Paul, in Philippians 3:14 says, “I press on towards the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” What is that goal? How do we know that we are getting there? 

The goal is related in a previous verse, and is often stated in the simple phrase, “to know Him, and to make Him known.” For Paul this was to know the power of his resurrection and participate in the sufferings of Christ (Phil 3:10). It was something that he acknowledged was unatainable, yet a goal worthy of his efforts and attention. He was sitting in a Roman prison, an older man, when he penned these words. There was still something to strive towards. 

This Easter weekend I am reminded that there are still mountiantops to reach; goals to strive towards. We can stand atop some of the physical peaks that surround us, yet there are still spiritual heights to which we must press on towards. We are not to settle or be content with our present state, but to seek the same power of the resurrection to keep us as we seek God in our daily lives. We press on – we look to new heights. We long to know Him deeper and experience His power and leading as we head towards the goal.

 

Christmas Eve is approaching. The 10 faith-based short stories of GOLD, COMMON SENSE, AND MYRRH make an excellent part of your family’s tradition. Follow the links to:

Kindle version

Smashwords versions

Grace Fox, (see www.gracefox.com) speaker, author and Co-Director of International Messengers – Canada asked me to answer a couple of questions about Gold, Common Sense, and Myrrh.

Question: Gold, Common Sense and Myrrh is a collection of ten short stories that all take place on Christmas Eve. How did that come about?

Dwayne:  One year I was working on preparing for a class and a writing deadline in the days before Christmas, wanting to get things done so that I wouldn’t have to work over the holidays. My kids, who were five and seven at the time, knew that I was upstairs in my office, and Rhonda had told them not to bother me.

My son snuck up into my home office one afternoon and asked: “Daddy, why don’t you write something for us?” That year I wrote Woodcutter’s Tale and we read the story on Christmas Eve. The kids never forgot and the next year, as soon as we turned the calendar to December, they were asking if there would be another Christmas Eve story. There was no turning back after that, and it became part of our family tradition.  We read Dad’s story on Christmas Eve, and then the biblical account on Christmas morning.

Question:  In the introduction of the book you mention that living in a different country forced you to celebrate Christmas without all of your normal traditions. What was that like?

Dwayne:  It was the first year we celebrated Christmas in Brazil. Rhonda and I were in language school and lived about two hours away from any of our missionary colleagues. Our three-foot plastic Christmas tree resembled a scene out of A Charlie Brown Christmas, and even though the malls had some decorations, we couldn’t quite get over Santa’s bikini-clad helpers. The sweltering heat of the Brazilian summer, combined with the odd smell of manioc flour fried in olive oil, garlic, onions, and bacon, didn’t fit our “normal.” It was the first time we didn’t have our family with us, and one of the times that we were faced with a deep sense of loneliness.

We found ourselves asking; “What are we doing here?”  Answering that question helped us, because it caused us to focus on the why of Christmas, and not just the what. We were there in Brazil learning the language in order to be able to communicate the story of Christ, his coming to earth, and purpose to bring us back into right relationship with God. We found that once the trappings were stripped away, what we were left with was the story; and that was good enough for us to make it through.

Question:  The stories take place in ten different countries. What was the thought behind that?

Dwayne:  I think that it came about more by accident than a plan. The first story was written as a historic enactment. The second was written during the year we were leaving Brazil, and I wanted to highlight those things that my kids had grown up with. The third year we found ourselves in Mexico and it seemed natural to use the story to teach the kids something about the new culture around them.

As the years went along, it became a part of the fun of the story for the kids to guess where Dad’s story would be from. I’d give then hints and even promised a prize for whoever first guessed the location of the story.

The stories became a source of deepening my faith and personal understanding of the greatness of the gift of Christ, especially as I discovered more and more that when you strip away the stuff of Christmas, it’s His story that stands out. I found myself learning about the variety of traditions and the reason for some of the things that we do in our celebration, and found ways to include them in a story. The normal things that we do – like manger scenes and crystal stars – all have a deep meaning when you understand where and why they became a part of Christmas traditions around the world.

Question:   Which stories are your family’s favorites?

Dwayne:  That’s interesting! My daughter is a cross between Doctor Livingston and Doctor Doolittle, so her favorite has always been Puppies for Christmas; there’s just something about the thought of a Daschund running loose in a chaotic airport on Christmas Eve that she loves. My son is an adventure seeker, so he remembers stories like Danger Pay and The Refugee; anything where there’s a bit of action and the chance of someone getting shot appeals to him. For Rhonda and me, our special ties to Brazil and Mexico make The Miracle in Rio and A Piñata for Rosita our favorites.

Question:  So … where’s this year’s story going to be from?

Dwayne:  That’s a big secret! You’ll have to be at our home on Christmas Eve to find out.

Gold, Common Sense and Myrrh is available at Amazon (Paperback and Kindle editions) and Smashwords (Electronic editions)

One of the most influential relationships of my life began with a simple phone call. I was in one of my obnoxious adolescent moods when I heard the phone ring. I grabbed the receiver and delivered my well-rehearsed greeting: “City Morgue—you stab ’em, we slab ’em. The good ones go to heaven and the bad ones go to . . . hello!”

Without missing a beat the person on the other end of the line replied, “This is your Aunt Martha, and that’s the rudest thing I have ever heard from anyone your age. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

“Um, well, I, ah, I don’t have an Aunt Martha!” I stammered. “Who is this?”

The caller’s laugh revealed his true identity.

“Oh! Hi, Pastor Tim. Do you want to speak to my mom?”

Tim Tjosvold, the new youth pastor at our church, had tried to talk with me on a number of occasions. Up to that point I had been only an observer, not a participant, in the life of the youth group.

“Well, I wondered if you could help me out,” Tim said. “As you know, we’re working on a youth choir production, and I was—”

“I’m not a singer,” I said, hoping to cut the conversation short.

“Well, no, not everyone is. But you see, there’s a great deal of drama in the production and—”

“I’m not an actor, either,” I interrupted him a second time. There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“We also need someone to help out with props and a few other odd jobs. Would you be willing to swing a hammer with me for a couple of Saturday afternoons to help make a small stage?”

I was the last person in the world who should have been invited to swing a hammer. Tim was probably the second-to-last person. We were both “handyman-challenged.”

I couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse Tim’s request and soon found myself committed to working with him. In spite of countless bent nails and hours of frustration, we became friends. The time Tim and I spent together during those weeks produced more than a small, precarious stage. It laid the foundation for mentoring.

Whether or not it was a conscious decision on his part, Tim engaged me in a discipling relationship. A biblical example of this is the relationship between Barnabas and Saul (who would later be known as Paul). Together, they taught and ministered to the believers in Antioch, a task that built trust and companionship between the two men (Acts 11:25–26). From a discipleship standpoint, the key element was not what the two did in their time together but the relationship that developed.

Barnabas acted like a master craftsman as he imparted his life to Saul. We observe four basic principles of construction in their relationship that can help deepen our understanding of the concept of relational discipleship. I saw these same traits in Tim while we swung hammers together on those Saturday afternoons.

Commitment to Craftsmanship

A wise builder demands an excellent finished product. This requires that he or she invest time and personal attention throughout the building process.

The fundamental principle Barna-bas modeled as he mentored Saul was the attention he gave their relationship. Barnabas’ traveling to Tarsus to seek out Saul speaks for itself; the elder believer showed interest and saw potential in this man.

When a godly person spends time with eager learners, he or she is bound to leave a lasting impact on their lives. Structured discipleship programs or studies have their place. But discipleship is not an assembly-line process. No program or method can take the place of relationships that influence others toward Christlikeness. As we rub shoulders with godly men and women, something rubs off on us.

Commitment to a Blueprint

The successful builder follows a plan throughout the construction process. He or she knows how the final product should look even before cutting the first two-by-four.

Clearly, Saul learned this from Barnabas, because later in his life he wrote of two key objectives in a discipling relationship. The first goal is character development—working to “present everyone perfect in Christ” (Col. 1:28). The second is the multiplication factor: those in whom we invest our lives will also “be qualified to teach others” (2 Tim. 2:2).

Although a task or project can be included in the time spent together, the project is not the focus. Teaching ministry skills may also be part of the process, but even that is not the primary reason to be together. A discipling relationship focuses on helping others become more like Christ.

Commitment to Progress

Profitable builders are familiar with the saying, “Rome wasn’t built in a day.” The phrase applies not only to construction but also to imparting Christlike character to others.

True disciplemaking takes time and a commitment to the growth of disciples. This is not an easily measured process, since the important foundational stages often do not offer visible results.

There is no way to measure the full extent of Barnabas’ influence upon Saul as the new believer observed Barnabas’ prayer habits, devotional practices and sense of integrity. That Saul emerged a different person after his time with Barnabas is undeniable.

Discipleship is not a microwave-oven operation. Much like the process in Saul’s life, disciplemaking requires a commitment to steady growth toward the desired goal of maturity in Christ.

Commitment to Equip

A wise builder knows that part of his or her job is to coordinate skilled laborers. In the event that trained workers are not available, the builder equips others, sharing from his or her own skills and experience.

The best way for people who are called to ministry to prepare for the task is to work with an experienced person who can “show them the ropes.” Barnabas equipped Saul for ministry by working with him, not by merely passing along knowledge. The men spent time in the streets and in people’s homes, not in a classroom. They touched the lives of real people and dealt with tough issues in a church overflowing with new converts.

A builder knows the job is done when he or she can step back and look at the completed project. The result of disciplemaking is not a visible structure, but Christlikeness. The effective discipler builds into the lives of others, developing relationships that result in mature, reproducing followers of Christ.

Tim Tjosvold never has admitted that he had mixed motives when he called me that day years ago. But I suspect that building a stage was secondary. I’m thankful that this godly man came into my life first and foremost as my friend but also as one who would point me to Christ—even if it meant doing something as ordinary as swinging hammers on a couple of Saturday afternoons.

Note: Tim and Brenda Tjosvold now serve in Niger, one of the poorest nations in the world.

Brian McConaghy is a man with a burden for the people of Cambodia. In 1989, he visited South East Asia for the first time. As a Forensic Scientist for the RCMP and having grown up in the political turmoil of Northern Ireland in the 1970’s, Brian had seen a lot of the dark side of human nature. Yet, what he witnessed in the Cambodian Thai border refugee camps on that first trip, appalled him and changed his life forever.

Determined to take action, Brian founded Ratanak International, a charity dedicated to the restoration of post genocide Cambodia. This was the start of a long journey that has taken Brian and Ratanak through many challenging and rewarding times in their desire to be servants of the Khmer people.

One of the biggest challenges came in 2004 when Brian was asked by the RCMP to undertake an investigation of a Canadian pedophile. The perpetrator had been arrested for torturing locally prostituted women. Upon his is arrest videotapes had been seized depicting him abusing little Asian children. Brian’s assistance was needed to identify in which country these child victims were located.

For the first time, Brian was confronted by the faces of little girls, as young as 6, being assaulted on videotaped evidence. Despite feeling totally overwhelmed by the circumstances of these children, Brian was determined to respond. During this case he said:

“I am overwhelmed by the daily hell (a term I do not use lightly) experienced by these children and have no idea how they survive as long as they do. Yet, I am stubborn in my belief that here, there can be hope. I remain convinced that the penetrating light of Christ can punch holes even in this darkness. This is not a time to be passive — it is a time to roll up our sleeves and climb down into the muck at the bottom of the barrel — just as Christ would do.”

If you come to see Brian speak this year at Mission Fest, you will see how Christ has and is restoring the lives of these children, and in so doing, is bringing hope to Cambodia.

For more information go to www.ratanak.com

It was an amazing sight. Red liquid cascaded from one level to the next, shimmering in the light. If it had been an ornate fountain at a five-star hotel it would have been beautiful. Instead, it was my refrigerator.

The red liquid was not a colorful fountain, but red Jell-o that oozed its way into every nook and cranny of the appliance. A sticky mess now faced me.

I wished I hadn’t lectured the kids that morning about cleaning up after themselves. They looked on, wondering if I would do as I said. To add to my dilemma, I knew if I mopped up we would be late for church.

They didn’t hear the struggle within me. Strange sense of humor you have, Lord. Bad timing at best. Can’t I just teach my kids a lesson without having to live it? Would you rather have me clean this up or get to church on time? And to top it all off, I’m the pastor!

“Pick up a rag and get to it.” It wasn’t an audible voice, or a burning bush experience. Something inside just told me that it was the thing to do.

The next 30 minutes were spent on my knees. Not in deep, soul-searching prayer. They were spent taking every item out of the fridge and cleaning it. Every shelf needed to be taken apart. The Jell-O even got into the hinges. What a mess!

The thrill of watching dad having to clean up after himself wore off quickly. My kids made their way to another part of the house to await our departure. But I know they noticed. They learned something that morning, and so did I.

As a parent I am watched by my family. Do I complete what I request of my kids? Will I get upset over spilled milk? Do my time requirements get used as a cop-out for making exceptions to our house rules? How will I react to an unexpected puddle of Jell-o on the kitchen floor?

It’s all a part of the teaching process related in Deuteronomy 6:4-9. We teach as we sit at home, as we drive in the car, and as we walk through life. We’re called to teach on the fly. We teach in the good and in the bad. Our example puts flesh on the bones of our faith. The flowing red cascade of Jell-o in the fridge only served to test if it was real.

The cat’s out of the bag. I’ve spilled the beans. Things will never be the same. There’s no turning back.

A dirty, rolled up sock can be an effective weapon. The smellier the better. Dad’s seem to be more effective than the kids. Soon three bodies are hiding behind couches, pillows, or anything for cover. Six socks fling through the air at death-defying speeds. If my parents were here they’d be sure to say, “it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt!”  After all, this is sock wars.

There was no million-dollar production and no fancy special effects. Just a Dad and his two kids going all out. The rules are simple. Don’t play to hurt the other. One point for facial contact. No holds bared. And it all ends when Mom comes into the room, noticing the rolled up weapon beside an expensive trinket on a shelf. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except for the fact that I was loosing.

Last night I crossed the line.  Instead of telling my kids about the way my brothers and I destroyed the family recreation room (with three boys in the house, my mom called it the “wreck room”) with our favorite game, we’ve crossed the threshold. Sock wars is no longer a distant memory or one of Dad’s old stories, it’s a family tradition. And mom isn’t pleased.

Seems a little childish. A dad running around the house trying to bean his kids on the head with a rolled up sock. He should probably doing something adult-like. Maybe checking out the stock market, watering the lawn, or anything that adults like to do. Somehow it doesn’t seem right to let your hair down (assuming you have some) and have a free-for-all in the living room.

But then again, the kids did seem to enjoy it.  Socks weren’t the only thing that filled the air. Shreeks of joy and laughter were abundant. “Oh no you don’t” and “I got you” are the two most common phrases. Afterwards my ten-year-old son thanked God for sock wars in his evening prayers. Could it be that God was pleased?

I looked around me to see fellow commuters, most of them oblivious to the drama that played out before us as traffic stopped at the busy street corner. A haphazardly dressed clown stood at the front of a line and began to juggle five brightly colored rings. He wasn’t skilled, but his performance was the only option other than the blank stares of impatient drivers in their cars.

The thirty seconds of his act seemed like an hour. The clown awkwardly dropped his rings twice. A stuffed-toy monkey perched silently on his shoulder, reflecting the emotionless state of those around me. The clown’s sad expression couldn’t be hidden by the thick layer of paint that covered his face.

Then I looked at the lady in the car beside me. She was busily putting the final touches on another painted face. It was a graceful, wealthier version of the same weary mask worn by the street entertainer.

As the clown walked through the lines of cars the lady glanced upwards and her eyes met his. A closed window separated the two, but it was as if they looked into a mirror. There was no smile, no acknowledgment; not any sign that the two recognized the emptiness that marked their encounter. The clown continued down the row, his hand extended in a plea for a few coins from his audience. The lady zoomed off as soon as the light turned green.

I was not struck by the contrast between the rag-draped clown and the elegance of the rich lady. I was amazed to see the similarity in their gaze, seeking for something that they could not define. Their pursuit for joy and meaning hid behind the thin facade of a painted face. The two couldn’t have been more different, yet their facial expression was identical.

Joy is a commodity that is difficult to find in the hustle and bustle of life. Just look at the sense of despair etched on the faces of people in a crowd. There is a deep inner need that awaits fulfillment. Somehow all people are like the poor clown or the rich lady, needing a fresh infusion of purpose and joy.

Jesus came to earth to reestablish our relationship with God and to offer His followers a new sense of joy. He said, “I have told you these things so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete” (John 15:11).  He offers a divine sense of gladness that surpasses the difficult circumstances of our daily routines. His invitation for all men and women is to come to Him and find rest for their burdened souls.