had the picture of my sin as the dead wood, and through the sacrifice of Jesus, my sins were burned up and reduced to ashes. Then in a spiritual sense, God spread them around for the rain to wash them into the ground; or, more expediently, He just buried them. They were out of sight. My analogy, though on the right track, fell far short of the truth of how God has dealt with my sins through Jesus’ sacrifice.
God recently reintroduced me to a word I have seen, heard, and even used many times before. It is found in Acts 3:19, where the Apostle Peter tells a crowd in the Temple to turn back to God so their sins could be cleansed, blotted out, obliterated.
OBLITERATED!
This very word itself obliterated what was in my mind’s eye when it came to this matter. If burning up dead wood (sin) into ashes fails to describe what God has accomplished, then I wanted a better picture to describe the obliteration of sin.
God pointed me to an account recorded in the Old Testament book of 1Kings, chapter 18, which was an event the crowd Peter addressed in the Temple would have been very familiar with. It was a contest which took place on Mount Carmel between God’s Prophet Elijah and the prophets of Baal to see who’s god was the real God. They were to prepare a sacrifice, place it on an altar, and summon their god to burn it up. Whichever god brought down fire and burned up the offering was the one true God. The prophets of Baal went first, and after many hours with no results, it was then Elijah’s turn. With the sacrifice placed on the altar, at about the time of the evening (3:00 p.m.) sacrifice, Elijah prayed that the people would know that the Lord is God, and that He would bring the people back to Himself. Immediately, the fire of the Lord flashed from heaven and burned the young bull sacrifice, the wood, the stone altar, the dust (ashes), and even the water that was in the ditch around the altar! There was nothing left; the whole thing was obliterated. God dealt with the matter quickly, decisively and completely.
Through this story, the Holy Spirit showed me how God’s wildly powerful fire, harnessed through the sacrifice of Christ, burned up my sins so completely that there is nothing left of them. There is nothing for the rain to wash away or anything left to bury. Even the altar was consumed, as a sign that it is no longer needed. God dealt with the matter quickly, decisively and completely.
Now, in my mind’s eye, I have a newer, better picture of how God has dealt with sin. I hope you do too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Hair Today Gone Tomorrow
I cut my hair the other week. I didn’t go to a barber. I literally cut my own hair. It didn’t turn out too shabby either. My hair was very long and I wasn’t up for finding a new barber, so I figured if I messed up my hair, I’ll just hide in the woods and let it grow out. When I was finished, my hair was a bit uneven, so Roxanne offered to “clean” it up a bit. I was O.K. with that because if I did a decent job, she’s surely not going to make it worse. Well, it turned out fine, but way too short for my liking. It was too short to comb it the way I have for the last 22 years.
The last time my hair was cut too short for my liking was in the first grade. I hated it so much that I wore a hat for weeks. After that, my dad would take me to the barber who cut his hair. I wanted my hair to be just like my dad’s hair, so I was thrilled to be going to Mr. V’s. It was always a great experience there. His assistant would shampoo my hair and when she was done, Mr. V. would come in and do his magic. I say magic because he would tell me that my hair didn’t lend itself to the style that my dad sported. I insisted that I wanted to look like my dad and he accommodated.
I wore my hair that way until my college years. In the fall of 1985, I had carelessly left my shaving kit in a hotel in Toronto, Canada on a class trip. Being cash strapped, I didn’t have the money to replace what I left behind. That was the humble beginning of the beard. The new facial hair didn’t seem right with my dad’s hairstyle, so I decided to change my hair. It still didn’t work well with the way my hair naturally grew, but it’s what I wanted and, by golly, that’s what I got; a new image to go with the college lifestyle I was creating and enjoying. And so it had been for 22 years.
Back from my trip down memory lane, I began to notice something about my new haircut. The part in my hair was where Mr. V said it was naturally. Even more amazing is that with all the wind, activity, and running my hand through my hair, it was staying in place. I wasn’t spending any time and energy on it to get it to look right. Wow! Imagine that all these years of screwing around with my hair could have been avoided if only I listened to Mr. V! I spent decades battling against the way God had made my hair to grow.
It might be obvious to you where I’m going with this, but if not, here goes… I sigh when I recall how many times I have battled God’s plan for my life and smile when I remember how natural and free and easy it is when I go with what He has designed for me. I spent a lot of energy over the years grooming an identity and lifestyle I created before it became apparent that living out my God-created identity is infinitely more rewarding. At first it was hard, and just like the new haircut, it seemed out of place. “This isn’t me”, I would groan; but the truth is that the persona I had made for myself was a poor representation of the person God had intended for me to be.
Now, the things associated with my self-made identity are being cut off by the Master, and the God-created identity He has carefully crafted for me is becoming clearer. I’m experiencing the more and better life He has intended for me from the beginning, and amazingly, it requires a lot less time and energy to maintain than anything I made for myself.
It’s sort of like a no muss, no fuss lifestyle for me. He has one for you too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
The last time my hair was cut too short for my liking was in the first grade. I hated it so much that I wore a hat for weeks. After that, my dad would take me to the barber who cut his hair. I wanted my hair to be just like my dad’s hair, so I was thrilled to be going to Mr. V’s. It was always a great experience there. His assistant would shampoo my hair and when she was done, Mr. V. would come in and do his magic. I say magic because he would tell me that my hair didn’t lend itself to the style that my dad sported. I insisted that I wanted to look like my dad and he accommodated.
I wore my hair that way until my college years. In the fall of 1985, I had carelessly left my shaving kit in a hotel in Toronto, Canada on a class trip. Being cash strapped, I didn’t have the money to replace what I left behind. That was the humble beginning of the beard. The new facial hair didn’t seem right with my dad’s hairstyle, so I decided to change my hair. It still didn’t work well with the way my hair naturally grew, but it’s what I wanted and, by golly, that’s what I got; a new image to go with the college lifestyle I was creating and enjoying. And so it had been for 22 years.
Back from my trip down memory lane, I began to notice something about my new haircut. The part in my hair was where Mr. V said it was naturally. Even more amazing is that with all the wind, activity, and running my hand through my hair, it was staying in place. I wasn’t spending any time and energy on it to get it to look right. Wow! Imagine that all these years of screwing around with my hair could have been avoided if only I listened to Mr. V! I spent decades battling against the way God had made my hair to grow.
It might be obvious to you where I’m going with this, but if not, here goes… I sigh when I recall how many times I have battled God’s plan for my life and smile when I remember how natural and free and easy it is when I go with what He has designed for me. I spent a lot of energy over the years grooming an identity and lifestyle I created before it became apparent that living out my God-created identity is infinitely more rewarding. At first it was hard, and just like the new haircut, it seemed out of place. “This isn’t me”, I would groan; but the truth is that the persona I had made for myself was a poor representation of the person God had intended for me to be.
Now, the things associated with my self-made identity are being cut off by the Master, and the God-created identity He has carefully crafted for me is becoming clearer. I’m experiencing the more and better life He has intended for me from the beginning, and amazingly, it requires a lot less time and energy to maintain than anything I made for myself.
It’s sort of like a no muss, no fuss lifestyle for me. He has one for you too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Oatmeal
I actually like to eat oatmeal!
When I share this information with people, I get some strange looks from them. Not only because I’ve just shared some incredibly mundane thought with them, but also when it comes to oatmeal, people tend to have very strong opinions about it. They can generally be lumped (no pun intended, well yes it was) into two categories. There are those who love oatmeal and cannot fathom how any person in their right mind could not love oatmeal. They eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They bathe in it. If it were possible, they would make clothing from oatmeal. Then there are those who hate oatmeal and cannot imagine how any normal person could eat something that can only be described as an adult version of white school paste that came in a little jar with a combination metal lid and plastic applicator.
Oatmeal haters are convinced that oatmeal lovers are the ones who used to eat the white school paste in kindergarten using the plastic applicator as a spoon. Of course, I’m not sure which camp you’re in when it comes to oatmeal, but I’ll fess up and tell you that I was in the group that hated oatmeal. My attitude about oatmeal began to change when a nurse suggested that I start to eat it for health reasons. On the ride home from the doctor’s office, I decided to treat oatmeal more as a medicine than a food. I eventually made it a part of my breakfast routine out of an obligation to my family. At first, eating oatmeal was analogous to taking bad tasting medicine. Picture a kid holding his or her nose and rushing to be done with the “orange or cherry” flavored goop, making faces, swallowing, and vowing never to do it again. I had that attitude at breakfast each morning. Then, I started to notice the more I ate it, the less offensive it was to my palate. In time, I found that I was developing an appetite for oatmeal instead of cold Chicago style pizza for breakfast. When I began to see positive results on the scale, as well as other tests, I liked eating it even more. So, as I said, I actually like to eat oatmeal.
Why am I sharing this silly story with you?
Well, it’s not really about my appetite for oatmeal or which side of the grocery aisle I’m on when it comes to this subject. It’s really about how the Holy Spirit changed my spiritual appetite, specifically my appetite for reading God’s Word. In the same way that I just couldn’t understand how anyone could eat oatmeal a.k.a. white school paste, I couldn’t understand how anyone could enjoy reading the Bible. I knew I should read it out of Christian obligation, but anything beyond that was reserved for scholars and collars. I approached bible study more like medicine than like food, just like my oatmeal experience. And similar to that experience, I started noticing that the more I read and reflected upon what I read, the less boring it was. In time, I found that an appetite for God’s Word, by way of His Holy Spirit, was developing within me. I began to see His Words coming to life in my experiences. His Word was no longer bad tasting medicine, but sweet tasting food. I began to taste God’s goodness. It was Psalm 119:103 and Psalm 34:8 in living color. Now, I actually love to read the Bible!
When I share that information with people, I get some strange looks from them. That’s O.K. I just tell them it’s an acquired, ( I mean inspired) taste.
God changed my taste buds; He’ll gladly change yours too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
When I share this information with people, I get some strange looks from them. Not only because I’ve just shared some incredibly mundane thought with them, but also when it comes to oatmeal, people tend to have very strong opinions about it. They can generally be lumped (no pun intended, well yes it was) into two categories. There are those who love oatmeal and cannot fathom how any person in their right mind could not love oatmeal. They eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They bathe in it. If it were possible, they would make clothing from oatmeal. Then there are those who hate oatmeal and cannot imagine how any normal person could eat something that can only be described as an adult version of white school paste that came in a little jar with a combination metal lid and plastic applicator.
Oatmeal haters are convinced that oatmeal lovers are the ones who used to eat the white school paste in kindergarten using the plastic applicator as a spoon. Of course, I’m not sure which camp you’re in when it comes to oatmeal, but I’ll fess up and tell you that I was in the group that hated oatmeal. My attitude about oatmeal began to change when a nurse suggested that I start to eat it for health reasons. On the ride home from the doctor’s office, I decided to treat oatmeal more as a medicine than a food. I eventually made it a part of my breakfast routine out of an obligation to my family. At first, eating oatmeal was analogous to taking bad tasting medicine. Picture a kid holding his or her nose and rushing to be done with the “orange or cherry” flavored goop, making faces, swallowing, and vowing never to do it again. I had that attitude at breakfast each morning. Then, I started to notice the more I ate it, the less offensive it was to my palate. In time, I found that I was developing an appetite for oatmeal instead of cold Chicago style pizza for breakfast. When I began to see positive results on the scale, as well as other tests, I liked eating it even more. So, as I said, I actually like to eat oatmeal.
Why am I sharing this silly story with you?
Well, it’s not really about my appetite for oatmeal or which side of the grocery aisle I’m on when it comes to this subject. It’s really about how the Holy Spirit changed my spiritual appetite, specifically my appetite for reading God’s Word. In the same way that I just couldn’t understand how anyone could eat oatmeal a.k.a. white school paste, I couldn’t understand how anyone could enjoy reading the Bible. I knew I should read it out of Christian obligation, but anything beyond that was reserved for scholars and collars. I approached bible study more like medicine than like food, just like my oatmeal experience. And similar to that experience, I started noticing that the more I read and reflected upon what I read, the less boring it was. In time, I found that an appetite for God’s Word, by way of His Holy Spirit, was developing within me. I began to see His Words coming to life in my experiences. His Word was no longer bad tasting medicine, but sweet tasting food. I began to taste God’s goodness. It was Psalm 119:103 and Psalm 34:8 in living color. Now, I actually love to read the Bible!
When I share that information with people, I get some strange looks from them. That’s O.K. I just tell them it’s an acquired, ( I mean inspired) taste.
God changed my taste buds; He’ll gladly change yours too.
Grace to you.
Dave Paukner
Friday, October 19, 2007
Cannonball
Have you ever been coaxed to jump into a pool of water? Your friends or family were well meaning when they were prodding you to do so. They were in the water having a grand time and wanted you to join them; yet you found yourself standing poolside, maybe just maybe sticking a toe or finger in the pool. Inexplicably, you found yourself frozen to act as if these people calling you in were a group of complete strangers waiting to have a great laugh at your expense. Then it hit you; these were no strangers, but some of the most trusted people in your life. This was no ruse on their part; they were really having fun. You took a deep breath, held your nose, ran at full speed, and hurled yourself into mid-air over the water.
CANNONBALL!!!!!
If any of you ran in the opposite direction and hurled yourself into the shrubs, you’re only human, but please don’t tell anybody. You might get invited to pool parties for the wrong reason.
If you were one of those to launch out over the water, you soon found yourself immersed in the water, turning and twisting in all manner of strange positions, then anxiously rising to the surface to take in another deep breath. Your friends and family were cheering that you finally jumped in. The water seemed colder than you thought, but in short order it became warmer, refreshing, even soothing. You may have even found yourself prodding those on the pool deck to join you in the water. It was good.
In a way, that is how my journey into “More and Better Life” began. It was actually God that called me in to the water so to speak, but it was the authentic lives of some dear Christian friends and family who had “jumped in” before me that made it clear to me that there was no ruse involved. There was something powerful at work in their lives, and I wanted it too. Life on the edge of the pool was incomplete.
It has been quite a while since I first jumped into this journey, and it has been shocking, warming, refreshing and soothing. But most of all, it has proved to be life changing.
Some of the most recent changes have been my moving to Chippewa Falls away from my lifelong home and remaining family in Illinois, resigning from a firm in which I was a partner and taking a sabbatical. Yet the biggest change has been leaving behind a church family at The First Church of God in Oak Lawn. This is a group of people that God caused me to care about deeply.
Do you remember what it was like getting out of the water? The air was cold and you would shiver, but after a while your body would acclimate. That’s what leaving has been like for me. It also wasn’t long before you would either be called back into the water or you wanted back in on your own, and even though you had jumped in before, there was still a bit of a shock to your system jumping in again. In a way, this leg of my journey is like jumping in again. It is like a plunge into cold water with all of the turning and twisting in strange positions. Yet the water seems to be warming. I am beginning to feel refreshed. I can hear some of my new friends cheering that my family and I are in the water here.
Part of the cheering involves the encouragement I have received regarding the sharing of this Blog called “Northwoods Musings” with my new church family at Valleybrook. The intention is to use it to uplift and challenge, with a balance of seriousness and humor, as we journey into “More and Better Life” together. The inspiration for this project comes from God (Psalm 1:1-2), and the form takes it shape from the tradition of the Old Testament rabbis that would use every day observations to point people to the truths of God revealed in His Word, the Bible. This is not about just memorizing verses or putting them on bumper stickers, but meditating deeply and continuously on them. God’s words are meant to transform all of us. They are not just reserved for special occasions; they are intended for every moment of our lives.
I have been blessed to learn that about God’s words, I hope you will be too.
Grace to you,
Dave Paukner
CANNONBALL!!!!!
If any of you ran in the opposite direction and hurled yourself into the shrubs, you’re only human, but please don’t tell anybody. You might get invited to pool parties for the wrong reason.
If you were one of those to launch out over the water, you soon found yourself immersed in the water, turning and twisting in all manner of strange positions, then anxiously rising to the surface to take in another deep breath. Your friends and family were cheering that you finally jumped in. The water seemed colder than you thought, but in short order it became warmer, refreshing, even soothing. You may have even found yourself prodding those on the pool deck to join you in the water. It was good.
In a way, that is how my journey into “More and Better Life” began. It was actually God that called me in to the water so to speak, but it was the authentic lives of some dear Christian friends and family who had “jumped in” before me that made it clear to me that there was no ruse involved. There was something powerful at work in their lives, and I wanted it too. Life on the edge of the pool was incomplete.
It has been quite a while since I first jumped into this journey, and it has been shocking, warming, refreshing and soothing. But most of all, it has proved to be life changing.
Some of the most recent changes have been my moving to Chippewa Falls away from my lifelong home and remaining family in Illinois, resigning from a firm in which I was a partner and taking a sabbatical. Yet the biggest change has been leaving behind a church family at The First Church of God in Oak Lawn. This is a group of people that God caused me to care about deeply.
Do you remember what it was like getting out of the water? The air was cold and you would shiver, but after a while your body would acclimate. That’s what leaving has been like for me. It also wasn’t long before you would either be called back into the water or you wanted back in on your own, and even though you had jumped in before, there was still a bit of a shock to your system jumping in again. In a way, this leg of my journey is like jumping in again. It is like a plunge into cold water with all of the turning and twisting in strange positions. Yet the water seems to be warming. I am beginning to feel refreshed. I can hear some of my new friends cheering that my family and I are in the water here.
Part of the cheering involves the encouragement I have received regarding the sharing of this Blog called “Northwoods Musings” with my new church family at Valleybrook. The intention is to use it to uplift and challenge, with a balance of seriousness and humor, as we journey into “More and Better Life” together. The inspiration for this project comes from God (Psalm 1:1-2), and the form takes it shape from the tradition of the Old Testament rabbis that would use every day observations to point people to the truths of God revealed in His Word, the Bible. This is not about just memorizing verses or putting them on bumper stickers, but meditating deeply and continuously on them. God’s words are meant to transform all of us. They are not just reserved for special occasions; they are intended for every moment of our lives.
I have been blessed to learn that about God’s words, I hope you will be too.
Grace to you,
Dave Paukner
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