Sunday Evening Mind Dump!

First of all…

Yahoooooo! I’m back online! Thanks to everyone who helped return my blog to me. You all are the best! robsingleton.com is back!

• Today was honestly one of the best days in a long, loooooong, looooooooooong, time! A large group of wonderful, godly people met to go through the book of Nehemiah in our new series called, “When You Hit a Wall.”  Even better, this large group of folks encompass the launch team of a brand new church called…

Wait for it…
Impact Church!
The Singletons are truly humbled by the hundreds we’ve heard from over the last several weeks, and the love and grace they’ve shown our family in what was once a painful and difficult time. The verse that comes to mind is, Isaiah 35:10,

“and those the LORD has rescued will return. They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away.”

Already happening!

• If you are interested in being a part of Impact Church you can email me at pastorrss@yahoo.com and we will keep you up to date with everything God is doing with this new venture!
• Good news…Finally got my Facebook page back (well, at least my personal one). Woooo Whooo!
• Bad news…The ‘not so mysterious hackers’ have returned and it will take a few days to get it back again.   Praying the nonsense will stop and we can get on with the work of God!
• All and all though, it was still a great day. I have a feeling the best is yet to come!

Thank You!

Today I thanked the Lord for the wonderful people in my life. Some I've known well for a long time, others, even though they've been around, I just recently saw how deeply loving, understanding, and Christlike they really are. I'm truly amazed by you all!

But today a whole other group floods my soul with love and gratefulness...

Today I want to thank fellow ministers of the gospel. Let me name just a few...

Thank you, Rusty, my friend of more than 22 years--through thick and thin, warts and all--I just can't seem to shake you! You're as much a brother as a friend!

Thank you, Pastor Steven Furtick! The waters truly run deep with you, my friend! I'm humbled by how you have stood by me, challenged me, supported me, and defended me! I want you to know that I've got your back! Anyone criticizes you in front of me and they will get a very unpastorly punch in the throat!

In Jesus' name.  :)

And to your right hand man, Chunks (love that name)! Every pastor needs a Jonathan in their life. If they've got one, it's a big part of the reason the ministry soars! You're Pastor Steven's Jonathan and it's been a pleasure to get to know you better! I'm honored!

To my long time friend and pastor to all the pastors in Charlotte--David Chadwick. Thank you for being my pastor so many years ago and for continuing to be such a good and trusted friend! Whenever I'm struggling with anything, you seem to be at the top of my call list--well, God is first, but you're a close second! We've got our battle scars from ministering in this town over the years, but I have no doubt there are six words coming your way from our Lord and Savior when you see Him face to face...  "Well done! Good and faithful servant."

Clayton King, no one I know is more relevant to audiences in more settings than you. No matter where you go or who you are talking to, you manage to get the gospel out! Never stop! Thank you for the friend you've been to me over years. Your gift of encouragement is off the charts! I've needed it lately, and you didn't disappoint! I'm looking forward to our lunch in a few days!

Don Lough. What a blessing to reconnect after all these years out of seminary! My time with you and Darla up at Word of Life left me and Michelle so tremendously blessed! You may be quietly making the greatest impact for Jesus Christ of anyone alive today! Word of Life seeing 170,000 come to Christ around the world last year alone!! Incredible! I hope I can camp out in my heavenly pop up on the lawn of your mansion in heaven! Keep up the great work for Jesus!

Are there more?

Tons! God has truly been good to me. And this night, you six were especially on my mind. God bless you! And once again...

Thank You!

Do You Know How to Fight? -- Final

 

Ok, let’s finish this thing.

If you missed part one, go here. If you missed part two, go here. If three, here, and four, here.

Now, on with the conclusion...

So there stood Shawn and me—eye to eye—each of us weighing the other to see who would flinch first.

This was new territory for both of us. I was a professional flincher up to this point, and he, an Olympic bully. Almost (but not quite) it seemed the rolls were switching right before our eyes. For a moment, I believed he would just walk away and leave me victorious without ever having to throw a single punch.

That lasted about five seconds.

Then his hands went up and he sucker punched me…

Or tried.

What was this? I didn’t quite block it, but I did manage to deflect it so that it did little damage. That REALLY threw him! And he reacted angrily. And, much to my delight—spastically. He was punching like a girl now (sorry ladies, but you really do punch like yourselves). I was surprised at how easy his awkward strikes were to block, but I still hadn’t thrown a punch of my own. Was I simply looking for an opening, like I’d been taught? Or, was I afraid to actually punch someone? The whole thing seemed a bit like an out of body experience in that I was fighting and analyzing the fight all at the same time—I felt like Howard Cosell—and probably fought like him too.

I knew it would go on forever like this unless I chose to use what I’d been taught, and put an end to the abuse.

I spotted an opening, thought it might be my last…and took it. Hauling back with a right cross, I aimed straight for his jaw—I put everything I had into that one punch.

And it landed.

Then so did Shawn—on the ground.

Everyone seemed shocked but no one more than I. Well, almost no one. I do recall Shawn seeming a bit dazed.

But here’s the important part. Shawn rose slowly to his feet, but not to fight. In fact, he wouldn’t even look me in the eye. All he did was mumble something derogatory about me and walk away, pretending like he had something more important to do, like cry I’m guessing.

So, just like that, it was over. Not only did Shawn never mess with me again, but neither did any of the other guys. Believe it or not, Shawn and I actually became friends (sort of) after that.

I’ve often thought about that experience over the years, recalling how much agony I caused myself simply because I had no idea how to combat the particular warfare I was facing. Once I learned how to fight, the bullying all but ended. I wish I’d learned a whole lot sooner.

And I’ve thought a lot about the spiritual battles I’ve faced over the years as well. How many of them got the best of me due to not knowing how to fight? How many times have I brought a spiritual knife to a spiritual gun fight? And this bears a lot consideration whether we realize it or not—the stakes are far greater in the spiritual realm than the physical. Whoever said, ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,’ must have been a toddler. Because anyone who had been the victim of gossip and slander knows all too well the deep and scaring wounds that sharp tongues can inflict.

Bottom-line? Know what you’re up against. The apostle Paul said it best as he tried to explain this to the Corinthians,

³ For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. ⁴ The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. ⁵ We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. 2 Corinthians 10:3-5

Bad News? Many of us are wielding the wrong weapons and going up against the wrong opponent—often times, Christians even fight with each other as though our own brothers and sisters are the real enemy. The only winner in these scenarios is the evil one.

Good News? Because the same power that raised Jesus from the dead is available to all Christ followers to live victoriously, we can not only win these spiritual battles—we can devastate the evil one, and take huge swaths of territory right from under his nose! That’s a far cry from the knees clanging, fearful, defeated and anemic lives so many “Christians” live today.

More Good News? There’s an unlimited supply of body armor and superior weaponry available to all believers. All we need to do is put it on. Once again, the apostle Paul tells us about this.

“¹⁰ Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. ¹¹ Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. ¹² For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. ¹³ Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. ¹⁴ Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, ¹⁵ and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. ¹⁶ In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. ¹⁷ Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” Eph 6:10-17

So, now that you know how to fight, what are you waiting for? Get in the battle and know that one outcome awaits the believer who truly loves the Lord and who are called according to His great purpose…

You win!

Do You Know How to Fight? – Part 4

 

It matters, you know.

I found out the hard way.

But before we go any further, this being a multi-part series, let me direct you newcomers to parts 1, 2, and 3…

Just scroll down and you'll see them! :)

And now, part 4 of, “Do You Know How to Fight?”

I said we’d “go live” today. Did you prepare? I hope so, because that’s coming up in just a moment. First, I’m sure you’re all wondering what happened with Shawn.

Well, I’m not gonna lie to you—I woke up for school the next day with a pit in my stomach that felt like I’d swallowed a sleeve of golf balls. No matter what I did, or how much I tried not to think about it, the golf balls were there to stay. So, learning to adapt to the new reality that I might tee up a second viewing of my breakfast at any moment (an interesting offensive weapon in and of itself) I otherwise calmly resigned myself to Operation Whoop Shawn—set for 0700.

I had 30 minutes to shower, eat (never mind that), dress, practice my moves, and get to school.

It was on!

I knew that the 0700 rendezvous might not happen, and that I was more likely to have to wait for Operation Bloody Recess at the playground drop zone, set for 1300 (That’s 1:00 pm for you non Navy Seal types). But I walked to school like a Green Beret anyway. About half the time, I would see Shawn walking to school in the morning as well, and the fun would always start early on those days. Truth be told—I was hoping to get this over with before school even began. If it went my way, I’d have the entire day to gloat. If not? I couldn’t even think of that. Failure was not an option.

The walk seemed to take forever that day, and there were (sadly) no Shawn sightings. Operation Whoop Shawn was now a part of my past (pretty dramatic, huh?) and all my focus shifted to the unavoidable, Operation Bloody Recess. People would get hurt this day. Perhaps lots of people. There could be collateral damage as well if my anger turned all Hulk like as it had with my uncle the day before. I couldn’t concern myself with that now—it’s all a part of battle. Warfare is ugly. We all knew what we were signing up for when…

Sorry, I got a little carried away. Where was I?

Oh yeah, recess. The clock stare off began in homeroom and neither I nor the clock blinked even once as we waited for high noon, or 1300, but high noon sounds better. Am I right?

Was there a power outage? The clocks all seemed frozen. No, I had just entered a parallel universe where minutes take weeks and weeks take years. So be it. It wasn’t the first time I’d been here. I could handle anything life threw at me this day. As far as I was concerned, the outcome was predetermined.

Unfortunately, so was the sick day for Shawn. He wasn’t at school.

So much for Rambo the invincible.

Back to Operation Whoop Shawn.

Next day was a repeat of the day before—top-flight, golf ball stomach and all. Shawn was missing from the walk to school again as well. I was actually beginning to relax a little bit by the time I got through homeroom and entered the hallway to get to my first class. That was until I bumped right into Shawn.

“Hey, Wimpleton! Watch where you’re going or the beatings will start early for you today!" He and his friends must have thought they were on stage at Comedy Central the way they laughed at that one. I just stared back at them in bewilderment. Was that really a joke? I thought. I guess I just don’t get it. But one thing I did pick up on—I wasn’t afraid. Seriously, I had no fear. I could already see this thing playing out hours before hand. I’d already cleared the first hurdle—the confidence hurdle. Recess couldn’t get here soon enough.

At lunch I sat at the medic table reserved for nerds and smaller kids bred just for the purpose of being sparing partners for the elite gladiators. But this day it didn’t even bother me as I fueled up on a carefully prepared, pre-battle meal consisting of a peanut butter sandwich and 2 twinkies. Normally I would only have one twinkie, but today I needed the extra edge the Hostess, cream filled food of top athletes everywhere was sure to give me.

Bottomline? I was ready.

When the bell rang, I headed for the playground with the rest of the expendables. We looked at each other with a sort of mutual respect. Each day could be the last for any one of us, and we knew it. Today, they all seemed to have a heightened awareness that it could be me.

Again, so be it. No turning back now.

In seconds I made my way to the monkey bars—a kind of holding pen for misfits and geeks before they were forced into the ring to face the lions. The fleeting thought occurred to me that I didn’t have to take this. Why wait here everyday like I was punching the clock at General Motors? I made a mental note that this would be the last day I spent here as well.

After I’d made my peace, and reminded myself of who would get my valuables once the autopsy was completed and cause of death determined, I pushed all negative thoughts from my mind and looked up to see Shawn and his primitive posse of yes men approaching right on schedule.

“What’s up, Wimpleton?” I just sat there. I already knew the drill. “You blind and deaf?” he continued. “Cause this is my area and I don’t think I want you here. So beat it.” He laughed. However, when I didn’t get right up and leave like every previous occasion, he seemed to reconsider. It was one thing to trip me on the way by, or to punch me when I wasn’t looking, but this was unchartered territory for him.

“You hear me?” He asked again, looking at me as if it were the first time he’d ever seen me.

“Yep,” I answered as casually as I could.

That really threw him. I could see the wheels turning. Hmm, he seemed to be thinking. He heard me, saw me, has been beat numerous times by me, and yet, there he sits. What am I supposed to do with this?

I almost felt sorry for him, so I helped make his decision a little easier. While he was working through possible scenarios in his head, I got up and walked to within 2 feet of him and just stood there.

“I’m not leaving Shawn. If you want to sit here, you can wait until I feel like leaving. Otherwise, you’re gonna have to make me.”

Okay, I admit, I wasn’t too proud of that last line. Talk about old and overused. But it was pretty tough sounding in it’s day and I’ll bet anyone reading this over 40 has said it themselves so quit judging!

Ok, back to the story.

Shawn was stumped, but he was far from finished. He still had one trick up his sleeve.

“Hey look everyone! Robby Wimpleton is getting all tough now!”

“What did you call me?!” I growled, my fists coming up and the rest of me assuming the fighting stance my uncle had taught me. My blood was boiling. I HATED being called Robby! I might have even mentioned that a time or two—not sure, I’ll have to go back and check the previous posts in the series. Wimpleton I could handle, but for some reason, Robby drove me crazy. I became absolutely unglued every time I heard it. And now was no exception.

“Take it easy, man. I was just joking.” Shawn reacted nervously. “I don’t feel like messing with you nerds today anyway.” He turned to walk away. Only problem was, a crowd had gathered and one of his normally mild-mannered posse began making a chicken noise and snickering, something about ‘one more nerd in the herd shouldn’t upset the delicate ecosystem of the Katella playground...' Least that’s how I remember it until I recall that we were all 10 year olds and not even capable of thinking that sophisticated. We were still trying to master lines like, “I know you are, but what am I?” So there’s little chance I’ve got perfect recall here.

And alas, there’s little chance I’m going to be able to finish this today as I thought. It’s almost midnight!

Sorry, but the conclusion and spiritual tie in will have to wait until next time.

Do You Know How to Fight? -- Part 3

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If you missed part one, go here. If you missed part two, go here.

Now, part three…

"Now Robby, tomorrow when you come home from school--we're going to do something a little different. We're gonna, "Go live!"

"Go live?" I asked nervously. "What's that?"

That’s pretty much where we left it but I promise you, I was anything but casual about my uncle’s parting words that day. I wondered on the one hand why he couldn’t just ease my fears and give me at least a hint at what, “go live” really meant. On the other hand, I pretty much knew deep down! And it terrified me! This was why he wasn’t my favorite uncle and all at once that aspect of our relationship was all I could remember.

So I barely slept that night. Or the next. Or the next.--turns out it would be a few days before he made it back over to our house.

BTW, you all need to know that the school yard bullies were still taking turns rearranging my face every day. Nothing had changed on that front. It wasn’t as though the Katella Elementary Violence Union had convened to consider giving me a break while I promised to take classes in self defense in order to make their sport more entertaining. In fact, I hadn’t even mentioned my membership in the newly formed, “Fight Club,” for fear they would add comedy to pummeling at recess. So, my life still hovered between good days (miserable) and bad days (hell on earth).

Three days of physical abuse and mental anguish later, I returned home from school to see my uncle and aunt at the house. For his part, my uncle acted like he’d forgotten about his roll as president of the fight club—thankfully, the site of a massive cut on my forehead jarred his memory.

“What happened?!” He said.

“Shawn happened,” I snapped back.

“Why didn’t you use some of that stuff I’ve been showing you?” He inquired.

I looked down embarrassed—far more interested in my shuffling feet than in the turn the conversation had taken.

“Never mind, I think I know. We were talking about goin’ live, last time—weren’t we?” he continued.

“I don’t really remember,” I lied.

“Well I do” He continued undaunted. “Hey ladies, mind if Robby (Did I ever mention…) and I go out back for a bit. I need to show him something?” They nodded. “Good,” he said, “It shouldn’t take long."

Once we got to the backyard everything seemed to start just as it had on all the other days, the fighting stance, the jab’s, looking for openings as my uncle danced around the invisible boxing ring.

Except for one small thing…

BOOM!

Out of nowhere, my uncle clocked me up the side of my head! My ears were ringing and my hands dropped to the side. I was stunned. “Hey, what are you—"

But I didn’t have much time to play the victim, because, as soon as my hands dropped he hit me on the other side of the head, then the other, again and again.

“”Cut it out!” I screamed. What are you doing?! That hurts! So does that! I’m telling mom!”

“Go ahead,” he said as he continued raining blows down on me. “But nothing’s gonna change in your life if you don’t decide right here and now—“

“SMACK” I managed to land one upside his head, though I had to jump up to do it, and truth be told, it was more of a glancing blow than a direct hit. I would have loved to use the word, “BOOM” to describe my hit like his, but alas, the writers guild dictates that I can only take so many liberties in the retelling of this biographical account if I hope to keep it in the nonfiction genre.

He seemed surprise and pleased at the same time. He grinned. “That’s the idea! See if you can do it again!”

And round and round we went. I landed several more blows that day and even managed to block some of his punches—though, looking back I’m pretty sure he was a heavyweight fighting willingly as a somewhat drunk looking fly weight just to give me some hope. I don’t think any day on the playground at school had ever left me that battered. At the same time, I never felt so good!

After what seemed like an eternity of this, my uncle abruptly ended our session.

“You’re ready,” he declared—looking at me like a hamburger ready to come off the grill. “Tomorrow can change everything for you if you decide to make some changes. Tomorrow, when Shawn or anyone else approaches you for the normal routine of punch the defenseless kid till he cries, you make sure they are the ones crying. And I’m serious! You need to make an impression. I don’t care if it lands you in the principle’s office—make it count!” He looked me up and down approvingly and added one more time, “Yeah, you’re ready,” then returned inside to join the women.

But was I? One thing was for sure, the next day I would find out--ready or not.

What does all this have to do with God? After all, this is a pastor’s blog. Well, most of the tie in will be in the final installment next time, but here’s what I want you all to be thinking of as you wait…

I want you to think long and hard about the definition of insanity,

Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

More Christians live defeated lives then victorious ones—BY FAR! The desire is certainly there for most of them to live with greater faith and confidence for the Lord, but the results just aren’t.

Why?

It’s like I said in, “Do You Know How to Fight? – Part 2,” It’s not a matter of desire, it’s a matter of being clueless as to what kind of battle we all are involved in the first place. It’s not physical—it’s spiritual. Remember what Paul said to the Ephesians?

“For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” Ephesians 6:12

If it’s spiritual but you’re fighting physical—you’re gonna get your spiritual butt whooped every day! And it’s gonna keep right on getting whooped until something changes. So why don’t we all make a decision here and now to change?

You with me?

Good, because part 4, we go live!

Do You Know How To Fight? -- Part 2

 

Go here for part 1

Why does it matter whether or not we know how to fight?

Well, for one, in most of life we are up against people and situations where a complete inability to defend yourself could cost you dearly. If you’re not prepared, you might as well not even show up. And there’s a reason for the saying, “You don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.”

Lately, one of the best examples can be seen in MMA (Mixed Martial Arts) fights. It used to be that Taekwondo was all you really needed to know, as fighters merely kicked and punched their way to victory. The fight seldom went to the mat. But, as more and more fights ended up on the mat, it was the jujitsu fighters and wrestlers who were winning. Then, the boxers and taekwondo dudes who ALSO knew how to wrestle started winning—because they could do damage anywhere, at almost anytime. That’s also why more people refer to these bouts as MMA fights than Ultimate Fighter matches. It’s the MMA  fighters that are the most fun to watch—who most know how to fight. The one discipline dudes find themselves in real trouble against a true MMA fighter.

Which brings me to the underlying point of this series.

Why are so many Christians living defeated lives? Why do so many Christ followers get the stuffing kicked out of them each and every day? Could it be they don’t know how to fight? That they’re fighting the wrong battle? Or maybe the wrong enemy?

I think all of these are true. In regards to the battle itself, listen to what the apostle Paul said to the Ephesians (6:12) about this battle…  

“For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.”

So the battle Paul is referring to is spiritual, not physical. The opponent spirit, not flesh and blood. What happens if you bring a gun to that fight?

Answer? Bad things

More on that later. Now, on with my story from the other day…

“Would you like me to teach you how to fight?” My uncle repeated.

“y-y-yes,” I stammered, probably sounding much more like I wanted to learn how to knit than fight.

“Well, the first thing we need to work on is your confidence—you have none. So let me back up a bit. When I ask you if you want to learn to fight, is it ‘y-y-yes’ or ‘Yes Sir?!’”  My uncle loved hearing, YES SIR! I think he was a frustrated, wannabe drill sergeant or something.

He continued, “You gonna be Barney Fife (The Andy Griffith show was still in reruns back then) or Captain Kirk (Star Trek, for you non-trekies)? Gilligan or the Skipper? I can’t help you till you settle in your mind which it’s gonna be.”

I didn’t even hesitate, especially given the fairly pathetic choices. Barney and Gilligan didn't even warrant a moment's consideration. But, the Skipper? Was he supposed to be impressive? He might have been big (read: ‘fat’) but I never remember him being tough.

“Captain Kirk,” I said, finally mustering a small amount of courage. What a no-brainer. Kirk often took on several bad guys at once, and was the only one who could even hold his own against Spock—the incredibly strong half Vulcan. And I probably don’t need to remind you—the reader—that Vulcans are ten times stronger than humans…

But I digress.

“Kirk! Kirk! Definitely Captain Kirk,” I said, starting to get a little excited about the possibility of transforming form my big head, little body self into a Vulcan crushing machine!

“Alright, alright,” my uncle said. “Then come over here and let’s get started.”

• First I learned the proper stance.
• Then I learned to jab with my left.
• Then I learned how to look for an opening.
• Finally, I learned how and when to land a powerful right that--should I deliver it jsut right--would most certainly end the fight.

I loved learning all this stuff! And since my uncle lived fairly close, he agreed to return day after day until I got it.

Each day I mastered a new skill. Each day my confidence grew until the day he said to me, Now, Robby," (Did I mention how much I hate being called that? I did? Well nevermind then. But don't call me Robby either!) "Now Robby, tommorow when you come home from school--we're going to do something a little different. We're gonna, "Go live!"

"Go live?" I asked nervously. "What's that?"

"I don't have time to go into it right now. I'm late for work. Just show up tomorrow ready to defend yourself, because if you don't, then our time together's going to end up worse than any day you've ever had on the playground at that school of yours."

And with that, he grabbed his car keys, said his goodbyes, and left.

Tune in for part 3 next!

Do You Know How to Fight?

When I was in 5^th grade, I went to an elementary school in a rough part of California (Yes, there are rough sections of California). Every day there were fights on the playground during recess. While other kids undoubtedly looked forward to playing on the monkey bars or kickball, maybe dodge ball or a short game of tackle football—most of us at Katella Elementary School could only look forward to a 30 minute version of the Hunger Games. So recess was every man for himself, and there was no prize to the victor other than less bruises and black eyes.

So, for a solid year, my life went something like this…

·      Wake up, eat breakfast, get ready for school

·      Walk to school and avoid eye contact with anyone (especially one kid named Shawn, who seemed to have committed his life to wallpapering my face with colorful cuts and bruises.)

·      Get through the first 2 classes while watching a clock that seemed to be stuck in perpetual slow motion.

·      Recess (Hell on earth)

·      Ridicule for getting beat up—lasted till the bell rang and school ended.

·      Walk home and try to avoid eye-contact with any of the guys (and even some tougher girls) who viewed me as more punching bag than human.

·      Head for my room and sometimes cry like a decidedly un-tough, 4 year old girl.

Ahh, memories.

Yep, that was 5^th grade—for a while anyway—and cuts and bruises, bloody noses and black eyes were the souvenirs from my brief stay at Katella. And, as I said, the shopkeeper dolling out these mementos to me each day was almost always, Shawn.

So, I hated 5^th grade because there seemed to be nothing I could do to.

I didn’t know how to fight.

After several months of this I actually began to wonder if this would be my lot in the world—not knowing how to fight yet having to fight my way through life.

Then, one day my uncle came to visit. He wasn’t my favorite uncle or anything—truth be told, I really didn’t like him at all. He was crass, sarcastic, mean, and standoffish. The little I knew about him was that he’d “grown up on the streets”—which didn’t make sense to a 10 year old. I thought, “How do you grow up on the streets? Do you live in the sewers? Literally have a house somewhere in the middle of a street? I mean, what’s that even mean?” But I did know one more thing about him. He was a rough character who you better not cross. So I didn’t. In fact, I avoided him altogether.

But one day, as I returned home form school, and another day of playing the mole in what seemed like a mandatory game of whack a mole—there he was—telling my sister and brother another story about growing up on the streets and having to fight his way through life.

Fight his way through life?

Wait! I thought That’s me! So, instead of avoiding him and heading straight for my room as I’d done on every previous occasion, I moved to the corner of the family room and listened as he got into a fighting stance in order to enhance the verbal version of his story with a little acting. As he talked he also bobbed and weaved like a prize fighter. Occasionally he would flick a few quick jabs and then swing his right fist through the air complete with yelling out, “POW!” I was riveted.

In fact, I was so engrossed in the story that I completely lost track of time. But I snapped out of it when he looked over at me and said, “Robby?” Man, I hate being called that! “Robby, seems to me, you could use a little bit of this but you have a choice to make first. You can either come home every day with a new bruise, bloody nose, or alternating black eyes. Or, you can learn to fight.

Would you like me to teach you how to fight?

Tune in tomorrow.

THANK YOU!

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Thank you everyone for the encouraging e-mails, cards, meals, phone calls, text messages and home invites! You all are the greatest!

We still have our moments, but God is good—so very, very good.

And this past Sunday, someone shared a message from pastor James Merritt with me. It really ministered to me and the whole Singleton family.

So, again, I just wanted you all to know--it does make a difference!

Pastor Rob

Game of Thrones -- Final

This is it—the grand experiment comes to an end with such a simple yet profound truth.

One verse

Not even the last verse.

12:13 says, “The end of the matter, all has been heard. ‘Fear God and keep His commandments,’ for this is the whole duty of man.”

Admit it. Isn’t this one of those moments in life where you want to grab this Solomon character by the lapels, shake him, and say, “THAT’S IT??! Seriously? You take us on a rambling, moral/immoral, ethical/unethical, hedonistic, schizophrenic, contemplative, physically and emotionally draining roller coaster ride just to sum it all up with…

“Fear God and keep His commandments?!”

-       “I want my money back!”

-       “I want my Sunday mornings back!”

-       “I want my study time back!”

“All of it, because, honestly—I think a saved 7 year old could have told me that! Why on earth didn’t you just share that with us to begin with, Solomon?!”

And I can just see him—hunched over, shuffling along with the aid of a cane. His beard is more white than gray. His eyes bloodshot and deeply lined. To smile seems like it takes every ounce of effort the man has, but he does so anyway. And he looks at me, gathers himself—draws a deep breath and finally says, “Because you wouldn’t have listened. No matter what you say now, no matter how much you brag about ‘knowing life inside and out,’ no matter how ‘simple’ you claim these few words to be…

Almost no one ever believes them without at least a short grand experiment of their own—an experiment complete with disappointment and pain, betrayal and boredom, cheap thrills and moments of real joy as well as a million other life lessons unique to us all."

“Then why even try?”

Because I said, “almost no one.”

Every now and then. In every generation. There’s someone who prays like a Daniel, has the courage of an Esther, leads like a Moses, has a heart for God like my father David, perseveres like Job, or has faith like Abraham—All different, but all giants of the faith. And all these had one thing in common—something they learned and learned young…

 “Fear God, and kept His commandments.”

Shouldn’t we do the same?

Game of Thrones -- Part 3

"Objects in mirror are closer than they seem!"

How Old Are You?

The day is coming—there’s no way to avoid it—right after we’re born, it draws closer each day.

Death comes to us all.

I probably lost half my readers right there, but I hope not. You see, death is nothing to be afraid of for the Christ follower. In fact, it isn’t even something to push from the mind.

“What are you saying, pastor Rob? You want me to think about death?! Embrace the light, walk toward that warm glow? No thanks!”

Ok, suit yourself, but this is straight from God’s Word, not Rob’s book of opinions. And God tells us that only a fool ignores death. Only a fool fails to see the good of it. Look at Ecclesiastes 7:1,

“A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth.”

"What?! That just sounds crazy!" Well then, keep reading,

Hebrews 2:14, “Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil”

Death has no power whatsoever over the believer! Why fear it then? It’s like being afraid of an attack butterfly—it can’t hurt you—you just look silly by avoiding it or running from it. And those fears eventually lead to a life of bondage. Look what Paul said in the very next verse…

Hebrews 2:15, “and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.”

So, either we will look ahead realistically at death as a way to adjust and refocus our lives around the Savior, or we will live silly lives of naivety and denial, doing anything and everything to extend this physical life and push back our own expiration date. And we might even succeed in buying a little more time on this miserable orb inside these fallen tabernacles we call bodies. But in the end…

Death still comes to us all.

So, Solomon suggests a different approach—a realistic approach. First, he urges us to take a sensible look at what happens as we get older. We find this vivid description in verses 1-8 of Ecclesiastes 12. Let me just paraphrase for a moment…

The day is coming when…

·      our shoulders will slump (v. 3)

·      our teeth will fall out (v. 3)

·      our legs will become weak (v. 3)

·      our eyesight will begin to go (v. 3)

·      our hearing will fade (v. 4)

·      our sleep will be restless

·      our fears will increase (v. 5)

·      our caution will grow (v. 5)

·      our hair will gray (or fall out)

·      our sexual passion will diminish (v. 5)

·      our time at funerals will increase (v. 5)

·      our spine will grow weak and sore (v. 6)

·      our memory will fade (v. 6)

·      our breaths will grow short (v. 6)

·      our heart will grow weak (heart attacks) (v. 6)

·      And, finally, death comes to us all

Okay, I admit, that wasn’t much fun, but it was necessary—Solomon thought it was—more importantly—God thought it was. That’s why it’s included in God’s Word. And the point of it is that God wants us to know that a life spent pretending that none of that is going to happen is the most meaningless life of all, “Vanity of vanities, “says the preacher, “all is vanity v. 8”

So, what do we do with all this dismal, death talk?

Here it is—three things…

1.     Aging is inevitable

Aging is nothing to be embarrassed about. Instead, we should embrace it. With aging comes wisdom and understanding—grace and forgiveness. The more we understand what all has been done for us along the journey of life (by Jesus) the more empathetic we are toward others.

2.     Aging is essential

It’s essential because through all the aches and pains, memory loss and stooped shoulders—we have constant reminders of eternity—constant reminders of no more tears, no more pain, no more aging and an eternity with the Savior that loves us and gave Himself for us.

3.     Aging is not eternal

Death is usually thought of as the end, but it’s really the beginning of something beautiful for the Christ follower (see above). For those who reject the Savior? Well, that’s another story. There’s only one way to heaven (John 14:6) and that’s through Jesus Christ—ignore Him and death becomes pretty intimidating.

So, maybe I gave waaaaaaay too much time to the Grim Reaper, but no more than Solomon did. So let me just encourage you to take a moment and bravely approach the reality of your own death. Have you ever considered the wisdom that could be gained by thinking about its rapid approach rather than pretending you’re Cher or Dick Clark and that it will never happen to you?

I realize this goes against everything our culture tells us, but trust God on this one. Think about it a little today, then ask yourself the following questions:

-       Am I living my life with an eternal perspective or just living for the here and now?

-       Am I afraid to die? Why? Why not?

-       Do I view the aging process with nothing but contempt?

-       What can I do to embrace the aging process and finish strong for God?

I can think of more, but that should get the ball rolling.

Game of Thrones -- Part 2

Ok, here we go with the wrap up of, “Game of Thrones.” Chapter 12 of Ecclesiastes

The first section is verses 1-8,

“12 Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near of which you will say, “I have no pleasure in them”; ² before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars are darkened and the clouds return after the rain, ³ in the day when the keepers of the house tremble, and the strong men are bent, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those who look through the windows are dimmed, ⁴ and the doors on the street are shut—when the sound of the grinding is low, and one rises up at the sound of a bird, and all the daughters of song are brought low— ⁵ they are afraid also of what is high, and terrors are in the way; the almond tree blossoms, the grasshopper drags itself along,^[a] and desire fails, because man is going to his eternal home, and the mourners go about the streets— ⁶ before the silver cord is snapped, or the golden bowl is broken, or the pitcher is shattered at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern, ⁷ and the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it. ⁸ Vanity^[b] of vanities, says the Preacher; all is vanity.”

Now, to really get the best idea of what this text is talking about, allow me to go to I Samuel chapter one...

Often over the years, where I pastored, we would have a special dedication time for children. The passage I would almost always use for these child dedications was 1 Samuel chapter 1. In it we find the barren woman, Hannah, grieving because she so desperately wanted children. Even so, year after year after year would go by where it seemed as though God simply wasn’t hearing her prayer.

But was this really the case? Or was something else going on with the Almighty?

Of course it was something else—the Lord hears all our prayers! What was going on was a refining and spiritual maturing within the heart of Hannah. True, she already loved and honored the Lord, but her reasons for wanting a child may not have been as holy and beautiful as God wanted. You see, Hannah wasn’t the only wife of her husband, Elkanah. There was also Peninnah—it was like an early version of HBO’s, Sister Wives—right there in the Bible.

Now, several things set these two women apart. First, verse five seems to indicate that Elkanah loved Hannah more than he loved Penennah—not a smart move when dealing with a couple feisty,redneck, hillbilly women.

“Whoa, pastor Rob, where do you get that?!”

Easy now, I just noticed where the text says they were from in verse one—Ramathaim-zophim of the hill country of Ephraim. See? You can’t make this stuff up! These were the Real Housewives of the Hill Country of Ephraim (That’s the redneck part). And you better not mess with them. However, according to the official Ephraim handbook of conduct, they could mess with each other all day long—and they did. Which brings us to the next thing…

Verse 2, “…And Penennah had children, but Hannah had no children.”

I know, I already mentioned that Hannah had no children. So I’m not repeating myself (actually, I am, but there’s a reason), I just wanted to add in that Penennah did have children—apparently a full quiver of them—Elk and Pen plus Ten—or something like that. And she didn’t mind bringing this up to Hannah 24/7.

Verse 6, “and her rival used to provoke her grievously to irritate her, because the Lord has closed her womb.”  That’s the feisty part!

Verse 7, “⁷ So it went on year by year. As often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat.” That’s the 24/7 part!

So Hannah begins begging the Lord for a child and the Lord just seems to turn a deaf ear to her pleas—almost seems cruel at first glance. But a deeper look at the whole story makes it clear that the Lord desired something greater from Hannah then simply to get into a birthing competition with Penennah—something greater than to simply have a son to give to her husband—and something greater than to simply have God do her will. The Lord wanted her to realize that our children are really not ours—but His. The Lord wanted her to realize that while she only wanted to give a child to her husband, God wanted to give a prophet to a nation! For those of you who do not know the story—Hannah did bear a son and fulfilled her vow to give him to the Lord for service unto Him (v. 11). His name was Samuel and he was arguably one of the very greatest prophets Israel ever had.

“Um, pastor? Can I interrupt a second? Ah, we were talking about Ecclesiastes 12 and Game of Thrones and all of that…Remember?"

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