Distinctives

Distinctives

Our church building is a log cabin design. Built in the early 1980’s with timber from the Bridger Mountains, it a unique place of worship. The location gives the visitor a sense of what the old West was like. If you have to go to church, what a wonderful place to come.

Several weeks ago, our church hosted a conference for leaders and spouses in our network. People came from Ohio, Wisconsin, North Dakota, Colorado even Great Britain, Wales and Australia. Our building took center stage. People commented on its beauty. I was excited to hear people enjoy what we take for granted.

There is a distinctiveness about Foothills Fellowship. Yes, the building but more important what happens within the four walls. Church buildings of any kind are an outward expression of God’s presence in a place. Any kind of structure will suffice as long as there are a people who gather there in Jesus’ name.

The word distinctive means that there is something different; something out of the ordinary. Although a log cabin church meets that requirement, in and of itself it doesn’t fully express who we are. Obviously, there is much more to church.

As we gather on Sunday morning, our focus is upon Jesus, the one we gather to worship. We sing songs and hymns, we open ourselves to his Word, we pray for one another as well as for corporate and social needs. We spend time before and afterwards to catch up of each other’s life. We leave refreshed and equipped to live life.

Writing this blog, I am reminded what a blessing it is to have a unique place to worship. More importantly, it is far greater to have a God who meets us in that place. The Psalmist says, “I look up to the mountains; does my strength come from the mountains? No, my strength comes from God, who made heaven and earth and mountains.”

Flawsome

Flawsome

I listen to Country Western music on Sirius XM station while driving around town. My favorite channel is Willie’s Roadhouse: a 24/7 medley of classical country western. Every once in a while, my favorite song comes on; my heart beats fast and my spirit is lifted. “It’s Hard to be Humble” written by Willie himself. 

The chorus goes: “Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way. I can’t wait to look in the mirror cause I get better looking each day. To know me is to love me. I must be a hell of a man. Oh, Lord it’s hard to be humble but I’m doing the best that I can.”

Then I found this post of Facebook: FLAWSOME (adj.) an individual who embraces their ‘flaws’ and knows they’re awesome regardless. Could this be what Willie is singing about? Could it be that all those years I spent trying to correct character flaws were an exercise in futility? I could have focused on accentuating the positive.

One of the trials of living is dealing with people who feel that it their responsibility to point out what’s wrong with you. In all my years of public ministry there has rarely been a season that someone didn’t feel the need to address my flaws. I confess I have my share of blind spots. However, it is difficult to be humble when people are so drawn to them.

There are advantages to be an imperfect human. You can rest assured that you will not be overlooked. Just like Job of the Bible who was besieged with one personal disaster after another, close friends deluged him with free advise that only heaped more guilt on the man. The Lord had to intervene to bring Job back from the brink.

Willie is right: it is hard to be humble. It is not something that comes naturally. The world we live in places great emphasis on self: self-worth, self-value, self-esteem, etc. Humble doesn’t mean thinking less of oneself. From a biblical perspective it means thinking about yourself less!

The Bible says “be content  with who you are and don’t put on airs. God’s strong hand is on you; he’ll promote you at the right time. Live carefree before God; he is most careful with you.”

West Point

West Point

In the mid 1950’s when TV was just emerging from its infancy, my dad brought one home. It was a big, clumsy box with a small screen. Programming was limited to certain hours and a test pattern was a reminder that there was no 24 hour service. Everything was black and white. Variety shows, local and national news plus a few weekly programs were it. No cable channels, no remote and no mute button.

My favorite show ran weekly for two seasons: The West Point Story. This was a dramatic series of actual people and events at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. I was in awe of the people, the uniforms and the strict military discipline. I started to fantasize about going to West Point. At the age of eleven I knew what I wanted to be: a West Point Cadet.

What brought this to mind was a book I recently read: The Gray Girl by Susan Spieth. This is a fictional account of a female cadet’s difficult journey through four years at the academy. Well written, the author shared what life was like for  women at the all-male institution.

Although I never applied for nomination to West Point, mostly because of poor grades in high school, I kept a special childhood memory of that place. Several years later I entered another kind of academy, the seminary. Amazingly, the similarities are quite alarming: strict discipline, distinctive uniform (black not gray), leadership hierarchy and no room for individuality. Apparently, I was destined for institutional life.

Today I am thankful for the journey God has planned for my life. The disciplined training in an institutional setting laid a firm foundation. More than once I fought through the rules, the rituals and the reverends to find my life. I regret none of the trials for they have made me strong in the Lord.

Childhood dreams come true in unexpected ways.

Hunting

Hunting

It started when my dad took me on a hunting trip with his buddies. I was about eight and had never shot a gun. It is one of my favorite memories. The smell of gun oil, burnt powder, wet boots are still in my olfactory file all these years later. The itch to hunt only increased with time.

I have hunted ducks, pheasants, grouse, white tail and mule deer, antelope, elk, bear and a stray moose. I love to hunt. As soon as the leaves start turning in fall, I begin to prepare for hunting season. Getting the tags, checking out the equipment in my backpack, weather proofing my boots and cleaning my rifle are all part of the ritual.

Many of my hunting memories are of the times I took my boys to the Missouri Breaks of north central Montana hunting deer and an occasional coyote. The ride across the prairie in the War Wagon and the long drive home in the dark with a truck bed full of horns and hoofs. Dirtied and smeared with game blood, we shared stories of the hunt.

Now it’s time to retire from big game hunting. I have struggled with this decision for several years. It’s not that I am too old or to physically weak. It’s not that I no longer enjoy the company of my friend as we wait for that elusive buck to appear.

I just time to quit. So, I am not going to buy a license this fall.

Life will go on with other experiences. I have lots and lots of memories of past hunts and trophies. I hope to be able to hand over my hunting gear and rifle to my grandkids if they express an interest. What a great opportunity I have had to experience what man has done down through the ages. Hunting game is one of the most enjoyable experiences of life.

I didn’t say I was giving up gopher hunting!