This post is primarily for my writer friends (as you are the ones who will primarily see this post).  I’ve stepped back from my broader blogging efforts, and I’ve returned to writing like I did when I started in 2013. My blog is no longer connected to Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn or any social media, as it was just a few short days ago. I’ve cancelled my Hootsuite account so I can no longer mass schedule my old posts for reblogging. I also cancelled MailChimp, which was going to help me develop my nascent (and now non-existent) email list. I’ve even switched the name of my blog back from the trendy “The Journey” to just my name (Mike G. Smith).

Aside from a recognition that God’s not calling me to be a paid writer or speaker, I withdrew from the platform-building world because it was drawing me away from my first purposes in writing: to glorify God and his son Jesus Christ, and to show God at work in our lives today.

My concern had become more about “views,” “likes,” and “comments” instead of writing for Him. To me, how my writing was received by my readers had become an idol. And idol worship is a sin, no matter the context.

Please understand me here. Some of you are called to do this full-time. Your writing moves people, and your readers respond. I encourage you with all my heart to keep writing and publicizing your work to the maximum extent possible. But for those of us who write as a hobby, it’s good to step back occasionally and, to coin a phrase that is now very cliche, “check your heart.” I’ll be doing that now, for a while, prayerfully and diligently.

Lost Arts

So is it a big deal that schools don’t teach cursive writing anymore?

Yes, it is.

The utility of texting on phones and sending email is unassailable. The ubiquity of those devices and the speed that most people can compose messages on them certainly makes them a faster and more efficient method of communication.

But are speed and efficiency sufficient reasons to throw out a centuries-old way of life in the English-speaking world?

And since when is the beauty of human creativity limited to just music, dance, art and theater/film?

I have a hand-written cursive copy of the U.S. Constitution on the wall of my office. It’s not easy to read. But it’s beautiful. Not just in what it says, but also in how it looks.

Removing cursive writing from the school curriculum doesn’t mean that people will stop writing things by hand. But to me, a printed note doesn’t carry the gravitas that a letter written in cursive does.

In some way, a person’s cursive handwriting represents who he or she is. It reflects a depth of emotion that just can’t be captured by printed letters. And a typed letter or text? It might as well have been served on ice.

Articles in the New York Times and Psychology Today as early as 2013 tout the benefits of learning cursive. And school websites from as far away as Great Britian list the many advantages of cursive writing to a child’s development – enhanced spelling, developing internal controls that assist in learning, improved reading skills.

But take a look at the picture above (again from a decorative poster at the Magnolia Market in Waco). It describes cursive as “combining form and movement.” Sound familiar?

Yes, writing in cursive is a dance. Just on a smaller scale.

Graceful, yet purposeful. Whimsical at times, and yet powerful. Exclusive to each individual as a fingerprint. And more tangible evidence of God’s creativity when he made each of us, different one from another.

God willing, our family will welcome our first grandchild this year. And 15 years from now, I sincerely hope that his birthday card to me contains a handwritten note from him.

In cursive.

And my card back to him will have a note in cursive as well. After all, he’s due on my birthday.

 

Love Is…..

A spring break trip to Waco, Texas last month landed us at the Magnolia Market, the home of the design and decor empire founded by HGTV’s Chip and Joanna Gaines. We were well aware of the Gaines’ Christian faith before we arrived. And true to form,  beautiful items of home decor incorporating Bible verses into their designs surrounded us as we toured the store and grounds.

The sign in the picture above took me back to our wedding, on a muggy June day in 1985. It’s a complete rendering of 1 Corinthians 13:4-8, known as the “Love Chapter.” And it’s beautiful.

Back in the mid-1980s, I didn’t know much about the verses in 1 Corinthians 13. I knew it was trendy to read those verses in Christian weddings, but that was about it. At the time, I’d been a Christian for only about 10 years. I was just 22, and hadn’t even begun to spiritually mature. Reading these verses at my wedding just made sense.

Now, after 34 years of marriage and a whole lot of living, it’s clear to me that these verses aren’t just for weddings.

“What’s love got to do with it?” Tina Turner asked in her iconic 1980s hit. And this question could easily represent our culture’s approach to life. Other than romantic love, which today is mixed up in so many ways, what does “love” have to do with business? With life? Consider this:

Who gets better results, the doctor with a terrible bedside manner, or the caring professional?

The secret of the care of the patient is caring for the patient. — Francis W. Peabody, M.D., 1925

Love is patient, love is kind.  – 1 Cor. 13:4

Which leader gets better results, the one who claims all the glory for himself, or the one who involves and gives credit to his team?

Love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking. – 1 Cor. 13:4-5

Which police officer provides better public safety, the one who sees his beat as “just a job,” or the dedicated public servant who truly cares about the welfare of the community he serves?

Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. – 1 Cor. 13:7

Which teacher’s students perform better, the teacher who loathes spending time with children, or the one who cherishes the young lives he or she is entrusted with and wants to guide them on the path toward becoming strong, functioning adults?

And for you ladies, which hairsylist do you look forward to seeing again every four weeks, the one who only cares about collecting your fee, or the one who makes you feel beautiful just because of the time you spent with her?

And finally, who has the happier life, the one who holds on to perceived slights, or the one who freely forgives others?

Holding a grudge is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. – Saint Augustine

Love keeps no record of wrongs. – 1 Cor. 13:5

So, as Tina asked, what does love have to do with it?  Only this:

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. – 1 Cor. 1-3

Without love, whatever I say means nothing.

Without love, regardless of what I can do, I am nothing.

Without love, I gain nothing.

The bottom line? Love is…everything.

It’s All Right to be Little Bitty

Fame.

In 2019’s social-media driven world, it’s all about being famous.

Today’s American culture considers entertainers, sports stars and “influencers” as the only people who are really important. That’s why the simple, plaintive words of the old country song “It’s All Right to be Little Bitty” speak so loudly to me, because they stand in such stark contrast. How appropriate that these words were written by Tom T. Hall, a man known in country music circles as “The Storyteller,” for they tell a story that everyone should hear, and take to heart.

It’s all right to be little bitty,

From a little hometown or a big ol’ city.

Might as well share, Might as well smile,

Life goes on for a little bitty while.

Tom T. Hall, 1996

This is not a condemnation of all social media. After all, I’m using social media to get this message out, and make others aware of it. But my heart, and I believe God’s heart, grieves the negative influence social media has when it leads readers to compare their lives with the non-reality often presented there. I’m not immune to this, either.

More than ever, it’s important for believers to “take their thoughts captive” in order to not fall prey to the “comparison flu.” And while they’re not scriptural, the lyrics of this song, at least for me, redirect my thinking away from what I don’t have, and who I’m not, to what is real, and what is true.

What is “little bitty?”

No one’s life is “small.” There’s at least one person out there, and more likely many people, to whom each person alive is a “big deal.” Are kids are a big deal to their parents? Uh, yeah. And even though many teenagers will deny it, parents aren’t “little bitty” to their kids, either. Wait until you lose one, like I did this last October.

To use an example from the work world, think about the people who live on a garbage collector’s route. To them, that garbage collector is a very big deal.

For each of us, there is only the territory – the family, work, and other relationships – given to you or to me by God. Whether God chooses to expand your or my territory, as prayed by Jabez in 1 Chronicles 4:9-10, is strictly God’s decision. And yes, God definitely cares how well each of us cares for the territory he’s given to us, both relationally and in our work.

Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive an inherticance as your reward.  – Colossians 3:23-24 (ESV)

I bet Martin Luther King Jr. had this verse in mind when he said these words:

If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as a Michaelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, ‘Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.’

What is success?

To a world that doesn’t understand God, “success” equates to income, power and position. But does God see success that way? When answering this question, I’m reminded of the scene in Steven Spielberg’s great animated movie, “Prince of Egypt,” when after rescuing Jethro’s daughters from bandits at a desert well, Moses objects to Jethro throwing a feast for him because “I’ve done nothing worthy of honor.” In response, Jethro wisely says, “It seems you do not know what is worthy of honor.”

Perhaps 21st century America doesn’t know what really defines success.

Honoring your promises to the spouse of your youth. Knowing your kids, being known by them, and being the kind of parent they should follow. Not taking the easy way out, like drugs, alcohol, and divorce, when things get tough. Taking care of your parents when they’re older and unable to take care of themselves.

Those aren’t my definitions of success.  They’re in the Bible. Check ‘em out. In fact, Colossians 3 in the New Testament (the entire chapter) is a great place to start.

Called to be “little bitty”

But most importantly, John the Baptist, as he talked about Jesus Christ, set the ultimate standard for success on earth.

            He must increase, but I must decrease. – John 3:30

So to “decrease,” do I need to disappear? To withdraw from life, to cease to exist? Not unless God calls me home, because otherwise the people God gave me to reach won’t hear about Him.

For me to decrease in my own life, Jesus Christ must increase.

He must increase in my thoughts, in my speech, in my deeds. He must increase in my dependence on Him. And my love for Him must increase.

When those things happen, the focus on myself naturally decreases, and the power of my witness for Him will increase.

No, I won’t go away. But I will become “little bitty.”

Because what I want others to see when they see me…is Him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beards and Babies

I loved when my wife and I attended the worship meetings for the network of house churches to which my son and his wife used to belong.

Every young man there (and they are all young men) had a beard of various lengths, and almost every young family has at least one child under the age of two.

That’s why I affectionately called it the “beards and babies” church.

I am of an earlier generation, one in which both the men, but especially the women, prefer clean shaven men. But I must admit, my son’s church was full of handsome men who sported beards as varied as the Don Johnson-like stubble (anyone remember his role in Miami Vice?) all the way to a full-on Willie Robertson “Duck Dynasty” beard. Any child in my son’s church saw only men with some sort of facial hair. I wonder if my future grandchild (due in July! Woo-hoo!) will ever understand that I am also a daddy, since I don’t have a beard.

Something else to ponder on this cold, wet Monday (a fellow blogger described this weather as “vile” – hat tip to you, Stephen Black and the Fractured Faith Blog):  The children of that church have this in common with the Christ child: the infant Jesus saw only bearded men.

Trivial? Yes.  Fun to think about? Yeah, that too.

Where There is Mourning, There is Love

We spent some of the waning hours of 2018 saying goodbye to one of my best friends’ 95-year-old father. In 2018, I was privileged to join in the celebration of home-going for the fathers of two of our dearest friends. I also said a final goodbye to my own dad.

My friend had the God-given strength to give the message at the funeral service himself.

He described his dad as a “giant of the faith,” and I could not more wholeheartedly agree. His father was a missionary to the African Congo for eight years, a Bible college professor, a pastor, and in later years, an assistant funeral director. He was always serving others.

And as God usually does, He chose to teach me at this funeral with just a single verse. This is not a verse for lightweights, so you won’t hear it at most funerals.

It was perfect for this one.

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of everyone; the living should take this to heart. – Ecclesiastes 7:2

For many, this verse is a painful reminder of one of life’s certainties. But it also begs the question: Why is it better to mourn than to feast? The answer came quickly, as I set there in the pew:

Where there is mourning, there is love.

I’ll admit, most feasts I attend are with people who love each other. But it’s not a requirement. People can (and often do) feast with total strangers for all types of reasons. I just don’t get around enough to attend those feasts.

But you can’t truly mourn without a deep, abiding love.

Mourning a loss brings people together in a way nothing else can. Some, like his direct family or close friends, deeply loved my friend’s father. Others may not have known him, but deeply love his family and friends, and mourned their loss with them. My family is blessed to love both the man, and his family.

Still others were loved by this giant of the faith. Many at that funeral mourned simply because my friend’s father loved them. And countless others, many living in the remotest parts of Africa, would have also honored him at his funeral, had they known of his passing and had the means to get there.

I’m eternally grateful to say that my friend’s father also loved me.

These days, we have the Internet, the “world-wide web” as it is called, with Internet addresses even starting with the initials “www.” The funeral is available to be seen around the world using this modern communication tool.

But “world-wide webs” aren’t new. Jesus started one when he told his disciples, after his resurrection, that they would be witnesses of the Gospel to Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to “the end of the earth” (Acts 1:8). The life of my friend’s father is further proof. A life lived for others, through the love of Jesus Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit, will create a web of love around the world. Not everyone’s web will reach quite as far as my my friend’s father’s does, but you will be surprised how far your web of love will go.

Better to be in a house of mourning, indeed.

 

God’s Daily Reboot

When a computer malfunctions, how often is the answer as simple as turning the computer off, and then turning it back on?

In my experience, usually the computer starts right back up again, working just fine. Whatever went wrong before disappears.

Our lives have a God-designed reboot button as well. It’s called night.

As I drove to work this morning, I noticed the marked difference between the landscape in the early morning sun on a clear day, and how it looks in the evening as I’m driving home. The clean and bright baby blue and yellow hues of morning give way to the muted oranges and reds of the evening. Even though the sun is at the same angle, just in the west instead of the east, the evening sun’s light strikes the landscape differently. The day just feels older.

In fact, on a clear day I’m confident that I could still tell whether it was morning or evening, even if I didn’t know the time or what direction the sun was coming from, just by stepping outside.

Jeremiah, the likely author of the book of Lamentations in the Old Testament, knew just what I’m talking about:

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. — Lamentations 3:22-23 (ESV)

Like the sun striking the countryside after dawn, life’s struggles look a little different in the newness of each day. I’ve heard it said that God‘s economy allows for “do overs,” which Jesus Christ made possible through His death on the cross and His resurrection. Whatever happened in the past is irrelevant, if our faith is in Him. No, lost time won’t magically reappear. The consequences of past sin remain very real. And the coming day won’t be perfect. But the opportunity to make the best of life, by living for Jesus, starts anew each morning.

The morning light is a picture of God‘s daily renewal. The Bible’s description of Jesus as “the bright and morning star” takes on a whole new meaning. Now comes the hard part:

I have to choose it.

Electing to view the problems and sorrows of life the same way as before follows that old saying, “If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always got.” Others might even think of the definition of “insanity:” Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results each time.

Accepting Jesus Christ’s free offer of salvation and renewal can break the cycle of despair, and allow God to renew your life as he promises to do. Someone very close to me once said that he thought he was too far gone for this life-changing grace to reach him. What better time than in the morning, when minds are fresh, to meet with God and let his Word show you how Jesus Christ makes all things new, including you, and that no one is out of reach of His grace and mercy.

And I’ll never look at rebooting a computer the same way.

 

 

 

 

 

The Time Is the Lesson

My dad’s nearly 20-year battle with Parkinson’s disease ended last Sunday.

The pastor who delivered the message at Dad’s funeral asked me at dinner the night before, “So tell me, what are some of the lessons your Dad taught you over his lifetime?”

Of course, a question like that opened up the floodgate of memories. What surprised me was how many of those memories had a funny twist to them.

Because of my Dad, I know what it’s like to:

  • Watch the sun rise over Atlantic Ocean in a tiny boat 30 miles off coast of Maryland, all the while nearly passing out from the smell of the boat’s diesel fuel.
  • Eat PB&J sandwiches on a john boat in the middle of a lake while fishing, except that no fish were biting. None. Zero. Zilch. All day.
  • Use old-fashioned hand warmers, fueled by lighter fluid (and not by chemical reaction as they are today) while sitting in a freezing cold tree blind, waiting for deer. I never even ever saw a deer, let alone shot at one, but we were there, waiting for them. Maybe they don’t like the smell of lighter fluid.
  • Hear my Dad ask my Mom, in all seriousness, if she wanted him to “cut the cheese.” He did, after all, have a knife in one hand and a block of cheddar in the other. Being a child of the ’70s, I laughed about that for days (and obviously still do). He may or may not have known what I was laughing about.

There weren’t a lot of hunting and fishing excursions, so each one is burned indelibly into my memory. And these times would have been perfect for one of those father-son talks that help turn boys into men. But the “talks” didn’t happen. Dad was a man of few words, and talking just wasn’t his thing.

But what did happen in those times was real life. My Dad was always just himself.

In other words, the time I spent with him was the lesson.

While waiting quietly for a fish to bite, or in perfect silence for a deer to stroll by, I learned his patience and self-control. Sitting in that icy tree blind? There he showed me the value of being prepared, by making sure my hands stayed warm. As I fetched his tools while he worked on a car, I learned his attention to detail and desire to do a job well. And on that boat in the Atlantic, I learned his love for the beauty of nature and the serenity of being alone, miles from shore. I also learned that sometimes you have to endure the bad – in that case, nasty diesel fumes – to get the reward, seeing that huge orange orb emerging from the ocean, with a perfect copy of it floating right on top of the water.

Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.  — Proverbs 22:6 (ESV)

Thanks, Dad, for the “real life” training, the kind a dad gives to his son just by being with him. Your life spoke louder than any words could ever could.

Oh, and that “cut the cheese” thing? I didn’t learn anything from that. It was just funny.