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Okay... so our son and his family were over this afternoon for dinner. Nothing

fancy. Cooked some chicken on the grill, slapped a slice of provolone cheese on

Anyhow, after dinner Aaron and I go out for our favorite past-time: throwing rocks

in the lake. There's something about making those splashes that's stuck with me

ever since I was a kid. Aaron likes it as much as I do. The challenge is, after

throwing into the lake all the rocks behind our house for the last 2 1/2 years, the

place is pretty picked over. Rocks are now few and far between. Luckily, the phone

company was working recently laying FIOS cable, and they turned up a bunch of

Being right handed, I pry a large rock out of the loose ground and place it in my left

hand, pry out another and place it, too, in my left hand, then finally pry out a smaller

one and place it in Aaron's little hand. As I look down on the rock in his hand I see a

couple of tiny ants on it, apparently disturbed and disoriented by my foraging,

crawling frantically back and forth as they realized they were no longer in the safety

of their colony. Not knowing how he would react to the little insects so near his

hand, I softly whispered in his ear, "Look at your hand, Aaron. A couple of ants

were on the rock." He casually blew them off with one big breath, then said with

I turned to look only to see not only the two rocks, but my hand and my entire arms

literally COVERED with swarming ants. AAAARRRGGGGGHHHH!!!! I THREW

down the rocks, and began brushing the little beasts off my hand and arm, much to

the delight of Aaron who by now was laughing uncontrollably. "Grandaddy, you're

OBVIOUSLY, I wasn't frightened by ants. OBVIOUSLY. I was, however,

significantly startled by the sudden and unexpected appearance of the huge number

of those rascals, and they liberty they were taking cavorting all over my personal

Content now that my arm was once again my own, Aaron and I turned to head back

to the house. As the sun began to slip below the horizon and the breeze brought a

chill to our faces, I thought back on the lesson I'd learned from the ants: How often

are we so focused on the few problems of another that we remain oblivious to the

The other day I heard a terrible racket. In seeking to find its source, I came across a

man using an electric saw to cut a piece of pressure treated lumber. He was in the

process of repairing a lamp post I'd seen toppled in the parking lot several days

earlier. "Somebody back into it?" I asked. "Nope," he said. "Just fell over." And after

a pause added, "Rotted clean through", and nodded his head in the direction of a

I looked down at the post. He was absolutely correct, it had rotted off right at

ground level. "Look at that," he said as he gestured toward another post beside the

"Turn it over," he suggested. And when I did, it revealed a totally different

appearance. Its interior had been eaten out by termites. When I touched the wood it

broke apart like Styrofoam. "You'd never know it by the outward appearance," the

man continued, "but every one of them posts is in the same condition," as he pointed

I couldn't help but think how many churches and Christians are like those lamp

posts. On the outside there's every appearance of health and stability, yet the inside

core has become diseased, fragile, and broken. And while our first thought is to just

slap another coat of paint on the outside and keep on going, what we really need

most is to allow God to cut out the part of us that has died, strip us down to the

In every life… in every church… there comes a time to set the old aside and to start

afresh. There comes a time to receive a fresh breath from the Spirit. There comes a

time to intentionally and willingly open ourself completely to God's sovereign work

" Do not call to mind the former things, or ponder things of the past. Behold, I will

do something new, now it will spring forth; will you not be aware of it? I will even

This past Sunday, as an illustration in my sermon, I compared myself to my

daughter. She's a coffee connoisseur- she can go into Starbucks and order something

[I'll never forget the time we were waiting for a flight in the airport. I went to get us

coffee, but came back empty handed. My wife asked, "Where's my coffee?", to

which I replied, "The menu was so confusing, I couldn't even tell what they carried,

much less how to order." I mean, there wasn't even a small, medium and large

anything! And the menu mentioned whipped cream and cinnamon. On coffee?!

Anyhow, my wife, desperately needing that coffee, set down her book and started

striding toward the beverage kiosk. Her walk had that "follow me, watch and learn"

attitude. So I followed. And I was amazed. She glanced at the menu only for a

second, and ordered some mysterious concoction as it she'd been drinking it all her

life. The attendant, as he began to prepare it, asked a couple quick questions over his

shoulder, to which my wife replied "double" to both. She received her coffee, paid

the attendant, smiled at me with a wink, and turned briskly back towards her seat

and book. I could hardly move- I stood entralled at her prowess in this area which

was so foreign to me. And suddenly a pride began to build inside of me. This wise

I'd just about made it back to my seat at the gate when I heard the sound. What was

that?! There it was again, this time followed by a yowl. It was my wife! What had

that wicked attendant done to her coffee? I looked quickly around- where was

Then I tried the coffee myself. YEOW!! It was thick... and bitter... and strong

enough to pave highways with! She said, "I wonder if it has anything to do with that

"double-double" stuff?" "You don't know?" I asked. "Heck no," she said. That sly

fox- she was just trying to look cool. She had no more idea what all that stuff meant

than I did. "You want this junk?", she asked as she offered me the cup. "You

kidding?" I said. She walked to the trash can and dumped it in. $4.50 down the

Anyhow, I mentioned how I'm such a "non-connoisseur" that I'll often go back to

the leftover pot of coffee a couple days later and nuke a cup in the microwave to

Then I met someone from church the other morning for a cup of coffee and a

conversation. I sipped my coffee as I talked, and over the course of the conversation

went back for a couple of refills. Man, this stuff was good! When I left, I told the

I was about halfway to my car when it hit me. They had prepared their coffee the

way it was supposed to be prepared. And it showed. It was really good. At home, I

kind of haphazardly measure my coffee into the filter, let it set on the burner for

hours, forget about it until later, and then microwave it several times over the next

couple of days before I drink it. I'd become so used to the junk I drink that when

And I thought: how often do we become similarly lax in our relationship with God.

We forget about Him for days at a time, give Him the leftovers of our time and our

attention, offer the quick prayer before bedtime to try and catch up on our

righteousness, and then complain about the fact that "religion and church isn't

everything it's cracked up to be." But then we stumble upon a genuine experience

with God and, just like that fresh, real cup of restaurant coffee, we suddenly realize

how special such an encounter is... and we clamor for more. The taste of the real

thing should cause us not to settle for anything less- in our coffee or in our

relationship with God. (To hear more about such a genuine encounter with God,

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