A Splash of Blood - Happy Easter Everyone!

I was walking to work one day, and I noticed something on the sidewalk. I had actually seen it before, but never attached any significance to identifying it.
It was a stain left by some dark liquid that had splashed and dried. There was a trail of drops leading away from it back up the sidewalk for a few feet where it ended. It was interrupted by a footprint that cut across the trail. I had seen it for a few days prior to this, but in my hurry to get to my desk each morning I had given it almost no thought. Why today it caught my eye I have no idea, but as I passed it again this day I noticed the color of the substance. It was a deep, reddish brown.
I stopped in shocked realization that I was looking at blood!
How many people had walked past or over it every day and given it no notice? How and why had this that had passed through someone’s veins been so haphazardly spilled? It was no small amount. If I had a wound that allowed that great a loss I would surely seek help with it. There was no way to tell how this occurred, and yet my mind called up violent images that seemed unavoidable. How could blood be spilled after all without violence in such a public place without edge or forceful impact? And then I had to ask how having spilled could it be so easily ignored, as I had in fact done? How could I not have seen it for what it was?
It had to follow, of course, that my thoughts would lead me to Someone else’s blood, also shed with violence, but violence that ended in glorious purpose. And just as so many of us had walked over this splash on the sidewalk, how many have waded through rivers of the stuff that rage across our lives grasping for our attention only to be studiously ignored in an effort to maintain our self determined path at cross purposes to the Truth? What does it take for God to get my attention?
Just who am I living for anyway?
In the process of the Hebrew sacrificial rites that ended when the temple in Jerusalem was destroyed, one of the final acts was the pouring of the “drink offering”. Thus Paul, when he felt his death was near, wrote that he was being “poured out as a drink offering” (2Tim. 4:6). But just as Christ was the final sacrifice, so His blood is the final blood shed for our redemption, as He said at the last supper , “Drink from it all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.” (Matt. 26:27b-28) And yet as final as that act is the flow continues at whatever rate is necessary to cover the sins of this world, for where sin is grace abounds.
What all this means is that we must let go, dive in, “go with the flow”, drowning and dying to live again.
And it all started one night long ago in Jerusalem.
Satan called upon Death, his most powerful weapon, to finally put a stop to the machinations of grace which Christ had begun. Death was a warrior at whose feet everyone had ultimately fallen. Death took Christ up in his giant fist and began to squeeze the life out of Him.
This Blood, this stuff of eternal life began to flow one drop at a time.
The whip scourges the smooth skin of Christ’s back.
Drip.
Death is confused by this sudden pain he has never felt before, caused by the touch of the blood of this Lamb.
The crown of thorns is beaten down upon His brow.
Drip.
Death begins to squeeze harder and harder trying to stanch the flow.
The nails are driven through Christ’s wide open hands.
Drip. Drip.
His body is taken down from the cross.
Death has used up all his strength to vanquish the enemy of Hell.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The stone is rolled away.
Death collapses, defeated, destroyed, a useless and empty husk.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Death has himself died, and from his lifeless grasp Christ has risen!
“O death, where is your victory?”(1Cor. 15:55)
Thomas places his doubting fingers in Christ’s open wounds.
Dripdripdripdrip….
The apostles live and die for the life He gave them.
Dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdrip…..
And as every river starts with just a trickle so this trickle becomes a torrent raging across time that no force of darkness can ever hope to stop, divert or slow.
“…this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many…”
He left a trail of blood that you can miss only after you have seen it first, and actively choose to turn away, but the Word was made flesh and He refuses to be ignored!
God could never again be relegated to the back of our minds as a mere “concept” anymore. He created a hallowed ground in every human heart; a holy of holies where only He can tread. His presence there suddenly made one thing obvious:
A choice must be made.
Always a choice.
Live or die.
You have a 50/50 chance of survival if you’re merely looking at the odds, but if you choose life it’s a 100% guarantee.
It seems a simple choice, but we make it difficult when we think we have a lot to lose. We try to hang on to what we have by shedding our own blood to pay the price for our freedom, but all I have is as nothing against the payment of this debt. And the only thing I have to show for my efforts are the scars left from where I’ve ironically slashed my own wrists trying to save myself.
Every year we celebrate Easter. Like many other things the true purpose of this occasion has been overshadowed by meaningless customs involving eggs, chocolate bunnies and new hats.
But some of us will remember.
I tend to look at it as two distinct events; His Passion and His resurrection. In reality I should see them as one. His death and resurrection were a single process that qualified Him as the complete sacrifice once and for all. Both events had to occur in order for His life to be enough to tip the scales in my favor.
Some only see the inside of a church at Christmas and Easter, and I suppose if you are only going to come twice a year those are the times for it. But I have to wonder if you aren’t hearing the same message both times.
At Christmas you hear the announcement of the angelic host:
He Lives!
Throughout Christ’s entire life on earth He prepares us for the show of strength that only He could perform. The one thing we take most for granted in Christ’s existence. For the Point of Easter, the Bottom Line, the Final Act is really the same that we hear at Christmas.
The inevitable conclusion of Christ is this same angelic message at Easter:
He Lives!

And as we come and sit on the banks of this never ending river of cleansing, bloody Grace, as we begin to comprehend that the supply never runs out we realize:
He Lives!
©Dan Bode 2005

Truth and Forgiveness - Here's another old one. I realize that I haven't posted anything new lately. There are a lot in the works but nothing completed. I've been realizing that all the stuff I wrote before were really just lessons I would need for this part of my life. I run across them just when I need them.Weird how God does that.

Truth and forgiveness are intimately intertwined.

It is often the truth of who we are or what we do that requires forgiveness.

That is what makes the forgiveness of Christ so profound.

I have asked forgiveness of other people innumerable times.  I am guilty of some offense that requires the salving of my conscience on a regular basis.  It is the lack of truth in my life, thoughts, or actions that leads to the need for forgiveness.  It is the inevitable search for truth that ultimately leads to the act of forgiveness. 

I may be lying to myself on some point of my personality.  I may have done something wrong intentionally or not that requires correction.  It is the application of truth that determines whether these things are brought to light and made right, or left uncorrected to fester and become a thorn in my side.  Have you ever noticed how “one lie deserves another”?  No fabrication is made up of just one line.  It’s a whole complicated structure.   The further along we go in its construction, the more difficult it is to come clean with the truth.   

Forgiveness.

Mercy.

Absolution.

There is so much tied up in those words it would take a lifetime to unravel it all. 

As a matter of fact, it took a life in order for us to have access to it.

The process of confession and forgiveness is painful for both the offender and the one offended. 

For the offender he or she must acknowledge that they have done something offensive.  He must see that someone has been hurt.  He must be willing to provide some recompense for the offense in order to make it right. 

A sacrifice is required.

For the one offended the hurt must be revisited.  What did this cost him or her in terms of pain?  What sacrifice can reasonably be demanded to satisfy the debt caused by the offense?  What price will he put on a damaged life?  Is he willing and capable of allowing that debt to be wiped away, and risk experiencing the same hurt again as if it had not happened before? 

This was the point of Jesus’ dialogue with His disciples when He was asked how many times someone should be forgiven. 

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?"
Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.” (Matt. 18:21-22 NIV)

Would it be up to the seven times in one day prescribed by Jewish law?  Rather it should be seventy-seven times!  It should be far beyond what is considered humanly possible, because God has taken responsibility for vengeance.  It is completely beyond human expectations.  Not only that, but He has made a relationship with Him dependent on our practice of the forgiveness of those who have offended us!

“For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.” (Matt. 6:14-15 NIV)

We must also understand that Truth is dependant on Grace in order for Forgiveness to be effective.

If I live by Truth alone I will become a legalist.  Truth alone does not allow for the impact of the pain of its existence.  Truth and honesty are virtuous attributes, but can they stand alone as foundational concepts to our lives without the strength provided for in Forgiveness and Grace?  I don’t think so.  Truth is often dealt with in terms of cold hard facts.  “This is the Truth, and there is nothing else to say about it.  Punishment for the offense must go forward.”  This is legalism.  There is no quarter given, no compassion shown.  No absolution offered.  This is the Law and nothing more.

This is where we begin to gain some concept of the depth of the Grace and Forgiveness offered by Christ.  Legalism is born of man’s inherent need for vengeance when wronged.  For this reason God took away man’s claim to revenge when He said, “Vengeance is mine.” (Deut. 32:35 NIV)  He sealed that claim even further with the death of Christ.  Man is not qualified to properly demand recompense when he is wronged.  Only God can be completely fair, and in His fairness He also knows that a sacrifice is required of someone at some point in order to satisfy that need for vengeance.  So He gave His Son to once and finally satisfy the need for vengeance, as the recompense for peace.

But it really goes even further than this. 

According to scripture it is appointed for man to die once.  The sequence of living is no accident: birth – life – death.  That’s it.  There is no continuously repeating cycle.  We die and we gain our reward. 

To die with meaning requires an abundant life, not necessarily a long one.

It’s easy to die for something.  Once dead our commitment to this world is over.  Death bed promises made to, or by, anyone are irrelevant; they mean nothing where we go. 

Dying is easy.  It’s the living with or through something that’s difficult.

It is significant to note that Christ did both.

He died for our sins, but then lived again with the intention of living through it with us again, and again, and again.

Anyone can die, and every one of us will.  But dying is only half the commitment.  Living again is the other half.

Such is the depth of His commitment.  Christ died to prove His point, but He is the only one capable of fulfilling it.

There is no telling what each of us might accomplish with a life committed to Christ.  Only He knows what we are capable of, and what we will actually do.

Dying is easy – crowns, mansions, streets of gold – not such a hard choice when you really stop to think about it.  It’s living a life of joyful anticipation that’s difficult.

That is why we are called to be “living sacrifices” (Romans 12:1 NIV).

It is hard to imagine that our greatest joy in this life is completely overshadowed by the joys of the next, and once having grasped that concept to then have to wait.

When my oldest daughter Jennifer was a little girl she once asked, among the enormous volume of questions she had in life, what heaven would be like.  I told her that I didn’t really know all the details, but it would be beautiful. 

“What will we do there?” she asked.

“Well the Bible says we’ll be spending a lot of time praising God for starters.” I said.

We said our prayers together and put her and her sister to bed.  After a few minutes she yelled for me in a way that any parent can tell that something is wrong.  Her mother and I ran into her room and turned on the light.  She was sitting up in bed crying.

We went over to her to comfort her thinking that we were dealing with fears of the dark or something like that.  Not so.

“You know when you told me what we’d be doing in heaven?” she asked.

“Sure.” I said, puzzled.

As she broke into tears again she asked, “What if I get bored?”

I suppose that’s part of the mystery.  How does one imagine the things of heaven can satisfy the needs of man?  We have to look at the possibility of heaven as reality in order for it to have an impact on the life we’re living now.

Living is the long wait for the best part.

The Truth we live with is that we have dirtied ourselves and are not qualified or able to obtain the rewards we are promised.  Therefore we must be given the cleansing Forgiveness required by someone stronger, and truthfully qualified, to give it.  Our feet must be washed by the hand of the Servant King who is the only One clean enough to dispel the filth we have picked up along the path.

So when next forgiveness is asked of me I must asked myself if what I give is genuine or is it merely to salve my own conscience?  Is the forgiveness I offer the complete forgiveness of the Sacrifice?  Is there Truth in my Forgiveness, or is it merely palliative to allow myself to feel better about myself?  Does it truly encompass the desire of the God of heaven?

Forgiveness inspires questions, questions, questions….

And all of their answers require the Truth.

©Dan Bode 2003

The Joy of Discovery - Every once in a while I read some old stuff, and I realize there are so many lessons He's already taught me, and I've just been spinning my wheels trying to learn it all over again! This is one of those from 2008..

We started our little excursion with great expectations.  We were eagerly anticipating the excited exclamations over all the new experiences to come.

My wife and I were given the opportunity to take our then 11 month old granddaughter Kaya to the zoo for the first time.  We thought that the variety of the animals would consume all of her attention, and that she would thrill to the sites of all the exotic places represented in the confines of the zoo. 

We were wrong. 

At our house she is fascinated by the dog and the cat. 

I think it’s probably fair to say the fascination is not necessarily mutual.  While our dog seemingly can’t get enough of her, the cat tends to quietly walk (or run) the other way when she approaches her.  There at the zoo she saw animals like the giraffe, the tiger, monkeys, snakes, flamingoes, and even the rear paw of a lion who was wisely lounging in the shade of a rock in the 103 degree heat.  They used to have a hippo, which was kind of fun to watch when they fed it, but I think it died several years ago and they haven’t put anything else in its pen.  How do you tell when a hippo is dead anyway?  Does it actually go belly up like a goldfish, or does it just float there like it does when it’s alive?  Something to ponder.  Anyway, I suppose the heat had something to do with Kaya’s lack of appreciation as well; it certainly sapped a lot of our enthusiasm. 

Instead, when she was given the opportunity to choose her own object of interest, she sat down on the ground and picked up a dried leaf.  She stared at it in fascination for a few moments and then proceeded to bring it toward her mouth for a taste test.  I’m relatively confident that she has a discerning enough palate that she would have grimaced and spit it out, but you never really know at that age so my wife deftly intercepted it before she reached her goal. 

In retrospect I suppose we should have expected this.  She was at a stage in her development where she was more acutely concerned with what was immediately within her reach.  The dog and the cat are within her reach; the giraffe and the screaming monkey were not.

It seems as though we often have an appreciation of simple things only when we first discover them, or when know we are about to lose them forever. 

The beginning or the end. 

The first flush of passion in a relationship puts our entire life plan in a new light.  By the same token, the end of that relationship will often cause us to make terribly unwise decisions that we only recognize as unwise in hindsight.

When we find ourselves in a situation that we dislike our tendency is to berate ourselves (or someone else depending on how well we accept personal responsibility) for the actions we took that put us there instead of dealing with the situation as it is. 

Over the years as Kaya has grown I have watched her develop in ways that I knew would eventually happen, but astound me even though I expect them.  When she was two she had a different point of view.

On a typical drive home for my daughter Jennifer, and Kaya they were just driving along talking about whatever came to Kaya’s mind.  She was talking about some trees.  Jennifer asked, “How big were they?”

Holding her hands up above her head as high as she could Kaya replied,

“They were THIS big!”

And then, with her hands still in the air, she looked to the side and asked,

“Do trees have armpits?”

Jennifer laughed, and I laughed when she told me about it.  But then I started to think about it a little. 

Do trees have armpits?

My immediate and automatic response is “no”, but how do I know this?  Just because I never thought to ask the question doesn’t automatically mean it’s not so.  I can’t recall anytime in my life in which I’ve heard the words “trees” and “armpits” in the same sentence. 

So who am I to say “no” definitively?

So I did some research. 

We have a sycamore tree in our front yard that I planted several years ago.  It has grown well and quickly, but I’m going to have to cut it down and plant another one.  I didn’t plant it correctly and now I have a lot of surface roots, and surface roots on a tree that can grow to 30-40 feet tall right in front of my house is not a good thing.  Anyway, it has a lot of low branches that are perfect for just this kind of research.  I went out to the front yard, at night, after looking around carefully to make sure no one was watching, and I sniffed the tree right where the branch joins the trunk.  It smelled like I would expect a tree to smell; kind of green, and woody.  Definitely woody.

I smelled another part of the tree at the trunk.  It was the same.

Next I went to that source of information that everyone knows is absolutely ironclad in its accuracy: the internet.

I actually found several references to the armpits of trees, but they were used figuratively by artists in their description of a tree.  No one really identified a tree armpit as an actual thing. 

Regardless, I don’t think I will ever look at the point where the branch of a tree meets the trunk in the same way ever again.

Kaya is now three and a half, and her dialogue has taken another turn.

In another discussion with her mother she stated,

“I think when God made me it was like a puzzle for Him.”

“What do you mean?” asked her mother.

“I mean that when God put me together it was like putting a puzzle together.”

I’m pretty sure when I was three and a half I NEVER got philosophical about the process of my creation. 

It occurs to me when she says something new that she is in the process of discovery.  She sees it all with new eyes.  No matter how many times she sees something, or how much she actually knows about it, she seems to sense that there is still something about it that is new to her.  There is still some mystery left in everything, but I, in my adult “wisdom”, have chosen to focus only on what I know instead of pursuing what I don’t know.  In doing so I have remained safely rooted on the “solid” ground of my own knowledge.  I have effectively clipped my own wings.  I have bound myself to man’s earth and denied myself the heavens.

Jesus said, “Behold I am making all things new.” (Rev. 21:5). This is the same line that we Christians only read occasionally and rarely ever apply.  It takes a crisis of major proportion to bring us to the point where we see the old as new, and the sunrise as original as the sunset.  My granddaughter is fascinated with dried leaves, and yet it takes space probes to Mars and beyond to hold my attention.  I cannot make a leaf or a blade of grass, and yet the process of its growth only concerns me as far as my need to rake it up or mow it down.  Even closer to home is my own body.  I abuse it regularly, but I take little heed from my doctor when he tells me what I need to do to care for it properly, and it is such an incredible wonder of creation! 

And I can’t be the only one to realize at moments like this that in the end I really have no ability to create anything at all.  The only skill man has is to manipulate what has already been created.  We certainly have the ability to warp and abuse this creation, and we do so regularly to our shame, but really create?  No.  The simple fact that we exist as created beings means that we cannot create something out of nothing, because we ourselves are created.  The title of Creator can only be applied to the one who was there first, and that is God alone; the First and Last, the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End. 

We are only stewards of what is.

There are things to wonder at all around us, but our preoccupation with “progress” and “forward” thinking causes all of them to be ignored, left to lie haphazardly in our destructive wake, and leaves us in a related state of ignorance.

Once discovered, how can I ignore the reality of what He sets before me? 

It may seem as though this indicates some special divine attention to my life, but that is not so.  He gives the same attention to each of us, and I am loved by Him no more than anyone else, but just as certainly no less.  He loves each of us with His whole being; for when we are told “God is Love” it means that He is Love.  He is the only source of it.  It is who He is. 

It is when my pursuit of His presence takes an active note in my life that I begin to see things more clearly, because a relationship with Him requires my active participation, just as He has actively put me in this world.  It is my responsibility to move in this life rather than sit and wait for my inevitable death.  I cannot sit and do nothing while I am pinned beneath the boulder of my doubts.  What holds me back must be let go, done away with, cut off.   Amputation is never pretty whether it’s done in the wilderness or on the surgeon’s table, but it is often necessary for survival.  The truth of the matter is that a relationship with Christ is a transaction: You give Him all of you, and He gives you more than you could ever be on your own, and more than you ever even thought to want. 

The process of discovery, as I recognize all that He puts in front of me, is His method of showing me His active, daily presence. 

This is where I discover the gap in my life.

This is a gap that even the love of God will not cross. 

It is the gap of my own choice. 

That choice is the most important thing that Christ has given me.  It is the only thing that allows grace to save me from His wrath, for while God is love He is also just, and in His justice He demands that all debts be paid by me, or by Him. 

And I myself am wholly incapable of settling that debt.

And so the process of discovery, while usually worked out at the beginning or the end, really should be a continuous practice that starts at the beginning and never has an end.  It has eternal potential depending on our choice.

Christmas is the offer, Good Friday is the payment, Easter is the redemption, and His flowing blood is the currency of my survival.  

My choice of Him seals the transaction in my favor.

The Choice, beloved (for you are His beloved), is yours.

©2008 Dan Bode

Remembering Christmas

Have I mentioned that I love Christmas?
I always complain that it comes too quickly, and that it "sneaks up on me".  I get tired of  seeing how early the stores start putting Christmas merchandise on the shelves every year.  I get tired of hearing how someone is offended by it.  I never get the decorations up as early as I'd like, if at all.
And then, slowly or quickly, loudly or subtly, it's HERE!
And I remember...
I remember that stores can't tell me when to celebrate.
I remember that society can't tell me how or what to celebrate.
I remember that I wait in joyful expectation of it every year.
I remember that no matter what the year past has given me, or what the year to come will bring....
I remember that my God is HERE!
This is what all creation lives in anticipation of and always will.
There is no one who can limit the expression of the love my God has for me.
And so I remember that when all the wrapping paper is gone and the decorations are put away...
It's really always Christmas, for my God is still here, and I will spend my time with Him -
for then I am in good company.

Please remember Him, for He remembers you...
Merry Christmas everyone!


Dan Bode
12/25/2013

Picking Teams - "...as I looked over the pool of team prospects my eyes fell upon the last person I ever, EVER expected to see in that group."

When I was a kid I engaged in any number of activities that served to enrich my life.  There were also a number of other activities that almost served to end my life as well, but I’m not sure if the statute of limitations is up on some of those so I’m not talking about them right now.

I was reminded recently of something that I hope kids are still doing today just because they need to get out more anyway.  I never had to spend hundreds of dollars on anything in order to have fun.  I ran, I jumped (occasionally off the roof), I crawled into places I wasn’t supposed to be,… everything. 

And we played baseball.  Anywhere.  The street, an empty field, a too small backyard (windows were in danger), - all that was necessary was a bat and a ball, or a stick and a rock if that was all that was available (we were more careful with the rocks). 
An inevitable part of the process of playing baseball was picking teams.  This was always a source of anxiety for pretty much everyone involved.  If you were the captain picking then you were anxious because you wanted to get the first pick and the best players.  If you were in the group being picked from you were anxious to be picked, and your anxiety increased the longer you remained unpicked. There was also anxiety surrounding who else got picked for your team because you didn’t want to have to play with someone who happened to be your sworn enemy that week.
There was one day when I found myself in the best and worst situation of my life.  If you had asked me to imagine a bad situation I would NEVER, have been able to make this one up.  NOT EVER! I mean NEVER in a HUNDRED MILLION BILLION YEARS would I have imagined this could happen!  Not only could I not imagine it, but I wouldn’t even wish my worst enemy to be in that situation! 

I was 8 or 9 years old, and we were at a church potluck.  I went through grade school at a school that was part of our church as well so all of the kids that I played ball with at school were there too.  The school principal, Mr. Janzow, organized a baseball game.  Mr. Janzow was the ultimate authority figure.  Strict, fair, and respected by the most hardened child.  We called him "Chrome Dome" behind his back due to his baldness, which he knew about and took in good humor.  When Mr. Janzow got enthusiastic about something everyone just naturally went along with it.  And he loved baseball.  Every year he would bring a television set into the classroom to watch the World Series.  Back then hauling a TV anywhere was a project in itself.  They were heavy and they didn’t have wireless hookups or remote controls.  You had 4 channels max.  Maybe a couple more if you got the rabbit ears just right to pick up a UHF channel.

So we all ran out onto the baseball lot at school to start the game.  And this is where IT happened.

Usually the best players were always the captains, but today Mr. Janzow chose the captains and he called out their names. 

 

“Ok the captains are going to be Danny, and David!” 

Huh?  Not Jeff Schultz and Steve Diaz?!  Is there another Danny here?  There actually was another Danny in the class who was my good friend Danny Buice, but we always called him Dan to differentiate between us.

“Danny come on up here and pick your team!” 

Stunned at my good fortune I walked up to take my place.  I was a good player, but I was by no means the best so I didn’t usually get this opportunity.  I have to say I actually probably basked in the glow of the spotlight for a few minutes.  This was the best moment for me.

Then came the worst.

“Ok everyone come on over to pick teams!” He yelled, but then came the fateful words:  “Adults too!”

All the kids looked at each other.  Adults?  They play baseball?  Who would have thought?  We all kind of shrugged our shoulders as if to say, “Yeah ok.  We can still have fun.”
Then we turned around and realized with quiet horror that the adults there were OUR PARENTS! 

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

And as I looked over the pool of team prospects my eyes fell upon the last person I ever, EVER expected to see in that group.  Huh???!!!  That’s my MOM!!!  What the heck is SHE doing there?!  I’m pretty sure she never played baseball in her life!   Everyone saw her move into the group, and then everyone looked at me.  I could see the same thought pass through their minds.

“You HAVE to pick your mother!”

Some bowed their heads in sympathy, some snickered.  I don’t remember how long it took me to recover my senses, but by the time we were ready to pick teams I had a strategy in place.  I was going to pick the best players first to make up for my mom. 

“Ok Danny first pick!” called Mr. Janzow.

“Jeff.”  Jeff came over and stood behind me.  He had a sympathetic look in his eyes. 

Dave, another kid in my class, was the other captain and he called out his first choice.
“Steve.”
My turn.
“Bobby.”  Bobby Finke was Jeff's best friend, and they were always on the same team.  It was protocol.
I don’t remember the rest of the choices, but it inevitably came down to the last person. 

No one ever wants to be the last pick.  It was like the walk of shame.

You know when you have kids, and sometimes you hear yourself saying things that just don’t seem to go together?  I just realized looking back on this situation that kids have those moments too!  I was picking teams for baseball and I uttered the one word that never should have passed my lips in this situation.

“Mom.” I said. 

I will never forget the sight of her standing there with a BASEBALL GLOVE ON HER HAND, (a baseball glove ON HER HAND!  How did that HAPPEN?!), and the biggest grin on her face that I had ever seen.  I remember thinking then that, as bad as the situation was for me in that moment, I loved it when my mom smiled.  I liked it when my dad smiled too.  It didn’t happen enough.  I think a lot of it was simply the proof that if they were smiling at me it meant I had their attention and I wasn’t in trouble.  So I knew that my mom was in no way put out by being picked last by me, and had in fact expected it.  Then she started to walk over to my side.

I was kind of smiling at her, until I realized that she was walking straight towards me rather that to the rest of the team, and in my head I’m thinking, “She’s NOT going to….  NO MOM you can NOT do this in front of everyone!!!!!!  This is a BASEBALL GAME!!!!  PLEASE DON’T DO-!”

She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

Kids HATE it when their mothers kiss them in front of their friends.  It’s genetic.  I won’t ever claim to have been a completely normal kid, but in this one respect at least, I was normal. 

I was also mortified. 

Public Displays of Affection are fine for adults, but when parents do it to their kids - it's just wrong.  And parents don't care!  They take special joy in tormenting their kids that way.  I know 'cuz I did it to my kids.  I guess it's genetic for parents too.

One of the things about playing baseball with my friends was that we could let loose all the new cuss words that we had learned, (or made up on our own) during the game without getting in trouble for it.  And now, in my head, as her lips touched my bright red cheek, I thought,

“SON OF A -, D-, AHHHHHGGGGG! I CAN’T EVEN CURSE! MY MOTHER IS HERE!”

I know, I know, I was too young to have that kind of vocabulary, but, well I heard most of it from my Dad anyway so what was I supposed to do?  He got in trouble when he said it in front of my Mom too.

This was going to be the worst baseball game of my life!  I heard Mr. Janzow quietly laughing.  Ugh.  I couldn't even whine or stomp my feet! 

We took the field.  My team had first ups.  We did pretty good too.  Scored a couple of runs right off if I recall correctly. 

And then my Mom was up.  Mr. Janzow was permanent pitcher so I knew she wouldn't get hurt (even while mortified I was still worried about her, I still could NOT believe this was happening!).  First pitch, swing and a miss!  Not unexpected, I didn't think she was going to - Crack! - hit the ball! 

What?!  She hit the ball!  My MOM hit the ball!  MY MOM HIT THE BALL! 

To say I was shocked was a complete understatement!  If I thought I was unprepared up to now then this sent me over the edge!  I stood there with my mouth open.  Stunned into silence!  (Probably the third or fourth amazing thing that happened that day.)

Then I realized that my Mom was just as surprised as I was!  She was standing there laughing as she watched the ball roll away!  Now technically the hit was more of a hard bunt in terms of effect, but it was enough to get it past Mr. Janzow so she had a chance! 

"Run!  MOM RUN TO FIRST!  RUN TO FIRST!" 

She realized she needed to go and started to run.  Now here's something about most mothers that is true, especially if they have a lot of kids, and I was the youngest of six: most mothers of multiple children have, by the time the third child is 5, perfected the "Look" and the "Yell".  When she has had to run after more than one kid in different directions she is inherently able to perfect a system in which she can vocally or non-verbally reign the children in to her whenever necessary.  She calls and they come running or the consequences will be severe.  My mom had perfected this system.  What this meant in the reality of the present situation was that my mom hadn't had to run in a long time.  So, when she started running it was more of a "trot" I think, but she was moving! 
 

She was also laughing uncontrollably as she moved which meant that she was moving that much slower, which in turn made it easy for the second baseman to run up and tag her out long before she made first base.  Even then it was still ok, because we got a run in from the guy on third and it was only the second out.  And again, I uttered words that I would have never thought would come out of my mouth.

"Good run Mom! That was -" , the rest was cut off when she walked up still laughing and HUGGED ME IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!  PLEASE STOOOOOPPPP!!! 

But I let her hug me and didn't try to squirm out of her arms, because really that would have just made it worse.  I just resigned myself to the inevitable when she kissed the top of my head too.   

I don't remember who won the game.  We laughed a lot that day.  There was no real competition going on.  It didn't matter at all. 

But do you know the only reason I remember this game at all?  Do you know the most prominent image of this whole event that I key in on every single time I think of it?  No, of course you don't. 

I'll tell you.

It was my mother's smile.

Every time I heard anyone talk about my Mom there was almost always some mention of how beautiful she was.  It was true.  She was a Danish beauty.  Her smile was genuine.  She had just the slightest gap between her two front teeth, but it was a smile you never forgot.  It was like the sun, and for the most part anyone present when she smiled would smile back.  It was like you got to take a part of it with you when you walked away. 

And, really, this was just another day in life, but something inconsequential to everyone else randomly took on a much greater level of importance to me that one day.  The bottom line was that I knew my Mom was happy that day. 

My Mom smiled,

God was in His Heaven,

And all was right with the world.

©Dan Bode 2013

Love Conquers All. I’ve heard that phrase for most of my life at one time or another, and I’m not sure I ever really understood it until now. I have no idea why it took so long.

Love Conquers All.
I’ve heard that phrase for most of my life at one time or another, and I’m not sure I ever really understood it until now. I have no idea why it took so long.
It portrays love in the sense of the conquering hero.
The one whom no enemy can stand against.
The difference for me now is that I understand that the battlefield on which all this conflict takes place is in my own heart.
When I examine it realistically I have to admit that I always thought of it in terms of conquering someone else. I wanted love to conform others to my own expectations of what they should be. I wanted love to be at my command.
Imagine my surprise then, when the blade turned upon me instead.
Love will, if I let it, overcome my pain to grant forgiveness, or ask for it.
It will overcome my pride to extend my hand in friendship to my enemy.
It will overcome my anger to allow my faithfulness.
It will overcome me.
Love conquers all, but first, love conquers me. My walls must be overcome from within.
It is sometimes hard to love, but worth your whole life to reach just one moment of being completely known by another, and to know the other in turn. To reach out your hand unseen in the dark knowing the hand of another is already there in expectation to take it.
It is worth everything for just one moment of this. To be known, and not forgotten.
Living your life in pursuit of that first, and maybe only, all encompassing instant of perfection.
Because God is Love, He created us as an expression of Himself, hence we are created in His image. As an expression of God Himself we are inherently worthy of His sacrifice for us, and yet God on a cross seems so incongruous to our concept of love. That’s the problem with our interpretation of love. It’s so watered down we have no concept of what real love is. It’s as though in so many ways we have sanitized the true expression of love to be bloodless. It’s all butterflies and sunny days to our general way of thinking.
We seem to forget that love "endures all things"(1Cor 13:7), and the need for endurance implies conflict, distraction, and sometimes pain. We should love fiercely letting nothing come between us.
Love, when practiced honestly, becomes beauty incarnate.
Love influences the practice of my life. It gives everything I do different meaning.
Love truly is an action, and yet it is more. It becomes what we do, where we go, who we know and how we know them. Love cannot reach its full potential in our lives if we do not allow ourselves to live in complete surrender to it. If I am only capable of loving someone when things are all good, then I don’t really love at all.
Each of the qualities of love (1Cor 13) implies that there is a need for that quality because its opposite exists in the world. Patience is needed because the lack of it causes bitterness. Kindness is needed because cruelty exists. The difficult part of this is that we all know that we are capable of dealing out all the opposing forces of love. We focus on the positive aspects because we feel better when we actively pursue them as a lifestyle. There is healing in the practice of love.
“Love your enemies” (Lk 6:35), is the most difficult aspect of love, but Jesus gave us examples of it throughout His life. Judas was the most difficult enemy to deal with because he was already loved. His ability to cause pain was increased by the measure of love Christ gave him. There are times when the evidence of the love of God seems so profound to me that I actually understand why some people fear it rather than readily accept it.
Even the one who betrayed Christ was allowed at His table. Christ knew that Judas was His betrayer, and yet His love for him was such that He still desired Judas’ presence in the Passover meal; one of the most intimate of settings.
Judas didn’t deserve that and he knew it. Jesus knew this as well, and gave it to him anyway. All this made Judas’ betrayal that much more profound to Judas, for the greater the love we give when betrayed causes that much more pain for the betrayer.
And is it not one of the most important aspects of love that we should find the ability to love our enemies for the simple fact that when we sin we ourselves act as the most intimate of enemies to God, and He loves us still? Is He not the greatest example of loving one’s enemy simply by loving us for, “He loved us while we were yet sinners” (Romans 5:8), let alone the ones we condemn without authority?
It is the ability of love to not only conquer all things, but to remain after everything is done and over with. After all the blood has been shed, the ground churned, and with the vultures circling overhead to pick at the corpses of our discontent, Love walks among us to restore us after all the pain to a healed state ready to love again. It is self perpetuating by nature so that when we learn to love ourselves, as God loves us, we understand that we must do something to maintain it in ourselves in order to stay alive to share it with others.
His love makes us matter.
And so we are filled with possibilities.
Because of His love Jesus not only died, but He came back for us!
He. Came. Back.
It is this single, overwhelming act of love that inspires every other expression of true love that we can ever submit to or practice in the human experience.
Through His redemption we are alive with the potential to discover the worth of our very souls.
Live in love,
Do battle in love,
Rest in love,
Die in love,
Return in love.
God did.
It’s called Easter.
©Dan Bode 2010