I just rolled back into my place after a great weekend and after hours in the car on the way back to work. I had several hours in the car to think, and thus what follows is an assortment of observations, pictures, snippets, anecdotes, commentaries, curiousities, and maybe even some ruminations.

As background, this was the first time I’d slept in my own bed two consecutive nights in quite some time. I relearned the preciousness of lying upon one’s own sheets with his bride and waking up where the sun rises over the ridge I view from the bedroom window.

The weather was clear and sunny at home and the morning sun burst golden and brilliant over the ridge and washed the bedroom and back porch with gold. When the rays came through the oak leaves and tall pines, shadows played upon the ground with the wind, and if you paid attention, you might think God was speaking through his creation.

We took our son to Six Flags and rode the Great American Scream Machine, Goliath, Superman, Blue Hawk, Twisted Cyclone, and more. I paid way too much money for bottled water and a plastic bottle that can be used to get ‘free’ refills. O my! Of course. I have to laugh. I mean, I get it; it’s business. But good gracious, Six Flags. Upwards of $35 for a water bottle? Okay, enough of that. Hey, but my bottle of Dasani was just below $5.00. What a bargain, right?

Saturday before amusement park time, I was able to do enjoy perhaps my favorite relaxing time of labor, or what I was raised to call “piddlin’.” I piddled in the yard. I went across the property with my weedeater and tidied things up a bit, landscape-wise. I picked up limbs. I blew off the driveway and front walkway. I burned some debris from the woods. I played with the dogs. I watched the deer and birds that feed in the woods at our place.

We enjoyed some fajitas from one of our favorite Mexican eateries down the road. We people-watched at an outlet mall. I worked on my Sunday school lesson from Hebrews. We took in some time at the pool and met some more neighbors who were enjoying the long Memorial Day weekend.

We chatted with a neighbor who’d taken her girls to pick strawberries earlier in the day. She gave my wife and me a plastic bag of them to take, saying, “Please take them. We have so many, and they’re delicious.” So I accepted them, and my wife and I immediately ate one each, and tasted the sweetness as we bit into the deep red strawberries picked today.

The sun was perfect today for being at the pool. Families brought coolers out. Men, women, boys, and girls of all ages took to the water, some with floats or goggles. Others clung near the edges of the pool, their fingers making water stains on the concrete the sun dried moments later.

Lifeguards held whistles between their lips and every thirty minutes or so would say, “Adult swim.” And the kiddos would climb out and some older folks would enter the pool and swim a few laps or sometimes clutch a foam noodle and mill about.

When we came back home, I saw deer in the backyard and took some pictures with my iPhone from the upper deck. Finally, when my wife came back from walking the dogs, the deer wandered into the thicker brush until the dogs went inside.

I drove down this afternoon and thought about how excited I am for next Sunday. Our Sunday school class is doing breakfast and my wife has already told me what we are bringing. And one of our members, currently off at seminary in VA, will be home, too, and we’ll get to see him again and love on him and hear how he is doing in his studies.

And a precious brother in the Lord sent me some pictures of the birds he so enjoys.

And I was reading tonight, when I arrived down here, this line from the Psalter and it seemed to encapsulate what I am driving towards: ” . . . for all things are your servants” (Psalm 119:91b). The first part of that verse says of God, “By your appointment they [all created things] stand this day” (Psalm 119:91a).

There is so much theology therein, folks. That word—appointment—is huge. Purposefulness, intentionality, governance. All things are servants under the sovereignty of God.

For the secularist, he has nowhere to go. Why pray if you’re a secularist? There’s no one to whom to pray. There’s no objective reason to hope. There’s just the void. And you’re part of the void–no rhyme or reason. Boy, what a philosophy. “Nowhere man in his nowhere land and making all his nowhere plans for nobody.”

But the truth is that all things are God’s servants and that they are appointed. Because that is true, prayer makes perfect sense. And there is reason to hope. Because the heavens are not matter in motion with no conductor. On the contrary, all the heavens declare the glory of God. And God has entered his creation in time and space. Light has come into the world.

When I watched the sun pour through my bedroom window, and I reflected on the birds, and I watched the deer feed from the forest, and I watched my dogs play in the yard, and when I tasted the sweetness of the strawberries, it all cohered; it made sense because all things are God’s servants, just like the Psalm says.

So if you’ve a chance to unplug and just look around and taste and see that the Lord is good, creation calls to you. Why? Because it’s not haphazard or random or accidental. But it serves its master so that men and women would look to the God of redemption who does all things well.

Permit me to share a short illustration from my real life.

On Wednesdays at noon, I lead a Bible study for my soldiers in my unit. I feed them lunch and we go to the Scriptures.

Currently we are walking verse-by-verse through the gospel of John. Today we were in John 11. This is where Lazarus dies, where Jesus weeps, where Jesus commands a dead man (Lazarus) to come out of the tomb. Eyewitnesses were in rapt attention. And at the word of Christ, a corpse came out of the tomb. Correction: A corpse didn’t come out of the tomb; a live man came out of the tomb, at the express will of God in Christ. How? Because Jesus has power over life and death, because God raises the dead, because God is God.

I walked the guys through the text. They asked questions. We all marveled at the hardness of heart of the scribes and Pharisees. We rejoiced at the reality that God’s power is monergistic. His will cannot be thwarted. Some believed Him and the evidence; others with hard hearts denied the evidence and turned away; still others hated Jesus and tried to kill him. Yet God’s will prevailed. Jesus continued His mission to the cross; He was betrayed, crucified, buried, and raised on the third day–in precise fulfillment of prophecies in both the Old Testament and New Testament. God’s will was being executed, His plan for the fullness of time, fulfilled.

As the hour wore on in our study today, we had all interacted with the Scriptures, trying to picture Lazarus, Mary, Martha, the scribes, the Pharisees, and of course, the Lord Jesus. It’s important to realize these were real men and women on a real day that had a real sunrise and a real sunset. History matters, so I try to take time with the guys, getting them to see the context of what we read. Details matter.

And I let a pause hang in the air, trying not to talk too much, but to sense where the guys were, and what God was and is doing.

Then, one of the toughest guys I’ve ever met, a guy who has more muscles than I can even name, a guy who runs marathons and triathalons and has all the toughest schools the Army can offer him, looked at me and said, “Chaplain, can we pray?”

He voiced concerns over the murders in TX, the politicization of nearly everything, and asked if I’d pray for it all, and even for our guys in the unit.

Folks, I cannot comment on things political as a soldier still in uniform, but when my guys, guys that are my mission field, ask their chaplain to pray, it is one of the greatest blessings in my life. It reaches my very core.

And all I could do, as I struggled to find the words and prayed publicly before my men, was to also say silently to myself: Thank you, Lord, for who You are. Thank You for what You are doing in and through these men.

Three beauties from my friend Jim and a question from Job: “Who provides for the raven its prey, when its young ones cry to God for help, and wander about for lack of food?” (Job 38:41).

These are not ravens or raven eggs, obviously, but the answer to the question from God to Job (and to us) remains obvious.

Thank you, Jim, for the pictures.

See you Sunday.

Thanks to my friend Jim, here are a few shots of feathered friends. Is it possible they delight in spring as much as we? Enjoy.

Laced up the hiking boots today for a few miles in the hills. The creeks are almost dry in some places. The leaves crunch loudly when you walk upon them. The ground is thirsty. But the miles still fed my soul. Grateful to be able to walk the hills and gaze up at the timber and understand the appropriateness of gratitude.

Thursday night I watched a movie on one of the streaming services. The movie captured me from the first scene. When I saw who the main actor was I was still more encouraged. Each movie I have seen him in has been excellent. In Signs, his character saw early on what others could not and/or would not see. In Gladiator, he played the coward, a shell, a traitor as despicable as Judas Iscariot. And in Her, the movie I watched last night, he played a writer. Well, a writer of sorts. He played the character Theodore, a writer in a Los Angeles-based company that employed wordsmiths to compose “real letters” to be sent to real people, but the whole operation was accomplished by ghostwriters like Theodore and the gadgets they used. Or did the gadgets use them? Who was real? The writers? The machines? The words? And what constituted the real versus the unreal?

Theodore voice-typed love letters into a computer, had the machine alter the font sizes and styles to fit the various customers’ scenarios, and . . . Voila! Out came scripts ostensibly penned from the hearts of bereaved grievers–a lovestruck Romeo, heartbroken Pip whose Estella had crushed him, a Jay Gatsby still reeling from his own Daisy’s cruelties, etc.

These letters are sent to readers who would believe the letters were written by those with whom they’d been involved. But it was all a charade. Behind the ‘real’ letters were writers, sure, but not the ones the receivers thought. Theodore’s gifts were used, but deceptively.

To further complicate things, Theodore is going through a pending divorce. He had loved his wife but they’d grown apart. Their tempers had begun to increasingly flare at each other. They knew each other so well they knew how to wound quicky; and they did. But still the love was there, alongside the cruelties. Both were real. The joys and the sorrows. Real joys and real sorrows, real loves and real cruelties, because Theodore and his wife were real people. The bad came with the good.

But as the divorce looms ever closer, Theodore grows lonelier by the day. His peers sense it. He ex-girlfriend from years before senses it. He entertains himself via video games and the internet, but grows bored in his work. He longs for the real. His solution, he entertains, may be a new OS. It’s an operating system (OS), another form of artificial intelligence (AI) that can and does read and sort his emails, sort through Theodore’s contacts, learn Theodore’s likes and dislikes, makes him laugh, and even titillates him. It’s not long before Theodore falls in love with his OS who is named “Samantha.” But Samantha, of course, is not a real person. She has no body, no birthday, no mom or dad, never was late for cheerleading practice, never got a pimple, never kissed a boy. She is artifice, after all, made up, conjured, an OS.

This is where the movie gripped me most. Here was Theodore, laughing and sharing his life with Samantha, showing her the “real world” of CA beaches, sand, surf, and sun, umbrellas in the sunshine, subway stairwells, and the spartan nature of his apartment, etc. Samantha was seeing the tangible world of Theodore, but also his heart, his imagination, what was “really real” to Theodore. The ideas, the hopes, the loves, etc. that helped inform and shape him into who he was. And in so doing, Theodore rediscovered what was most important and “most real” in his life: connection. And Phoenix succeeded masterfully. The pathos he elicited from me as a viewer was stirring. He was superb. The cinematography was spectacular. Of course there were suggestive scenes of an adult nature but it was not a prurient film or glandular. It aimed to address (perhaps not answer) questions of what many people are actually striving for.

There’s often a huge differene between what “briefs well” and what people actually believe. It is like when Jesus was in Jerusalem near the temple. He taught so often about discerning truth from mere appearance: “Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment” (John 7:24). There is the facade and there is the genuine. Discernment is key.

It took Theodore a long time to let go of his wife via divorce, only to see how much he did love her. It took Theodore a long time to let go of the image he had of “Samantha,” the operating system (OS) in his computer, that was pure artifice. But the artifice was used to teach Theodore. He reconnected with who he was, what made him tick, with the real people in his real world that he actually loved and who loved him back. Maybe the number was small. But is that not the way of so much in life? When it comes down to it, is it not the genuine that is to be desired rather than the artificial? “Many a man proclaims his own steadfast love, but a faithful man who can find?” is the way Solomon phrased it.

One of my favorite writers is the author William Gay. There’s a great story of him when he was at a reading event a few years back. A lady trying to make a public spectacle of him confronted him while he was having a drink with his friend at a diner in a small TN town. The lady came up to him and said, “We’re ready for you, Mr. Gay, but you need to come now and leave your friend here. It’s time for you to be with the crowd.”

“My friend will come, too, then,” Gay responded.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gay,” the woman said. “But he cannot come. The people are here to see you.”

“Then they’ll see neither,” Gay responded. And he and his friend kept enjoying their drinks.

The lady left, having learned something about William Gay.

Gay’s friend, interviewed many years later, said, “That was William’s way. If he was your friend, he was with you all the way.”

In his own way, I think that’s what Theodore was driving towards. It just took him some time to see it for himself. He longed for one who would be with him all the way. He longed for the real rather than the artifice. The faithful vs. the fairweather friend.

Here again are some bird beauties, courtesy of my friend Jim.

Praise the LORD! (Psalm 150:6).

That’s not just good theology, not just wise counsel.

It is also a wise prayer for a world gone wrong, a world running headlong the wrong way.

Lord, hear this prayer.

Though my passion is words, though I love few things as much as a scintillating short story or a novel that makes me lose track of time, or a play that takes me to Elsinore or Thebes, it is hard to argue with the power of pictures.

Pictures can nearly bypass thought. They tend to go straight for the gut. Little to no effort is required to be entertained by colors, shapes, and immediacy. Books require time and sustained concentration.

Thanks to friends from Sunday school and elsewhere, below are stories in pictures that creation tells.

The bird pictures from Jim are amazing. Some others are simple road scenes from my many hours traveling back and forth. I think I like them because of the metaphor involved–the idea of a journey or pilgrimage. I was going somewhere. There was a point to it all, in other words. The road as metaphor will never pass away, I’d wager.

Another is of a pond nearby where I am throughout the week. I am a softie for water scenes–be they creeks, ponds, seas, rivers, etc.

To our group at church, I just want to say how much I appreciate you, the opportunity to be with you, learn with you, worship with you, walk with you, and grow. Faithfulness is all. Press on.

“I have a book. I’ve found it very helpful. Would you read it?” I asked him.

“Sure.”

“Here you go,” I said, handing it to him. “I’ve found it helpful for folks to see where they fall.”

He took it. I watched his expression when I gave it to him. He seemed to scoff at the idea of learning. It was as if he had it all figured out. Or was it the possibilty that he was unwilling to change his mind even if the evidence demonstrated he was in error? I tried to let it go inside, but my gut told me I’d given him a book that would be tossed aside, perhaps not even perused.

Some time went by. In previous conversations, he had boasted to me that he was quite the reader. He had told me of the strong grades he earned in his high school days, and that he’d been in the advanced classes. So I thought I would ask him if he’d had a chance to read the little book.

“Well, did you have a chance to read that book?”

“I did,” he responded quickly. “It was quite short, so it did not take me long.”

“I see,” I said. “Well, where did you fall?”

“I guess I’m a nihilist,” he said.

“I see.” I let the silence hang for a moment.

Very often over the last few months, when he shared some of his life with me, he spoke of his family, his wife and children, where he grew up, etc. So I thought I’d press him a bit to see if he’d thought his worldview through.

“Nothingness philosophy, eh?” I asked.

“Well, I can undermine any value,” he said.

“Do you think if someone murdered your daughters, would that be wrong?” I asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t like it, but let me ask you a question,” he responded.

“You wouldn’t like it?” I said. “Why? Is that all? Just a preference? The murder of your daughters would not be objectively wrong?” I pressed. So I continued. “Wait. I want to be sure I understand your position. It would not be objectively wrong for someone to murder your children? Or rape them?”

“I would not like it,” he said.

“If someone stole your wallet, would you be upset?” I asked. “Or is everything just preferences?”

“I think that all values are subjective,” he said.

“That’s an interesting position to have for someone who cannot anchor values. You seem certain about that, like it’s objectively true, like it’s good, like it’s a good thing to be right, almost like there is a right, a good, a true,” I said. “Make sense?”

Someone came through the door and our conversation was interrupted.

I have thought about him a lot. He seems unwilling to bend.

One of the things that keeps running through my mind is that I believe he loves his wife and children. I think he would more than just prefer their remaining protected from evil. He lives as if he believes their provision and protection are good values in and of themselves.

Then the lyrics to one of my favorite songs kept running through my head. It’s a song by Paul Simon called “Crazy Love.” And some of the lines reminded me of the scenario described above:

Fat Charlie the Archangel
Sloped into the room
He said, “I have no opinion about this
And I have no opinion about that”
Sad as a lonely little wrinkled balloon
He said, “Well I don’t claim to be happy about this, boys
And I don’t seem to be happy about that”

In the song, the character of Charlie is just awash in nihilism. He’s sad and is soon to file for divorce. He just can’t seem to find the answers. He’s dead sure he has no opinions. But he files for divorce, as if he’s sure about that. Ironic for a nowhere man in his nowhere land.

He gave the book back to me, as if it had been less than useful to him. Seems he has all the answers he needs in his nihilism.

I’m going to listen to “Crazy Love” several times again, because I think Paul Simon was driving at something that can be missed. A little wrinkled balloon is a sad image. It’s almost like balloons were designed, but that would mean there was a designer, right? It would almost make you think that balloons were designed to fly, rather than be sad little wrinkled leavings on the floor, where they’d sure appear to be misplaced.