Baby Steps

I came naked from my mother’s womb, and I will be naked when I leave. (Job 1:20a)

At first blush this does not seem to be a verse one would think about at Christmastime, but these are the words that came to mind as I have been meditating on the birth of Jesus. Jesus did in fact come from Mary’s womb naked, and naked in every respect – physically, emotionally, and intellectually. Jesus divested Himself from every divine privilege and attribute He enjoyed in the safe harbor of the Holy Trinity.

Jesus did not put His divine power in His back pocket. He did not hide His abilities beneath a suit, hat and dark framed glasses like “Superman” trying to fit in and seem human. Jesus did not have a futuristic metal alloy skeletal system draped in flesh like the “Terminator” in order blend into humanity. He was fully human (flesh and bone-just like us) and fully God at the same time, but He left that divinity behind – out of reach. Jesus disrobed. He chose to be vulnerable – baby vulnerable in an evil world!

Jesus was no longer self-sufficient; He became physically dependent on His earthly parents, Joseph and Mary, for His well-being. Jesus needed to be fed, clothed, and changed. He chose a life of humility, servitude, and dependency. He was at humanity’s mercy without an escape clause. There were no cheat sheets, short cuts, or trained rescue crews standing by to pull Him out when things became dangerous.

Jesus was ALL IN!

More than just trusting Joseph and Mary, Jesus the Son trusted God the Father. He was obedient to the Father’s plan from start to finish – from baby steps all the way to sitting at the right hand of His Father. He lived dependent on our Heavenly Father for his protection and provision from incarnation - to crucifixion - to resurrection, and in every moment in between. Jesus came naked from the womb and died naked on a cross. He humbled Himself at birth and was humiliated in death. He poured out His life and suffered all of the indignities so we might have more and better life – better than we ever dreamed of.

So it is at Christmas that we ponder this great free gift of a poured out life in Christ. With blessed eyes we see the babe who would become a man acquainted with deepest sorrows, and if we listen closely with blessed ears this Christmas season, we will hear an invitation from Jesus to live the life He lived.

Jesus prayed to the Father:

I’m not asking you to take them out of the world, but to keep them safe from the evil one. They do not belong to this world any more than I do. Make them holy by your truth; teach them your word, which is truth. Just as you sent me into the world, I am sending them into the world. (John 17:15-18, emphasis mine)

It is a prayer that we live dependent - moment by moment - upon our Heavenly Father for our protection and provision. It is a prayer that we live ALL IN, trusting God just as Jesus did.

I am reminded that when Christ invited me to follow Him, it was an invitation to be “born” into a life that is dependent on God from beginning to end and all points in between. It is a life that starts with baby steps and leads all the way to glory. It is a life empowered by God’s Holy Spirit. Jesus has invited you into that very life too.

Merry Christmas and Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Someone You Should Know

This is the time of year when many media outlets and publications compile a list of celebrity memorials. It is an annual reminder of the who’s who that died in the previous twelve months. The lists are often crowded with persons of fame, fortune, or outrageous behavior. It is a list that I find oddly juxtaposed against the celebration of Christ’s birth - an event of incomprehensible humility. It is in that spirit of humility that I want to tell you about the passing of a friend – a dear friend who would never have made such a list.

Much of Alice Marler’s story was well behind her when I first met her about ten years ago, so I do not profess to know all about her life. That is a privilege left to her husband, children, and in-laws. There are, however, some details that I am uniquely qualified to share with you, and share I will.

God introduced Alice into my story at the tail end of a dark spiritual season in my life. I had not been to church in three years, yet there I was standing outside her Sunday school room dropping off my two youngest children. By “dropping off,” I mean I peeled them off of their mother’s legs, pushed them through the door, and quickly shut the door behind them. Later when the service was over, my two children did not want to leave! I remember Alice laughing and saying, “I love your kids. Oh, and I love you too.” She meant it, and much to my surprise I believed her. It felt safe to be in church. I looked forward to seeing her on Sundays because I could see in her eyes that she was genuinely glad to see my family and I. We weren’t some God-project to her. We were real people, and she had an authentic affection for us. It was an unconditional affection that I hadn’t felt in a church setting in a long, long time! God, through Alice, made it clear that First Church was to be our church home in that new season of our lives.

I am reminded of Alice when I read the following scripture:

Don’t just pretend to love others. Really love them. Hate what is wrong. Hold tightly to what is good. Love each other with genuine affection, and take delight with each other. (Romans 12:9-10, emphasis mine)

Over the years I watched Alice delight in a whole host of people, even as her health failed. I saw her hold tightly to what is good. Even as she lay in a hospital bed, unable to communicate with her family and friends, I am convinced (because God told me) that she was praying for her family, friends, and the church.

It is a daunting task to write a resume, an even more difficult task to write a tribute. There is much about Alice that I would like you to know, and fitting words and descriptions are lacking. I want people to know that this side of eternity is poorer because she was called home, and not because she was famous, wealthy, or behaved outrageously – she wasn’t and didn’t. I want you to know about her because she was a person who loved well; Alice Marler loved with the love of Christ.

That kind of love made my family and me different. That kind of love will make you different too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

A Hard Right Turn

“Anyone with ears to hear should listen and understand. Then He added, “Pay close attention to what you hear. The closer you listen, the more understanding you will be given – and you will receive even more. To those who listen to my teaching, more understanding will be given. But for those who are not listening, even what little understanding they have will be taken away from them.” (Mark 4:23-25)

Jesus’ instruction to his disciples to pay attention reminds me of an episode I had with my dog several years ago. Our newly adopted dog loved going for walks in the woods with my wife and I. The trails we frequented were very private, so we let the dog accompany us without a leash. At first our Border Collie, named Madison, would stay near us; but not long into each walk she would race well ahead of us - well beyond eyesight and earshot. The woods were large with many winding and intersecting trails. Her unfamiliarity with it all could have gotten her hopelessly lost or hurt. A nice quiet stroll through the woods was often interrupted with my shouts and whistles for the dog to come back. More often than not, I would find her before she would find me. We wanted the dog to enjoy the great outdoors, but her pattern of running ahead and getting lost needed to be broken.

I spoke with the dog trainer who had previously been very helpful in explaining the nuances of the breed to me. He explained that Border Collies work off of both visual and voice commands, and that I needed to work on getting and keeping the dog’s attention by using both. He suggested that before the dog dashed off out of eyesight and earshot, that I should abruptly change direction and announce in a normal volume and tone what direction I would be walking. He assured me that after practicing this method the dog’s range would tighten and her attentiveness would increase.

The first few times I tried this, it had become obvious that the dog was assuming where I would be headed based on what seemed to be a pattern of mine. I would walk out to the usual starting trail and then to the next, and so on, just like I had done many times before. My walk was predictable – dog predictable. The dog had become attentive to my pattern rather than being attentive to my hand and voice commands. In time, the method of abruptly changing directions in combination with the voice commands began to pay off. The dog started to stay in close proximity and began to look more frequently for commands from me. We both enjoyed the walks much more.

In those times that I was actively working on changing my dog’s inattentiveness, I began recognizing that I had behaved in a similar way with God. I noticed there were some seasons in my life where I had made assumptions about where God was headed based on where I had been with Him previously. I had not been paying close attention to Him; I had not been paying any attention to Him at all. I had been doing God-work, only God didn’t direct me to do any of it. I assumed that was what He wanted me to do; but in my “walk” with God, He abruptly changed directions.

God took what seemed to be a hard right turn, and as a result it became obvious to me that I had not been paying close attention to Him. Those were dark, pain-filled, and confusing seasons, but out of them I began to see He wanted me to pay attention - close attention - to Him. I was not supposed to extrapolate a pattern based on where He and I had been, and I was certainly not to head out on my own based on where I assumed we might be headed. It is a bad pattern that God is breaking in my life. He wants to have enjoyable walks with me. He wants to have enjoyable walks with you too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Wash, Rinse, and Repeat

I recently watched a video of a random group of people answering the question, “What do you think of church?” There was one person in particular that made what might be a lasting impression on me. He was a tattoo artist who didn’t hold back in regard to his thoughts on church. In fact, he was blunt enough that parts of his answer were censored with the familiar “bleep.” He made the charge that church is all about brainwashing, and he wanted to make it absolutely clear (and he did) that he wanted nothing to do with church. It seemed that as soon as the word “brainwashing” passed his lips, his angry tone erupted into a seething hate. He became agitated and his body tensed up - he was spittin’ mad. His interview was over. He answered the question.

It was apparent that brainwashing was a very bad thing by his standards. If by popular understanding it means having your mind taken over and becoming a mind-less robot, then who wouldn’t push back or even become indignant about such a crime? A mind is supposed to be free; isn’t that an inalienable right?

I was reminded of a children’s story about a young boy whose mind is filled with hate, anger and prejudice by the adults in his life. The simple line drawings accompanying the text depicted an innocent face being contorted under the great weight of all the garbage that was poured and packed into his head. Over time, the child’s smile was transformed into a permanent expression of anger and pain, similar to the one I witnessed on the tattoo artist’s face. By popular understanding the little boy and the artist were more than likely victims of “brainwashing.” I find it odd that our culture uses such a term for an act of defilement and polluting. Why don’t we just get honest and call it “braindirtied” or “brainstaining?”

I was also reminded of the following scripture:

For husbands, this means love your wives just as Christ loves the church. He gave his life for her to make her holy and clean, washed by the cleansing of God’s word. He did this to present her to himself as a glorious church without a spot or wrinkle or any other blemish. Instead, she will be holy and without fault. (Ephesians 5:25-27, emphasis mine)

So, the tattoo artist was unwittingly correct. Jesus is washing us – brain and mind included. But instead of making us mindless, non-thinking automatons, He is making us new persons and changing the way we think by removing the accumulation of filth, dirt, and stains that has built up in our minds by way of our sins, choices, and circumstances.

Don’t copy the behaviors and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect. (Romans 12:2)

If this is God’s idea of brainwashing, then all I have to say is, “Wash, rinse and repeat.” I think you’ll say the same thing too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Afraid of the Dark

Your word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path. (Psalm 119:105)

As a young boy, I was afraid of the dark so I avoided dark places. Problem solved! Not really. My train set and my dad’s workshop were in the windowless basement of my grandmother’s place of business. If I wanted to run the old “Lionel” or build something with the shop tools, I would brave the steep steps to the basement and systematically turn on every light – even in the out-of-sight spaces. As long as every light was on, I could relax. When I finished doing whatever it was that inspired me to go to the “dungeon” in the first place, a different routine would ensue. I would run with Olympian speed through the maze of dank and musty spaces, in an equally methodical way, flicking switches and pulling chains that turned the lights off. With a racing heart and labored breathing, I would hurtle myself up the stairs, hit the last switch and slam the basement door behind me.

The basement door led straight into the midst of my grandmother’s tavern, so on many occasions, a young frenzied boy (me) would “pop” out of the dark into the light. On nearly as many occasions, my grandmother’s customers would sneer, snicker, and ask in a shaming tone, “Why are you so afraid of the dark?” Answering their question in my thoughts, the most obvious answer was, “There’s scary and ugly stuff in the dark. I could get hurt in the dark!”

My fear of the dark diminished as I grew older, and verses such as the one above gave me comfort. A lamp for my feet and a light for my path would make navigating in a spiritually dark world much safer. Problem solved! Not really. God did something I didn’t expect. God’s lamp exposed another spiritually dark place.

You light a lamp for me. The Lord, my God, lights up my darkness. (Psalm 18:28, emphasis mine)

God’s lamp was no longer just aimed at the darkness that was around my feet; it was trained straight at the darkness within me – the darkness in my heart.

The Lord’s light penetrates the human spirit, exposing every hidden motive. (Proverbs 20:27)

God revealed that as I grew older, my fear of the dark hadn’t just diminished; I had actually started to embrace and look for relief in the dark. Knowing He was right, another unexpected thing was revealed. I was afraid to look at my own heart. I was afraid to look at how ugly and damaged my heart had become.

The boy who was afraid of the dark had become an adult who was afraid of the light. I was afraid that God would snicker and sneer at me, and in my thoughts, I wanted Him to turn off the light. Then (not to imply that it happened quickly, because it did not) I began to see God’s heart in the light as well. There was no condemnation in God’s heart - just love and concern. Because of His love, it was safe to look at my sick heart.

I aroused you under the apple tree, where your mother gave you birth, where in great pain she delivered you. Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal over your arm. For love is as strong as death, its jealousy as enduring as the grave. Love flashes like fire, the brightest kind of flame. (Song of Songs 8:5b-6, emphasis mine)

Our Heavenly Father’s brightest light and love are indistinguishable. It is not His light that I need to fear; that is where I will be made well. In His light, I see safety and healing. I do not see any sneering or snickering. God has been teaching me that I need to fear the spiritual darkness, similar to the way I was afraid of the dark as a young boy.

There is scary and ugly stuff in the dark. Without fail, I will get hurt there. You’ll get hurt there too.

Grace to you.

David Paukner

Deny-Deny-Deny

Peter said, “Lord, I am ready to go to prison with you, and even die with you.” But Jesus said, “Peter, let me tell you something. The rooster will not crow tomorrow morning until you have denied three times that you even know me.” (Luke 22:33-34)

Not long after Jesus spoke those words, Peter denied knowing Jesus three times - and in near rapid-fire fashion, I might add. (Read Luke 22:54-62) How in the world could Peter have denied knowing Jesus - not just once, but three times!? After all, Peter saw Jesus perform miraculous healings time and again. He watched Him multiply fishes and loaves, calm stormy seas, and raise Lazarus from the dead. Peter declared Jesus to be the Messiah, the Son of the Living God, and later saw Him transfigured!

If you are like me, you have probably shaken your head in bewilderment and wondered how Peter, after being so sincere in his zeal to follow Jesus, could deny Him. The following dialogue is a synopsis of promptings and conversations I have had with God over the past several months, along with my thoughts on a passage of Scripture - Matthew 7:1-5:

Dave: God, what was the deal with Peter?

God: Peter had a speck in his eye.

Dave: A speck?

God: Yes a speck, and it caused a great deal of pain for both he and I. Do I need to remind you of how much pain a speck in the eye can cause?

Dave: No.

God: No? Is it because the plank in your eye is a constant reminder of that pain?

Dave: The plank in my eye?

God: Yeah, the plank that you have carefully hewn much of your life. You can call it a plank, a beam, or a log; in this instance I call it cynicism.

Dave: I thought we were talking about Peter.

God: Not anymore! Dave, I’m talking about you now. So pay attention. The cynical nature you have crafted over the years as a means to insulate yourself from being hurt by people spilled over into our relationship a long time ago. I find that I need to remind you that cynicism is denying the sincerity of someone’s motives or actions. You have done that with Me.

Dave: I have?


God: Remember when I told you that I take care of you?

Dave: Of course, I do. I even tell people about it.

God: Over the years, your picture and definition of being taken care of has never lined up with mine. You never questioned that you heard the promise; but you have denied my actions in and over your life as taking care of you, and you have questioned my sincerity. What about the time I needed to prompt you to pray for a miracle in your life because you didn’t believe I would perform one? You were willing to settle for far less and denied my sincere promise of wanting to bless you. Or more recently, you questioned my desire to do a supernatural specific healing in your life. What were you thinking when you heard what I was planning to do?

Dave: I thought it was theatrical and overly dramatic.

God: Again you denied the sincerity of my motives.

Dave: I guess I have denied You three times too.

God: Three times? Since I do not lie, I won’t say that I’ve lost count, because I haven’t. Let me just say that it has been many, many, many times that the “plank” of cynicism has led you to deny me. It has caused you and I a great deal of pain. I want you to let go of cynicism and believe my words, motives, and actions. I desire to teach you that honesty, truthfulness, and genuineness are the order of the day in the Kingdom, and cynicism has no place in your life.

Dave: I’m really sorry for being cynical, especially with You.

God: I know. Sometime soon, you and I are going to talk about your skepticism and sarcasm.

Dave: I sincerely believe You.

Friends, I hope you sincerely believe Him too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Beloved

After his baptism, Jesus came up out of the water, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and settling on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my dearly loved Son, who brings me great joy.” (Matthew 3:16-17)

As I read those verses recently, I thought about how awesome it would have been to be present in that moment. Wouldn’t it have been cool to hear the voice of God as He introduced His beloved son Jesus to the world? At some point in between the wondering and questioning, the still small voice of God spoke and said, “This is how I see you now. This is how I see all my children now.”

Out of that revelation I have processed the concrete truth, not just the abstract idea, that I bring great joy to the Creator of the universe. The very same One who brings everything into existence out of nothing, through His voice and Word, has called me a dearly loved (beloved) child of His. My spirit has moved from believing I heard those words to believing the words I heard, and more importantly, believing the Father who spoke those words.

I also believe that the accuser will come to me and attempt to plant doubts. That’s what the evil one does. His oldest questions, first asked in the Garden of Eden, will be pulled out of his bag of crud. Maybe they will get dusted off, maybe not; but the questions will come none-the-less, and they are these:

Did God really say that? Do you believe Him? (my paraphrase from Genesis 3:1-4)

To which, in the power of the Holy Spirit, I will reply, “Yes! I am dearly loved of God and I bring him great joy. I do not always understand how I bring Him joy or why He loves me, but He most certainly said it and I believe God! That settles it for me. Now get out of here, Satan!”

Beloved, that is how God now sees those who are in Christ, and that is how our joy-filled Father introduces His children to the world. That makes me smile. I hope you’re smiling too.

Grace to you.

David Paukner

A Good Gift

But now you must be holy in everything you do, just as God who chose you is holy. For the scriptures say, “You must be holy, because I am holy.” (1 Peter 1:15-16)

I have wrestled with these verses for years because I had the misunderstanding that God had the expectation that it was within my ability to be holy. Whether I read the verse or I heard it being read aloud, I placed an emphasis on the “YOU MUST” part. I was disheartened about it all since I knew that I couldn’t be holy. No matter how badly I wanted to be or hard I willed it to be, being holy was impossible for me. Being holy was as improbable for me as it was for me to keep God’s law perfectly. I failed before I even got started. Part of me was fine with that because I didn’t want to be a “holy roller” anyway, and people who are “holier than thou” aren’t very attractive either. So I just resigned myself to living in God’s grace, and that would be enough for me. The amazing thing was that it wasn’t acceptable to God that I would settle for less than what He desired for the both of us.

God spoke to me and said, “Just because I said you must, doesn’t mean that you can.” God continued saying, “I am holy. In fact, I am Holy, Holy, Holy, and I want you to know that my desire is to be with you always. In order for that to happen, you too, must be holy. I know, as you know, that you can’t be holy of your own accord. That’s one of the many reasons why I gave you the gift of my Holy Spirit. The gift of holiness (made possible through Christ’s sacrifice) was not meant for you to seem or to act superior to others. Its only purpose is so that you and I can be together in everything you do. It is so you and I can be one. I love you that much!”

Holiness - just like salvation, grace, and faith - is a good gift from our Heavenly Father. It is a good gift meant to be accepted, opened, and enjoyed. I had never thought of it that way before. I’m glad God cleared that up for me. I hope He has cleared that up for you too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Skunks, Ticks, and Crabgrass

Skunks are the new raccoons. It used to be that every road in the county was littered with what used to be a raccoon in one form or another. Lately though, the local highways and by-ways have been decorated with skunks, or more accurately, what used to be a skunk. This past summer the evening air was giving hints that the skunk population was growing, but I had hoped my nose was sending false alarms. I hadn’t seen a skunk in the wild for about six years, but their increased presence became undeniable after noticing the striped lane markings were more than just white paint. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but a skunk/vehicle collision sets off a chemical chain reaction that turns the normally bad scent of a skunk into a weapon of mass di-stink-tion. The resultant carnage is so offensive that even the bottom-feeders wait weeks before going to dine and dash. That’s gross!

And speaking of gross, let’s consider the tick - wood or deer - you take your pick. Both were more abundant this past year than in all my previous years here combined. I thought the cold evenings we’ve recently been experiencing would be the end of them, but I was wrong. Just yesterday while petting the dog, my hand brushed over several large raisins stuck in her fur – only they weren’t raisins. They were a couple of ticks two sips away from bursting. That’s nasty! If you’re still reading and wondering what I did after my discovery, I reminded the kids they needed to brush the dog, waited for the groans of disgust, and then went to pull crabgrass out of the lawn.

Crabgrass is an ugly and destructive weed that spreads out from a very small root structure, robbing the adjacent grass of light and water. I wound up pulling and popping out the crabgrass by hand, because the name-brand crabgrass killer I applied to the lawn (twice) had acted more as a fertilizer. The resultant crop of weeds threatened to undo most of the lawn I had just planted this past spring.

After several wheelbarrows of weeds had been pulled, I started to wonder if crabgrass was skunk food, or if there was any link between the weeds and the ticks, or the ticks and the skunks. I wondered what was going on that there were so many skunks, ticks, and weeds this year. Were there really more than usual, or was I just noticing them more because I had somehow become fixated on them? It was a little bit of both.

There is no doubt that there were more noxious pests and weeds this year than in years past, and the more I set my sights on them, the more they seemed to increase. My visual acuity for spying skunks, ticks, and crabgrass grew by the day. I could spot a tick on a skunk eating crabgrass two hundred yards away. It was as if they and their ilk were everywhere and would soon overrun the world. That’s a wee bit dramatic, I know; but the point is that amidst the beauty of dancing trees, alongside the splendor-filled fields, and beneath the glory of the rising and setting sun, ugliness is seen as well. Seeing the contrast between beauty and ugliness with our natural eyes is often startling and unpleasant, but the contrast between the two is even more startling when it involves God-blessed vision.

One might think that God-blessed eyes only see the good, sacred, and holy; but when God gives spiritual sight to His children, we still see everything. If we think that God-blessed vision involves “rose-colored” corrective lenses, we will be startled, frightened, and even confused by what we see. Eyes that really see do not just see the majesty of God. They also see the raw, unadulterated, and ugly nature of our enemy and ourselves. When God blesses our eyes, He removes the “blinders” and “filters” that are on them, and we not only begin to see with clarity and high definition – we begin to see much more of reality than was previously possible. We begin to see the world through the eyes of God. We start to see beauty as He sees beauty, and we start to see ugliness as He sees it. We increasingly see the contrast between our heavenly Father and the evil one, and yes, between our heavenly Father and ourselves.

Given that God does not prevent us from seeing true evil and ugliness, it is important to know that He doesn’t require or want us to dwell on it. Instead, God calls us to fix our new eyes on Christ and things that are in heaven.

And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise. (Phil. 4:8)

Since you have been raised to new life with Christ, set your sights on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits in the place of honor at God’s right hand. Think about things of heaven, not the things of earth. (Col. 3:1-2)

So now when I see ugly or evil through my God-blessed eyes, I just take it for what it is – ugly, really ugly. It offends me, frightens me, and angers me, yet at the same time I’m learning that God has many purposes in letting me see ugly and evil. More importantly, I’m learning to not fixate on it but to focus on Him instead. When I focus on God, I learn that He sees it as well, skunks, ticks, crabgrass, and all; and He has it under control. I hope you learn that from Him too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. (Genesis 1:1)

These were the words that were on my mind as I leaned back in my chair yesterday evening and gazed at an abundance of stars in the sky. The same words were on my mind as I drove my son to school this morning. We both admired a stunning sunrise. An orange glow hovered just above the tree tops as the fog was burning off the fields. And then on my way back from the mailbox later in the morning, the same words filled my thoughts as I watched the forest dance with the autumn breeze. Stirred by the beauty of it all, I told God I was impressed and filled with awe and wonder.

His Spirit directed my thoughts to the following verses in the Book of Job:

God stretches the northern sky over empty space and hangs the earth on nothing. He wraps the rain in His thick clouds, and the clouds don’t burst with the weight. He covers the face of the moon, shrouding it with clouds. He created the horizon when He separated the waters; He set the boundary between day and night. The foundations of heaven tremble; they shudder at His rebuke. By His power the sea grew calm. By His skill He crushed the great sea monster. His Spirit made the heavens beautiful, and His power pierced the gliding serpent. These are just the beginning of all that He does, merely a whisper of His power. Who, then, can comprehend the thunder of His power? (Job 26:7-14)

After reading those verses, it was as if God had just told me, “Dave, thanks, but you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” Friends, He just told you that too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Ethnic Food

In our “world market” society, we are no longer bound to eat what we can grow locally. We can eat a wide variety of different foods and dishes from cultures and regions all over the world. Not far from the doors of our homes are markets and restaurants selling and serving ingredients and meals from a variety of different cultures. Are you hungry for Italian food? How about African, Mexican or Greek food? What about Asian and all of its sub-groups – Chinese, Japanese, Korean, etc.? Let’s not leave out European and Middle-eastern foods; they’re tasty and readily available also.

No matter which people-group or subgroup you choose, every culture has some staple food and spice combination that is unique and identifying to itself. The basic food or foods around which all the local recipes evolved were those foods that were readily produced or commonly found in abundance where each group of people established their original communities. If a group of people lived by the sea, fish was a large part of their diet; likewise, if a community “put down roots” in a region where the climate and soil were conducive to agriculture, then breads and noodles became a central part of their meals. Depending on the fertility of the region, various local oils, and spices were combined with the regional staples creating the distinct flavors and recipes we now commonly label as “foreign” or ethnic food.

Did you know that there is also a distinct and flavorful food found in the Kingdom of God? Jesus talked about it as He taught His disciples about prayer (Luke 11:1-13). In what is commonly known as the Lord’s prayer, Jesus told us to ask our heavenly Father for the food we need each day, or as it is more traditionally translated, to ask for our daily bread. Normally this is taken to mean physical food, which our heavenly Father does provide. Thank you, Lord! However, Jesus pointed to a greater need and provision for the disciples (us) in His teaching. In verses eleven through thirteen, Jesus compares food given to children by earthly fathers, with the Holy Spirit given to us by our heavenly Father. The inference is that the Holy Spirit is food; it is the food we need - our daily bread! The Holy Spirit is the sustenance, the food, and the fuel in the Kingdom of God. The Holy Spirit fills the body of believers with a banquet of distinct and unique flavors.

In the “world market,” the Christian community has true “foreign” food. God has made it so that the different people-groups no longer need to feed upon their worldly grown food alone. Through Christ, our heavenly Father’s unique and wonderful Kingdom meal is available to everyone, but before I can go “selling and serving” His supernatural ethnic food to the nations, I need to first ask for it myself and fill up on it daily. I find that really savory. I hope you do too.

Bon Appetit and Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Partial Credit

Goose eggs are fine if you are whipping up an omelet, but they are not a welcome sight on an engineering exam. The large zero written next to an answer on my exam was quite startling to me, since I had been confident that I had aced that test. Pouring over that particular question once again, I could not find any reason for the low mark. The methodology I had used to arrive at the answer was correct, so I decided to make an appointment with the professor in order to discuss his grading.

The professor was meticulous, fastidious, and very intimidating; and as I waited to be called into his office, none of that mattered. I was sure he had made an honest mistake during the wee hours of the morning while grading the exams, and he would no doubt make the necessary corrections as soon as he had the chance to see my paper again. For some reason I had expected his demeanor to be more affable in person, but I was wrong. He was even gruffer in his professorial cubicle than in front of the class. He knew the reason for my visit, and he did not appreciate the notion that I thought he had made a mistake.

He motioned to me to begin my argument for a higher score. So using a new number two pencil as a pointer (I dared not use my index finger), I proceeded to show him, step by step, that my method and logic for solving the problem were flawless. As the tip of my pencil rested on the answer, I felt that I had just hit a home run. I looked up so I could bask in the glory of watching his head nod in the affirmative. Instead, I saw his eyes roll back, and his head move from side to side with ever-increasing speed and force. His body language was accompanied by the following words, “You started your answer with the wrong data!” My heart sank, my mouth dried, and my eyes became affixed to the first step in my solution. He was right! I had used the wrong value from a book of a million numbers to begin solving the problem. My method and logic were correct, but the answer was based on incorrect data and thus it was wrong!

I began to argue for partial credit, since everything but the beginning and the end of the problem was correct. Mid-way through my dry mouthed pleading, he cut me off. Sternly he said, “An error like this could hurt or kill someone. If you would like to continue arguing, I’ll start deducting points from the other problems on the test.” While pointing toward the door with his index finger, he continued saying, “I suggest you leave while you are ahead.” I mumbled a thank you and left his office with no additional points, but with this invaluable lesson:

Logic and flawless methodology in the absence of correct data is dangerous.

I have recently read some articles focused on thinking, logic, methodology, and intellectual tradition in the church. They presented the idea that the church has been neglectful, timid, or even hostile toward critical thinking and intellect. In one book review a person is quoted as saying, “The church is perishing today through the lack of thinking, not through an excess of it.” I suspect that if the authors of those certain articles would make an appointment with God to discuss the matter in greater detail, they might have an experience similar to the one I had with my engineering professor.

After laying out their argument for the importance of critical thinking, intellectual tradition, and the role these play in the church, God would tell them that He himself enjoys and values critical thinking, logic, flawless methodology, and intellectual tradition as much as they do, especially since He is the source of it. He would remind them that regardless of the intelligence of their words, no matter how clever their arguments and lofty their thoughts might be, not starting in the proper place would lead them further into dangerous territory. God would then point His finger, not at the exit door, but toward Jesus. He would tell them that unless the starting point is in Jesus, they have started with the wrong value, only to end with a wrong answer – an error like that could hurt or even kill someone’s soul! They would not get partial credit, but hopefully they would have learned the following lesson:

Critical thinking, logic, methodology, and intellectual tradition in the absence of the TRUTH are dangerous!

Jesus is the way, the truth and the life (John14: 6). The fear of the Lord is the foundation of true knowledge (Proverbs 1:7). Jesus initiates and perfects our faith. (Hebrews 12:2). Jesus is the first and the last. (Revelation 1:17).

The correct solution begins and ends with Jesus, and the results are guaranteed by God. Knowing this, I don’t have to be concerned with partial credit. I hope you know that too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Withered

My long driveway is proving to be quite an interesting and unexpected classroom. I have started noticing that the subtle progression of summer to fall has begun. Yes, it’s that time of the year here in the woods, when deep shades of green begin to give way to varying hues of orange, red, yellow, gold, and brown. The leaves that proudly held their places in the trees all summer long are now being coaxed from their perches by cooler and cooler evenings. There is no sadness in any of this. On the contrary, there is a muffled exuberance in the forest which, in only a matter of a month, will burst all day long with colors that are generally reserved for sunrise and sunset. It is an art exhibit, painted by God each and every year. I am enjoying my front row seat.

As the woods give up their summer garment, all sorts of critters are exposed. I can hear and even see some of them now as they are busy foraging for the upcoming winter. As much as I enjoy summer and fall, I do look forward to winter’s arrival; I enjoy its uniqueness and purpose in God’s ever-inventive and surprising cycle of seasons. In God’s time the winter will yield to spring, a time of new life and color. Spring will be then be pushed aside by summer, and just at the right time the branches of the forest will once again be used in the Creator’s autumnal pageant. Sort of.

As it turns out, not all of the branches will be back for next year’s display.

About three weeks ago, I started pruning back some of the trees and bushes that grow along the driveway. What I thought would be a day’s work became several days work. I pruned and then cleared as I went. On my way back up to the house one day, I pruned several branches from some bush that produces inedible berries. Instead of clearing what I pruned, I just left it there with the intention of piling it up with the rest of the clippings later.

The following day on my walk to get the mail, I noticed the “berry” branches I had pruned. They lay near the bush they had once been attached to; they were still full of color and berries. Intrigued by this, I decided to see how long they would look fresh. Day after day those clippings remained healthy looking with dark green leaves and bright red berries, almost as if they never needed the bush they were a part of in the first place. Two weeks later though, I noticed that the leaves began to wilt ever so slightly. A week after that, the branches had looked like what I had expected to see originally; I finally saw dried leaves, twigs, and shriveled berries testifying to the reality of being separated from their source of life. They were withered and lifeless. Whatever willpower, momentum, or sheer determination they contained, it was not enough. It was only a matter of a few weeks before the consequences of their separation became visibly evident. The truth is, even though they had the appearance that they were healthy apart from the main branches, they began to starve as soon as they were removed from the bush. For them, death was an unpleasant inevitability. They will not be back for next year’s parade of colors. Instead, they will be burned some time this winter.

My observation of those branches along the driveway parallels a truth in my life. Jesus speaks of this truth plainly in the 15th chapter of the Gospel of John. He is the true vine and source of real life, and I am one of the branches. I must stay connected to Him. Apart from Him, I might have the appearance of being normal, vibrant and full of life, but I would be starving to death, both physically and spiritually. My willpower, my momentum, or my own sheer determination would sustain me only briefly. In human time, I might last years or even decades. In relation to eternity, it would be frighteningly fleeting. Not only that, my so called “life” would be one moment after another gasping for air, water, and purpose. I would have no hope.

The reality is, apart from Jesus, I can do nothing; and in the end I would wind up just like those branches along my driveway. I might look good for awhile, but in no time at all I would become withered and die. You would too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Father Knows Best

Several years ago at a church I used to attend, I was privileged to have been asked to offer a corporate prayer in the Sunday services. Leading up to that weekend, I spent the better part of my days with God, seeking what He wanted me to pray. Following church that day, a prominent ministry leader made a point of finding me to tell me, “Your prayer was too short! The pastor should have asked my dad to pray. My dad knows how to pray.” My reply to her was even more compact than the prayer. I asked her, “Did you hear what I prayed?” Her lips said, “Yes,” but her body language gave away that she thought it was a bad prayer.

Looking back on that experience, I realize that I had, in fact, asked my Dad for the words to pray, and my Dad (Abba, Father) knows how to pray! That morning I didn’t speak pompous religious words and phrases at great length; I spoke the words God gave me for that appointed time. They were His power filled words. It was a prayer for God to cause us to lay our burdens down at His feet as an act of worship, and not as an act of desperation. God was not only faithful to give the words of prayer; He was also faithful to answer the prayer – lives were changed.

I asked God to give me words to speak today, and these are the words He gave me:

Speak Lord, I’m listening. Take me beyond just recognizing your voice God, and give me the ability to truly listen to your words.

This prayer is a short one also, and if they were my words it would probably be a bad prayer. However, these are the words God gave me to share. I’m expecting them to change my life. I’m expecting them to change your life too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Whose Love is it Anyway?

At a recent parade, I was informed that it was cool to be a Christian. A float that approached had a large banner from front to back that declared, “ IT’S COOL TO BE A CHRISTIAN.” That struck me as odd because as long as I’ve been a Christian, I have never thought of my walk with God as being cool – counter-cultural, maybe – but never cool. Some people walking alongside the float carried posters with the word “COOL” on them. Even with the slight breeze I felt as I sat in the shade on a hot summer afternoon, I still didn’t feel cool. Then I noticed that the hand-held posters had more writing revealing “COOL” as an acronym for – Carrying Out Our Love. Can I be honest with you? It turned me off, and I didn’t find any of them cool. I was Cringing Over Others Love.

I really had to ask myself why other Christian brothers and sisters declaring their love for others would make me cringe? After all, isn’t that one of the most important commandments? Aren’t we supposed to love our neighbors? The answer is yes; we are not only supposed to love the Lord our God with all of our heart, with all of our soul, and with all our mind, but we are supposed to love our neighbors as ourselves also. So I had to ask myself, “Isn’t that what they were doing? Weren’t they just loving others? What was my problem?”

My problem is that their love, our love, and my love is human, and human love - if we can even call it love - is born in the human heart. God tells us plainly and without reservation that the human heart is the most deceitful of all things and desperately wicked. It is so bad that only God can really understand the depths of its deception (Jeremiah 17:9-10). Love birthed in the human heart is naturally self-centered. It is a covering for fear and pride; its goal is self-aggrandizement, self-preservation, and self-appeasement.

Natural love, which is:
their love,
our love,
and my love,
is wholly and utterly incapable of loving others.

If not natural love, then what kind of love is God talking about when He commands us to love others? Jesus explained it to His disciples at the Last Supper. In the upper room He gave them, as well as us, a new commandment. He said, “Love each other.” (What? That doesn’t sound new at all, does it?) However, He then went much further and said, “Just as I have loved you, you should love each other.” Jesus commands us to love each other with His love, not with our love. The love He is talking about is the love that is born in the Father’s heart, not ours. It will be proof that we are His disciples when we are carrying out His love (John 13: 34-35). The love that Christ modeled to us from the Father’s heart is perfect and without deception. It has no ulterior motive, and it is freely given so that it can be carried to others.

God’s supernatural and perfect love for others is a gift of the Holy Spirit (Col. 1:8). This reminds me that the love I have for others is a good gift from God, and that any love for others from my human heart is a deception. It is only with God’s love that I can love obediently. It is only His love that truly and unconditionally loves others. So before I pen any of my own “clever” acronyms about my Christian walk, regardless of how “good” my intentions might be, I need to ask myself, “Whose love is it anyway?” I hope you ask yourself beforehand too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Forty-five Candles

A mother holds a newborn close to her side and gazes at her child with awe, wonder, and thanksgiving. She is bonding with the child she had waited quite some time to hold. The moment is special because in her not-so-distant past she feared she could not have a child. All of those thoughts that haunted her are washed away, replaced with thoughts now directed toward her and her family’s future. Flooded with emotion, she prays. She thanks God for His generosity and faithfulness. Filled with the knowledge that her child will not be able to prevail under his own strength, she slowly lifts the child toward heaven and asks for God’s protection, and dedicates her son to the Lord that he would be used as God sees fit.

Though the scene described above has many similar details to the account of Hannah (1 Samuel 1 & 2), it is not. This story took place 45 years ago today in what was, at that time, a modern medical facility. Against the conventional wisdom of the era, the young mother was prompted to entrust her child first to God and then to the doctors. Soon after the mother prayed, her infant son was taken to a large nursery with many other children, and the new mom went to sleep with the assurance that God would be faithful to her prayer and protect her child.

Maybe by now you have figured out that I’m the child in the story, and that today I’m 45 years old. To some of you that seems ancient, and all I can say is, “Wait, your time will come.” If you happen to think that 45 is young from your perspective, all I can say is, “You are incredibly brilliant, wise, gifted, and above all else, honest!” Speaking of honesty, I know that a birthday cake with 45 lit candles looks more like a multiple alarm fire at a wax factory than like a dessert, but I’m looking forward to it because it’s fun. I’ve also been somewhat contemplative about this birthday. In many ways I’m surprised that I’ve been blessed with so many birthdays, considering some of the bad choices I’ve made over the years. But then I’m not surprised, because God has indeed been faithful to my mom’s prayer on my first day.

Lately, and especially today, God has reminded me of a passage from the Gospel of John involving Jesus and a breakfast at the seashore (John 21:1-14). There is a seemingly small detail in the story that stands out quite boldly to me today. Jesus is sitting by a fire of coals with fish and bread already laid on it when the disciples meet him at the shore after a night of fishing. It takes time for good coals to develop for a cooking fire – the implication is that Jesus has been there for some time preparing a meal and watching over the disciples. Though they reverted to their old life of commercial fishing (a bad choice), Jesus was there all along with the intent of feeding and taking care of those who were His. Even though the disciples were unaware of His presence while they fished unsuccessfully, He was aware of their presence and their hunger. Right now I am humbled by His faithfulness and overwhelmed at how little I comprehend His generosity; because not only was Jesus at the shore for those first disciples, He has also been at the figurative seashore of each of my bad choices, waiting for me to recognize Him and waiting to feed me, correct me, and use me.

Today, knowing that God stirred my mom to pray for me in my first hour, it is hard to miss that the prayer He placed in her heart was the best birthday gift I have ever received and the best gift she could ever give. So today, as I prepare to blow out forty-five candles, my wish and prayer is that you recognize Christ on whatever shore you find yourself. I pray that you eat the best meal you have ever had, with Jesus, at a fire that He lit long before you were born, and that He use you in His most extraordinary way. Even if today isn’t your birthday - Happy Birthday to you too!

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Be Still

This last week God was quiet in my life – not inactive or uninvolved – just quiet. I noticed the quiet after a friend encouraged me to continue listening to the still small voice of God. I’m glad for that encouragement, because at times I can misinterpret “quietness” for inactivity or disinterest. God is always at work holding all creation together, so I’m confessing that He used the quiet to once again speak the words Be still and know that I am God into my life. It is a simple message that, when obeyed, radically changes a person’s life.

I’m sensing today that God is actually calling all of us to be still and know that He is God. If you find yourself in the fire, be still. If it seems you are not doing much, or God is not using you, be still. If you sense that you are in His presence, yet you do not hear His voice, be still.

If you find that you have difficulty being still at times (just as I do), ask and God will provide you the strength you need to withstand the heat, the patience you need in your season of preparation, and the ability to hear Him in the quiet moments of your life. It is in the stillness that we are blessed with being refined, prepared for His service, and protected in His presence. Better yet, we are also blessed with knowing Him deeper and more intimately. God is so serious about this that He will give you an entire church to stand by your side as you are refined, He will place people in your life to help you live through and enjoy your season of preparation, and He will give you a friend to remind you to hear His still small voice too.

As always, Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Morning Coffee

I’m not much of a coffee drinker, though I do enjoy about a dozen cups per year. One of my earliest forays into the coffee world involved industrial strength coffee from a construction site breakfast wagon. After my first sip, I spent the rest of that morning discreetly pouring half of the cup of “mud” onto the ground. If memory serves me right, that spot became an instant parking lot. The reason I even had a cup of coffee that morning was because I was told that it was just part of the whole construction site routine. Everyone had to have a cup of morning coffee; you weren’t a man if you abstained. To this day, I strongly suspect there were only a few who liked the coffee, but rather most everyone, if not all, enjoyed the storytelling that accompanied the routine of breakfast wagon coffee.

This morning, I went to coffee and sat around a table with family and visited for an hour or so. I drank two of my twelve cups of coffee for the year, and heard some fun stories. As much as everyone jokes about the coffee, it was good, but again, it’s not really the coffee that brings everyone together – it’s not even the donuts and cookies. It’s the visiting that makes morning coffee fun. The stories shared over coffee give me a little more insight into the storyteller – I get to know them better. I find out more about what they like and what they don’t like; their stories and how they are told reveals details about what makes each person tick. I learn about what they value, or how their values might have changed over time, or even what might have changed those values. It seems that as long as the coffee is brewing, there are stories percolating, and both are poured liberally.

For a little over a year now, I have had virtual morning coffee with a whole host of people through the “Northwoods Musings” devotional and blog. I have enjoyed it very much, though lately I have found myself longing for something, and that something is your stories. Sharing your story might be difficult for you - just like drinking my first cup of construction site coffee was - but that coffee was much more than an early morning eye-opener. It was an invitation into a fellowship that greatly increased my knowledge of the people who worked in the construction trades. It was a knowledge that still serves me well today in my practice of architecture. Morning coffee opened up opportunities I never knew existed. Just as “coffee” opens up opportunities for sharing stories, stories open up opportunities to share our lives.

No one knows this better than God. He encourages believers to be ready to give reasons for our Christian hope (1 Peter 3:15b). The “reasons” we have are born in the stories that make up our lives. They are testimonies for those who are not walking with Christ, and they are encouragements to those already walking with Him. The apostle Paul was uplifted and filled with joy at the news of what God had been doing in the lives of the believers in the early church (Colossians 1:3-5). I have no doubt that God is active in each of your lives, and that He is conforming you into the image of Christ, so I’m extending an open invitation for you to share what God has been doing in your life. It’s a way for me to get to know you better - after all, we are family. So stop me if you see me, drop a note, send an email, or pick up a phone and call. Hearing about what God has been doing with you, and through you, will be good for me. It will be good for you too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Inside Out and Backwards

I spent the better part of last week working on one of my lower level bedrooms - it was my small version of “Extreme Home Makeover.” Water, leaking in through a foundation crack, had caused a fair amount of rot, requiring part of a wall to be re-built. The carpet padding also needed to be replaced after having gone through numerous wet-dry cycles. I knew before I started that the work was not going to be limited to just the wall and flooring. As long as I was going to have to paint the repaired wall, I might as well paint the ceiling; and if I was painting the ceiling, I should remove the ceiling speaker that has never worked, and so on and so on. I had all the material I needed except for the carpet padding, which I planned on buying later while the freshly painted ceiling dried. While prepping to paint, I turned my t-shirt inside out in case paint splattered on it. When the painting was done, I cleaned up the paint roller and I was off to the store.

In the carpeting department at the local “Lumber-rama,” an employee noticed me intently looking for something, so he approached and asked, “Can I help you?” I turned around and told him I was looking for carpet padding. He asked, “What thickness?” I hadn’t brought a sample piece, and at that moment my mind went blank and I couldn’t answer. As I stood there trying to figure out what thickness of padding I needed, I noticed that the guy helping me had a strange look on his face. I called home and asked my daughter to run out to the garage and measure the thickness of the old padding, then I small-talked with the carpet guy while we waited for her to relay the answer. She did well, and once I knew the thickness needed, two younger employees lowered the roll of goods from the tallest shelf in the store. I thanked them all and carted my padding through the store. I said hello to everyone I passed along the way, and finally a big thanks to the cashier who rang up my purchase.

I was grateful that my daughter was able to help, so when I got home I thanked her. But instead of her saying “You’re welcome,” she just gave me a funny look, and in an incredulous tone asked, “Did you go to the store looking like that?” I normally don’t wear a baseball cap, but this time I did. Was it the hat? Laughing, she said, “Not your hat - it’s your shirt! It’s inside out and backwards!” I looked down at the dark t-shirt I was wearing, and the white tag gleamed brilliantly under my chin – my shirt was indeed inside out and backwards. I had forgotten to switch it around when I went to the store! Now, all of the strange looks I had received as I greeted people made perfect sense. As I looked in a mirror, the white tag against the dark shirt reminded me of a cleric’s collar, but there are no cleric’s collars with printed washing and care instructions on them. It was just goofy. I couldn’t help but bust out laughing as well.

A week later, I’m still laughing, but I do wish I had been clued in about my shirt. Something that still sticks in my mind regarding my “fashion statement” is that no one I encountered said anything to me about it. I walked through a large store and passed dozens of people and no one said, “What’s with the shirt?” Is it because there’s a well accepted practice of not pointing things out to people, (especially weirdoes who wear their shirts inside out and backwards)? Or is it just that we’ve all become accustomed to non-traditional fashion statements - to each their own, right? Most probably it boiled down to a lack of familiarity; no doubt it would be uncomfortable for each of us to point out such fashion misdeeds to someone we didn’t know. In truth, all of the above come into play in a situation such as I had. Hopefully, if some one I knew had seen me, he would have gently and humbly told me my shirt was inside out and backwards.

God knows the truth of it better than any of us. Spiritually speaking, that’s why He directs us to look out for each other and for the truth. “Dear brothers and sisters, if another believer is overcome by sin, you who are godly should gently and humbly help that person back onto the right path. And be careful not to fall into the same temptation yourself.” (Gal. 6:1)

It is not God’s intention that we become “fashion” police, but it is His intention that we care and love each other enough that we would not ignore it if we notice a brother or sister in Christ walking off the path of obedience. He also tells us to be careful not to become accustomed to non-traditional “fashions,” making it difficult to know what the path of obedience actually looks like and walking off of it ourselves. So, if you see me walking around inside out and backwards, off the path of obedience, I hope you will gently and humbly tell me. God and I want you to do that. I hope you want that too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Costume Party

The kids’ aisle in a novelty shop from my childhood seemed to stretch out as far as the horizon, and its shelves seemed to touch the sky. The aisle was packed with box after box of the most marvelous costumes. The artwork on each box was so impressive and realistic that I was convinced that there were real cowboys, pirates, and astronauts in those boxes. Well not really, but more like the contents were going to transform me into an actual cowboy, pirate, or astronaut. It was terribly difficult deciding which person I wanted to be or which personality I wanted to portray. Picking out a Halloween costume was serious business. My costume would say a lot about me. After I would make my choice, I couldn’t wait to get home and pop the box open.

Each year I would snap the tape that held the top of the box and pull the top off, but instead of laughing with delight, I would let out a big sigh. The contents of the box never, and I mean never, lived up to the hype of the artwork on the box. Inside was a cheap plastic mask with an even cheaper and flimsier elastic band. The mask was paired with a large, thin plastic apron vaguely resembling the apparel of the character portrayed in the artwork. On Halloween, instead of riding through the neighborhood like a cowboy, or swashbuckling the asphalt sea like Blackbeard the Pirate, or floating weightlessly from house to house like Neil Armstrong, I fumbled, bumbled, and stumbled around wearing what looked like a giant lobster bib and a painted plastic mask.

Ironically, the mask designed to keep people from “seeing” me actually prevented me from seeing other people and most everything else. The mask had two very small peepholes for vision. They were so small they didn’t allow any peripheral vision at all, and whatever was straight ahead was just barely observable. Negotiating the sidewalk and crossing streets was incredibly dangerous. In addition to the peepholes, there was an equally small hole in the mask for breathing. The breathing hole was similarly obstructive. It was too small to allow an appropriate amount of fresh air in and way too small to let the exhausted air from my lungs escape. After breathing back in stale air and bumping into cars and lampposts, I would be forced to lift the mask so I could see and breathe. I held out as long as I could so my disguise wouldn’t be compromised. The joke was always on me. That mask and plastic apron in no way, shape, or form hid my identity from anyone. I wasn’t a cowboy, pirate, or astronaut to them. I was Dave in a silly lobster bib costume. After a few years of that, I learned why adults spent more on better, more elaborate costumes for their parties.

I thought back at how dangerous my kids costume was, but I’ve seen that adult costumes can be equally - if not more - dangerous. As each person approaches adulthood, they find themselves in an imaginary costume shop deciding who they want to be when they grow up. As a young adult, I tried on several different “costumes” and kept the ones that brought the most attention and success. I put on a persona that concealed the real me, and in the process (just like the kids costume) obstructed the real world. People could not see me, and I could not see them. Their reactions and praises for “costumed” Dave made me wonder if they would ever like the “real” Dave. I wondered if I liked the “real” Dave. I wouldn’t dare remove the mask. But the problem with leaving the mask on was the same as with the cheap plastic mask; it made it difficult to breathe. In a spiritual sense, I was filling my lungs with recycled stale air.

“You let the world, which doesn’t know the first thing about living, tell you how to live. You filled your lungs with polluted unbelief and then exhaled disobedience. We all did it, all of us doing what we felt like doing, when we felt like doing it, all of us in the same boat.” (Ephesians 2:2-3, The Message)

…all of us at the same costume party wearing a cheap mask that wouldn’t allow us to be seen, see, or breathe - doing what the “world” expected of us. The sad, funny part of it all is that though we couldn’t see each other, we were so totally exposed to God. We were just a bunch of kids bumbling, fumbling, and stumbling through life in lousy plastic aprons and masks, desperately in need of fresh air. He knew who we were, and we looked plain silly being everything but who He intended us to be. God is serious about us living out the lives He intends for us. He does not want us encouraging each other to put on costumes. Rather, He wants us to encourage each other to discover who He has made us to be.

“Direct your children onto the right path, and when they are older, they will not leave it.” (Proverbs 22:6)

It is an invitation to a party where people can be seen, see, and breathe fresh air. I’m invited, and you are too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Anniversaries

The fourth, thirteenth, fifteenth, and twenty-first days of June have special meaning to me. My life was profoundly changed on those dates - though in different years. I have marked time in some form or another with each of those days as the beginning point of a unique journey into uncharted territories. They are all anniversary dates of some sort. Some were planned, while others were not, but there is a common thread that runs through them all. The map for my life that I had sketched proved to be useless for each and every one of them.

This past June fourth, I celebrated my twentieth wedding anniversary. Twenty years ago, I made a vow to God that I would love, honor and cherish my wife through sickness and health, through good times and bad, through poor times and times of plenty, until death parted us. I was eager to make that promise, but I had no real understanding of what it meant. Sure, I had a romantic love for my bride, but it became obvious that my romantic notions were wholly inadequate in the times of sickness, the bad times, and the times of poverty. It wasn’t long into married life that I took my life map off the table and put it in my back pocket.

That map in my back pocket was shredded into tiny little pieces by two words on Wednesday, June 13th, 2001. The words were “She’s gone.” She was my mother, and gone didn’t mean a vacation – it meant she had died. She was killed instantly in an automobile accident. She was a tremendous spiritual mentor, and an amazing encourager. I had no idea how I would do life without Mom. Yet, as I stood next to her lifeless body, I experienced a peace and comfort that I had never experienced before. It was a peace and comfort that I needed to cling to over the following two days. The fifty hours that followed my mother’s death were alternated between grieving with my wife, children, and sister, and being at my dad’s bedside at the hospital. He had sustained serious injuries in the same accident, and during that time, Dad’s prognosis changed every hour. His Heart was broken at the news that his bride of nearly forty-one years had died. That coupled with the multiple significant injuries he suffered in the accident was just too much to overcome. On Friday, June 15th, 2001, as I knelt at the side of a hospital bed holding my dad’s badly swollen arm, he died.

In a matter of a couple of days, I had gone from discussing paint colors with clients to planning a double funeral with my wife, my sister, and my brother-in-law. I was in completely foreign territory. I liken it to a person who has been blindfolded and dropped off at an undisclosed location. I had no sense of bearing and no idea in which direction to take the first step that day, let alone the following weeks and months. Life was dramatically different.

This June 21st was the one-year anniversary of moving my family from Illinois to Wisconsin. It has been a journey of leaving family, church, friends, and my job. For my wife it has been a homecoming; for me it has been a trip into the unknown. My life map that had been shredded years earlier hadn’t been put in the trash. I had saved all of the pieces in a bag, so to speak. Over the last year I have tried to put them together in puzzle fashion, salvaging the parts that I thought were good. Well, let’s just put it this way: they have been burned up. It seems that the ideas I had for my life have gone up in smoke…which leads me back to that common thread that runs through all these dates for me.

One thing I’ve learned through these experiences is that life is unpredictable and my plans unreliable. I have also learned that these dates are anniversaries for lessons of trust that God placed before me. God’s grace is the reason for twenty years of marriage, and - Lord willing - many more. It was He that spoke peace and comfort into my life when it was turned upside down when my parents were killed. He provided everything I needed to navigate through those days and times that followed. It was He that called me to move, and it is He that is providing a larger life for me – a life much larger than I dared chart for myself.

God has been showing me that even when I came to realize that He was in control and His plans were best, I was still guilty of holding onto my plans in one form or another. But, if my map was in my back pocket, He shredded it. If I salvaged some pieces of it from a bag, He burned them up. These anniversary dates remind me of how serious God is about having me trust Him – trusting Him at a level profoundly deeper than I have trusted Him before. He wants me to trust Him completely. He wants you to trust Him that way too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Take Off Your Shoes

Over the past three days, I toured twenty-four very different new homes. My feet are tired and my head is reeling with hundreds of ideas for my home. The ideas range from painting a few rooms to demolishing the place and starting over from scratch. My heart is leaning toward demo, but my mind and budget are leaning toward paint. As conflicted as I am about all these new ideas for my place, I’m still glad that I went on the Parade of Homes.

It was the first time I went on such a tour, so as I arrived at the first home I was surprised that I was required to put surgical booties over my shoes, or take off my shoes and put surgical booties over my socks before I entered the home. Still, it made perfect sense to cover my shoes or socks to prevent tracking in any dust and dirt that might damage the new floors. The floors were not only new, they were without blemish. They also belonged to somebody else. In most cases, the homes I toured had been sold and the owners would be moving in shortly after the Parade of Homes was over. Putting booties over my shoes was not only good protocol for the protection of someone else’s property, it was also a sign of respect for the homeowner. Though I was invited to take a tour, the dress code for my feet was a subtle reminder that I was not entitled to the same privileges as the owner. I was a guest; I wasn’t family, and I couldn’t kick my feet up in the way I would in my own home. I was allowed to become familiar with their home, but not unduly familiar.

Based on the design of their home, I got a limited sense of what the owner’s are like, but I still didn’t really have a clue as to what they are really like. I’d have to actually spend time with them, not just spend time in their home. I have no doubt that were I to be invited back to any of the homes I toured, I would remove my shoes upon entering the house, or at least ask if I should. It’s what you do. The custom of removing shoes when entering a home is found in many different cultures, a practice born out of both necessity and respect.

When Moses was tending the flock of his father-in-law, he noticed a bush engulfed in flames, though it didn’t burn up. When he approached it, the Lord warned Moses, “Do not come any closer. Take off your sandals, for you are standing on holy ground. I am the God of your father – the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” (Exodus 3:2-5) Once God introduced himself, Moses covered his face because he was afraid to look at God. Moses humbled himself in the presence of the Lord.

Being humble in the presence of the Lord is both a matter of necessity and respect. The Lord’s holy and consuming fire would burn up our pride in an instant and make toast of us. He is the Lord God who deserves and is worthy of all of our respect. Even though Moses was invited into the presence of God, by God, he removed his sandals. Moses understood that in the presence of the Great I Am, shoes needed to be removed and faces hid.

It may seem to many that we are in a different season with God now, but we are not. Verses such as Hebrews 4:16 – So let us come boldly to the throne of our Gracious God. There we will receive His mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most – give the impression that God has relaxed his standards. He has not. God is still HOLY beyond anything we can imagine. What has changed is that God, by means of Christ’s blood, has made peace with everything.

So yes, God is my friend, but He’s not “Biggie G” or the “Man with the Plan.” He is and always will be the Great I Am. Yes, through Christ, God is now my Father, but He’s not my “Daddy-O.” He is my refuge, a strong and mighty tower. It is true that God has generously and without merit adopted me into His family, making Jesus my brother; but Jesus is not and never will be my “homeboy.” He is the One whom everyone in heaven and on earth, and under the earth will proclaim as Lord! And yes, I am invited by God to go boldly to His throne. But when I go to Him, I need - out of humility and respect - to take off my shoes. You do too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

The Little Red Hen

How many rugged individualists does it take to change a light bulb? The obvious answer is one.

The correct answer is more like several hundred people, maybe even several thousand. Do-it-yourself types actually believe they did it on their own. However, there were many people who laid the groundwork to make “changing the light bulb” possible. In the case of the individualist above, first there were the people who mined the sand for the glass, and others who turned the glass into a bulb. Then there were the people who made the light fixture (from raw materials someone else mined and fashioned) to screw the light bulb into. Eventually somebody either gave or sold the light bulb to him, and so on, and so on. It’s obvious that the individualist had help, but if you answered “one,” you are not alone. It was a leading question. I answered “one” as well, and rather quickly too.

What had shaped my way of thinking so that I could entertain such an answer, let alone blurt it out without pause? It was the little red hen! I was introduced and endeared to a character known as the little red hen back in pre-school. She, in the midst of a group of lazy and pre-occupied friends, accomplished many difficult chores all by herself. The hen wanted to plant some wheat and asked her friends for help. They were either too lazy or too busy to help her. In disappointment, she told them, “I’ll do it myself!” When it came time to harvest the wheat, the same scenario enfolded. She harvested by herself. She ground and milled the wheat into flour by herself, and then baked the flour into bread by herself, because her friends were still either too lazy or too “busy” with other things. Not surprisingly though, when her friends began to smell the aroma of fresh baked bread coming from her kitchen, they all offered to help her eat the bread. To such offers she replied, “No. I’ll do it myself!” From start to finish, the little red hen did it all by herself.

That story planted the belief in my mind that I could accomplish much from start to finish by myself. It was inspiring. I came to a conclusion of sorts that I could streamline the process by just skipping the part about asking for help. After all, it didn’t avail much for the hen, and history seemed full of celebrated people who only relied on themselves. The idea of self-reliance seemed normal, noble, even good; and “self-made” men and women seemed to be everywhere.

It turns out self-made people are not everywhere. The truth is, they are nowhere. Everyone is helped along the way from the beginning when God started the whole deal by creating each of us.

God had said of creation that it was either good or very good. Then shortly after God created Adam, He said, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper who is just right for him.” (Genesis 2:18) This was the first time that God declared that something was not good, and a very different reality began to take shape in my life as a result of reading those two short sentences. The implications were profound. The man whom God had made, the one He placed in the Garden of Eden to tend and watch over it, needed a helper. Adam’s need for help was not a mistake on God’s part, nor a result of a fallen world. God does not make mistakes, and the fall was yet to occur. God not only created Adam, but He created him to need help.

This truth exposed a carefully crafted pride in my life, a pride that I had been nurturing since pre-school. It was a pride further fueled by a parade of “self-made” men and women led by a little red hen, a parade that I eagerly watched and desired to march in. It was a pride constructed so I might avoid the hurt of being rejected, just like that little red hen. It became obvious that the pride I was holding onto was preventing me from experiencing a reality that God intended for me. It was a reality that involved being helped by others - others that He designed just right for me. Knowing this truth and not living it was not only “not good,” it was actually a sin (James 4:17).

Northwoods Musings is an instrument that God continues to use to teach and re-shape me. At its inception, I had the attitude that I would do the Musings myself. God, in His wisdom and unequalled generosity, gave me wonderful help - help that at first I reluctantly accepted, but could not do without. I’m grateful to those who help make my musings a reality, and I thank God for pointing out that I needed help in the first place. Sure, I knew God made me to help others. Of equal importance, I found out that He made me to be helped by others as well. He made you the same way too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

The Bigger Picture

Years ago while visiting a Frank Lloyd Wright designed home in Buffalo, New York, the tour guide told our group that he collected Frank Lloyd Wright hate mail. That stunned us because Wright home docents usually fawned over the man and his work, as if he were perfect. Yet for posterity, this fellow spent many years collecting and preserving letters between Wright and his clients that were generally of a less than pleasant nature. He went on to share a story about two unmarried sisters and Frank Lloyd Wright.

The sisters commissioned Wright to design a residence, its furnishings, light fixtures, china, flatware and even the linens. They wanted him to design everything down to the smallest detail. He did, and he did it very well. They were completely satisfied with his work. If you’re wondering where the hate mail comes in, I’m getting to it. Years after the project was finished, Frank Lloyd Wright paid the sisters a visit. He often visited clients, but not so much to see them; he was bad with his money, and would “visit” his former clients and attempt to persuade them to pay him more money since he had somehow undercharged them for his services the first time around. However, this particular visit didn’t sour because of money.

Upon arriving and walking through the house, Wright noticed that everything was in the exact same spot he had placed it years earlier. The building he had designed as a home for the two sisters was being kept like a museum. Incensed by this, he picked up an ashtray (which of course he designed) and slammed it down onto the coffee table in the living room, leaving a Frank Lloyd Wright designed gouge in the once pristine table. He then proceeded to tell the two horrified sisters, “This house was designed to be lived in! It should look like it.” In his eccentric and unique way, the man who had designed every aspect of the house down to the smallest of details was pointing out that the two sisters had missed the bigger picture. The bigger picture was that they were supposed to enjoy and live in their house – make it a home. It was never intended to be a museum; that’s what the Guggenheim was for in New York City. In return, the sisters, through their lawyers, pointed out the bigger picture to Wright as well. Thou shalt not damage a Frank Lloyd Wright designed coffee table, even if you’re Frank Lloyd Wright. Wright was required to make restitution and buy them a new coffee table for their personal museum.

It is not unusual for people to cherish things that are special, particularly things that are crafted with such skill and care; but there is an inherent danger of becoming fixated on the smallest of details and missing the bigger picture. We often fail to use the “special” because we are focused on it, rather than what it was designed for in the first place. Unfortunately, the same can be said of spiritual gifts and the church. God has carefully crafted and given spiritual gifts to every believer. He has created each of us uniquely beyond anything we can fathom, and He paid the highest of prices to redeem us and make the Church. God has been involved with and cares about each of us to the very smallest of details. As a result of the greatest of prices, He has been able to give us good gifts. That’s awesome and we should never forget that. We should respect and prize these gifts, but more importantly, we are supposed to use them (1 Peter 10-11). Like the two sisters (all prim and proper) advising each other to be careful not to dent, ding, or damage Mr. Wright’s work, the Church is often all prim, proper, and stiff so as to not ding, dent or damage God’s work. Both miss the point.

If you are a teacher, ask yourself, “Do I love teaching more than the people I teach?” If you have the gift of prophecy, ask yourself, “Do I love the message more than the people whom God wants to hear the message?” If you are a pastor or an elder, ask yourself, “Am I more concerned about the institution than the people God is bringing into the Church?” If you have the gift of administration, ask yourself, “Am I more interested in order than the people stepping up and using their gifts, especially because there might be some dings, dents, and messes?” Every detail of God’s work is beautiful, yet I can see Him denting the “coffee table” or, for that matter, the Church if we miss the bigger picture. The bigger picture is simply this: we are not supposed to love the gift more than the Giver, and we are not supposed to love “the Church” more than the people who are the Church.

The Church and the gifts God gives are opportunities for me to love God and love others, as He loves me. They are opportunities for you too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

Joy Ride

Now that my boys are older, they can ride their bikes to meet their friends at the tennis courts. It’s a big deal for them and a big deal for me. I don’t have to drive them and they get to spread their “wings” a bit. I experienced something similar when my family moved from Chicago to one of the remote southern suburbs. I was about their age, and I was permitted to ride my bike and explore my new community. It was as if some invisible tether my parents held had been let out – way out. I went on bike rides just for the fun of it. There were times I didn’t have a destination in mind; it was just a joy ride.

Now as a parent I am both excited and nervous to be letting out the tether for my children. I’ve been excited because I have always felt that Chippewa Falls is the kind of place that makes letting out that “tether” somewhat easier. I’m a little nervous because I know that I did some stupid things on my adventures, and I’m pretty sure they will also; but it is time for them to go out on their own joy rides and discover their new home and community. I want them to experience to the fullest what God has prepared for them here.

Experiencing things to the fullest doesn’t only include the fun and exciting moments. It also includes the unexpected and ugly moments. My family experienced an ugly moment today. My oldest son’s bike was stolen as he played tennis at the high school courts with his brother. No physical harm was done, but inside we are all a bit sore. I am deeply saddened that the community I live in is less safe than I envisioned. Chippewa Falls got a bit dirtier today. In addition to my son’s bike being stolen, the “spiritual bike” I’ve been joy-riding here has been stolen from me as well. If I get the chance to speak to the offender, I just want to ask, “What were you thinking? Do you realize that you made this special place less so?” I want to tell him or her that the one act of selfishness on their part not only hurt my son and family, but it wounded an entire community.

I can just hear the person’s reply, “Dude, Chill out! It’s only a bike; don’t make a federal case out of it.” Actually, I can hear a lot of people saying that – only it goes like this: “Hey High and Mighty Dude! Chill out. It’s only a bite; don’t make a universal case out of it.” By the way, I’m not talking about bikes anymore. I’m referring to the way many people react to the consequences resulting from Adam and Eve’s act of selfishness in the Garden of Eden. Many people believe that God overreacted to the sin of disobedience. He didn’t. Sin is ugly and far more damaging than any of us can imagine. In Genesis 3:13 God asked Eve, (not for His benefit, but for hers), “What have you done?” Adam and Eve failed to see that their “one bite” brought sin into the world, and death spread to everyone (Romans 5:12). Because of the sin, even the ground was cursed; creation was wounded (Genesis 3:17).

If that’s where this story ends, it would be a huge disappointment, but it’s not where it ends. God pointed me to the following passages of Scripture:

“Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory. We can rejoice too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment…” (Romans 5:1-5)

“Against it’s will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse. But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay.” (Romans 8:20-21)

God made a wonderful way for everything to be restored. So I sincerely hope and pray that the person who stole the bike comes to know Christ as their Lord and Savior and allows the Holy Spirit to guide their life, instead of following their sinful nature. I would also like my son’s bike returned, but more importantly, I am not waiting for my “spiritual bike” to be returned. I am, by the authority of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit, taking back what God has given me. I’m taking back my “spiritual bike” which was stolen by the devil. It belongs to me, not him!

I have a joy ride to get back to. You do too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner

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

Isolated

Who wouldn’t like to hear the words, “You’ve won a trip to Florida, all expenses paid!”? My phone rang one evening, and after answering the call, those were the exact words I heard. The caller proceeded to tell me there were only a few conditions I needed to comply with in order to claim the prize. He had my attention. First, my wife, my checkbook, and I needed to attend a brief presentation by a travel club representative; second, at the end of the presentation, I would need to draw the winning ticket from the winner’s barrel. “Oh, that’s the catch!,” I said suspiciously. The caller assured me that my odds of claiming the prize I had won was 1 in 15, since I would be drawing for the winning ticket against only fourteen other families. I asked him if the location of the presentation was air-conditioned (my air conditioner was broken). He said, “Yes!!” I went because I figured, at the least, I had won an afternoon of air conditioning.

The room was air conditioned as promised, but it seemed unusual that there were about twenty large tables (large enough to seat ten people) scattered throughout the space. Each of the winning families was instructed to sit at separate tables. We were further instructed by a charming young British man to save all of our questions until the end of the presentation. We would then be able to ask as many questions as we wanted with our very own “personal” travel club representative. The young Brit went on to extol how the travel club he represented could make all of our lives better. We each would be able to enjoy the amenities of five star resorts all around the world. Why settle for the public park near your home when there were eager servants in Fiji, Aruba, and the Indian Ocean just waiting to pamper us (in the off-season)? If we joined the club that day, we would be “locked-in” at current (and incredibly expensive) club prices protected from future inflated prices (not including air-fare).

After the anything but brief presentation, travel club representatives sat with each of the families. They were actually high-pressure, contract-toting salesmen. They went in for the kill immediately after they sat down and introduced themselves. If we joined the travel club right there on the spot our winning claim would be upgraded to a week-long trip to Disney World. My wife and I made it clear to our salesman that if he really needed to earn a commission he needed to go to a different table, because we weren’t joining - for a multitude of obvious reasons. Besides, our lawyer would need to review the ten page contract he was holding in his hand before we would sign on the dotted line and part with the five thousand dollar deposit. He fled our table.

As I watched a different salesman pressure the family at the table nearest us, it became clear why we had been separated in the first place. They weren’t privy to our objections, though they had their own. But right after the salesman asked their physically disabled daughter if she wanted to go see Mickey Mouse, they caved in, signed the contract, and gave the non-refundable deposit. Being separated from the larger group, they were attacked at their weakest spot with a vulgar, yet successful tactic to “close” the deal. Seeing as how that couple initially refused the offer to join the club, I’m sure that if they had known the salesman’s tactics beforehand, they would not have brought their daughter, and might even have passed altogether on the chance to claim their “winnings.” By the way, when the time eventually came for the prize drawing, we drew from a barrel that contained over 10,000 cards. The “odds” we had been lured with were a lie, and no one won anything that day.

Speaking of not winning, there is a high-pressure salesman that wants to sell us a bag of lies and isolate us from the life that God wants for us; his name is Satan. He is a formidable foe, so we would be wise to recognize his tactics so that he will not be able to “close” any deals with us, or with those we care about and love (2 Corinthians 2:10-11). His attempts to isolate us come in numerous forms. The devil knows we are stronger when we are in community (Ecclesiastes 4:9-12), so he tries to make maintaining and living in community difficult. He speaks lies into relationships, and takes advantage of wounded feelings in order to isolate people from one another. The evil one also tries to isolate us by altering our language; the meaning of words are stolen and re-defined in an attempt to separate us from the truth of what God intends to teach us (1 Timothy 6:3-5). His strategy even includes isolating us from our Christian brothers and sisters who have preceded us by speaking the lie that their lives have no relevance to ours – that it’s just ancient history with no value to modern people. The truth is they are a great crowd of witnesses to the life of faith (Hebrews 12:1).

The devil wants us isolated, but he can not force us to sit at “separate tables.” Therefore, he speaks lies into our lives so that when we believe them, we unwittingly choose to sit at “separate tables.” If I am ignorant of the devil’s schemes, I am setting myself up to be outsmarted and isolated - you are too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner