My lineage is replete with hardy outdoorsmen. My grandpa was a stagecoach driver, rancher, police officer and railroad engineer. My dad owned a lawn care business mowing lawns in his seventies. Yep, hardy, rugged, outdoorsy; that’s the prairie stock I come from.
I have learned, however, that we have a genetic predisposition to injuries associated with the presence of mountainous terrain - I‘ve learned it the hard way.
It was the summer of my tenth year and my Sunday school teacher, Cliff, decided that his little cast of rowdies needed an outing. We headed to the mountains in a variety of station wagons anxious for our fill of fresh air and cheap hot dogs. I was amazed as the mountains loomed over our picnic site. I immediately began my ascent with my well used cowboy boots. The yards passed by before I heard Cliff calling me from the camp fire below. As I turned, I slipped and began a rapid descent, one that resembled a snow ball without snow.
It must have been pretty spectacular because I was the topic of conversation even after Cliff found my nose, right earlobe and spleen. I did get hot dogs before anyone else.
A couple of years later I was in spy mode high atop a mountainous cliff – certain nefarious villains were approaching. I’ve never thought of myself as having a big head but on the day in question, gravity (and that nasty genetic predisposition) caused my body to follow my head an undetermined distance where my head was lacerated with the slender and vertical razor-like appendages of the famed Yucca plant – a temporary set of Yucca dreadlocks. I had green holes in my skull for weeks.
There are more fascinating mishaps that I could share, but for the sake of a more humane account I’d like to move to my thirty-fifth year. My brothers-in-law invited me to an outing in the Medicine Bow Mountains of Wyoming. No, I didn’t cause an avalanche and I didn’t slip headlong into raging stream. I made sure I wore sturdy boots with the tire tread of a 4x4 tacked onto the bottom.
After a sleepless night in which an animal of unknown origin rummaged through the camp in search of one lone Pringle in the bottom of a discarded can we were told that this would be the day that we would go fishing. We were advised to bring our lunch along and pack our tackle, rod and at least 85 pounds of rocks just so we’d have the full experience of being hardy outdoorsmen.
The promised half mile trek spanned three different time zones. There was a wheezing animal that seemed to be following the group. I was about to inquire further when I realized the wheeze was coming from me. Once again my reputation (and genetic makeup) preceded me. I do have some consolation in the fact that the fishing was so bad that I didn’t have to carry any back to camp.
In 2002 I went back to the mountains with my brother-in-law, Doug. This time we ventured to the Big Horn Mountains and like the crew aboard the S.S. Minnow, some of us accepted a mini-hiking tour of Mt. Akilla Outdoorsman.
“Just follow the stream and you’ll be back at camp in about a half hour,” Doug said as he turned his 4x4 around. Two hours later we were convinced that if we made it out alive we were going to make Doug try the same trip in the dark – without shoes. The brush was so dense and the rocks so abundant that we struggled just to find a way through. Perhaps the most intense moment of our tour was when we climbed a mountain on one side trying to find a way out of the canyon. When this failed, we ventured back down the mountain. Suddenly, my feet slipped as they had when I was ten. This time I left part of my back and a little used elbow on the rocks. I spread my feet in an effort to stop my fall. This effort eventually bore fruit at the lip of a cliff that was the last stop before a 75 foot fall to the rock-filled stream below.
“So take a new grip with your tired hands and stand firm on your shaky legs. Mark out a straight path for your feet” (Hebrews 12:12,13a - NLT).
True for hiking and true for our Christian walk - genetics notwithstanding.
I am asked from time to time to reimagine (hopefully not reinvent) Bible stories. This is one of those time. Imagine the story of Abraham, Sarah, and Isaac meeting Dragnet. The hope with a story like this is that it will encourage you to read the original story for yourself and find yourself grateful to a good God for His great plans. - Glenn
The name is Detective Meshech, I work the Admah district not far from the tent dwelling of Abraham, a local luminary. It seems the 99 year-old nomad recently received a trio of visitors, I was charged with determining the nature of their visit since we’d been advised that it had something to do with the downfall of two regional cities.
“They came and told me to change my name - and my wife’s name,” the man replied thoughtfully.
“Was this part of the Federal Protection Program?” I asked.
“What program? You receive a visit from God and He tells you change your name – you change your name already.” Abraham responded with a chuckle. “Have you ever received a visit from God?”
“Let’s see,” I pondered. “No, I don't think so. I'm sure I would have remembered.”
“This explains much,” Abraham said, slapping dust from his clothes. I wasn‘t quite sure I liked his tone. “Later, more visitors came and told me about two cities that were going to be destroyed and then they told me that Sarah was going to have a baby!” Abraham replied in a voice filled with awe.
“The cities in question would be Sodom and Gomorrah?” I queried.
“What? Do you know of other cities that were flattened already? Yes of course Sodom and Gomorrah” Abraham replied. He seemed saddened.
“Thank you for your time, Abraham. This will certainly help in our investigation.” I begin to roll up my scroll.
“What? They came, we talked, promised were made - they left,” Abraham responded.
“Promises? Describe the promises,” I asked as I unrolled my interrogation scroll once again.
“Just that my wife was going to have a baby,” Abraham replied with a broad smile.
“Sir, I do not find the humor in such tasteless jokes,” I replied with a rude look on my face.
“Who’s joking? I chuckled when the One said this to me,” Abraham said, not intimidated in the least by my tough guy persona. “I couldn’t help myself, even Sarah laughed. I don’t think God was so happy, though.”
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
“Probably when He said, “Why did Sarah laugh? Why did she say, ‘Can an old woman like me have a baby?’ Is anything too hard for the Lord? About a year from now, just as I told you, I will return, and Sarah will have a son.’” Abraham replied.
“I suppose that would lead someone to suspect that He wasn’t ‘so happy’” I concurred.
“I will be a hundred soon and there’s a baby on the way,” Abraham beamed.
“Congratulations from everyone down at headquarters,” I replied flippantly.
“Do you know of a good place for raising children?” Abraham asked.
“I’m not really sure, but I think I’d stay away from Sodom and Gomorrah,” I replied as I recalled the charred remains.
“There weren‘t even ten godly people,” Abraham spoke these words to himself with clenched fists remembering something unspoken.
I moved the conversation a different direction, “By the way, what will you call your son?”
“He will be Isaac,” Abraham relaxed a bit.
“Isaac? Seems like such a strange name,” I replied.
“Yes, so glad you noticed,” Abraham said as he adjusted the halter on one of his camels.
“He laughs?” I ask.
“He laughs - yes, you are right - that’s his name, ‘he laughs’. Does this help you in your indigestion?” the wanderer asked.
“That’s investigation, not - ah, never mind,” I replied wearily.
“Either way, my son will be born in laughter. What? Do you think we thought we would start a family at this time in life? No! Yet, God brought us laughter that began as disbelief and will end with the wails of new life and the joy of old men and ladies.” Abraham finished with a look of high expectation.
I write on my scroll when a certain word escapes me, “What emotion is it that you’re feeling right now. I can’t seem to think of the word.”
“Joy!“ Abraham replied. “The word is JOY! Have you never experienced this?”
“I think I have what I need.” I ignore his question completely. “Please don’t leave the region until this investigation is completed,”
“Where would I go? My family is here and soon I will have a son,” Abraham beamed.
As I walk away I wonder about the laughter and joy found in this dusty tent on the edge of nowhere desperately wishing I could find some of my own.
“Humans and fiends rise and you shall be heard, the less then honorable Judge Smooth Tongue presiding.” The court was officially in session.
“I have read the charges against the one named Son of Most High. Serious charges indeed. The regional D.O. is allowed an opening statement.”
“Thank you, Your Despicableness,” the Demonic Oppressor began. “It has come to our attention that The Son of Most High has been involved in crimes against humanity and these crimes have been perpetrated on every segment of society and in all nations equally. He asks anyone willing to listen to allow him to help make choices - many have found that his choices are not in line with their own personal understanding of the world and its environs.”
The D.O. looked at the son and sneered, “He recently came to our region to live as if he were an average, ordinary human. Of course we knew he was not, but many were swayed by persuasive speech and miracles. Thankfully the religious leaders, with whom we have a strong but covert alliance, were more than willing to assist us in attempting to minimize his harmful effects. Furthermore, Most High could have protected those who were close to the son, but he did not.”
Smooth Tongue looked at Most High’s son and asked, “Do you have an opening statement?”
The accused looked at Smooth Tongue until the magistrate glanced away in what appeared to be remorse, short-lived though it was.
“If Most High has nothing to say, the D.O. is free to call his first witness,” Smooth Tongue instructed.
“I’d like to call, Lydia, Your Despicableness,” The D.O. responded.
The crowd hissed and jeered as she walked to the witness stand.
“Is it true that you were once visited by this individual?” The D.O. pointed at the son.
“Yes.”
“Is it also true that you were living a life that you’d come to embrace as your own?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it also true that the son condemned your lifestyle choice?”
“If you mean he pointed out a better…”
“Just answer the question - yes or no,” the D.O. demanded pounding the witness stand with a tightened fist.
“He saved me from men wanting to kill me because of my lifestyle choice,” Lydia replied with quivering lip as her voice continued to rise in volume. “After he saved my life he told me that I could leave and that I should not sin anymore.”
“How did this make you feel, Lydia?” the D.O. asked smoothly.
“Loved,” Lydia smiled through tears.
The accused smiled reassuringly.
“Smooth Tongue, I demand that this woman be classified as a hostile witness,” the D.O. screamed maniacally.
As the woman left the stand she looked at the accused and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
The D.O. presented a Pharisee named Nicodemus, Peter the fisherman, and a government official named Pilate. They shared stories that seemed counter to the case the D.O. was attempting to make.
“Your Despicableness, there are so many more witnesses to present, but I am afraid it will do nothing but waste the time and resources of this court,” the Demonic Oppressor finally noted as he sat down and reviewed his yellow legal pad.
Smooth Tongue gazed at the defendant, “Do you have anything - anything at all - to add to these proceedings?”
The accused just looked at Smooth Tongue and said nothing.
“Don’t you understand that the charges against you are serious?” Smooth Tongue inquired.
Still, he sat and said nothing.
“Your Despicableness, this seems to be a tactic he often employs,” the D.O. stood in response. “Records indicate that he was recently tried on other charges and when insults and expressions of loathing were directed at this defendant he remained silent. Frankly, I find this tactic maddening and diametrically opposed to the way we have come to understand the pursuit of injustice as defined in our Oppression Lawbook. If he really has something worth defending why would he refuse to defend himself?” The D.O. paused as he gazed in disgust at Jesus, “The prosecution rests.”
Final comments were made as Jesus looked on. In those halls of demonic injustice the Son of God was ridiculed and demeaned - not for the first time.
“When they hurled insults at Him, He did not retaliate; when He suffered, He made no threats. Instead he entrusted Himself to Him who judges justly” (2 Peter 2:23 - NIV).
September 12, 1887 - Telluride, Colorado
William Smithson was on his way to Pendel’s General Store. He had staked his claim on a potential mine. He hoped it had enough gold to make surviving a Colorado winter worthwhile.
John Pendel stepped up to the counter at the sound of the bell, “How can I help ya?”
“Just needing an outfit for a mine I laid claim to this morning,” William beamed.
John grunted and pointed to a corner filled with spades, pick axes and other assorted essentials for mining. He’s seen men come and go so he tried not to get too personal with the revolving-door miners.
“I hear they’re doing some good in the mountain hereabouts,” William attempted to strike up conversation.
“Suppose so,” John countered. “Snow’ll be comin’ soon, might want to build a shanty ‘fore ya fancy yourself a gopher.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Will replied in confusion.
John’s prediction came true and Will’s small clapboard shack barely held heat, but he persevered. He mined as best he could and found just enough gold to keep himself fed.
“I’m hungry for a strike,” he told John one morning in exasperation.
“Oh, well you’re in good company Mr. Smithson,” came the storekeeps response.
“This is not what I expected.”
John brought over a coffee cup and filled it for the green horn. “It never is. You scramble for the easy payoff and it just don’t come. You hunger after the mother lode and she lurks just a bit further back in the cave.”
“Why don’t you take up mining, John?”
He chuckled, “‘Cause I want to make money. I keep the miner’s supplied while they go chasing their dreams. I stay inside with a pot bellied stove and a full till. I’m not about to tramp around dark caves in cold mountains wonderin’ if I’m gonna make it through the day. No sir.”
Will remained thoughtful, “Say, John. I noticed a heap of gold stones outside. If that’s gold why don’t nobody make off with it?”
“Probably ‘cause most people round these parts know that there is Telluride Ore. Now, it’s got gold in it, but nobody’s figured out a way to separate the gold from the tellurium. So they bring it to me and I throw it out back ‘cause they don’t want it, I can’t use it, but it draws people to the store asking questions” the store owner replied.
“Well, best be going,” Will said as he grasped the fabric sack of staples and reached for the door. “Say John, I think I noticed a few chunks of coal in that mess, can I take them.”
“Suit yourself,” John replied absently as he worked through the days receipts.
The stove blazed brightly that night as Will slept. The next morning the fire had already burned out. He shoveled some residue away but was met by an peculiar site. It was startling enough that he had to raise his lamp to look. The bottom of his stove was literally covered in gold. What he had presumed was a handful of coal was actually Telluride Ore. The fire burned off the tellurium leaving behind purified gold.
Within three years a gold boom aided by the accidental discovery of the refining procedure of tellurium laced gold helped establish the resort community of Telluride, Colorado.
While the names and specifics of the above have been altered for dramatic purposes, there is truth to be found in Telluride.
Most of us will agree that we’ve faced our own share of hunger for things just out of reach. What’s offered seems much less than we wanted. We scramble for more and find the life we’re chasing is slipping further from view.
Some of us can identify with Telluride Ore, tossed by the wayside because no one in their right mind would consider us valuable. We convince ourselves that we are second class. Yet just like that ore, if you’ve believed in Jesus Christ, you have gold inside. The real McCoy has been there all along. Now God might have to apply some heat to bring that gold out, but the hunger that’s been raging deep within will only be satisfied in the refiner’s fire of God’s love.
“…I will melt you down and skim off your slag. I will remove all your impurities…” (Isaiah 1:25 - NLT)
When gold is purified it becomes almost mirror-like in quality. Have you been through the fire? Your life reflects something. What does it reflect?
