August 2007

This summer I’ve had a glorious time grilling. I’ve grilled everything from asparagus to zucchini. Truthfully I haven’t grilled much more than asparagus and zucchini, and it’s only a coincidence that one begins with “a� and the other “z.�

Oh, good idea for a new year’s resolution (it’s never too early to consider these things): grill something corresponding to every letter of the alphabet.

Unfortunately however, after a few “mishaps� Sheena is considering revoking my barbequing privileges.

I write this as an explanation for all those who are wondering about my altered hair line.

While Sheena and I were on our holiday my extended family all got together for a BBQ at the beach. It was a lovely idea on a warm August evening. For some reason I was awarded the task and title of “grill master extraordinaire.�

Truthfully, I was showed the grill and told to get to work.

Now, for those outside of the know, every grill is different. Even grills of exact make and model are different. I was borrowing my cousin’s grill, one I was far from familiar with. It’s not that it was too much grill for me; however, I assumed some things I perhaps should not have assumed.

Assumption 1: I’ve got this
Assumption 2: Every grill is capable of working the way they should
Assumption 3: Each propane tank releases gas at the same rate
Assumption 4: I’ve got this

Sadly, assumptions 1-3 were totally wrong, and 4 would only have been accurate if I added “ball of fire in my face� to the end of it so that it read more like: “I’ve got this ball off fire in my face.�

Let me back the story up a bit.

Sometimes things blow up.

Explosions happen.

I was trying to light my cousin’s barbeque and wasn’t paying enough attention to where my head was in relation to the grill, how many times the igniter had clicked, and how long the gas had been on for.

I was actually thinking it was about time to shut the gas off and give it a breather when the igniter finally chose to work.

There was a big “boom,� or perhaps more like a “poof� and in an instant a fire ball leaped out at my face.

It was one of those “when you least expect it� sort of things like when a gazelle is peacefully grazing before being pounced on by the lioness that was stalking it from the long grass. The gazelle was totally shocked at what was happening, but everyone watching the show knew what was coming.

I, then, was totally surprised.

I guess I knew that it was a possibility, but I never expected that to happen to me.

So, the first words out of my mouth were, “Devin, do I still have eyebrows.� I’ve never been so concerned for my eyebrows in my entire life.

When I next saw Sheena her first words to me were: “What’s wrong with your hair?!� As she touched it clumps fell out of the front.

That night I had to have a long shower before bed: at least long enough to get the charbroiled smell off, and the scent of burnt hair had to be gone.

I then spent the rest of the weekend with a goofy hairline.

The other incident was far less dramatic. Let’s just say that Costco and I have very different definitions of “lean� ground beef, so when I was grilling some burgers the flames got a little high and my arm might have been a little too close and is now a bit less hairy.

I hope you’ve all had a great summer grilling.

Okay, I’ve got a burning question: If something is foolish from the worlds perspective, does that mean it’s brilliant from God’s.

I’ve got this plan for the upcoming year that involves me not getting a job but rather devoting a good chunk of the year to serving God, even if that means not being paid. Now, part of this seems absolutely foolish: insane even. I’m not a young single guy living with my parents anymore. Instead I’m “oldish� (depending on your perspective of old) and married and paying rent and bills and all that stuff.

Can a guy in my circumstances do something so foolish?

Or is it brilliant from God’s perspective?

I know that what God classifies as brilliant the world often looks at as foolish, but to what extent is the opposite true?

Have you ever written a letter to Santa asking for a huge long list of stuff?

When I worked at the post office we’d get so many letters to Santa.

I used to write letters to Santa. I’d ask for all sorts of things. There was always a huge list of stuff I wanted. Usually, it was all stuff that would make my life better.

My life was good. I had everything I ever needed, and more. But even though I had all I needed, I still thought life would have been better with a Nintendo. And as soon as we opened that box one Christmas morning, and found the Nintendo, life got better.

There’ve always been times in my life when I thought that if I had something more life would be good, and it would never be complete without that one thing.

I guess the want of stuff doesn’t really go away.

But it’s changing.

My family says I’m the most difficult guy to shop for. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to shop for me. What I want now is bigger, more expensive, and impossible to find. Hot wheels are no longer good enough, I want the real thing. Don’t buy me a model house, I want the real thing.

Mostly I want what’s impossible. I want to know the future. No, better yet, I want to control the future.

In the fourth chapter of James, he informs me that my request cannot be met.

Apparently, it’s not for us to “boast� about our future plans or even know them. He says that it’s not for us to know or decide. It almost seems as if James is boldly saying “You don’t know nothing.�

That’s my paraphrase of James 4:13-16.

Oh, but wouldn’t life be so much better if I knew what would happen: better yet if I could control it.

That’s all I want.

I’ve asked God for that. I’d even have asked Santa had I not been told “the truth.�

Apparently it’s not for me to know.

At least not yet.

I suppose I could get rather upset with God over this. After all, I thought part of the deal was that God is good and wants to give me good stuff. Knowing what lies ahead falls in my definition of “good stuff.�

I think that God and I are using different dictionaries.

Is it true that God is good? Is it true that God knows what is best for me? Is it true that God will deliver me into what is best?

Yes to all three.

Then why do I feel so uneasy and want to know what’s next?

The answer is that somehow I’ve come to equate good and best with easy. I’ve come to think that if God is giving me what is best my life will be easy.

I wish that were so.

But God is good, and His best for me is better. Am I going to plan my future or let Him?

He’s already done an amazing job planning it out.

I saw a video on the internet the other week. It was a video of a guy who tamed a Crocodile. There were images of him swimming, cuddling, and kissing his new friend. He then had people pay money to come over, to what I think was his back yard, and watch them have play time.

Now, the whole time I’m watching this I’m thinking, “I should not be watching this. This will not end well. At any moment that thing is going to twitch and the guys head will be gone. I don’t want to see this guy die.�

Crocodiles are powerful creatures. They are not meant to be tamed.

James tells us that taming wild beasts is nothing new. It was a practice even in his day. Apparently even in the first century AD there were guys with all sorts of weird pets.

James writes that “all kinds of animals, birds, reptiles and creatures of the sea are being tamed and have been tamed by man, but no man can tame the tongue.� (James 3:7-8a)

So, why can’t the tongue be tamed?

Why can’t we master our own bodies?

Why is a crocodile easier to instruct than our own tongues?

This is actually bothering me.

I’m bothered because there are times when I think I’ve got it under control. I think I’ve tamed it. It will be so good for so long and then, oops, out of my mouth pops something deadly.

My words kill.

God’s words, however, bring life and peace. Everything created was created by God speaking. When God spoke the aftermath, the creation, was good.

Can I do that?

Can I speak and create good?

Is that what it means to tame the tongue?

Maybe part of the problem is that we speak too often. If I simply said less would I be in a better place to speak less death?

But what if the amount of words isn’t the point? What if it’s that I keep speaking at times when I’m prone to say the worst possible things? What if I don’t speak when I’m hurt, or defensive?

I’ve learned in the past year that the combination of being hungry, hot and tired, is lethal. Not only do I melt and turn to goo, but I struggle to handle situations and often react poorly. As Sheena and I were driving on our holidays a couple of weeks ago the number one question she kept asking me was: “Are you hungry, do we need to stop and find food?�

This wasn’t just to care for me physically, but spiritually too. Because I don’t operate as well when I’m nourishment deprived. We couldn’t always control the heat or how late in the day we were out, but we could control the hunger.

It seems to me that we can’t tame or control what we don’t know. How well do we know ourselves?

What factors cause you to speak death?

Can they be minimized?

Oh, and for the “things to never do� file. Don’t think that you can begin a serious discussion with students on this topic by asking the question: “how do you use your tongue?�

It’s tough to admit, but I needed rescuing in the past week.

(You might be thinking, “Oh, I know where this is going.� And yes, you are right. However, in the midst of this important truth is quite a funny story from my travels last week. I encourage you to keep reading. )

Last week I found myself in a situation where, despite my best efforts, I still found myself needing a rescuer: a deliverer even.

Last Monday while Sheena and I were on route to Edmonton we found ourselves on the side of the highway with a flat tire. I was determined not to let this unfortunate event ruin a great day. I had a four step plan:

Step 1: Assure Sheena. I said, “No worries: I’ve got this.�
Step 2: Find Jack and spare tire. After unloading an overloaded trunk I had the tire in one hand and the jack in the other
Step 3: Change tire. Something I’ve done before
Step 4: Drive to nearest tire shop in nearest town. It was only 10 kilometers away.

Sadly my plan was sidetracked in the middle of Step 3. I got the car jacked no problem, and the lug nuts came off easy, but that old wheel was stuck something fierce. I thought for a few minutes then I came up with the brilliant plan to tug harder.

That didn’t work.

Plan B involved kicking the tire.

That didn’t work

Plan C had me kicking the tire even harder.

The car almost fell off the jack and the wheel did not budge.

Two sheriffs pulled over to provide us some safety from the big trucks speeding by.

They two were unable to budge the tire.

That was actually reassuring. I didn’t want to look like a wuss in front of two guys who had guns up their sleeves and on their hips.

It was at that point I became willing to admit that I needed help. We called the auto association to send help. They told me that help was on the way.

My rescuer was coming.

The sheriffs knew the rescuer. He was a good friend of theirs and they assured me that he would get the job done right. My rescuer was more than capable of saving me.

About 40 minutes later my rescuer drove right by me. He passed me by.

Fortunately, he came back.

However, this rescuer was someone else. The friend of these sheriffs sent his understudy: a kid about 18 or 19 years old.

He wasn’t able to get the tire off either. He didn’t have the right tools. He tried to improvise, but that didn’t work.

His plan B was to tow me back to town.

I thought that was a grand idea. But then this happened.

I don’t think this was part of the plan.

My rescuer got stuck: more stuck than I was.

My rescuer needed a rescuer. He didn’t want to admit that. He tried so hard to get himself unstuck. After all his effort he was in even deeper. He was more stuck after trying to get out than he was before.

I began thinking that the towing company should use the following slogan: “Call us when you’re stuck. We’ll make you feel better by getting stuck worse.�

I’m not the best slogan writer.

My rescuer finally called for help.

While waiting for help a “good Samaritanâ€? came and tried to get the tow truck out of the ditch. He was unable to. Maybe he didn’t’ have the right tools, or maybe he didn’t have the right experience. Or maybe it was for both reasons that the tow truck was still stuck.

He drove off after a valiant effort. He was not my rescuer.

After a half hour this kid’s boss came. The one I was expecting came in an unusual manor. I was expecting him to show up in a tow truck.
One mightier than the one stuck. He showed up in a pick up truck. A busted looking old Ford. He didn’t have the right tools and I thought we were going to remain stuck.

In fifteen minutes he had the truck out of the ditch and my tire changed.

I heard a lot of cussing in those fifteen minutes.

I wish that was the end of our ordeal.

We limped our car back to town and found the tire shop. The tire guy told us we had punctured the side wall and needed a new tire. Oh, and they don’t’ stock tires that small. After a long search they concluded they had no tires that would work.

We needed another rescue.

It came in the form of the other tire guy. The other shop in town had one tire that small. They had the only tire in town that would fit our car and it was a perfect fit.
Oh, and they deliver.

After four hours of being stuck we were finally on our way.

It took a whole team to rescue us: the sheriffs who provided protection, the first tow truck driver who provided comic relief, his boss who actually got the tire off, and the two tire guys who got our car drivable.

I’m so glad that there was a rescuer for us that day. I’m even more glad that there is a rescuer who doesn’t ever get stuck: one who gets it right the first time, and who isn’t about to send anyone else but himself.