Earlier this year, I had the pleasure of returning to one of my favorite tennis tournaments, the BNP Paribas Open in Indian Wells, California. Nestled in the heart of a sleepy, sophisticated desert community, the ambiance and atmosphere is what makes the tournament so special, and ironically, not the tennis.

Granted, Indian Wells attracts the best players in the world, but at the end of the day, it’s not tennis that the players, fans, and media are talking about. It’s the beauty of the mountains, the relaxing pace, the refreshing coolness of the night desert air, and the lovely little personable towns of Palm Desert, La Quinta, and Indian Wells.

Out of the three communities I’ve grown to know and love, La Quinta rates as my favorite. For this southern gal, when I first heard the name, I immediately equated it to the hotel chain. Not quite.

La Quinta is home to several magnificent resorts, golf courses, Hollywood celebrity hideouts and hangouts, and restaurants that just make you say “wow” with raised eyebrows as you look at the wealth and money greeting you at every turn.

It was also in La Quinta that God chose to teach me a valuable lesson. Ordinarily, I’m not impressed by money. For me, a person matters so much more than how many zeros are posted in their bank account balance. But, I confess, it’s nearly impossible for me to not be influenced and regaled by the wealth and opulence of this desert community.

Or to covet and wonder what my life would be like if I lived there.

My drive to the Indian Wells Tennis Garden each morning is one of my favorite parts of the day, as it’s only about a ten minute jaunt with palm trees, desert fauna, and snow-capped mountains greeting me at every turn. It was during this time of day that God decided to send me a personal message.

I was sitting at a stoplight, waiting for the light to turn green, and staring into the gates of a beautiful golf resort as my mind began to drift. Thoughts of contentment, feelings of how this was the life I was meant to live overshadowed my brain. In those few moments of quiet, instead of paying attention to the scripture playing on my car’s stereo, I was daydreaming about my future status as a resident of a town such as this one. Needless to say, it was a rather pleasant day dream.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, I was snapped back to reality. As I glanced at the car next to mine, I noticed a bumper sticker with four little words.

Not. Of. This. World.

Ouch.

It’s so easy to be entranced and enraptured by the things around us. And you know what, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with nice things. God is a God of beauty and he delights in seeing his children happy. But that happiness should stem from something much deeper—and from remembering that this is all just a mere glimpse of what’s to come.

To borrow from the words of the old hymn, this world is not my home. I really am just’a passin’ through. Instead of focusing on the temporary things, I need to focus on the eternal, the things that will stand the test of time . . . the Word of God and the souls of men.

It’s funny what God will use to teach his children powerful object lessons . . . . even a little bumper sticker.

As we enter this special Resurrection weekend, take a moment to ponder and reflect upon the character of the Christ who gave all, so that we might live.

“How amazing it is that individual men and women vehemently refuse and reject the claims of Christ on their lives. They fear that to acknowledge His ownership is to come under the rule of a tyrant.

This is difficult to comprehend when one pauses to consider the character of Christ. Admittedly, there have been many false caricatures of this Person, but an unbiased look at His life quickly reveals an individual of enormous compassion and incredible integrity.

He was the most balanced and perhaps the most beloved being ever to enter the society of men. Though born amid most distressing surroundings, the member of a modest working family, He bore Himself always with great dignity and assurance.

Though He enjoyed no special advantages as a child, either in education or employment, His entire philosophy and outlook on life were the highest standards of human conduct ever set before mankind. Though He had no vast economic assets, political power or military might, no other person ever made such an enormous impact on the world’s history.

Because of Him millions of people across almost twenty centuries of time have come into a life of decency and honor and noble conduct.

Not only was he gentle and tender and true but also righteous, stern as steel, and terribly tough on phony people.

He was magnificent in His magnanimous spirit of forgiveness for fallen but a terror to those who indulged in double talk or false pretenses. He came to set men free from their own sins, their own selves, their own fears. Those so liberated loved Him with fierce loyalty.

It is this One who insists that He was the Good Shepherd, the understanding Shepherd, the concerned Shepherd who cares enough to seek out and save and restore lost men and women.”

- Philip Keller, A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23

Happy Easter, everyone!

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about the role of the church in the life of a believer. Some of this has stemmed from multiple discussions with friends and family members, and through it all, God has been refining some of my thinking.

Throughout the Bible, many mentions are made of the vital institution of the local church. Paul, who planted churches all over Asia and Europe, admonished believers in Hebrews 10:25 to not forsake the assembling together of believers. Earlier in Ephesians 2, Paul reminds that church members are not lone individuals, rather one body serving one purpose—that of glorifying God. “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints, and of the household of God; And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone; In whom all the building fitly framed together groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord: In whom ye also are builded together for an habitation of God through the Spirit.” Ephesians 2:19-22.

It was the concept of one body, one spirit that caused me to think. Not only does Jesus use the picture of a body to describe the church, but he likens the church to being a bride. If the church is Christ’s bride, and He is our Bridegroom, shouldn’t the same principles of marriage detailed in the Bible apply to our relationship with our church, our church leaders, and our church members?

Marriage is one of the most lasting relationships you can enter—-one that Christ wants parted only through death. Couples, like church members, often experience tiffs, difficulties, and disagreements. But instead of walking out and transferring our membership over petty arguments, do you suppose God wants us to apply his principles of restoration? A disagreement over music is not Biblical grounds for divorce, so if you are at a church that you know God has led you to attend, is that Biblical grounds for leaving? How about a tiff over the personality of your youth pastor, or the dress of your newly ordained deacon’s second cousin-in-law? God has specific instructions for how you deal with these types of situations: “Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye.” Colossians 3:13.

How about when it comes to your inter-church relationships? Are you spreading rumors or feeding into someone else’s discontent? Instead of bringing your issues PERSONALLY before the minister, are you telling anyone with an available ear how you would change or improve the way things are run? It’s easy to see the blind spots of those we are around the most, and I’m definitely guilty of spreading my $0.02’s worth of discontent to others.

Cheating can be defined as the actions of a person who is being unfaithful physically or emotionally. In the same way as a husband can cheat on his wife, a person can cheat on his church. An unfaithful husband finds a listening ear to pour out his relationship woes. An unfaithful church member tells everyone who will listen about the faults of their church or church leadership. Instead of taking these situations to the throne room of grace, this person goes to another, non-involved third-party.

This is not to say that we dismiss the need for accountability or constructive criticism. Pastors, elders, deacons, and church members need to be held accountable and they are not perfect. But, like in a marriage relationship, it is imperative that the counsel is administered in love, and to the person who needs to make the change. If you don’t have the courage to tell someone their faults to their face, it is a shameful coward act to spread it around behind their backs.

I don’t pretend to have this whole concept figured out, but this is just what God has been convicting me over the past several weeks. It definitely is a lot of food for thought as I’ve pondered just what God means by his comparison between the body of Christ and a bride.

Of one thing, though, I am certain. If we were to practice the principle of comparing the church to a marriage relationship with Christ, I venture that we would see fewer splits, fewer factions, and ultimately, an increased bond of unity.

“The noise and bustle began earlier than usual in the village. As night gave way to dawn, people were already on the streets. Vendors were positioning themselves on the corners of the most heavily traveled avenues. Store owners were unlocking the doors to their shops. Children were awakened by the excited barking of the street dogs and the complaints of donkeys pulling carts.

The owner of the inn had awakened earlier than most in the town. After all, the inn was full, all the beds taken. Every available mat or blanket had been put to use. Soon all the customers would be stirring and there would be a lot of work to do.

One’s imagination is kindled thinking about the conversation of the innkeeper and his family at the breakfast table. Did anyone mention the arrival of the young couple the night before? Did anyone ask about their welfare? Did anyone comment on the pregnancy of the girl on the donkey? Perhaps. Perhaps someone raised the subject. But, at best, it was raised, not discussed. There was nothing that novel about them. They were, possibly, one of several families turned away that night.

Besides, who had time to talk about them when there was so much excitement in the air? Augustus did the economy a favor when he decreed that a census should be taken. Who could remember when such commerce had hit the village?

No, it is doubtful that anyone mentioned the couple’s arrival or wondered about the condition of the girl. They were too busy. The day was upon them. The day’s bread had to be made. The morning’s chores had to be done. There was too much to do to imagine that the impossible had occurred.

God entered the world as a baby.

Yet, were someone to chance upon the sheep stable on the outskirts of Bethlehem that morning, what a peculiar scene they would behold.

The stable stinks like all stables do. The stench of urine, dung, and sheep reeks pungently in the air. The ground is hard, the hay scarce. Cobwebs cling to the ceiling and a mouse scurries across the dirt floor.

A more lowly place of birth could not exist.

Off to one side sit a group of shepherds. They sit silently on the floor, perhaps perplexed, perhaps in awe, no doubt in amazement. Their night watch had been interrupted by an explosion of light from heaven and a symphony of angels. God goes to those who have time to hear him — so on this cloudless night he went to simple shepherds.

Near the young mother sits the weary father. If anyone is dozing, he is. He can’t remember the last time he sat down. And now that the excitement has subsided a bit, now that Mary and the baby are comfortable, he leans against the wall of the stable and feels his eyes grow heavy. He still hasn’t figured it all out. The mystery event puzzles him. But he hasn’t the energy to wrestle with the questions. What’s important is that the baby is fine and that Mary is safe. As sleep comes he remembers the name the angel told him to use … Jesus. “We will call him Jesus.”

Wide awake is Mary. My, how young she looks! Her head rests on the soft leather of Joseph’s saddle. The pain has been eclipsed by wonder. She looks into the face of the baby. Her son. Her Lord. His Majesty. At this point in history, the human being who best understands who God is and what he is doing is a teenage girl in a smelly stable. She can’t take her eyes off him. Somehow Mary knows she is holding God. So this is he. She remembers the words of the angel. “His kingdom will never end.”

He looks like anything but a king. His face is prunish and red. His cry, though strong and healthy, is still the helpless and piercing cry of a baby. And he is absolutely dependent upon Mary for his well-being.

Majesty in the midst of the mundane. Holiness in the filth of sheep manure and sweat. Divinity entering the world on the floor of a stable, through the womb of a teenager and in the presence of a carpenter.

She touches the face of the infant-God. How long was your journey!

This baby had overlooked the universe. These rags keeping him warm were the robes of eternity. His golden throne room had been abandoned in favor of a dirty sheep pen. And the worshiping angels had been replaced with kind but bewildered shepherds.

Meanwhile, the city hums. The merchants are unaware that God has visited their planet. The innkeeper would never believe that he has just sent God into the cold. And the people would scoff at anyone who told them the Messiah lay in the arms of a teenager on the outskirts of their village. They were all too busy to consider the possibility.

Those who missed His Majesty’s arrival that night missed it not because of evil acts or malice; no, they missed it because they simply weren’t looking.

Little has changed in the last two thousand years, has it?”

- Excerpted from God Came Near by Max Lucado

Merry Christmas, my friends! May we each take time to reflect on the true meaning behind the season today. Also, on a personal note, my apologies that comments were not approved recently. I changed the site’s server and apparently, I’m not getting the notifications. I’ll have that fixed soon after the holidays!

Because I am used to looking for sound bites or noteworthy quotes, often a particular phrase will jump out to me as I read or listen to something.

Occasionally, it might be a whole sentence, but often it is only a few words that leap off the page. Recently one morning as I was reading Ephesians 6, the phrase “having done all, to stand” stood out to me like a searchlight in a dark night.

A few little words. A depth of meaning.

When life throws you a curve ball that you cannot hit back, let God catch it, declare ball #1—-and give you a chance to hit another shot out of the ballpark.

When circumstances threaten your peace and outlook on life, put on God’s armor and stand.

When you are perplexed and confused about the decisions a loved one is making, take it to Jesus and stand.

When the flight mechanism embedded deep in our souls tell us to head for the hills in retreat, run the other direction into Jesus’s arms and stand still while you watch the power of God.

When you feel hit and broadsided at every turn, get up out of your fetal position, cry out to the source of your strength, and stand.

When you have done all that you know God has directed to do in the middle of an impossible situation, stand in God’s strength. Don’t cower. Don’t compromise. Don’t back down. Don’t quit.

Having done all, stand.

I recently read this short devotional by Max Lucado and felt it was simply too good to not share!

A Life of Service

God has enlisted us in his navy and placed us on his ship. The boat has one purpose—to carry us safely to the other shore. This is no cruise ship; it’s a battleship. We aren’t called to a life of leisure; we are called to a life
of service.

Each of us has a different task. Some, concerned with those who are drowning, are snatching people from the water. Others are occupied with the enemy, so they man the cannons of prayer and worship. Still others devote themselves to the crew, feeding and training the crew members.

Though different, we are the same. Each can tell of a personal encounter with the captain, for each has received a personal call . . . .

We each followed him across the gangplank of his grace onto the same boat. There is one captain and one destination. Though the battle is fierce, the boat is safe, for our captain is God. The ship will not sink. For that, there is no concern.

- Grace for the Moment

I have a scar on my left ankle. Four scars to be precise.

Instead of looking at them as blemishes, imperfections or even battle wounds, I’ve come to think of them as marks of ownership.

This mental outlook certainly didn’t happen overnight. I’ll never forget how many months it took for me to feel comfortable without a sock on or wear sandals in public.

But each mark is a sign to me of the lessons I learned during some of the toughest days of my life. Quite frankly, I’m not sure I would want to repeat them again, but in hindsight, the road God took me on four years ago was a path my life desperately needed to be on.

Centuries ago when shepherds dotted the hills and country sides of an era long past, there was a particularly effective, albeit painful method that a shepherd would use to guard his flock. If hours of training and repeated attempts to herd a lamb with his staff did not prove successful, the shepherd would resort to a last chance plan. It would not be easy on either party, but out of genuine love, the shepherd knew what he must do.

He would heart-wrenchingly break the leg of his stubborn and resistant lamb. Then tenderly, ever so gently, the shepherd would set the injury and care for his beloved charge.

Sheep are completely dependent, so one with a broken leg was even more helpless.

But the shepherd would not abandon his little troublemaker. Instead, he would take the lamb in his arms, placing it gently upon his shoulders.

This was the sheep’s sole method of transportation. Gone were the days when the lamb could stray away from his caretaker. Now it was wholly under the care and protection of his shepherd.

Over time the break would heal, but through these weeks and months a special bond would form between the shepherd and his lamb. They grew inseparable; he wanting to provide for his charge’s every need and the lamb simply content to abide in his presence. This tender relationship continued even after the leg was mended. Through it all the sheep had finally learned to trust and rest contentedly.

It’s not much a stretch to substitute my name for the sheep in this story. Suffice it to say, it required not one, but two “leg breakings” for me to finally want to abide with my Shepherd. Those days—and often nights—were long and dark, but God was right there with me. His arms encircled me and carried me through two surgeries and a year of painful healing and physical therapy.

At times, it sounded almost too good to be true to think that I’d be able to walk for more than 2-3 hours without pain. But miracles do indeed happen on earth. Although, the lessons I learned during those dark days will stay with me forever.

My scars are not scars.

They are a daily reminder of the love of my shepherd, a Shepherd who loved me enough to give me four marks of ownership as a reminder of the everlasting fact that I am His, and He truly is mine.

Last month I had the opportunity to travel to Indian Wells, California and Miami, Florida for the BNP Paribas Open and the Sony Ericsson Open to co-host On the Baseline’s back-to-back live tennis coverage.

When my feet finally hit the ground back in Houston, I had spent seven days in the desert and seven days on an island, logged over 5,000 miles of car and air travel, and endured nine airline flights.

I enjoy flying, but nine flights in seventeen days were a bit much. But on the flip side, during all my travels I had an opportunity to cross paths with dozens of people from all walks of life and backgrounds.

The mom walking her baby one morning in the beautiful California sunshine turned out to be Gwen Stefani, the gentleman talking to himself next to me during our flight from Phoenix was Hollywood screenwriter Michael Schiffer (Four Feathers and Crimson Tide), and the husband and wife who kept Coconut Grove awake late one Saturday night at my hotel were none other than Nick Cannon and Mariah Carey.

Once I sat with my feet propped up on my luggage for an hour talking with a young lady about the pros and cons of nuclear energy and the Arab-Israeli peace conflict while waiting for a flight in Ontario. A few days later, I marveled at the magnificent East Coast shoreline as the plane followed the coast from Charlotte to Miami while sitting sandwiched next to a 6′5 plus giant who looked as though he belonged on the Miami Heat’s bench. This man literally had a twenty-something lady on each of his arms, but fortunately for us, he was too shy to do anything about it.

I relived fond memories from the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo with a mother and her young daughter on the way to Albuquerque. One of the most encouraging times during my trip was an opportunity to visit with a pastor of a church from upstate California who was on his way to a conference.

While many of these and countless other encounters could be termed coincidental, I prefer to think of them as divine appointments. Throughout my trip, the Janet Paschal song, It’s Lucky We Met, kept popping into my head as a reminder that God puts people across our paths not for chance circumstances, but for His purposes.

It’s Lucky We Met
She took the seat next to me
And then she took out a book
“Ten ways to move up in life”
Then she gave me that look.
I asked her, “What is your name?”
I asked her, “What do you do?”
She said, “I’m Mary Lynn Jones
But that’s Ms. Jones to you
I got a condo in Paris, got a house in the Keys.
I got an MBA. I got a PhD.”
And then she looked me all over, said, “So, what about you?”
And I couldn’t resist, I said,
“Well, how do you do?”

I’m just a fortunate girl,
Don’t have a thing to my name
Except a whole lot of peace and a life without shame
“I’m just a servant and slave to a wonderful man
Who came to walk on this earth
So we could all understand
Don’t claim a place as my own
Cause I’m just passing through
And I get my degree by loving people like you
And it’s no accident
Though you can’t see it yet
It’s good I ran into you
I think it’s lucky we met

I must have said something right,
Must have shattered a wall
Because she started to cry and then she started to bawl
She said, “I’ve been so lost,
Do you think we could pray?”
Then the spirit came down in a powerful way
And she asked Jesus in, then she smiled at me
And said,
“Maybe you’re right I’m beginning to see
That it wasn’t by chance that i ran into you”
She said, “You’re so amazing”
I said, “That isn’t true”

I’m just a fortunate girl,
Don’t have a thing to my name
Except a whole lot of peace and a life without shame
“I’m just a servant and slave to a wonderful man
Who came to walk on this earth
So we could all understand
Don’t claim a place as my own
Cause I’m just passing through
And I get my degree by loving people like you
And it’s no accident
Though you can’t see it yet
It’s good I ran into you
I think it’s lucky we met

To the casual observer there was nothing unusual about these six hours.

To the casual observer this Friday was a normal Friday. Six hours of routine. Six hours of the expected.

Six hours. One Friday.

Six hours filled with, as are all hours, the mystery of life.

God is on a cross. The creator of the universe is being executed.

Spit and blood are caked to his cheeks, and his lips are cracked and swollen. Thorns rip his scalp. His lungs scream with pain. His legs knot with cramps. Taut nerves threaten to snap as pain twangs her morbid melody. Yet, death is not ready. And there is no one to save him, for he is sacrificing himself.

It is no normal six hours…it is no normal Friday.

A witness could not help but ask: Jesus, do you give no thought to saving yourself? What keeps you there? What holds you to the cross? Nails don’t hold gods to trees. What makes you stay?

Six hours. One Friday.

Those six hours were no normal six hours. They were the most critical hours in history. For during those six hours on that Friday, God embedded in the earth three anchor points sturdy enough to withstand any hurricane.

Anchor point #1 – My life is not futile. This rock secures the hull of your heart. Its sole function is to give you something which you can grip when facing the surging tides of futility and relativism. It’s a firm grasp on the conviction that there is truth. Someone is in control and you have a purpose.

Anchor point #2 – My failures are not fatal. It’s not that he loves what you did, but he loves who you are. You are his. The one who has the right to condemn you provided the way to acquit you. You make mistakes. God doesn’t. And he made you.

Anchor point #3 – My death is not final. There is one more stone to which you should tie. It’s large. It’s round. And it’s heavy. It blocked the door of a grave. It wasn’t big enough, though. The tomb that it sealed was the tomb of a transient. He only went in to prove he could come out. And on the way out he took the stone with him and turned it into an anchor point. He dropped it deep into the uncharted waters of death. Tie to his rock and the typhoon of the tomb becomes a spring breeze on Easter Sunday.

There they are. Three anchor points. The anchor points of the cross.

Take the sailor’s advice, “Anchor deep, say a prayer, and hold on.”

And don’t be surprised if someone walks across the water to give you a hand.

– Excerpts from Six Hours One Friday by Max Lucado

I’ve often thought about how fascinating it would be to have a time machine. I would not want to go into the future—quite content figuring out the present, thank you—-but it would be an incredible experience to relive some of the most momentous events of the past.

Maybe I grew up listening to too much Adventures in Odyssey, but if I had my own personal Imagination Station, I would never get bored of reliving some of the biggest moments in history.

I would travel to Gettysburg on November 19, 1863 to hear President Lincoln proclaim that all men are created equal. Then, I’d hop over to Boston to help bust some chests and pitch a few leaves into the harbor during the Tea Party. Speaking of freedom, I’d also book a ticket for Egypt so I could be present when the Red Sea parted and the Hebrews marched across the dry ocean floor.

I would also make an entirely selfish trip to Steventon, England, in hopes of convincing Jane Austen to make a last minute edit to Pride and Prejudice so that Mr. Collins and Mary Bennett wound up together at last. No two characters were more perfect for each other. I even have the perfect solution—-let Charlotte die of consumption, make Mr. Collins mourn around Longbourn for a year, and have a faithfully devoted Mary comfort him in his grief.

But there is one trip that would mean the most to me. If I had an opportunity to travel to any moment in the past, I would pick to be on the Road to Emmaus with Cleopas and his friend, just after Christ’s crucifixion.

If you are not familiar with the story, the setting is seven miles away from Jerusalem. Two of Jesus’ followers are traveling back to the city after enduring three days of disillusionment. Even after seventy-two hours, Scripture tells us that they were still “talking about everything that happened.” As they talked and walked, a stranger appeared, and joined them on the journey. “While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and began walking with them, but they were kept from recognizing him. Then he said, “What are these things you are talking about while you walk?” (Luke 24:15-17 NCV)

Imagine the men’s surprise. Here is a man who appears to not have heard about the biggest headline of the week—–or more accurately, the biggest story of all time. “Are you the only visitor in Jerusalem who does not know what just happened there,” asked Cleopas.

Jesus knew the facts all right. But like any good listener, he chose to let them tell him their side of the story. Once they told him the condensed (and unfinished) version, the Stranger took over. “Then Jesus said to them, ‘You are foolish and slow to believe everything the prophets said. They said that Christ must suffer these things before he enters his glory.’ Then starting with what Moses and all the prophets had said about him, Jesus began to explain everything that had been written about himself in the Scriptures.” (Luke 24:25-27)

Although the discussion was not recorded, the Bible does tell us the aftereffects in the hearts of the two men. “They said to each other, ‘It felt like a fire burning in us when Jesus talked to us on the road and explained the Scriptures to us.’” (Luke 24:32)

This is exactly the moment in time I would choose to revisit.

Seven miles of walking and listening to the Son of God tell HIStory from the beginning would be an experience a person would never forget.