Grace and the Wolf

February 12, 2016February 12, 2018 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

My morning at the music store was all planned out.

I always come in an hour ahead of time to get an early start. Product to be sent to customers has to be pulled and moved to the shipping room. Emails must be checked and answered. Repaired items needing to be picked up are checked again and moved to the proper section.

When the doors are unlocked, the objects to be worked with are no longer inanimate, but human. Somehow, planning goes out the window. Phone calls are answered, problems addressed, and merchandise is sold.

Still, I hadn’t counted on the Peter and the Wolf kids. Mom wondered if I would mind too very much giving them a demonstration of the musical instruments they had heard in the orchestral composition by Mr. Prokofiev.

She had a set of picture cards, but the children wanted to see the real instruments if they could, please. That is, if you don’t mind.

I didn’t mind. I’m a good guy who loves helping children.

The first card showed a bassoon. We dragged one out of the back room and assembled it, taking care to show the two tykes the double reed which gives the instrument its distinctive tone. The little girl was surprised to see that the strange instrument was much taller than she.

The next card showed an image of an oboe, so an oboe came out of its case and the smaller pieces were shoved together to make an instrument a little smaller than a clarinet. Again, the double reed made an appearance.

As each instrument came into view, the character in the musical story was named. The bassoon had been the low, naggy sound of a fussing grandfather, the oboe—Peter’s quacky duck.

One by one, we located the characters the children had met in the recording. The pretty silver flute was the little bird, and the clarinet, long, black, and sinister, was the cat that stalked the bird. The drums, such as we could find—I’m sorry ma’am; we don’t sell many timpani—were the hunters, come to help Peter in his time of need.

Of course, we had to find as many of the stringed instruments as we could, making do without a double bass viol. Peter was represented in the musical tale by the entire violin family, regardless of size.

But, we forgot one, didn’t we? Oh yes! The French horn. What shall we say about the horn?

I’m a horn player. It was a proud moment. Surely the children would be impressed.

I’ve played it nearly all my life.

The little girl, friendly and twinkly for most of the tour of instruments, stared at me, her mouth open and eyes wide. Disbelief was written all over her face.

You’re the wolf?

Why, yes. No!

Wait a minute! I’m not the wolf! I just play the instrument that represents him in the symphony. I’m not really the wolf.

The children are gone. That was hours ago.

I’m still a little shaken.

Am I the wolf?

Am I?

Thoughts swirl in my head. The horn is forgotten for the time being, but other things are not. Memories of acts committed, never to be undone, are mixed with the cacophony of voices that have filled my ears.

All have sinned—there is not one righteous person—whoever breaks one law is guilty of breaking all—those who live like this will not see God. (Romans 3:23, Ecclesiastes 7:20, James 2:10, Galatians 5:19-21)

There are times—perhaps only for a moment, but often for days—when the memories of what I have been and done haunt my waking hours. They even stretch my waking hours, leaving me restless in my bed, denying sleep.

Always, finally, the reality of grace hits home. Always.

Always, finally, the reality of grace hits home. Always. Share on X

Do the voices not speak truthfully, then? Am I not a sinful man?

They do. I am.

I was the wolf. Was.

And, just like the wolf in Peter’s tale, I deserved death but found instead life.

While I was still doing damage to Him, grace was offered. To an enemy, He offered comfort and safety. (Romans 5:8)

Grace is stronger than the wolf.

I am not who I was.

I’ll play my horn again in the morning. I know I’ll smile as I remember my little friend, mouth agape and eyes opened wide.

No, my dear. I am not the wolf.

Not anymore.

Grace is stronger.

Such were some of you; but you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God.
(1 Corinthians 6:11 ~ NASB ~ Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation)

I have many regrets, and I’m sure everyone does. The stupid things you do, you regret if you have any sense, and if you don’t regret them, maybe you’re stupid.
(Katharine Hepburn ~ American actress ~ 1907-2003)

Got the Tee Shirt

February 1, 2016February 1, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

The man was honest. You’ve got to give him that. Come to think of it, it was really his tee-shirt that was honest.

He started talking almost as he walked in the front door.

“I’m looking for a job. Are you hiring?”

I was pretty blunt with him. We are a Mom and Pop store in the truest sense of the term. The Lovely Lady and I, with the help of my sister, run the business.

We’re not hiring.

I wouldn’t have hired him anyway. One look at what he was wearing, and anyone considering him for a job would have made the same determination. It would be nice if all decisions were that easy.

Honesty. What a concept!

The man’s tee shirt had the words emblazoned across his chest in all caps.

I”M REALLY LAZY.

There were other words printed below. I’m sure they were supposed to be funny, but all I could see were those three.

I’m really lazy. Talk about truth in advertising!

The mind jumps immediately to the possibilities for this type of labeling.

I gamble compulsively. Casinos could avoid a world of problems.

I’m a mean drunk. Bartenders would know when to shut off the flow of liquor.

And, just like that I’m seeing a new line of clothing for the Sunday morning wardrobe.

I’m a horrible gossip—I can’t control my appetite—I curse like a sailor—I’m addicted to Internet pornography—I’m full of pride.

The potential for this is fantastic!

James said we should confess our sins to each other. (James 5:16) We’re not doing so well at that anyway. This could really change our Sunday morning services.

As my imagination runs wild, I suddenly recall another fellow who came into the music store that very same day. Not more than an hour after the hapless young job seeker walked out my door, the next victim of my labeling system walked in.

The elderly lady and I were just completing our transaction when the door was pushed open. She had asked for an old Southern Gospel song and we found it in a songbook. I was giving her the change from her purchase and nodded to the fellow in my best I’ll-be-with-you-in-a-minute manner.

The young man was easy for me to read—nearly as easy as the lady had been. In his twenties, the Hispanic man was wearing a cap with the bill flattened and turned at a slight angle. He returned my nod with an abrupt one of his own and began to look at the guitars.

We wouldn’t have anything to talk about. This one would want sound equipment for his band, equipment I was sure not to have. He wouldn’t hang around long.

There was no tee shirt, but the label I saw read, We have nothing in common.

Just as the lady put her hand on the knob to exit, the young man called out to her.

“Are you in a hurry, Ma’am?”

When she answered that she wasn’t, he turned to me and asked another question.

“Do you mind if we worship the Lord together for a minute?”

We have nothing in common. Really? Boy, did I misread that label!

We prayed together and then we sang, his tone clear and strong, mine somewhat less clear. It could have been the tears that came as I tried to sing harmony to his pure melody.

It wasn’t only the song that brought tears.

This is the air I breathe—Your Holy presence, living in me.

I repent.

Labels would never work. They never have. I’m not that good at judging character.

We’re not that good at judging character.

Besides that, the labels that fit yesterday may not be appropriate tomorrow.

I found a phrase in my notes the other day. I like to jot down thoughts as they come to me. I might be able to make sense of them some day. Today this one makes sense to me.

“Knowing a man’s past doesn’t make you privy to his future.”

People change. Not on their own. On our own, it is impossible to be anyone but who we are and have been. But, God reminds us that He still makes new. Somehow, His creation isn’t complete yet. He changes the labels.

He changes the labels.

The Apostle who loved to write letters ran through a list of horrendous labels, the worst you could imagine, applying them to his readers in the past tense.

Such were some of you. But God gave you different labels.

Okay—so he didn’t word it quite like that, but if you’ll read it for yourself, I promise it’s almost the same. (1 Corinthians 6:9-11)

The elderly lady and the young man are part of the same family.

Me too.

I kind of like not having to wear the tee shirt. It doesn’t mean we don’t need to share our struggles with each other. But, they don’t describe who we are anymore.

We have a new label. I’m pretty sure He’d like for us to treat each other as if it was true of every person in His family.

Because it is. Always.

I’ll wear this tee shirt. One word emblazoned across the chest in all caps.

One word.

FORGIVEN.

Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come.
(2 Corinthians 5:17 ~ NASB)

This is the air I breathe,
This is the air I breathe,
Your holy presence living in me.

This is my daily bread,
This is my daily bread,
Your very word spoken to me.

And I—I’m desperate for you;
And I—I’m lost without you.
(from Breathe ~ Marie Barnett ~ American songwriter)

Hold This, Will You?

June 9, 2014April 13, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I’m angry tonight.

I’ve been tricked.

All day, the ideas have been tumbling about in my head. No—even longer than that.

Days ago, the rough draft of this post was written on the soft gray matter of my brain. It was filed away for future use.

I intended to write an exposé.

You know—I am by nature a tattle-tale. I like to show where people go wrong and then use them as cautionary tales.

Phil Everly did it in his song from the last century, When Will I Be Loved. Why shouldn’t I?

I’ve been made blue.
I’ve been lied to.
When will I be loved?

I intended to tell about the customer who threatened legal action against my business last week. We mailed him a package which was delivered on time. The problem is, an elderly person at the customer’s house received the package and then put it where it couldn’t be seen, and she forgot about it.

Suddenly, I’m going to be reported to the Attorney General’s office?

I wanted to make this an exposé of how customers don’t stop to consider that there are actually people on the other end of that email or telephone. It’s not just a business, there are human beings who operate the business for your benefit, as well as for their vocation.

Nope. Not going to happen.

The rant is canceled, put off to another day due to new evidence come to light.

I was going to include a few choice words about the fellow who lied to me about a certain occurrence.

I was stunned and disappointed beyond belief. The man is one whom I have reason to trust completely. Yet, the lie was so intricate—so calculated. There was premeditation and planning that went into its telling.

I wanted to express my anger and frustration at the violation of my trust. That also is not how this essay will come across.

Mitigating circumstances have been brought out of the shadows. It seems the person who told the lie is not the villain I desired to make him out to be.

Believe me, I don’t want to change the focus of my writing. I am more frustrated by this shift in direction than one would believe. I had the evidence and my summation completely formulated, ready to put down on the empty page.

I actually pounded the desk in front of me when I realized the trap which had been sprung.

My tantrum is over now, my emotions mostly under control, with the possible exception of a tear or two and perhaps, a sniffle into a tissue.

It was almost as if I had heard a voice in the room. I’m not actually claiming to have heard the voice, just that it might have been.

Here. Hold this a minute, will you?

I took the shiny, round object which was shoved into my hand.

Very soon, I realized my mistake.

Well, whose reflection do you expect to see in a mirror?

It wasn’t just me, standing there like an idiot, holding a mirror and looking back at myself. No, as I stared, the scene changed and I saw an angry—no strike that—a furious visage screaming into the telephone held in front of it.

I remembered the scene all too well.

The poor lady at the other end of the telephone had given me the only answer she was allowed to give by her manual of operations. She was paid to answer questions, but she had no latitude to change policy. It made no difference to me. Did she not realize who I was?

As I stood holding the mirror, I had a flash of near brilliance.

This was a human being!

I wasn’t screaming at a company; I was screaming my anger and threats at a fellow human being!

I wonder—was she a neighbor I was supposed to love? (Matthew 22:39)

Do you think she felt the presence of God while I was on the phone with her?

I shifted my gaze away from the scene, overcome with pain and guilt.

It didn’t matter; other scenes leapt out of the mirror at me. Again and again, I heard myself say things which are not true.

I was speaking to friends. I was answering a policeman at the side of the highway. I was explaining my failure to meet a deadline to a customer.

Lies. All lies.

I have told more lies than I could enumerate. I would be too ashamed to do so anyway.

I am a liar.

I wonder—is it still within my power to cast a stone at my friend who has shattered my trust? I hear the Teacher’s words as He wrote in the dirt. Let him who has never sinned cast the first one. (John 8:7)

I’ll pass.

The only one exposed here is the guy holding the mirror. The light I wanted to shine so brightly on the fault of others is merely shining full on my own sin.

I was tricked into it, but the truth blazes from the wall on which it was written. You have been weighed in the balance and found lacking. (Daniel 5:7)

I think it may be time for me to stop writing for today. I have some things to take care of.

I wonder though, before I go. . .

Hold this for a minute, will you?

For if someone merely listens to the message and does not live it out, he is like someone who gazes at his own face in a mirror. For he gazes at himself and then goes out and immediately forgets what sort of person he was.
(James 1:23,24 ~ NET)

An age is called Dark, not because the light fails to shine, but because people refuse to see it.
(James A Michener ~ American author ~ 1907-1997)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

forgiveness

Grace and the Wolf

Got the Tee Shirt

Hold This, Will You?