There was a time when I couldn’t stand to be alone. Truth is, I didn’t like myself very well. There was a lot of pain from my past that I had buried deeply. Whenever I was alone, these negative thoughts would attempt to surface. The pain was unbearable. So, I avoided being alone. Whenever forced to be alone I would try to stay busy, keep a television on, play music, or read a book…anything to avoid dealing with reality.

Then I got the call. God required me to get honest. First, honest about him...then about myself. Eventually he required me to bring honesty into all my relationships. God would have me no other way.

Some of you may have seen the movie, “Phone Booth”. Stuart (Colin Farrell) is one of the most dishonest persons you would ever meet. Everyday, at the same time, he goes to a phone booth to call his girlfriend (Katie Holmes) so that his wife (Radha Mitchell) won't discover her number on his cell phone. One day his phone booth rings and someone's calling him. The person on the other end forces him through several situations to get honest, first with himself, then in his relationships. (I won’t tell you any more.) The point is that many of us are forced into honesty for various reasons. Why do we have to be forced?

Loving relationships demand honesty. We crave loving relationships. Why are we hesitant to be honest? Several reasons: 1) truth hurts; 2) we don’t like ourselves (we feel others will like us less if we get “real”); and, 3) we’re afraid others will use the truth (of who we really are) against us.

My first statement to my wife when our relationship had reached critical mass was, “If you REALLY knew me you wouldn’t like me.” To my surprise, she looked me straight in the eye and replied, “Try me!” I did. She stayed. Her love for me (with all my “warts” ) freed me to live “real”. It freed me to love “real”. This grace in action was undeserved and hard for me to accept. Yet, I did accept it. I wanted it. I needed it. It allowed me to also accept God’s love and grace. Then I could accept myself, admit my faults, and live honestly before all. I was no longer afraid to be alone.

Is that your phone booth ringing?

Experience has taught me to listen to my body. When my stomach tells me it is full, it is full! If I don’t listen, indigestion is my reward. Why do I not ALWAYS listen?

Experience has taught me to recognize when my anxiety is up. While it is up, if I pay close attention, I can stave off most of my serious migraines. I just have to listen and start early the relaxation techniques, meditation, and prayers. Why do I not ALWAYS pay attention?

Experience has taught me that when I am seriously ill I should spend the “down time” on my knees inquiring of the Lord. God has used my illness so many times to get important messages through to me. Why do I wait until I'm sick to tune into him? Why do I insist on paying a high price for my neglect?

I spent Super Bowl Sunday in a hospital bed. I was rushed to the emergency room that Friday with SEVERE abdominal pain. The attending physician could find no cause. Not wanting to risk a burst appendix, he went in and removed my perfectly good one! While in there he checked all my internal organs…ran thousands of dollars in tests…nothing! Are you getting a clue yet? That’s right! It should be obvious by now…go to the Lord!

So, as soon as the Super Bowl ended I sent my family home. I assured them I was fine and that the nurses would take good care of me. They needed rest. I needed to inquire of Lord.

“Father, it’s me. Are you there?”

***Silence***

“Father, are you trying to tell me something? I’m listening again.”

**Absolute and Deafening Silence***

Now I am getting VERY concerned. This is not normal in our present relationship. It is more like the beginning. It is not good. I have to hear him! Something is seriously wrong. I humbly insist he speak to me. Then, I feel it…his burning anger!

[I have to explain something right here. When I am alone with God, I don’t always just pray. I’ve learned to listen. I’ve learned to exercise my spiritual senses to feel his presence and discern his mood. There are times he brings with him his sadness. There are times he brings unadulterated joy. Other times his inexplicable peace. That night he was “distant”. That was what scared me.]

I NEVER had sensed such anger before. Not like that. Not directed straight at me! And I knew why. It was my neglect…of him, of our relationship. I had been too busy to spend time with him, too busy to speak to him, too busy to relate at all! He was refusing to speak to me because I had refused to speak to him. (Had I NOT known him so well at that time, I might have done like so many and just proclaimed that he didn’t exist and walked away. But, I knew better! I knew him!)

I wept and begged forgiveness for my neglect. I cried and cried. I cried so loud that I was fearful the nurses would hear and suggest a psychiatrist! I didn’t need a psychiatrist. I needed God to speak to me again. How would I explain THAT to a psychiatrist? If God didn’t start speaking to me again and soon I would need more than a psychiatrist! LOL!

As soon as I confessed my neglect, he entered my room. He held me close and let me weep in his arms.

“I am so sorry Father. I don’t know why I neglect you so. I need you. You are all I need.” My heart broke again when he whispered,

“I missed you.”

Cindy Sheehan made a choice. She chose to vocally protest the war in reaction to the death of her son. Her son made a choice--to serve. My son soon leaves for his second tour in Iraq. I choose to support his choice. We make choices every day. The ability to choose sets us apart from animals, plants, and minerals. The ability to choose is called free will.

Choices have consequences both here and for eternity. This makes choosing difficult. We often want the choice but not the consequence. Yet, choices have consequences sometimes for both the “chooser” and others affected by the choice. Dennis Rader chose to bind, torture, and kill. His choice will bring him suffering. His choice brought suffering to countless others. He took life. He took choice. His victims did not choose to die. His is the worst kind of evil. The same evil possible in the choice of abortion.

My life is an amalgamation of choices. Some I made. Some others made that impacted me. At the age of six someone chose to molest me. They stole my childhood and affected my adult life. I did not choose to be molested. I chose recently to no longer allow their act to negatively impact my present or my future!

Evil came into the world by choice. Evil remains for the same reason.

We desire good, but evil is present in us. Even when we want to choose good, we choose to do bad. We are doomed without supernatural help.

God’s Spirit is placed in us. He is greater than all evil. With his help, we can choose good every time. God loves us enough to let us choose. He loves us enough to even let us choose to reject him. That, my friend, is love!

I choose God. I choose good. I choose love.

I was changing. I was listening to God in everything else so I had to give him my sermons. I started praying and fasting before I spoke publicly. It changed my preaching and our worship.

Something became obvious about our assemblies. Something was missing…joy! People were nice, don’t get me wrong, but when services started everyone turned stone cold. I’m all for piety and respect…AT FUNERALS! But, isn't worship supposed to be an expression of a joy-filled heart? (You don’t have to get crazy, but PLEASE show some expression! LOL!)

God started giving me some heavy words for our church. It seemed good to begin them with a joke...something applicable to the lesson. A good joke seemed to loosen the “soil” a bit! LOL!

This particular Sunday the auditorium was filled to capacity. As usual, I went to the Father before arising to speak,

“Father, is this still the message you want spoken here today?”

“Yes, but no jokes.”

“What? Father, this is one of my best! No jokes, are you serious?”

“No jokes! Someone is hurting here today.”

I was taken aback. The song finished. I got up shaken. I didn’t know how to begin. I started grappling with an introduction, but nothing came so I stopped and followed the voice in my heart instead of my head. I announced,

“This is going to make some of you uncomfortable. I’m even a little uncomfortable with it myself, but the Lord has revealed to me someone here is hurting. You may be too embarrassed to identify yourself. So, I’m going to ask everyone to bow their head and close their eyes. I mean it…bow your head and close your eyes.” After everyone complied, I continued…

“Now, no one can see you but me. Raise your hand if you are hurting and I will come pray over you.”

A hand went up in the back. I walked to it and to my surprise it belonged to one of our oldest members, a charter member of the congregation! I prayed over her and went on with the lesson.

My wife and I were discussing the incident on the way home. She surprised me even more...

“That wasn’t half of it. During the song before your lesson the lady beside me broke down and started weeping. I went to the restroom to get her a tissue and found another lady crying in there! You didn’t even know about these two!”

I didn’t know, but God did!

Worship assemblies come closer to complying with God’s will when we throw away the program and follow the Spirit’s lead! No heart should come and leave hurting! That happens when you program worship! (Do you script your adoration to your spouse? Heaven help you if you do! LOL!)

God desires ordered praise and worship that is open to healing hearts. That’s no joke!

Mother raised six God-fearing children. Dad was always working and even pre-occupied on most Saturdays, but come Sunday, everyone was home. Sunday rituals began on Saturday evening. Bible lessons were finished and shoes were shined. Sunday morning Dad cranked up the gospel music early, then swept the house and washed the dishes. Mother devoted herself to getting us dressed. We never missed Bible class or worship. (And, if there was a gospel revival within 50 miles, I am sure we made every night!) To Mom and Dad, Christianity was not a garment you don on the first day of the week it was a way of life.

Mother had a big heart. Others took in cats and dogs, but mother rescued families and children. Her table and home were always open. She wasn’t preachy, but she did insist strongly that everyone take responsibility for their own situation and circumstances.

Like every couple, Mom and Dad struggled. We witnessed the arguments and the “make ups”. They honored their vows despite their disagreements. Divorce was not an option. It wasn’t in their vocabulary.

Mom was my best friend. Even after I married and moved away, we talked every day. There were no cell phones then but anytime I needed her all I had to do was call home. She always was there. Then, cancer came!

As Mom faded, her inner strength grew. She graduated all her children, said her “goodbyes”, and passed to her reward. She was 49.

Mother’s absolute reliance on God in those final days caused me to question my faith. I was her son and minister. I conducted her funeral. I didn’t have her faith, her strength. I didn’t have the relationship she enjoyed with God in those final days. Her prayers were intimate conversations. Her spiritual insight was supernatural and profound. She saw through pretense. She had more than faith. She had a walk. She grasped God's hand even tighter to walk to the other side.

I wanted that. I remember asking God, “Is what Mother had with you possible for me? I want that personal relationship. I want that insight and love for others. I want inner strength and supernatural endurance, no matter what life throws at me. Do I have to get cancer to get that?”

“No,” the Lord replied, “your mother did not get that from cancer. She got it from me.”

I miss you, Mom. See you soon.