A Night that Would Change the World

There’s nothing like the smell of shavings when you walk into a barn at a livestock show. In one breathe sweet memories sweep across your mind like a movie on the big screen and you instantly feel at home.

I had that sensation as I walked into Freedom Hall at the recent North American International Livestock Exposition in Louisville, Kentucky. It was late one night and I had posted the last picture of the day’s show, slung my camera over my shoulder and  spent a little time just walking the aisles of cattle.  Several scenes played across the screen in front of me as I strolled around clipping chutes, feed pans and straw packs.  On my left, two older men were swapping stories of days gone by while across the aisle a young fitter covered in cow hair and adhesive was winding up his cords and oiling his clipper blades.

I glanced straight ahead into the milking parlor and saw a man milking a cow and chatting with his buddy who sat on a bucket nearby. I turned down another aisle and to my right was a dad sitting with his daughter dressed in her pajamas, sharing some fruit snacks before she crawled into the tent for bed and up ahead were two teenage boys staring at their phones passing the night hours away as they watched the cows.

On a Saturday night in the center of a busy city, people were prepping cows for the last big show of the year.  They would show, a few would win, they would celebrate and go back to the farm. 

Over 2000 years ago on the outskirts of a busy city in a smelly stable, two people were also spending the evening with cattle but this time it was without clippers, without shavings and no blue ribbons. Instead they were prepping to deliver a Savior. Scared, cold and questioning, they were in for the night of their lives.  A night that would change the world. A night when the lost would soon be found, the blind would soon see and  the prisoners would be set free.

A child was born for you and for me. Open your eyes, find Him and be free. Merry Christmas.

Debriefing Life

Growing up 19 months apart, they were close.  As toddlers many thought they were twins as their mom dressed them in similar outfits.  They were inseparable.  Whatever the oldest one did, the second one copied. When the older brother stepped on a stone, the younger one stepped on the same stone.  When the older brother played baseball, the younger one found a mitt and played along. When the older one got a tractor, the younger one made his purchase. When the older one went to college, the younger one went to college. 

While their personalities were polar opposites, they got along like two peas on a pod. After a long, busy day having gone their separate ways, they would convene in the kitchen late at night and talk in hushed voices about their day as if debriefing from a top secret mission. 

The older brother was a wanderer wanting to see the world, the younger one was content staying within a 20 mile radius of home. The older brother traveled the country and even went overseas while the younger one was happy to stay home to work his job and help on the farm. One was a free spirit taking risks out in the big world and the other was as steady as a rock—reliable, dependable and predictable.

When the older one got into trouble, he called the younger one for help. Whether he was stuck in snow, had a flat tire or needed a lift from the airport, the younger brother bailed the older brother out.

Nearly a year ago, the younger one drove his older brother to the recruiter’s office and watched him leave to serve his country. With a pat on the back and a handshake they parted ways.  A few letters back and forth and some texting kept them in contact while they were separated.  

A month ago, the older brother called on the younger brother for a ride….again.  Only this time it was to pick him up from the airport to take him home and surprise their parents. Keeping the secret until the day arrived, the younger brother walked in the house during breakfast and made idle chit chat with the family about needing to use the air compressor. A few seconds later, the older son dressed in his fatigues walked in the door and the room erupted with screaming, hugging and crying.

After surprising everyone in the family and enjoying lunch with his parents the older brother looked for his younger brother and he found him a mile from home, working his job: driving the grain cart for corn harvest. The older brother climbed up into the cab of the John Deere and together once again, one dressed in grease stained jeans and the other in fatigues, they spent the afternoon debriefing from their top secret mission called life.

How much noise do you make?

At a spring band concert at our small high school gymnasium I held my camera trying to video the last concert of my daughter's high school career.  Probably her final concert ever. It was her senior night and I wanted to capture the entire event.

 

Jake and Sarah

 

I sat in the bleachers with my parents as we listened and I try to hold the camera steady. I couldn't help but be distracted by the children in front of us. They were about 9 or 10 years old and were very active and very loud. They crawled under the chairs, over the chairs, pulled each other's hair, cried to their parents and as their parents made a poor attempt at keeping them settled, these three kids paid no attention, they just kept squirming and giggling. 

I was disgusted at the parents lack of respect to not only the students performing but also for the parents surrounding them.  If they had any clue at all they would keep their children quiet or take them out.  Why couldn't they keep their children in line? Why didn't they do something. The louder they got the more irritated I became.  For the sake of all of us, take your children by the hand and lead them out of the gym and discipline them!

And then I felt a nudge from my Daddy.

No, not the dad that was sitting next to me, my heavenly Dad. He unveiled my eyes to see just exactly what I do to Him on a daily basis.  I run around. I crawl under convictions. I make noise so I don't have to pay attention to Him. I don't focus on to the spectacular concert in front of me, but I only pay attention to my own thoughts that I want to entertain. I feel him try to guide me but some days I rip my hand from His and do my own rebellious things.

Why doesn't He do something? Why doesn't He keep me in line? Why doesn't He take my hand and lead me out to discipline me?

Because He knows me. He knows my bent, He knows how I learn best and He loves me enough to let me fail, fall and then pick me up in His arms and love me back to life again. It's H
is love that lets me fall and His grace that stoops down to sweep up my brokenness. When He shows up to shower His grace and mercy on me He also knows everyone around me will also see it.

Who wouldn't want to love this God? Who wouldn't want to please this Dad? Who wouldn't want to obey Him? It's His love that found me and His grace that keeps me coming back. But it's His blood on the cross that keeps my name in His Book of Life.