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Get Rid of the Baggage  

Tough choices. 
Life is full of them.
 
I faced one at the airport in Timisoara, Romania.  We'd finished a major “Global Partners Training” event with about 150 Christian media professionals.  Flying on to Bucharest to visit friends, I now toted a (massive) bright red suitcase that was entirely empty--but not quite big enough to nest my second suitcase.
 
On the trip over, it was loaded with supplies for the conference, all properly distributed.  But now, the airline wanted $75 to transport it to Bucharest.  It would cost another $75 to haul the hollow box home to Chicago.   Given that I'd discovered “Bid Red” in the trash and that it's telescoping handle was no longer in the mood to telescope, it seemed like a no-brainer that I just abandon Big Red.
 
Still, I struggled.  My heart finally yielded to my head and I let the airline counter know that I would be leaving the thing there (no need to bring out the bomb squad!). 
 
Before condemning Big Red to a corner at the airline terminal, I removed every personal tag and double checked its many zippered pockets (something I apparently had never done since I picked the thing out of the garbage).  To my shock, I discovered things I had no idea were inside: the cover of a bike manual, a large folded poster of some Italian soccer team, and (forgive me, sensitive readers) a woman’s undergarment. 
 
Consider that I'd been toting Big Red all over Romania.  The same suitcase had made a trip to Ghana, West Africa a few months earlier.  Who knew I was carrying around all this unwanted stuff?  (Guess I....ur....should be more careful about luggage sitting out on the curb, eh?). 
 
May I ask you a question?  Is it possible you are carrying around stuff you had no idea was actually weighing you down? Stuff that shouldn’t belong to you as a follower of Jesus.   Stuff you've lugged around for a long time, maybe?
 
Jesus asked, “What should it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his soul?”
 
Maybe it's time to get rid of the baggage.
 

 
Urgently Invited  

To travel internationally is to make mistakes.

Mine are made in every category imaginable: mistakes in language, social etiquette, public decorum—you name it.  I'm sure I've managed to embarrass myself a dozen different ways as I've traveled recently through Turkey, Romania and Ghana.

Navigating airport terminals, I'm intrigued with the incredible difference that a tiny word change can make in the finesse of language and communication.  

For example, flying Turkish airlines to Istanbul, we repeatedly heard cabin announcements as follows: “Ladies and gentlemen and dear kids....”  I loved the “dear kids” reference.  Charming.  Yet it made me think—do we really see our children as “dear”?   Or are they often simply a drain on us?

Flying out of the Bucharest airport, I heard the following message over the P.A. System:  “Passengers are urgently invited to board flight number....”  At first, the announcement struck me as quaint, even cute.  In the U.S, we don't “urgently invite” anyone to do anything.  We would urgently request but not “urgently invite.”

The slight difference is telling.

Peering out the window of Germany's Frankfurt airport, I noodled on all of this. Consider the language of Revelation 3:20—an “announcement” of sorts from Jesus Himself.  “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.”

Notice that Jesus makes no demands—here, or anywhere—in Scripture.  He extends the indescribably urgent offer of eternal life—but simply “knocks” at the door. Elsewhere He says “Whoever is thirsty, let him come.”  But again, no demands.

You might say, Jesus “urgently invites.”  But He never demands.  The choice is always ours.

What kind of choices are YOU making about Jesus?

 
Profound Thanks in Profound Loss  

Every Thanksgiving it’s the same: we beat ourselves up over the fact that we’re not as “thankful as we ought to be.”  We chide ourselves—and others—for the presumption that describes our thankless “comfort with comfort.”

A thankful spirit is hardly optional, not if you read Scripture.  So I suppose there’s a place for thwacking ourselves with this kind of jolt. Yet, for my part, I shall not attempt to preach at you in this blog.  Instead, I would like to reset the stage of that very first pilgrim Thanksgiving celebration.

In his book, “The First Thanksgiving,” Robert McKenzie does an eloquent job of taking us to that little gathering on a dreary Massachusetts shore.  He writes,

And yet in the autumn of 1621, the wounds were still so fresh.  It would be no stain on the Pilgrims’ faith if their rejoicing was leavened with a lingering heartache.  Widowers and orphans abounded.  Fourteen of the eighteen wives who had set sail on the Mayflower had perished during the winter.  There were now only four married couples, and one of those consisted of Edward and Susannah Winslow who had married that May shortly after both had lost their spouses.  Mary Chilton, Samuel Fuller, Priscilla Mullins and Elizabeth Tilley each had lost both parents, and young Richard More, who had been torn from his parents before sailing, had since lost the three siblings banished with him.  That the Pilgrims could celebrate at all in this setting was a testimony both to human resilience and to heavenly hope.

No doubt the capacity for the pilgrims’ thankful spirit had its anchor in the rock of Romans 8:38:  And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love.

This Thanksgiving, there’s no need for a guilt trip.

But a simple, honest, heartfelt prayer of thanks is more than in order.

 
Caleb's Intensity  

If you are searching for an unforgettable picture of intensity, I know a two-year old who can help.

What the scent of blood is to a shark, the sight of a book is to young Caleb.  He doesn’t merely read books—he inhales them.   From the moment his sense of balance enabled him to toddle across the floor, he has dragged books all over the house and on to the lap of anyone—I mean anyone—who will read to him.

As Caleb’s “Poompah Di-Di” (the name he has cobbled together borrowing my wife’s moniker, “Di-Di” and his own attempt at “grandpa”), I have shared his love of books—and the sense of his wiggly body on my lap.

While most children his age are content to sit there as long as the pages turn quickly, Caleb will stay as long as needed on any given page.  And while most kids are “sort of” into the images and text, Caleb’s ferocious interest is off the charts.  He will do anything it takes to get front and center with a book.   And happily hear it read ten times in succession.  No title ever gets boring.  No page is ever unworthy.

So lost in the wonder of his books is young Caleb, that his own head gets in the way of my ability to read the page!   I have to dodge his noggin to do the readin’!  Now throw into the mix the shared interest of his older sister in the same story and you can begin to appreciate I often have a very full lap.

Without wishing to strain at a spiritualization, I sometimes feel “shown up” by Caleb and his intensity. To the point:  When am I ever this intense when it comes to reading the Bible?  Why do I not read like Caleb reads—no chapter ever gets boring, no page is unworthy?

Jeremiah 29:13 “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

I’m pondering Caleb’s intensity—and wishing I had more of it.

 
To Hell and Back  

What's the strangest place you have ever visited?  Traveling to 35 countries has taken me to some unusual locations, but none as bizarre as a trip to the ancient city of Hierapolis in Turkey. 
 
After a considerable hike through this historic city, you finally arrive at the Gates of Hell.  I'm entirely serious.  To the untrained eye (mine) the Gates of Hell appear entirely unremarkable.  Imagine a mound of dirt covered with cut stones that form a wall behind which are said to be the actual Gates of Hell.
 
How it is that long-ago-locals came to identify this spot as THE entrance to the world of the condemned is worth a brief excursion. 
 
The site is built on top of a cave which emits toxic gases, making it a convenient spot for the ritual sacrifice of animals.  Tied with ropes, the animals were tossed into the cave where they died, reinforcing the notion that this place of death represented the actual gates of Hell.  According to some reports, the cavern still maintains its deadly atmosphere.  Birds, attracted by the cavern's warm air, have suffered after breathing the toxic fumes. 
 
Having been to the place, it hardly seems fitting as an entryway to the lake of fire which burns forever, the final judgment.  Turkey’s so-called “Gates of Hell” make for an interesting visit but we would do well to separate biblical truth from lore and legend.
 
When the Bible speaks of Hell, it refers to a real place where real people will spend eternity.    Who will be there?  The Bible tells us in Revelation 20:15.  “Whosoever's name was not found written in the Lamb's Book of life was cast into the lake of fire.”  The only escape is to “confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead.”
 
Unspeakable agony, unending damnation—this is the real Hell, not some tourist site in Turkey. Unlike our visit to the supposed “Gates of Hell,” in Hierapolis, the real Hell is not a stopping off point.   It's a destination.  And having arrived, there is no going back.

 
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Jon GaugerJon Gauger

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