Author: danefowlkes

“An acquaintance merely enjoys your company, a fair-weather companion flatters when all is well, a true friend has your best interests at heart and the pluck to tell you what you need to hear.” ~E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

“Mercy, detached from Justice, grows unmerciful.” ~C.S. Lewis

Contrary to popular sentiment, loving does not mean closing your eyes and indiscriminately embracing another’s values or lack thereof. Tragically, many assume that a return to biblical morality translates to a hatred of those who live in contradiction to that moral foundation. Nothing could be further from the truth. True disciples passionately desire all people to know the joy and freedom of a relationship with Christ, and are committed to loving those individuals to Jesus. Opposing an immoral lifestyle does not require hatred of the individual; it necessitates the opposite. Fortunately, it is because we do stand on a firm foundation of grace that we are able to extend hope to all the hurting, confused, and angry. Truth & Mercy have a name–Jesus Christ, the Shepherd of our souls.

“It’s the nonchalance of faith that impedes revival.” ~Dr. Ross Rhoades

In Swahili, or English, or in any other language, this is the message upon which all of our hope and joy rests:

“Kwa maana kwa ajili yetu mtoto amezaliwa, tumepewa mtoto mwanamume, nao utawala utakuwa mabegani mwake. Naye ataitwa Mshauri wa Ajabu, Mungu Mwenye Nguvu, Baba wa Milele, Mfalme wa Amani.”
‭‭(Isaya‬ ‭9:6‬ ‭NEN‬‬)
“For a child has been born for us,a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is namedWonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

(Isaiah 9:6 | NRSV)

“You and I are here for just a few decades, dancing on the stage of life.”~Richard Rohr

Sharing faith is far easier than authenticating it with my own application. It comes naturally to tell others about the Hope that finds and refuses to let go; living is the hard part. “You and I are here for just a few decades, dancing on the stage of life in Christ; it is quite a different thing to die to self daily, hoist a cross, and stumble under its load through marriage, parenting, grand parenting, employment, etc. If only I could record my voice and broadcast with an endless loop while hiding from the world and myself in a cloistered hermitage away from all eyes” (Richard Rohr). As a child I displayed a tall narrow poster on my wall of two boys playing basketball above the caption, “Sometimes it’s hardest to share Christ’s love with those who are closest.” Without despairing that truth, my particular disciple’s hurdle is exercising my faith in front of those who know me best, the ones who have endured my outbursts, and questioned my responses, the ones who refuse to look past my faults but love me, blemishes and all. Grace is not escape; it is engagement at the highest level of risk. Forgiveness is the remedy for everything. This is why the chief of sinners was also the most prolific evangelist and church planter the world has ever known. Fortunately for me and you, we are forgiven, not only for past failures, but for all future blunders we’ve yet to commit. Piper calls this “Future Grace.”

The only possible way to avoid hypocrisy and self-loathing is to step ever deeper inside the labyrinth of forgiveness. “One of the Bible’s greatest truths is that Christ died to take away all our sins–not just part of them, but all of them: past, present, and future. This is why you shouldn’t fear that you will lose your salvation every time you commit a sin. If that were the case, you and I would lose our salvation every day–because we sin every day. Even if our actions are pure, our thoughts often are not. And even if our actions and thoughts are pure, we still sin because of the good things we should be doing but fail to do. Never forget: Your salvation does not depend on you and how good you are. It depends solely on Christ and what He has already done for you through His death on the cross. The Bible says that Christ ‘appeared once for all at the end of the ages to do away with sin by the sacrifice of himself'” Hebrews 9:26 (Billy Graham). We were never intended to wander looking sadly behind, lost in a world of anonymous bridges. Forgiveness begins with believing in Jesus Christ; it flourishes as we forgive ourselves. But which sins are forgiven? “I am writing to you, little children, because your sins have been forgiven you for His name’s sake” (1 John 2:12/ NASB). Our English Bibles do not grant the fullest sense of the Greek word translated as simply “forgiven.” The Greek tense is a perfect participle, referring to something that has occurred in the past and is continuing into the present. This means that all of the past and present sins of Christians have been forgiven – period, never to be recalled. We are pardoned not because we actively confess our sins each day, but because God declared us “whole” the moment we truly believed. I watched a leaf surrender today to the cold and pirouette to the ground. I felt sorry for the trees, dropping what they worked so hard to nurture and retain. Grace shreds false fronts frayed at the edges and allows me to expose myself to those who know me best, and to the One who loves me most.

Although I had hoped it would be available by Christmas, “Ordinary Glory” is set to be offered next month through Amazon, I-Tunes, B&N etc. I will soon have a video trailer and webpage you may consult for more information on the book. “Ordinary Glory” is published by Christian Faith Publishing of Meadville, Pennsylvania. The print version will retail at $13.95 and an ebook version will retail at $9.99.

“The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you.” ~ Frederick Buechner

“Grace is but Glory begun, and Glory is but Grace perfected.” ~ Jonathan Edwards

Writing for me is like hunting a needle in a haystack; I know it’s in there somewhere, I just can’t put my finger on it. When I do, it generally pricks me before I share the needle with anyone else. My recent travel destinations sound like a litany of C&W anthems or B-Westerns: Amarillo, Abilene, Fort Davis, Cisco, Comanche, El Paso, Pecos, and Waco. On one particular journey I was stalled against my will by road construction along Highway 6 somewhere between Dublin and Eastland. It is a barren stretch of tarmac under the best of conditions, along which I’m never tempted to text and drive simply because I lack cell coverage most of the way. Restless and fighting a mild version of road rage, I tuned in Hank FM for some country therapy. I heard Radney Foster sing “Everyday Angels”, David Frizzell belt out “You’re the Reason God made Oklahoma,” and Willie Nelson croon “The Wall.” I have a missionary friend who took a bullet in Africa and credits God and Willie for getting her through the depression, pain and rehab that followed. In front of a lonely farmhouse on Highway 620, still miles from Eastland, stood a tilted and slightly rusted sign bearing the words: ‘Grace’s Reward,’ below which were depicted a horse, a cowboy, and a cross. Questions instantly surfaced. Was the farm a gift to someone named Grace? Was the sign maker stating cryptically that owning a horse and space in which to ride is its own reward? Was the homeowner making a theological declaration?

As I considered its meaning, the radio voice from Hank FM gave breaking news that country singer Hollie Dunn had died in Albuquerque that morning of ovarian cancer at age 59. I am unfamiliar with her life or music, other than her first top-10 hit, “Daddy’s Hands.” What I am acquainted with are the emotions that reacted like involuntary muscle as I considered the unexpected juxtaposition of an untimely death with a roadside reminder. I am not standing in line waiting to receive grace’s reward; this day, this moment, this breath is divine recompense. We cannot and do not deserve any of God’s bounty, but it overflows in spades for those who pause long enough to detect holiness midst the routine and unremarkable. 

“Bless the Lord, O my soul,and all that is within me,bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul,and do not forget all his benefits— who forgives all your iniquity,who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the Pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good as long as you live so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.” (Psalm 103:1-5 | NRSV)

“God’s relationship with man does not work in a way in which man stumbles and then God has to drop what he is doing in order to lift him up; rather, man stumbles so that God can lift him up. Hence it is utterly impossible to truly diminish his glory.” ~ Criss Jami

I blew into Amarillo the other day like a West Texas Scirocco, greeted by a sunset the color of a day old bruise spread wide and low across the horizon like a flattened sombrero. I checked into my hotel and promptly went in search of food since I had not eaten for nearly eight hours. The life of a road warrior is not all glitz and glamour, even if I do work for the most wonderful international relief organization in the world. Cafeteria food has always been a treat for me, probably because each foray down a serving line prompts memories of special Sunday childhood lunches after church at Luby’s Cafeteria in the Jefferson City Shopping Center in Port Arthur. A brightly lit neon sign indicated a Furr’s Cafeteria to my right, so I turned off Soncy Road, parked near the entrance, and walked inside. The young lady behind a counter near the entrance greeted me and informed me that this was a Furr’s all-you-can eat buffet. That wasn’t what I had in mind, so I asked if there was a true cafeteria nearby, and she directed me to the other Furr’s on Georgia Street, just off Interstate 40. Traffic was light, so I navigated seven miles to the cafeteria in about seven minutes, parked, and went inside. There was no other starving patrons in front of me, so I wasted no time in grabbing tray and linen wrapped utensils. I side-stepped to stand in front of the meat selections, and after an agonizing choice decided on fried chicken-dark meat. The man behind the counter in apron and paper beanie placed a diminutive thigh on a plate and shoved it my direction. I looked down at the meager portion, shrugged, and scooted left to the vegetable choices. I made the healthy choice of two starches-mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, each consisting of one ice cream scoop sized dollop. Deciding that I had made a poor choice for this over priced meal, I limited myself to just the three items except to splurge on a wheat roll with butter. At the check out stand, the wiry aproned middle-aged employee rang up my bill, and as she delivered the paper verdict I told her that I didn’t want to be rude, but that these were the smallest portions I had ever seen at a cafeteria. She simply stared at me, shrugged, and said, “Most people start small.” I ignored her cryptic response, eased myself behind a table by a window, all the while chastising myself for wasting money and time on such a meager meal. A pleasant young lady who seemed out-of-place working for tips in a cafeteria stopped by my table a few minutes later to ask if I needed anything. Not wanting to be rude, I couldn’t help launching into the same expression of disappointment over the size of the portions. She said, “Well, sir, you can go back as many times as you want. We keep the portions small because most customers like to sample a number of different entrees.” I’m obviously not the brightest pea in the patch, but it slowly dawned on me that this, too, was an all-you-can eat buffet. I had been frugal for no reason. I ended up going back uncharacteristically through the line another two trips, ending my feeding frenzy by sitting back in my chair, sipping complimentary coffee, and forcing down a slice of lemon ice box pie. 

On the short drive back to my hotel, I couldn’t shake my embarrassment, thinking how narrowly I had escaped a colossal blunder. How could I have been so blind? I had started through the cafeteria line like a pauper, while all the while a king’s table was spread before me. Ignorance is no excuse for missing out on serendipity. How often do I fail to recognize the heavenly blessings I am the earthly beneficiary of? Surrounded by glory, I opt for self imposed blinders that prevent me from detecting the lavish grace of a grand child’s reckless laughter, a daughter’s sterling respect, my wife’s long-suffering, a stranger’s need, or the intricate reflection of heaven found in rose petals or an asparagus fern. Truth be told, I am blessed beyond measure, and far beyond anything I deserve. The King of Glory spreads a veritable smorgasbord of grace in front of me; God forbid that I would settle for two dollops of potatoes and a thigh.

“Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.” Ephesians 3:20-21 | NRSV

Logan stopped and gazed skyward as the kite began to soar above them, and when he clapped his hands at Ben’s obvious joy, she was strucked by the simple truth that sometimes the most ordinary things could be made extraordinary, simply by doing them with the right people.  ~ Nicholas Sparks

She heard and spotted them first. She always does. We were on the return portion of our customary evening walk atop Lake Waco dam, facing into a north breeze that made me anticipate upcoming brisk winter walks that will be, quite literally, breathtaking. Since my hearing has never been quite up to snuff, subtle nuances of sound often escape me, which explains why she paused and looked up toward the westerly thunderheads while I maintained rhythm of pumping arms and straining footfall. When she vanished from my periphery, I slowed and turned, and then followed her gaze skyward.

“Do you hear them?” she asked. 
“Hear who?” I replied.
“The geese.”

We aren’t “tree huggers” in a political sense, but my wife and I definitely appreciate and are drawn to the natural side of living. We own more bird feeders than pretty much anything else, and erected a deer feeder several years ago in the pasture behind our home–not to lure deer to their death, but to keep them well fed in winter. As a result, simple events that fly below the radar for most, like hummingbirds disappearing for warmer environs and the honking of geese high above or near the horizon, command our attention. When I heard what had stopped my wife in her tracks, I strained to find visual evidence of audible clues, finally detected the pulsating ribbon of geese snaking its way above black and blue mottled clouds towards the southern horizon. It was in that moment that my wife gripped my arm and jerked me to attention. Starboard of the skein of geese, a Bald Eagle came into focus almost directly overhead. We have enjoyed rare sightings of eagles on the periphery of Lake Waco before, so we had no problem identifying the proud raptor. I attempted to capture the image with my iPhone, but vision was rendered useless by the blinding sun. Had it not been for geese we would not have seen the eagle.

Geese brandish their own strain of beauty, but they aren’t exactly exotic creatures. In fact, we have friends living on Lake Athens that loathe them because of their propensity to blanket a lawn with poop. Pre-winter geese sorties are pleasant to behold, but never catch one by surprise. They are somewhat expected, even taken for granted, until winging it next to eagles. Thank God for the ordinary events and individuals that bring the larger picture into focus. I better detect what God is up to when I see him in juxtaposition to my grandchildren, the cashier that annoys me, the colleague with cancer, the relative that talks non-stop out of loneliness, the friend agonizing over a prodigal child, a church that has lost its way. The ordinary yields glimpses of glory when I pay attention.

Last night I reviewed the Page design from editors at Christian Faith Publishers for my soon-to-be-released “Ordinary Glory: Finding Grace in the Commonplace.” As soon as the cover design is complete, I will be able to announce the publication date. In the meantime, here is an excerpt from the introduction…

Listening-while-living is an art form worth learning. Life seems at times like a succession of converging and divergent tragedies, at once interconnected and then again, disparate. Unfortunately, our earthbound perspective is linear and we strain to see ahead and behind without the ability to focus properly on either. We do not realize that this “right now” perspective is actually a grace gift. Jesus expresses it eloquently: 

“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”

In other words, we have right now, not yesterday or tomorrow. Surrender this moment. Celebrate this day. Create this memory. Love immediately and passionately. Do what lies at hand and you just may find the dividend is eternal.

(From the introduction to Ordinary Glory)

“Most people don’t grow up. Most people age. They find parking spaces, honor their credit cards, get married, have children, and call that maturity. What that is, is aging.”
~ Maya Angelou

“The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.”
~ Robert Frost

I met our oldest grandson ten years ago when he was two years old and I was forty six. His grandmother and I had met a short time before and she warned me ahead of time that he was perfect and that she was not interested in a relationship with anyone who didn’t fit like a welcomed glove with her family. I recall like it was yesterday my anxiety in anticipation of that first meeting. One-by-one I was introduced to her family, and then, finally, I met Joey. We went almost immediately to the backyard where I pulled him around in a little red wagon until I feared my arm would fall off, which would likely have been the end of my efforts to win him over, and his grandmother as well. As providence would have it, about the time I could no longer feel my arms or legs, Joey climbed out of the wagon and scooted over to the Little Tikes swing suspended by yellow ski rope from a frazzled red oak. I hoisted him up into the seat, secured him there, and gave his red plastic cocoon a gentle push. Joey giggled his approval. I slowly relaxed, and began to enjoy the moment as well. He was visibly contented seesawing back and forth in his cozy cockpit, so much so that he fell asleep to the rhythm of the swing. He was out, and I was in.

Joey’s grandmother and I married less than a year later, and as soon as he was comfortable sleeping away from mom and dad we began a Friday night ritual. I would drive in from working out of town and Joey would be waiting for me in our home. Weekends began the same way each week with what we still affectionately call the “sock game.” Joey and I, in turn, would take a running start on shoeless feet and launch ourselves into a slide down our wood floor hallway, measuring our ending mark against the other’s. Occasionally, we added a sleeping bag to the mix as a landing pad for knees and a sled to add distance to our slides. As Joey matured and I aged, he became more proficient at our sock game and I less so. Eventually he outgrew our weekend soirées, and the sock game went the way of Chinese checkers.  

For whatever reason, Joey announced early last week that on Friday night we were going to relive his childhood sleepovers and have a rollicking grandfather-grandson night, which began, of course, with the resurrected sock game. Time plays cruel tricks on the body and I quickly remembered that I am not the man I once was, at least when it comes to sliding down a hallway in socks. To be honest, I held my own at first against the twelve-year-old would-be sock Olympian, but when Joey threw the sleeping bag sled into the mix things went south–literally. I hurtled down the hallway and dropped downward toward the nylon sled, but instead of landing on my knees as intended, I plopped backward awkwardly onto my tailbone. To this day I’m unclear as to the Creator’s intent for this piece of human anatomy, but suffice to say it falls far short as a shock absorber. I fell back stunned, surprised at the amount of pain ruminating from my backside, and in the same instance it hit me–an old man should be wiser than to pit himself against a limber youth, at least when it comes to sliding down hallways. 

Aging wastes time waiting on dejavue. I am not and cannot be the man I once was. Many endure each day attempting to recover something that was lost; the problem being they can’t determine exactly what it is that’s missing. The key to navigating the incessant flow of years is learning from the past while refusing to repeat it. Wrestling with aging is an unavoidable occupational hazard, but maturity seizes the moment, holds it up to the light of experience, and responds with patient resolve to live better. Aging is a double edged sword–hardened by fatigue & failure, yet softened by wisdom forged from experience. Learn as much as you can from this life; others are watching to see what they may learn from you.

“The righteous flourish like the palm tree, and grow like a cedar in Lebanon. They are planted in the house of the Lord; they flourish in the courts of our God. In old age they still produce fruit; they are always green and full of sap, showing that the Lord is upright; he is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in him.”

Psalms 92:12-15 | NRSV