Buck Storm's Blog, page 3

Rope Burns

Traveler’s Tip #339
“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.”
                                         ― Ernest Hemingway
           
 

“I’ve thought about it,” Luke said. “I’m hanging on to a rope a thousand feet in the air over rocks, and I’m losing my grip. Losing it fast. I’m asking you, Mort, what am I supposed to do? I need to know. I need answers.”
            “That’s an easy one, Lukeollis. You got to let go of the rope. You fall and you trust.”
            “See, Reverend, that doesn’t help. I need real, what to do right now in the physical world, answers. Not your spiritual stuff.”
            “No, you don’t, boy. You need what I’m giving you. You need to let go of the rope. Nothin’ else.”
            “That simple, huh?”
            “Yup. That simple.”
            “It might be a long drop.”
            “You’d be surprised...”     
                     - from THE MIRACLE MAN
 
 
The book of Proverbs tells us to Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.
 
I’ve been there, have you? I can see the rocks below. The waves are crashing. My hands are tired and my arms are shaking. I slip down the rope a little—then a little more. I remember the old saying—Tie a knot and hang on! I'm not sure whoever came up with that saying ever actually hung on a rope... How am I supposed to tie a knot when I need every bit of my strength just to keep from falling? Plus, even if I managed it, I have a nagging suspicion it would wind up looking more like a hangman’s noose than a square knot.
 
            “Jesus?” I call.
            “Yes?”
            “Where are you?”
            “Everywhere.”
            “I’m tired.”
            “I know. Let go.”
            “It’s a long way down.”
            “Not really.”
            “Hang on, maybe I can figure something out…”
            “You can’t…”
           
A thousand thoughts fly through my brain. What if I’m wrong? What if he lets me go? Man, I’ve really done it this time…again. What if he’s mad?
 
But in the end my strength fails. It always fails. Hands bloody with stubbornness, I finally slip.
 
And fall…
 
…into the arms of my Friend.
           
            “Don’t drop me,” I say, looking down at the rocks again.
            “Do I ever?”
            “No, but I did hang for a long time—on my own. Where were you? It would have been easier to let go if I’d have seen you down here.”
             He laughs. “You don’t know by now to look up? Who do you think was holding the top end of the rope in the first place?”
 
Look up, my friends. The beginning is near. And like Mort says – He ain’t gonna leave you hanging…
 
Fair winds,
Buck 
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Donald Trump's Hair and Other Great Band Names

Willie MacNelson Keeps a Wary Eye on the Evil Machine

Traveler’s Tip #338
Stop along the way. Break bread, fellowship, laugh. And be sure to stop talking long enough to listen to The Least of These—you never know what the Master is trying to tell you.
 
 
Well, it’s been a couple thousand miles since last week’s ponderings. I’m home again after a whirlwind two weeks of dates as well as a memorial service for my precious grandma. I’m a little tired but, coffee in hand, I’m plunging into blog-land (a couple days late).
 
Just a few thoughts today…
 
I read the news this morning—never quite sure that’s a good idea. Hillary’s switching to Snapchat (good call). The Donald—I actually enjoy the banter and bold disregard for the politically correct nonsense that’s hog-tying America but please…Mr. Trump…my friend…the hair. I can’t look away. This is not the look of the Leader of the Free World. But maybe that’s the point? Politics and Saturday morning cartoons—is it just me or is the line getting blurry?
 
Hill and Don—adrift and lost on a vast sea of ego and privilege—loved by Jesus. Hey, who am I to judge? I’ll pray for them today. And for my country.
 
Out on the road…
I love the way God speaks and ministers through His people, don’t you? I met Val in Loma Rica, CA. She’s a lovely woman who both blessed and broke my heart. Val offered to make a couple of meals for me. What a time of fellowship. Romanian by birth, she and her husband escaped the communist block (and a lifetime of persecution for Christ) and immigrated to America in 1983. They were childhood friends, sweethearts, and constant companions. He passed away two years ago in a drowning accident. Of course Val was beyond devastated. But, let me tell you, mister, if you want proof of a gracious God, spend ten minutes with Val. Here is a woman that absolutely radiates the Holy Spirit. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness… Such grace shining up from deep within the valley of the shadow of death and loss. What an amazing God we serve that we can know this kind of peace in times of pain. Our harbor in the storm... As I sat in Val's presence I felt the arms of Jesus around me and realized in that moment why I was in Loma Rica. This is the way it works much of the time. Thank you Lord for encouraging me through Your faithful saints! God bless you, Val. I hope to see you again!
 
Great is THY faithfulness! This is the true perspective of the believer who’s walked miles with the Savior.
 
An exciting thing for me—copies of THE MIRACLE MAN are beginning to crop up at concerts to be signed and talked about. I smile because many of you tell me you feel like you know the characters, and that their stories are your stories. Well, I guess they are—yours, mine, and ours. We’re in this together and I’m reminded of that as I move on from town to town. I meet so many nice people everywhere I go. Thank you all for ministering to me! God is at work in our lives and I love to hear about it.
 
 
I think I’ll skip the news tomorrow—even Donald’s hair, as tempting as it is—and write my own headline…
 
GOD IS BUSY GIVING GRACE TO MEN
 
Make sure you read the whole article. The end is awesome.
 
Just me—a resident of earth, citizen of Heaven—checking in live from America…
 
More to come.
 
Fair Winds,
Buck 
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Picking Out a Cross Necklace for Bill Maher

Traveler’s Tip #337
They say you can never go home. That’s not true—but sometimes it’s a really long drive.
 
It’s a beautiful morning in Oroville, California. I have a feeling that happens a lot here. The people at the Super 8 are very nice. I’ve blown through four states in the last five days, passing the miles talking to Jesus and listening to Willie Nelson read Louis L’Amour stories—both are good for the soul. Late check-out this morning then headed for a Lodi concert tonight.
 
Last night I stood on the stage of a little brick church. I felt a lot of history in that place. What sermons and songs bounced off those walls in days long past? Voiced by men and women whose names no one remembers? I added my own to the mix. I hope they hang around awhile.
 
Out here in America time marches on, waiting for no one and no respecter of persons. Towns are boarded. Old Victorian houses are falling apart. One Main Street fades into another, nothing but the obligatory struggling antique store and memories. The Victorians give way to trailers and blocked-up cars. There are still good people out here, but they’re fading into transparency, becoming opaque while small men at the Capitol spend their days shooting cap pistols across the aisle and their evenings sharing drinks.
 
They say the days of the pioneers were hell on horses and women. I don’t think that’s true anymore—Hillary is doing fine as first world morphs slowly into third.
 
On the hotel room TV Bill Maher makes his guest hide her cross under her blouse because it offends him. The audience claps. At the same time, on the other side of the world, a Christian missionary feeds a hungry little girl—Bill’s not even a blip on her radar screen.
 
Out past the trailers, a faded farmhouse leans hard in the middle of a field, ravaged by weather and broken hearts.
 
America. Man—this place is haunted.
 
There are ghosts here. Ghosts of the strong and the good and the moral. The builders and the dreamers. The fighters and the forgotten that gave their lives so the politicians could play, a woman could wear a cross, and Bill Maher could whine. Yes, America is becoming a land of ghosts and sadly they have heavier footsteps than the living.
 
But me and Jesus and Willie? We’ll keep our chins up and speak our mind. We’re headed for another town. We’ll share a little truth (of course there’s such a thing, Bill). We’ll celebrate an empty grave and love people because people are lovely. For the most part we’ll be loved back.
 
Oh, and we’ll wear our crosses outside our shirts… for all the honest world to feel.
 
So watch for us pilgrims, we’re coming to you town. And we bring good news. As dark as it seems, the devil’s lies are rapidly wearing thin and it’s getting grey in the east. The sun is on its way and the forecast is good.
 
Adios, Bill Maher. Go with God, my friend. You don’t worry Him. He cares for you dearly. Might as well drop your fists, it’s a losing fight. All the hate in the world isn’t even a drop against the ocean of God’s love. Hey, who knows? Maybe He’ll send you a cross necklace for Christmas.
 
Fair winds,
Buck 
 
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Roses and Noxzema - Here's To You, Verna Lee Storm

Traveler’s Tip #336
“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now...Come further up, come further in!”
― C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle
 

Verna Lee Storm was a fluffy woman. Soft in body, clothes and temperament. She loved to laugh. She was the smell of cold cream and roses. She was a jar of Noxzema for sunburn and maker of home-made ice cream.
 
She was the spoiler of grandkids. I know because I was her oldest. To me she was the embodiment love.
 
I spent my fifth grade year living with my grandma and grandpa. Hey, it was the seventies—that’s what kids did. A hard time, needless to say. Ten years old—the age when boys contemplate things. Faith, divorce, baseball… A spinning vortex of all the joy and unbearable sadness of life.  Like most, I struggled to understand.
 
I met Jesus that year. Not my parent's Jesus, nor my grandparent’s. Not even the flannel graph Jesus in the Arlington Church of Christ basement. When I met the real God there was no doubt. I needed Him and He knew it. We’ve been together ever since. I’m so glad.
 
Through that turbulent year my grandma was His angel. She made everything bright and sugary and sheltered me from some of the hardness and pain of life. Maybe not the most healthy approach but looking back, there’s no doubt in my mind that I needed it at the time. Everything hurt too much.
 
Faith, divorce, baseball… I thought and contemplated. Death, too. I remember vividly talking to Jesus—telling him that the one thing I knew I’d never be able to bear on this earth was the death of Grandma Storm. It was something unimaginable. An event that would plunge the world into shadow and cold with no hope of sun. I prayed I would die first.
 
Isn’t it the way with Jesus? We grow with Him and He stretches us. We learn to lean on Him more and more all time. Eventually he peels away the layers of people and things we surround ourselves with to protect us from the harsh reality of this world. He alone becomes our harbor and shelter. Our all in all. He is everything we need.
 
And that is how I bear the fact that at 4am on July 27th my fluffy grandma slipped the chains of this earth and stepped into that Better Country. Into the arms of my grandpa and the presence of God. I’m glad I can know it’s true.
 
We all knew her--or someone like her. It hurts when they leave, doesn’t it? We know it’s good, but it hurts. Thank you Jesus for the joy of the eternal. Thank you for grace. Thank you for hope!
 
Wilbur and Lee Storm never had two dimes to rub together. Never wrote great spiritual books or had international ministries. They simply loved Jesus and everyone He put in their path. They struggled along through this world with faith, family, and laughter and it was enough.
 
Theirs might not be the biggest mansion in Heaven but I’d bet the moon it’s the happiest. Stop by when you get there. The joint will be full, believe me. Tacos on Fridays. Muffins on Sunday mornings. It’ll smell like roses and cold cream.
 
And so, next week, somewhere in Southern California, the Storm clan will gather. We’ll tip a glass and we’ll celebrate a life well lived. We’ll tell stories and laugh about the things she said and did because that’s our way. We’ll talk about the sound of her laugh--one none of us will ever forget. And most of all we’ll talk about that great reunion we’ll have up there soon. You’re all invited.
 
We’ll be happy—and our hearts are broken.
 
Goodbye for now Grandma Storm. I love you. I’ll see you again when the stars fall from the sky…
 
Fair winds,
Buck
 
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Dancing With the Ayatollah and Other Bad Ideas—How to Find Peace in Troubled Times

Traveler’s Tip #335
God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.
C. S. Lewis
 
 
Do you want a peace? Here’s a short list of things that will NOT bring peace into your life: Hand feeding white sharks pieces of meat. Deciding to try it with your teeth. Inviting the Ayatollah to sit down and have a beer with you (Sorry Mr. Kerry). Passing out COEXIST bumper stickers on a Ramallah street corner (my apologies to the good people of Portland). Babysitting your son’s new puppy while he’s in Hawaii on his honeymoon (come home soon son).
I’m a dreamer. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion the grass is a little bit greener on the other side. I can’t shake it. I’ve also never had a problem hopping fences. Even wasted some time kicking them down.
 
That’s before I realized all that green grass just meant more to mow.
 
I’ve pursued a lot of pastures. I’ve had a million plans to bring peace and fulfillment to my life. Falling in love, having kids, getting a record deal, getting out of a record deal, seeing the world, writing a book, selling a gazillion books, having thousands—no, millions—of people read my blog…  Oh brother.
 
            “What are you doing crawling around down there?” Jesus asks.
            “Looking for something.”
            “Well, you’ve pushed a lot of diamonds out of the way to pick up a few rocks.”
            “Story of my life.”
            “Didn’t I tell you? That in this world you’ll have tribulation?”
            “Yeah. I hate that part.”
            “What are you looking for?”
            “Peace, I think.”
            “Any luck?”
            “It’s right around the corner, mister.”
            “You have me. So you have peace.”
            “What about the bills?”
            “Do I look like I’m short of cash?”
            “No, but…”
           
Peace, right around the corner. Elusive as a pretty girl’s smile. I’ll have it when… (Fill in your own blank here—you know what it is).
 
But everyday I get older. A little more grey. A little more weary of the chase. Breathing hard from the storm I drop into the shadow and the shelter of my friend Jesus…again. I lean against his legs. He puts a scarred hand on my head. He doesn’t have to say anything—we both know.
 
That’s one of the things about God—He never rubs it in.
 
            “I love you,” Jesus says.
 
And peace floods. Every time. Right through my stubborn will and thick head. Beyond anything I can understand or hope for. Beyond the trials, beyond the struggles and the plans. Beyond my dreams.
 
Peace floods.
 
            “Don’t run off again,” he says.
            “I won’t.”
            “You will.”
            “I won’t”
            “When you do, I’ll be here.”
 
And I remember for the thousandth time—peace is not the absence of conflict or problems or the successful realization of my tin-can plans. Peace isn’t money, power, or influence. Peace isn’t even winning the world for Christ.
 
Peace is the simple presence of my Jesus.
 
I won’t…
 
Fair winds,
Buck

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Beer With the Ayatollah and Other Bad Ideas—How to Find Peace in Troubled Times

Traveler’s Tip #335
God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.
C. S. Lewis
 
 
Do you want a peace? Here’s a short list of things that will NOT bring peace into your life: Hand feeding white sharks pieces of meat. Deciding to try it with your teeth. Inviting the Ayatollah to sit down and have a beer with you (Sorry Mr. Kerry). Passing out COEXIST bumper stickers on a Ramallah street corner (my apologies to the good people of Portland). Babysitting your son’s new puppy while he’s in Hawaii on his honeymoon (come home soon son).
I’m a dreamer. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion the grass is a little bit greener on the other side. I can’t shake it. I’ve also never had a problem hopping fences. Even wasted some time kicking them down.
 
That’s before I realized all that green grass just meant more to mow.
 
I’ve pursued a lot of pastures. I’ve had a million plans to bring peace and fulfillment to my life. Falling in love, having kids, getting a record deal, getting out of a record deal, seeing the world, writing a book, selling a gazillion books, having thousands—no, millions—of people read my blog…  Oh brother.
 
            “What are you doing crawling around down there?” Jesus asks.
            “Looking for something.”
            “Well, you’ve pushed a lot of diamonds out of the way to pick up a few rocks.”
            “Story of my life.”
            “Didn’t I tell you? That in this world you’ll have tribulation?”
            “Yeah. I hate that part.”
            “What are you looking for?”
            “Peace, I think.”
            “Any luck?”
            “It’s right around the corner, mister.”
            “You have me. So you have peace.”
            “What about the bills?”
            “Do I look like I’m short of cash?”
            “No, but…”
           
Peace, right around the corner. Elusive as a pretty girl’s smile. I’ll have it when… (Fill in your own blank here—you know what it is).
 
But everyday I get older. A little more grey. A little more weary of the chase. Breathing hard from the storm I drop into the shadow and the shelter of my friend Jesus…again. I lean against his legs. He puts a scarred hand on my head. He doesn’t have to say anything—we both know.
 
That’s one of the things about God—He never rubs it in.
 
            “I love you,” Jesus says.
 
And peace floods. Every time. Right through my stubborn will and thick head. Beyond anything I can understand or hope for. Beyond the trials, beyond the struggles and the plans. Beyond my dreams.
 
Peace floods.
 
            “Don’t run off again,” he says.
            “I won’t.”
            “You will.”
            “I won’t”
            “When you do, I’ll be here.”
 
And I remember for the thousandth time—peace is not the absence of conflict or problems or the successful realization of my tin-can plans. Peace isn’t money, power, or influence. Peace isn’t even winning the world for Christ.
 
Peace is the simple presence of my Jesus.
 
I won’t…
 
Fair winds,
Buck

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Where Does the Time Go? My Son’s Wedding...

Traveler’s Tip #334
On Highway 95 headed south? Take a left into the mountains at New Meadows and head for McCall, Idaho. Find yourself a wedding and hope for rain (they say rain on the wedding day means a long, blessed marriage). But don’t be surprised when you find yourself asking—where did this grey hair come from?
 
Ever wonder where the time went?

Wow…
Last week I stood beneath an angel-filled, Idaho sky. It stretched out above, alternating between deep blue and threatening rain. A surreal experience, standing there beside my son as his bride-to-be walked down the aisle toward us. Man, really? Where did the time go? This is the guy who, five minutes ago, was trying to master the R sound, hitting the ball off the tee, and running to third instead of first.
 
In the blink of an eye he’s a man. I’m both happy and proud. Tears upon tears.
 
The beautiful bride-to-be asked me to play a song for the ceremony—the first time I remember being nervous in forever. I taped the lyrics to the top of my guitar so I wouldn’t forget them. I think I executed the thing in a fairly coherent fashion but I can’t swear to it. If not, nobody cared, they were such a beautiful couple.
 
God held the rain off, but thunder rolled and cracked through the message as He blessed with His presence. Hard to imagine a more perfect and beautiful sound. I couldn’t stop smiling.
 
And then it was over, and there he went. Ransom Storm, the son of my youth. Back up the aisle with our new daughter-in-law and all I could do was stand there, just another guy clapping in the crowd.
 
Time… Oh, man, this life can hurt. We’ve all felt it. Life’s a breath, mister, and don’t forget to breathe because you might miss it.
 
            I talked to the Lord. “He’s my only son.”
            “He is.”
            “I miss him already.”
            “Trust me, I know all about Only Sons. And missing them.”
            “I love him so much.”
            “I love him more.”
            “Will they be okay?”
            He laughed—more thunder. “Yes, they will. Forever and ever…”
 
She loves him so much. I can see it in her face. And my son, he’s practically lost in her. As it should be. I’m happy for them. (Yeah, that’s right, I’m still crying).
 
A breath, a vapor, a wisp of smoke, a snap of the fingers. But, oh the blessings of the King! Ransom and Sarah Storm shine with the love of Jesus. God has been beyond faithful to me. Why me, Lord?
 
It’s just the beginning really.
 
And that’s the thing. When we know Christ the joy never ends. There is sadness here, sure, but we taste it briefly and move on toward perfect joy. What a future! Hope—it takes me to my knees.
 
Forgive my rambling, pilgrims. This isn’t the most thought-out or articulate blog I’ve ever written. But my heart is filled with the poetry of life, in all its glory—both sadness and joy. I’m feeling it deeply today and I want to share it with my friends and my Jesus.
 
My son disappears over the hill… Can you imagine? The poetry of life—I’m wrecked.
 
God gave His Own so that mine might never know death. What love is this!
 
And the joy! Time runs like water through my fingers. I can’t slow it. But it does’t touch Jesus. My God is waiting. And all eternity looms bright and shining.
 
So—welcome to the family Sarah Storm! You are beautiful, inside and out. Our hearts are full.
 
Family—friends—Jesus, forever. Can you imagine? What a glorious hope we have in our Maker! Never to end, never to grow dim! He holds us in his hand.
 
Guess what? The tears are still here. And I wouldn’t trade them for the world.
 
Fair winds,
Buck

Somewhere... Over the Rainbow...

Traveler’s Tip #333
Stop at the Mennonite store in Clark Fork, ID. The caramel coffee cake is unbelievable. And if you see a horizon-to-horizon rainbow shining so bright it hurts, thank God. He’s so good!
 

Welcome to this week’s political street brawl; America stands decidedly divided into two corners—those with the technical acumen to superimpose rainbow colors over their facebook profile pics, and those without. Or at least those who feel everything they hold dear and sacred is being stripped away, shingle by shingle.
 
Bless the Lord, oh my soul, and all that is within me bless His Holy Name! Thank You Lord that You’re not stressed.
 
I’m taking a close look and, surprisingly, finding I’m not stressed either. It is well, it is well, with my soul… I’m standing with the King. Resting in my Father’s arms.
 
I’m a Christian, that’s the deal. Mast to keel. I love my friend Jesus. He’s shown Himself faithful at every turn and I’ll return the favor. He’s the reason I breathe in and out. Don’t agree with me? That’s fine. I’ll give you a cup of cold water. I’ll visit you when you’re sick. I’ll even help you move (and that’s saying something—I hate moving). I’ll show you Christ and His love because I love you. And because He loves you.
 
Let me ask, do we really expect a government that is vocally and adamantly Godless to legislate morality based on God’s principles? Of course not, why would we? His word clearly says what these days will look like right down to the gnat’s eyebrow. Here we are. Even secular historians will point out the fact that history repeats itself. So the U.S. goes the way of Rome—practically a carbon copy—because mankind is mankind. I guess we’ll see what God’s hand holds. Revival? Maybe. Repentance? Who knows? Or we’ll just slip under the waves with a great rebellious whimper.
 
Either way, God is God and always will be. Long after this earth is dust.
 
Yes, Christians, the hate directed toward you is intense right now. Does it make sense? Not really, unless God is who He says He is—the embodiment and definition of love and justice. We all feel it. But hey, this is a battle that started long ago. Long before red white and blue flew over a rainbow-colored white house. It’s nothing but a continuation of the same old story. One that started in the garden, continued at the cross, and has raged with fury everyday since.
 
Choose this day whom you will serve. It all brings me to my knees, to worship.
 
Man wants to be God. He pontificates, legislates, and shakes his fist at the sky. And the laughter of the One-who-allows-our-hearts-to-beat echoes through the heavens…
 
Face it—it’s an old, tired dance. The radical few (not all—but they’re good at pulling the uninformed into the cause) aren’t shy about stating the end-game. The clear-cut mission is the expulsion of Jesus Christ from the world culture.
 
“Change!” they tell me. “Your old ways are irrelevant now!”
 
Look, I can trace my Christian heritage back directly 600 years. In 1728 my family showed up on these shores to serve and love in the name of Christ. They fought in the Revolutionary War and every war since. Patriots to the core. But we’ve always known our true citizenship was not of this earth. This little rock hanging in space is just a breath—a vapor. It’ll crumble one day. And I’ll go to my fathers. And my Father.
 
The question is, while I’m part of this world, can I love someone even if I don’t agree with his or her choices? Well, God did that with me at every turn. He didn’t agree, or condone, but He loved. In fact, He loved this whole messed-up, rebellious, sinful humanity to the point of death. He loved us to the point of Jesus.
 
C’mon folks, don’t buy the lie that everyone has to support everything someone does or thinks in order to love them. That makes no rational sense—in fact it’s ridiculous—unless you’re quivering under the illogical umbrella of political correctness. If you are, please knock it off. It’s annoying. Fold that thing up and put it away. Common sense is a much better choice.
 
Enemy fire—so do we Christians run screaming for the caves? Of course not. Stand up! Be men! Don’t whine! God is God and if He’s real—and He is—He will have His way. What have we to fear?  Let me tell you brother, there’s a Supreme Being infinitely higher than any Supreme Court. Higher than the Heavens are above the earth.
 
And still He loves—beyond all imagination.
 
Come home sons! Come home daughters! Your Father misses you!
 
As for me, I’ll love my traditional wife—always. I’ll love my traditional kids—always. And I will love all those God puts in my path. Rainbow colored Facebookers and all.
 
And I will serve Jesus and Jesus alone with my dying breath. And the then real adventure will begin…
 
Fair winds,
Buck

Life In the Happy Ending

Traveler’s Tip #332
The world is your backyard. And you don't have to mow it.
 
 
“I have come," said a deep voice behind them. They turned and saw the Lion himself, so bright and real and strong that everything else began at once to look pale and shadowy compared with him.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair
 
“Dearest Daughter. I knew you would not be long in coming to me. Joy shall be yours.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Horse and His Boy
 
 
I’d planned on sharing something else this week (I’ll save it for another) but today I’m absolutely wrecked by the goodness of God and it’s all I want to talk about. I’m pinned to the ground by His relentless love. I can’t move. Over and over, just when I feel bent to the point of breaking, He takes me by surprise. I come—again—to the realization I’m living in the happy ending. And the story is just getting started. 
 
Hey, world – flail and falter! Spit, scratch, and scream. I am His and His alone. He is for me, where does that leave you?
 
Take heart, travelers! Yes, the night is dark, but it’s also far spent. The cliffs are steep, the wind is howling, and the road is rough but the Driver’s not stressed. Lean your head back, listen to the music, and enjoy the ride. You’re gonna love the destination.  
 
Yup, I am wrecked with joy.
 
And one day soon, face to face.
 
That’s it, travelers… Yeah, that’s pretty much it.
 
Fair winds,
Buck
 

The Beautiful Ordinary

Traveler’s Tip #331
The road less traveled is narrow, winding, and mostly uphill. Take it anyway. The view’s worth it and there’s almost never any traffic.
 

After a two-week tour with the remarkable Randy and Leslie Stonehill (and Nigel the unflappable and odd-looking tour dog) I find myself the sailor home from the sea. Feeling ragged but Spirit-filled. There were so many wonderful people along the way, it’s sad to see them in the rear-view mirror. What an amazing miracle, this family of God!
 
Uncle Rand is living history and I love to pry stories out of him. Writing Love Broke Through and listening to the engineer’s pressing of Jackson Browne’s For Every Man with Keith Green, Moon Pies with Mark Heard, Abbey Road (enough said), Ringo Starr hitting him up for a ride after a party in London, the grumpy Scottish codger and his false directions to the concert venue (now, follow everything I told ye and you’ll be…  NO WHERE NEAR IT!)
 
I ask him, “Is there anyone you haven’t met or anywhere you haven’t played?”
 
He says, “Did I ever tell you about that time in Outer Mongolia?”
 
This is the way it works. So begins another truth is stranger than fiction tale about grey-out power surges, chain smoking interpreters, and an overabundance of Fanta Orange Soda. A person could put Randy in the corner instead of a TV and save a bundle on the cable bill. Great for long drives.
 
On the Washington coast we stopped to visit a precious brother struggling with a debilitating disease who’s been a fan of Randy’s since the early seventies. What a blessing. Tears ran freely as Randy played and spent some time. I don’t believe anyone wanted it to be over.
 
Later, back in the car, we talked again.
 
Randy looked thoughtful. “You know, earlier, when we were talking about those shows at Red Rocks?”
 
“Sure.” Frankly, I was a little jealous. It’s been one of my dreams to play Red Rocks ever since U2’s Under a Blood Red Sky.
           
“Red Rocks was cool, but that living room back there? Those are the important gigs, don’t you think? The eternal ones. I think that’s the stuff that really means something in the big scheme of things.”
 
Okay, maybe I feel better about never playing Red Rocks. Because I’ve known a lot of places like that living room. And he’s right of course. The concerts, all the nice people at the product table afterwards, the travel—it’s all wonderful, but the fact is God is in the beauty of the ordinary.
 
I know this for a fact. I’ve seen Him in the eyes of third-world children. In the bent frames of the elderly. He’s the lover of office workers and mailmen. He contends with passion and intensity for the hearts of hookers and preachers and convicts and the guys that smoke cigarettes and hold those SLOW signs, the ones that wave at you with two fingers when there’s roadwork going on.
 
Do you see yourself as ordinary? Maybe feel like you don’t mean much in the immensity of God’s plan? Think you’re just the little guy? You would be wrong. The thing is, you mean everything.
 
Here’s the thing. If you or I or Mother Theresa or Richard Ramirez or the Apostle Paul had been the only residents on this bit of dust floating in space, the grand drama—the cross and empty grave, the Christ story—would have played out exactly as did.
 
You are worth dying for to a God Whose love and attention is limitless and infinite.
 
He is God of time and universe. He is the God before whom the Kings of the earth will one day bow. He is the God that longs for you, thinks of you, every second of every day and will for all eternity.
 
He is the God of a man, broken in body but not spirit, in a small house in the trees. He holds him close and whispers wonders unimaginable of a soon home-coming where there will be no more pain. No tears, MS, or wheelchairs.
 
He is the God of us. And there is endless belonging.
 
 Thank you Lord for the beautiful ordinary.
 
I’m so glad to know You.
 
Fair winds,
Buck