The Horseradish Blues

The Horseradish Blues

The dazzling moon made the snow glisten. The pines stood as silent sentinels guarding the trail. The sleigh bells rang and the wood sleigh creaked as the horses labored to deliver their load to the mountain cabin. A winter wonderland come alive as our voices broke the silence of a winter night.

For some time, our family holiday tradition is to come together for an evening of song, food and libation at the sleigh ride dinner.  We bundle up to keep warm and climb on the sleighs drawn by Belgian horses taking us to a secluded cabin for a feast of prime rib, wine and huckleberry cobbler. The wood burning stove, the kerosene lanterns and the rough-hewn tables provided the perfect ambiance for the feast.

You would have to be there to experience the magic of that winter evening on the mountain; a huge wood-burning oven to keep the food and bodies warm. The sweet music of a baritone voice singing about baked bread and that great place called Montana. For me, it was like I died and went to cowboy heaven. What more could one ask?

Horseradish! Prime rib is not prime rib without horseradish. It is the nectar of the mountain gods. The white creamy texture belies the assault on the taste buds. It overpowers the potatoes and the veggies. The prime rib stands up and takes notice of this condiment.  The red wine withers in comparison. This horseradish commands your undivided attention.

You may think I am a little off the bubble with my horseradish blues and maybe you are right. But who else will sing the praises of this maligned delicacy. Here is what God’s Word says, “So eat your meals heartily, not worrying about what others say about you—you’re eating to God’s glory, after all, not to please them. As a matter of fact, do everything that way, heartily and freely to God’s glory.”

Praise God for the horseradish!

Crock-Pot Christmas

Crock-Pot Christmas

Ever have one of those Christmases when you couldn’t get in the holiday mood? I’m positive I’m not the only one who has had that experience. All the glitter and hype can’t quite shake the reality that this Christmas is not going to be one to remember.

Three months earlier, our family moved from Montana back to Minnesota. I was promised a pastoral position in a church in the Twin Cities. Even though it was an opportunity to be back with relatives and old friends, it meant uprooting our family. It was hard to say goodbye to nine years of relationships. Two large U Hauls and a thousand miles later we were in the big city.

Moving in with Judy’s parents and putting our worldly possessions in storage, we settled in for a season. Then I learned that there was no job available at the church. Now living with the relatives, no income and Christmas was around the corner. I was so full of disappointment and fear that there was no way I was going to enjoy this Christmas.

One evening I took the kids to Target. I needed their help in picking out a present for Judy. As we walked up and down the aisles nothing looked good. Then my eyes fell upon this crock-pot. It was beautiful. I knew this was the gift for her. The kids said, “You have to be crazy Dad to give Mom a crock-pot for Christmas. She won’t like it.” My mind was made up.

Christmas arrived. I knew Judy would love her present. As she unwrapped it I could sense the kids apprehension. When she saw what it was, she looked at me and began to cry. Not tears of appreciation but of frustration and sorrow. I was shocked that she didn’t like that beautiful gift. A lesson learned: never and I mean never give your wife a Christmas gift with a cord attached to it.

God does not give gifts with cords attached. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”

The Old Oak Tree

The Old Oak Tree

I was house cleaning in my office at church when I ran across a framed photo of an oak tree. The tree was standing alone in the middle of a field, leafless, surrounded by brown grass and patches of dirty snow. Then I remembered this was the tree I walked by every day for almost a year. On the days when the sun was out, I would sit on the bench nearby and talk to the oak.

Surprised that I would talk to an oak tree? Well, given the emotional condition I was in at that time, it was a miracle I was talking at all. When I took this photo of the oak tree, I was in the middle of a year of discontent. Six months earlier I had resigned as senior pastor of a church. It was not a pleasant parting of the ways. The founding pastor and I had a major falling out having to do with the direction of the church. Since we were unable to resolve our issues and facing the possibility of a church split, I left.

Unprepared for the emotional consequences of my decision, I fell into a season of despair. One moment I was at the center of church activity and the next moment no one calls; no one needs me. Who am I now?  I cried out to God but no answer. It was hard getting out of bed to face another day of emptiness. I was a mess.

One day, I walked into a Christian bookstore and started looking for some encouragement. In the Men’s Issues section, I found this book, Unmasking Male Depression by Archibald Hart. I read it cover to cover several times discovering that I needed to make changes in my life. I needed to take better care of myself.

That is how I met the oak tree. I started taking a daily walk with our dog Sparky. The walking path went right by this old, scraggly tree, scarred by lightening, continuing to stand tall in season and out of season. If this tree could survive that kind of disaster so could I. The oak tree wasn’t much to look at but what a witness of perseverance and hope.

The Bible says that God is the one who brings “messages of joy instead of news of gloom, a praising heart instead of a languid spirit.” We are “oaks of righteousness planted by God to display his glory.”

I've Been Shot

I’ve Been Shot

It was late March 2008. We were on our way to a Pastors Conference in northwest Montana. This conference is an annual gathering of men and women in ministry. I asked three young men from our church to tag along so they could be exposed to what the Lord was doing. It is a five-hour road trip.

When we stopped for gas in a small town, one of the men mentioned that he brought his 40-caliber semi automatic with him. Being a gun guy myself, I asked to see it. After taking the loaded clip out, he handed me the gun. A side note: it is lawful in Montana to carry a loaded gun in your vehicle. After admiring the gun I gave it back to him. He reloaded the clip and by habit pulled the trigger, dry firing the gun.

The explosion of a discharged gun in a car just about shattered our eardrums.  We were stunned. As we looked around to see what happened I saw blood on my seat. I reached around and probed with my hand. It was my blood on the seat. I had been shot. Not realizing that by putting the clip back in the gun, a bullet entered the firing chamber. It was not a dry fire but a live fire!

I went into shock. By the time I was conscious I was lying on an examining table in a doctor’s office with a nurse cutting through my jeans with a large pair of scissors. The doctor said that he found an entrance wound in my left buttocks but no exit wound and I needed to be transported to a regional hospital some distance away. Lying inside the ambulance with the siren blaring, I had lots of time to make my peace with God.

Arriving at the hospital I lay on a gurney, bare-naked, with people poking and probing me. The most embarrassing part was when the doctor asked me where I was from and what I did for a living. When I told him I was a pastor, the whole ER broke out laughing. The doctor said, “We have never had a pastor here who was shot in the ass!”

To make a rather long story short, I went into surgery later that evening to remove the bullet. The next morning the surgeon told me that I was a very lucky man. He said the car seat deflected the bullet and absorbed most of the bullet’s velocity. If the bullet had struck me a few inches to the right, it would have shattered my spine.

I am reminded of the words of Jesus, “As for the man who hits you on one cheek, offer him the other as well.”  Now I can say that by the grace of God “I took a bullet for Jesus and turned the other cheek.”