Annotated Shack Discussion Guide

I have not blogged for a few days because I have been putting all my time and efforts into finishing my Annotated Shack Discussion Guide. It is all my notes and scripture references for the Discussion Guide I have posted. Now that it is done, I am not quite sure what to do with it. It is fairly comprehensive and contains a lot of personal anecdotal material . I will share it with anyone who wants to use it. I have sent out about 40 copies of the discussion guide in Word 03 to people who found it with a google search. I have no way to know who may have clip and pasted the on line version.

Hurting and Healing

When I was young I witnessed my father being carried out of his office and taken to the hospital. After weeks of testing and bed rest that followed he was declared 100% permanently disabled. His heart was permanently damaged. Any strenuous exercise or effort could kill him. My relatives told me I was the man of the house now and had to man up. Odd, they did not offer me any keys to the car, cash or credit cards to assist in my right of passage and new responsibilities as man of the house. I was 11. Life indeed changed. My father was an active man in spirit and ministry and his weak heart did not slow his active brain one bit. I became his hands and feet. I spent most every weekend and holiday building something for the church or Youth For Christ. It included running spot lights, sound equipment, being the head stage hand for monthly rallies, building a full softball field including underground sprinklers and electrical for the lighting. I learned to wire sport lights strapped to the top of 60’ poles in a 45 mph cross wind. I walked the trusses 30’above the stage at the fair grounds because I was the only one light enough to do it. I did the electrical and sound wiring under the platform at the church because I was the only one small enough to fit. By my early teens, my friends knew to avoid me on holidays because my dad would rope them into some building project too. By the time I was 15 my sister went off to college and my mother had back surgery and did a long stint in bed. Now I had charge of the ministry work, the house work and the cooking. I got to be the lady of the house for a while too. Internal pressures were building in me to the point I was seeing my father’s heart specialist for pre ulcer conditions. He really didn’t do much for me. Don’t misunderstand here, my folks were great parents, strict but loving. We worked well together but resentment was building in me. As much as I did not like being the hands, feet and back of my parents, I knew they absolutely hated it. It was far harder on them than it ever could be on me. I could walk away, get relief, go hang out. They were being held prisoner by their own failing bodies. Minds and spirit as sharp as ever with no way to physically do much of anything. They could no more control what their bodies were doing than I could control the growing ulcers inside of me. If something in me did not change one of two things was destined to happen and there was nothing I could do about it. My ulcers would overtake me completely and incapacitate me or my growing anger would come out in some rebellious stupidity. My father saw it coming. I NEVER did anything overt, he just knew and I know it was killing him faster than his heart. My grandparents saw it to. They Prayed. What do you do when you are 15 and in a situation that is impossible to do anything about? The fact is I did not do anything. God did. God healed my heart in an instant, a moment. Here’s the rest of the story…My dad did everything he could do to try to ease my burden. Although he could not participate he would go and watch. It was a small town and I was a starter on the high school football team. They all knew dad and he was allowed to pull his car onto the field behind the end zone to watch the game whenever his health allowed. Chic Hearn, the voice of the LA Lakers presented me an award at the players banquet at the end of the season. Dad missed it, he was at home in bed. Like I said, he did what he could and often more than he should. I was not angry with him (well, ok sometimes he was unreasonable, really) I was sick of the situation. One afternoon Dad took me about 20 miles from the house to go quail hunting. No way could he climb he hills so he just sat in the car. I wandered over hill and dale for a while and approached dad’s position from a ridge behind and above him. He was sitting on a log drawing with a stick in the sand, no doubt designing his next project for me to do. I sat down and just watched him for a while and it happened. God did what only God can do in the way only God can do it. While I was sitting there on their on that hill, He reached into my heart and spoke to soul and everything was ok. The anger, anxiety, resentment and frustration was drained from my body. It literally did not hurt anymore. It would seem God does some of His best work on a hill. God released me from my fathers and mothers infirmities. I can’t explain how, I just know he did. It was as real for me as Moses telling the people waiting to cross the red sea “Be still and see the salvation of the Lord”. Some things in life are just to big, to permanent, to overwhelming to handle on our own. If God can heal a broken teenager who did not know God could or would do that and did not ask for God to do it, What does God want to heal for you?

The secret to winning the waiting game

I was so frustrated I could (and did) scream. My three younger boys were in the “tweener” stage of life. NO not the 12 year old kind, the really, really bad one, the 16-19, the boys to men kind. There are lots of tweener stages in life but we will save that for another time. This time they were begging me for permission to go on and outing with their cousin to Sheep’s Crossing to go swimming. It is a beautiful scenic place we had been to as a family but I knew what they really wanted to do. They had seen a rope tied to the bridge that had intriguing possibilities. That bridge is about 40’ over the water and more importantly 2 hours of washboard dirt road in any direction to help. If you don’t understand my hesitation it is obvious you do not know my boys (or their Uncle Dave who will jump of anything). They were at that stage in life where they needed to be making their own decisions as much as possible, but in the pit of my stomach I knew it was as close to a perfect bad idea. We discussed, negotiated and settled on NO JUMPING OFF THE BRIDGE. My parting words were spoken with a combination of disgust, aggravation and defeat: “if you have to go kill yourself go” I said referring to everyone in general and no one in particular. They left celebrating their one of their first victories of manhood. Tweeners tend to think negotiated permission is some form of approval. My 10 grand kids are really getting even for me now! They left ecstatic in the joy of their victory never once considering that I, by some mysterious fluke, could just happen to be right. A few hours later Jarrood, my nephew, called. They should be NO WHERE NEAR A PHONE! (Tuck this away: NEVER negotiate with a tweener, DICTATE! I ruled out the 40’ bridge but not the 80’ cliff!) He bold faced lied to Dee telling her everything was all right and he just needed to talk to me. Yea, like she believed him…NOT! In my head I can still hear the brief conversation. It began, “Uncle Don, David fell off a cliff. We know he broke some bones and we think he has internal injuries”. David had fallen of a 60’ cliff and had been air lifted to a hospital somewhere. The exact description of events is still under debate today but the agreed upon fact was me made an unscheduled exit from the side of a 60-80 foot cliff, landed feet first on the rocky bank below and rolled into the water. Have you ever wanted to take your parting words back? Me too. Two hours of calling every hospital in the valley turned up nothing. Waiting for David, for even a shred of information about his condition, whereabouts or anything was an emotional rollercoaster in the dark and out of control on a seemingly endless track. There was no way to prepare yourself for the next turn. No way to know when the ride would be over or how it would end. I’ll bet you have a waiting story too. After a little over two hours of fighting panic, fighting the urge to make any and every deal with God imaginable, fighting back tears, feigning a false courage and finding some solace in the fact I had not thrown up…yet… we found David was in a trauma center 20 minuets away. I don’t believe it took that long that day. I have no recollection whatever of the trip. I assume I drove. I must have. My car was in the parking lot later when we left. David would be and was ok. Today he is an accomplished Flight paramedic (that’s the best of the best boys) and was just promoted to Captain in the Surprise, AZ fire department. He is heading up the Surprise SWAT team Paramedic program. (OK I will admit that was a shameless brag line, but I earned every bit of it in those two hours!) As a side note, if you ever plan to have an accident or need a paramedic I would highly recommend you do it in Surprise. David is special to me, but they have a group of the finest and most capable young men I have ever met…and a few old salts to keep them in line. I don’t have to try to convince you that waiting for someone is one of the hardest things we have to do in life. But the sweetness of waiting with them! What a difference. Just this week I have waited with David twice. Once was a life or death situation that I felt very comfortable with because David was the first responder. It worked perfectly. The second time was last night. Tori was not acting like her normal self. She was content to sit on Sweeties lap and just look. Doni was concerned because Tori is in the process of learning to sit up on her own. Yea, she bonked her head several times yesterday. Picture this. Doni crosses the room with her littlest treasure on earth and hands her to David. NOW I am waiting WITH David the proven paramedic who handles the life and death calls. David does whatever it is that paramedics do…Probes this, pulls that, stares into her eyes, twist the other thing. Since there is not chance I could spell the diagnosis, I will summarize. She’s fine. I am convinced…and she was and still is.

There is a huge difference between waiting FOR someone and waiting WITH some one. No where is the distinction more critical than in our life with Jesus. My buddy Oswald Chambers encourages us to watch WITH Jesus.

“Watch with Me.” Jesus was saying, in effect, “Watch with no private point of view at all, but watch solely and entirely with Me.” In the early stages of our Christian life, we do not watch with Jesus, we watch for Him. We do not watch with Him through the revealed truth of the Bible even in the circumstances of our own lives. Our Lord is trying to introduce us to identification with Himself through a particular “Gethsemane” experience of our own.

I think I spent way to much agonizing time this week waiting FOR Jesus to do something than waiting in faith WITH Jesus to do the same thing. I did better than I used to, but not as well as I should because He did it again, miraculously, wonderfully, completely, but without all the Glory my faith of watching WITH Him would have brought Him. I am going to try to remember the difference between with and for next time. Are you with me?

Trophy Wife

Ok, this is gonna be a little edgy so get somewhere alone.

Several years ago I was watching a talk show because the teaser for the show promised Michael Landon’s ex-wife would have some interesting comments. My wife LOVED Little House On the Prairie and I was getting real tired of the continual contrived tragedies that were becoming the bread and butter of the show. For me, the show had “jumped the shark” when blindness and addictions were the topics. Honestly I was looking for ammo to shoot down the show and boy did I get it, but unfortunately I could never use it. Evidently Mr. Landon had traded in Mrs Landon for a newer, sportier model half his (and her) age. The new Mrs. Landon was referred to as a Trophy Wife. That didn’t need explaining to me. My fathers bookcase was loaded with my trophies from my childhood. I know what happens to old trophies. Eventually they are discarded or just left somewhere to gather dust. In my case my sons adored my old trophies. They made wonderful targets for their BB guns. At least they passed in a manly way. Michael's ex was baited just enough in asking what she thought about Michael and his new young bride being together. (that is a code word for something else). Her reply stunned me. Are we alone? Good. With the same twinkle in her eye and razor on her tongue that Sarah Palin had last night in her assessment of Obama’s accomplishments and preparedness, she said: “When I think of them together…it makes me Laugh….I’ve seen Michael Naked! At the time it was funny. I was working out at the gym and there were plenty of old guys around to know exactly what she was laughing at. Gravity effects the strangest things in the most unusual ways. It isn’t so funny now that I am the older guy. With a word picture that does not (and definitely should not) need further elaboration she got her lasting revenge on both of them. I never look at the reruns of the older shows without a grin. For the life of me, I cannot figure out why Michael ever thought he needed or even wanted a young trophy wife. Dude, if you want to look younger marry your mother's friend! If you want to feel older and look like an old fool, marry your daughter's friend. NO WAY is anyone gonna believe she married you for any of the right reasons or for the reason you married her. My wife’s uncle used to tease his wife with when she turned 40 he as gonna trade her in for two 20’s. He quit that tease when she told him, Bob, when I turn 40 you won’t be wired for 220. OUCH! But he asked for it. Personally I do not now, nor have I ever had, nor would I ever want a trophy wife. And not because my sons would use just her for target practice. My wife is not a trophy to be paraded around for a time then left neglected on a shelf. She is the richest treasure I could ever hope to have on this earth. We share life together! Not only do I know that but God confirms it in my heart and his Word. I do not worry about how she views my sagging physique. For us it is treasured life and memories shared with every scar and sag, and I have plenty of both. She loves me as I was, am and will be. (and vise-versa). I find myself telling her a lot more these days how beautiful she is, and no not because I am in trouble. I tell her that because it is the absolute truth of my heart and I have to say it. I do keep trying to tell her we are old, but she refuses to listen…she is a lot like her father in that way. I feel sad for Michael. He lived the rest of his life and died having lived LESS LOVED than he would have had he just kept the wife of his youth. Of all the women on earth, only she had the chance to really love and treasure him for himself. He traded it all for something that didn’t really exist. His life ended up as sad as his show, except in the end he does not live on in reruns.

There are a lot of people living life like Michael, living less loved. Not just by friends and family, but by the one who loves them as the were, are and forever will be. He cherishes every scar and sag as much as if it were his own body. They are not a trophy to Him either, but a treasure worth the ultimate price he already paid. They refuse to believe that they could be loved that much when they feel so unlovely and unloved. I love my life with my wife..I am not a perfect man, husband or anything else, but I am certain of this. I know my wife loves me, there is not the smallest doubt in my mind. I can be just as sure that God loves me too. Oswald Chambers put it this way: The Holy Spirit interprets and explains the nature of Jesus to me to make me one with my Lord, not that I might simply become a trophy for His showcase. He wants to live with you and love you too. Are you going to settle for living less loved? You don’t have to.

The Shack or the Woodshed?

Since I know that the majority of my readers are intuitive females you will be wondering from the last blog what is wrong today. I am not gonna tell you....except to say that someone I love did something stupid in reaction to a life time of pain. In many ways The Shack is their story too. They were hurt, they hurt others and the pattern continues. They question why God let them be so hurt so young. They have no excuse for hurting others in return. They are now in a situation that I can do nothing about...again. Only our Heavenly Father can heal, the wound is between them. It has nothing to do with me. I fear for them. I hurt for them. I want better for them. Part of my fear is I know they are going to have to go to their own SHACK and work it out with Father just like Mack did. I am ok with that. Been there, done that...more than once. I just realized my problem in the process. My mental picture of the Shack is wrong. When I think of my loved one going to the Shack, I am pictureing a woodshed!. God does not have a woodshed, only a cross! My loved one will be safe and loved in the Shack. I have it on His Authority.

(FYI: The Shack is a fictional book by Paul Youngs and is on the NYTimes best seller list)

Trusting Fathers

My Dad was struck down when I was 11 with what the doctor’s described as “the body of an athlete and the heart of a 70 year old man”. He was basically an invalid the rest of his life. His muscle could do anything but it would kill him literally if he did. He handled his health problems with his typical German determination and lived the rest of his life on the edge of doing the most that he could…all of it in ministry. Deanna’s dad Troy was rarely sick and the most self sacrificing and other oriented man I have ever known. A broken down coal miners son, he worked from the time he was 12 in the mines to support his family. On a trip to his childhood town my timid wife went door to door looking for someone who may have known him. To her delight she found an old friend of Troy’s. This family was the one Troy had talked about. They had 21 children! They remembered Troy as the same man I knew. He was always a sweet, kind other centered man. When he died he had next to nothing of his own. No tools, not hobbies, no treasure. My dad left some furniture and an heirloom ring he had made from the gold of his, my mom’s and his parents rings. I don’t want to paint them as perfect, they were not, but I would not recommend you mention that around me. They were close enough to perfect for me. At the time of his death, my father was easily my best friend. We talked constantly. I have the phone bills to prove it. What we lost in childhood memories due to his health, we more than made up for as men, working together, ministering together. Poppy, (Deanna’s dad) lived with us his last five years. He taught me so much about growing old without getting old. Cancer finally took him after a brief fight. As opposite as these two were in many ways, they shared core values. They were absolute men of their word and honor. My dad offended his pastor just before the pastor moved to another state. Dad got on a plane, flew to the pastors new church and made a public apology to him in front of his new congregation. That was near 40 years ago. I had lunch with that pastor last month. He still loves my dad and misses him. Poppy sold a car to a man who did not register it in time and wrecked the car in an accident. Poppy paid for everyone’s expense even thought it really was not his problem. He worked two full time jobs almost all the time I knew him. These were men of their word. I have never met their equal. I trusted them completely to do all they said they would do or die trying. I am really fortunate to have had them. It still hurts not having them. We had wonderful relationships. After I left California, Poppy and Dad teamed up. Poppy did all the physical things for Dad that I used to do. They fit, we fit. In many ways, they were my umbrella. Storms were not so threatening. They did not have to do anything and most of the times there was absolutely nothing they could do, but living in the relationship with them helped me tremendously.
They are gone, but I am not without my umbrella. I have one, I just struggle sometimes to use it. I have no idea why I am so stupid, I just am. I know what the problem is and the solution. With Dad and Poppy we worked on (it really wasn’t work) our relationship constantly, talking about everything, doing things together, watching, admiring, loving and being loved. The confidence and courage to face the hard times was crafted and cured in the day to day relationship of the good times. Oswald Chambers put it this way: I have to get to the point of the absolute and unquestionable relationship that takes everything exactly as it comes from Him 4-21. Today life reminds me that I am not there yet. I never questioned how the love of my dads for me. I had about as good of examples as a man could hope for. I totally believe in my head Hebrews 11:6 but sometimes there is a time lag between my head and heart. My relationship with the Father must more closely resemble my relationship with my two dads. I am better than I was, but not where I want to be. How about you?


Heb 11:6 And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.

MPH

Years ago, before we had any kids, Deanna and I had a 1969 Chevy Nova…and no money. We were visiting our family on the high desert on the other side of the Cajon Pass in Apple Valley. For reasons unknown at the time my newer car stopped shifting into 2nd gear. I knew better than to trust the Local mechanics. I knew them and their employees. To go to any of them I knew would be an automatic transmission rebuild I could not afford. In those days I was driving about 45K a year so my new car had some miles on it. I had an old mechanic friend, Les Ayres, 90 miles away on the other side of the pass who would fix it for the cost of parts. His ministry was fixing missionary and pastor’s cars. He could diagnose a problem faster and more accurately with his ear than any other mechanic with all the techno gear available. The problem was, Les was 90 miles away on the other side of the pass. Finances demanded that I drive the car to him in first gear, top speed 20 mph. Almost half of that would have to be on the freeway. We left early on a Sunday morning when traffic was light. It actually was back then. We raced on the freeway to the top of the Cajon Pass at speeds approaching 18 maybe 19 mph. On our rear window I had written SORRY! In huge letters with Dees brightest red lipstick. It worked, the sorry and the light traffic. When we crested the Pass I shifted it into neutral but left the engine running. I knew this part of the trip would work well. I had done that before to save gas. It had climbed to .37 cents a gallon so we needed to be careful. Really. I would search for the cheapest gas price to save .25 cents on a tank because .25 cents made a difference. No way could I buy an new tranny. The pass was only about 15 miles down to the flats, but we made really, good time. I will not commit to writing how good, just really, really good. At the bottom of the hill we got off the freeway and wandered back streets to Les’ shop a couple miles out of down town LA. The normal 90 minute trip took a little over 5 hours. On Monday AM I went to see Les, explained the problem and left for home about 2 miles away. As soon as I got home, Les called telling me my car was fixed! I knew he was good, just not that good. Curiosity and necessity got me right back to the shop in minutes. Total bill. $1.98. I gave him $2 and told him to keep the change. I’m not cheap, Les would not have accepted anything from me anyway. He only wanted eternal rewards. Pennies in heaven by a whole lot more. The problem was a nylon gear that was under a cap on the bottom of the transmission, easy to reach. A few years later it happened again in AV but this time I fixed it myself. I went into my friend, Butch’s ARCO station, borrowed a wrench, removed the plug and asked Butch (a mechanic) to get me a new one. To his surprise it worked! I believe that may be the only time I ever fixed a car.
That trip down memory lane came to mind as I read my devotions this morning. I was pondering with Father how I could be a better servant than I am. I am trying to learn to live life in relationship and am a little sensitive to just doing service for service sake, even though it feels better sometimes. Doing nothing is like driving in neutral, the only destination you can get to very fast has to be down hill. Living Neutral in the Christian life is the same thing. It only leads down. I did make progress in first gear and it was enjoyable. I saw things I’d passed a hundred times. I am not anxious to do it again that way, but that trip was worth it. I really wish I could tell you I got fixed like my car shifting into higher gears, but that would not be the truth. I feel like I have been stuck in first gear my whole life, some days 1 mph, sometimes a heart engine racing 22mph (My Personal Highs) and some days I am in neutral. I do not know how to get into second gear but I did find out how to get out of neutral. I just need to shift back to first things first and get up to ¼ MPH or even ½ MPH (My Prayer Hour). If I can do that, I can climb any hill or cross any flats that come my way. It will not be record setting time, but contrary to popular belief, life is not a race anyway. The finish line is all that ultimately matters and Jesus guarantees we get there.

Phi. 1:6 being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.