In the spring of 1952, Billy Graham preached a crusade in Rice Stadium, on the campus of Rice University in Houston, Texas.

I was eleven years old and lived only blocks away from that 70,000 seat football stadium. My father was on one of the committees that served the crusade, and I attended the meetings. I was impressed with the fact that Roy Rogers and Dale Evans were on the stage, but more impressed with Graham’s style of preaching the Gospel.

Seven years later I would respond to a call from God to preach the same Gospel, and would preach my first sermon. I tried hard to imitate Billy Graham – a soft covered, floppy Bible in one hand, one foot behind the other, and index finger of the other hand pointing toward heaven. I even worked on a North Carolina accent. Somehow phrases like, “from all over this vast crowd, people are going to come to the altar” and “the buses will wait” never seemed to fit the small groups to which I preached.

By my senior year in college I had become pastor of my first church, and had decided that God called one Billy Graham, and one Dan Crawford, each unique, each gifted, each with a special ministry. But he remained a hero, and the past few days have been mixed with grief over his death and joy over his heavenly arrival. He and my father were the same age.

I hope by now they have has an opportunity to re-new their acquaintance in heaven. Engraved in Billy Graham’s tombstone are the words of Jesus, recorded in John 14:6, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” I will continue to proclaim that truth, minus one more earthly hero.

When I was in college, all my friends were Democrats, except for one roommate, who was a member of the Young Republicans club on campus. But we were still friends, and in fact he was in my wedding. For the past four decades I have worked in a religious environment described as a “Conservative Resurgence” where friends were fired or pressured to resign, in fact, some of my best friends, disappeared almost overnight. But they were still my friends and continue to be so today. Over the years I have had philosophical differences with friends, but we remain friends. In all these areas, I never thought differences were big enough to cost me a friendship. Let me state it another way – to me friendships are more valuable than agreements. Thomas Jefferson said it best, “I never considered a difference of opinion in politics, in religion, in philosophy, as cause for withdrawing from a friend.” Part of the secret comes in “bearing with one another” (Colossians 3:13). So, put down your cell phones, sign out of your social networks, and look for friendship. It may be closer than you think.

 Tis the season for graduations. Many years ago, at my Seminary graduation, the commencement speaker spoke on the subject “Don’t Forget the Lily Work” from 1 Kings 7:15-22. Hiram finished the construction of Solomon’s Temple with two pillars, each one 27 feet tall, topped with two capitals, each 7 ½ feet high. Then 34 ½ feet above the ground, where no human eye could see, Hiram added the beautiful lily work. “The tops of the pillars were in the shape of lilies. So the work of the pillars was finished” (1 Kings 7:22) or from the King James Version, “And upon the top of the pillars was lily work.” The speaker reminded us that our ministry was not complete until we had done that which pleased only God, perhaps not even seen by man. Have you been doing that which pleased God, iregardless of man’s response? And aren’t you impressed that I actually listened to, and remembered the commencement speaker at my graduation? Garry Trudeau said, “Commencement speeches were invented largely in the belief that outgoing students should never be released into the world until they have been properly sedated.” Don’t forget your lily work this week.

Sometimes preachers have thoughts during their sermons that did not occur to them during the preparation time.  It happened to me several years ago on the Sunday before Thanksgiving.  As expected, I was preaching on being thankful, using the example of the one leper out of ten who returned to thank Jesus for healing (Luke 17:11-19), when I suddenly departed from my notes and suggested the folks think of three people for who they were thankful, then tell them of their thankfulness in the next three days, before Thanksgiving Day. Later that day, the thought hit me that I too, should take this advice.  Thus, began an annual Thanksgiving week tradition for me.  Unknown to me, one of the people I thanked that first year was a relative of a man who was in the congregation where I first offered the suggestion.  The Sunday following Thanksgiving, that man, thanked me for practicing what I preached.  I was sure glad I responded to my own suggestion.  How about you?  Are there people you need to thank this week? May I suggest you do so? 

We once had a beautiful long-haired dachshund. Even in her later years, all I had to do was say the word, “Go” and she would jump from wherever she was sitting and run to the nearest door. Funny how I have become like that dog. I know I need to say “no” occasionally, but every time someone sends me an invitation to speak, I jump to the occasion. I’m not sure how old Jeremiah was when he wrote that God’s word, “was in my heart like a burning fire shut up in my bones” (Jeremiah 20:9) and perhaps he was even older when he wrote of God, “From above He has sent fire into my bones” (Lamentations 1:13). I just can’t say “no.” Even when I want to decline, something inside of me says, “yes.” I know what it is – that “fire in my bones.” It is that calling I received from God as a teen-ager. It’s still active. God has not yet decided to retire that call, nor am I ready for Him to do so. Who would want to keep living after God was finished with them? British/American author, motivational speaker and marketing consultant. Simon O. Sinek asked, “What good is having a belly if there’s no fire in it”? I like that. Belly-up! The fire is still burning. How about you?

The voice on the other end of the phone line said, “God wants us to minister to you and your wife.” It was a voice that I had not heard in many years, but it belonged to one who had re-connected with me on social media. My wife had just undergone her second major surgery in less than a year, and while insurance had paid the majority of the cost, the remaining “co-pays” were still a bit overwhelming, especially on a retirement income. We had dipped into our savings until there wasn’t much left to dip, and still the bills arrived. For most of my life I have been more of a “Giver” than a “Receiver.” I understand, and in fact, enjoy, the joy of giving. I find it to be one of the ways I can attempt to be Christ-like. However, when Jesus said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35); surely He did not intend to diminish the joy of receiving. While being a bit embarrassed to admit we needed it, we joyfully received the “ministry” gift from our friends from years gone by. I don’t often quote the Pope, but in an interview with Italy’s “La Stampa” newspaper, Pope Francis said, “God never gives someone a gift they are not capable of receiving.” I’m praying today to be as capable of receiving as I am of giving.

Attending a baseball game recently, I had a flashback to my own playing days and this interesting reflection - I never hit a Home Run - not in Little League, Summer Baseball Camp, Pony League, High School, College, Semi-pro Softball, Church League Softball - not one Home Run. In a world where the Home Run is celebrated as the ultimate, I was a spray hitter, lots of singles, a few doubles, RBIs, walks, stolen bases, and sacrifice bunts, but no dingers. So was I a valuable member of the team? Absolutely! Few teams win with only solo Home Runs. Someone needs to be on base when the bombs are hit. In the Christian life, what role do you play? Do you get a lot of attention by making the big contribution, or do you rather quietly go about your business with support roles? If we are really a team - Paul calls us, “members of one another” (Romans 12:5) - then all roles are needed. So, choke up on the bat, pull up your socks, dust off your pants, get ready to make a contribution, and take the advice of Babe Ruth who said, “Never let the fear of striking out get in your way.” And don’t forget to celebrate the contributions of other teammates. Play ball!

As a workaholic, I never cared much for solitude.  Oh, I knew about it and my need for it, but I just never made time for much of it.  I could quote Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God” and even learned the NASV translation, “Cease striving and know that I am God.” Even when I taught this as a part of discipleship, I quickly added, “Do as I say, not as I do.”  Workaholics think very little of solitude and workaholics who are also perfectionist think even less. But we who are defined as such, grow older and to some extent at least, wiser. As the body slows down, the mind finds time for quiet reflection.  Now, rather late in the journey, I’m learning about the benefits of solitude.  I’m learning that the best time to rest is when I don’t have time for it.  Socrates warned to, “Beware the barrenness of a busy life.”  A little bit later, Robert Louis Stevenson wrote, “He who sows hurry reaps indigestion.”  More recently, Ralph Marston, Owner and Writer of the internet based, “The Daily Motivator” wrote, “Rest when you're weary. Refresh and renew yourself, your body, your mind, your spirit. Then get back to work.”  So having acknowledged solitude and its benefits, please excuse me – I need to get back to work

The first call came when I was out of the country. It was a request for prayer. I promised not only to pray but make a visit as soon as I returned home. The second call came in less than a week - from his sister – one year ago this past week. Unfortunately, my promised visit would be to conduct his funeral. When I was fourteen years old my pastor-father changed churches and I was not happy - leaving my friends, changing schools, changing churches, etc. I dutifully went to Sunday School on the first Sunday and took a seat in the only empty chair in the room of unfamiliar boys. The one next to me said, “Hi, I’m Jimmie Don.” Thus began a friendship that lasted sixty years – through baseball & basketball, car-pooling, double dating, groomsman at my wedding, Vietnam, his post -Vietnam marital difficulties, car sales (him to me), phone calls, birthday calls every year on Pearl Harbor Day with a comment of how easy it was to remember his birthday, High School reunions, prayer times, long conversations about life and eventually about death. Jimmie Don Ulrich was my friend. I miss him. Friendships are a wonderful part of life, often taken for granted until it is too late to appreciate them. Proverbs 29:9 speaks of the sweetness of friendship. So if you have a really close friend, recognize them as such, communicate with them, and appreciate them. Enjoy the sweetness of friendship – while there is yet time to do so.

At a Bar B.Q. restaurant I recently ordered a two-meat dinner of sliced brisket and sausage. When I finished cutting the brisket into normal size bites, I had a total of six bites of rather thin sliced meat. I know the price of beef is increasing, but this clearly was not the portion I wanted. It set me thinking about “portions” and took me back to a painful event several years ago when the will of a family member was read and I was notified that I, and two other members of the family, had been deleted from the will. My portion was eliminated. I was reminded that the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah was once lamenting over what he believed to be his less-than-acceptable circumstances, when he relied on the words of the Psalmist, and paraphrased, “The LORD is my portion . . . therefore I hope in Him!” (Psalm 73:26; Lamentations 3:24). Various translations render the word “portion” as “inheritance,” “all I have,” and “my lot in life.” Few get to this verse of hope because of the beautiful and oft-quotes verses that precede it, related to God’s mercies and compassions being new every morning. But the hope rests in our portion of life, all that we really have, our total inheritance, the Lord.

 I spent my pre-college, teen-age years living in the city of Houston, Texas. My small-town parents worried constantly for my safety and sanity in the big city. Thus they set boundary lines for me. There were certain parts of the city where I was not allowed, and certain places that were off-limits to me. As the son of a Southern Baptist pastor, you can imagine where some of those places were. But I survived and to this day have wonderful (although mostly Facebook-type) friends from those years. I appreciated my parents’ concern, but was glad to move off to college, for an unexpected culture shock. From the city to the country; from the second largest High School in the south to a college of 1000 students; from big city boundaries to small town freedoms. Brownwood, Texas was a long way from Houston, not just in miles. Described by some as located, “fifteen miles from the nearest known sin,” this new environment presented new opportunities and possibilities. My sophomore roommate was an Agriculture major from “out-of-Lometa, Texas” with pictures of cows beside his bed. Needless to say, it was an interesting year. But the early boundaries kept me in line and to this day, some of my best friends, are my former college classmates. To go from one among the masses in a large city and a High School graduating class of more than 700 to being named my University’s Distinguished Alumni of the Year in 2015, was quite a journey, with some very interesting boundaries. The Psalmist wrote, “The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places; Yes, I have a good inheritance.” (Psalm 16:6). Better, the NIV translates it, “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.” This would be a good week to check and reflect on your boundary lines, and if necessary, join me in being grateful.

Three funerals in ten days! I guess one should expect that in the later years of life. At least I have been in the pulpit and pew, and not in the casket. Or as one friend exclaimed, “We’re still on the green side of the grass!” The three deceased were very different in personalities and profession, in characteristics and calling. Yet there was a common thread in the three memorial services – all three were believers. It was affirmed that we knew where each of them now existed – heaven. It was further affirmed that the God who welcomed them into heaven, was the same God who offered comfort in our time of sorrow. Oh, there were tears and expressions of grief, because there had been a loss. But there was also laughter and celebration at each service. Paul writes that we grieve, but we do not grieve like those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). We grieve, and we celebrate, all at the same time. The seldom sung phrase of a popular praise song says, “I find my strength, I find my hope, I find my help, in Christ alone.” I couldn’t help but wonder how it would have been had those three funerals in ten days, been for non-believers, with no hope of eternal reward or reunion. I’ve been to an occasional one, such type of service, but not three in a row. How wonderful to live on the right side of hope, especially during days like these.

I wonder if prior to reaching the age of thirty, Jesus ever wondered when His time would come. It wasn’t up to Him. It would happen in the “fullness of time” (Galatians 4:4), just like everything else happens on God’s calendar. To reach their destiny, others would fight their way up, or politic their way up, or pay their way up, but not Jesus. When John the Baptist pointed out Jesus, it was because the time was right. From obscurity to prominence, Jesus didn’t have to fight His way out, politic His way out, or pay His way out. God sent John to point Him out. In the midst of a crowd that came to see John, Jesus was pointed out, “Behold, the Lamb of God” (John 1:29, 36). Do you ever get frustrated, waiting and wondering, when a special “time” will come for you, when you will arrive on the scene, when you will make a difference in your world? You may have to wait like Jesus, until God sends someone to point you out. You may have to live a bit longer with patience. It may happen when you least expect it, or when you are on the verge of giving up on waiting. The quote has been widely circulated as anonymous, but is often attributed to author and journalist, Barbara Haines Howett, “Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, she became a butterfly.” Don’t give up! Regardless of what God has already done, in and through you, there is a time coming when more is expected. You’ll be called out, maybe even pointed out. And you will live in a glorious “fullness of time” as God uses you to accomplish a Divine purpose. Watch for it. It’s coming!

Many have likened life to a journey.  I think it is rather a series of short journeys, phases of life, chapters in a larger story.  We depart and we return, and even though we can’t really go home again, we can go through home again, and when we do, we find those who celebrate with us, and encourage us to go again.  I had a favorite author, who disappointed me by later lifestyle choices, but once wrote profound words, “Everyone who returns from a long and difficult trip is looking for someone waiting for him at the station or the airport.  Everyone wants to tell his story and share his moments of pain and exhilaration with someone who stayed home, waiting for him to come back.” Part of my calling has been to equip travelers and send them out with encouragement, and assurance of support.  The other part has been to welcome them as they come through home again, needing help, healing, and renewed hope – to “rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15).  It is a strange calling, one that requires, or at least attempts, to both stay at home for support, and to journey for identification, for it is difficult to lead where one has not himself been.  I did not choose this calling, but was chosen for it.  Looking back, I wouldn’t change it for the world.  Journey on again, fellow pilgrims!  Home awaits!

It was a Friday worth forgetting. We sat in a small, cold, hospital emergency room, and listened to a Surgeon we had never met before, as he described the delicate, complicated surgery he would be performing on my wife. An accident had fractured her pelvis, and a faulty x-ray had allowed her to keep walking until her pelvis had separated from her hip, and now surgery was required. It would be followed by three months of no weight being put on her left leg, multitudes of pain pills, long sleepless nights.

For me it meant the clearing of a calendar in order to become a 24/7 caregiver. The immediate future looked dark, and troubling. That was thirteen weeks ago. With God’s sustaining presence, the prayer support and assistance of friends, and the shear grit and determination to endure, we made it. It was not easy, nor is it over. A visit with the Surgeon this past week revealed that while the fracture has healed, the stainless steel plate is secure, and home health care is no longer needed, six weeks of physical therapy remains. These will be tough days, as she learns to walk again, so he warned her about pain management. She will have sporadic swelling for up to one year, and still no driving for the next six weeks, but as the old spiritual says, “We’ve come this far by faith, leaning on the Lord; trusting in His Holy Word, He’s never failed us yet.”

The disciples had a much more difficult Friday, than we did (Matthew 27:45-50). For them, all hope disappeared, or so it seemed. Their troubling future was bleak, but short-lived. Friday yielded to Sunday, and hope returned (Matthew 28:1-6). We worship the same God who turns forgettable Fridays into Sundays (and other days) of hope.

It was a Friday worth forgetting. We sat in a small, cold, hospital emergency room, and listened to a Surgeon we had never met before, as he described the delicate, complicated surgery he would be performing on my wife. An accident had fractured her pelvis, and a faulty x-ray had allowed her to keep walking until her pelvis had separated from her hip, and now surgery was required. It would be followed by three months of no weight being put on her left leg, multitudes of pain pills, long sleepless nights. For me it meant the clearing of a calendar in order to become a 24/7 caregiver. The immediate future looked dark, and troubling. That was thirteen weeks ago. With God’s sustaining presence, the prayer support and assistance of friends, and the shear grit and determination to endure, we made it. It was not easy, nor is it over. A visit with the Surgeon this past week revealed that while the fracture has healed, the stainless steel plate is secure, and home health care is no longer needed, six weeks of physical therapy remains. These will be tough days, as she learns to walk again, so he warned her about pain management. She will have sporadic swelling for up to one year, and still no driving for the next six weeks, but as the old spiritual says, “We’ve come this far by faith, leaning on the Lord; trusting in His Holy Word, He’s never failed us yet.” The disciples had a much more difficult Friday, than we did (Matthew 27:45-50). For them, all hope disappeared, or so it seemed. Their troubling future was bleak, but short-lived. Friday yielded to Sunday, and hope returned (Matthew 28:1-6). We worship the same God who turns forgettable Fridays into Sundays (and other days) of hope.

I saw a new word this week, at least a new word for me – backstory. The definition is obvious – “a story that tells what led up to the main story.” In church we call this a testimony. I’m not surprised that the media opted for “backstory” over “testimony.” My “backstory” is interesting, exciting, diverse, and much too involved to include here. With a Pastor for a father I grew up in church. As another said, “My drug problem was that I was drug to church several times each week.” Testimonies were things we heard from youth evangelists and speakers who came to our church and shared their “backstories.” Mostly I remember their stories being approximately 90% of what led up to their “main story” (drugs, alcohol abuse, jail time, gang involvement, teenage sexual activities, etc.). The “main story” then was always covered in about 10% of their presentation. Frankly, I had friends who bought into the 90%. I chose the “path less traveled” – the 10%. While I appreciate the stories of those whose negative “backstory” was overcome, resulting in a positive “main story,” I’m thankful my “backstory” was heavily influenced by Christian parents, grandparents, family members, teachers, counselors, coaches, and friends. Due to my age, many of these folks have moved on to complete their “main story,” and are now enjoying their heavenly story, but if I could speak to them, I would do so in the words of the Apostle Paul, who had a tragic “backstory,” and overcame it to have a fantastic “main story,” “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you”  (Philippians1:3).

Suffering is an effective teacher, both for the one who is suffering and for the caregiver. I’ve learned a few lessons thus far in my 24/7 caregiving of my wife, following her accident, surgery, hospital and rehab stay, and now home health care activities. One lesson learned is that when you share the pain with others (in person, or on social media), you get varied responses. While the majority are sympathetic, prayerful, and affirming, a few are critical of any focus on the caregiver that takes away focus on the one suffering, especially when the caregiver is forced to make a decision, and then shares that decision with friends. There is a world of difference between making a decision and having an opinion. When a caregiver shares with friends, he or she finds who the real friends are. George Eliot, English novelist, poet, journalist, and one of the leading writers of the Victorian era, said it this way, “Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.” I am thankful today for so many friends who are described in these words, and I pray for the others, that their intentions were good, and that they realize that while there is a time for criticism, this is not such a time. The Apostle Paul said it this way, “Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers” (Ephesians 4:29). So when you speak to the suffering or their caregivers, be positive, encouraging, supportive, brief, biblical.