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Speed Limit Therapy

September 22, 2025

   “He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
 he restores my soul.” (Psalm 23:2-3a)

I was annoyed!

The stoplight changed…kinda. It skipped me, and went back to cars going east-to-west, instead of my north-to-south direction. My knuckles went white as I gripped the steering wheel as if I was The Hulk.

A grandpa-style Buick turned from the east heading south just about the time my stoplight turned green. The LeSabre crept south at…the speed limit! I was in the vicinity of the speed limit as I quickly closed the distance between our two vehicles. And then I crept along behind Uncle Wilbur…and on…and on…and on.

I noticed my breathing quickened as impatience oozed from my body. Uncle Wilbur arrived at the next stoplight a mile down the road right about the time the light turned yellow…and then red. More east-to-west traffic.

And, seriously, it hit me…the dreaded question: Why am I in such a hurry? I wasn’t even going anywhere of importance. If I were on the way to the hospital (which was in the opposite direction) that would be one thing, but I was simply taking the car to the car wash. The car wash, where the attendant would have me pull into another line, almost bumper-to-bumper.

The light that Wilbur and I waited for gives preferential treatment to the east-west folk, so we waited. I think I needed the wait. I needed some therapy that smacked me square in the face about my speeding-though-life habit. I needed a Wilbur to be a driving force in communicating my urgent need to slow down. And not just while driving, but rather like the life zone version of a school zone, complete with flashing lights blaring at my insensitivity.

We have a new law in Colorado that allows motorcyclists to pull up to a red light between two lanes that are heading in the same direction. Invariably, when the light turns green the motorcycle acclerates to sixty before any of us vehicle-trapped people are even up to twenty. I hate the law, because it’s a reflection of our hurried-up culture, as well as a reminder to me that I’m utterly jealous. (Side note: Motorcyclists death are up sixty percent since 2018, and 2024 was the deadliest in Colorado history)

My speed symptoms are not a one-therapy-session situation. Like a dense sheep, I rush ahead with no thought about where I’m going or why I’m doing it. I need a couch in a counselor’s office that will force me to get off my feet.

Perhaps you’re more like me than you realize. Maybe we should pray that a LeSabre-driving Uncle Wilbur turns in front of us more often. It might be a case of, as Hebrews 13:2 says, “entertaining angels unaware.”

Slow angels, mind you. Real slow.

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Inflating Purposelessness

June 27, 2025

  “Everyone, then, who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. 25 The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall because it had been founded on rock.” (Matthew 7:24-25)

We have a vehicle that has a tire problem. It’s not that it needs to be replaced. We’ve done that. For some reason, the same tire keeps losing air pressure. On a monthly basis, the low air pressure light comes on, and we pump more air into it. No matter how many times we do it, cold weather aas well as hot weather, it seems to be a situation where we keep trying to pump something up that can’t hold it.

It reminds me of so many tires in the sports world. That is, our culture has a way of trying to pump purpose into purposelessness, importance into the non-essential. And being people who tend to be swayed to buy swampland in Florida, we fall into the pit of the pointless.

For example, last week there was a sports program on TV of the Dog Surfing Championships, one canine after another standing stiffly on a surfboard. Add to that the time slot for the Slippery Slide Race, the Professional Pillow-Fighting League pummeling, and the Kickball Battle of the week and a person is able to waste a whole afternoon watching contests that are about as meaningful as my Aunt Irene’s “afternoon stories” (soap operas).

It seems that our lives are so rootless that we’re on the lookout for someone or something to root for. Like the continual pumping of air into my tire, it doesn’t hold with lasting meaning. It doesn’t mean we should stay away from activities that are enjoyable and entertaining, but we have a bad habit of avoiding what is most important because we’re fixated “…on a tire that won’t last.”

I saw an interview with an Episcopalian nun named Sister Monica Clare. A new book she has written entitled, A CHANGE OF HABIT, talks about the realization of where she was spending her time. She color-coded her calendar according to different pursuits. For her, God is the top priority, but her calendar showed that she was spending very little time in ways that involved the Holy. Thus, she reorganized her life to “pursue her pursuit.”

What would we say is most important, and what are the pursuits that we keep putting air into that continue to go flat? And what are the events of life that people keep telling us are important, almost vital to our existence, that we have bought into but are really meaningless? There are passions and pastimes, and we sometimes confuse the two.

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The Seat

May 30, 2025

“With the crowd dispersed, he climbed the mountain so he could be by himself and pray. He stayed there alone, late into the night.” (Matthew 14:23)

I sit in the same seat for the Sunday morning worship service. Call me a creature of habit or someone who is set (or sits) in his ways. It’s just what I do. A young military couple sits in front of me and a 95-year-old man sits at the other end of the pew. My wife sits beside me, and my youngest granddaughter chummy’s up on my other side. My seat is my place of reflection, peace, and comfort.

I also sit in the same seat at Starbucks, the last stool on the right facing out toward Pike’s Peak. It’s my blog writing spot (where I am currently sitting). You can tell when I’ve been teaching too much by the absence of blog posts for a while. I like this seat for the view and being able to “pull to the side.”

Jesus had a tendency to find a seat in the secluded, a spot where he was able to be alone and pray. Even on the night when he was facing his death, he went to the Garden of Gethsemane with some of his disciples. A lot of attention is given to their drowsiness, but before we get to that point in the story Jesus has said to them, “Stay here while I go over there and pray.” He drew aside to His spot. His “seat” was one of agony and conviction. He knew He was like a Death Row inmate in his final hours. The seat off to the side gave Him the time and space to come to grips with His purpose and destination.

Years ago I asked a man at the church I pastored why he sat in the same seat each week in worship? In my youthful brashness, I had assumed that he was an older man set in his ways and couldn’t see to do something different for a change. His answer made me feel like an insensitive jerk. The seat where he positioned himself was where he had sat with his son for his child’s growing up years…his son who was killed in Vietnam serving his country. When he sat in his seat, he felt close to his departed child.

Where we sit often has a backstory to it that needs to be told and honored. In our world that has minimal stability and consistency, we are hungry for places to sit, places to rest, and seats for contemplation. When we find that place, its sacredness becomes evident. We recognize it as being a gift. When others invade our space a sense of unrest settles upon us as the peace and quiet disappear.

Even this morning, as I was coming to the end of this blog, three young guys settled in around me and chatted loudly and long. In a way, I felt cheated that my seat had been invaded. They didn’t realize it. The world doesn’t realize it. In a way, it made me appreciate the hour of peace I had been gifted with before they came.

May each of us have some seating and sacred moments this day. Amen.

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Yes and No, No, No!

March 28, 2025

“All you need to say is simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.” (Matthew 5:37)

My wife and I are used to kids asking for something, like a giant Nerf Dart Gun or a 2-pound bag of M&M’s, and saying no. We’re used to the grandkids doing that now…and we say yes more often than we uttered that word to our kids. We’re even used to the grandkids asking the same question three times and saying, “No, no, yes!”

This week, we listened to a timeshare presentation. For some background, we joined the timeshare “adventure” twelve years ago. We aren’t rookies to the presentation game. Carol and I have sat through so many we’ve got to use our toes in the count now since all our fingers have all been counted. Why? Usually, it’s because we’re receiving two or three additional nights at the resort for a heavily-discounted price. Going to a “60 MINUTE” presentation is part of the agreement.

We listen, learn, make note of the beautiful pictures from places we haven’t visited yet, look at the offer from the time share company that seeks to have us part with more of our money, and then, very nicely say, “We aren’t interested.”

Simple enough. The lady, who is trying to convince us that we’re turning down the best deal in the entire universe, takes the hint and excuses herself to go get the paperwork she needs. We never see her again. A few minutes later, Salesman #2 shows up with an additional sweetening of the deal offer. He tells us that he didn’t like the deal that the first salesperson was offering and shows us a “much better deal!”

We don’t cave. We’ve said no once and now we say no again. The third person shows up a few minutes after that and puts the pressure on. In the process, he’s a bit insulting, as if he was going to make this whole episode as painful as possible.

Third no, and let’s go! The hour presentation tuned into two-and-a-half. It was more painful than the Department of Motor Vehicles, where you take a number and come back sometime in the far distant future.

Jesus said to let your no be no and your yes be yes. In other words, be a person of integrity. Let your word be your word. Stand on it. Honor it. Guarantee the solidness of it. Perhaps that’s become so rare that a timeshare salesperson looking for a commission doesn’t believe it’s possible. Maybe he thought people like my grandfather and father didn’t exist anymore.

Actually, they have passed on, but my wife is still here. When she says no, it means no…unless we’re in Target and the person asking is one of our grandkids. Then she caves in like a Florida sinkhole.

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Please Be Patient! Student Driver.

May 29, 2024

Around our area, several vehicles have been driving down the road or stopped at red lights with bumper stickers that inform others that a high school kid is behind the wheel. A few cars have stickers attached to the back, to each side, and on the front hood. THOSE cars really make you keep your distance!

I can understand the caution. People in our area drive like entitled maniacs, zooming from one lane to a spot two lanes over like they’re navigating the sales racks at Nordstrom’s. Whatever driver’s training class they took has been long forgotten, or they flunked the course. It’s fascinating to watch someone who has been speeding down the road have his excessive progress interrupted by getting behind one of the student drivers’ cars. As they say, patience is a virtue, but when someone is implored to be patient there is a tightening of the jaw muscles and white-knuckling happening on the steering wheel.

Most of us believe in extending grace as long as we’re not involved in the extending. Let the pimply-faced kid be in someone else’s lane. He needs the experience, but let him get it in while he’s in someone else’s way.

Yesterday, Carol and I took the three oldest grandkids to a water park north of Denver. On the way home, three motorcycles weaved through the highway traffic, going over a hundred miles an hour. A few miles later, three vehicles did the same. Our sixteen-year-old grandson was in the car. In three weeks he takes his driver’s license test. He’s been the kid in the car with the Student Driver signs for several months. I was thankful he wasn’t behind the steering wheel as the Evil Knievels came zipping by.

Grace isn’t just the willingness to extend forgiveness. It’s also understanding that we’re all in some type of “unpreparedness”, and seeing that other person, whether it be an apprentice, a student driver, a rookie, a less-talented all-thumbs clumsy doofus, or a slower-than-molasses senior with patient eyes and an understanding attitude.

In a time when entitlement is discussed in various circles—seemingly always in reference to someone other than ourselves—the graceless attitude we sometimes possess is another warped form of the “e word.” Our huffing and puffing about the situations and people in our lives that mess up our schedule or slow our speed demon agenda has the fingerprints of entitlement upon it.

Think about the sweating palms of that teenage driver, the uncertainty of the road decisions she has to make, and her striving for perfection on every careful turn at a street corner. Give her some grace. Maybe say a brief prayer for her with your eyes open.

Maybe pray for the parents while you’re at it. “Lord, prepare them for that first car insurance premium billing they’re going to receive!”

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