Dimples on My Car

The sound of a fender bender is very unique. Television doesn't do it justice, really. To me, it sounds kind of like a large, styrofoam cup being punched by Lou Ferigno. Or at least, this was the sound my car made when a large F-150 backed into it in the parking lot of a bank. I guess in a very figurative sense, that is kind of what happened. Big truck meets little car and crunch. This is also exactly how I described it to the police officer when he arrived to fill out an accident report, although I don't think he got the pun.

Fender benders are kind of like wedgies - nobody likes them and they won't go away until you deal with them, which you will eventually have to do. The damages to my car were pretty minimal; in fact, it actually gives me a pretty good excuse to fix my fender, a chore I've been meaning to do for a while (albeit at my expense). This does not mean, though, that I wasn't angry. Ask the rookie I'm training to take over my job. She was with me when it happened, first week on the job, and experienced just how vocal I can be at times. I believe the words I first said were:

"YOU &#$*@ #!%@ !"


or something like that.

But what are you going to do? I had no choice but to wait there and pick the wedgie life just gave me.

I sent off my trainee to run an errand down the street. I sat down on the curb, waiting for the police report, while the other driver sat down and whipped out a pack of cigarettes. I thought about asking for one too, although I can barely concentrate the air from a sauna in my lungs without throwing a gagging fit, so I doubted I would handle Marlboros. I had nothing to do, so I prayed, mostly to get my mind off it.

"Pretty bad day, eh God?"

"Well, you didn't lose a friend today, kiddo. And you still have breath in your lungs. Looks like reason to celebrate to me."

And that's all that shut me up. I'm not sure what exactly happened in that moment. Maybe the realization that I know many families who have it much worse today. Maybe I realized that there was nothing I could do to prevent the life wedgie now, so I'd have to pick it. Maybe I just realized that God had a point! And so, that's all that shut me up.

The rest of the procedure went really well. The other driver was really nice and we spent most of the that time laughing and making jokes about how my trainee was being initiated into her new job. I looked at my car that night, thinking about how I saved up to buy it for nearly five years and bought it with my own money. That didn't make me more upset, though. It didn't bother me at all.

In fact, the dent was really actually pretty profound. It looks kind of like a dimple on a smiling cheek. That means something to me because I grew up most of my life with my family always making fun of the dimple on my cheek when I smiled. And in it's own weird, crazy way, it means a lot to me. It reminds me of me.

I am like the car. God is the owner. He buys me used, beaten up, and slightly worn around the edges for a low price of Jesus' death. Not a bad deal, right? But then, I drive off and get in fender benders, marking up my paint job and body work. But somehow, what others see as dents and body damage, God sees as dimples on a fender and he doesn't mind it. It gives the vehicles character. It gives it pizazz. It doesn't de-value the car; to Him, it only increases the value.

So, when life gives you a wedgie, pick it out and remember that God sees you as much more than just a beat up sinner - he sees you as his beat up sinner. And that couldn't make him happier!

KB

Afloat Between Two Powers

Out on the sea

Between the US and Cuba

Was a small boat, tiny and wee

That would cause a lot of hoop-la

On the radars it appeared

Not too far, closing in near-

A little boat on the sea.

The U.S. thought it was Castro’s

And demanded answers.

Cuba thought America was the maestro

With their imperialism spreading like cancer!

Neither side was too happy

Thinking the other side was attacking

With this little boat on the sea.

Hail the Chief and commission the ships-

Today we go to war!

And the Cubans got a tip

That this was reality, not just lore.

So it was off to fight

Which put both sides in a fright

Over a tiny boat on the sea.

The missiles were armed,

The muzzles were pointed,

Waiting for the other to disarm

But both were disjointed.

They stood their ground

With what they found-

A little boat on the sea.

Said both sides:

“Hold it men,

Now’s our time

To pay them back times ten

For they really drew the line!

They think they’re hot stuff

But we’ve had enough

With this little boat on the sea.”

However, right before they fought,

Out there between the U.S. and Cuba

They saw on this boat they’d both sought

An immigrant man with a tuba!

He played it well to the fleets (which he did not notice,)

A small, bald, Russian man named Otis

Out on his little boat on the sea.

Both sides sat so intent and listened

That they totally forgot why they were there.

So even though their missiles gleamed and pistols glistened,

Neither side seemed to care.

They shrugged and went back home that night

It just wouldn’t make sense to fight

Over a little boat on the sea.

I Can Feel It

Life sometimes throws curveballs. Today, for me, it came in the form of a notice on my computer at work. Not the best of places to find a curveball, but it was there nonetheless. On the screen, the note said that two kids from my school were killed in a freak accident of carbon monoxide poisoning. That was it - short and to the point. Not the best of ways to find a curveball, but it was there nonetheless.

I knew the guys. Not well, but I knew them. I knew a lot of people who knew them much better than I did, people who were much more affected by the news than I was. I saw tears, I saw fears, and I saw a blankness in people's faces, one of those blank disbeliefs that stare into the middle distance, stunned in silence. This life that we run so quickly suddenly stops. Plans are scrapped. Events are postponed.

Life stops.

And God. Where was he? People are mad, minds are blank, and where is he, we ask? "I will work all thing for good..." (Romans 8:28) but how on earth is this good? "I have a plan for you..." (Jeremiah 29:11) he says, but how does that plan involve this, we ponder? We cannot help but wonder, in these times of totally unbelievable tragedy, how we are supposed to be comforted by something like Revelation 21:4 which says that God will wipe every tear from our eye, no more sorrow, and no more pain when we here on earth are wrenching in sorrow and pain? These questions roll around our heads in times of chaos. I myself dealt with these issues to a degree, but it could be seen distinguished on the faces of every person who stood there, dumbfounded by the news.

Because life stopped. For all of us.

And in a still small voice, that evening on my computer screen shone, a simple message of few words written by a friend. It glowed gently, randomly, and individually. It was yet another curveball on my computer screen. It said:

Somebody's prayin'. I can feel it.

A lone message in a world of expansive networking stood out like a small voice in a silent crowd. What is the prayer? I don't know. Are they even praying about the same thing? I don't know. But the point remains not in the content of the prayer, but in the prayer itself. It's out there. Somebody's doing it. Questions still remain, life has still been stalled, but that voice starts a recovery. Whether it be death, addiction, heartache, or depression. Whether it stuns, stalls, stops, or halts. Whether we are full of questions or can't think at all. Somebody's praying.

And life starts again for all of us slowly and with a still, small prayer.

"God... help."

***

When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:

“Death is swallowed up in victory."

—1 Corinthians 15:54 

Dedicated to Mike Hillman and Jesse Andrus - may you rest in heavenly peace. April 12, 2010

On This Rock I Stand

For the first time in a long time, if ever, Easter has taken on a very meaningful spirit for me. Lately, the church has been under a lot of fire and stress with legal and social dilemas. The pope is under fire from the Catholic church for the controversy he has hidden. Christian radical groups, or should I say radical groups that claim to be Christian, have tainted the church by violence and extremism this past week. All this took place during the week leading up to Easter, the holy week, which made it hard to focus on the true meaning of Easter. Things have just been discouraging.

Easter this year was away from home, probably the first time we weren't at home for the holiday. We visited my sister in college and attended her church for services. Her long time boyfriend joined us, bringing his little brother from the Big Brothers, Big Sisters foundation along with him. Felipe was a young boy, around nine years old, who was mostly shy and self kept but polite and cordial.

The six of us took our seats and waited for services to start. The people were friendly, the pastor was genuine, and the church was a great place overall. Still flooded with the chaos of life and drama of Christendom, though, my mind just wasn't focused on church. It was elsewhere. I was concerned with all the things the Church should be fixing. My mind wasn't prepared for Jesus. It was distracted with other relationships. It wasn't where it should be. It was scattered.

As worship got underway, I tried to focus my heart on God, the real star of the show. It just wasn't there though. About that time, my sister leans over to her boyfriend a few chairs over and motions for him to give her his Bible, which I thought was odd seeing as she had her own Bible with her. She took his Bible and tossed it on the ground and stepped on it! It was way out of place but then it hit me. My sister has hip dysplasia, and as a result, is missing a few inches on one of her legs making her off balance when she stands still. Her boyfriend's Bible, however, compensated those inches perfectly. She could stand straight and comfortably during worship by the support of the Bible under her feet. That's when it hit me.

Psalm 119:105

Your word is a lamp unto my feet,

   and a light unto my path.

It took on a very literal meaning this year. The word of God is not just something I should take to heart, but stand on with confidence just as my sister could stand on the Word and be comforted by it, literally. It was a strong foundation that I needed to continue to build upon. It reminded me of a hymn written by Edward Mote: "On Christ the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand." My mind was sinking when it should have been founded solidly on the Rock.

And as I looked down at timid, young Felipe, I prayed it over him. After all, he's young and innocent. He doesn't need the heartache of sin and guilt over his life; a life filled with disappointments and sorrows when he could be given the Word to stand on confidently and Jesus' blood to wash him clean of guilt.

It was an unorthodox sign, but then again, I have found that most of God's signs to me are unorthodox. Stand on the Word, literally. Walk out of the house with confidence that the Word is with you, that Christ has saved you. May that confidence be wherever you go.

KB

Devotion

While our lives may be busy and bustling, what does God do during the course of the day and what part does he play every day?

KB