The Phil Files

Today (Wednesday, March 3), I am traveling back to Austin where I will help with the funeral of Jackson Bradley, famous golf teaching pro and devoted follower of Jesus. Jackson passed away after a rich full life of playing on the PGA tour, being a famous golf instructor, being club pro at some of the most cherished golf courses in the country, and using the last two decades of his life to share Jesus with people he loved. One of his greatest joys was in helping begin Bible studies at a halfway house that eventually became Freedom Church, a church plant made up predominantly of ex-offenders who were turning their lives around with the help of Christ.

After the post on Lynn Anderson yesterday and while preparing for the funeral message for today, I came across this powerful insight written by Miles Alpern Levin, about a month after he was diagnosed with cancer. His blog on carepages.com inspired many and I couldn’t think of a more appropriate message to share for all of us!

I went to the driving range the other day and I was thinking … I was thinking how you start out with a big bucket full of golf balls, and you just start hitting away carelessly. You have dozens of them, each individual ball means nothing to you so just hit, hit, hit. One ball gone is practically inconsequential when subtracted from the your bottomless bucket. There are no practice swings or technique re-evaluations after a bad shot, because so many more tries remain. Yet eventually you start to have to reach down towards the bottom of the bucket to scavenge for another shot and you realize that tries are running out. Now with just a handful left, each swing becomes more meaningful. The right technique becomes more crucial, so between each shot you take a couple practice swings and a few deep breaths. There is a very strong need to end on a good note, even if every preceding shot was terrible, getting it right at the end means a lot. You know as you tee up your last ball, “This is my final shot, I want to crush this with perfection: I must make this count.” Limited quantities or limited time brings a new, precious value and significance to anything you do. Live every day shooting as if it’s your last shot, I know I have to.”  — Miles Alpern Levin, July 7, 2005.

I know Jackson would have quibbled with Miles — well actually, he would have been much firmer than quibbling — about wasting all those practice shots early in the bucket of balls. “Don’t want to groove that bad swing and ingrain those bad habits!”

Jackson wanted you to loosen up with some short shots, then he wanted you to waste nothing — not one ball in the bucket. But, we all do, don’t we. We all mess up, goober up, stumble, sin, flub up, hit a shank or two, and then we notice the bucket of balls is getting thin on balls. I know Jackson had regrets — times and people he wished he could go back and do better with. But I am most thankful that the years I knew Jackson, he lived life recognizing the preciousness of grace and the opportunity to make a difference.

And yes, Jackson, I still shank one from time-to-time because of that square to square curl the three fingers on the back swing thing that you despised and tried so hard to help me get out of my swing. Blessings, dear brother, I’ll catch you on the back the nine, where our swings will be natural, the iced tea will be sweet, and nobody will ever need to improve their lie.

Some people come into your life and make a lasting impression in your thinking. Others leave an indelible imprint on your heart. Others help form your character to be more Christ-like. Others invest in you and help you refine your skills and wisdom to do ministry. Lynn Anderson has done all of that for me, and more, … and is still doing it through the face of hardship and challenge with cancer.

I first met Lynn when I was in high school and he came and did a campaign in our city. When I went to college, he was my preacher and his daughter, Michelle, was in our high school group huddle. Then a few years later, Lynn included me in his first graduate student study group. Several years after that, he ministered to my father through his years of illness and did dad’s funeral. Then three and a half years later, Lynn did the wedding of my mother to Grady Jolly.

Over the years of ministry, Lynn’s been available to counsel and encourage me through some challenging and changing times of ministry. He was there when I let the elders at Westover know I was moving from Austin to Abilene, and he even preached twice a month for over two years as they waited for God to lead them to a new preaching minister. My latest book includes Lynn in the dedication. Such friends are rare treasures and to have one that keeps on growing and reminding me that the journey to Jesus is one full of wonder and excitement, even amid the pain and challenge, is a special blessing.

Thanks Lynn! Love you and am praying for you and Carolyn as you choose to live in the green leaf!

[Jesus said] “This, then, is how you should pray:

“‘Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us today our daily bread.

And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.

And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from the evil one.

For or yours is the kingdom and the power
and the glory forever. Amen.’”

Yesterday, as we gathered together in a couple of worship assemblies, we celebrated the work God is doing in us and through us (Acts 14:26-28). It was fast paced, filled with praise, and with a lot of joy at what God was doing — reports, videos, slide show, time in the Word, and a Skype conference from an open Tabernacle for the homeless. As we finished, I was exhausted and also exhilarated.

But, toward the end of our Lord’s Supper time, I went to be with friends who carry a deep wound of grief. Even as I spoke, I could see pain etched on their faces as they had to wrestle with the subject at a whole different level than most of us as we wrote down things we were thankful about that God was doing in us. As I reached out to touch my friends, I noticed that Donna drew close to another precious person in the family. Little did I know how deep the grief that surged in all their hearts.

After lunch, Donna and I talked through the morning and she shared the awful, painful, heartbreaking news that she was visiting with this dear sister about. By the time we got to bedtime, I still couldn’t talk about the deep grief of these precious people — different sides of the same family suffering with unspeakable sorrow.

I confess that I don’t understand the “why” of such pain that rips apart the hearts of such good people. It’s not fair and it sure doesn’t seem right. I know that I am not supposed to question the love, faithfulness, and ways of God. But at the same time, I don’t understand why some walk away with a miracle and some go to bed with the deep loss grief inflicts and also have to wrestle with the questions of prayers that feel unanswered and ignored.

I am thankful for the Psalms that give me a voice to share such feelings of confusion, anger, and loss with God. I am also thankful for life-stories like Ruth and Naomi, that remind me that behind the deepest of losses — home, country, husband, and two sons — comes the unexpected gifts of hope, life, future, and ultimately the Messiah. God, in His faithfulness, used a foreign woman full of loyalty, grace, and beauty to bring deliverance, both for Naomi and for us.

But still, why do my friends who I love — people dedicated to the Lord and His Kingdom and His righteousness — have to carry such pain? All I can see today in the Lord’s prayer is that one phrase, “deliver us from the evil one.” DELIVER US! Yes, that’s all I can think about for my friends tonight.

I believe He will deliver us, but I am not always sure what that means in this present moment. One of my old, long-time favorite faith-anthems is Rich Mullins’ “My Deliverer is Coming.” I’ve embedded it below for you to hear. If you know the story of Rich’s untimely death, I believe it means even more, and it also challenges us to wrestle with the deep well of grief that often goes with walking the way of mortal flesh.

As you listen, please cry with me: O God, please deliver us!

Some Saturday’s are just better than others. I got up early today to go out to the country to have some guy time with my friend, Tom Allen.

Of course, before we could go anywhere, we first had to fuel up at Cracker Barrel — can’t have guy time on an empty stomach. Then off to the ranch near Noddle. After driving around and looking at some of the ranch, we decided to take a quick little fishing break. Using a big spinner bait and some plastics, we caught 9 bass in about 40 minutes. Great fun.

Now Tom generally considers his wife, Judy, to be the accomplished fisherperson in the clan, but today, Tom went bushman to snag himself a couple of bass. Cool stuff!

And that’s what the weather was, too. Cool. Perfect and cool.

Then off to explore more of the ranch. After tooling around awhile, we crossed beautiful Sweetwater Creek. So we got out, grabbed a couple of rods, and began to poke around in the waters along the creek. A few perch, a breakoff on a good byte, and several snags in the trees. Then I look up and Tom was fighting a good size fish. When he pulled it in, it was 3 1/2 lb. catfish he caught on an artificial bait. Crazy, but crazy fun. We celebrated with some Dr. Pepper and some target shooting with our handguns.

We bounced around over some more ranch land and found a place Native Americans had made their arrowheads and spearheads. Shards of chipped flint were all around and I found a small bounding stone, used to do the finer chipping on the flint rock.

We tried one more fishing spot on the way out, but the water was too muddy and shallow, so we decided that by this time, our Cracker Barrel fuel had been spent. Seemed we had no choice but to make a bit of a detour and go to Mrs. Allens (no relation to Tom) for some of that legendary, homestyle, cookin’ in Sweetwater USA.

Hard to beat that for a guy day. All in all, we caught a bunch of fish, saw Native American artifacts, shot guns, got some sun, had great weather, and ingested enough calories and cholesterol for a full week.

Now to top it off, just a short power nap and I’ll be ready for more!

Two months ago, November 10, was one of the hardest nights in my ministry. Two people precious to me, while in transit to be with their son taken by ambulance to the hospital, learned that their son had passed away. This also meant that two young men and a precious young woman lost their their brother. One young man lost a dear friend who was as close as a brother.

Several of us agonized for them as they learned of this young man’s passing while they were 350 miles away from us — out of reach of our arms but not out of reach of hearts. Yesterday was this son’s birthday, and today, well today is the two month mark to the beginning of our grief. This is fresh grief and hard grief that settled in on all of us through the holidays and now his birthday. This has been two months of deep grief … for them, for those of us who love them deeply, and for many others in similar circumstances.

So today, I want to encourage each of us to do two things:

1. Grab life and live it with holy glee — savor each moment and wring each taste of God’s goodness out of each day. Don’t get muddled up in silly nothings and fritter away the precious gift of each other and today. There is, as the Wiseman said in Ecclesiastes 3, “a time to mourn and a time to dance.” And if it is time to dance, then dance with delight … even dance in those fleeting moments of delight that God gives you while in the middle of grief.
2. Remember those who mourn. God will bring them back to a time to dance again. But right now, they need to know we value their loved one who is no longer physically present. They need to hear the name of that person and know that person was valued and cherished by us. And they do NOT need simplistic, no matter how well-intentioned, explanations that are hollow are hurtful. They need for us to remember their hurt will last for as long as they live, but will be especially heavy grief for a your or more. They need us to walk with them, love them, and remember. And they need to know it is okay to have fun when the moment is right and they need us to be ready to laugh with them as much as we are willing to cry with them.

So today, just as yesterday, Ben and his family have been on my heart and in my thoughts. And my prayer, is simple, “Please God, make this blessing true for my friends until full reunion is here for all of us:”

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15:13 tniv)

I pulled out of my cul de sac and headed toward my folks place a little out in the country. I live in a very friendly town — we had a slogan for awhile where we labeled ourselves “The Friendly Frontier.” Our family’s experience seemed to validate our city’s self-chosen slogan. When Donna first arrived, she had two men practically fighting over opening the door for her at the Post Office. This is a frequent occurrence — we have log jams at public entrances because everybody is trying to be nice to everybody else. Ironic that our fights are often over whose job it is to be nice. It really is a sweet and quirky part of our city culture and we love it.

When I’m driving, I find that things are pretty much the same. Folks wave and are cordial — downright friendly on this frontier. Of course the truth is, women and kids wave, but men nod or nonchalantly hold up a couple of fingers on their steering wheel hand to say, “Hi!”

Now I could understand this treatment if I were mayor or the vice-presidential candidate from Alaska that has just come to town — this frontier definitely has an affinity for that frontier woman, and most folks here probably even like most of what her pastor says in his sermons and sure would never call her a hog. But I’m not that special here — I’m just Phil. I don’t drive a fancy car or a big honkin’ duely 4 wheel drive pick-em-up truck, either. My ride is a 1992 Tahoe with 112,000 miles, with a big dent in the left rear fender, and is about to turn 7 years old. You see, friendliness is simply a big part of our culture. It’s not based on your ride. Or at least that is what I thought.

Instead of being in my Tahoe this past Saturday, I drove my step-dad’s old pickup. I was dressed in work clothes and wore protection goggles over my regular sunglasses. I had on leather work gloves and the back of the pickup was full of limbs held down by a big chain. The truck was dirty and the headliner was falling down all around me. I didn’t look like a “normal person,” I looked like a yard worker. Amazingly, I received no waves, nods, or even obvious eye contact. I didn’t even get close to a couple of fingers raised to say, “Hi!”

It took me a bit of time to get what was happening. I was stunned. Where had my friendly frontier gone? Folks who normally would have waved to me didn’t even acknowledge my existence — they wouldn’t even give me a glance. It became clear as I tried to wave to the usual folks that wave at me, some of whom I knew: these folks were reluctant to open up a connection with visual contact, much less wave. Their sideways glances told them all they needed to know: just another yard worker out in his ol’ truck picking up yard debris. Not worthy of a connection.

To be quite honest, I was shocked — dumbfounded is probably more accurate. I suddenly felt like an alien from another planet in my own neighborhood — suddenly I was alone on this frontier. When I realized what was happening, I tried even harder to get a wave by initiating the connection. Nope, wasn’t going to happen that day in that truck looking like someone people had already categorized. Finally, when I got close to my folks place, a lady did kinda wave — she recognized the truck as my step-dad’s — and then when she saw me in it, she had a puzzled look on her face. If you can take back a wave, she certainly did.

Since last Saturday, I’ve been more aware that I categorize people based on what they are driving — a sort of on the road prejudice, a way of sorting through the folks with whom I will or will not try to make a connection. I remember now a time where I looked away when an old guy in an old truck full of limbs glanced at me. Funny how we are like that: putting people in categories based on their packaging whether it’s color, clothes, or pick up trucks. Funny how our prejudice shows up in places it shouldn’t and God convicts us of our own short-sightedness.

I don’t know about you, but I think I’m going to pay more attention to those guys on the other side of those old beat up pick up truck windows. We never know who might be driving it that day — they might be a lot more like us than we know.