Real Men Don’t Get Lost -Book

“The Journey”

                       

 

My earliest memories of the outdoors occurred at my Grandma Brown’s in Chesterfield, South Carolina. Grandma and Dad had hand sawed all the planks for the barn from lumber Dad had dragged out of the swamp by oxen. Dad had grown up dirt poor with a breakdown single shot shotgun. He believed that if you shot more than once you were wasting money. Dad decided to take us, my three brothers and me, rabbit hunting. As we walked through the woods Dad would occasionally tell us to stop. He would then point out the cottontail before it would flush. I must admit we had trouble seeing the rabbit even with Dad’s directions. Another time we were in the woods when Dad told us all to freeze because of a large rattler. He eased off a few yards and cut a stick and killed the snake. We asked Dad how he could have seen the snake in the thick brush. He said he did not see it; he had smelled it. We were skeptical but he explained the odor rattlers had on the farm. I did not smell a thing.

A career army officer Dad, and Mom, moved every couple of years. He had a trophy red stag he had shot in Germany while serving in Criminal Investigation during the occupation following WWII. His unit investigated the black market and was assigned the task of searching for Hitler’s gold. Hunting and fishing was their recreation in Europe. I was born while he was the post game warden for Ft. Stewart, Georgia. I remember his last turkey hunt in Maryland. Dad could not stand being in the woods with careless hunters with poor etiquette.

Raised by Christian parents I came to realize that I had a sin problem. Obviously, as a nine-year-old I didn’t have a life of crime and debauchery behind me, but I knew I did not measure up to a holy God. I trusted that Christ had done everything for my salvation in a church start outside Ft. Meade, Maryland. We ended up in South Carolina, where I spent my time squirrel and rabbit hunting, fishing, reading Field & Stream, and day dreaming of Labrador retrievers and the West. As an Army family we watched the evening news and kept an eye on Viet Nam. I had no interest in going straight to college after high school and my brother, Mike, had already dropped out of college to fly in the Army. Flying sounded more exciting than attending college, so I celebrated my eighteenth birthday by entering the Army’s Warrant Officer Rotary Wing Aviation Course.

At eighteen I knew more about being a “real helicopter pilot” than I did being a growing Christian. I did not know the importance of daily Bible study and prayer. Mike had extended his tour in Viet Nam and was in-country when I arrived. Don, a signal officer, arrived the following month.

Early in 1971 the Pentagon determined the ARVNs (South Vietnamese Army) capable of severing the Ho Chi Minh trail which supplied the communists in the south. Air assault companies were sent to I Corps in support of LAM SON 719, the ARVN invasion of Laos. The North Vietnamese Army (NVA) allowed the ARVNs to become extended over a number of landing zones (LZ) before they counter attacked with tanks, heavy artillery, and 25,000 troops. LAM SON 719 quickly became a shooting gallery with the ARVN troops serving as the bait and Army helicopters becoming the sitting ducks. The NVA shot down or grounded from battle damage 444 of the 600 helicopters involved in the operation and 10,000 ARVN soldiers were wounded, killed, or missing. One of the aviation companies from III Corps lost their complete gun platoon on one LZ. The Charlie model gunships could not handle the mountainous terrain and the heavy machine gun and light antiaircraft weapon fire.

The units flying LAM SON 719 needed replacement aircraft and pilots. I volunteered and arrived at A Company, 158^th Aviation Battalion, the “Ghost Riders,” in early March. On March 19^th we were assigned to the extraction of ARVN troops from several of the LZs along Highway 9 toward Tchepone. It was a typical day for the operation. We started with eleven aircraft and by afternoon had two or three still flyable. On the first mission of the morning point blank fire riddled six of the aircraft. A .51 caliber round hit “Itty Bitty” while in the LZ. Blowing through the armor seat the round paralyzed him. The next attempt resulted in “Wop” taking an antiaircraft round through the bottom of his seat. By late afternoon I was in one of three flyable aircraft. The ARVN unit needed ammo and water so headquarters decided that one aircraft would resupply them. We were selected to fly over at 6,000 feet and throw out the supplies. (I always wondered how it would feel to have an ammo crate land on your head from 6,000 feet.) Headquarters hoped the altitude would minimize our risk. We would also be escorted by several Cobra gun teams.

Over the LZ at 6,000 feet it looked like the Fourth of July as tracer rounds the size of basketballs flashed through our blades. For every tracer round there were three or four regular rounds. Though out of small arms range, the .51 calibers and antiaircraft weapons had no trouble reaching us. A classmate had recently been blown out of the air with a first round hit by a radar controlled antiaircraft gun. With absolute certainty I knew I was going to die. You cannot bargain with God, but I believe He puts you in situations to bring you around to His viewpoint. I remember praying, “God, I know I am yours, that I am going to heaven, but if you choose to let me live I will do whatever you want.” His answer wasn’t audible but I had such a sense of His presence it was if I had heard Him say, “Nothing is going to happen to you.” I finished the rest of my tour as the only Ghost Rider aircraft commander (that I know of) that never took at hit to his aircraft. I had men killed immediately after getting off the aircraft, but I never took a hit. Almost one third of my flight school class died in Viet Nam. I should be among them, but God had other plans. I came home before my twentieth birthday and met a friend from high school who had been the class drunk. His life was radically changed. Through him I discovered you get out of Christianity in geometric proportions to what you put into the relationship.

I wish I could say that I consistently lived for Christ from March 1971, on, but I can’t. I can say that God has always been faithful. He has given me a wonderful family. Kathy and I moved to Alaska in 1974 where our boys were born and reared. Everyday in Alaska God’s creation declares His reality. Its spectacular mountains and endless vistas remind me how great He is and insignificant I am. As a public school teacher, minister, bush pilot, National Guard pilot, commercial fisherman, fishing guide, outfitter, charter operator, ski patrolman, and tourism business owner I was blessed by years of outdoor experiences. Many times God used an experience to teach me a spiritual truth. When I read of the disciples in the storm I visualize Clarence Strait with white capping seas higher than the boat’s cabin breaking on the bow and know the peace of being in the Creator’s care.

After seminary we returned to Alaska and had the joy of spending two years hunting, fishing, shrimping, and woodworking with my dad in Ketchikan. Six months after our moving to Soldotna he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. My mother lived her faith. Rearing four boys, having at least one of them serve in combat for over two years straight, and losing her partner of fifty years my mom had always had a quiet peace about her. She loved fishing with Dad and loved to talk about their hunting adventures in Europe.

Most of the names in these stories have been changed to protect my friends from further embarrassment. I wrote with the standard that I changed the name if you laugh at anyone other than me. I especially want to acknowledge my friend Howard White. He lived and died for Christ and he is worthy of honor. I do want to thank my hunting partners, Dave Sterley, Dean Nichols, and my three sons, Ashley, Adam, and Andrew. Others have seen first hand my amazing woodsmanship, (smilie face should go here) but these did not give up on me, which I deeply appreciate. I have tried to be as accurate as possible, but the exact locations and details might be wrong. Of course, that’s what makes these hunting stories.

Several of the chapters involve, or are written, by my oldest son, Ashley. Serving in a parachute infantry regiment on 9-11 he represents many young men and women who are seeing the power of God in a different outdoor setting. It is our desire that God will use this book to help men come to know Him and decide to begin the greatest adventure of their lives, being a follower of Christ. I can promise it will never be boring.

“Then He got into one of the boats, which was Simon’s, and asked him to put out a little from the land. And He sat down and taught the multitudes from the boat. When He had stopped speaking, He said to Simon, ‘Launch out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.’ But Simon answered and said to Him, ‘Master, we have toiled all night and caught nothing; nevertheless at Your word I will let down the net.’ And when they had done this, they caught a great number of fish, and their net was breaking. So they signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both the boats, so that they began to sink. When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, ‘Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!’ For he and all who were with him were astonished at the catch of fish which they had taken; and so also were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. And Jesus said to Simon, ‘Do not be afraid. From now on you will catch men.’ So when they had brought their boats to land, they forsook all and followed Him.” Luke 5:3-11 (NKJV)

 

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

1. Have you ever come to a place in your life that you realized you are separated from God?
2. Have you accepted the work of Christ at the cross as totally sufficient for your forgiveness?
3. Beyond the intellectual knowledge of the cross has your life been transformed by being a follower of Christ?
4. Can you explain what has happened in your life to another? Try to keep your testimony to less than three minutes. Focus on Christ, not specific sins, tell how you came to understand your need, how has your life changed, and what has God done in your life lately?
5. Who is watching your walk?

 

 

 

 

 

Real Men Don’t Get Lost

 

 

Christian’s often use words that only have meaning within the “club.” Take “lost” for example. Every time I hear someone use the expression, I want to say, “Real men don’t get lost.” I have never been lost. I may not know my exact position, but I am not lost. That a man should never admit if he was lost was first demonstrated to me in flight school. The Army Aviation School’s Primary Phase was located in Mineral Wells, Texas, thirty miles or so west of Dallas-Fort Worth. Each day half of the students rode out to the staging areas on buses. The other half flew the helicopters to the outlaying fields and switched out the aircraft with the other students following the morning training session. Texas might not have subzero weather, but when the winds cross the Canadian border the only thing slowing it down is barb wire. The spring winds are horrendous.

The training helicopter at that time was a Hughes 300, loving referred to as the Mattel Messerschmitt, because it looked like a toy. It would cruise around sixty knots. The day of my lesson on lostness started with seasonally strong winds. Those of us on the buses noticed that the helicopters were stacking up on take off. Dempsey heliport had around ten take off pads. The students would hover out of their tie down spots and enter the line of aircraft waiting for departure. As each aircraft hovered to the departure pad the pilot would call the tower identifying his location and request departure clearance. After the tower gave the wind conditions and clearance and the pilot would pull pitch for climb out. Three hundred trainers leaving in rapid succession always reminded me of the bees around one of our family’s beehives.

Probably thirty minutes later we arrived to the outlying field and entered the shack to find that one of the guys was calling Dempsey tower. He was lost. Naturally we stayed glued to the radio. The conversation came across loud and clear, we didn’t miss a word:

Tower: “Three Zero Seven, say altitude.”

307: “307, altitude 5,000.”

Tower: “307, say heading.”

307: “307, heading 360.”

Tower: “What terrain features can you identify?” (We had always been told that if we became disoriented that we needed to climb so that we would be able to determine our position from the bearings to major landmarks.)

307: “I can see Dallas-Fort Worth to my east; Possum Kingdom Lake is to my northwest. I can also see the Baker Hotel (in Mineral Wells) to my southeast.”

LONG PAUSE

Tower: “307, look between your foot pedals. What do you see?”

LONGER PAUSE: “307, Dempsey.”

That poor guy had pulled pitch and climbed almost straight up. He was showing fifty-five knots airspeed and going nowhere. For two weeks he had to wear a huge cardboard compass around his neck. No one else in our class ever called in asking for directions. We learned to fly IFR. That is not Instrument Flight Rules. It is I Follow Rivers, Roads signs and Railroad tracks. The advantage of flying a helicopter is the ability to hover close to a road sign or water tower.

A few years later I decided that I would fly my new bride to the Bahamas for our honeymoon.  I had several thousand hours of flight time in military aircraft and a commercial rotary wing, single engine, instrument ticket so all I had to do was show proficiency in another type of aircraft to have an equivalent rating. So, after about nine hours of instruction and a check ride I walked the aisle with a fixed wing ticket. I still carry a picture of my wife standing beside the Cherokee 180 as we prepared to leave her hometown airport. One advantage of flying is people can’t tie cans to your rudder.

The flight from Cheraw, South Carolina, to West Palm was a “no brainer,” just head south until you hit the coastline and follow it until you have to take a left. There was just one problem. The Cherokee’s airspeed indicator registered in miles per hour. I thought in knots per hour. One hundred twenty knots is about 132 miles per hour. Unfortunately, when the aircraft instrument read 120, it meant 120 not 132. I can usually figure ETAs, estimated time of arrival, within minutes without a navigational computer. So, I did not think twice when an airfield came into sight as I expected West Palm to appear. I tuned in the appropriate frequency and heard considerable traffic which did not fit with the approaching airfield.

No new groom should ever face the questions and looks I received from Kathy. A reluctant flier in the first place, she immediately started accusing me of being lost. How could I be lost in Florida? The Atlantic was on my left; therefore, the Gulf was on my right. We had not over flown Miami. There is no way we could have missed that. We still had land appearing off our nose. I was not lost. So retreating from the mysterious airfield we circled until I figured our position. Once I realized the gauges were in miles per hour it all fell into place and we resumed our trip. I now know that there are numerous airfields on the Florida coast left over from WWII. You learn something everyday.

I wish I could say that was the end of our marital adjustments but I can’t. During our first year in Alaska we became close friends to an older couple, Bob and Dee. Bob owned a logging road construction business and flew a Hughes 500 (Like the helicopter in Magnum, PI) to travel between construction sites. They were a wonderful couple who loved each other and the Lord. Bob often picked my brain about flying helicopters and I enjoyed going with him to his camps. In the spring of 1975 Bob and Dee crashed in a snow storm. Pulling pitch to climb above some low clouds he was low and slow when the engine flamed out. Scout pilots in Viet Nam loved the Hughes 500. I know men, including my brother, who walked away from multiple crashes in 500s. A major down side to the Hughes was its light weight blades. If you are pulling pitch and experience engine failure the blades rapidly loose speed resulting in loss of control.

Highly respected in Alaska logging Bob and Dee’s funeral drew people from throughout Alaska. There was not a single seat available on any flight to Petersburg the day of the funeral. I was flying for one of the bush outfits at that time and the owner knew I wanted to attend the funeral. We had an aircraft in Petersburg due for maintenance, so my boss suggested that I fly up the replacement aircraft and bring the other one down to the shop. He said that I could take Kathy along. Dreary and overcast with low ceilings the day of the funeral fit our mood. Just outside of Petersburg we flew over the crash site. More of a celebration than a funeral we left town a few hours later glad we had been able to make it.

Weather conditions had not improved during the funeral and we had to fly in and out of snow showers, only a few hundred feet off the water. Crossing the side bays on Clarence Strait we often lost sight of everything but the water below which was white capping due to the high winds. At those times we had no sense of the correct heading except for the whitecaps. All the charts of the area have warnings about magnetic variations due to mineral levels which made the compass worthless. There were times when it seemed that the helicopter was going sideways only to do almost a 180 and be facing the opposite direction. We were never lost, but I sure wondered where we were. With the strong head winds we had to stop to refuel from a company cache in a nondescript muskeg bog. When we finally landed back in Ketchikan Kathy looked at me and said in a slow measured voice, “I will never fly with you again!” And she has kept her word.

Truth is, men are more likely to get lost than their wives. Men don’t like to stop for directions or bother with maps. Sometimes we can’t read the gauges or something is throwing our compass off. Whatever the case, the most we know is that we are in Florida or Alaska. Being “locationally challenged” can have disastrous consequences especially for our eternity. A man who lives each day with the word of God as his guidebook will never be lost again and he will be fit to lead his family safely past the pitfalls that await them.

 

^“Through Your precepts I get understanding; Therefore I hate every false way.
Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Psalms 119:104-105 (NKJV)

 

“All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work.”  2 Tim 3:16-17 (NKJV)

 

 

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

1. What are your points of reference in determining right and wrong, business ethics, and personal standards?
2. What role does your pride play in getting lost or disoriented?
3. Are you a person that others are willing to follow?
4.  Do you know how to use the Bible for guidance as well as you do a map, compass, or GPS?
5. Could you use one of those tools to illustrate how God guides your life?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mick and Mentoring

 

Among handtrollers Mick was a highliner. I fished the same drags for a season and knew about him before I met him. Southeastern Alaska commercial salmon fishing had several major categories: gill netters, purse seiners, and trollers. Gill netters typically used a thirty-foot bow picker. Working the inside canals and fjords they would drop their gill nets in the path of migrating fish and then pull the loaded net over the bow of the boat onto a huge reel. The fisherman would stand in the bow and pick out the salmon as they came aboard with their heads stuck in the gill net. The nets had depth and length restrictions designed to allow spawning escapement. Purse seiners were fifty plus foot vessels. When the skipper located a school of fish he would have the skiff pull out the net into a large circle around the school. Both ends of the net would be run through a hydraulic puller on the top of a boom while the bottom of the net was drawn tight forming a large pouch, or purse. As the purse was pulled alongside the seiner the crew would often have to hand dip enough fish out before the net could be lifted aboard. I have seen seiners covered with fish until they were spilling over the gunwales. There are stories about skippers trying to make it to the processor with their decks awash and finally sinking. Net fisherman had certain days of the week and areas of the region they could fish. It was all designed by the Alaska Department of Fish and Game to ensure a certain number of spawners returning to the streams. Net fishermen targeted silver, sockeye, and pink salmon and were paid for fish in the round, or uncleaned. Their catch ended up in the can.

Trollers targeted silver and king salmon and sold gutted and gilled fish to be sold whole in the fish markets. Originally anyone could commercial fish. As the state grew and more fishermen joined the industry the state enacted the limited entry system for power trollers, and for a few years anyone could still enter the handtroll fleet. Power trollers use hydraulics to run four “gurdies,” or reels, mounted on each gunwale. Each gurdy held several hundred feet of stainless steel cable attached to a forty to sixty pound lead ball. As the “cannon” ball lowered the fisherman would clip on “spreads,” 120 pound leaders of varying length, with an assortment of terminal tackle and baits. Traditionally trollers would run twenty fathom spreads. Fishing the 120 feet depth contour line along prominent migratory points a troller would be running six spreads per down line using trolling poles to spread the gear. Trollers used plugs, spoons, herring, and hoochies (rubber skirt squids). Hand trollers used the same gear as the power trollers except we were limited to four lines total and since we used muscle instead of hydraulics our cannon balls weighted no more than forty pounds. Hand cranking a thirty pounder all day long developed the arms.

Over the years traditions developed among trollers. To the casual eye the shoreline on the back side of Admiralty Island all looked the same. Yet, trollers would fish False Point Retreat and south of Funter’s Bay bypassing miles of other shoreline. The traditional “drag” was fished starboard to the shore and entered on the outside of the daisy chain of boats if there were several boats in the drag. If the number of boats required, you would troll the outside of the circuit catching nothing instead of doing a tight circle staying on the fish. The old timers had a way of enforcing troller etiquette; they would shoot a few rounds into the violator’s hull!

Mick should have qualified for a power troll permit when the state passed limited entry. Technicalities, as often happen with bureaucracies and regulations, placed him in the handtroll group. Mick knew how to fish. A top money maker each year, hence a “highliner,” many trollers would watch him with binoculars or follow him from drag to drag. I knew little about trolling. I had a 23 foot Oregon dory with a small cabin, no heater, no head, and no comfort. The openings were usually a week long and I would fish for three or four days at a time. I tried to make up for my lack of skill by putting in more time than the other fishermen. Funter’s Bay had a floating dock where handtrollers often would tie up at night and socialize. Most mornings around 4:00 I would untie and troll out the bay and fish south. Summer time darkness (twilight) came around 11:00 at night and I would get back to the dock shortly after. Each morning Mick was pulling out at the same time and we returned within minutes of each other. I think that is why on one cool night Mick invited me to “mug up.” After a day of working alone, or with just a crewmember, fishermen enjoyed getting together. You would see several boats rafting up in a cove for the night and guys would be on one of the boats drinking coffee or hot chocolate while listening to the marine operator channel or playing cards. The marine operator channel was the equivalent of TV. You would sit around and listen to the crews calling home. Once I had a kid crew with me and he had to call home each night. It was hilarious listening to his mom ask him if he had changed his underwear. Poor kid could hear us laughing in the other boat.

Over the next few years we became friends. Mick taught me how to fish. Mick had a 42 footer with a twelve foot beam. We would sit in his galley as he showed me the correct way to rig the different baits, talked about the timeline and locations for intercepting the salmon, and anything else related to commercial fishing.

Alaskans are special people and Mick was an Alaskan. Mick taught me what it means to be Alaskan. My sons are Alaskan by birth; I am by the grace of God and the teaching of Mick. He and his brother, Swede, used airboats to prospect and hunt the Berners Bay area and were the first people I contacted after sinking my airboat, (but that is another story). Swede walked with a funny gait. He had played Goldilocks with three brown bears and won. He and Mick with two friends had killed two moose about a hundred yards apart up the Lace River. The day of the kills they had packed out all the meat while leaving the racks and gut piles. Alaska has strict game laws concerning wanton waste so meat must be salvaged before trophies. Neither moose had very large racks but the next day the friends insisted on recovering the antlers. Against their better judgment Mick and Swede agreed. They reached the first kill site without any problems. However, while walking the narrow trial through the alder thicket to the second kill a large sow ambushed Swede. Mick rushed to the yells and growls to find Swede on his back trying to keep the sow from ripping open his abdomen. She managed to chew Swedes knees and thighs so he looked like chopped liver before Mick was able to kill her. As the sow fell off of Swede he was able to grab his rifle and stop the two charging 300 pound cubs. Mick carried Swede down river to the bay but had to evacuate him by plane due to the rough seas. Swede rode in the back of a pickup to the hospital and refused to sit in a wheel chair while being admitted. The next day Mick arrived at Swede’s hospital room in time to see a Fish and Wildlife Protection Officer scurrying out. Mick entered to find Swede out of the bed trying to rip out the IVs so he could attack the “Fish Cop.” When a hunter claims self defense for killing a bear, especially a sow with cubs, the Fish Cops complete the equivalent of a murder investigation. It seems that Swede did not appreciate the officer’s contention that he unnecessarily killed the cubs.

My last experience with Mick came during the fall brown bear season. I agreed to take a visiting speaker on a hunt in late October using my airboat. By this point I had left commercial fishing for being an outfitter/guide using an airboat to haul tourist and hunters. I had a licensed hunting guide in the church so we were all set. The services had been a real blessing and after a busy season I was looking forward to four or five days out of town. The first night we set up camp in a prime area up the Berners. Huge tracks covered the sandbars due to the large late silver salmon run as the bears packed on the last fat before winter. The next day a winter front moved in with plummeting temperatures. The river began to ice while the snow fell. Going home was not an option until the gale force winds abated. To make matters worse it appeared the brownies had headed to the dens with the arrival of the weather. When it seemed that things were going sour rather quickly Mick showed up and invited us to his cabin. We followed him down river sliding over the ice into clear water. For the next three days we sat in Mick’s cabin enjoying the warmth of his oil stove and his endless accounts of Alaskan life.

At that point of my life I was not aware of the term “mentoring.” I just knew that Mick took a life time of outdoor skills and experiences and shared them with me. His wisdom and practical skills saved me from serious harm in a country that is as deadly as it is beautiful. Mick not only told me what to do, he showed me. Jesus told the disciples that he would make them fishers of men. He then spent the next three years showing them how to do it. He discipled them. Christianity is a life changing faith and that change comes through not only the acquisition of knowledge but the impartation of skills. It is caught more than taught. Remember the Great Commission tells us to make disciples.

Paul reminded the Thessalonians not only of his teaching, but how he had lived with them. Paul did not tell them to “do what I say, not what I do.” Paul poured his life into them and every other Christian God allowed him to meet. Paul knew the power of example. It will make a difference in someone’s life and your own.

 

^“For our gospel did not come to you in word only, but also in power, and in the Holy Spirit and in much assurance, as you know what kind of men we were among you for your sake.  And you became followers of us and of the Lord, having received the word in much affliction, with joy of the Holy Spirit, so that you became examples to all in Macedonia and Achaia who believe.  For from you the word of the Lord has sounded forth, not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but also in every place. Your faith toward God has gone out, so that we do not need to say anything.  For they themselves declare concerning us what manner of entry we had to you, and how you turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God,” 1 Thess 1:5-9 (NKJV)

 

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

1. Who has been a model or mentor in your life?
2. If you are a father, how are your children learning their life skills?
3. What areas of your life are imparting positive skills or values; negative skills or values?
4. Who has God placed in your life for you to mentor?
5. What changes in your priorities must occur for you to be a mentor?

 

 

 

 

“Is There a Bear In Your House?”

 

The sow charged from the brush without warning and with her speed would be on top of Scott in seconds. Scott lived to hunt and fish. He had an attractive wife and three beautiful girls, a great job, a good boat, and plenty of time to pursue his passion, hunting and fishing. Scott’s family were members of my church, but Scott’s worship usually occurred somewhere between Juneau and Admiralty Island.

On this particular day Scott had decided to take his skiff to Young’s Bay on Admiralty Island and hunt for Sitka Blacktails. Most guys hunted with at least one other person, if for no other reason than being able to drag the skiff down to the water in case you misjudged the tidal change and came back to a high and dry boat. With tidal ranges over 22 feet it was more common than not. A hunting partner also gave you a better chance of keeping all your major body parts if you ever ran into an unhappy brown bear.

Of course George’s partner did not do him any good when he was killed by a brownie on the south end of Admiralty. The pink salmon run never showed up in 1988. By October the brown bears were facing a long winter without the fat they needed. So when the brownie heard the bleat call of a blacktail he reacted like mom had just rung the dinner bell. He was probably surprised as he leaped off the ledge onto George and discovered he was not a deer. By that time George’s rifle was jammed into the ground up to the trigger guard and the meal was there for the taking. George’s hunting partner heard the screams but was unable (or chose not to) to come to George’s aid. The seven-man search team followed the bear’s trail up the mountain side 1500 feet and along the ridge line a quarter mile. They stopped the brown bear’s charge by emptying their rifles into him. Considering all the men were packing .375 H&H Magnums, .458 Magnums, and a couple of .338s, it is remarkable how much distance the bear covered while technically dead. A bear’s heart beats so slow that he can run a hundred yards after you have blown his heart out and still treat you like a Mr. Potato Head. The boar was in perfect health, in his prime, but lacking his winter fat. The searchers found George stuffed under a blowdown serving as the bear’s pantry. I have never had to kill a brownie, but friends of mine with first hand experience say you have to break them down by shattering their shoulders. You stop them and then kill them. Alaska Department of Fish and Game test revealed that even the largest magnums had little effect with a head shot on a brownie. Sloped like the front end of a Panzer tank the thick skull bone protects the brain from everything but the perfect shot.

It is a fearsome thing to have eight hundred pounds of fur coming at you faster than a quarter horse. Brown bears possess a phenomenal sense of smell and equally bad eye sight so they often run toward something until they identify it. I have had them come within twenty or thirty yards before they turn and run. So, you can’t start blasting away at one hundred yards. You have to wait. Of course from twenty yards you only have one good shot. There is a major clue to an approaching bear’s intent. If the brownie’s teeth are clacking and slobber is flying then you had better be a good shot, ready to volunteer for one of those extreme plastic surgery shows on TV, or stand before God. Scott’s bear was clacking and slobbering and broke out of the brush at less than twenty yards.

Scott should have been a statistic. Each year some hunter gets chewed up or killed by a bear in Alaska. Several years ago one Southern Baptist pastor from North Pole made the Outdoor Life Network channel for his mauling on a moose hunt. The sow charging Scott for some inexplicable reason (also known as divine intervention) spun with the impact of each shot. Reloading as quickly as he could and work the bolt Scott emptied his rifle. With an empty magazine the bear could finish him off, but instead ran back into the brush. After Scott had reloaded the bear again charged and again spun with each impact. The bear dropped after the seventh shot.

Scott now faced a dilemma. He had to recover the bear hide or be cited for wanton waste and up to a $10,000 fine. The green hide and skull weighted over a hundred pounds. And if he reported the kill as self defense he would be subject to an investigation to substantiate his claim. If proven to be a valid case of self defense the state would then confiscate the hide and it would end up in the office of some bureaucrat in Juneau. If they ruled against self defense Scott faced major penalties. At that time Alaskan residents could shoot one brown bear every four years. Scott had never shot one, but he did not have the $25 tag. So, Scott skinned out the bear, packed the hide, the skull, and a ten pound tracking collar the bear was wearing down the ridge two miles to his skiff, returned to town, and bought a tag. According to state regulations he had a period of time before he had to submit the hide and skull to Fish and Game for sealing.

The story should end there except that same afternoon two fish and game researchers flew their weekly tracking flight over Admiralty. They located all their subject bears except “Sally.” She was their longest running subject. They looked everywhere for her but she had disappeared. Even if she had been killed by a boar or a landside the collar would still be transmitting. The bear researchers could not figure it out. The collars are just about indestructible.  Finally resigned to the loss of a major research animal the men flew back to Juneau.

Imagine their surprise when the tracking system registered Sally’s signal as they flew the down wind leg of the airport traffic pattern. Imagine Scott’s wife’s surprise when she answered the door to find two men standing on the front steps with their tracking antenna and gear. When she opened the door one man asked her, “Do you have a brown bear in your house?” Sue told them her husband had been hunting and had placed a hide in the chest freezer. Scott had left town for a few days and would finish the required paperwork when he returned.  She gave the men permission to enter the garage and retrieve the tracking collar.

The Fish and Game guys were unhappy. Positive that Scott had purchased the tag after the shooting they wanted to bring every charge possible against him. However, knowing and proving are two different things. After a few weeks they finally gave up trying to make Scott a resident of Lemon Creek Jail. Several months later my wife and I had a number of friends over for a Christmas party. Things were going well until I introduced Scott to another friend. Ralph worked for Fish and Game, Sport Fish Division, and a close friend of the bear researchers. Needless to say things became awkward when Ralph said, “So you are the guy who shot Sally!”

The Genesis account reveals a key element of human nature; man thinks he can hide his sins. Adam and Eve scrambled into the bushes when they heard God approaching; Cain tried to act like he knew nothing of Abel’s death; Ananias and Sapphira counted on fooling the church about the amount of money they were holding back from their land sale while pretending they had given all of the proceeds to the church. Church people become experts at cover ups. If I cheat another businessman I am “shrewd.” If I loose my temper it is “righteous indignation.” If I act familiar with a person of the other sex who is not my spouse, I am just being friendly. Self-centeredness becomes “self-esteem.” We rationalize our sins and think we fool others as well as we have fooled ourselves. Internet pornography is at epidemic proportions in the church today. One reason is its accessibility. It is easier to surf a porn site than going down to a strip club. It is also easier to hide. Someone may drive by and see you coming out of the “Adult Bookstore” or club. No one is looking over your shoulder while you work on your computer.

One of Satan’s most effective lies is, “No one will ever know.” You may fool everyone. However, two people will always know; you and God. And God promises that we will reap a harvest of whatever we have sown. (Gal. 6:7-9)  Galatians six’s law of sowing and reaping contains either a wonderful promise of blessing or fearful warning of judgment. Another of Satan’s lies is, “You aren’t hurting anyone.” I am sure that Eve would have never disobeyed God if she had known that it would lead to one son murdering the other.

When we are tempted to sin we need to remember Scott and his bear in the freezer. We think we can hide our sins but they will come out at the worst possible moment with the greatest effect on our loved ones. Facing a couple of Fish and Game researchers can’t compare to standing before a Holy God.

 

^“Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.  For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life. And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.”  Gal 6:7-9 (NKJV)

 

 

1. Are there secret sins in your life?
2. What damage would you do to your loved ones if those sins were revealed?
3. With internet porn at epidemic proportions are you willing to have someone examine your computer activity?
4. Do you have someone of the same sex to hold you accountable?
5. Do you have a friend that you are concerned about that you need to confront?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything I Need to Know About Sin I Learned Fishing

(Originally printed in SBC Life Magazine)

Most scholars recognize the teaching ability of Jesus and his use of parables. Parables communicate because they use familiar real world occurrences, concrete images, to reveal spiritual truths, abstract realities. In turn homiletic professors understand the power of illustration in sermon construction. With this in mind it suddenly struck me that everything I need to know about sin God taught me while fishing. Here are the major points, no pun intended, on the doctrine of hamartiology (sin), I learned:

There is no such thing as a small sin. Over the last few years I have asked hundreds of people, “In your opinion what is necessary for a person to do to go to heaven when they die?” Probably ninety-eight percent of those questioned say something similar to, “You need to be a good person.”  In the works oriented religious worldview of many, I am OK as long as I don’t sin big. Lying on my taxes, pride, anger, etc. are not going to keep me out of heaven. After all I am not that bad and God loves everyone. In other words, there are big sins and little sins. The Catholic Church refers to them as cardinal and venal sins. One afternoon on a salmon stream taught me otherwise.

The Berner’s River is a beautiful meandering river north of Juneau, Alaska. With clear water and sandy bottom tinted by the muskeg meadows fishing the river is a visual joy. One summer several of us were taking advantage of the local salmon spawning runs. Joe, as many visitors do, wanted pictures of Alaskan fishing. So, being the good host that I am I took Joe’s camera and walked about ten yards down the bank. Joe continued to cast as I framed the shot for the best picture. The background was beautiful. The mountains looked like shark’s teeth rising 5,000 feet with hanging glaciers and rock faces. About the time I had the shot framed and was ready to take the picture I felt a thump on my forehead directly above the camera. More puzzled than concerned I lowered the camera only to find the three inch long metal lure’s hook embedded in my forehead and hanging down in front of my eyes. Somehow Joe had managed to cast the lure ninety degrees from where he intended. The lure was not that big as salmon lures go, but then Joe started cranking in the line to find his lure. You should have seen the look on his face when he followed his tight line to my forehead. By that time my forehead was bleeding like a stuck pig.  As I said, the hook was not that big. Over the years I have also been impaled by hooks of all sizes from a number 22 dry fly hook to a 6/0 halibut hook. Back to the issue of sin. Compared to the holiness of God any sin is enough to separate you from Him.

The big sins will kill you.  As children of a holy God we need to separate ourselves from all sin, as fallen creatures we battle our sin natures until our lives are over. In Galatians 6 Paul differentiates between the common burdens we all face and the crushing ones that can defeat the isolated Christian. Remembering that truth helps keep us humble when confronting our sinning brother. We will never be sinless but we had better not be complacent about sin. I survived my experience with Joe and the salmon lure. The hook got my attention but it wasn’t life threatening. Commercial fishing is different. Halibut fishing involves laying thousands of feet of bottom line between two anchors. Every twelve feet there is a large hook tied in on a short leash. Thousands of baited hooks are hung from a rack or coiled in large tubs on the back deck of the boat. To lay the gear the skipper will line up the vessel with the desired set and then hit the throttle. The deckhand’s job is to make sure that the gear goes out without tangling. It is scary to be next to thousands of flying hooks. If you are snagged by one you had better hope that the other deck hand can cut you loose before the line tightens enough to drag you over. Every fisherman has gotten hooked, but there is a difference between a size 18 trout dry fly hook and a 6/0 hook suitable for landing a three hundred pound fish.

It seems that not a year goes by that a well known Christian minister; musician, athlete, or politician makes the news caught up in a sex scandal. Few local churches have escaped the ravages of sexual immorality. Is all sin, sin? Yes, but some sins have horrific consequences. Overeating can lead to a slovenly appearance and a premature death, but adultery destroys the individual, his family, his witness, and his church. In retrospect I am much more casual concerning hooks when I am fly fishing than when I commercial fished. However, Christians need to have a healthy fear of all sin and keep it at a distance.

Different sins hold different attractions for different people. The perfect bait for catching a two hundred plus pound halibut consists of a salmon head and a fist size chunk of fish guts. A rainbow trout likes a small terrestrial, like a grasshopper, a nymph, or some other miniscule tidbit that imitates their natural food. It is tempting to become self-righteous when we hear about a Christian brother falling in sin. We smugly say, “I would never do that.” We may not, but that does not mean we cannot be compromised by sin. I have never been tempted to embezzle church funds, but I battle pride. It is amazing how Satan and our own sin nature continually cast sins across our paths seeking the right combination to provoke our response. We might reject the blatant advances of a coworker, but find ourselves drawn to the person at work that often happens to sit at the same lunch table and seems to have so much in common. We need to remember the truth of human depravity. We are fallen creatures capable of the vilest sins and are not safe outside the shadow of the Almighty. That awareness leads to the next truth discovered fishing.

The subtle sins will get you. The best lures minimalize the hook’s visibility. Some lures divert attention from the hook by noise or splash, others camouflage the hook as part of the bait’s anatomy, and some hide the hook in the bait itself. Some people are like halibut. They are so oblivious to right and wrong they get hooked by anything the world sets in their path, the smellier the better. Most Christians are like trout or bass. Our toughest choices are not between raunchy sins and holiness, but between a well hidden hook and God’s best. The most common justification for divorce that I hear from Christians today is, “God wouldn’t want me to be unhappy!” Somehow a Christian divorcing his spouse and rapidly remarrying is acceptable as long as it brings happiness. Talk about a hook! Satan has attacked God’s standard for marriage and compromised countless Christians by the well hidden hook of selfishness. What do we do when we are hooked by sin? I can tell you I would have followed Joe’s lure anywhere Joe had led me. It hurt. I wanted it out. I wanted to be free from the hook and line. My response should be the same when I am snared by sin.

The quicker you clean the fish the better it is. As a commercial salmon fisherman sale price depended on how well you took care of the fish. Your price could drop two dollars a pound if the buyer saw any signs of poor handling. There is a tremendous difference between a fish that is bled, gilled, gutted, and iced immediately after being caught and one that lies on the deck for awhile. Some of the best fish I have ever tasted were the ones we would catch and within minutes cook on the stove in the galley. You may want to age beef or venison, but freshness is everything for fish. Fish spoils quickly. Sin has the same way of stinking up one’s life. The best way to avoid the dangers of sin is to avoid anything that does not stand the light of God’s Word and flee from anything that even hints of sin. If and when we do sin, then the quicker we confess our sins and seek His cleansing the quicker we will minimize sin’s damage in our lives and ministries. Remember what I said about wanting to get the hook out of my forehead as quickly as possible?

Each year Central Peninsula General Hospital personnel in Soldotna, Alaska, will place a four-foot-long plywood salmon on the emergency room wall. At the beginning of the sport fishing season it is bare. Three months later it is a tangle of hooks and leaders, each one removed from some hapless fisherman. All it takes is once having a large hook removed from your flesh to convince you to be more careful. That is the spiritual truth of the parable of the hooked fisherman.

Joe snagging me on a salmon stream has provided many laughs over the years, but that is where the parallel ends. The Bride of Christ, His Church, can ill afford the continuing pace of Christians falling in sin. We need to abhor blatant sins and discern the snares which this fallen world so craftily places in our lives if we want to be fit for His service. Trust me; you do not want to end up like a fish.

 

“[A servant of the Lord must be able to teach] so that they may know the truth, and that they may come to their senses and escape the snare of the devil, having been taken captive by him to do his will.” 2 Timothy 2:24-6

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

1. Which of Satan’s baits is most appealing to you?
2. Is there an area of your life in which Satan is leading you around like a hooked fish?
3. Have you agreed with God (confession) that your thoughts or actions are sin?
4. Have you turned from those sins (repentance) and sought to follow God?
5. Do you have a friend who can help hold you accountable?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Packing It Out: Loads, Life, and Love

 

 

The Alaskan native name for Admiralty Island is “Fortress of the Bears.” Besides a healthy brown bear population, it also contains a large Sitka Blacktail deer herd. The northern end of Admiralty is a short boat ride from Juneau and a popular hunting area. In good weather we would run over by skiff for day hunts. The area has tide ranges from minus four feet to over twenty-two feet high tides. Frequently the blacktails will walk the exposed beaches and make it easy to pack out after a kill, but usually they like the ridges well off the beach. Hunting the old growth forest of Southeastern makes you feel like Daniel Boone. The understory is wide open except for occasional patches of blueberries or devil’s club. A six-inch carpet of moss covers the ground making even the heavy footed hunter able to move like a ghost. The standard technique for blacktail is to follow game trails toward the ridge lines and hopefully make a shot. A good snow cover allows the hunter to find fresh sign and track the animal until close enough for a shot. Most shots are less than 100 yards unless you find the deer on the muskeg meadows common to the area. I have never hunted a more enjoyable method.

Each Veteran’s Day weekend a group of friends would schedule a hunt on Glass Peninsula and reserve the Forest Service cabin located on the other side of the peninsula. One of the best kept secrets of Alaska, the United States Forest Service has log cabins scattered throughout the Tongass National Forest in Southeast Alaska. Most of the cabins can only be reached by boat or floatplane and have bunks for six to eight people. The cabins make Alaskan hunting enjoyable in the rainy Southeast Alaska winter.

Friday afternoon we made the run around Douglas Island and across the channel into Oliver Inlet. After anchoring the boat, we spent the rest of the afternoon packing our gear across the mile-wide neck to the cabin. In November sunset comes around four o’clock so we finished the job in the dark. Fortunately, sunrise comes late. Saturday morning we divided up with most of us hunting the lower ridges near the cabin and around the inlet.

That night we had a great meal from the camp stove while drying our gear from the warmth of the woodstove. All but one of us had drawn blanks. Tracy had hunted a ridge line about three miles from the cabin and had shot two bucks. He had packed out the hind quarters from one and hung the remaining meat and carcass in a tree. Since it was more than halfway through the hunting season and I had no meat in the freezer I accepted Tracy’s offer to have the meat if I packed out the whole deer. I wanted more of the backstrap steaks we enjoyed for dinner. During the night we had the first snow of the season.

I will never forget that second day of hunting on Glass Peninsula. Dave decided to stay at the cabin due to a severe headache. So the rest of us started out the door into the early morning darkest. As I crossed the threshold two shots rang out from the bottom of the steps. Tracy had kept his rifle on the front porch so his scope would not fog. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw a nice buck running out onto the moonlit snow covered grass flats at the top of the cove. The fresh snow contrasted with the deer well enough that it was like shooting by street lamplight. Most of us had not stepped off the front porch and a deer was already down. Backtracking we discovered he had been standing at the bottom of the steps when we startled him. Dave volunteered to skin the deer so the rest of us could continue hunting.

About a half mile up the trail Tracy led me off toward the ridgeline where yesterday’s kill hung. Over the next two miles we found deer in every meadow. I had four tags to fill but already had one three-mile hike to get out yesterday’s buck. Before I shot my first deer of the day Tracy and I stopped on the tree line and discussed the buck’s merit and the packing involved. He was a healthy animal with a good rack so I decided to drop him. We repeated the debate twice more before getting to Tracy’s buck. By ten in the morning I faced packing four deer to the cabin. Tracy left me with my problem while he went looking for a bigger buck.

Sitka Blacktails are smaller than most whitetails. My four bucks each weighed around one hundred and fifteen pounds. Over the years of deer hunting I had assembled gear that was designed for packing meat. I had a pack frame with a shelf and a collection of heavy duck sacks that were about the diameter of a pie plate and three feet long. I hung each deer and skinned and boned the carcass. By trimming all the bone and fat I ended up with around two hundred pounds of meat. I did some quick math. I could make several trips with lighter loads but end up walking ten miles or one trip heavily loaded. I decided to compress the anguish into one trip. Strapping the sacks onto the frame I started down hill.

I thought the next two hours would never end, but I did gain a new understanding of Galatians 6:1-5. The toughest part of packing a heavy load is the transition from the ground to the shoulders. Getting the load to the shoulders takes so much energy it is better not dropping the load. So how does one rest if he can’t put down the load? As I came down the ridge I looked for every blowdown and stump I could find. When I found one the right height I would turn around and back up to the trunk. Propping up the frame I could give my shoulders, back, and thighs a rest. Back at the cabin I discovered my heavy duty pack frame was warped.

Paul writes, “Bear one another’s burdens” but three verses later writes, “For each [person] will bear his own load.” Is this one of those “contradictions” biblical nay-sayers are always talking about, or does Galatians give us practical advice for living out our faith in community with other Christians? The Greek word used by Paul for “burden” means a heavy load, a pack frame warping load, an exhausting load. When you encounter a person carrying a huge load you can give them a break. Dropping the load and picking it up is not helpful. The best way to give the packer a rest is to get under the load with the person and take on the burden with him.  In verse five the Greek word translated “load” means a “day pack,” a load that everyone normally carries.

If you want guidelines for small group accountability this passage is for you. Most young men I speak with today express a desire to be mentored by an older Christian and want to be in a small accountability group. Perhaps this is a generational expression of the importance of community, or their awareness of the failure of the Boomer generation’s individualism. Paul prescribes the first condition of accountability, spiritual health. When Paul states that one must be “spiritual” to confront a sinning brother he does mean that only spiritually mature super saints are qualified. But, one is required to be spirit-filled, confessed up to date, and in right standing with God to be involved in confrontation. The second requirement to assist a fallen brother is humility. Paul’s words carry a tone of warning. If we do not remain painfully aware of our own past sins and ongoing potential for sinning ,and therefore reject self-righteousness, we will not have the brokenness prerequisite for being used by God. We might not fall into the sin of the brother we are seeking to restore but we will become the legalistic individuals Jesus’ often condemned.

Living in a fallen world means we all have burdens. Paul reminds us to examine our own lives and understand our own personalities. Each of us has our own areas of sin. I don’t struggle with gluttony, or anger, but I do constantly battle pride. That is the day pack God expects me to carry. As I continue to mature in that area of my Christian walk I can rejoice in what the Holy Spirit has accomplished in my life.

Sometimes the burdens become too much to carry and there are no stumps and deadfalls to provide a rest to the weary. Pornography and sexual immorality defeats Christian men in epidemic proportions today. I know men that have destroyed their marriages, lost their families, and left the ministry as a result of sexual impurity. A Christian brother in that situation needs someone to “come along beside” (the Greek word Jesus used to refer to the Holy Spirit) him and take the load off. I can not remove the total burden but I let him know he is not alone. Otherwise, how can a fallen man believe that God loves him when God’s people don’t demonstrate that love?

I have had several hunting partners over the years, men with whom I enjoyed spending time in the woods. Over time I noticed that we all carried our hunting packs without complaint but were quick to split out a heavy load among us so no one carried a crushing load. They made each trip memorable.

^“Brethren, if a man is overtaken in any trespass, you who are spiritual restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness, considering yourself lest you also be tempted. Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. For if anyone thinks himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself. But let each one examine his own work, and then he will have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another. For each one shall bear his own load.” Gal 6:1-5 (NKJV)

 

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

1. What areas of your life would qualify as a burden you must handle yourself (with God’s help)?
2. Is there an area of your life in which you feel the potential for a life crushing load?
3. How are you spending time in God’s word to deal with this area?
4. Have you found an accountability partner and are you totally honest with him?
5. Are you spiritually ready and able to help a fallen brother?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Fifty Inch Moose

 

Most of Alaska operates under moose hunting guidelines which limit harvesting bulls within certain antler measurements and configurations. You can shoot a bull if it has a spike or fork on either side. Once the bull has three prongs he is off limits until he reaches a spread of fifty inches. Bulls of any size with three brow tines on either side are also fair game. In Southeastern Alaska moose hunting used a permit system. Anything with antlers could be harvested. So when I moved from Ketchikan to Soldotna I had little experience gauging racks.

After my first year in Southcentral Alaska I decided to qualify for the bow season which ran for ten days in August before rifle season. My hunting partner, Dean, pastored a church in Kenai. A former Houston, Texas, policeman, Dean shot a recurve as accurately as most guys do a compound. A crack pistol shot, Dean was the guy to have in the bush.

Hundreds of lakes dot the middle section of the Kenai Peninsula. A canoe trail system connects many of the lakes in the Kenai Moose Range. Dean and I planned to paddle and portage five lakes in from the west entrance of the canoe trail. The longest portage was only ten minutes so even with the multiple trips needed to ferry all our gear, we were able to set up our camp at the end of the portage on Marten Lake before dark.  The south end of the lake had several large meadows favored by grazing moose. We made camp under the birch trees lining the west shoreline and managed to catch a few rainbows for dinner. Dean and I hunted hard the next two days finding a lot of sign but no moose. A quarter mile long meadow with a deep winding creek barely wider than the canoe joins Marten Lake and Spruce Lake. Paddling through the meadow on the way back to camp at the end of the second day we spotted a bull at the Marten Lake end of the creek. Sitting in the canoe our heads barely showed above the grass so we were able to move closer without spooking the bull. He had an obvious fork on one side so he was a shooter. We ran out of time that night before we could finish the stalk but felt confident he would be there the next day.

That night we planned our strategy hoping that the bull would return. The next morning, we paddled across the lake as quietly as possible. A life long reader of outdoor magazines I knew a perfect morning when I saw it. The glass surface of the lake reflected the full moon creating luminosity like a well lit street. A light fog hovered over the lake and completing the effect was a pair of loons swimming a few yards from the canoe. The cry of the loon and the howl of a wolf pack epitomize the Alaskan wilderness. It puts chill bumps down your back.

The fog thickened as we neared the far end of the lake. Suddenly out of the fog the shoreline appeared simultaneously with a large moose. I raised the paddle trying to signal Dean to stop since I wasn’t sure he could see the bull from the stern. It seemed as though we were going to coast right up under his belly as he grazed in the shallows. I could not make a shot with the lighting conditions and I could not tell if he was legal. And, you never shoot a moose in the water.   He definitely was not the fork horn. Dean did an excellent job of back paddling until the moose receded into the dark. The bull gave no indication that we had spooked him. We moved back to a spot on the shore with high grass and pulled up next to the cover. Silently we got out of the canoe and crouched out of sight waiting for shooting light. Things only got better with the light as the bull came out of the water and moved to within twenty yards broadside of our position. He had perfectly balanced palms, but was he over fifty inches? We couldn’t tell without a head on view. His brow tines did not help. He had one instead of three on a side. The brow tines looked like 18 inch long pick axes. It was a beautiful rack, but was he fifty? Alaska game laws have no grace.

My last moose hunt in Southeast Alaska ended with a nice little bull. His rack looked like oversized ping pong paddles. We had hunted three weekends for a large bull with a harem of cows at the junction of the Gilkey and Antler rivers. The first weekend we thought we had him cornered in his meadow. Somehow a bull with a sixty plus rack disappeared in the middle of a large meadow with chest high grass. I have heard of whitetails crawling pass hunters but I never thought a large moose could. The cows continued grazing as we saw the bull appear 200 yards away. He turned on the speed and disappeared toward the Gilkey. The bull repeated the tactic the second weekend. We went home knowing we had him the coming week. The third time was a charm, almost. All three of us edged through the alder until the bull and his cows came into view. Assured that the key part of our plan was in place Ryan stayed in place while John and I returned to the airboat. I dropped John off half way to the Gilkey and then ran full throttle to the junction and swung upstream on the Gilkey. No sooner than I turned the corner I saw the big bull upstream coming out on the far bank. With a top speed of 55 mph I covered the several hundred yards to his exit point in less than a minute. Unfortunately, moose never seem to run but somehow cover territory faster than you can imagine. A 250 yard going away shot is not one that I will take. The last I saw him he had reached the wood line a half mile away and was still moving fast. Our plan almost worked. We had one more weekend in the season to fill the tag, but decided to stop down river at a spot where a small bull had been sighted.

When I nosed the boat onto the bank we stepped out beside an eleven-inch brownie track still filling with water which made us a little nervous. A bull grunt sounded as we moved into the thicket but we couldn’t tell his location. About thirty minutes later I stood eight feet off the ground on a blowdown when I noticed the brown patch of fur in a nearby thicket. Not sure if it were a bear or a moose I was relieved when I saw the flash of antlers. That was enough to put him down. Since we had a permit for a bull, any size was legal. But, that was Southeastern moose hunting.

An Alaska State Trooper assigned to the superior court in Kenai, Roy, had hunted moose most of his life. Roy shot a nice moose on the canoe trail not too far from our hunting location. He measured it at fifty inches. In reality moose hunting is more work than fun. Before you ever pull the trigger you have to figure how long each trip is going to be packing out the meat and rack. A good size moose means ten eighty pound loads. If you are two miles from the boat or truck, do the math. Twenty miles of packing divided by the number of packers.  Roy packed out his kill and stopped at the Fish and Game check point leaving the Kenai Moose Range. The Fish and Wildlife Protection Officer measured the rack at 49 ½ inches. Roy was fined, lost his hunting privileges for a year, lost the moose meat, had his name in the local paper, and almost lost his job. That rigidity stuck in my mind as Dean and I whispered back and forth. The bull turned facing us to show beams as thick as my forearms, but was he fifty inches? For one hour Dean would say, “He’s fifty, take him.” I would reply, “No, he isn’t fifty.” AA few minutes later  I would say, “He’s fifty, I am going to take him.” Dean would reply, “No, he isn’t legal.”  A twenty-yard broadside shot on a target the size of a trash can lid is a “give me,” if you take it. After seeing many more bulls I now know he was a 55 incher. But at that time we let him walk. If you ever walk into my office you won’t see a moose with a perfectly balanced rack with single brow tines, but he is there. I still see him.

Living under the law can be brutal. It is possible when we deal with speed limits or game regulations. Those standards can be met. There are legal moose to shoot. You can drive under the speed limit. However, imagine trying to comply with an unreachable standard. God is sinless and perfect. If you are sinless and perfect, then you can be in His presence. Trouble is the Bible says we are all sinners. No one has ever met the standard, except Christ. Fortunately, Christians live under grace, not the law. Grace means God sees me covered with the righteousness of His Son. I can’t earn it, but I can accept it. Grace sure beats the Law.

But God, who is rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in trespasses, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), and raised us up together, and made us sit together in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, that in the ages to come He might show the exceeding riches of His grace in His kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them. Eph 2:4-10 (NKJV)

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

1. Why do we hate legalistic people, but find ourselves making our own rules for others to meet?
2. What criteria do you use for determining if something is permissible?
3. How does God’s word apply in your decision making?
4. How have you tried to please a holy God?
5. Who does the Bible say pleases Holy God?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Black Labs and Passion

 

 

I do not know if all dogs will go to heaven, but I am pretty sure that Labrador Retrievers will. My wife and I have always had a soft spot for Labs. We had only been married a few months when we succumbed the first time to Lab fever. Although we were on a limited budget and living in a no pet apartment complex, we bought a Lab pup. We found an apartment that allowed pets and experienced our first struggles of parenthood. When Pepper’s puppy teeth fell out we panicked and called the vet. (Four years later when our oldest son’s baby teeth did the same it was no big deal.) We sat up with Pepper as she whined over her separation from the litter. We experienced the canine equivalent of potty training and found that consistency of discipline is as important for puppies as children. The one advantage of an ill disciplined dog over an ill disciplined child is the dog has a shorter life. Actually, you can also put a dog to sleep. Not that is not politically correct. In turn watching your pup on her first retrieve doesn’t compare to seeing your sons become godly men.

The first weekend Pepper joined the family we took her to my parent’s place at the lake. We laughed when she jumped out of the bass boat to grab the plug and put her head underwater to bite a stick in the shallows. She rode across the U.S. to Alaska in the jeep with us when Kathy and I moved back after graduate school. She retrieved her first duck at six months. It was a cold day on the Juneau tidal flats with a thin layer of ice on the water. Pepper didn’t hesitate an instant on the retrieve. She swam about thirty yards to the teal and began swimming back. In the mean time I decided to enter the water myself and had reached a point midway up my chest when Pepper decided I was closer than the shoreline. Before I knew it Pepper had swum up to me placing her front paws on my shoulders and her back paws on the top of my waders. Quicker than I could scream in agony my chest waders filled with ice water. Needless to say I waded to shore looking like the shepherd carrying the lamb around his neck in the Sunday School poster. Pepper and I had a short discussion in which we both agreed that we were ready to go home, which we did with all due haste.

We lived in a small cabin on the beach in Juneau and would leave Pepper inside during the day. One day we came home from teaching to find that the winter winds had uprooted a Sitka spruce. Spruce trees have shallow root structures perhaps only three feet deep, but they will spread out over forty or fifty feet. We had 147 steps between the road and our cabin. That day we walked down the first one hundred. The remaining steps had been thrust into the air and were now a horizontal gangway to the roof. In rearranging the staircase the tree’s root system also lift the porch as though it was hinged at the front door. If we thought that the outside of the cabin had been rearranged by the tree we had a bigger shock when we were finally able to get inside and see what a frightened 55 pound female Lab can do. We had (emphasis on had) a new hide-a- bed couch. Pepper relieved her stress by dragging the couch all over the cabin. It had taken her multiple attempts, each evidenced by chunks torn from the frame where she had gained a hold for her moving efforts. All the plants had been ripped out of their pots and the dirt was flung all over the cabin in the Pepper’s efforts to expose their roots.  The house was a shambles to say the least. Again, Labs are like children. You love them even though they drive you to the poor house.

Our second Lab was Onyx, again black and female. We had returned to Alaska from seminary and could not imagine our sons growing up without a dog so we began looking for a Lab. I was a charter boat skipper for one of the local lodges and became good friends with another guide, George. George spent his summers in Southeast Alaska running charters and fishing the commercial openings. He spent his winters in Oregon managing a goose hunting operation. Over the years he had done some work for a nationally recognized kennel and was able to pick a pup for payment. George did not need another dog so he offered to sell me the pup for $250.00. Considering that the pup’s dame and sire were national field trial champs and the kennel advertised in magazines that also had ads for $10,000 double rifles, $250 was a steal.

Onyx arrived on a flight from Portland during Thanksgiving week (She was to be a Christmas present). For three young boys it was as exciting as Christmas Day. We took the ferry to the Ketchikan airport and signed for the pup at airfreight. Onyx came out of the kennel ready to take on the world and all the little boys in it. At home we filmed her running around the house and skidding across the kitchen linoleum. Kids need a dog. Caring for a pet teaches a child responsibility. Training a dog helps a child understand the value of discipline.

Onyx displayed her breeding. She lived for retrieving and running full out until she was exhausted, which took a while. With her blood lines I knew I wanted to breed her I only needed to find the right male. Max was a proven hunter. He was laid back until you brought out the training dummy or shotgun. I figured that Onyx and Max would produce some first rate pups, and I wanted one for myself.  Until you have a litter of eight black Labs you don’t think about telling them apart. One method is by painting different color spots on their hips. Each time a prospective buyer would check out the pups I would try to match him with the right one. As the weeks wound down to the scheduled adoption day I had one left, the male with the red spot on his hip. His official name was Red Chief’s Ransom, from the O’Henry short story. To us he was just Red.  Lab males usually have more classically shaped heads and muzzles. Red also had the most expressive reddish brown eyes. If Red could talk he would have had the voice of a real Bubba. Onyx loved to run; Red loved to put his head on your feet. Red was about a year old when Onyx and Max had a second litter. One day I heard Red howling with a plaintive tone. I walked out to check on him and found him standing at the five gallon water bucket looking like he was dunking for apples. He would stop, howl, and dunk again. Onyx sat in the corner with a detached expression. Still trying to figure out what was going on I walked out to the kennel. When I looked into the bucket I found one of the pups struggling to stay above the water. Red tried to save his little brother but only managed to push him under each time. Onyx had arrived at the point of exasperation in her continuing role of being a chew toy for the growing pups. I think she figured one less pup the better. I remember the time I was home alone and I opened the kennel door. All eight pups made a wild dash for freedom. It is almost impossible for one man to catch eight puppies and put them into a kennel with a three foot wide door. I would put three in and have four escape. Nearing exhaustion I finally closed the door and looked at Onyx in the far corner. A mixture of amusement, and satisfaction could not have been better expressed by any human. I am sure she said, “See what you make me put up with every day. How long will it be until we get rid of these things?”

Onyx and Red epitomize why I love Labs. Onyx lived to retrieve. One Saturday the boys were in the front yard playing with Onyx. We lived on a gravel street that had little traffic so the boys would often throw the tennis ball across the street into an overgrown lot to give Onyx a more difficult retrieve. No sooner than the boys threw the ball a teen age driver slid around the corner and stepped on the gas. Fortunately, according to the family vet, the girl’s car hit Onyx in the head. I will never forget Onyx trying to pick up the tennis ball to return it to the boys. Even with a broken jaw she still wanted to carry the ball. Red’s greatest joy was being around the family. When we moved south we realized that the dogs would have a hard time adjusting to the heat, and a townhouse was not the place for two outdoor Labs. I placed them with a friend in Port Alsworth, a small community on Lake Clark. The last time I checked on my pups Joel told me that Red’s favorite place in the house was at the top of the stairs laying under the window that looked out on the Lake. While we were talking Joel said that Red was there with Joel’s three-year-old daughter using Red as a stool to look out the window. Red was in Lab heaven, living on a lake with a little girl who thought he was her best friend and play toy.

God designed man to be in relationship with Him and only God can fill the spiritual void in a person’s live. You can not beat a Lab for being a family dog. Have you ever watched a dog show? Whenever the dog does as commanded, the trainer will slip it a treat. You don’t have to bribe a Lab with tidbits. A Lab just needs to be praised. He lives to hear his master’s voice praising him. A cat will rub your leg if he wants something from you. A Lab just wants you. But that is not all. I imagine a Chihuahua likes people. A Lab doesn’t just love people, it is a retriever. Just look at the face of a Lab as he is standing at your feet waiting for you to throw the dummy, ball, stick, or anything he can retrieve. His eyes sparkle. HE IS LIVING! Men often seek fulfillment through their careers or hobbies. Those things may bring temporary pleasure but it will not last. God has gifted each of us with natural talents, spiritual gifts, and personality traits that are to be used to His glory and in doing so we experience a greater sense of fulfillment than the world can ever give. One day I hope to hear my Master say, “Well done, My good and faithful servant.” In your spiritual life are you a cat or a Lab?

For this reason we also, since the day we heard it, do not cease to pray for you, and to ask that you may be filled with the knowledge of His will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding; that you may walk worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing Him, being fruitful in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God; strengthened with all might, according to His glorious power, for all patience and longsuffering with joy; giving thanks to the Father who has qualified us to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in the light.  Col 1:9-13 (NKJV)

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

1. What are you passionate about?
2. If it is not in the order of God, spouse, children, job, and church, then why not?
3. Since we only have one life to spend, is your passion in line with your desired epitaph?
4. Are you surrounding yourself with people who display your desired passion?
5. Can you see your passion being transmitted to others?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The Seeker”

      ^{Originally printed in SBC Life Magazine}

Tom and I had been waiting for Jim at the rendezvous point thirty minutes longer than expected. After a morning of moose hunting on a rainy, chilly, September day we had decided to head back to camp. We split up to cover more ground on the return to the canoe and last saw Jim as we all entered a large thicket.  Tom and I emerged almost simultaneously about twenty minutes later within fifty yards of each other. We expected Jim to be right there with us, but he did not show. Tom and I were long time Alaskans who had agreed to take Jim hunting after his week of preaching in a friend’s church. When Jim did not appear I began to rehearse the worst case scenarios. Jim was older and had dressed in cotton instead of wool or synthetics and therefore was susceptible to hypothermia. A misstep and a hunter can find himself with a broken leg. Or, each year at least one Alaskan hunter gets chewed up by a brown bear. The longer we waited the more rapidly these thoughts ran through my mind. Since Jim was a well known Southern Baptist pastor the thought occurred to me that I might be known as the man who got Jim killed. Talk about hurting one’s preaching “career.” Tom and I decided that we would swing wide of Jim’s anticipated route cutting him off in case he had headed in the wrong direction. Soon after beginning our search a single shot sounded out in the distance. This gave us a general direction, but did not provide much else. We at least thought he was OK, because he did not use the regular emergency signal of three evenly spaced shots.

Much to our relief we located Jim a short time later. As we walked up to him Jim said, “I don’t know where I am but there is a lake right over there.” Jim related how he had walked for quite a while and finally had found the lake hoping that it was the one with the canoe. He was a little embarrassed as I explained to him how after walking in large circle he was only a few yards from our lunch spot.

For almost thirty years church growth experts, pastors, and evangelists have used the term “Seeker.” Rare is the article, book, or conference that does not use “Seeker-sensitive,” “Seeker- driven,” or “Seeker services.” But is the term biblical? And what are the ramifications of the usage?

   The Bible establishes from its opening verses that God is the initiator of  His relationship with mankind. He is the Seeker. As Creator, He spoke the world into existence to have a relationship with His highest creation, man. When Adam and Eve sinned they hid instead of seeking God. The Old Testament repeatedly portrays man as incapable of instigating his own salvation. Like Hosea purchasing Gomer off the auction block, God redeems us in the midst of our unfaithfulness. The doctrine of man’s total depravity does not mean mankind lacks the ability to do “good,” just that man can not initiate or advance his salvation. He can not seek.

One may ask, “How about Matthew 6:33, ‘Seek ye first the kingdom of God . . .?’ or, Hebrews 11:6 where God reassures us that He rewards those who diligently seek Him?” Whenever the Scriptures speak of man seeking God it is in the context of a relationship in progress not man deciding on his own to restore his relationship to God.

Charles Finney, the “Father of Modern Revivalism,” laid much of the groundwork for modern seeker theology. His semi-Pelagian position, that a non-Christian could accept Christ whenever he so chooses, motivated Finney’s use of “New Measures.” New Measures was the term Finney used for the methods he created or refined in his evangelistic crusades. He believed you could cause revival to occur by using the right methods.  Unfortunately, success promotes imitation and Finney experienced great revival successes. Following the Civil War numerous revivalists patterned their organizations after Finney’s. As with many things Finney’s efforts presents a “good news/ bad news” reality. The good news was a century of mass crusades with untold numbers of people hearing the gospel from men like Billy Sunday, Dwight L. Moody, Gypsy Smith, Sam Jones, Mordecai Ham, Billy Graham, and other itinerant evangelists. The “bad news” includes our present “Seeker,” man centered, theology.

Finney designed his New Measures methodology to encourage his audience to receive Christ. In doing so he walked a fine line. Jesus presents the image of compelling guests to come to the feast (Luke 14:23).  Yet, He challenged the “Rich Young Ruler” to sell all in order to become a disciple. We are told that Jesus loved the young man but would not lower the standards of discipleship (Mark 10: 17-23). We are to be passionate for the lost like the woman looking for the lost coin, the shepherd for his lost sheep, or the prodigal’s father, but we can not circumvent Jesus’ demands. There is always tension between presenting Christ in a compelling, clear, effective manner and manipulating someone to ensure a response. When modern evangelists or pastors emphasize the importance of praying the sinner’s prayer without presenting the cost of discipleship one must think that we have become consumed with seeing results. As Jesus revealed, it is easier to have “seekers” than followers (John 2:23-5). When we assume responsibility for the individual’s response to the gospel it is just a short step to the Seeker model. After all, if I can convince individuals to “accept Christ” after they have come to the service then should I not also do whatever I can to get them to the service in the first place? If a person possesses the ability to decide to be saved, then isn’t it natural to assume that he can also decide to look for God? Therefore, it becomes the church’s responsibility to design its services to entice the seeker. Unfortunately, sinful man seeks the wrong ends. I just read an article extolling a church’s “spring time initiative to encourage members to minister to their friends.” Everyone who brought a friend to church was able to place an entry in a drawing for a new Harley-Davidson motorcycle. The guest was qualified to enter twice for his visit. Some would point to the large numbers of entrants and say, “Praise the Lord.” I must ask what are we teaching of God, evangelism, and discipleship?  How was that “minister[ing] to their friends?”

Remember Jim? One of the first rules of wilderness survival is stay in one spot. The more one tries to not be lost the worst his situation becomes. Lost seekers can not find salvation, only another spiritual fix. Seeker theology has damaged the lost and the church. Many seekers have become “Christians” without experiencing conversion and becoming followers of Christ. Vaccinations work by exposing the patient to a dead or weakened form of the disease thereby promoting the body’s immune system to reject the real disease. Have we inoculated a generation of Americans against biblical Christianity’s call to discipleship? I am afraid so. Among other errors Seeker theology reinforces trying to attract the lost. The Good Shepherd went in search of the lost sheep. The Great Commission commands us to go. The church needs to remain fixed to its biblical identity. For years we shaped our ministries to appeal to seekers, now there is increasing calls for changes to reach this generation through “emergent” methodologies. Methodologies constantly change with generations, cultures, trends, and fads. Biblical principles transcend time. The lost must be sought, not attracted. Evangelism is 24/7, not just inviting my friend to a “cool” service on Sunday so we can have a chance to win a Harley.

Jim realized he was lost and decided to remain in one spot until we found him. He signaled for help (or so he thought) and waited. Jim was found not by his seeking, but by his being sought! A more theologically correct term instead of “Seeker” would be “Responder.” Only when man responds in faith to God does salvation come. Any methodology that denies that truth results in churches focused on man instead of God. And, Christianity becomes a religion to improve my finances, family, health, or whatever I need to have a better life instead of the truth that Almighty God has reconciled Himself to me through the Cross and I have the opportunity of giving my life to His service.

 

Now when He was in Jerusalem at the Passover, during the feast, many believed in His name when they saw the signs which He did.  But Jesus did not commit Himself to them, because He knew all men, and had no need that anyone should testify of man, for He knew what was in man. (John 2:23-25)

 

“Jesus answered and said to them [the Jews], ‘Do not grumble among yourselves. No one can come to Me unless the Father who sent Me draws him’ . . . .Then He said again to them [the Pharisees], ‘I will go away, and you will seek Me, and will die in your sin; where I am going you can not come.’” (John 6:43, 44a, John 8:21)

 

 

LIFE QUESTION:

The most important question is not “Have you accepted Christ?”, but “Has Christ accepted you? You must come through confession, repentance, and faith.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Snake Protection

 

Our Granddad McElveen broke us in early on snakes. He did all his fishing on the Little Pee Dee River and Lynch’s River. He had his favorite spots, deep holes that always held fish. And he fished those holes no matter what. He would pull into the bank and tie off to an overhanging limb or bush. If there happened to be a large moccasin there he would just push it out of the way and start fishing. If you were in the front of the boat, he would say, “Tie up to that limb, and move that snake out of the way.”   Of course one day he did that to Grandma. He later said that he didn’t even see her move, but somehow she went from the bow seat of their 12 foot skiff to standing on the 7.5 hp Johnson behind him. It is amazing how agile a 76 year old woman is when a moccasin drops onto her straw hat and lands between her feet.

My brother Mike loved to play with snakes. At least until one bite him. It happened in our “garden.” Dad, being a child of the Depression, believed that the best way to keep kids out of trouble was to work them to death. So each year he planted a garden to occupy our time. Dad believed in big gardens. One year he decided that we had become skilled enough in hoeing rows of vegetables and needed to learn how to pull sheep burs, so he planted two acres of corn infested with sheep burs. At times the field looked more like sheep burs infested with corn. The sheep burs would grow chest high and produce the spiky little burs that stuck to everything. Our mission in life was to weed the corn. For days we would work down the rows of corn pulling sheep burs until our hands bled. Remarkably the plants would be chest high again by the time we had reached the end. Or, so it seemed. If I knew then what I know now I would have called Child Protective Services. It didn’t take The Exorcist to convince me there are demonic forces and they worked overtime in our corn field. Mike and I had been working for several hours in the corn one day when I took a break and walked up to the house. When I came back outside I heard Mike yell, “Bill, I’ve been snake bit.”

A couple of minutes after I left Mike had stepped on something and immediately felt two quick jolts of pain. He looked down in time to see a copperhead slithering away. Mike sat down and tried to remain calm as he heard Jake walking down the road signing a Negro spiritual, “On My Way to Glory.” Not wanting to go to glory yet, Mike called out to Jake and told him he had been snake bit. Having experienced several of Mike’s practical jokes Jake just laughed said, “Sure, Mike, sure,” as he continued on his way to glory. (Later Jake sat down and cried when he heard that Mike had not been joking.) Mike almost died from the treatment instead of the snake bite. It turned out that he was allergic to the horse serum. When he finally recovered Mike decided he would rather kill snakes than play with them.

Dad made snake guards for us to wear in the brush using a pair of stovepipes. He cut a u shaped piece out of the back for the knee and another one to go over the arch of the foot. (My Rocky snake boots cost more but are a lot more comfortable.) They came in handy several months later. Granddad enclosed a corn field with an electric fence and released his hogs in the field. The electric fence shorted out during some high winds while he was out of town, so Mike and I put on our rain gear and snake guards to find the problem. I monitored the transformer while Mike walked along the fence clearing off the fallen stalks. Suddenly I heard a loud and rapid CLANG, CLANG, CLANG, CLANK. Out of the darkness came Mike, face ashen, poncho flying behind. He streaked past me without saying a word and disappeared up the road toward home. I followed at a slower pace and arrived a few minutes after Mike to find him still pale showing our parents two large fang holes streaked with venom. The next morning the footprints told the story. Mike was walking along the fence when he heard a distinct clang. Looking down he saw a large rattlesnake thrashing in his poncho having struck him below the knee on the stovepipe. Mike remembered swinging his hoe to knock the snake loose and jumping. He did not remember clearing the waist high fence, but his tracks ended on one side and resumed about eight feet away on the other side in his dash home.

Several years later Mike offered to take his flight school roommate snake hunting. Stationed at Hunter Army Airfield in Savannah, Georgia, Tom had asked Mike what people did in the South for fun. Mike said, “Hunt.” Tom pointed out it wasn’t hunting season and Mike informed him, “Snake hunting.” From Wisconsin T,om had never been snake hunting and did not think Mike had been either. Tom thought he was being set up for a snipe hunt. So Mike called home for us to get the boat ready for one of their weekend passes. When we launched the boat at the river Tom still did not believe we were really going snake hunting. In fact, I don’t think he believed it until we dragged the first dying snake into the boat. We had shot the large moccasin at close range in a bush after Tom had missed it with his paddle. I thought that Tom was going to shoot us while capsizing the boat. Mike and I leaned over one side to counter balance the gun waving Tom on the other gunwale. (I just realized that gives new meaning to “gunwale.”)  A rule worth considering if you ever go snake hunting is that there only be one bullet loaded at a time. I’m glad I have the memory of Tom on the river. A Cobra pilot in I Corps of Viet Nam, he died twenty-nine days before his wedding date flying a night mission in support of a unit in heavy contact near the A Shau Valley. Tom didn’t lack courage, he just didn’t like snakes.

If my wife had been in the Garden of Eden we would still be there because she would have never gotten close to the serpent. Kathy hates snakes, which is one reason she loves Alaska, no snakes! When we moved south so I could work on my Ph.D. we moved into a townhouse adjacent to a cow pasture. I spent several weeks developing the clay bank behind the house into a terrace for her flower beds. She liked the privacy of a cow pasture in the back yard, but she wondered if it might provide snake habitat. I did not help matters by showing her a snake I had killed in her flowers. I knew it was a snake versus an earthworm because after I accidentally cut it in two I noticed a microscopic flickering tongue and a set of small eyes. In my ignorance, I thought that my wife would find it is interesting as I did to examine the harmless brown garden snake. I goofed. Kathy’s search for the ultimate snake repellant increased in intensity and ended with moth balls.

Somewhere Kathy heard that snakes could not stand the chemicals used in moth balls so she spread moth balls in our small back yard. I came home the first evening to a slight odor gnawing on my subconscious. Opening the back door, the odor punched me in the nose. Like stepping into great aunt Susie’s, closet the smell of moth balls was overpowering. It looked like we had just experienced a major hail storm with several boxes of moth balls scattered across our tiny back yard. Over the next several months I would slip out and toss moth balls over the fence into the pasture’s high grass. It did keep the cows away. Then Kathy would again make it look like Christmas in July. I always felt sorry for the neighbors who were forced to live downwind of my snake phobic family.

The situation finally resolved itself. One day Kathy dug up a two inch long snake curled around a small white object which she quickly identified as a snake egg. Looking in the straw and soil she saw several more roundish eggs. Summoned by her yells I agreed the objects looked like eggs. They were leathery looking and about the size of  . . . a moth ball. Picking one up I noticed it was hard and it had a lingering odor of moth balls. The little brown snake died happily wrapped around a moth ball and I happily never had to toss anymore over the fence.

From stove pipes to moth balls I have seen various techniques of snake protection. Obviously some methods are more reliable than others. From the opening pages of the Bible God warns us of the ravages of sin. Originally Satan tempted Adam and Eve. Now we not only face Satan’s tactics but also our own fallen nature. I have come to realize that Satan doesn’t need to spend much time tempting me; I do a good enough job allowing “self” to take the control of my life away from God. Paul gave sound advice to the Ephesians about protecting themselves from sin. The Word of God and the qualities of Christian maturity are the best snake protection the Cross could ever provide.

 

“Stand therefore, having girded your waist with truth, having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; above all, taking the shield of faith with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God;” Ephesians 6:14-18 (NKJV)

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

1. What sins has God revealed to you as you have been reading these stories?
2. How do you expect to protect yourself from the consequences of those sins?
3. Have you been spending time in God’s word?
4. Have you been spending time talking with God?
5. Have you been honest with your accountability partner?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Metal Floats

 

Oil, fishing, tourism, and logging drive the Alaskan economy. I never cared to be a roughneck, and used my Stihl chainsaw to satisfy my Tim Taylor the Toolman fix, so like many Alaskan school teachers I went commercial fishing. I loved the fishing; I just hated being gone most of the summer. After a few years I decided that tourists smelled better than gutting fish and I became part of the Alaskan tourism industry.

Juneau had the usual Alaskan tourist venues: whitewater rafting, fishing charters, bus tours, glacier trips, and the customary museums. Several cruise ships a day stopped in Juneau during the summer season. At times five would be in port almost doubling the city’s population. With such numbers the major operators offered high volume day tours. It bothered me that a person could come to Alaska on a ship with thousands of fellow passengers, go on shore excursions with hundreds of people, and never have a chance to experience the solitude Alaska offers. So, I developed a small group experience where no more than six people would have a chance to get out of town and walk sandbars and meadows with no human tracks or trace. I filed for a U.S. Forest Service permit to operate an outfitter/guide concession in the Berner’s Bay area forty miles north of Juneau. Berners’ Bay has a large harbor seal population at the mouth of the rivers, a healthy moose population, a few wolves, and brown bears. In May and early June several thousand bald eagles migrate there for the hooligan run. The rest of the summer bald eagles are common place with nesting areas in easy viewing locations. The Berner’s, Gilkey, Lace, and Antler Rivers empty into the bay. The tidal flats, constantly changing channels, and the glacier water coloration make running the rivers tricky. Most people use an outboard motor with a jet pump lower unit which can run in as little as six inches of water. But, even that system does not work in the Lace River.  I settled on an airboat. Twenty-foot-long with a 350 Chevy short block with a belt driven six-foot airplane prop I could carry six people in ½ inch of water at 55mph. Of all the boats I have ever operated the airboat was the most fun.

Shortly after the boat’s delivery I planned my first run to the bay. After a number of no load practice sessions on the Juneau tidal flats I thought I was ready. I had five friends that volunteered to act the part of tourists so we put together a quick trip. I figured five hours would be plenty of time to look around. After crossing the bay, I decided to run up the Gilkey to its confluence with the Antler. The scenery there is some of the most beautiful in Alaska. At that point the Gilkey River Valley is about a mile wide with large cobblestone rock flats deposited by high waters. On the far side are several waterfalls that drain hanging valleys with glaciers on the head walls. The Antler River has a narrow alder choked valley with shark tooth peaks on each side. The cliffs have swirl patterns on the rocks that mirror the way the updrafts shred the clouds while mountain goats watch from seemingly sheer rock walls.

We then decided to go back to the bay and travel up the Lace River. The name reflects the river. Its streams form tendrils covering a quarter of a mile wide band of sand bars, shallows, and questionable channels. Several miles upstream it finally consolidates into a major channel with a rapid current. Above a sharp bend I decided to turn back for the trip home, and there my inexperience brought disaster. The laws of physics require a boat to go faster than the current to maintain steerage. As I came around the bend I discovered the boat on line to hit a large boulder. Looking back with more experience I should have gunned the engine to sharpen the turn or just hit the sloped rock square and flown over it.  Instead I slowed and caught the side of the rock. Pinned on the rock the current quickly pushed the upstream side under. Somehow it seemed to occur in slow motion. I grabbed my survival gear and shotgun as I jumped toward the bank. Most of us made it to shore using the boulder’s eddy but Tom and Jean were swept a short way downstream.

The current carried the boat down stream about fifty yards where it laid on its side mostly submerged. The six of us were wet, cold, and bewildered. I used one of the flares to start a fire and had everyone start collecting enough wood for the night. Although we had five hours until twilight I knew that no one would find us until the next day. We were not scheduled to be back in town for several hours. Kathy would give another hour or two cushion before she called the Coast Guard. By that time the flight crew wouldn’t begin a search before dark. Berners Bay has huge brownies, so I planned on keeping a large fire going and everyone together.

I worked with Tom in the local junior high school. He and his wife, Jean, were our good friends but did not know Christ. Kathy and I had been praying for them for several years. In fact, shortly before our infamous trip up the Lace River I had been burdened for Tom. I read how Moses interceded for the people at Mt. Sinai. Exodus 32: 32-32 says, “Then Moses returned to the LORD and said, ‘Oh, these people have committed a great sin, and have made for themselves a god of gold!  Yet now, if You will forgive their sin–but if not, I pray, blot me out of Your book which You have written.’” Moses’ passion for Israel prompted him to intercede to the point of being willing to share their fate. God convicted me of the need for that kind of burden for Tom and Jean. Did I love them that much? I remember praying, “Lord, do whatever You want with me if it will bring Tom and Jean to You.”

“God, I didn’t mean sinking my boat!” I thought as I stood at the fire and looked out at my now sunk new boat. Almost all of our savings rested on the river bottom. I had figured God could make me a rich tourism tycoon and be a witness to Tom in how well I handled success. I definitely had not envisioned this. Just before dark Tom and I walked through the alders and a meadow to the bottom side of the bend of the river. As we stood looking up river toward the boat I pointed out that the hull was above a deep hole and that I would be unable to salvage it if the current pushed it in. The Lace River has sections of soft sand bottom that acts like quicksand. The water itself contains high amounts of glacier flour, superfine suspended rock particles. If you place a beach towel in the water overnight the towel would weight five pounds by morning. Several other airboats had sunk in the Lace River and are still there.  I pointed out to Tom the only chance of recovery was a solid looking sandbar below the boat. Unfortunately, the sandbar was totally across the current from the present location. There was no chance of the current moving the boat there, but I told Tom that’s what I would be praying.

It was a long cold night with damp clothes and visitations of large hungry mosquitoes. We took care of both needs by standing down wind and close to the smoky fire. At first light I looked out on the river and could not find my boat, so I walked down to the bank where I had stood several hours before with Tom. And, there she was laying on her bottom partially submerged on the sandbar I had pointed out. Back at camp I told the group. Tom responded by sprinting to see for himself.

I wish that I could say that Tom accepted Christ as the result of that adventure, but I can’t. The Coast Guard picked us up later that morning. Two days later with the help of my friend, Mick, I was able to recover the boat. The glacial flour had turned into about six inches of nature’s concrete requiring considerable shoveling before we could float the hull. But using survival suits to work in the frigid water with jacks and salvage pumps we were able to refloat and tow her to town.  I trust God used that trip in Tom’s life. I know He used it in mine. I learned that God desires us to be intercessors. Look at the great men of faith. Abraham, at God’s prompting, interceded for Sodom and Gomorrah. The priests were to be intercessors for Israel. Moses, interceded for Israel, and Paul was willing to be cursed for the salvation of his people.  Above all, Christ interceded for mankind at the Cross and now is our intercessor in heaven. Intercession requires a love of God, passion for the lost, and an understanding that the eternal far outweighs the temporal. I learned that intercession costs. Years later I saw another example of intercession.

A church member and friend, Howard White always had the biggest smile. He loved the Lord and people. His son, Derek, and my youngest son, Andrew, were inseparable. Prior to moving to Alaska Howard and Annette had lost a daughter to leukemia. Howard and Billy owned a pipe recovery business servicing oil fields. Billy was not a Christian. Howard often shared Billy’s salvation as a prayer request. Several months after our move south we received a call from Howard. He had been diagnosed with leukemia and the doctors recommended his going outside Alaska for treatment. So, he returned to his native Oklahoma. I remember as we talked and prayed together Howard told me, “If it takes my death for Billy to be saved, it’s worth it.” Howard did die, but on the day of his death Billy received eternal life. About a year after Howard’s death I visited Soldotna again and had the opportunity to see the change in Billy’s life. I know Howard has a huge smile.

“And when they came to the Jordan, they cut down trees. But as one was cutting down a tree, the iron ax head fell into the water; and he cried out and said, ‘Alas, master! For it was borrowed.’ So the man of God said, ‘Where did it fall?’ And he showed him the place. So he cut off a stick, and threw it in there; and he made the iron float. Therefore he said, ‘Pick it up for yourself.’ So he reached out his hand and took it.” 2 Kings 6:4-7 (NKJV)

 

The poor seminary student (I have never met a rich one.) accidentally lost a valuable tool he had borrowed. He sought the help of the prophet Elisha, who acted on his behalf (interceded) and recovered the axe head. Who has God placed in your life in need of your intercession?  If you are a father, then you have at least your wife and children. God will place individuals in your life because He is committed to our becoming conformed to Christ and that requires our being intercessors. When we allow ourselves to be used by Him we might even see metal float. I have!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

1. If you are a Christian, who interceded for you that you might know Christ?
2. If you are not, then how did you get this book?
3. What events have happened in your life that you can now see as God at work?
4. If you are not a Christian, what will it take for you to acknowledge and follow Christ?
5. If you have a non-Christian family member or friend, what value do you put on their salvation?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Glacier Bay Halibut

 

Halibut fishing in Glacier Bay National Park combined big fish with phenomenal scenery. In the mid 1980s the Alaska Department of Fish and Game and the National Park Service determined that the high volume of boat traffic in Glacier Bay affected the Humpback whales using the bay and began restricting the cruise ship traffic and decided to end commercial halibut fishing. Salmon fishing Icy Straits at the bay entrance was always interesting because all the traditional drags seemed to attract as many whales as fish. You never quite get use to having a whale swimming a parallel course thirty feet to your port beam when you have 20 fathoms of gear out. Boats never seemed to bother the whales outside the park, but the ruling shut down future park fishing.

Bill and I had taught together for five years and after I had left the public school system he and I still handtrolled the same grounds. Bill determined that he was going to fish the last halibut opening for Glacier Bay. He offered me a good crew share if I would fish with him. Since he had a larger boat with hydraulics I readily agreed. It beat pulling 5,000 feet of ground line by hand. Our third crewmember was a high school kid named Bill. (I felt like I was on the Bob Newhart Show with Larry and his brother Larry.) For our sanity he became Billy for the duration of the trip.

The commercial opening, scheduled for thirty-six hours, could be shut down earlier if the quota was filled. We rigged equipment for several days prior to the opening and cleared the harbor with plenty of time for the twelve hour run to the upper part of the park. On the run to Glacier Bay Bill and I studied the charts planning out the first set of gear.

Like flounder, on steroids, halibut are bottom feeders. A commercial halibut “skate” consists of a down line connecting the buoy with a kedge anchor. Kedges look like the old style anchors. The anchor secures the bottom line which traditionally was 1800 feet long and terminated with the second kedge again attached to a down line and buoy. Today with the use of hydraulics and larger vessels a skate may actually run for miles. Some fishermen tie the three-foot-long gangions into the bottom line, others prefer clip-on rigs. Whichever rig is used, halibut gear involves thousands of large circle hooks attached to half inch line which have to be baited and put over the side without imbedding in a deckhand. The big longliners will have as many as 50,000 hooks hanging on the back deck in the hook shack. To lay the gear the skipper just hits the throttle and holds his course. The hooks come off the rack passing through a bait trough before flying down the chute on the stern. Some hooks don’t get baited but it is the only way to run volume. We weren’t so lucky. We baited each hook and then coiled the gangions in a tub finally snapping the clip on the tub rim. Done properly each gear tub can hold several hundred hooks without tangling.

We dropped the buoy and anchor at the moment the season opened. Billy and I stood in the stern pit surrounded by bait tubs. I would grab the bottom line with my left hand to steady it while I snapped on the clip then followed the gangion with my right hand to the baited hook flipping it overboard without snagging. A sharp knife rested next to my left hand in case one of us caught a hook. You had about ten seconds to free yourself before the line tension would drag you over or rip the hook out.

Halibut like bottom contours which move food over the top of their location making it easy to ambush. The other variable of halibut fishing involves depth. I have fished down to a thousand feet trying to locate the fish. Our first sets would be over a wide range of contours and depths hoping to target our future sets. We needed to make each set count. About a mile away the Alaskan Double Eagle was running full bore dropping its 50,000 hooks quicker than we could do our 5,000. Between dropping the gear and pulling it we had several hours to re-bait. The first few sets were disappointing, usually a couple of fish over one hundred pounds and a mix of smaller ones, but not the quantity that you need for a good opening. Halibut less than 32 inches have to be shaken off. We had large numbers of thirty to forty pounders which were easy to handle. To pull the gear we would gaff the down line and run it through the hydraulic pinch wheel. Well before a large fish would come into sight the line would start vibrating. Usually you could see the fish coming out of the depths but in Glacier Bay the water was opaque and the fish broke surface before you could tell what you had. Fishless hooks were unclipped and thrown in the bucket to be baited or returned to the bait tubs. When a fish came up the pinch wheel operator would pause long enough for the pit man to unclip and pass the gangion to the gaffer. Simultaneously gaffing the fish and swinging it inboard and up into the holding box required timing, a strong back, and rhythm.

We laughed at the Double Eagle crew because they were shooting every fish they brought on deck. What sissies! We had decided that we would not shoot anything under seventy pounds. Like most boats we had a .22 cal pistol for dispatching large fish. Sometimes I used a .44 magnum with rat shot. Probably twenty-four hours into the opening with about an hour of sleep I was pulling my rotation as the gaffer. Billy passed me a good fish in the sixty-pound range which I gaffed and swung onboard. The water line required the gaffer to bend over double and then swing the fish chest high to get it into the holding box where they remained until cleaned and iced. Suddenly I had one end of a three-foot gaff impaled in an angry halibut. ( I immediately thought of  the Petersburg fisherman who bled to death after a large halibut shattered his legs.) The four inches of exposed gaff hook added to the excitement especially as I felt it tear thru my oilskins and jeans. That fish went anywhere he wanted to go and all I could do was hold on. As fast as they could move across the deck Bill and Billy piled on the halibut. With all three of us on him the fish finally settled down and decided to quit flopping. Of course Bill failing away on the halibut’s skull with a lead pipe probably helped. One minute of me doing the crazy halibut dance and the back deck looked like a war zone. We then admitted that the Double Eagle crew was a lot smarter than we were. From there on out we shot everything!

We found the fish by “chance.” One of our sets ran further up a cove than we had planned so the last few hooks were in extremely shallow water, twenty feet. Four hours later as we pulled the skate we found the shallow end loaded with 250 pounders. The halibut were in the shallows sucking down king crabs. For the rest of the opening we set our gear throughout Adam’s Anchorage and its inner inlet. The two parts of the inlet were connected by a narrow cut passable at high tide. The tide ran so fast in the cut that we could only work the gear around slack tide. We ran the gear right down that cut. It didn’t bother me in broad daylight. However, pulling our last set of the season had to be done in a fog. Imagine maneuvering in a thick fog along a winding forty-foot-wide channel with rocks on each side. All of which, you can’t see. While laying the gear Bill had plotted the course with his radar and Loran C. Using his earlier plots we pulled the gear and then ran back out to the bay without any problems. I must confess it was unnerving to watch the screens knowing how little the margin of error was separating us from disaster. Bill knew his boat and equipment well enough he knew we could fish that passage safely. He had faith based on his experience. .

 

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. For by it the elders obtained a good testimony. By faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that the things which are seen were not made of things which are visible.” Heb 11:1-3 (NKJV)

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

1. Do you know God’s word well enough to “run in the fog?”
2. What earthly sources do you tend to rely on before turning to God?
3. Are there areas of your life in which you are confident that you can handle on your own?
4. How long has it been since you have seen God evidenced in your life?
5. Do your friends know who guides your life? Would they agree that God does?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FDO3

 

 

The ten mile run to Oregon Inlet started off like all the previous trips, sunny, hot, and a slight chop. It was Father’s Day and I wanted to try out my new reel and the fishing report indicated that it was worth the time. Each summer my family got together at North Carolina’s Outer Banks for a week of wakeboarding, tubing, and relaxation. Most of my family is not really into fishing but I can always count on my middle son, Adam, to go. We had a pleasant two hours fishing for spots and drum around the Oregon Inlet Bridge. We preferred fishing on the outside of the inlet but squall lines kept moving down the shoreline and we spent quite a bit of time anchored under the bridge due to spells of heavy rain. The VHF weather channel warned of 60 knot winds in the squalls.

The beautiful day had definitely turned sour since we had left home and dinner would be on the table by the time we returned, so we started our dash to Manteo when a large patch of clear sky appeared. As best I could tell the squalls were moving clear of our course. Running with the chop enabled us to move at top speed however, it seemed that no sooner had we gotten well clear of any shelter the rain began. In the late afternoon heat the first drops felt refreshing. Adam, always a little crazy, stood in the front laughing and declaring, “I am invincible! Rain can not hurt me!” In a heartbeat his laughter turned to yelps of pain as the sky turned to opaque with horizontal sheets of rain. The rain and winds hit us in the midst of a winding channel surrounded by shoals. The zero visibility and driving rain made forward movement impossible, and the high winds ruled out any possibility of holding position under power. My fathometer read seven feet. As quickly as possible, Adam and I ran out the anchor with its one hundred feet of line. The length of line divided by the depth of the water determines the anchor’s scope. The larger the scope the better the anchor’s holding ability. I always carry an anchor that is rated for a vessel larger than mine and I overload it with longer than required heavy chain. On calm days my anchor is a hassle but on that day it provided peace of mind. Adam and I hunkered down behind the center console while the boat began to fill with water. Since my boat was unsinkable I was more worried about hypothermia than sinking. Between the temperature drop, the thorough soaking, and the wind we were starting to shake.

Storms come to our lives in all sizes: thunderstorms, squalls, and full blown hurricanes. It is not a question of if they will come, but when will they come. How will you survive them? Do you have an adequate anchor? I may have head knowledge of God but when I experience a problem in which God proves Himself, I begin to really know Him. The storms only come within God’s will. I remember learning to ride a two wheeler. My older brother would hold onto the seat and run beside the bike. At first he could not let loose without my falling. Over time the periods of his holding my seat became fewer until I was riding on my own. We start our Christian life with a small anchor and a short line. As a baby in the faith I can’t handle much bad weather but maturity changes that.

Knowing God provides the means to withstand the storms. The Bible declares God omnipotent (all powerful), loving, merciful, and omniscient (all knowing) among other attributes. How do I use that knowledge when a personal health crisis comes? God loves me and wants the best for my life. God is omniscient therefore this illness didn’t catch Him by surprise. Therefore, even if I don’t understand how this is the best for me I know it is because God could have withheld it.  Christians often quote Romans 8:28 but miss its meaning by stopping there.

And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.  For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brethren.  Moreover whom He predestined, these He also called; whom He called, these He also justified; and whom He justified, these He also glorified. Romans 8:28-30 (NKJV)

 

Paul wrote this passage to assure his readers that God has a plan. It does not mean that if I am fired from a job that God is going to give me a better one. Taking it that way reveals our warped priorities where finances and material wealth takes precedence over God’s priorities. It does mean that God uses events in our lives to mold our character. God is committed to conforming us to Christ. Considering that Christ submitted to His Father’s plan all the way to the cross how can we expect to be exempt from life’s storms? In truth, storms are God’s hammer and chisel He uses to shape us. Christians experience tragedies. Christians have cancer, car accidents, and suffer at the hands of terrorists along with non-Christians. So the difference of the Christian life isn’t its ease but the reality that our struggles are not in vain and we do not face them alone.

Father’s Day 2003, or FDO3 as Adam calls it, is seared into our memory. The run home was uneventful and the hot tub never felt better. There were moments of concern about our safety but when we set the anchor and had enough line for a good scope I knew we would be OK.

Whenever I experience a storm I think of Dr. R.E. Glaze. He taught New Testament and Greek for over 34 years at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. I was in his Exegesis of John class his last year of teaching. When we reached John 6:15-21 he told the following story: There was an older gentleman who felt called into the ministry so he and his wife sold their house and moved to New Orleans. Like many students who had not been in school for years the man struggled with his classes. During the mid-term exam he fell out of his desk onto the floor dead. Dr. Glaze and his teaching fellow went to campus housing to inform the wife. Much to their surprise her first response was, “How did he do on his exam?” When Dr. Glaze questioned her response she explained; her husband had health problems prior to seminary and his death was not unexpected. He had struggled with Greek and had worked hard preparing for the exam. Dr. Glaze explained her husband had not completed the exam. She then requested Dr. Glaze to grade his paper as though he had completed the test. She wanted to know how her husband had done. Dr. Glaze did so. The man had translated the passage, parsed the verbs, noted the critical elements of the Greek text, and was making his application comments when he died. The last sentence he wrote was, “In the midst of life’s storms Jesus always comes.”

Therefore when Jesus perceived that they were about to come and take Him by force to make Him king, He departed again to the mountain by Himself alone. Now when evening came, His disciples went down to the sea, got into the boat, and went over the sea toward Capernaum. And it was already dark, and Jesus had not come to them. Then the sea arose because a great wind was blowing. So when they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and drawing near the boat; and they were afraid. But He said to them, “It is I; do not be afraid.” Then they willingly received Him into the boat, and immediately the boat was at the land where they were going.   John 6:15-21 (NKJV)

 

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

If you used a one hundred foot anchor line to symbolize your life and cut out a foot for each time you relied on anything but God and added a foot for each time you trusted Him:

1. How long would your line be?
2. How large a vessel could it hold?
3. How great a storm could you face?
4. How deep of water could you anchor in?
5. Would anyone want to have what you have?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything I Need to Know About Evangelism I learned Fishing

Originally printed in SBC Life Magazine

Serving as a professor of evangelism and North American church planting involves considerable travel. And my students are not surprised to see me arriving in their town with fly rod in hand. People may think that I love to fish; actually I am doing research. In a previous article I explained how I had learned many truths about sin from fishing, but fishing contains more lessons than just the ones on sin. After all, everything I need to know about evangelism I learned fishing. Here are several theological insights from my field research:

You have to know what you want to catch and where they are. I have caught everything from trout the size of minnows to halibut over 200 pounds on rod and reel. I took a trip to Venezuela to visit my brother. We were in Los Roques, one of the premier bone fishing areas in the world. The fly fishing for bones and permit is phenomenal but I would not go there to catch a rainbow trout.

The Leavell Center for Evangelism and Church Health once examined approximately 30% of all Southern Baptist congregations which are considered “growing” churches. The research found that 1,409 churches in the “growing” category reported no baptisms in 2003. In reality they are “growing” by transferring membership instead of evangelism. I had a livewell on my boat. When I caugh a fish and put it in the livewell I do not spend the rest of my day dropping lures into the livewell to catch it again. The research reveals that many churches have not decided who they want to catch, dissatisfied church attenders or the lost, and therefore churches are not going where the lost may be found.

What I want to catch determines the equipment and techniques to use. For years I fished either commercially or to stock the freezer. A lot has changed. Now I fish for pleasure. I don’t mind casting a fly all day and releasing the catch. One thing has not changed, I fish to catch fish. I am not about to show up on a trout stream with a halibut pole or on a halibut boat with a fly rod. I am sure that many of the 1,409 “growing” churches are puzzled by their lack of baptisms. They are doing something to grow. They intend to grow. They just are not reaching the lost. They are using fly rods for halibut.

There have been tremendous debates concerning the most effective church model for evangelism. Purpose Driven, Program, House, Seeker Driven, and Cell church models all have their proponents. In reality there are only two types of churches: The “Come and See” and the “Go, Show, and Tell.” As long as our evangelism rests on getting people into our buildings all we are doing is moving fish from one livewell to another. The “Come and See” church depends on music, presentations, programs, and the weekly production often called “worship.” The majority of what is done for “evangelism” in those churches fails to attract the lost, which explains why 92% of our baptisms are “biological,” children within the church.. The “Go,  Show, and Tell” church understands that Sundays are for edifying the body of believers and preparing them to go back into a lost and dying world to show the love of Christ in random and intentional acts of service and love while looking for opportunities to share their faith as the Holy Spirit leads.  Instead of spending our time crafting another “relevant” message or figuring out how to get another live camel on stage in our Christmas pageant we need to start mobilizing our people to do as the Great Commission commands and “GO.” No one would call the pet store owner a fisherman though he nets fish all day long, and we should not call attracting churched people evangelism. We need to go where the lost gather and use the methods Jesus used. We need to love and serve the lost.

You don’t catch a fish on every cast. Berner’s Bay in October is fishermen’s heaven. The water levels drop in the Gilkey and Antler rivers creating oxbow lakes of crystal clear water two to three feet deep. You can walk the gravel bars sight casting to prowling silver salmon and dense schools of Dolly Varden trout. The silvers are typically 10-14 pounds and hit like Jaws. There were days when I did catch a fish on every cast. But that is Alaska; fishing reality is more like the Smith River, Virginia, in January. On a recent trip the air and water temperatures hovered in the high thirties and I spent all day looking for fish. The last cast of the day I hooked one. As they say, “That’s why it is called fishing instead of catching.” A good fisherman knows his fish’s habitat, foods, patterns, and the appropriate gear, but even then he will often cast hundreds of times to catch a fish. I think Jesus called fishermen as disciples because fishermen don’t quit. That day on the Smith River I focused on each cast, working to gently place the fly, mending the line to have the perfect drift, and watching for any indication of interest. I constantly changed flies looking for something that would provoke a strike. Fishing is work which requires an attitude of anticipation. There is always an expectation the fish will bite, if not today then tomorrow.

One of the toughest witnessing methods has to be door-to-door. I use to take seminary students on mission trips several times a year and do door-to-door. Some places are tougher than others; New England and Las Vegas are different than North Carolina and parts of Florida. However, over the years the statistics remain fairly constant. If you talk to one hundred people, one will accept Christ. I try to put it in perspective in the trip orientation by asking, “Are you willing to knock on one hundred doors to lead one person to Christ? Or knock on two hundred so another team can lead two to the Lord?” Jesus said the good shepherd leaves the ninety-nine sheep to find the one who is lost. You don’t lead someone to Christ at every home, but that’s fishing for men. We have had much higher success ratios with servanthood evangelism projects like car washes and yard work, but even then it is still fishing.

A good fisherman has a variety of lures. Successful commercial salmon fishing requires a multitude of lures and baits. I preferred hoochies (rubber squid shaped lures) and herring. Some friends preferred spoons, some plugs. No matter what our favored lure was, we had all the other types in case they were the hot gear that day. I usually start out fly fishing with the pattern that has been the best producer in the past but have gone through a whole fly box before finding the one that fish were hitting. That’s fishing.

I like door-to-door as the cheapest means to contact every home in a community, but it is not the only lure in the box, neither is F.A.I.T.H., NET, Seeker Sensitive services, or even Servanthood Evangelism. As fishers of men we need to spend enough time with the fish that we are able to determine which lure to use to catch their souls. The more lures at our disposal the better equipped we are to meet the lost at their point of need and be able to present Christ in a cogent, compelling manner. Unlike fishing, our catch will be blessed for eternity instead of being fried.

The hard work begins after the landing the fish, but God isn’t into catch and release. I am a fisherman that doesn’t like to eat fish. There are few types of fish I enjoy, very few. Therefore, I have no problem with catch and release. I have cleaned enough fish for a lifetime. Once I spent 12 hours filleting several thousand pounds of halibut after a commercial opening. The crew had already worked 36 hours with only two or three hours of sleep, but we could not rest until the catch was processed. We had a contract with several restaurants and grocery stores for several more dollars a pound than if we sold the fish to the fish processor.   Fishing for men involves hard work, most of which begins at conversion. Sadly, most of our institutional focus is on conversion. We have succeeded when the person “asks Jesus into my heart,” or “walks the aisle.” Church records reflect the sad truth that Southern Baptist churches can not locate half of their members. Commercial salmon trollers take care of their catch. Since the fish are sold whole for top dollar buyers deduct for every cut or gaff mark that is out of place. You have to take care of your catch. Jesus has called each of us to be fishers of men requiring us to be as concerned about discipleship as evangelism. The world is teeming with lost souls needing to be caught and taught by the transforming message of Christ. Get fishing!

 

And Jesus, walking by the Sea of Galilee, saw two brothers; Simon called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea; for they were fishermen. Then He said to them, ‘Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men” Matthew 4:18-19

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

If you are a Christian:

1. Are you a fisherman?
2. Do you understand where the fish gather?
3. Do you have attractive “bait” or does it smell like a coffee can of worms left in the sun on a hot day?
4. Have you taken advantage of the training available through your church or other groups?
5. Have you spent time taking care of the ones that did not get away?

 

If you are not a follower of Christ:

Why are you letting bad “bait” keep you from knowing the Creator of the outdoors you love?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Last Moose Hunt

 

The regular moose season closed with nothing in the freezer, so the special opening in December and January looked like one last chance to get some meat. Dean had hunted the Port Alsworth-Lake Clark area and seemed optimistic of our chances. I can’t remember if it was an archery only hunt or if that is just something we decided to do. We decided to add a third hunter to the trip to help with costs and make it more enjoyable. Rob owned the bow shop in town and was an experienced outdoorsman. I used an Oneida Aero Force with a 70 pound pull, but I could not budge Rob’s compound set on 90 pounds. He had taken Dall sheep, mountain goats, and moose throughout Alaska.

The day after Christmas we met at the air charter operator’s shack at the Kenai airport. Winter camping requires more gear than an August hunt. Besides my artic parka, mittens, and mukluks I was packing a pair of Tubbs snowshoes, two winter sleeping bags, and enough bottles of gas for my pack stove to melt half the snow in Alaska. There are two types of winter days in Southcentral, Alaska; cloudy, warm, and snowing, or crystal clear, dry, and frigid. It was frigid. Our flight over Cook Inlet and through the river passes of the Alaskan Range’s southern end never exceeded 4,000 feet. We spent our time judging the racks on the moose below.

At Port Alsworth we were shuttled out to the hunting area by Super Cub. Super Cubs sit two people in line. In the summer time Cubs will use floats or tundra tires. Tundra tires are oversized balloon tires that allow planes to land on sand, soft ground, or rough fields. In the winter the planes convert to skis. One at a time we would load most of our gear into the cargo space behind the back seat. When I strapped myself into the rear seat the other guys took the remainder of my gear and packed it all around me. Like the proverbial sardine I rode out to the campsite unable to move anything but my head. Even so I saw several good bulls within easy distance of our camp. Alaska game laws prevent flying and hunting on the same day so it would be morning before we could take one of the bulls, but they tend to stick tight in the deep snow.

I found out how deep the snow was as I stepped out the plane and sunk to my chest. I dreamt of powder snow like this when I was into downhill skiing, but now, if it were a dream, it qualified as a nightmare. My Tubbs snowshoes were rated to provide floatation up to 250 pounds. Fully dressed I weighted in around 210, but the snow was so light that I still sunk to my thighs and waist.

We had to pack the snow down enough to make a platform for our camp. After an hour of hard work we had a large enough area to set up the two mountain tents and have a cook area. Night came around 3:00 pm. and the temperature dropped with it. I had two bags rated to minus 15 degrees, so I took the smaller mummy and slipped it into the looser cut bag. It was cold enough that we were not going to sit around the camp stove and sing “Kum By Yah.” Instead we laid in our bags and talked until we feel asleep. Rob and I shared his tent which had space for a little more than us and our hunting packs. Our boots sat in the vestibule area. I had cooked up a freeze dried meal and Rob had his secret hunting energy bar (a Snickers). Rob lived off Snickers for the next three days. I think he went hunting as a means of eating junk food which obviously neither his mother nor wife allowed him to eat at home. Dean had the second tent to himself where we stored some of the gear. With the exception of perhaps one-person, Dean produces the loudest snores I have ever heard in my life. I must confess that I have never lived with a Yeti or Bigfoot, so I can not say he is the loudest humanoid who has ever lived, but he is in the top five. Falling asleep with Dean destroying his sinus cavities I felt contentment. Around 3:00 am I woke to a noise louder than Dean. The tent was shaking and flapping and its north side was caving in. Alaskans have a saying, “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.” A storm had moved in during the night and for the next two days we could do little more than sit in our bags. Occasionally we went out and dug the drifting snow off the tents, as we waited it out.  The pilot later told us they registered seventy knot winds down the hill in Port Alsworth. That would be a hurricane down South. Rob continued to eat his Snickers, but for my sanity I would occasionally crawl out and use my body as a windbreak to boil a pot of water. The super dry air sucked the moisture right out of our bodies causing our lips to crack, but at least bodily urges weren’t a problem. In those temperatures you become adept at stripping down to your long johns while inside a bag. The body produces considerable vapor which wicks away to the point of condensation causing hoar frost to build up on the inside of the tent and the outside of my sleeping bags. The outer bag became rigid with the frozen condensation.

For some reason moose hunting always conjures up visions of bad weather. I will not say that all my moose hunts have been weather disasters, the Fifty Inch Moose trip wasn’t, but the vast majority of my moose hunts involved miserable weather. One year my nephew had drawn a bull permit for Berners and my brother could not hunt with him. So, he sent Kevin up from Ketchikan by ferry for the hunt. Typical fall weather for Southeastern Alaska is rain, lots of rain. One year we had forty inches of rain in October. If you can’t handle rain, stay away from Southeastern. My favorite hunting partner in Juneau, Dave, and I set up camp on the Berners River several feet above the river. The three of us fell asleep to the sound of rain and woke up floating in our tent. Another time a friend and I intended to sleep in his truck at the end of the road so we could get an early start only to wake up to the pickup violently shaking as a storm front hit. It isn’t as though I do not listen to the weather reports, I do. However, if you never go out because of the chance of bad weather, you will never go out in Alaska.

Back to our story. When the winds diminished enough that Dean’s snores could once again be heard I slipped out and explored the area where we had seen the bulls. I tracked and closed in on a nice cow, and then a cow and a calf. But, they were the only animals I could find on our plateau. We agreed that the bulls and most of the cows had moved off the bench and down into protected areas during the first night as the storm built.

I have had trouble with my hands ever since I experienced a good case of frostbite while a ski patrol volunteer. I even wear fingerless gloves on a cool day. Needless to say my hands were not happy. With the moose in the woods where we would have difficulty packing the meat to a location the plane could land our hunting plans were unraveling quickly. But, we could not move until our pilot came by to check on us. We talked about our options including one of us flying around to locate the moose so the other two would still be able to hunt.

Shortly after we had reached a consensus that the bulls had moved and we had to do something, the Super Cub came into sight and landed. The pilot didn’t mince words. He informed us that another storm was forecasted to move in that night and if we did not leave immediately he could not tell us when we would be able to get out. Perhaps you can imagine what it looks like seeing a large pile of hunting gear, sleeping bags, and personal items floating under a pair of failing snowshoes through deep snow, but I don’t have to imagine. Been there, done that! As soon as the Cub could make the three trips we were laying on the heated concrete slab in the hanger at Port Alsworth like lizards on a sun warmed rock on a spring day. I have a small sense of the glories of Heaven.

I knew that I would be moving South to begin my doctoral studies in the spring and this would probably be my last moose hunt so I was disappointed that we had not bagged a good bull. However, this trip showed me that no matter how well we plan we can never know what life is going to throw our way. We can prepare, but ultimately we have to trust in an omniscient God.

 

“He has not dealt with us according to our sins, nor punished us according to our iniquities. For as the heavens are high above the earth, so great is His mercy toward those who fear Him; As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us. As a father pities his children, so the LORD pities those who fear Him. For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust. As for man, his days are like grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourishes. For the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more. But the mercy of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear Him, and His righteousness to children’s children,” Psalms 103:9-17 (NKJV)

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

1. How has your life failed to go as planned?
2. How do you handle unexpected changes? Do you trust God or fall apart?
3. Do you know the difference between faith and presumption?
4. Can you now see the hand of God when you look back on a critical period in your life?
5. How does that help you live today?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kayaking, Camping, and the Hilton Hotel

 

I do not know why God has chastised my wife, Kathy, by having her marry me. Perhaps that is one thing we will find out when we get to heaven. I read every Jack London book in the high school library. I dreamt of camping out, ice climbing, kayaking, and every other wilderness adventure I could imagine. After our engagement I began to plan the ultimate honeymoon. Not content with the usual tourist traps I found the perfect place. Andros Island has a barrier reef that runs down its east coast. The ten feet of crystal clear water over a white sand bottom inside the reef makes it great for snorkeling. Andros Island is one of the few places with blue holes, a system of sinkholes linked by underground passages. The blue holes varied in depth but all of them attract large numbers of fish. Imagine swimming in the aquarium at Sea World. If you ask Kathy about our honeymoon she may well remember some other small details.

When I sent in our deposit to the diving lodge it ran afoul of the newly independent Bahaman postal system. The owners of the lodge did not receive our deposit until the day we arrived. So, they decided to take the week off and go to Freeport. The good news was that we had the place all to ourselves. The bad news was we had to cook some of our meals and the hot water system was turned off. Totally unrelated to the staff leaving shortly after we arrived was the fact that all the facilities had single cots for beds. We were their first ever honeymooners. Unfortunately, for Kathy our honeymoon was not the exception, but the rule. Fortunately, for me Kathy did not realize into what she had gotten herself. Our adventures in fine accommodations have continued throughout our married life.

I knew I was home when we stepped off the ferry in Ketchikan the summer of 1974. Every childhood outdoor dream became possible. We moved into a one-bedroom apartment above Water Street where we could watch the float planes takeoff below. Ketchikan is on a huge island, but has only about seven miles of road to the south and seventeen to the north. Surrounded by Tongass National Forest one had to have a plane or boat to get out of town. We quickly sold our VW Beetle and bought a Ketchikan special for $250. The term was used for anything with an engine that used to be a vehicle. The newspaper ad usually said, “Ketchikan body, runs great.” That meant a rusted out chassis. Our “new” car was an old flower shop delivery van with double doors on each side and the rear. None of the back doors latched so we tied them all together which made the cargo space look like home to a large spider.  I could open the driver’s door from the outside, but not the inside. The passenger’s door opened from the inside, but not the outside. The tires were a little slick so with the arrival of winter my new bride would move to the back where she perched like a trapped fly over the wheels providing traction for the light rear end as we climbed the hill home. At least she did until the day we passed our fellow church members walking up the street. For some reason she thought it embarrassing to be hanging onto the webbing and having friends see her looking out the back windows like the aforementioned fly. Our van may have been shabby, and we were sleeping on a pad on the floor, but we had a great boat. I will say Kat wanted the boat before a store bought bed.

When we moved to Juneau Kathy agreed that we needed a couple of whitewater kayaks to complement our touring kayak. Living on the beach we spent considerable time paddling. I had several friends who owned the local ski and kayak shop and they rigged us out for all seasons. Kathy was a natural in the whitewater kayak. She rolled before anyone else in our class. I could not get the hang of it. She had quick hips and coordination whereas I had to adopt a power stroke hold to lever myself up. After I got the hang of it I could come up every time. Years later kayaking with my sons in the Kenai River I actually rolled six times straight, non-stop. I powered over so fast all I could do is gasp for air as I rotated through on my many revolutions. I will sell cops of the video if anyone needs a good laugh.

After practicing in calm water and the high school pool we were ready to go to the Mendenhall River. The Mendenhall emptied from the lake formed by the Mendenhall Glacier. In the mile from the glacier’s terminus the water did not warm up an appreciable amount. It would take you breath away. Kathy, I and the three friends from the shop all pushed off from the sandbar and headed down river. Some free advice, if you lean sideways into the current, which feels the most natural, you are going to flip. To complicate matters, downstream may be up current. Rocks and shore features create eddies where the current reverses. Almost simultaneously Kathy and I leaned up when we should have been leaning down. In a heart beat (a heart now in cardiac arrest), with our helmets bouncing on the rocky bottom, all thoughts except survival fled. There was no thought given to rolling. The time between our going under and getting to the shore was probably less than two minutes. However, by that time our fine motor skills had ceased. It was bad enough that our fingers would not work our major muscle groups also threatened to quit. I remember stumbling ashore only to hear, “I quit.!” I was now the proud owner of two whitewater kayaks. Before my next trip to the river I bought a thick farmer john wetsuit and paddling jacket. I have since learned if I want my wife to enjoy the outdoors, then I need to buy her quality gear so she is warm and comfortable.

After seminary we returned to Ketchikan with three boys who wanted to camp. We had sold most of our camping equipment prior to attending seminary so the first time out with the boys was an experience. My boat had been used little during our time south and the engine needed some work. I decided to change our plans of camping on the Naha River almost simultaneously with the engine quitting. We used the seven horse “kicker” to select a nice beach along the road system. By dark we had a respectable camp set up. The boys were comfortably housed in our dome tent. Kathy and I planned to use an old pup tent that my dad had in the garage. All we lacked was a set of tent poles. I still have the picture of Kathy peering out of a rather droopy tent held up with a thick six-foot halibut rod and reel.

The last time we ever planned on camping in Alaska, we didn’t. On our move south to return to seminary we planned on camping one of the nights on the road. The logical place to camp was at the Summit Lodge campground. High in the Canadian Rockies the Summit had legendary cinnamon buns, at least according to one friend, and well worth the stop. We arrived late in the day to a wet, slushy, driving snow. Since we would be on the road for another eight days we decided that we didn’t want to get all our gear wet. So, we checked into the lodge. They had plenty of rooms which should have warned us. For seventy-five dollars Canadian we rented a room with double beds. By placing the beds side by side we were all able to pile in together. The only problem was the sloping floor. It probably dropped five inches from one side of the room to the other. Ashley and Andy rolled down hill until they wedged against Adam who was firmly jammed in the crack between the double beds. Kathy and I had nothing to stop our bodies so we spent the night clutching the mattress. Waking up with hand cramps is a unique experience. A small oil drip heater located in the corner warmed the room and a one piece fiberglass toilet/ shower served as the bathroom. To this day we judge all accommodations by the “Summit Standard,” if the room isn’t worse than the Summit, then it isn’t bad.

I am not the sharpest tool in the shed so it took me a number of years to realize that my wife does not share my sense of adventure. Camping in Kathy’s mind is a nice bed and breakfast. Roughing it is grilling out and using paper plates. She enjoys being the mother of three sons. Many times as she worked in her flower beds she has told me, “Take the boys and go do some boy thing.”

One of the smartest things I have done is to buy her a good camera. She has an eye for framing a good shot. Now-a-days we enjoy biking, hiking and fishing. We both bike and hike. I fish. Fortunately, fly fishing occurs in photogenic settings. Some of my favorite fishing pictures were taken a year or so ago at Triple Falls in the North Carolina mountains. It is the same falls and river in the Last of the Mohicans movie. I have become accustomed to my photographer telling me to keep casting. When we ride bikes in the fall I know there will be times when she will stop and have me ride back and forth until she has the shot she wants.

As I grew in my role as a husband I realized my job consists of helping her be the woman God wants her to be. That means that I need to help her develop her giftedness which usually doesn’t coincide with my outdoor adventures. I am just thankful she has stuck it out. Now that makes her a real “camper.”

^“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her, that He might sanctify and cleanse her with the washing of water by the word, that He might present her to Himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing, but that she should be holy and without blemish. So husbands ought to love their own wives as their own bodies; he who loves his wife loves himself. For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as the Lord does the church. For we are members of His body, of His flesh and of His bones. ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’” Eph 5:25-31 (NKJV)

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

1. Do you demand that your spouse live up to your expectations?
2. Is anyone or anything, except God, more important than your spouse?
3. How does your spouse complement you?
4. What ways can you share your love of the outdoors with her?
5. If your marriage was your job and your wife your employer would she think you are due a raise?

 

 

A Father’s Prayer

Originally printed in SBC Life Magazine

Some people may wonder why Jesus and Paul used military illustrations, I do not. Son of a career army officer, one of three sons that concurrently served in Viet Nam, and the father of a soldier, I believe the Christian life can best be understood from a military perspective. Our family visited our oldest son, Ashley, before his deployment to Afghanistan. As the visit drew to a close we gathered beside the car and prayed as a family. In that prayer I asked God to help my son to “Complete the mission, take care of his men, and to come home safe.” Since that time it occurred to me that Christian leaders have the same tasks.

An army must complete the mission. Our freedom reflects a history of military sacrifices. The Continental Army suffered at Valley Forge. The issue of slavery was settled with blood. Wars have protected our nation’s way of life, propelled us to world leadership, and made us a haven for the world’s oppressed. As a father I would like to put “Come home safe” first on the list. Knowing the military and the price of freedom, I cannot. God has given His church a mission; win the world.

Jesus warned that discipleship had a cost. His followers would face persecution. Martyrs’ blood has fueled world evangelism. From Jim Elliott’s death at the hands of South American Indians to unknown believers in “closed” countries, persecution is alive and well in the modern world. Evangelism costs whether it is in our community or the world. I may loose my favorite seat, or parking place, or position if my church starts to reach the lost. The new people may have a skin tone or music style that makes me uncomfortable. It does not matter! We must complete the mission. Special operations soldiers would never think of coming back and reporting that they quit because the mission was too tough. My son missed ten months of his daughter’s first year. That’s a price shared by military families. God expects us to complete the mission. That means we must get out of the safety of our walls and into a pagan world, no matter the cost.

An officer must take care of his men. After the completion of the mission nothing is more important than taking care of the soldiers. I once served under a company commander who was more interested in advancing his career than his unit’s well being. The unit was simply his steppingstone and it reflected in the unit’s morale. Unfortunately, that is not unique to the military. Many Christian leaders forget they are under-shepherds who will one day give an accounting of their ministries. Do you have a submissive spirit? A soldier is placed in command because he has proven his ability to follow. The centurion told Jesus that he understood Jesus’ authority because he was under authority, and therefore, exercised authority.

The effective officer knows his soldiers, trains them to complete the mission, and knows their needs. How well do you know the people that God has placed under your leadership? Do you put their well being before your own? In the midst of Jesus’ passion, trial, and crucifixion He prayed for the disciples and arranged for the care of his mother. Dad, boss, pastor, do you know your flock? Has God placed some raw recruits under your command? What training do they need? For what ministries did God equip them? How can you help them succeed?

Sniper school is rather demanding. Most men do not complete the course. My son’s battalion sent six men to the school. All graduated. One was the honor graduate. Their success can be credited to the preparation they received from a former sniper instructor serving in the battalion. God often blesses pastors, deacons, and church members with young men and women just beginning their ministries. Are they better because of their time with us? How can we prepare them to succeed in the Kingdom? God expects nothing less from us.

For a Viet Nam veteran, the Wall in Washington D.C. cuts to the bone. Standing in front of the black stone causes one to wonder why good men have to die. There is a sense of survivor’s guilt, yet thankfulness. The movie Saving Private Ryan has a powerful scene which starts with the front porch of a farm house. A banner with four stars hangs in the window signifying the home has four family members in the military. The scene ends with the mother sitting down on the steps after hearing three of her sons won’t be coming home. The scene grips the heart because it has recurred countless times. I grew up hearing nightly news reports of casualties. We are again at war and every time I hear of more losses I wonder if they are young people I know. The beauty of the Christian life is that unshakeable truth that we will all come home safe. Maybe not to this life, but we will gather around the throne and rejoice with our loved ones. In First Thessalonians chapter two Paul reminds the believers facing persecution that they are his crown of joy. That’s why the mission is so critical. The church is to go unto all the world, making disciples, touching lives in the power of the Holy Spirit. It is God’s passion that the lost be found. It may cost us some discomfort, inconvenience, or even heartache, but it changes each new believer’s eternity.

Fathers desire to be proud of their children. It is not too hard for me to see my Father gathering all His children together and telling us, “Complete the mission; Take care of your men; and I will bring you home safe.” If we do, I know He will be proud of us.

“Or what king, going to make war against another king, does not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand.” Luke 14:31

 

No one engaged in warfare entangles himself with the affairs of this life, that he may please him who enlisted him as a soldier.” 2 Timothy 2:4

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

1. Who has God placed under your leadership and influence?
2. What are their strengths?
3. Do you have a strategy for helping them mature?
4. What is your mission?
5. No one is a perfect father or husband, but are you able to stand before God and have a clear conscience in your areas of responsibilities?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Guardians

By Wm. Ashley Brown

(Ashley is now the executive pastor of Wasilla Bible Church)

When people ask me what Ranger School is like, I laugh.  Where to start?  It stinks.  The instructors take away most of your sleep, food, and shelter for two and a half months, as you conduct simulated combat operations.  So how can I explain what that is like?  Unless you’ve been through something similar you won’t understand, but I’ll try to create a mental image.

Let me explain the Ranger School Instructors’ “Theory of Exhaustion.” This theory imagines a gauge that measures mental and/or physical exhaustion.  If a person reaches 100% on the gauge it results in death.  Most people never exceed their “comfort-zone limit” of 15-20% their entire lives.  This natural limit is seen when we slow down or stop if we run too fast or too far.  Furthermore, the Instructors believe that the vast majority of people have another “self-imposed limit” of 50% exhaustion.  People who have this limit will quit, regardless of consequences, when they become 50% exhausted.  The Instructors’ goal is to push each student to either quit or learn to maintain a level of 75-80% exhaustion as they lead other soldiers for a period of months.  To give an idea of how they do this, imagine the following.

Carry 90+ lbs of equipment as you move on foot for two and a half months, by day and night.  Cover 200+ cumulative miles on foot, and countless miles by helicopter, Zodiac boat, and parachute drop through forests, mountains, and swamps.  As you do, cut your daily caloric intake by 1000 calories and average about an hour of sleep per night.  Also, plan various complex events, navigate your entire way with only a map and compass, and complete a series of graded tasks.  Oh, and by the way, if you fail a task, you have to start the whole thing over again.

Strangely enough, Ranger School was fun.  After being stressed by instructors and cut off from the outside world for a little while, students sometimes forget that there is an outside world.  Also, it should be said that instructors usually throw unexpected variables into the “combat” missions.  We might get a change of orders, run into more enemy than expected, or any other twist the instructors can imagine.

One night we had orders to ambush an enemy force moving supplies. We were searching the enemy “bodies” and “prisoners” when we were surprised by an ATV speeding down the road.  The security team covering that direction quickly stopped the ATV carrying a camouflaged middle-aged man and a young boy.  The ATV had rifles strapped to it.  Fearing an instructor’s trick the security team pulled the man and boy off the vehicle at gunpoint while yelling at the top of their lungs.  The man and boy were noticeably frightened by these armed men on a moonlit, snow covered, “body” strewn road. The security team was in the process of getting the two insurgents to the ground when the instructors intervened, simultaneously pulling the security team off and apologizing to the terrified father and son.  The “insurgents” were on their way home from an unfruitful deer hunt. The instructors made sure the two civilians had not been hurt, spent a few minutes apologizing and giving explanations, and then sent them on their way.  Our platoon of Ranger students quickly melted back into the woods, heading towards our next mission, as a lone ATV sped off, leaving a “body-strewn” road to bask in the moonlight.  I’ve laughed many times since that night wondering what that must have been like for the man and his son.  Their eyes were the size of saucers, and I imagine they had stories to tell when they got home.

I do remember another story that isn’t funny, but illustrates what much of Ranger School was like for me.  I look to it as the low-point in my experience.  It also occurred in the mountains of northern Georgia. My platoon was preparing to go out for 4-5 days of patrols.  As we were conducting the mission planning it began to rain.  We started moving out around midday and it wasn’t long before we were soaked.  We had about nine miles to cover on foot as we crossed the Tennessee Valley Divide.  En route to our objective one of the members of our platoon was “killed” by a sniper.   Our platoon leader decided we still had several miles to cover and could not carry the dead man.  We buried our comrade up to his neck, and then we dug him out again.  (This was the instructors’ way of teaching us to care for our own, even on a mission.)  Afterward, our comrade was once again allowed to be “alive”.  By this time the rain had turned to sleet.  As we climbed higher into the mountains and nightfall came, it was snowing heavily.  After completing that night’s mission we found a pine thicket on the side of a mountain.  This would be “home” for the next few hours as we planned for the next mission.

I remember lying in the snow, soaking wet and shivering.  My buddy and I were huddled together for warmth as we pulled security, guarding our little thicket home.  I determined that I would quit the following morning.  Of course, when the sun came up I decided to stick around for another day.  That became my daily ritual.  Each night I decided to quit the following morning, but when morning came, I’d decide to quit later the following night.  I have yet to hear of a person who has been in Ranger School who never contemplated quitting.  The difference was that some decided to quit now, while others determined to quit later.  And that made all the difference.

A Dad’s Perspective

Many times Kathy and I [Bill] have felt burdened to pray for our sons. Ashley’s lowest point in Ranger School did not go unnoticed at home. That same morning Kathy and I were sitting in the early worship service at church when she leaned over to me and whispered, “I need to pray for Ashley.” She spent the rest of the service in her pew praying as church went on around her. Afterwards she expressed a sense of his need. Later we received the following note from Ashley:

Sunday 19 November 2000

Hey Mom and Dad,

Please, pray for me. I’m hitting a serious low right now. I don’t know why, but I am. I keep praying that I’ll hear Christmas carols on Thursday. You know . . .like how Mom always plays carols while cleaning up after Thanksgiving dinner. I’m exhausted. I long for the freedom and comfort/safety of home. The weather here doesn’t get above 50; average of 10-15 mph winds. Always raining. Never clean, dry, or warm. You don’t want to stop at night in the base. You stay warmer when you’re moving. Of course you can’t sleep if you’re moving. If I continue on this track I think I will hit the lowest mental point ever.

The good thing is that Christ is here. I talk to Him often in the long hours where none of us say a word other than a few hand signals while on patrol. His songs of praise constantly run through my head. Mom, the verses you and Sarah send me are pondered in my heart. Dad, the encouragement and deep discussions we’ve had on numerous topics push me to make you proud. I’ve conversed with you on numerous things from the presidential race to the interpretation of Scripture.  . . [break in his writing]  I pray that my body holds out. The good thing is that we get 3 meals a day when we’re in garrison up here. I think it’s to try and stem the loss of calories because of the cold. Breakfast is awesome [food is one of his favorite topics in his letters] They have heavenly blueberry pancakes. It’s always the high point of life itself. . . or so it seems. My hands, knees, and back are the things that ache the most. (I have commercial fishing hands, Dad J .) I’m reading through Acts as much as possible. I’ve been in Acts 16 for the last week. . . thinking a lot about Paul, Silas, that jailor, and the OTHER PRISONERS . . . Why didn’t they leave? Were they simply so impressed with Paul & Silas’ witness that they were compelled to remain near this source of light and truth? Gotta go again. [another break]

It’s snowing and raining now! SO COLD! Lord help me. It was hailing earlier this morning. Pray that Christ will give me the strength to push on. Gotta go. [break] I’m back . . . Praise the Lord! It started snowing . . . snowing in earnest. Soaking wet. Cold. I’ve gained more appreciation for the men at Bastogne and the Chosin Reservoir. They were amazing. Anyway . . .Why “praise the Lord” you ask? It started snowing . . . I am frozen. . . I was starting to hit an all time low. I don’t know how I could get much lower. We were moving to our objective and all of a sudden God made Himself real to me. I was suddenly impressed that you were praying for me at that moment, Mom. I don’t know if you really were praying for me at that moment, but I felt strongly comforted that you were praying at that very moment. I looked at my watch and realized that it was 9:05 am on Sunday. Today is Sunday. You were probably going to church, or fixing to head out the door. . . So maybe you really were praying for me. There’s a good chance. I was so overcome by that, and a feeling like God reached down and hugged me, that I started to tear up. I actually started to cry. That’s OK, though, I don’t think anybody saw me. (I’ve caught other guys crying at times. . . It’s been said that everyone breaks down and cries at least once in Ranger School, so I guess I don’t feel like too much of a wimp.) It was simply so overwhelming. . . the feeling of God’s presence.

 

Like all Ranger qualified soldiers Ashley is mentally tough. He finished the last four days of training hiding a broken foot from the medics. But it is evident from his letters that his strength is more than mental. We may never know if a mother’s prayers kept a young army officer from dropping out of Ranger School. But, I know during his tour in Afghanistan his mother would often wake in the middle of the night to pray. As Americans we need to honor the sacrifices that those serving in the military are making. America would be living in constant fear of terrorists without their efforts as guardians of our freedoms. That is apparent to anyone with a lick of sense. But parents also need to realize that God calls us to build a hedge of protection around our children with our prayers, love, and example. We are our children’s guardians and I know a parent’s prayers makes a difference.

“Now when she came to the man of God at the hill, she caught him by the feet, but Gehazi came near to push her away. But the man of God said, ‘Let her alone; for her soul is in deep distress, and the LORD has hidden it from me, and has not told me.’” 2 Kings 4:27 (NKJV)

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

 

1. Do you guard your family through regular prayer?
2. When God impresses someone on your thoughts do you intercede for them in prayer?
3. What is your spiritual exhaustion limit?
4. How has God worked to raise your limitation?
5. When you can not go one step further spiritually do you turn to God?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ambushed in Afghanistan”

By Wm Ashley Brown

Originally printed in SBC Life

My mission in the first half of December started like most others I have had during my time in Afghanistan.  It ended up being anything but.

I left Forward Operating Base Salerno on my way to the city of Gardeyz for a 10-day mission, responsible for the lives of 62 men.  I still remember the last words my commander, Captain Condrey, said to me as I climbed into my up-armored HMMWV for our departure, “Bring ‘em all home.”  Those are the most sobering words I have ever heard, especially as our route would take us through a treacherous mountain pass affectionately known as “Ambush Alley”.  With that thought lodged in my mind we began our movement.  And, I realized that though I have no power over life and death, I was responsible to do everything in my power to bring these men back alive.

A week and a half later I was once again nervously preparing to lead my men through the Khowst-Gardeyz Pass.  Over the previous week and a half we had seen God’s provision in very visible ways.  As we were traveling to Gardeyz one of our vehicles broke down in the middle of Ambush Alley.  God had already arranged for our protection.  A trusted friend was meeting a supply shipment exactly where we broke down.  Though he was surprised to find us in the pass, he and his men gladly provided us security as we repaired our broken vehicle.  When we arrived at Gardeyz the senior officer informed us we would be living in different tents than originally planned.  While we were unpacking our equipment and settling into our new tents, we heard the familiar whistle of an incoming rocket.  As we dove to the ground it landed in the midst of the tents we were originally supposed to occupy.  Had we been in those tents, as first planned, it certainly would have been the largest single loss of American lives to date in the entire Global War on Terrorism.  Even atheists in our group conceded that there had been divine intervention involved in protecting us during both our breakdown and the rocket attack.  We were thankful that we had survived the day with no casualties, and everyone realized it was not due to our own skill.  These memories of God’s protection kept running through my mind as I stood looking at the mountains south of Gardeyz, mentally rehearsing and reevaluating the task ahead of me.

While standing by my vehicle, Sergeant First Class Adams approached me.  As the senior enlisted man on this mission, he was my right hand and experienced advisor.  He looked up and down the convoy at each of the vehicles.  We would have six additional vehicles, Toyota Hiluxes, on this trip through the pass.  SFC Adams then looked at the Toyota next to us.  He assessed the unarmored vehicle, as he had several times the previous night, and then spoke up.  “Sir, are you sure you don’t want to ride in one of the up-armors?  It wouldn’t be good to lose you in the first minute of the firefight if we get hit.”  I looked at him with a grim smile and replied, as I had the night prior, “No.  The Hilux will let me mount more communications equipment.  Besides, nobody can touch me unless God decides it’s my time to go, and when He does there’s nowhere for me to hide.”  I didn’t share the rest of my thought from the previous night, if anyone is to get hit in one of these things, it should be me.  At least I know where I’m going afterward.  He looked at me for a moment then shook his head.  Turning to walk back to his vehicle, he yelled to the men, “Mount up!”   With that command our vehicles roared to life, and we began to move toward the mountains looming before us.

The mountain roads in Afghanistan are narrow and treacherous.  Usually they are dirt ribbons, barely two lanes wide, threaded between sheer rock cliffs and seemingly bottomless gorges.  In such terrain there is little hope for any force that is ambushed, as it has no place to find cover or room to maneuver.  Fully aware of this, my commander’s words of the week before came back to me, and I prayed that God would simply get us home.  Weaving our way through the pass as I prayed, we approached the most notorious portion of “Ambush Alley” for the second time in as many weeks.  However, this time we did not make the journey untouched.

While we neared the miniscule village of Asmani, my driver, Specialist Shannon, shared his and his wife’s plans upon our return to America.  As I glanced over at him my perception of reality suddenly became a slow motion film, every detail etched sharply in my mind.  Somehow my eyes saw and my mind comprehended the blast before I felt it.  Seeing the explosion on the other side of my driver, I thought Lord, don’t let this hurt, as I closed my eyes and felt the force of the concussion.  I was certain my time on Earth was done, as was my driver.   Men in the trucks behind me saw the blast destroy the rock wall to my right, leaving a silhouette of my truck, as we disappeared in a storm of shrapnel and debris.  They fully expected to find SPC Shannon and me dead in the wreckage, but none of them expected that outcome more than I.

I opened my eyes to a world of dust and smoke, and I glanced at my driver.  Somehow he was still driving, and I was still sitting upright.  I began searching his body with my eyes and hands for any evidence of blood, as I yelled to him over the muffled silence in my deafened ears.  I needed to find out if he had been hit.  Finding no blood, and hearing his overly loud reply of, “If you wouldn’t yell in my ringing ears, I’d be good!” I was convinced he was uninjured.  As I called over the radio and directed our convoy, SPC Shannon continued to maneuver our damaged vehicle down the road, all the while clearing shattered glass, plastic, and metal from his line of vision.  Our convoy kept moving as quickly as possible away from the area of the ambush.  Although there were other shots fired, miraculously no one else was hit in the ambush.  Thankfully we were able to limp back to our base with all of our vehicles and personnel.

Upon arriving at Forward Operating Base Salerno, a few hours later, SPC Shannon and I got out of our truck and surveyed the damage.  Even though the shrapnel had destroyed the rock wall all around our truck, not a single piece hit our truck.  All of the shattered glass and crumpled metal was caused by the concussion of the explosion.  He looked at me and gave a disbelieving grin.  His statement expressed both of our thoughts, “No way… there’s NO way!”  I could only nod and say, “God must have other things planned for you and me.”  He laughed, and simply said, “Maybe,” as he headed to his tent.   I was left to ponder the day while I walked to my mission debriefing.

My commander entered the room as I briefed our task force intelligence officer on the events of the day.  I could tell by the look on my commander’s face he wasn’t sure whether to be happy or upset.  “Why weren’t you in one of the up-armors?” he sternly questioned.  I told him the same thing I had told SFC Adams that morning, and I got much the same reaction.  He simply shook his head with a laugh, saying, “Well it’s good to have you ALL home.”  He slapped my shoulder, smiled, and walked out the door.  I was glad to be back, and I was exhilarated at what I had witnessed of God’s power.

Christians and non-believers alike have seen the hand of God in Afghanistan and Iraq.  He has made Himself visible in very tangible ways.  Combat is providing countless Christians with opportunities to share their faith and the power of our God.  Please, pray for their safety, but more importantly for their witness.  Pray that Christian soldiers, me included, will be faithful in bringing light to those around them.  However, we are not the only torchbearers in this world of darkness and spiritual warfare.  We as Christians, all of us, regardless of where we find ourselves, are witnesses.  We all have a role in a greater war.  We all have been called to allow God to use us in any way to reach the world.  We all have certain people for whom God has made us responsible and accountable.  We have all been tasked by our Father and Commander to share His message and, “Bring ‘em all home.”  So the question is, will we?

‘The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer;

My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,

My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold and my refuge;

My savior, You save me from violence.’” 2 Samuel 22:1-3

 

Ashley wrote this article shortly after his return from Afghanistan where he served as company executive officer in 1^st /501^st Parachute Infantry Regiment.  It was originally published in SBCLife magazine.

 

 

 

LIFE QUESTION:

 

How miraculous must God be before we will recognize His involvement in our lives?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lost Isn’t A Place

 

Army pilots must past annual exams to maintain flight status. One part of the exam process involves the -10 or “Dash 10.” An open book exam, the Dash 10 requires the aviator to calculate operating limitations, loads, and performance characteristics of the unit aircraft.   The exam serves to remind the pilot that the helicopter can only do what the designer engineered into the machine. Bob crashed near Petersburg after loosing his engine because he got caught low, slow, and pulling pitch. The Hughes 500’s Dash 10 clearly identifies that as fatal. Bred to retrieve Labs have the thick coat, disposition, and tender mouth prerequisite for duck hunting. Isolate a Lab from people, retrieving, and the water, and you will have one sad puppy.

Why do we recognize that aircraft, dogs, and almost every other thing can have purposes and limitations, but we reject that is also true of us? God created mankind to live in relationship with Him. When sin entered the mix that relationship was broken. People often categorize sin as smoking, drinking, chewing, not going to church, or an endless list of actions. In truth those things are a symptomatic of sin. My dad had been involved in atomic tests at White Sands while in the army. At 72 he was diagnosed with service related terminal cancer. Before he died he had large knots on his arms. Those knots weren’t the problem. They indicated there was a problem. Our problem is sin. When I live my life according to my plans, no matter how moral those plans may be, then I am sinning. Remember the Dash 10? When I sin I am operating outside of the design. I will have problems with relationships, purpose, peace of mind, and life in general.

Sin separates us from God. Jesus used stories about a lost coin, a lost sheep, and a lost son to illustrate how important we are to Him. Sin separates us from God, but God loves us enough to seek us. Jim tried to find his way back to the canoe, but he just walked in circles. He didn’t even realize he was lost for a good while. Complicating matters today are the large numbers of religious teachers, actors, and authors who will tell you that there are multiple paths to God, all that matters is that you are sincere. If I am on a compass setting that is wrong, I am not getting back to camp no matter how sincere I may be. We have already established that you can’t find your own way, so the only path that matters is the one God is taking to come to you in the person of Jesus Christ. Only Christianity teaches that God seeks the lost.

A few years I was a host to a visiting scholar at one of our local universities. Masood, a devout Muslim from Pakistan, questioned why God would have to come as a man. I shared with him my frustration of traveling overseas without knowing the language. I am always looking for someone who speaks English. He was able to relate to the idea that God must provide a “translator” for us to know Him. Christ bridges the gap between a Holy God and sinful man. He helps us know God, because He is God in the flesh. He represents us before God since He is man.

God is God and I am not, therefore, I cannot really wrap my mind around an infinite being. God is beyond comprehension, but by taking on flesh and blood Jesus allows us to know Him. Jesus is Liar, Lunatic, or Lord. He said:

“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. “In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. “And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also.”And where I go you know, and the way you know.” Thomas said to Him, “Lord, we do not know where You are going, and how can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.”  John 14:1-6 (NKJV)

 

In spite of what others may say, Jesus states that He is the only means of salvation.

When Jim came to the realization that he was lost he fired a shot to signal us. After finding him we all walked back to the canoe together. For Jim to get back to camp and the warm fire he had to take several actions. First, he had to give up on finding his own way. Then he had to agree that I knew the way, and last of all he had to follow me. The Bible calls that confession and repentance. Confession means agreeing with God that my life in falling short of his standard. The actual Greek word for repentance means “about face.”  We go our own way until we do an “about face” and follow God.

One Christmas in Ketchikan my boys gave me (actually Kathy bought it) a halibut rod and reel. The minute I saw it behind the tree in Christmas wrapping and leaning against the wall I knew what it was. I did nothing to earn it; that would be a wage. The Bible says, “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord”. Romans 6:23 (NKJV) It also says, “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.” Eph 2:8, 9 (NKJV) My boys gave me the rod and reel as a gift because they loved me. I can’t earn a gift; all I can do is accept it. That is especially true of the gift of eternal life. All I can do is accept the truth that God covered my sin with the blood of Christ. He took my “wages” and gave me eternal life. I wanted a new halibut rig. I knew I had been given one. But, until I accepted the gift it didn’t do me any good. God has done everything necessary for my salvation, but I must accept the gift.

Becoming a Christian is not detached head knowledge. The biblical model is best expressed by the term “follower of Christ.” If I realize that He is the Creator that designed me, and He knows the way home; then the only logical action is to follow Him. Being a follower of Christ is a life long journey which begins with an act of will.

Let me give several reasons why you should follow Christ. You have tremendous spiritual influence if you are a father. Research found if the father is the first one in the family to follow Christ then there is a 93% probability that the rest of the family will follow him. My sons are grown men, yet I still find myself inspecting their tires for worn treads. Fathers want the best for their children. We work hard to provide for them and protect them. Yet, tires, clothes, college, sport camps, and everything else we do for them will pass away, except how we prepare them spiritually. God wants you to be the spiritual trailbreaker for your family not the stumbling block.

The second major reason you should follow Christ is the truth that getting the most out of life only occurs by following His plan. Christ doesn’t promise us wealth, health, or fame, but He does say, “The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.” John 10:10 (NKJV) Following Christ is an adventure. He gives purpose, direction, and strength to live life to the fullest. It takes a strong man to live for Christ. So, what are you going to do with the gift of the Cross?

If you decide to follow Christ, then I want to encourage you to find a church that preaches and teaches the Bible. Peter warns us, “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.”  1 Peter 5:8 (NKJV) Christianity is not a solo walk. We need friends who will hold us accountable and also be there when our load starts weighing us down. We need friends to “watch our back.”

There are no magic formulas or special words you have to say to follow Christ. He knows your heart. But, if you have decided to follow Him, He will forgive you, cleanse you, and change you. Some changes may take years, but the Bible says that you are a new creation. In John Jesus uses the expression of being born again. You are starting a new life under the direction of the Creator of the outdoors that we love. Enjoy!

 

 

“And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, “that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. “For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved. “He who believes in Him is not condemned; but he who does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.” John 3:14-18 (NKJV)

 

LIFE QUESTIONS:

1. Do you know where you are spiritually?
2. What is your purpose in life?
3. How has God designed you?
4. If you are not a Christian, what is stopping you?
5. Do you need to talk with someone to answer additional questions? If so I would be happy to help in any way I can.