forgiveness – Page 38 – Grits with Grace

Family, fear, food, forgiveness, Grace, gratitude, life, loving others, Military memories, priorities, Scripture, Southern born, thankful, Thanksgiving, travel, wisdom

A Thanksgiving to Remember

Posted on November 26, 2020November 25, 2020 by Dewayne Taylor

But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and reaching forward to what is ahead…” Philippians 3:13

It was a Thanksgiving to remember. Throughout the years, Thanksgiving has been a big deal in our family. Growing up, it was a time when Mama would buy a huge turkey and cook it all night in the roaster oven that set by the stove for such an occasion. It was a time when pies were cooked, ambrosia was made, and giblet gravy simmered on the stove. It was a time for two kinds of dressing—cornbread and cornbread with oysters. I’m not sure where that came from, but it was pretty popular. Then, of course, it was a time when most everyone would come home, and we would feast—on good food and enjoy family.

When I graduated from high school and enlisted in the Air Force things had to change. My first duty station was about an hour from the Canadian border in a town called Minot—Minot, North Dakota. I arrived there in October and it was already too cold for a Florida boy. The holidays were looming ahead and it looked like Thanksgiving was going to be a solo flight. But then something happened. Somehow, remember this is long before cellphones, my brother Jimmy, who lived in Amarillo, Texas, called and invited me to his house for Thanksgiving.

Again, somehow, someway, it happened. My base pay of $320 per month didn’t allow for plane tickets, so it meant a trip to the credit union to see if I could get a loan. They granted it and I bought the ticket, got my leave approved and had someone haul me to the airport. So, like the song says, over the river and through the woods, I was on my way, not to grandmother’s house but my brother’s. I can remember flying down to Amarillo in that two engine, piston driven, plane feeling excited and afraid all at the same time. What in the world was I doing?

Soon enough, I was on the ground and there was my big brother and a couple of his kids waiting for me. The best I can remember he worked, maybe managed, a ranch of sorts. It seemed we drove a long way out into the Texas countryside before finally arriving at his house. The next day was Thanksgiving and it was so much like the one at home. We ate well and enjoyed good family fellowship. The thing that was so different was that in the past I was treated as the baby of the family—which I was. But that day—I was his peer. I was a man.

As much as I enjoyed Thanksgiving Day, the next couple of days were also awesome. We went jackrabbit hunting. It was cold with snow covering the ground, and we would jolt and bounce through the fields in his old Willis Jeep. Back at the house we drank hot coffee as he would spin tales about his time in the Air Force. Jimmy was always bigger than life and he was that day too. We also put up the Christmas tree while I was there. One of his favorite Christmas songs was Charlie Pride’s “Christmas in My Home Town.” We played it over and over again while I was there. To this day it is still one of my favorites.

Soon it was time for me to head back to the far north. We headed back to the airport and soon those piston engines were shaking and vibrating the old plane again as I flew back to Minot. I’ve had many good Thanksgivings over the years but that one stands out for me. It was a time when my brother made sure I wasn’t alone at a time when too many were. That was back in 1972 so a lot of water has flowed beneath the bridge. I’m decades older and he is now in heaven. But I am left with the memories…memories that still refresh my soul and make me smile.

To be honest, there are other Thanksgivings that were not so easy…times when another brother and his family were not on speaking terms with the family, times when Daddy was sick and times when the family went separate ways. But I have grown to realize that each of us have a choice. We can choose to remember and relish the good times, or we can remember and dwell on the hard times. The choice is ours. Paul, the guy who wrote about two-thirds of the New Testament in the Bible had plenty of hard memories. He was a pretty bad guy before he met Jesus. After Jesus, he began to write some new stories in his life and he made the decision to leave the past in the past. We should too.

I know holidays can be hard because of the past, or maybe the present. Let me encourage you to choose to remember the good and let go of the rest. It’s not easy but it is possible—with a little help from God. I know these days He’s getting a lot of bad press, but trust me, if you don’t know Him you should get acquainted. He loves you more than you know and He wants to help you do life here. He can even help with those difficult memories.

One of the things that is a staple of mine in life is to eat and nap. Today, Lord willing, I will eat a very good meal, and I will take a very nice nap. Try it—you’ll like it. Also today, I’m going to take a nap of sorts with my best friend Jesus. I’m going to pull aside, rest, and just chat about all the ways He has blessed me. It might take a while because I’m pretty blessed—and so are you. We also will probably talk about some of the hard things going on now. He won’t judge me—He will just love me. You know, that Thanksgiving so many years ago my brother treated me as his peer. Today Jesus treats me as a friend—a friend closer than a brother. He’s a friend that can handle my past and my future. A friend I can trust. That’s why I know…He’s got this.

Family, forgiveness, Grace, life, loving others, Scripture, thankful, wisdom

Turn the Mic Off

Posted on November 23, 2020November 22, 2020 by Dewayne Taylor

If anyone thinks he is religious without controlling his tongue, his religion is useless, and he deceives himself.” James 1:26

It wasn’t what it seemed. The life of a pastor is, well, interesting. In fact, the life of the pastor’s family is interesting. You could say that we live in a glass house and that would be so true. I remember when we lived in a parsonage (that’s a house provided by the church) and we had a wood burning stove. It was difficult to control the heat so often we would leave the front door open to allow some cooler air in. There was a sweet (and she really was) older lady who attended our church and she was very concerned that we had our door open. She would call saying, “Judy, do you know that your front door is open?” Of course we did, but she felt it was her civil and religious duty to make sure we were stewards of our electricity.

When we moved to Cobden, Illinois our girls were very young…five and four. Back in those days during worship, the pastor had a big chair where he was to sit on the stage. I don’t know if we did it that way to make the pastor seem important or so everyone could stare at him. It was just the way we did it. Now here is what was interesting. While I was sitting on the stage looking at everyone and everyone was looking at me, Judy was playing the piano. Many pastors are blessed with musically talented wives and I certainly was one of them. Now don’t miss this. I am on the stage and Judy was at the piano. Who do you suppose was watching the girls? Well, that would be no one. And you know, girls will be girls.

Like so many siblings, the girls loved to pick at one another. It was always nothing serious…just enough to make mom and dad nervous. Well, that Sunday was one of those days. They were being little girls and poking and pinching each other. They were giggling enough to cause a bit of disturbance and to catch their mother’s eye. Judy gave them “the look”. Now every married man knows about “the look”. Personally, I would rather stare down a cobra than face “the look”. The problem was, while Judy was looking…they were not. They were busy poking and pinching. You might wonder what I was doing. I was sitting on the stage trying to ignore the two little girls on the first or second row. I was pretty good at it, too. However, there was no ignoring the lady at the piano.

When they didn’t get the message, Judy made sure I did. I don’t know if it was “the look” or smoke signals coming from behind the piano, but I got the message loud and clear. Handle it. As much as I didn’t like sitting on the stage on the throne, I preferred that to handling the girls in public. I rose from the throne and walked straight to the girls. I took them by the hand and as casually as possible led them out the side door of the sanctuary. Now there is one thing that every pastor has to remember whether he is going to the restroom or taking his kids out to have a come to Jesus meeting. Turn your microphone off. I didn’t.

As the door closes behind us, Becca, our oldest, and in her sweetest five year old voice says, “Daddy, please don’t hit us.” Now, pause, because I know in this world the idea of hitting a child conjures up all kind of bad things. If there was any hitting it was only going to be a gentle swat on the bottom. Period. I knew that and the girls knew that. Thanks to my not turning my microphone off—everyone in the sanctuary knew it too. You can probably imagine that sweet little voice coming over the speakers. There were no tears between the three of us but there were plenty of tears in the sanctuary. No, they weren’t grieving for those precious little girls—they were fine. They were tears from laughing so hard. We walked back into the sanctuary and every person was either rolling on the floor or trying to stay in their seat. It was a Hallmark moment.

Yup…we live in a glass house for sure. Even worse, I still had to stand up and preach later in the service. Amazingly, somehow, we made it through. It is things like that which make our relationship with the families we serve so special. I have deeply appreciated that through the years. Anyone who knows the Taylor tribe knows that we are unapologetically human. If you are looking for a perfect, plastic pastor family…well, you won’t find it with us. I’ve often said that people can handle Christians who make mistakes…they get that. What they can’t handle is when we act like we are perfect and better than they are. Truth is we are neither.

James, the half-brother of Jesus, said if anyone thinks he is religious without controlling his tongue, his religion is useless and he deceives himself. Well, spoken, James. In fact, we could probably put several actions in place of controlling our tongue and come to the same conclusion. I am always so grateful that God can handle our imperfections. He never regrets inviting us into His family but He does desire for us to be honest and real…and so does everyone else. Go ahead, take off the mask and just be you. You can rest assured that His unconditional love will still be there…even when you leave your microphone on. And, if you do, don’t worry, He’s got this.

Family, food, forgiveness, life, loving others, Scripture, Southern born

Spilt Milk

Posted on November 18, 2020November 17, 2020 by Dewayne Taylor

I tell you that on the day of judgment people will have to account for every careless word they speak. For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.” Matthew 12:36-37

It gets really hot in North Florida. When I write these stories I try and remember things that happened in my youth and sometimes they are just funny. When I was about eight years old, my mom and dad were always looking for ways to save a little money. I didn’t know if we were rich or poor and most of the time, I didn’t care. Sometimes it was obvious but most of the time, it was just normal.

I’m not sure how we started, but we began to buy our milk from a family that lived about a mile from us. It wasn’t really a dairy farm, it was more like they had three or four cows. We would go over twice a week and buy a gallon in big half-gallon glass jugs. And let me tell you…this wasn’t that pasteurized stuff we drink today. It was straight from the cow. And one more thing, it wasn’t 2%, or 1%, or skim milk. No sir, this stuff came fully loaded with milk fat. It was good. We had an old ice cream churn, the kind you had to crank, and this milk made the best ice cream you have ever tasted. It was always a special day when we went and got milk. And then one day it wasn’t.

We were still driving that old 1957 Plymouth and it was time to get milk. I think Mama was driving and one of my sisters was in the front seat and the other in the back with me. Those were the days before seat belts and rules about kids not sitting up front. In fact, in those days dashboards were made out of metal. Anyway, we got to the home where they sold the milk. Mama paid the lady and I was to carry the milk to the car and carefully put it on the floorboard in the backseat. It was a good plan…almost.

The milk jugs had little handles on the top near the neck of the jug. I picked up the jugs, one in each hand and headed to the car. I put the jugs down on the ground and opened the back door. I turned around and picked up one of the jugs and set it on the floorboard. Then I turned around to get the second jug and put it next to the other. You know, next is a nice word. It means close to. Well, I swung that ole jug through the door and well, you might say I got it just a little too close to the other one. There was a sound of glass hitting glass and one of the jugs busted wide open and that nice fresh milk spilled all over the carpeted (remember that) floorboard. Bummer.

Mama came over and of course was upset about the wasted milk. I was too, but you know what they say, “There’s no use crying over spilt milk.” That is true, however, things were going to get worse before they got better. I suppose we bought another half-gallon of milk and headed for the house. Once there I did my best to clean up the spilt milk. The problem was twofold, there was carpet and then, like they did back then, there was also a thick pad underneath that carpet. You could do what you wanted to, but there was no way all that milk was coming out of that carpet and pad.

Remember, I told you that it was really hot in North Florida. Well, by the next morning there was a strange odor in the whole car and it got worse and worse. By the end of the first day the smell of sour milk made it just about impossible to sit in the car. We already had the windows down because there was no air conditioning, but even that didn’t stop the odor. The breeze from the open windows made it better, but when Mama or Daddy hit a stop light, Katie bar the door…it smelled awful. For days and days our 1957 Plymouth smelled horrible. I’m pretty sure I was not winning any family member popularity contests for the next couple of weeks. The smell lasted long after the accident…oh boy did it.

Have you ever broken a jug of milk in your car before? Well, probably not, but let me ask you this. Have you ever done something wrong, something that hurt someone, something that broke someone’s heart? If so, you probably know what this story is about. You see when we get all fired up and make bad choices with big regrets, it doesn’t just go away…oh no…it lingers and lingers and lingers. And you know and I know, sometimes the scar just stays forever. I know we shouldn’t cry over spilt milk, but maybe we should shed a few tears over broken hearts, hearts broken by our hands or voices.

I sure wish I had been more careful that day. I know I was just a kid, but I was old enough to be careful. My careless behavior caused a big stink and it was a stink we all had to endure. Maybe, like me, we should be more careful with our actions and our words each day. If we would, it might save a few hearts and a few big stinks. The Bible says that we will have to give an account for every word and every action that we say or do. Do you know what? If I would have asked, my big sister would have helped me that day…Mama would have too. But, I thought I could handle it. Sometimes, we think that way in life too. Why not ask for a little help from your Heavenly Father before the milk gets spilt? Ask and He will help you the rest of the way. You can count on Him. He’s got this.

Family, forgiveness, Grace, life, loving others, Scripture

Sticks and Stones

Posted on October 29, 2020October 28, 2020 by Dewayne Taylor

“You have heard the law that says, ‘Love your neighbor’ and hate your enemy. But I say, love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you! In that way, you will be acting as true children of your Father in heaven.” Matthew 5:43-45

You’re nothing but a little Hitler. The life of a pastor is always interesting. You really never know what is going to come your way. I’ve been doing this pastor thing for about 38 years now and I know two things. First, generally speaking the sun will come up tomorrow. There is no guarantee but it has a pretty good track record. Second, you are going to step in someone’s mess today. Pastor or not, you are going to bump into someone’s hot mess.

Her name was Sheila. Her mother attended our church and she and her two boys would occasionally visit. I decided one day to go by and just let her know that we enjoyed having her visit. I mean it sounded like a good thing, it sounded like the right thing. What could possibly go wrong, right? Well, I pull into her driveway and went up to the door. I did my gentle, non-threating knock and she came to the door. I gave the standard, “Hi Sheila, I just wanted to come back and let you know we are so glad you are visiting with us” spill. It was pleasant…it was sincere.

I don’t remember everything she said that day. It could be “pastoral amnesia.” That is a defense mechanism that pastors have to guard their hearts when someone decides it is their spiritual gift to break them. It might be PTSS (Pastor Tramatic Stress Syndrome) where the event was so traumatic that you block it out. Anyway…she cut loose and the two things I do remember included something about me running a cult and brain washing people. The last thing I remember was when she said, in all seriousness, “You are nothing but a little Hitler.”

Well, that hurt—a lot. It hurt so much that 30 years later I can still hear her voice, still feel her words, and still wish I had never knocked on that door. Not too long ago I was asked to do her mother’s funeral and it seemed the wall was still there. Amazingly…sad. There is an old saying that is a lie. It says, “Sticks and stone may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Really? I wonder who came up with that one. They must have been deaf and blind. Words are an incredibly powerful tool or weapon—depending on the sender.

I still am amazed at the emotional energy that chance meeting had for me that day. But it wasn’t chance…it was somehow prescribed by my Dearest Daddy to help me grow to be more like Jesus. He knew (and He was right) that there would be many more awkward moments in the days ahead and I needed to learn how to handle them…like Jesus. This morning I listened to a devotional by one of my favorite writers, Bob Goff. He was talking about loving your enemies…or maybe folks who act like your enemies. He quoted Jesus and here’s what Jesus said, “You have heard the law that says, ‘Love your neighbor’ and hate your enemy. But I say, love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you! In that way, you will be acting as true children of your Father in heaven.”

Wow…that is way powerful. Bob told a story about a witch doctor that he took to trial in Uganda. This witch doctor believed in child sacrifice and practiced it. No one before had had the courage to take on these bad guys. Well, he did and he won. Later, he decided to go visit this guy on death row. The former witch doctor, who by then had become a Christ follower, told Bob that he forgave him. This confused Bob because the other guy was the bad guy, not him. But what is important is the former witch doctor was extending grace because he wanted to be like Jesus…like his Father. How about that?

This COVID thing has been a breeding ground for more than germs…it was been a breeding ground for division, unkindness, judging, and hurting. I know it and you know it, too. And, unfortunately, God’s kids have not been exempt. The world is watching and seeing and wondering if this God thing is real or a hoax. One way we can show them that Jesus is the real deal is by loving one another. Just because the evening news is filled with hated and bitterness doesn’t mean it should infect our Jesus world. Remember He said that the world would know we are Christians by our love…not our dogmatism. I put something on the sign at church this week. It says, Jesus first. Before. Everything. Else. Period. I believe that. He is more important than COVID, masks, politics, and everything else. He is first and when He is first…we all do better. Our world does better. Our marriages do better. Our churches do better. So as we continue this journey called life, if you are a Jesus follower, make sure you are following Him closely. Mimic His every Word and every step. And if you are not yet a follower, I hope you soon will be. I know sometimes we Jesus followers don’t get it right—but trust me, He never gets it wrong. You can rest in Him. He’s got this.

Family, forgiveness, Grace, gratitude, life, loving others, prayer, Scripture, Southern born, thankful

Forty-Five Years Ago

Posted on October 26, 2020October 25, 2020 by Dewayne Taylor

And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” John 8:32

It was forty-five years ago today. My life has always been steeped in church, God, and stuff. I think my older brother had something to do with that. Dad tended to be a CEO attender—you know—Christmas and Easter only. But even with that said there were other ways that he clearly showed that he and God were on good speaking terms. Two of my favorite memories are of him praying. One time he was down on his knees leading us as a family in prayer. He never stood taller. The other happened when I came home late from a date and found him talking to our Dearest Father, hands clasped and head bowed.

Now, mama was more faithful at church except when she hit a bump or two. She liked to attend and she would take us with her. No questions asked. She sang, she led one of the girl’s classes, and she too was on good terms with Jesus. But there were a couple of times when her heart got hurt and she would sit out for a little while. It was then my oldest brother would take over the taxiing job and make sure I got to church. To this day I am grateful that he did that. Because of him habitually taking me, there has never been a time when I didn’t go to church. That was good but what happened forty-five years ago was far better.

Right out of high school I joined the Air Force and ended up stationed in Valdosta, Georgia at Moody Air Force Base. Since church was such a regular part of my calendar I made it a point to go—a lot. One Wednesday night I decided to go to one of the local churches. So I got there, opened the side door and right across the room was Judy Allen. She was beautiful and right there and then I decided I liked that church—a lot.

I started attending regularly for two reasons. It was what I was used to doing and Judy was there. We started dating right away and before too long we were engaged. She was probably too young and I was probably too old but, hey, that is sometimes the way of love. Well, in June of 1975 she met someone else—another guy. Fortunately for me it was Jesus. She, like me, was raised in church but she discovered that going to church and knowing Jesus were two entirely different things. Jesus waltzed into her life and she was like a new person—an even better person—better than I deserved for sure.

Well, a few months went by and at church one morning, October 26 to be exact, I bumped into the same Man she had met. Unexpectedly the pastor told a story about a man who had gone to church all his life and then realized he had never met Jesus. You might say he was religious, but not a Jesus follower. When I heard about him, I realized that was me—I was the same way—way too religious and way short on knowing Jesus as my best friend. That morning in Valdosta, Georgia at about 10:45 in the morning I met Jesus and my life changed forever. Jesus didn’t make me perfect that day but He sure made me forgiven. He put me on a new road and well, it has been amazing.

So, for forty-five years I have walked with Jesus and here I sit today, a pastor for thirty-eight of those years and writing stories. And Judy, well, in June of 1976, we decided to walk together and we just never stopped. Me, Judy, and Jesus—it has been quite the journey. For the past forty-five years, every year, I have celebrated two birthdays. The first is January 6, the day I was physically born. But I also celebrate October 26, the day I met Jesus and was spiritually born.

Every time I write a story I love to put a big truth in it about God. Well this story is a bit different—this time the story is Jesus and what He did for me and wants to do for you. Remember, don’t make the mistake I did—confusing religion and church with Jesus. They are not the same—He is a lot better. He said that we could know the truth and the truth would set us free. Well, the truth is He loves you, no matter what, more than you can imagine. The truth is, He wants you to trust Him, to rest in Him. The truth is He’s got this. Trust me, I know.

Family, forgiveness, Grace, life, loving others, prayer, Scripture, wisdom

Got Squirrels?

Posted on October 23, 2020 by Dewayne Taylor

I am able to do all things through Him who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13

I just can’t seem to win. It seems we have a continuing wildlife saga in our backyard. I know I have told you about the difficult time I have been having trying to feed the birds in our backyard. You see my friends the birds left when the food ran out. It kinda hurt my feelings. Well, I apologized and went and bought some food and a couple of new feeders and they are slowly coming back! Boy, are they fair weather friends! But that isn’t the only problem.

I also have squirrel issues. With winter coming on they are visiting the back yard, the side yard, and every other part of the yard—frequently. They eat Judy’s flower bulbs, they dig holes everywhere burying nuts for the winter, and then for fun they eat the bird food. That wouldn’t be a big deal but they want to eat all the bird food—every expensive morsel. Now there are a couple of options here. On the one hand we can use some friendly means to dissuade them from visiting—you know, perhaps a 12 gauge shotgun. The other is to embrace them—remember the Bible says “if you enemy is hungry…feed them.”

Now if the truth were known, I think sometimes (like when they eat her tulip bulbs) Judy would lean toward the 12 gauge…I’m not sure if the intent would be to scare them off or make squirrel stew. Somehow, though, that just doesn’t seem like the right option. It’s not that I am not that merciful–it’s just that they are so cotton-picking cute and you have to admire their persistence. So, I was prepared to at least help them coexist with us. And then they ate my bird feeder—literally.

As I said I went to a local store and bought a new finch feeder—the kind that is supposed to discourage anything but a finch from feeding there. Well, the designers hadn’t taken into account these squirrels. In one day, they chewed it up, spit it out and consumed the bird food. I decided it had to be a design flaw so I took it back to the store to see if they would give me a new one—they laughed.

So, why not use the 12 gauge and save the money? Well, first I live in the city limits and they frown on discharging a firearm. But the truth is they are God’s creation and they have those big brown eyes…the ones that make them look so pitiful…you know, hungry and everything. As you know, we’ve been learning to “love thy neighborhood” and I suppose that could include squirrels. We’ve also been learning about how we should “be merciful just like God is merciful.” Do you remember why? “Because He forgives the ungrateful and wicked.” I am certain these squirrels fit both categories.

So, I am working through this. Tracking with Romans 12, I’m going down the “love thy enemy” checklist. Feeding—check! Water—Check! Merciful—check! Forgiving—check! I believe before long the squirrels and I will be best buds. In fact, maybe this is just practice for loving others who, like the squirrels, are a bit difficult. You see, the scripture isn’t talking about squirrels anyway; it is talking about our family, our friends, our neighbors—and yes, our enemies. Let me clue you in—loving them is sometimes a whole lot tougher than loving that cute little squirrel.

But do you know what? We can do it. Remember that verse in the Bible we all love…the one that says we can do anything with God’s help? Well, it’s time we move from memorizing it and begin applying it. With His help we can love and care for the most difficult of those who live around us and impact our lives. And do you know what else? We are never more like Jesus than when we are kind and loving to those who deserve it the least. I know…I know, we think we are the most like Jesus when we don our Sunday best and head to church. The truth is we are most like Jesus when we act like Jesus. And, when we truly act like Jesus, all the people around us take notice. They stop “eating our lunch” and begin wanting what we have…Him. Amazing. So, got squirrels? Just give in and go to the store and buy some corn. They will still eat your bird food but maybe, just maybe, they’ll be so full of corn they will eat less of the bird food. Got some folks tough to love? Apply the Word, invite God into the situation and get ready for some work (on your part) and perhaps a miracle (on His part). Hey, none of us are perfect. We all have our warts and we all have our weak spots. Just remember how God goes to great lengths to show you His love every day. He will never grow weary of loving us. Never has, never will. When you get all worked up over an overeating squirrel or an unkind or difficult neighbor—just take a break and rest in Him. He’s got this.

Family, forgiveness, Grace, life, loving others, priorities, Scripture, Southern born, wisdom

Gator Mania

Posted on October 22, 2020October 21, 2020 by Dewayne Taylor

One Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.” Ephesians 4:5-6

It was Gator mania. To say that Aunt Maryjo was a Gator fan is to say that the Pope is Catholic. Through and through, she loved everything that was University of Florida Gators. I am pretty sure if she had a blood transfusion the blood type would have to be UF. I also am certain that if she was bilingual she would speak Southern English and Gator. When she went to heaven about a week ago, the Gator’s lost their number one 94 year old cheerleader.

The family asked me to do a chunk of her memorial service and I was pleased to do so. The service was all about Maryjo, the Gators and Jesus. We stayed at a hotel in Gainesville and something almost immediately caught my eye. Virtually everything, and I do mean everything, was Gatorized. The primary decorating colors were blue and orange and Gator flags, Gator plaques, Gator pictures, and Gator knick knacks filled the main lobby and sitting area. They even had a ping pong table and the net was not a net at all but a solid wall of sorts painted orange with a Gator carved in the middle.

Everyone knows you wear black to funerals and many folks did. But there was also a large number of blue and orange ties, shirts, dresses, and scarves scattered throughout the crowd. I noticed though several members of my family were not wearing blue and orange. I was kinda surprised. So I asked one of my brother-in-laws, “Why aren’t you wearing blue and orange?” About the time I said it, I regretted it. He boldly said, “I ain’t no Gator.” Yup, there were several there who were Florida State fans and aunt or no aunt, they were not going to wear those stinking Gator colors. Life…go figure.

As Judy and I were sitting in the hotel lobby visiting and drinking coffee and observing everything Gator, she said, “Isn’t it amazing what can happen when we are all pulling in the same direction?” And do you know what? She was absolutely right. If I were to guess, probably 99% of the population around Gainesville were avid Gator fans. The lived it, they believed it, and they were ready to fight for it. They might be different social and economic classes, they might be different skin colors, they might even speak a different language, but one thing, one thing, pulled them together. One thing managed to hold them together—they were fans of the Gators. That singular thing overcame everything else. Amazing.

I wonder what would happen if in a different world other than football if the same thing happened. What if all the different denominations that say they believe in Jesus got together and pulled in the same direction? What if all the churches in a town laid aside their insignificant differences and decided that they were going to pull together for the common cause of Jesus? I wonder how our community, or state could and would change, if we all decided to agree on what mattered—the Jesus essentials—and laid the rest aside long enough to live and share the Good News. Why must we be like the football fans who attend rival schools and absolutely refuse to associate? I wonder.

Well, there is one thing I can tell you for certain. There is one who absolutely loves our division over the things that in ten years won’t matter and that is the devil. Oh how he applauds our pettiness and while he is smiling, Jesus is grieving. I know He grieves because the Bible says we are not to grieve Him. If we are not careful, we are going to lose…and I’m not talking about a football game. I am talking about our communities, our cities, our counties and our country. I am not talking about losing a battle, I am talking about the war for the heart and soul of men, women, children—and the places they—we live.

Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe somehow our holy huddles and frail fellowships can pull it off individually. But that’s not how the Bible describes how our relationships should be. There is one body and that is body of Christ. I believe it says, “One faith, one Lord, and one baptism.” One…there is real power when all the ones come together for the One and His soul (don’t worry…intentionally spelled that way) purpose. Jesus came to seek and saved that which was lost and it was something that He was willing to die for. What about you? What about us? Can we, will we, don the colors of the cross—red for His blood, white for our forgiveness and blue for our loyalty, not to a pastor, a church, or a denomination, but to the One who matters—Jesus!

Well, I was raised not too far from Gainesville and my daddy and most of my family were Gator fans, but somehow I went rogue—I pull for Notre Dame. Go figure—a Baptist pastor pulling for a Catholic team. What’s up with that? It’s simply really—I love tradition and I love college football and those two override the other. I am hoping our common denominator—Jesus will do the same. I am banking on the fact that we may lose a battle or two, but in the end—Jesus wins and I’m gonna rest in that. After all, He’s got this.

Family, forgiveness, gratitude, life, loving others, Scripture, wisdom

Scars

Posted on October 21, 2020October 20, 2020 by Dewayne Taylor

Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead. Philippians 3:13

Gnarled trees stood twisted and broken along the road. Judy and I had to make a trip to Florida to participate in my Aunt’s funeral. She was my Daddy’s baby sister and the last of that generation. It was a long trip but worth the journey. I saw it as a way to honor my father while also honoring my aunt. Like every person her life had its ups and downs and bumps and bruises. And like every person, there were a few scars left along the road.

It was while traveling West in Florida that I began seeing the gnarled trees. Mile after mile of trees that were either broken in two, forever bent over or simply lifeless, like dead men standing. I knew the area had been brushed by a recent storm or two but this damage was caused by something far worse—and not so recently. Suddenly it occurred to me. I had seen this before about two years ago. It was the result of a storm, a terrible storm called Michael.

If you remember in 2018 a compact yet incredibly powerful storm came ashore at Mexico Beach, a small down on the Florida panhandle. It was so devastating that it literally destroyed that small town and the path of the storm with its destruction moved well inland. That is where we saw the scars. When we were here a couple of months after the storm and miles and miles inland there was debris piled everywhere along the highway. What wasn’t broken off or blown over looked like it had been given a perm—twisted and turned. That was two years ago.

The scars of that harsh and horrible day remain today and will remain for many years to come. Only time is going to slow erase the damage as trees re-grow and underbrush hides what has fallen. It looked devastating two years ago when I saw it and today, somehow, it looked even more so. Sometimes the scars are almost as bad as the wounds. Sometimes the memories are worse than what caused the pain.

Many of us have caused scars and most of us bear them. Some are still healing while others, like the gnarled trees, will remain. We are left to wonder what to do…how to heal. The answer I believe lies with creator God. It is He who can give us the strength to forgive and it is He who can lead us down the path to healing. Like a good recipe, it will include a measure of grace, a measure of mercy, and a measure of choice. Forgiveness is really never about the one who caused the scar rather it is about the one who was hurt. When we forgive we truly begin to heal.

Forgiveness also involves forgetting…but not the kind you are thinking. This forgetting simply means that we choose to not allow the past to control our present. We choose to let go, so we can be set free. When we determine that the past won’t reach into our present…we find a freedom. While the scar will remain, slowly but surely the pain eases and we are evently left whole.

This, of course, is a faith path. We have to believe that God can and will heal us. We have to believe that God can forgive us if we were the one who caused the scar. We have to believe either way that His grace is sufficient and do you know what? It is. The scars I saw today along the highway spoke of a devastating storm but it also spoke of hope. You see, at the base of the gnarled trees stood dozens and dozens of new growth trees. One day, someday in the future, they will rise to overcome the past with its scars. That is our hope.

As I stood before that group of people today and spoke of mistakes and regrets. I also spoke of forgiveness and grace which was and is a game changer. No matter how difficult your past and no matter how uncertain your future, His grace will see you through. I hope you will keep trusting Him day by day. I hope you will look up for hope, look around to see that you aren’t by yourself and look down, yes down, but only to see the new life surrounding you. Hey, you can trust Him, you can rest in Him because no matter how hard the wind blows or how long it howls…He’s got this.

Family, forgiveness, life, priorities, Scripture, travel, wisdom

My Clock is a Liar

Posted on October 12, 2020October 11, 2020 by Dewayne Taylor

You are of your father the devil, and you want to carry out your father’s desires. He was a murderer from the beginning and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he tells a lie, he speaks from his own nature, because he is a liar and the father of lies.” John 8:44

My clock lies to me. Throughout my life I have had times when I collect things. Once it was eagles. To this day I love eagles but there was a time I would go to the mall or any store that might sell them and tell Judy, “I’m going to look for eagles.” If I found one, I would buy it. Not too long ago it was BB guns. It started with a Red Ryder model (the one from the movie, “A Christmas Story”). The next thing I knew I had nine BB guns and pistols. Boom. Just like that. Over the years urges have come and gone but there is one that has kinda stuck with me. Clocks.

A long time ago (and in a galaxy far, far away…you know, like the Star Wars movies) I started collecting clocks. Unlike eagles and BB guns, this one can get rather pricy. But it started rather innocently. When Judy and I were stationed in Germany near the French border, we went to a flea market with a couple of good friends. My friend spied a German wall clock laying on the ground, halfway in a mud puddle and ended up buying it. The long story made short is that I ended up talking him out of it. It was a swap kinda thing. It is a bing-bam clock which means it strikes on the hour and half-hour. It was pretty old then, and now, 42 years later, it is like me, a lot older.

It is a special clock because of the story and all the memories but it does have a problem. It lies. You see, over the years it has developed this nasty habit of saying one thing and doing another. As I mentioned, it is designed to bing-bam on the half-hour and then on the hour it counts the time out. If it is 4:00 then it will bing-bam four times. You can hear it shouting out the time almost throughout the house. It was nostalgic and handy. And then it starting lying. It started innocently enough—at 1:00 it would sound two times instead of once. It was predictable so I just lived with it. Now, well now, it lies big time. Randomly, and throughout the day it sounds the wrong time.

Well, adjusting the clock is quite easy…or at least it is supposed to be. So, if it was showing 4:00 but counting five, I would simply stopped the clock and moved the hour hand to five. I waited an hour to restart the clock—problem solved—or not. I restarted old faithful and at 6:00 it sounded five. So, I slid the hour hand to 5:00 and waited and sure enough it chimed six. No matter what I did the clock lied. It has stubbornly developed a very bad habit. Hmmmm.

Fortunately for the old clock, I like it a lot. Its value to me goes way beyond its value as a time teller—it is part of the family. Because of that, I’m willing to tolerate its bad habit. I don’t like it. I don’t trust it. It is frustrating, but in this case, it is mostly harmless. I simply have learned to believe it when I can read the dial but not when I can only hear it. It’s a negotiated settlement. That works fine for clocks—but it is not fine for people.

When I was growing up telling the truth was a pretty big deal. Now, I would be the last to tell you that I always did it. I didn’t. But the bottom line was if you did the crime—you did the time. Lie and get caught (and invariably I did) and Alston and Leslie (that’s daddy and mama) made sure you received a refresher course on the importance of telling the truth. Whether it was a spanking or washing my mouth out with soap—I learned lying was a bad deal.

I think daddy and mama must have talked to Jesus about it, because He thought it was a big deal too. One time, there was a group of religious leaders who had a problem speaking or even liking the truth. Jesus cut loose on them and said, “You are just like your father the devil. When he lies he is just speaking his natural language. He is the father of lies and the truth is not in him.” Wow—so if you ever wonder why lying made the big ten—now you know.

Today we live in a culture of convenience and whatever works for you—you kinda go with it. If telling a lie makes things a little easier—just cut loose and worry about the consequences later. Its like the 60’s “if it feels good do it” on steroids. Just know this. No matter what culture says lying is a big deal—regardless if you are a preacher, a politician, or the guy next door. God says it so it is a nonnegotiable for His followers. Oh, and even if you’re not a God follower you will still find life has fewer consequences and less regrets when you make the truth the standard.

As I finish this story, the old clock got it right. An hour ago—it got it wrong. Good grief…I just wish it would make up its mind to tell the truth. Speaking of truth—here are two you can count on every time. First…you can always trust and rest in creator God. Second…He’s got this. And that friend—is the truth.

Family, forgiveness, Grace, gratitude, life

A Really Bad Idea

Posted on October 2, 2020 by Dewayne Taylor

The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in faithful love.” Psalm 103:8

It was just a bad idea. Each of us have times when we do something and from the get go we know it was just a bad idea. Yesterday’s story of me at age seven trying to ride a 26 inch bicycle was just one of many. And these bad ideas usually bear the fruit of bad endings.

I have a really good friend who manages a local restaurant. Before COVID, we would get together once a week and have breakfast at the restaurant. Since COVID we still try and get together for coffee and perhaps a pastry fresh out of the oven. Suffering isn’t all bad, is it? Well, I was famous for ordering different things for breakfast. One was the delicious “preacher stack.” It consisted of a slice of toast, an over-easy egg, a slice of cheese, a couple of slices of soft bacon, a small serving of hash browns (cooked crispy, of course), a second egg and finally the crowning touch, a smattering of gravy. For variety the hash browns were sometimes replaced with grits. Now, let me tell you, that was “shoot that thing” good. I do believe I might be the Rembrandt of breakfast. Sometimes.

You see, one time, about midway through the fall season, I got an idea. Unfortunately, it was a very bad idea. Now the problem with bad ideas is that sometimes they look good from one angle and horrible from the other. Well, this time I looked from the wrong angle. I told my friend, “Jeremy, I have an idea. I think I want to try chili and eggs for breakfast in the morning.” Now being the good friend that he was, he tried and tried to get me to change course. But at that time and from that angle it really sounded good. The key word there is “sounded.”

So the next morning Jeremy cooked up a batch of chili and I was served chili and eggs for breakfast. The first and second bite wasn’t too bad—weird, but not too bad. From there it went down hill and by the time I was done—I was done. I felt like I had swallowed a 12 pound bowling ball and that bowling ball stayed with me all day. In fact, it was a couple of days before I felt half normal. It was a very, very bad idea. He tried to warn me, but no. Oh boy, just the thought of chili and eggs makes my eyes cross.

Well, today I had a nice, innocent bad idea. I usually walk in the mornings but Judy and I decided to walk in the afternoon. That was ok—unusual, but ok. And that wasn’t the bad idea. We were going to walk on the bike trail so I thought I would wear an old pair of trail running shoes I had in the closet. “Why?” Well, I liked the way they looked and I liked the way they laced up (they had these cool speed laces) but that’s where the love affair ended. They weren’t very comfortable and the inside of the heel had long lost its padding. All that was left was a crater where the padding used to be surrounded by rough edges. Everything said, “Don’t wear those shoes.” Well, you know what I did. I wore the shoes anyway and it was indeed a very bad idea.

I had planned on only walking a couple of miles but ended up doing 3.6. Somebody say “wow.” Well, at about the 1.8 mile turn around point I noticed that the back of my left heel was starting to burn—to hurt. Remember the padding that was missing—well, those rough edges that remained were now slowly eating into my heel. And with every step it got worse. I was almost two miles from the car and it hurt, and it hurt, and it hurt. I found myself saying over and over again, “This was a really bad idea.” The problem was I realized it just a little too late. Well, about 10,000 steps later, I got back to the car and the shoes and I parted company—forever. Even sitting there I said it again, “That was a really bad idea.”

Well, in a while Judy got back to the car from her walk. As she came over to where I was sitting and noticed I had my shoes off. She made a comment about resting. I said, “Judy, do you remember the time I ate the chili and eggs?” She said, “Well, yes, but what has that got to do with today?” I said, “That was a really, bad idea and wearing these stinking shoes today was a really bad idea.” To make matters worse, when we had started walking I commented how much I liked the shoes and she remembered that. “But Dewayne, I thought you said you liked them?” Well, I liked the way they looked, I liked they way they laced up, but boy, I didn’t like the way they felt after walking. And trust me—that outweighed all the looks and all the cool laces.

Well, I wanted to tell you this story for a couple of reasons. First, don’t, do not, eat chili and eggs. What it does to your insides requires the intervention of the EPA. If you eat chili and eggs be prepared for a period of quarantine. Be prepared to camp in the “valley of the shadow of death.” It. Is. A. Bad. Idea. And if you are going to walk, remember to pick your shoes based on what is important not what is intriguing or flashy. At about the two mile point you will thank me. Trust me, I know.

One thing that I really like about the Bible is that it is filled with people just like me. People who didn’t always listen to God and people who ate chili and eggs and wore the wrong shoes. Real, live, people who didn’t always make the best choices. The thing I like about God is that He is so loving, patient and kind. Even when Adam and Eve ate “chili and eggs” in the garden and then wore the “wrong shoes” to cover it all up—He still loved them and still provided a way for them to be forgiven. They tried to do it their way, but God didn’t throw them under the bus and start over. And guess what? He doesn’t throw us under the bus either, and I am thankful. When we come to Him with our “chili and eggs,” “wrong shoes,” whining and complaining about how we got the “blisters” in our life, He is patiently waiting.

He is always there for us…bad ideas and all. You will find the Whisper whispering warnings, “don’t got there,” and encouraging you to “go the right way” and “do the right things”. That’s just the way He is. You know He could have carried me back to the car yesterday but I think there was a lesson that I needed to learn and a story I needed to tell. I finished the walk limping a little, but also a little wiser. As I sat there resting in Him I decided no more chili and eggs and no more worn out, flashy shoes. And the next time I find myself two miles from the car—well, I’ll just remember, He’s got this.