The Peace of the City

And seek the peace of the city where I have caused you to be carried away captive, and pray to the Lord for it;

for in its peace you will have peace.

Jeremiah 29:7

My desire here is to not spill scripture out on you like so many dice spilled from a cup letting the numbers come up by chance.

Please don’t stare down at them and think, “Oh, that’s nice.”

Do you find that one of our biggest challenges as humans attempting to stand on this spinning blue orb is to find purpose? Purpose through our failures, trials and troubles?

Too often we spend our lives simply trying to escape life’s present objectionable circumstances.

Yeah, me too.

But, if you have even the slightest suspicion that God holds the strings, and have thus far kept from blaming Him or taking His throne for yourself; Jeremiah 29:7, may not be a comfortable truth. But knowing there is rhyme or reason to your present state of affairs can bolster your spirits.

As an aside, Jeremiah the prophet spoke this to an occupied people taken away from their land in many cases and ruled by another as slaves.

I found its difficult words a comfort in times of distress.

The essence I distill from it for my present circumstance is: rather than expend awful amounts of emotional and physical energy attempting to wrest myself from the grip of my situation I should instead seek peace for my surroundings. I should pray not only for me but also for those around me, seeking the peace of that city, metaphorically speaking.

The promise enclosed within the scripture, like a glorious Easter Egg surprise, is that within my present situation, no matter how dire, I will find my satisfaction.

I won’t attempt here to explain for God since I could expel thousands of words and still not do it justice. But, you take that kernel back to your burrow, think on it, and nibble on it, and you will find it to have an otherworldly dynamic force in your life for good.

There is a most well-known verse four steps down that does a good job of illumination:

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. Jeremiah 29:11

We can trust Him with our lives.

Wishing you peace for your city,

M. Matheson

Reminders from Psalm 37

Months ago I was given the book, Live Love Lead by Brian Houston. My friend and future son-in-law, Kyle Johnson dropped it in my lap as a gift from his mother whom I have never met. They attend Hillsong that Brian Houston had founded and which is now a worldwide movement.

I said all that to say, “We need reminders of what God has done and will do in our lives.”

[We] were created, gifted, and graced for God’s eternal purpose,

a divinely implanted purpose, So what’s yours?

(Quoted from Live Love Lead by Brian Houston pg. 246)

That was my reminder, like a loving brick upside my head. Up until then, Brian Houston’s book had been tickling me in places I’d rather not be tickled while in my misery. After years of ministry within and without the church, as a pastor and short term missionary, my life due to circumstance has been reduced from wide-open full throttle to, if not homebound then at least on a thirty-mile leash.

I’ve traded my pulpit for a dishwasher and washer-dryer combo. My outreach is done holding the hand of my four-year-old son, Tobias, who I wake up looking forward to running with, but often feel more like his valet. When I turn sixty-years-old he’ll already be five. The abler he becomes, the more _________ I become. (I refuse to fill in that blank)

People try to remind me every day that what I am doing is securing a future for Tobias. I smile and say, “You’re right.” I believe it, but I want bigger, if such a thing exists.

Today I was reminded of more than that. I was reminded of a Psalm I prayed through, believed, and held onto for many past years, but recently my hold on it had become rather limp.

Psalm 37:3-8

(3) Trust in the Lord, and do good;

Dwell in the land, and feed on His faithfulness.

(4) Delight yourself also in the Lord,

And He shall give you the desires of your heart.

(5) Commit your way to the Lord,

Trust also in Him,

And He shall bring it to pass.

(6) He shall bring forth your righteousness as the light,

And your justice as the noonday.

(7) Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him;

Do not fret because of him who prospers in his way,

Because of the man who brings wicked schemes to pass.

(8) Cease from anger, and forsake wrath;

Do not fret— it only causes harm

(3) Trust in the Lord, and do good;

It sounds like a command, but this is more of a promise. Following a semicolon which is always a promise of more, it reads in the King James Version:

so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.

So as a promise, I take it to mean: if I put my trust in the Lord (and if He is not trustworthy, then nothing and no one is) and live out my day to day life trusting Him for each next step, I will be fed by his faithfulness.

That is very good news indeed.

(4) Delight yourself also in the Lord…

If I choose to make Him my delight instead of cast blame, bitterness, or ignore Him altogether,

He will give me the desires of my heart. Now it does say heart, not mind or other body parts. The heart has always been God’s big interest. The New Testament Gospel accounts record more than forty instances of Jesus speaking about the heart.

Jesus tells us that’s where good and evil come from, and that is where our true treasure abides, and he also tells us:

Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. (John 14:1)

Way back hundreds of years before in the Psalms, God was telling us the heart was the key to our good fortune (the eternal kind). I have the audacity to believe that if I take my delight in God, He will effect my future hopes and dreams. And, wouldn’t you know it, that’s what the next verse says.

(5) Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him,

And He shall bring it to pass.

The word commit I’ve learned by study and experience means to roll together our purposes with His. If I enjoy writing, I should twist this up together with His purposes.

And, there it is again, the trust factor. Trust in the biblical sense is more than belief He exists. It means to rely on Him and cling to Him which comes with a promise.

He shall bring it to pass. IT being your hopes and dreams. But, wait there’s more.

(6) He shall bring forth your righteousness as the light,

And your justice as the noonday.

Forgive me if I over simply this beautifully worded verse. I take this, and keep it for myself, to mean that if you hold to the previous instructions and admonitions, to the best of your ability, He will make sure that the world around you sees that your dreams have been fulfilled.

In other words, those dreams will remain not only inside your head and heart, but the world will see and know what the Lord has done for you.

And while you are waiting for that to come:

(7) Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him;

Do not fret because of him who prospers in his way,

Because of the man who brings wicked schemes to pass.

This may be the hardest part of the entire verse. But waiting in God’s language is not a hopeful anticipation of something that might come.

God’s sense of waiting is like waiting for a reliable bus to come. You KNOW it will come at the appointed time.

And while you are waiting for it to come, Do not fret. Don’t begin to run to and fro with panic and worry that it might not come, especially as you watch people get theirs who don’t care a whit about God.

And the next verse is a lot like this one.

(8) Cease from anger, and forsake wrath;

Do not fret— it only causes harm.

Does that last instruction need any explanation? I thought not.

So, now that I have been reminded, I have reminded you and in so doing I have fulfilled part of these instructions.

May you be filled with all of God’s peace and grace as you go about your days.

True Heroes Never Die - A Memoir to Fatherhood

This is a piece I wrote two years ago as I reflected on the ongoing effects of my birth father who died nearly fifty years ago. And, the manically dysfunctional life I lived 'spun out' for too many years. I was fortunate that my life was bookended by a second father who also passed on, but after many sacrificial years of demonstrating what true heroes are and how they never die.
To my birth father Elmore 'Matt' Matheson and my second father Howard 'Hank' Smoyer, this piece is dedicated.

~~~True Heroes Never Really Die~~~~

Like a rain soaked cloud on a stormy day, it blanketed my mind, infusing every pore. My very breath was strangled till it voided every hope leaving only sadness. My young soul simmered to bursting, but without relief.

My dad was gone. Goddamnit!

Ten-year-old boys are not equipped to suffer such a wrenching loss as death, the main attraction that day. One closing act would erase the last remnants of my father’s life from this earth.

Taking center stage, garish sprays of flowers you only see at horse races and funerals surrounded the shiny casket. From where I was seated, neatly filed away between Mom and Grandma, I could see the waxen features of Dad’s once strong face as it protruded from the polished box. Archaic piped-in hymns kept the mood at a full-tilt grim, and Death’s boots stomped their indelible print into my miserably shattered soul.

We family members were seated well away from the larger gallery of – mere spectators, the obligatory witnesses of our collective grief. A week later they would adjust their lives to do without Ellmore ‘Matt’ Matheson. Four decades later he continues to occupy the front row seat in my day-to-day life.

Despite my drowning sadness, faith was at its peak that day, for I clung desperately to the vain hope that Dad would awake and suddenly climb from that wretched box. Then we could go back home to the beautiful, oh so beautiful humdrum of our lives.

The crowd queued up to file past the open casket.

Not me. No sir. No way.

I WOULD NOT be part of that ghastly parade.

More than one well-meaning relative stopped, and with a gentle pat on my hand encouraged me to come along and view his corpse. What could they have been thinking? Was convention so indispensable they found it necessary to heap yet more torment onto such a young boy?

The horde of silent whispers grew in my head as one by one the spectators each tried not to look in my direction. Couldn’t they see that I had the most skin in this game? And they were worried about tradition!

I was surrounded by family and friends, yet I felt utterly abandoned, and the only person with enough care or courage to come sit with me that day lay stretched out in the casket.

He would have, whether it was his son or not, but he’s gone.

I was an only child, yet now had less than nothing.

Had I been singled out? To be cheated of a father.

Where was God while my dad lay dying?

What, besides pure evil could let a child bounce at wicked tangents off the jagged rocks of death? Too often for decades.

An unfamiliar rage crept up on me like a wolf on the prowl. Life was no longer the life of an innocent.

Hunched around a dying fire for warmth, my innocence and ambient peace were being stolen away in such small bites that I wouldn’t perceive what had happened till anger bloomed with a life all its own, and became the one ruling emotion.

It wasn’t until 25 years later that the fiery bitterness finally began to cool. The treasure Dad had stealthily hidden away in me finally saw a glimpse of daylight.

Since that ugly day so long ago, I've amassed a growing corps of personal heroes, but they play only minor supporting roles in the story of my life. I look to them to spur my skill, talent and gifting, and to inspire me to keep striving in character or craft. But, the Drum Major stands his post ahead of them all. Barely a day goes by without his lessons and examples working their way to the surface of nearly every one of my decisions, actions, and exploits. It’s incredible how much soul Dad had packed into the short 10 years he guided my growing little life, almost as if he knew his time would be short. 

If I die knowing my life had even half as profound of effect on my children and grandchildren as Dad had on mine, my life will have been well lived.

My earliest memory of Dad was when I was three or four years old. Somewhere in Europe, I was hanging from the doorway of a car and peeing into a malevolent rainstorm. He drew enough bravery from me that night to dangle from an open door and do my business.

As years went on, he taught me the much more noble art of growing things. I sold produce to our neighbors, grown from my own rather large vegetable plot. Still clear in my mind is Dad helping me discover the mystery of black spots that showed up on the leaves of my plants; Charcoal in the soil. Today no one could accuse me of being a very good gardener, but how many lessons in commerce, responsibility, and hard work grew in that little garden? Over time those lessons grew into factory management and eventual business ownership.
     Dad was able to single-handedly correct my pigeon-toed feet by simple, kind and consistent reminders; just to not walk like that.

When I show my toddler son how to throw a ball or must admonish his behavior, Dad still whispers in my ear the right words to say.

     On one of our many spontaneous early A.M. fishing trips, I caught a crab, a monster by seven or eight year old standards. Its fearsome claws awed me, but Dad saw an opportunity for a lesson in courage.

"It's not as scary as it looks," he said.

"Put your finger in the pincers and see."
     I drew back with a fearful, "No!" and Dad exerted the mild pressure it took to get me to do anything and I put my finger in the claw. He was right of course. Just a little pinch. Today I know that most things are fiercer in appearance than they are in reality.

Anything Dad asked me to do, I would do. And defiance, so commonplace today, was nearly inconceivable then. His ‘suggestions’ had the power to pull daring, hard work and sacrifice from a timid little boy who would rather not be those things.
     Running home one day, from the threats of a bully that was older and taller than I, Dad turned me around and marched back with me to face Dale Rudd. Up until the very moment that Dad said, “Fight him,” I fully expected he would take care of the menace for me. It ended up looking more like a dance than a fight (I’m sure Dad knew it would). Lesson learned- Never back down from a threat, the slightest temptation to do so sets me to thinking of Dad as if he is standing next to me.

     He and I built a slot car track out in the garage. It was on a large board with pulleys that could be pulled up to the rafters and out of the way. How many simple things such as the use of tools and more complex things like patience and persistence did that project teach?

     One of my fondest recollections is going to work with Dad during my summer vacations. He was retired from 27 years in the Army and now worked for the Santa Ana Parks Department. Eating lunch with him and his coworkers made me feel much older than my seven years. I spent the day catching frogs while he worked. We took the frogs home in Chinese food containers, and on the ride home in the cavernous four-door blue and white ‘55 Chevy they all disappeared. They were small but not minute. We never did find them.

     Above all I think Dad taught me to be kind. It was his standout trait and showed in everything he did. He never explained, it was just part of who he was. You could be sure not to mistake his kindness for timidity or weakness, for he was never afraid to stand up for himself or a victim of another's abuse. He also had some very strong views on world affairs that wouldn't be very user friendly today.

     Those days a family outing could simply be to drive around, and on one of these Dad accidentally hit and killed a small dog. I remember sitting in the car with Mom as he picked up that dead Wiener Dog and carried it through the neighborhood looking for its owners so he could tell them he was sorry.

     If, in the end, I turn out half as kind and compassionate as Ellmore H. Matheson, I'm good.
    

The bitter memory of not being allowed to visit my dad in the hospital where he died sits aching in my head like an abscessed tooth. Too young they said. I’m glad it’s not that way today. In that at least our society has grown more compassionate.

Paramedics’ forcing him to ride the gurney downstairs was the last time I physically saw my dad alive. His repeated remonstrations to allow him to walk down the stairs still ring in my head. Every day he was in the hospital, I looked forward to talking with him on the phone. I don’t recall what we talked about, but I know both of us fully expected him to come home. Until the day I returned home to a gray room and a tearful mom.
     "Come sit here Mikey," she said patting the cushion next to her.

The day of his funeral is still clear as yesterday. I was 10-1/2 years old. No young son should have to bury his father. Unfortunately, for us in this violent, disease prone world, it happens much too often.

     I wasn't scared to view the body, but refused to see my hero like that. He was superman, strong and without a doubt loved me. He had the answer to every question. How could he do so from that box?

It has taken many years of life in the raw to learn that a hero like him could never really die, but lives on in every breath, decision and deed of my life.

     Today he is just as strong if not stronger, and now 48 years down the road many of the seeds he planted in the first decade of my life are just now bearing their fruit. That’s a true hero, and one that can never really die.

Epilogue

Many years later as I was an adult but stuck in a tailspin, my mom married another great man. It took me several years to reconcile him as a father to me. But I did.

In discussing this thought with a good number of people, I found it hard to find more than a couple that have had even one GOOD father in their life, and I’ve had two. I understand my tremendous good fortune.

While writing this piece my second father was battling cancer from which I fully expected him to recover. He died just as I was finishing.

Howard “Hank” Smoyer earned the right to be called my Dad. He was not an ‘also ran,’ but another real hero that will never die. It would take another story to tell you why.

Mixed up in the midst of all my madness and trouble, God used two true men to sculpt my life, and they are carving away still, for true heroes never really die.

Sometimes You Feel Like A Nut! Sometimes You Don’t!

As I sat for my morning meditation,, quiet time or prayer time with God, whichever  you want to call it; I had an overwhelming urge to just not do it. I just didn’t want to. I wanted to do something else: read a novel, bury my head in marketing, bury my already dead self in the soft warm feathers of the Twitter bluebird.

I hadn’t the least shred of desire to read my bible or pray, but I did anyway. It’s been a life long routine for my new life these past twenty-five years.

I wasn’t mad at God or even the least bit irritated, but my desire had flown the coop. I know your thinking, Well doesn’t everyone have these wanes of desire?

Well, Yes, but I didn’t even want it back, and wanted to go do something else.

But, I read anyway (My bible, not Twitter):

Then the word of the Lord came to Jeremiah, saying, “Behold, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh. Is there anything too hard for Me? Jeremiah 32:26-27

It was that one word, THEN, that got stuck in my teeth. Has that ever happened to you? 

Have you ever just not wanted to hear from God? But He wanted you to hear from him.

THEN what? Wow! God can sure pack a punch with even such an insignificant adverb as THEN.

Lot’s of questions came to mind, not my question but God’s. I’m not a kook, take my word for it... but I do believe in God speaking to us through the bible, prayer, preachers, validated prophets and even books and blogs that have nothing to do with Him. God can and probably does speak audibly to some people, not certain special people, just some people. He’s not a big blabbermouth like me, but from all reports he doesn’t use many words when He does speak.

I continued to read Jeremiah,

Therefore thus says the Lord: ‘Behold, I will give this city into the hand of the Chaldeans, into the hand of Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon, and he shall take it. --Jeremiah 32:28 NKJV

OK, now I’m starting to shake in my boots, and thought to myself, I sure hope those succeeding verses are not as true today as they were then.

That’s when I felt like God spoke to me.

“I don’t do things that way any longer.”

 I could lean back with my black coffee and go, “Whoa dude!” or I could fall on my face and build a shrine. I took another sip of reheated, twice, coffee, thankful that most likely my life wasn’t going to crash and burn before my coffee got cold.

As with many times when I felt God speaking, His words contained way more than the factual meanings those eight words conveyed.

Somehow I felt absolved of my crime of what I now realized was the simple ebbs and wanes of our faith and relationships. All our interrelationships are that way. Why would we expect our communications with God to be any different?

Sometimes we feel like a nut. Sometimes we don't. 

We run hot and cold. Bottom line often is we simply get bored.

If I step back and consider the immensity of this faith we are in, not the religious trappings we surround ourselves with, but the realness of relationship with the Master of the universe, it will or can stun me back into a new freshness of today.

Sometimes.

Today though, I still felt kind of complacent so I took a sip of cold coffee and wrote this blog.

I hope your days are filled with much peace and truckloads of grace,

M

Open Soul Policy

We must continually keep our soul open to the fact of God's creative purpose, and never confuse or cloud it with our own intentions. If we do, God will have to force our intentions aside no matter how much it may hurt. A missionary is created for the purpose of being God's servant, one in whom God is glorified. Once we realize that it is through the salvation of Jesus Christ that we are made perfectly fit for the purpose of God, we will understand why Jesus Christ is so strict and relentless in His demands.

-Oswald Chambers from My Utmost for the Highest September 21st Devotional

Beyond this striking me at my root, my soul and heart: I generally believe myself to be open. Open-minded to other people and their ideas, I am always willing to listen even to things that conflict with my own beliefs; those I will not give up though, not without a soul-wrenching battle for the truth.

I want to believe my soul is open to the fact of God's creative purpose, as quoted above. Yet, upon self examination I am not as open as I think. Without a doubt, I believe it to be true, but I must confess my own intentions are often inter-mingled and stirred in with the truth. Just as Oswald said, God has forced my own intentions aside and often it has been bloody and painful.