Are you a drug addict?

Don't answer too quickly.

It's possible you've never smoked a joint in your life...never popped a pill the doctor didn't prescribe.  But you could still be addicted.  I'm not talking about heroin or cocaine or meth.  I'm talking about the drug of connectivity—the need to have access to your email or Facebook page.

Recently, I was reminded of my own addiction. They did a major re-work of our email system at work on a Friday, and--BOOM--I was without remote access to email all weekend long.

You wanna know the really sick thing?  I actually sat on the couch with my phone on the armrest, alternatively staring--then glaring—at it, hungry to hear the thing ding.

I found myself checking it again and again...hoping something...someone might be getting through.  (Sure I could still text...but my addiction is with email, remember?).

The experience only underscored an embarrassing truth.  I am addicted to connectivity. I expect to be...desire to be...absolutely MUST be interrupted by chimes and ringtones.   Their lack creates a roar of silence that is uncomfortable, if not intolerable.

Now here's the disturbing question.  Why am I not equally addicted to connectivity with God?  Why does it not drive me crazy when I either rush or miss my morning prayer time with Him?  Why am I not compelled to continually check in with Him throughout the day?  Twenty-four/seven access to the King of the Universe is guaranteed.  And Scripture itself suggests this kind of behavior is actually expected: “Pray without ceasing,” we are told.

So how is it I must be connected to a stream of tedious information from friends and work that is temporary at best...while the Eternal sits unattended?

More to the point: How can I initiate a healthy addiction: a sense of need to commune with the Lord of the Universe?

O, God....set my heart aright.

I long to long for you, like David did.

Like a deer panting for water.

Amen!

She was born in 1903 in what was then Austria-Hungary. Alice Herz-Sommer was raised in a German speaking Jewish family. Early on, she displayed enormous talent at the piano and at sixteen, she was the youngest student of the Prague German Conservatory of Music. She toured Europe, impressing thousands.

Then came 1943 and the rise of Hitler. By now, Alice was married and had a young son. German soldiers ultimately hauled off Alice and her family. Not before she watched hopelessly as her neighbors ransacked her home, gleefully helping themselves to her clothes, art and furniture. Her husband was taken to Dachau, while Alice and her son were imprisoned at the Theresienstadt concentration camp.

Here, the Nazis imprisoned many gifted artists, demanding that they perform concerts for them, a propaganda effort to convince the world that Nazis treated their prisoners well.

Ultimately, Alice was released from the prison but not before her mother was killed by the Nazis, and her husband died of Typhus at Dachau...six weeks before the camp was liberated.

Alice went back to giving concerts...playing piano...teaching at the Jerusalem Academy of Music for 40 years. She is said to have practiced playing the piano three hours a day until the week she died at the incredible age of 110--the oldest known Holocaust survivor.

Alice once said, “I look at the good. It us up to us whether we look at the good or the bad....”

I don’t know what darkness has descended upon your soul lately, but I do know this. Alice’s life message is remarkably consistent with Philippians 4:8: “Whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.”

Bad stuff will happen.
What we focus on then is ultimately a choice.
Ours.

At 37 thousand feet, you see life--not just terrain--more clearly.

I’m writing this piece shoehorned into an airplane whose rows are so tightly spaced the seats do not recline.  But it’s only a two and half hour flight to Denver, so I suspect we’ll survive.

Minutes ago, why wife, Diana, observed that this budget airline offers a type of first class option: four seats across instead of six.  It was actually tempting.

Now I don’t mean to offend those who choose to pony up for wider seats and meals served on china instead of plastic (someday I think I’ll try it—really).  But I often wonder.  No matter where you fly within the U.S., it’s only a few hours.  Must we insist on maximum comfort at all times?

Let’s broaden out the question a bit as we talk cars. You can spend 25 thousand on a new car or 250 thousand.  Both cars will get you where you want to go safely and reasonably comfortably.  The 250 thousand dollar car will certainly have nicer suspension and many more conveniences.  Yet, in the end, whether I drive a glorified go cart or a Rolls Royce, I am still only using the car to get me where I’m going.  The car—as nice as it may be—is not the destination.  It’s the tool that gets me there.

We could ask similar questions about the clothes we wear, the houses we own.  And maybe we should.

I fear that increasing numbers of Christ followers (myself included) are buying into the worldly demand for maximum comfort at all times at any price.   And in so doing, we forget that we are “strangers and aliens on this earth.”

Every longing look at luxury takes our gaze away from our eternal destiny and locks our focus on a world that is “passing away.”

Hear me clearly.  There is no sin in having or owning nice things.

But when those nice things own us, we’re looking in the wrong direction.

What holds your gaze?

You could almost wipe the saliva off my mouth. That’s the intensity I felt walking into the International Center at the Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado. I was there to attend Jerry Jenkins’ Christian Writers Guild conference.

Plot structure, point of view, character development—this was the stuff I was longing to dig into. And dig we did (ur…not sure that last sentence would garner the approval of my instructors).

Anyway, we came to the last night of the conference where writer and Editor, Dr. Dennis Hensley spoke. Oddly enough (or, in retrospect, perhaps realistically enough) he spoke on failure.

If you’re new to the wisdom of “Doc Hensley,” he’s written 54 books, more than 150 short stories and 3,500 newspaper and magazine articles. From my hastily scribbled notes that night, here are a few of the thoughts he shared:

• Success at anything comes slowly.
• Mighty works come with time.
• Success is never automatic—even in the service of the Lord

Tracking with me here? Now listen to this next observation from Dr. Hensley:

A legacy of failure among great leaders is common knowledge! So learn from your mistakes. Make adjustments! Improve. It does no good to dwell on past failures and poor starts.

He’s right, of course. I’m learning that Doc Hensley usually is. Which is why he also pointed us to another word of encouragement from Paul in Philippians 3:13,14:

…forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.…

To which Doc Hensley simply added…

• Past performance is no guarantee of future failure.
• Past failures do not guarantee future failures!

Aren’t you glad?

I don’t know where you’re at in life right now. But if you’re like me, you’ve got a past failure or two or three, crumpled up in a back pocket of yours. And once in a while, you pull out one of those failures—and unfold it in your hands--reliving what might have been but wasn’t. Like cheap newsprint, it re-inks your hand and stamps your whole soul with feelings of inadequacy.

May I gently suggest you empty your pockets of those failures? Choose instead to "press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."  Press on!

An unsettling notion has lately come over me with regard to marriage.

Understand I am grateful for Diana, my wife of 30 years, and the person she is—and is becoming.  She is a guiding influence on most everything I touch—from the way I dress to the way I write...to the way I am learning to clean house.  Or sit on the couch and just talk.

The unsettling notion I speak of has very little to do with her...but very much to do with me.   And quite possibly you.

Why all the sober talk at Valentine's?

It’ a growing hunch that goes like this:

Precept #1The Bible clearly teaches principals of stewardship.  Ultimately, you and I are not “owners” of anything.  We are just tenants—for a time.  We are caretakers.

Precept #2 The Bible clearly teaches we will stand before Almighty God to give him an accounting for “what we did in the body whether good or evil.”   When we do this, we will stand alone.  My wife will not be with me.    But...

Unsettling notion of the day:  How I TREATED my wife will very much be a subject of examination.    This is what I find so sobering.

When the Creator presented me with my wife, she was optimistic about living life with a man who would love her and care for her, putting her interests above his own, willing to sacrifice anything for her comfort.  Most of all, she had the thoroughly biblical hope that I would model Christ for her.

Is that the kind of life I have lead?  Am now leading?  Does this kind of care describe my caretaking?

Or is it something less?  (Maybe far less—as is the case with me sometimes). 

Because our spouses are only ''on loan” to us...the question must be asked, “When the Father says ‘”Time is up”...are you going to return your spouse better...or bitter for the years you've been together?  More like Christ?  Or more disenchanted?

Your wife--she’s only “on loan” to you.

Your husband--he’s only “on loan” to you. It’s only for a time.   And then the accounting.

I suppose we all ought to find that unsettling.  Unsettling enough that we recommit to "be kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God--for Christ's sake--has forgiven you."