A few months back I came to an intersection. As I looked to my right, about 100 yards down the road, a truck was spinning out of control and came to a stop just off the road. He apparently had a tire blowout. As I watched, one of his wheels came hurtling towards me, rolling and bouncing all the way. As it got closer, I eased forward a little, and it crossed the road about 15 feet behind my car.
Correct, rebuke, encourage; challenge, warn, urge (MSG). Paul ends his passionate charge to Timothy by drilling down on teaching what God has to say, not on what man wants to hear—correcting/challenging false impressions, rebuking/warning against wrong actions, encouraging/coming alongside to urge others on to do all things for the glory of God. Man has such a tendency to twist the truth of the Word.
What a story Paul had. Certainly he had many opportunities to tell it—in prison in Jerusalem (Acts 21-23), in Caesarea (Acts 23-26), in Rome as he writes this letter to Timothy—and he never failed to rise to the occasion.
You cannot preach the Word, proclaim the Message, tell your story with God, unless you are prepared to do so. In fact preparation is the key to living, anyway you look at it. If you are going on a mountain hike you lace up your sturdy shoes, pack some water, grab your hiking stick, put on your sunscreen, check on the weather—you prepare as best you can.
Sensing this is his final letter, Paul sets out with even more than his usual fervor to impress upon Timothy the details of his calling. Not a word is wasted: preach the Word; or as the Message translation says: proclaim the Message with intensity.
Last page, last letter—the time has come. Paul gives his protégé, Timothy, a stirring charge. At the beginning of this letter he told him that he, Paul, was appointed a herald and an apostle and a teacher of the gospel (2 Timothy 1:11). Now he places his ministry of the gospel in Timothy’s hands. In effect, he endows his son in the faith with his legacy. He solemnly offers to Timothy, before God, what is tantamount to a binding oath. The Message translation is pretty onerous: I can’t impress this on you too strongly. God is looking over your shoulder.
Most bibles include maps with colored lines detailing Paul’s travels. The lines wind from city to city, port to port. Within a few sentences found in Acts, we glimpse the depth of the relationships Paul established among the groups of believers comprising the early church. In Acts 20, we see Paul rushing to make it to Jerusalem for the day of Pentecost. Instead of stopping in Ephesus, he invites the leaders of the church to meet with him for some final words of encouragement.
Days passed. The contractors appeared busy but had little to show for their activities. Measuring, surveying, leveling, digging and pouring cement consumed their time. They were laying a foundation, and the cement piers had to be deep and secure before the floors, walls, and ceiling went up.
I accomplished the impossible. I devised a raccoon proof bird feeder! I just might post this victory message on a nature loving website since everything I’ve read states it can’t be done! True, these are deep-in-the-woods raccoons, not the city or state park variety who sift through trash cans. These do, though, love to raid our feeders using every acrobatic instinct known to these furry friends. What foiled their perseverance? Something new!
The battle never ends. I despise them—prickly thistles and the vicious thorns of the Locust tree that thrive in East Texas pastures. Both sprout and spread without need of fertilizer or rain. Removing them requires fortitude along with lots of sweat and personal protection. Realizing they resulted from Adam’s sin frees me to vent my frustration and out-right anger. They just don’t belong here!
Paychecks, health and relationships represent just a few things I’ve placed too much trust in. I can continue the list with government and educational systems. Each one, at some time, has disappointed me. Each one tempts me with my trust.
I looked forward to youth group every week. My mom dropped me off at the back door of the church and I darted through the hall, heading up the stairs to the unfinished “attic” where we met on Wednesday nights. I couldn’t wait to see my friends and hear the music and message to grow my faith.
Why do our furniture purchases occur when we’re on vacation?
My husband had a valid point. It did seem we’d done our share of hauling tables in our SUV. Our current kitchen table had caught our eye while on our first Christmas vacation. We loaded it in the back of our car, drove for two days, and waited for my parents to bring the chairs a few months later.
The front door slammed and there in the entryway stood my little brother, tear-streaks lining his muddy face. He was holding one tennis shoe, standing in saggy tube socks.
How about cleaning out some of those bins full of journals?My husband had a legitimate point. He had moved the bins of Bible studies and notebooks from attic to attic during the last fifteen years we’d been married. I lifted the lid and memories flooded my mind. Journaling in my childhood bedroom. Scribbling away under a lush Magnolia tree at Baylor. Pouring out my heart on lonely nights in my small apartment. That bubbly handwriting of my youth eventually gave way to chicken scratch that makes my children cringe today.
I still remember that sweltering sunny day. As a child, picking strawberries was one of my favorite summer outings. I loved walking the aisles, eyeing the perfect berry and plucking it off the bush. As we began, I distinctly remember my mother’s instructions.No tasting the berries before we pay. That’s stealing.
I watched my friend, Virginia, as she greeted friends at Sid’s funeral. He had suffered a stroke and fought a futile battle for life for several months. How difficult it was for a wife to watch as her husband suffered. Now he was gone.
“I can’t find anything after I put it away. I know I need to organize, but I just don’t know where to start. I want to invite friends over, but my house is such a mess. I want less clutter, but I just can’t figure out how to get started.” Sound familiar?
“Lucas, get your soccer shoes from the utility room. Katie, the half-time snack is in the refrigerator. Sean, come here so Mom can button your jacket.”
I noticed a For Sale sign in a yard yesterday. Written at the bottom of the sign in bold red letters were the words TOO LATE. I remarked to Jerry that life is full of those signs. I think we all experience them.
