Mr. Good Wrench

Legs were sticking out from underneath the 1960 something pickup that I was helping to overhaul. Those legs belonged to my dad.

He had always been the tinkerer. If something was broken or wasn't working right he would hop right into the midst of the situation until he came up with an answer. Me? Well, I was content to let him. I would help out if he told me what to do, but frankly I was much more comfortable letting other people handle the fixin' and repairin'. 

I had changed the oil in my vehicles for years, but when the advent of the chain quick lube places came, I pretty much swore off changing oil. In fact I haven't done so in years and I don't even feel guilty about it. 

But I do remember working with my dad. He would be under a vehicle with a wrench or some other hand held tool trying to loosen or tighten some bolt that invariably would come loose just as he was applying the most elbow grease, thus causing his hand to move at warp speed directly into that path of some metal component that was placed at such an angle by some demented car manufacturer so as to wrench skin from parts of his hand or fingers.

This was often followed by a spirited rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus.

Even today when I see him I can always tell when he's been doing some mechanic type work. The bandages or healing skin gives it away.

One thing my dad taught me was the value of a good work ethic. I started working when I was fourteen. By the time my senior year in high school rolled around I had worked at several different jobs and was the proud owner of a small foreign pick-up. I had secured a loan under my own name and was looking toward the future.

I decided that I had a problem; I didn't want to work. I was a senior and I wanted to participate in the school musical. In order to do that I had to have plenty of free time.

I tried out and was surprised when I landed the lead in "Oklahoma". Lots of singing and action - a dream come true, but what was I supposed to do about my job and the payment on my pickup?

I talked with Dad about it and he came up with a solution. It was one of those good news - bad news situations. Good news - trade my pickup straight across for a car and I would no longer have any vehicle payments - the car would be mine free and clear. What's more - I could stop working. Bad news: The car was about the ugliest thing I had ever seen.

I took the car.

A friend of mine repainted it for me and I finally could participate in the musical without having a job to worry about.

It wasn't long after the curtain closed that I came to the conclusion that employment had its benefits. It may not occur to most eighteen-year-olds that it takes more than wishing and hoping to fill the tank of an eight cylinder vehicle and pay for the insurance necessary to operate the vehicle, let alone the oil and filter that needed changing and the tires that needed replacing. By Christmas I would rejoin the workforce.

I have some pretty wonderful memories of the hard work it took to put a musical together, memories of my dad who helped make that possible and the ugly car I came to love.

There are so many things in my life that have come to me seemingly based on the sweat of my brow or the skin of my knuckles and I learned very well that you work hard at a job and there is a reward in doing a good job.

But I learned two other lessons that were even more important. 1) The work that I do has to be for the One who created me, so it doesn't much matter what I am doing as long as I have firmly fixed in my mind who I'm doing it for and 2) God doesn't factor any of my work in determining whether He can offer His grace to me.

That's mighty important. He doesn't consider whether we believe we've given skinned knuckles in our efforts for Him, He doesn't look at long hours labored on His behalf when He offers salvation. He simply says, "Come unto Me all ye who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28).

Work can be a satisfying part of your life. You can even be really good at it. However, always keep in mind that the God of this universe wants to give you a gift of eternal life and you can do NOTHING to earn it - NOTHING!!!

It is as if God gives you a test and then tells you that the only way to can pass the test is to let Jesus take it for you. You can't study enough, and you can only ask one Person for help. Jesus is the only one who can pass the test and He's willing to take it for you. You just have to let Him.

If we could earn our way to heaven then why would we need a Savior? We can't save our souls. We can't keep track of every good thing we’ve ever done and present them to Jesus and tell Him that He has to let us in because we've been so good.

Let's take a good hard look at our lives to see if we are allowing God to work through us to accomplish His will, or if we’re simply looking for good things to do to impress a God who counts our best efforts as "filthy rags"?

Skinned knuckles can't hold a candle to nail pierced hands.

When Life Throws You Out of the Pond

“Daddy can I pinch the worm?” my nine-year-old daughter Alyssa asked as she rummaged through the Styrofoam carton looking for a night crawler. 

“Are you sure you want to?” I asked in return.

“Sure!” Without hesitation she severed the squirming phylum Annelida. The look on her face told me that she wouldn‘t be asking again.

I lanced the worm with a number six hook and cast Alyssa’s line into the lake and then turned to Ryan’s Mickey Mouse pole and repeated the steps. This time I severed the worm.

Four-year-old Ryan thought that the fish needed a snack, so he found some old leaves, crumbled them up and scattered them on the shore line inviting inhabitants of the lake to come and dine.

I cast my line into the lake and then proceeded to remove two fine specimens of Blue Gill from Alyssa’s line, then one from Ryan’s. My line was placed in a new location and I extracted hooks from three more fish - none my own.

Ryan explored the shore line, leaving Mickey to fend for himself as he sat on a child size camping chair. That’s when I noticed a trout jumping into the air several feet from the shore. I marveled at the beauty and wondered why we couldn’t catch a beauty like that one. The trout jumped again. “Why, he’s just showing off,” I told my daughter. Then I noticed that Ryan’s pole moved quite a bit when the fish landed back in the water.

Ryan came over and began to reel in his trophy fish with all the enthusiasm of a garden slug. Oh, he was happy to have such a beautiful fish on the end of his line, but the work of reeling in the fish was putting a damper on the leafy fish feast he had been working on.

In all, my daughter walked away having wrangled six Blue Gill (all released to fight another day) and Ryan caught two Blue Gill and a beautiful Rainbow Trout (also sent back to their schools to help other’s learn from the wisdom of their experience). Oh, and me - well let’s just say I walked home with two beautiful children with a zest and zeal for life in all its abundance. It was enough.

Fish don’t do well outside the environment God created them to be in. They were made for water as they use their mouth, gills and fins to maneuver quickly through water. They can’t do that outside the water, in fact, if they are outside water for even a relatively short period of time, they tend to expire rather quickly.

Those with a personal relationship with Jesus can find themselves on a hook of sorts too. We can be functioning quite well in the environment and circumstances God has allowed for us and then we find ourselves pulled from our comfort zone by forces outside our control. Our responses become desperate and we struggle against all that is so unnatural - perhaps even painful.

Unexpected bills, the misbehavior of children, unexpected medical issues, job loss, the death of a family member, cancer - the list is long. We gasp and we clutch at anything that might help us through this change in circumstances. We have no clue why these things are happening to us. Life looks different from this new vantage point and we can’t seem to function very well.

However, we have something the fish don’t have - a promise. “Be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:10 - NLT)

If you find yourself in unfamiliar territory breath deeply, the world greatest Fisherman knows your needs and He’s with you - always! Perhaps there will come a time when you return to the environment you’re used to and when you do, you’ll have plenty to share with the ‘fish’ around you.

Why So Downcast?

My eyes have never beheld what I believe I will one day possess.

My hands have never touched hands damaged in crucifixion, yet I believe I will one day touch them.

My feet have never touched pavement of gold, yet one day I fully expect to walk on such streets.

My mind has never understood the mysteries of God, yet there will come a day when it will all make sense.

Until then, I will rejoice in what I do not possess because I have something that will carry me in confidence until that moment arrives. What will carry me is the belief that the Father has fully paid my sin debt which gives me the freedom to love and follow where He leads.

I don’t need to see it or hold it in my hands to believe that it is real.

Some say seeing is believing - but for me it’s the opposite. Belief comes first, seeing will come soon enough. I am willing to wait.

I have been forgiven. I have been loved. I have chosen to love and forgive in return. My heart yearns for a day, a time, a moment. Yet in that special moment there will no longer be a need for time. I don’t have to understand it all to hunger for my first taste of eternity.

My life can be lived in no other way than to believe, for without this trust, this conviction, this joyous confidence - I would become a pitiful cynic. A man in desperate need for the one thing I have rejected; The one thing that provides a doorway to joy, peace and contentment, the one thing so closely linked to love and faith.

We have a future and a promise. God has a plan for our good. He’s preparing a place just for us. He’s promised to come back for us.

We, more than all others, have the greatest reason to bubble over with this most joyous anticipation.

It is because of the sacrificial death and resurrection of Jesus’ that we have been given yet another wonderful gift from the hand of God Himself.

That gift is hope.

Happy Easter.

The Artist

(Genesis 1, John 1)
Imagined by Glenn Hascall

The canvas?

Earthen clay.

Darkness, yes,

Light - the way.

Water colored

Land and sky

A subtle hue

A brilliant dye

An aqua splash

A churning sea

Barren land

No wait, there's trees

Add to green

A golden shade

Sun, moon - stars

A sparkling jade

Creatures fashioned

Fantastic, enchanting

Broad color schemes

The Artist granting

A masterpiece

Brilliant, lustrous

One more brushstroke

The reason for justice

The canvas shimmered,

"Let the Artist rest."

He signed His name

He did His best

But they took the brush

And painted black

Their once clean hearts

No looking back

Then, in time

The Artist sent

His Son to brush

A whole new tint

Grace and mercy

Hope and faith

Love, compassion

Touching canvas space

We are His masterpiece

Created in His mirror

The red stains of forgiveness

Prove the Artist has been here.

Of Bears, Whine and Hearing Aids

Fifteen years ago I wrote the following. Now with grandchildren it seems entirely relevant once more. Maybe you can identify. - Glenn

There has always been a thought floating around in my head that tells me that children have selective hearing. Maybe you've experienced this phenomenon. You can tell them to make their bed, brush their teeth, get their shoes and socks on, eat their breakfast, weed their room (just checking to see if you were paying attention, although some children's rooms may require such a weeding - on a regular basis - with a weed whacker).

You can threaten them with extra work around the house, loss of certain privileges or the cruel and unusual punishment of more leafy vegetables in their diet and yet you may still their polite condescending voice say, "I'm sorry, did you say something?" or, "You are getting older dad, maybe you just thought you had spoken actual words."

My very own children have revealed to me, that selective hearing is a two-way street. There have been times (recently, I might add) when my wife will say, "Honey, why don't you answer her?" This comment seems funny because I'm not at all certain who the 'her' is, nor do I have a clue how to answer a question that was never verbalized.

It is then that I am confronted with truth. It seems my daughter has been asking a simple question several times and her voice has altered in pitch until it borders precariously between screaming cat and fingernails on chalkboard. The reason for this discordant change in tone is due to the fact that I have not responded to her repeated question.

If I should happen to pick up on the fact that my daughter is saying something to me and I actually detect that particular voice that makes the hair stick up on the back of my elbow, I might well respond with something like, "What? What? What? What do you want? Why must you whine? Why? Why? Why?" By this time my wife is holding her sides with tears streaming from her ducts as a direct result of my response. My daughter is holding her ears because whining never sounds good to someone whose not actually committing the sin of whining (no I don't have a verse to back up this assertion).

Then it hits me. I stand before my daughter declared guilty of the very crime I have warned her repeatedly not to commit. This same scenario occurs at work when an employee asks me questions at a moment when I am totally engrossed in a project and I have to admit I didn't catch most of what they were asking.

I'd love to fault telemarketers for making it possible for us to so easily tune people out, but I can't (did I mention that I’d love to?). It's human nature to selfishly hold onto our own interests so tightly that we fail to allow other voices to reach us. If we keep them at bay long enough, they'll stop talking to us and they may well conclude that we don't really listen anyway, so why bother. I'm afraid this is happening far too often in our world.

My daughter has heard her daddy say, "I was wrong, can you forgive me?" when I find that I have yet again switched my ears to selective hearing mode. God's Word tells us to, "Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you." (Col. 3:13).

This is an important verse to remember because before we ever failed to listen to each other, we failed to listen to God. We see others who have messed up and we seem willing to look at their lives through a prism that demonstrates all the various shade and hue of sins that pervade their life. But when we mess up, we want nothing less than forgiveness. God has indeed forgiven us but He asks us to put up with each other's idiosyncratic (fancy word for peculiar) tendencies. Maybe we just weren't listening to that part.

I have to bear with children who I sometimes believe need hearing aids and they have to put up with a dad who probably does need hearing aids. And I'll use them too, just as soon as I figure out how to connect them to my heart. That's where the best listening takes place.

Genetic Omission

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.

He Laughs

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.