“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

I remember it as clearly as if I were sitting there today. It was a majestic tree, standing tall and always pointing upward. And the view from the top of that Evergreen tree was spectacular.

And despite having nearly fallen out of my perch at the top on a couple of occasions, the view—and more—made it worth the climb. Because for a seven-year-old the “more” was that it was a safe place, a place of hope. Up there, other than perhaps a fall—no one could hurt you. Up there the world looked different; it even seemed like a better place. Up there you could sense the presence of something or someone safe. Something almost sacred.

In the top of that Evergreen tree.

At the top, seventy-five feet in the air, I could see for miles across the rooftops in the distance stretching beyond the two-story house and lot it was located on, owned by an aunt and uncle on Long Island, New York. Off to my right, about a half-mile away, was the Knickerbocker Brewing Company. Directly across the street were the woods we sneaked into despite the “No Trespassing” signs and the gnarly old owner whom we were certain would see to it that we never ventured there or anywhere else again—if he ever caught us. Down the street, and off to the left, was the home of the kind elderly lady who always gave me a piece of bread spread with butter and sprinkled with sugar. Funny, but I always felt safe there—with or without the sugary treat.

I’d spend hours up in that tree, just lying across a friendly branch. The air smelled cleaner, fresher up there. The sky was bluer and the breezes cooler. But more importantly, it was the only place where I knew I would be safe, away from all those on the ground, away from a world that didn’t seem fair and always seemed scary. At least that’s what it felt like to that little boy.

Way up high in the Evergreen tree, I planned great things for my future—and dreamed how one day my family would be re-united and I would be a great baseball player and everyone would love me. In the top of that tree, I found the strength I would need to withstand the world I would have to face again when my feet inevitably hit the ground—because I would eventually have to come down. My Mother was gone, taken away in the dead of one night. My Dad was too busy to care, and living somewhere else.

So there we were, my sisters and me, as their slightly older seven-year-old brother, at our aunt and uncle’s place. They were some of the “people on the ground” who made us feel like, well, like intruders really. We earned our keep by washing their dishes, cleaning their house, doing outside chores which their children, cousins by birth, didn’t have to do anymore, because we were there. Dessert for us came after their family ate it, because we were assigned to wash the dinner dishes first—before our dessert. Maybe that’s why I still feel a tearful twinge of connection and sadness when I watch Cinderella with my two precious Granddaughters. I hate to admit it, but I didn’t like my aunt and uncle very much.

But then I always had that Evergreen tree.

Things always seemed better when I got to the top of that tree. No one dared to climb up to bother me or get me down. I liked to think that no one was as brave as I was. And so, even though I paid the price later for not coming down soon enough, my time at the top of the tree was always worth it. It seemed to strengthen me for what was to come. There was something I found hopeful and encouraging in that view from the top of the Evergreen tree, with the wind blowing through my hair while gently rocking the trunk of my sacred childhood sanctuary slowly and rhythmically back and forth.

Those retreats high into the air sustained me through the times on the ground. The rejection and fear on the ground was still real and ever-present. But the view from on high, with all its possibilities and hope, remained so etched in my mind, that I could still feel the cool breezes blowing through the branches touching my spirit—even on the ground. From the top of that tree the world seemed more peaceful. From up there it seemed as though you could become whatever you wanted to be. From up there everyone had a chance to be all they were created to be.

And as things in my life got worse in the coming years, my thoughts would carry me back to the top of that tree. I always felt a bit safer, stronger, just from the memory of those moments. I even felt hopeful that maybe one day everything would be alright. I still climb up there now every now and then, at least in my mind and spirit. It’s a nice return and reminder of God’s presence even in the midst of whatever you face.

Perhaps you need an Evergreen tree to climb to the top of today. Perhaps you need a bit of hope and encouragement for tomorrow, and a cool breeze blowing through your hair today. Perhaps you need a clearer, fresher view of all the hope-filled potential of your life and the days ahead, with a fresh and limitless perspective beyond the problems and mistakes of your day.

The climb to the top may not always change the reality on the ground. It may not take away the pain, heartache, rejection or uncertainty about tomorrow you feel, but it will always calm and strengthen your spirit. You may even notice that you feel a bit closer to the One who—as I know now—was always in the top of that Evergreen tree with me.

And when you get to the top I guarantee that you will find renewal, restoration and the strength to regroup for those moments when your feet hit the ground again.

Those times at the top of the tree will carry you on toward that day when hope does arrive, when it really is safer on the ground, when there really are those around you who care about you and will seat you for dessert with the rest of the family.

And in that you will see the future He has planned for you—with Him.

In the top of the Evergreen tree.

Go ahead—enjoy the view.

In His Name—Scott

Copyright 2012. Scott L. Whitaker. All rights reserved.

]]> http://impactforliving.org/blog/2012/05/view-from-the-evergreen/feed/ 0 http://impactforliving.org/blog/2012/05/hand-stand-trust-optimism/ http://impactforliving.org/blog/2012/05/hand-stand-trust-optimism/#comments Mon, 07 May 2012 17:55:48 +0000 Scott Whitaker http://impactforliving.org/blog/?p=528 Just some early morning thoughts from me to you…

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want…

And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Psalm 23 (ESV)

It was a few days ago. I was headed to the back of the house from the kitchen. It requires that I pass through the family room. Our younger granddaughter, Ellie Kate, was staying with me for a few hours and was watching a movie in the family room while doing various acrobatic exercises across the entirety of the floor.

“Gran,” she said with a soft tone of expectancy while flipping up into a hand-stand, “please hold my legs.” I reached out and gently grabbed the now upside-down girl around the ankles.

“Now lift me up.” I obeyed dutifully, raising her head and hands a foot above the rug covering a pretty hard wood floor below.

“Now, please walk around the room with me.” I did, knowing that in a few days my lower back would probably remind me of this moment. But it’s always worth it.

Trust. That allowed me to lift her and carry her around the room.

Fearless and not fully aware of the consequences to her head or neck if I dropped her—there she hung, upside-down with only my grip securing her safety as we walked around viewing her world from a new perspective.

Trust. Total dependence, and in this case, on me.

Which leads to another character trait which will totally change our view of life—

Optimism.

And optimistic view in the midst of the peril of being dropped head first on the floor, which allowed her to take in the world around her with an expectancy of good.

And it was that trust and optimism which allowed Ellie Kate to not only take a look at her new upside-down world, but to embrace it and to enjoy it—not giving a moment of thought to her safety, knowing that she would be allright.

It’s the picture that David painted for us all in the familiar 23^rd Psalm:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want…

He leads me beside the still waters…

He restores my soul…

I will fear no evil, for you are with me…

You anoint my head with oil;

My cup overflows…

And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

It’s a picture that can be trusted. A picture to depend upon. A picture with which to embrace an optimistic and enthusiastic outlook of our life and whatever each day may bring our way.

But more than that—it’s a picture of a God who can be trusted, a God who can be depended upon, and a God who calls us, with Him, to an optimistic and enthusiastic view of life. The words “En Theos” themselves, from which our word “enthusiasm” derives—mean “In God.”

Look, I don’t know what you went through yesterday that was less than encouraging. I don’t know what you went through during times so many years ago that may still be painting a picture of your view of God and your life. What you may have gone through matters, but only in that it is a part of history from which you can learn. But when “what was” begins to paint the picture of “what can be” in our minds and hearts—well, it’s time to paint a different picture. We can learn from it and keep it in its proper place—the past—or we can repeat it in our lives and the lives of others.

And further, I don’t know what you’re facing today. It may seem to be a mountain so big that you can’t imagine how you can climb it. But remember, you and I don’t have to do it alone. The God Who created you and me can be trusted and depended upon to show us the way—maybe not over, but perhaps around or through.

And the beginning of that new picture of your life—that new view that trusts with an eternal optimism remembering that He is always there—may just begin with a hand-stand.

You never know what God can do with that—but whatever He does, it is always for your good.

“Okay Ellie Kate, but just one more time.”

Any of you believe that?

In His Name—Scott

Copyright 2012. Scott L. Whitaker. All rights reserved.

“Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him…” Psalm 37: 7a

A smile broke across my face yesterday evening around dinner time as I listened to Nathan’s recounting of our younger Granddaughter Ellie Kate’s making the case for staying overnight one more time with Mimi and Gran.

“Daddy, I have three reasons that I want to tell you to stay another night with Mimi and Gran. One, because I can help Mimi around the house while I’m here; two, Mimi will be able to have me for company in the morning when we wake up in case Gran has to go to somewhere; and, well, because I want to.”

That would have carried the day for me—leading to her third night in a row with us. Actually any one of those reasons, or even something like—“Gran can I stay with you and Mimi again?” would have won me over. At the end of the discussion, though, her Mommy and Daddy thought that she ought to spend the night at home because she would have a busy morning today. Ugh!

The morning yesterday, though, started similarly with a smile breaking across my face, because in that morning I made and had breakfast with Lynda and Ellie Kate, and then had the joy and privilege of watching our elder Granddaughter, Hannah, compete in a horse show.

Quite a day—being a part of the lives and activities of God’s gift of two precious Granddaughters. As I sit here with you this morning reflecting on the occasions of yesterday, I find myself reminded of their Mimi’s comment when she held Hannah in her arms over twelve years ago for the very first time just hours after she was born—“She took my breath away!”

And in every moment of every day since, with their presence and lingering recollections of moments from their visits, Hannah and Ellie Kate have quietly marked our lives with sacred memories imprinted on the pages of our hearts.

Simply put—they stop our world.

We all have people and things like that in our lives. People and moments which God has placed there to add a bit of the eternal into what are at times overwhelming moments of the everyday. Where we stop—or are stopped—and catch a glimpse into a quieter place, a holier place, where the transient activities, problems and uncertainties of the day—which seem to occupy our every waking moment—are replaced with the eternal, and with a glimpse into what Heaven will be like. Where we are given a glimpse into a quieter place, a still place, where the heartaches of yesterday and the hurdles we tend to see in today, are replaced with all the possibilities in today and all the hopes for tomorrow. It happens when we stop and embrace the people and moments like those which were there for us yesterday.

And when we are privileged to catch a glimpse of moments like those, something wonderful happens. They stop our world. All of the busyness and preoccupation with the unimportant things, which keeps us way too busy, falls aside, as today replaces someday, and the blessings of now replace all of my planning for tomorrow. Moments like that amidst the relationships God places within our lives—stop our world. Moments like that should cause us to become very still before them and, as I am doing now, to remember and learn from the imprints they leave on our lives.

For me and for Mimi, our two Granddaughters simply stop our world, whether it’s Hannah’s soft, lyrical voice and gentle smile considering something new she can try, or Ellie Kate’s full-faced smile with fully-wrinkled nose thinking of the next adventure before her. They open our hearts and still the static which often creeps into in our souls, while slowing our pace. God intended for that to happen when He sent them to us.

In her book “Gift from the Sea,” Anne Morrow Lindbergh suggests that “an end toward which we could strive–to be the still axis within the revolving wheel of relationships, obligations and activities.” That still axis is that quiet center of our lives where we begin to focus on the eternal moments of today, as our world continues to spin all around us presumably heading toward tomorrow. It’s that quiet center where stillness replaces busyness and priorities align in a God-ordained order.

Yesterday that happened for us. It needs to happen for all of us, every day.

Embrace those people and moments around you where your life will be marked by sacred memories, where your world is stopped to reflect upon the eternal, the important, and the God who is over it all.

For Lynda and me there are many—but our Granddaughters do it every time.

They simply stop our world.

Thank God. Really! Thank God.

In His Name—Scott

Copyright 2012. Scott L. Whitaker. All rights reserved.

“The Lord himself will fight for you. Just stay calm.” Exodus 14:14 (NLT)

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” Exodus 14:14 (NIV)

I was preparing these thoughts to share with you this morning when I realized I may be the one who needs the reminder most of all.

In the midst of preparations for a number of major projects all coming to bloom within a few weeks of each other, beginning with this weekend—I found myself worried, a bit tense, unsure, although wanting to believe that God will provide the resources, wisdom and energy which is needed to carry the day.

In all of his better moments, Moses knew that. No doubt many times before, he had silently pondered those words which he spoke that day and at that moment to the Israelites whom he had led with God’s hand of direction and provision, out of Egypt.

“The Lord himself will fight for you. Just stay calm.”

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only be still.”

Never fully knowing what the result would be on any given day, Moses trusted the result would be what the Lord had in mind, and it would be a better result than if he had tried to engineer it all by himself. Reaching the end of his own wisdom, ability and expertise, Moses believed that the Lord would always continue to fight for him—and he needed to keep on moving in quiet trust of that eternal truth.

Moses understood in the midst of whatever he faced, that quitting was never an option—he had to move on. He had to follow the Lord’s leading, as he led the Israelites through the desert. But then they reached the shore of the Red Sea with Pharaoh’s mighty army of Egyptians nipping at their heels. With nowhere to go, the Israelites did what they usually did in similar circumstances—they began to cry out in defeat and terror—wishing they had died in Egypt before their exodus, wanting to return to captivity in Egypt rather than to die where they were in the desert. They worried, they whined and they wailed. I know I can identify.

And Moses answered their worry, whining and wailing by telling them to be quiet (or some similar and maybe stronger admonition) and to not be afraid, because…

“The Lord himself will fight for you. Just stay calm.”

And then, as God directed him to do, he stretched out his hand and staff over the sea—and the waters of the Red Sea divided and the Israelites went through on dry ground, with a wall of water on their right and a wall of water on their left.

I wonder if any of you find yourself standing on the shore of a Rea Sea with the rest of the world, and all its concerns, closing in from behind and seemingly all around you. I wonder if you find yourself facing some seemingly insurmountable obstacle and challenge, and—realizing you have come to the end of your own wisdom, ability and expertise—you find that you can’t deal with it alone.

Perhaps you’re facing a medical procedure you didn’t anticipate, or the last days of a long illness of a loved-one, the end of a job, or a relationship that has never been what it should be no matter how hard you have tried. Maybe you’ve experienced the disappointment of a “friend” you thought you could trust, or you’ve had a setback and are now uncertain about where you are on what seemed to be a dream career path, or perhaps you’re beginning to believe that all the fluctuations in the economy will be never-ending.

Perhaps you feel that even though the ground seems firm and dry beneath you, you had better not take your eyes off those walls of water on the right and on the left—looking ominously as though they will surely give way at any moment.

I wonder if any of you are going through any of that, or worse. Maybe not today. That’s good. But whether or not you are at this particular moment, history seems to demonstrate that at some time or another we all will find ourselves on the shores of our own Red Sea—facing an obstacle we won’t know how to get around, over or through, while surrounded by a world closing in fast around and behind us.

In those moments, I pray that we will remember that through it all the Lord your God is with you and with me. I pray that we will also remember—as Moses knew—that the Lord will continue to fight for you and for me—we just need to trust and be calm.

It’s just one of many promises of the God who loves you and me.

Believe it.

Embrace it.

Claim it as your own.

Just something for each of us to remember for all of our todays, tomorrows, and everyday throughout eternity.

In His Name—Scott

Copyright 2012. Scott L. Whitaker. All rights reserved.

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
Margaret Mead

What one thing in your life do you want to change?

I wonder if Louis Oosthuizen would say it would be to have won the Masters Golf Tournament yesterday. I wonder if Phil Mickelson would say it would have been to have hit a better tee shot on the par three-fourth hole yesterday at Augusta National Golf Club in the final round of the 2012 Masters Golf Tournament.
If his answer was related to golf, I’m sure Bubba Watson, the new 2012 Masters Champion, would not change much about his final round, winning the tournament on the second playoff hole after pulling off a near miraculous shot from the woods off the pine straw to within twenty feet of the hole on the tenth green.

But maybe he would change having his bride Angie there with him, along with their newly-adopted son, Caleb—instead of being at home. But actually there was good reason, because it was just two weeks ago that this couple changed that little boy’s life forever. And I’ll bet little Caleb would change nothing at the moment. Adopting that little boy was something well beyond playing in, or winning golf tournaments—adopting a little child needing parents, a home, and a future in which they would have a chance to reach their full God-given potential.

Tony and Lauren Dungy, when asked why they adopt children—they now have adopted five—respond: “Because we can.” I suspect that Bubba and Angie Watson might say something similar. There are things in life we do that are just so much more substantive and meaningful than winning, trophies, resume building, money and acquiring things of all sizes and shapes. I have a hunch that Bubba Watson is the kind-of-guy that understands that.

Okay, so you’ve had a few lines now to think about the question I asked as we began. So what is your answer to the question: What one thing in your life do you want to change?

While you’re thinking some more about that, here’s another question:
What one thing in the world do you want to see changed?
Some things which come to mind are—

• Eliminating world hunger and poverty and perhaps even genocide. But that’s three things.
• Eliminate AIDS and homelessness. Two things.
• Eliminate human (adult and children) trafficking. One thing.

Develop further adoption alternatives for children and new mothers.
Too big or too much to tackle for now? For just one person? Then what can each of us do now?
What about some things like—

• Teach a young child to read.
• Take an underprivileged child to lunch and the museum.
• Help a homeless person to find a job.
• Spend an afternoon talking with and listening to an elderly friend.

But I’m getting ahead of you. These are your questions which I have asked, to leave you to find your own answers. I won’t make any more suggestions.

So here are the questions again:
Question # 1: What one thing in your life do you want to change?
Question # 2: What one thing in the world do you want to see changed?

What are your answers?

What are you going to do about those questions? And more importantly, what are you going to do about your answers?

Let me suggest that today you answer both of those questions, and then begin to act on those answers by starting to do whatever it takes to effect the change you want to see.

If you don’t do it, who else do you think will?
Who else do you think should? Right—it has to begin with you. And with me.
In the process, I suspect it will begin to change your life, the lives of others, and who knows—maybe the world.

Just something for you and me to think about today and for the rest of our lives.

In His Name—Scott

Copyright 2012. Scott L. Whitaker. All rights reserved.

Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot. They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”
“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.
He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”
Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”
Jesus said to her, “Mary.”…
Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!”
John 20: 11-18 (NIV)

Both knees ended up burned–through my jeans–by the heat from the roof shingles.
And so, even though I would like to say that I felt hope when I awoke this morning, I really didn’t. Hope would have been appropriate as we begin to look ahead this week toward the events which will eventually lead to and surround the celebration of my risen Christ on Easter Sunday.
But the truth is it wasn’t only my knees I was feeling, but also my shoulders and lower back as I awoke this morning. It was from something I decided I just had to do yesterday. Couldn’t wait for help until today or tomorrow–I had to do it right then. I think Lynda has told me before it’s called being obsessive compulsive (OC).
And so in the midst a number of other things I was working on indoors yesterday–which I could have, and should have, comfortably continued to do–I instead decided to take time out during the hottest part of the day to clean the leaves out of the gutter connecting the screen enclosure to the roof on the back of the house. Just in case it rained again as it did the day before. A roof, I might add, with a pitch to it steep enough to take your breath away. Lynda tried to dissuade me, couldn’t, and so instead checked periodically to make sure I was still up on the roof and moving.
And as the day wore on it got hotter, but then it also got better, because with the job about to be completed, I unexpectedly learned that our two precious granddaughters would be staying with us for the evening and overnight. It was a surprise announcement in the midst of an otherwise hot, difficult afternoon. Many of you understand how that works; the rest of you perhaps will one day.
Let the celebration begin.
It reminds me of a scene in a cemetery many years ago–the last place you would expect a celebration to occur. It’s recorded in the passage of Scripture above. Mary was there at the tomb early on Sunday morning looking for her Lord. She wanted to anoint His body with spices. But all she could remember was the cross.
The image of three days earlier is still seared in her memory. She could still hear the religious leaders screaming for His blood. She could see the Roman whip flying through the air and landing to rip still more skin off His already bloody back. She winces, remembering the thorns cutting His forehead, and she cries, remembering His lifeless body hanging on the cross.
It’s over, she thought again–He’s gone. And with Him, her hope was gone. Mary is worn out, overcome and feeling defeated by all the events of the last few days. She doesn’t notice as the early morning gloom and gray gives way to sunlight and yellow as she walks on to complete her mission, because even though it’s Sunday–for Mary, it’s still Friday. Her Savior is dead. All hope is gone.
And on this day as we approach Easter Sunday once again, and remember all that Mary felt and experienced, I know that many of you might be feeling a bit like Mary did. Worn down, worn out, overcome, and feeling a bit defeated. Times are difficult in your lives, and there doesn’t seem to be much sunshine breaking through. Many of you are at that same place in your lives as Mary was that damp gray Sunday morning. Perhaps we have just lost a loved one and don’t know how to move on. Our job seems to bring us less satisfaction with each passing day–if we have one at all. Each day the budget seems to get tighter and tighter, and the food packages at the store seem to have fewer ounces, yet the same or higher price.
And if those aren’t enough, we learn that a relationship we just knew was made in heaven has begun to skid out of control. We have been scheduled for yet another surgery for something we thought was under control and the doctor is uncertain about the future. Our career has taken an unexpected turn for what seems to be the worst and we feel like we’re standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking a valley and can see nothing encouraging in the view below. One of our teenagers isn’t sure there’s a future for them, so what’s the use; while another seems to have forgotten the values that we thought had shaped them to this point.
“Mary, why are you crying,” came the voice from behind her. She thought it was the gardener, but then she realized it was her Lord. You can almost hear Him saying to her–
“Hi Mary, don’t cry. I’m here. I’m alive. Let the celebration begin.”
And that is exactly what He is saying. Today, tomorrow and every day. And He’s saying it to you and He’s saying it to me–
“Hi Scott, I’m here, I’m alive. You take whatever your facing, Scott, one step at a time, with Me, through Me, and with My power, and I’ll deal with the future.”
And that’s what we should be remembering through whatever we are going through or dealing with. That’s the promise, so let the celebration begin.
My knees are still a bit red and sore. That’s temporary, but the Hope and celebration are forever and eternal!
“Hi_______, I’m here. I’m alive.”
Let the celebration begin!

In His Name…Scott

Copyright 2012. Scott L. Whitaker. All rights reserved.

“Jesus found a young donkey and sat upon it, as it was written, ‘Do not be afraid, O Daughter of Zion; see, your King is coming, seated on a donkey’s colt.’”

John 12: 14, 15 (NIV)

He was a friend close enough to know I cared, and in that friendship, trusting enough to allow me to ask a revealing question when I saw him approaching our group with an obvious limp in what I had always remembered as an otherwise fluid stride.

“Why are you limping?” I inquired as he stopped to join in our conversation.

“I’m not,” he defended, “I’m just dragging my leg.”

Things aren’t always what they appear to be.

Not too long ago, our younger Granddaughter, Ellie Kate, had peaked my interest in a movie she announced she had recently seen. And so while traveling with Lynda after that, I watched Ellie Kate’s recommended movie “Bolt”. It is the animated tale of an endearing little puppy who played a role as a super-hero dog in the movies.

At some point in all of those adventures he discovered that—in his real-life—he really wasn’t the super-hero dog he portrayed for the television cameras each week; a dog stronger than a locomotive, who could run faster than a speeding bullet, and leap tall buildings with single bound. He learned—under some difficult circumstances—that things aren’t always what they appear to be when he finally left the television production set after a number of years of broadcasts. But he also learned that the little girl in the movies with him loved him just as he was.

And I remember, not too long ago, while sitting in a hotel room with a panoramic view through the open doors of our balcony across the vast expanse of Pacific Ocean in the distance, that all seemed calm and serene as the sunlight glistened on the quiet surface broken occasionally by the blow of a visiting whale. But I suspect beneath that peaceful appearance there is a world below teeming with activity.

Things aren’t always what they appear to be.

In just a few days, millions around the world will pause to recognize Palm Sunday, that day years ago when the King of Kings made His triumphant entry into the city of Jerusalem. Those who greeted him lined the streets waving palm branches and laying them on the road before Him as He entered the city. In their minds, He was to become their ruler—the long-awaited-Messiah—in the days ahead, and all would then be well in their lives.

Things aren’t always what they appear to be.

There is much to be seen and learned on the surfaces of life. The race through what we collectively call March Madness is one such example, where the top sixty-eight college basketball teams battle through a stretch of four weeks to be able to claim the national championship, with the excitement of games, exhilaration of victories and heartbreak of losses. Sixty-seven of those teams at some point in the process fall short and on the surface are characterized by others, and often themselves, as failures.

It’s a strange yet expected viewpoint when we live our lives on the surfaces of life. We experience promotions in our careers—helping to build resumes, or are handed diplomas signifying graduation from high schools and colleges. We build new homes, buy new cars and check out the size—or not—of our bank accounts. We embark on new ventures, and establish new relationships. We rise and fall, win and lose, sometimes come up more, and too often come up less, than we were meant to be day-after-day, as we try to make our way through what we see as the path before us.

Of course, there is much to be learned on the surfaces of life in the day-to-day experiences of life. But life wasn’t meant to be lived on the surface. Life was meant to be lived much deeper than that. Life wasn’t meant to be lived on the shallow and worldly surfaces we see and experience around us that draw us in, and through which we experience what are only temporary transient joys and sorrows.

Life wasn’t meant to be that short or limited, or viewed with such a narrow perspective. We can thank our Creator for that. We were created to look deeper at the things that appear on the surface to be one thing, yet when looking deeper, we find are another thing altogether. When we do, we find a man “dragging his leg” from an injury has a heart so determined that it wouldn’t even allow him point to it as an excuse to be less than he was meant to be. You’ll find a little puppy who realized that life wasn’t about fanfare and fans, but about his relationship with a little girl who loved him—not because of the way the television cameras portrayed him as a super-dog—but because he was hers and she was his. You find teams, players and coaches with stories which go beyond the wins and losses of a March Madness, trying to make a difference in the world around them. And when you look beneath the surface of a peaceful ocean scene, you’ll find the hand of the Creator in a watery world which covers over three quarters of the world around us.

And finally, looking deeper beyond a man on a donkey colt, you find a Savior who came to take upon Himself our imperfections and our sinful natures which separate us from Him—not so He could rule for a few years in the world, but so that He could rule forever in our hearts.

Look deeper at all that is around you. Look deeper at the sacred trusts of loved ones close at hand. Look deeper at the legacy you are living and leaving. Is it marked by the shallow and temporary and transient things of the world, or is it marked by the deeper and eternal things of the One approaching Jerusalem on a young donkey?

Things aren’t always what they appear to be.

You and I can thank God for that. Look deeper into the way things really are and, more importantly, at the way they ought to be. Start by looking into a relationship with the long-awaited Messiah, and deepening that relationship for the rest of your life.

Things aren’t always what they appear to be. Thank God.

In His Name—Scott

Copyright 2012. Scott L. Whitaker. All rights reserved.

“This is what the Lord says: ‘Stop at the crossroads and look around. Ask for the old, Godly way, and walk in it. Travel its path, and you will find rest for your souls.’”

Jeremiah 6:16 (NLT)

The words of a dear friend, from his book The Road to Somewhere, published in 2003, were floating through my thoughts as I sat here waiting for another day to stretch out before me. In his book, best-selling author, James Dodson, paints the experiences from a once-in-a-lifetime odyssey which he and his young son, Jack, took together through some of the great cities and small towns of Europe.

At one bend in the road, having just finished exploring Great Britain, with Holland in their sights—not his, but his son’s selection for their next destination—he penned these poignant words:

“I was just pleased to keep on keeping on, wherever the good road took us.”

Their original plans to circle the globe were curtailed considerably by the events of September 11, 2001, and the continuing unrest exhibited between would-be and should-be neighbors around the world. But they made the best of it along the roads which stretched out before them—both old and new—they encountered along the way.

Wherever the good road took them, they continued on.

It’s always there. The road before us, that is. It may be a notorious one like the Road to the Final Four which sixty-eight college basketball teams across the Nation stepped upon last week heading to the crowning of a national champion in New Orleans in a few weeks. It may be the road beginning the 65^th year of life, which a dear friend in San Antonio stepped onto two days ago.

It may be a familiar one like the road to see your Grandchildren or them to see you, or roads both old and new taken as families gather to celebrate Easter together in a few weekends. It may be one like the Emmaus road recorded in scripture, traveled by two downcast men running away from a tragedy, or so they thought, as they remembered the image they had seen a few days before of Christ hanging on the cross. Or, then upon hearing of His resurrection from the tomb, it may be one like the road they raced back on to begin to tell the world that He was alive.

“I was just pleased to keep on keeping on, wherever the good road took us.”

They’re all before us. Roads of every shape, size, adventure, outcome and hope.

Some are old, familiar and comfortable. Some are becoming monotonous—beginning to be filled with too many familiar ruts. Some new ones are full of breathtaking scenery we’ve never seen before, yet with the unknown lurking around each bend causing our blood-pressure to rise just a bit. There are roads with twists and turns, detours, forks and side-streets—leaving us confused as to which way to go. And there are some roads with valleys and hills—or as my younger Granddaughter, Ellie Kate, calls them—roller coasters—while flinging her hands high in the air from her rear booster seat.

Roads we have traveled with memories both joyful and sad. Roads leaving scars as well as ones leaving brightly-colored ribbons. Roads which led to success and some to failure. Roads now stretching before us of uncertainty and doubt, evoking fear and nervousness—demanding a courage we dig deep to find with each step. And there are roads that will lead to dreams fulfilled. And roads to places destined to be our greatest accomplishments, and roads to what may become our greatest disappointments.

We’ve been on them all. And with the sunrise of each new day, we will have a choice and chance to journey on some of them again, or on new ones altogether. Each new day is positioned on the threshold of one of the roads which stretches before us. Upon which ones will we choose to journey?

Perhaps the words of Jeremiah will help us to decide…

“Stop at the crossroads and look around. Ask for the old, Godly way, and walk in it. Travel its path, and you will find rest for your souls.”

Notice Jeremiah didn’t mean “old” necessarily in terms of old or familiar as opposed to new and unfamiliar. Jeremiah’s admonition is to seek the ones—old or new—where you know God will honor where you are going, where He has equipped you to go, and where He can use you for His glory. It may not be the exact one on which He wants you to travel forever—but as He smiles down upon the attempt of your heart to travel where you think He wants you to go now—take comfort in knowing that He will travel with you.

He may eventually grind you around to another road, or kick you down one path instead of another as you stand—undecided—at a newly-found fork or bend in the road. But remember—Godly assurance, rest, strength and peace will be found in knowing that He is going with you.

Facing a fork the road? Trying to decide whether to follow a bend, or follow a path which seems to lead into a valley or toward a mountaintop? Not sure whether the detour you have come upon is the way you should go? Having a little trouble with some uncertainty up ahead, or feeling a little jostled by some unexpected twists and turns or roller coasters stretching out before you?

“Stop…look around. Ask for the…Godly way, and walk in it. Travel its path, and you will find rest for your souls.”

And then, as my good friend encouraged us to do, for today and in every brand new day—just “keep on keeping on, wherever the good road takes you.”

Knowing that God will be going with you.

Today, tomorrow, and every day for the rest of your life.

In His Name—Scott

Copyright 2012. Scott L. Whitaker. All rights reserved.

 “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13 (NKJV)

 The sky is still black with uncertainty and expectancy of all that this the day will bring. So clear and black, that it seems as though you could almost reach into it to touch one of the stars which light up the darkness.

That thought lingered as a challenge for just a moment while my daughter-in-law’s words from years ago drifted back into my consciousness as I watched the NCAA Basketball Championships selection show last night—

“Do they do this every year?”

When Nathan and Amy were first married, Amy had a steep learning curve on a fast track in sports requiring that she graduate from being a sports’ novice. She had a ways to go. Actually, she was once heard to ask her husband-to-be (Nathan) at a football game why the teams kept punting the football away every few downs instead of just keeping the ball.

Her words—“Do they do this every year”—now captive in my thoughts again this morning, reflected the excitement she felt years ago as she watched someone achieving beyond their expectations and all the way to the end of their reach.

“Do they do this every year?”

It happened when our then brand new, wide-eyed, eager to experience every moment in life, champion of the underdog and the underprivileged, daughter-in-law Amy, caught her first glimpse, through Nathan, of the NCAA’s March Madness. That annual spring pilgrimage where college basketball players—talented kids living a moment few get—from every walk of life, and suburb, street corner, disadvantage, and opportunity, representing sixty-eight of the very best collegiate basketball teams across the country, reach for that one magical moment they have dreamed of in all the pickup games they have ever played on all the basketball courts, driveways and backyards they could find as they were growing up.

Amy and our son Nathan had just watched their first game in their first March Madness moment as newlyweds—a first round triple overtime thriller in 1995 between the favorite number three-seeded Wildcats of Villanova University and the upstart fourteenth seeded Monarchs of Old Dominion.

Unbelievably, Old Dominion won 89-81 and ignited anew a brushfire of hope that flickered in the hearts of all of us of any age who ever had a dream. A brushfire that causes us to reach again, to give it a chance, to try one more time, to reach for the unreachable, and to get up and get back into life. It was a moment that was also a fitting beginning for their marriage and their journey together into eternity.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you and I, and every child everywhere, of every age everywhere, could have such moments—again and again in our lives? Moments that cause us to reach beyond where we thought we could reach—out into the darkness of uncertainty—for all we were meant to be. The Apostle Paul tells us, in the scripture above, that we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us. We can, with Him. But maybe there are some out there who don’t know that and who may need a lift up first to meet Him.

Ever wondered why there are some kids living in poverty, abused, disenfranchised and disconnected from some of the opportunities available to the rest of the world? Ever wonder why there are homeless families, soup kitchens, and not enough medical clinics for the needy? Ever wonder why some kids do poorly in school, and are forever labeled as underachievers, developmentally handicapped or slow?

That was not the intention of the God who created them, when He created them, and entrusted them to parents, family, friends, and dare I say—to the rest of us.

Reflect with me for a moment about the “children of all ages” whose dreams often are snuffed out at an early age through no fault of their own, or the man or woman in the middle of life for whom the wind has seemed to go out of their sails, or the elderly who sit all alone with only their memories to get them through the day. They are all dreamers—like you and like me—who may need a lift up to help them to see the sunshine just beyond the rainbow and a spark of encouragement to rekindle that desire to reach again and again for that one shining star in the darkness—and perhaps that one shining moment where a dream is finally fulfilled. And in that moment when they reach for their dream, whether they’re successful or not, they come closer to becoming the person God created them to be.

They, like us, can find encouragement to reach for those dreams and hopes from those words of Paul in the book of Philippians set out above. But very often they need to find it first from someone like us who reaches down to help them reach up. Often then need a moment of our lives to remind them that they were created for extraordinary things by a God who loves them. Often they need a helping hand, a bit of applause as they try, and someone to lift them up again if they fall. And along with all of that, they may just need someone to introduce them to the Christ who has loved them all along the way and stands ready to walk with them as they reach for all they can be.

Yes, Amy, as you now know, they do this every year. NCAA’s March Madness. Sixty-eight teams, with one eventual National Champion, and an incalculable number of magical moments that will last a lifetime for those who participate, and for those of us who cheer them on.

And perhaps, just perhaps, there will be moments that will serve to inspire each of us to reach, and keep reaching, for all He intended for us to be—for ourselves, and for dreamers of all ages everywhere.

In His Name—Scott

Copyright 2012. Scott L. Whitaker. All rights reserved.