Gentleman Jesus

They laid Jesus’ dead body in the tomb. Their hopes and dreams for a conquering Messiah to overcome the Roman rulers lay dead, too.
So, their hopes all gone, and in fear for their lives, they all hid out. Life would never be the same again, but life would go on, even without the Lord.
Except for the women. Their broken hearts gave them a boldness that caused them to go to the tomb that Sunday morning. What did they have to lose? They had already lost the only thing that ever mattered to them, their dear Jesus, and they had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. So they went to the tomb, as every mother and sister has for thousands of years, to touch the stone-cold hands one more time and look in the face of that precious one they loved more than life itself. They wanted to smooth oils and perfumes on that cold body to keep it from smelling one more day. In their grief, they just could not let Him go yet.
The women came to the tomb, worrying about who they could get to move the stone that covered the entrance. But when they got there, the stone was already rolled away. Jesus was gone, risen from the dead. He didn’t need to move the stone to get out, because later in His new resurrected body He walked through the wall.
But Jesus, being the gentleman that He is, saw to it that the stone was moved so the women could come in.
Lavon Hightower Lewis

Pepsi Generation

When we were small, we would go to the corner store to buy groceries and occasionally my mom would let us buy a carton of 6 eight-ounce bottles of pop. Mom usually wanted Seven-up, but we kids got all kinds. There were four of us, counting Mom, so there would be 2 left over to drink later. We kids guzzled our 8 ounces down and then begged Mom until she finally let us drink the rest of her pop. She seldom got the whole bottle to herself.

If one of the neighbor kids came while we were drinking our pop, we had to share, so we usually timed our drinking for when we were sure no one would come over. But my best friend from next door frequently came over and we shared everything with her—soda pop, snacks, hair spray, nail polish. She was just like a sister to us. In fact, once she took a swig out of my pop bottle and swallowed the gum I had dropped down inside to “keep it fresh.”

I remember the Monday after I got married. My hubby went off to work and I went to the grocery store. I remember the pride I felt in being a grown-up and buying the makings for my first meal. And buying 2 six-packs of Pepsi.

Soda pop changed an entire generation. I have to force myself to drink water. I seldom drink milk or juice. I always reach for a bottle of pop.

“As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O Lord. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.” Psalms 42:1-2NIV. The deer naturally longs for water, pants for water.

How long has it been since I was thirsty enough to want water? Pop doesn’t satisfy the thirst, that panting thirst, like water does, but I never let myself get thirsty. So this is another lesson on nutrition from the Lord;  a practical lesson that I seriously need to learn.

My soul thirsts for God. My body thirsts for water.


Breaker, Breaker

Do you remember when CB radios first came into wide use? Everyone had to have one. “Breaker, breaker,” we’d say into our new microphone, not really knowing what that meant except that’s what you were supposed to say when you wanted to talk. And we all had to have a “handle,” the name you
communicated by, because no one used his real name. Some were “Hot Mama, Big Daddy, Preacher Man.” Everyone came up with a handle that in some way reflected them to others.

Lots of people have nicknames. When I went to work at 15 years of age in a coffee shop after school, the coffee drinkers nicknamed me “Lovey,” which is also like a play on my real name, “Lavon,” pronounced “love-on.”

Now, may I ask, did I become lovey acting after they gave me that name or did they name me that because I acted lovey? It’s probably a little of both, but Mom says I was born that way. Some nicknames reflect physical attributes, like “Shortie” or family relationships, like “Sonny” and “Sis.”

So if you were going to pick a nickname or CB handle for yourself, what would you choose? Is the “Hot Mama” really that way or wishing she were? Is the “Preacher Man” religious, spouting rules and regulations, or is he a real gospel-preaching, people-loving man like Jesus?

The Word says that one day Jesus will give us a new name, written on a white stone, Rev 2:17. I wonder? Will it reflect the lives we have lived on this earth? Will it speak of who we are? If we are going to have that name through all eternity, wouldn’t it be terrible if it reflected the bad traits that we have developed on this earth?

What will your new name be? I wouldn’t mind if my new name is Lovey.

Talking Car

My car talks. It posts notifications on the dash and talks through the radio speaker. My car is synchronized with my iPhone by BlueTooth and I’m able to call and talk hands-free.

The other day when driving to Mother’s house I initiated a call to her to tell her I was on my way. After I disconnected, I started laughing. I was talking to a car. I have a talking car. This is like something out of a sci-fi movie.

My mom was born in horse-and-buggy days, in a house with no running water, no indoor toilet, no electricity. She got an eighth-grade education, equivalent to graduating high school now, at a country school where all the kids were in the same room. By the time Mom was in her young teens, she learned to drive in a Model T and got her license, but after she had us kids, she let her license expire and walked everywhere she went.

I learned to drive in a two-tone green 1953 Chevy.  I had a 1950 bullet-nose Studebaker. I found out recently that it’s a highly collectible model that marked a dramatic change from the World War II-era vehicles. I’ve had a lot of cars, mainly Chevrolets and my favorite over the years has been the 1957 Chevy that I owned in the 70s.I love my the 2000 Chevy Tahoe too, but this 2011 Chevy Traverse is the first one I could carry on a conversation with.  It looks like I’m talking to myself, but I’m talking to an unseen electronic piece of equipment. Technically I’m not talking to the car, I’m talking to the electronic voice-recognition software in my iphone through the car.

I usually talk to real people and I always talk to God. I frequently talk to Him as I drive down the road, asking for spiritual direction for my life. He’s the one I can always turn to. It might look like I’m talking to myself or my car, but I’m really talking to the King of kings.

Who do you talk to?