What's Luck Got Ta Do With It?

It’s a briskly clear, lazy spring afternoon in 1995. The leaves haven’t yet begun to bud on the trees. The sun is warmly shining through the window of the mobile home where I live with my first roommate, Darrell. He’s in his late twenties, a muscular guy, over six feet tall; he can handle himself. He’s employed at the Greene County Juvenile Justice Center, a juvenile prison. Today is my day off from work. I’m currently listening to music while sprawled out on the sofa. Darrell has been home for a while after running some errands and we are both bored, not having accomplished anything of importance since lunchtime. “Hey, let’s go shooting!” Darrell curiously suggests. We’ve never gone shooting together. Darrell has a heavy steel frame, foreign-made 9 mm Glock knock-off handgun. I have an old 1919 Spanish Mauser in .308 that my dad and I had converted into a hunting rifle. “Where would we go?” I ask. “How about Busiek?” Darrell suggests, “They have a shooting range there.” “Ok, sounds good to me.” I reply, “I have some targets I’ll bring.” I couldn’t think of anything better to do and we have a few more hours of daylight to burn, not to mention it’s been a while since I’ve had any target practice. We gather our things, hop in Darrell’s truck, and gleefully headed toward our destination, Busiek State Park. We have no idea how significant this decision to spend our afternoon at the range would be.

Darrell’s a pretty casual guy most of the time.  He regularly dwells on the goofy side of life, singing off key on purpose, telling jokes, or quoting movies in funny voices. The ride this day was no different. You would think that we’re a couple of adolescent boys the way we carry on. The shooting range is quiet and empty when we arrive.  The wind is gently blowing and you can faintly hear birds, squirrels and other animals in the nearby woods. We set up our targets down range and pace off the distance as we walked back to shoot. We take turns shooting the handgun and the rifle at different ranges between twenty-five and one hundred yards. The shots rang out; cracking through the air like thunder, and at each pause not a sound was heard but the breeze against our ears, because of the earplugs we were wearing. It’s just before dusk now. While we’re taking a break to reload, a small brown pickup came barreling down the gravel road that leads to the shooting range. It spins around in the dead end parking area, the passenger door flies open, and a woman tumbles out of the vehicle.  She hits the ground running, straight toward us. With a look of horror on her face, she’s frantically yelling something unintelligible. We take out our earplugs as the truck leaves on a cloud of dust. As the woman runs across the nearby footbridge, we hear her yelling desperately, “Can you help me? Can you help me?? You have to help me!?!”  She fiercely repeats these words over and over again along with, “You’re not with him are you?”

“Ma’am, you’re gonna have to calm down.” Darrell says in a low soothing voice. 

“Oh God, you gotta help me!” she repeats frantically, tearfully looking back down the road as if she expected the truck to return. 

“Take a deep breath, calm down, and tell us what happened,” Darrell replies. 

“This guy was giving me a ride and told me things he wanted to do to me…” she tells us, anxiously shaking.

“What kind of things, was he going to hurt you?” Darrell asks. 

“Yea,” she continues, “I think he was gonna rape me and when I told him to let me go, he said he was gonna come out here and kill me! You have to help me!” 

“We’ll help you,” I tell her assuredly, “it will be okay.” 

Darrell interjects, “We’ll take you to the sheriff’s office.”

Darrell and I quickly grab our belongings and we all got into his truck. “I think you scared him off,” she calmly says.

I ask her, “Do you remember his name? Did you know him?”

“Could you describe him to the police?” Darrell adds.

“Yea, uh huh, I met him at my work. I work at a convenience store, and he delivers snacks there. I think he got scared when he saw you guys. I think that’s why he drove off,” she replies. “I think you saved my life! I’m really lucky you were here!” 

Darrell chimes in, “You know, I don’t think it was a coincidence that we were out here today. I think God wanted us to be out here. Jeremy and I don’t come out here; in fact, this is the first time we’ve gone shooting out here.” 

“He’s right. We never come out here. We just decided to do this at the last minute today because we were bored!” I add. 

“No… it was God…” she says, “I know it was God.”

We had no idea how significant this decision to spend our afternoon at the range would be. We just went. We didn’t know that a man would threaten a woman with bodily harm and drive her there. We just went.

Some people would chalk up this kind of event to coincidence. Fate. Luck. But I don’t. I believe it was providential that Darrell and I went to the shooting range that lazy spring afternoon back in 1995. I believe that God was trying to speak to someone through this situation (at the very least, it spoke to me). Do I mean that God orchestrated the events? No, not explicitly. I don’t believe God is a puppet master, pulling the stings of people so they do whatever He wants. I do believe some people have cut themselves off from God in an attempt to be their own master and the marionette of their own fate. But by attempting this impossibility, they only get themselves tangled up in strings and bound by someone far more sinister than self (Isaiah 66:3-4, 1 Peter 5:8).

You cannot deny that there is evil in the world, you only have to turn on the news for a few minutes to see it (Job 5:7, Jeremiah 17:9, Proverbs 21:10). As long as this reality exists, we will always have bad things happen. When they do, many people will ask: why? Others use it as a rally cry for action. Often eighteenth century philosopher Edmund Burke is quoted. He said “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.” I believe this is true on several levels. But for a Christian, I believe this could be as simple as not listening or looking for those sometimes-small opportunities to do something seemingly meaningless outside of our daily habits. I have learned that often these are the times that we are given the opportunity to do something we may have not done if left to ourselves.

Further reading: Roman 5:12, 1 Peter 4:12, John 16:33, Luke 18:19, Romans 8:28, Matthew 6:33

Addendum

Recently, I was at a coffee shop with a friend having a Bible study. We noticed a man walking back and forth in front of the shop, occasionally talking to himself. He looked distraught. As he walked further down the street, my friend asked if we could pray for him, and we did. My friend prayed that if God were to use us to interact with this man, that we would have wisdom.

Several minutes later, the man returned and after a moment of standing with his back to us, he looked at my friend and asked, “Can I have your coffee?” Confused, he asked him if he wanted his coffee or if he wanted us to buy him a coffee. After several questions, we learned that he was trying to get a coffee, but he didn’t have the money. A man from a nearby table came over and gave him a few dollars and my friend pitched in and offered for him to join us. He said he would as he left to but his drink.

After some time, the man walked past us on his way, we offered again for him to join us, but he became spooked at the noise of a chair being moved and said he needed to go. My friend asked him what his name is an he replied “Derrick.” While he continued to walk away, my friend looked puzzled, then surprised. The he showed me his coffee cup. The barista had put the wrong name on his drink. She had put the name Derrick (pictured above). Eerie coincidence? I don’t completely understand the significance of this encounter, and I may never, but don’t think so. Perhaps there will be another chapter to this story…

Reasons: Part II

“Ah! What did I tell you? 88 miles per hour! The temporal displacement occurred exactly 1:20 a.m. and zero seconds!” ~Doc Brown

We’re back. It’s 1987 (cue the Bangles - Walk Like An Egyptian). I’m twelve. I’m into U2 and other rock bands my parents didn’t like me listening to on my Sony FM/AM Walkman. I kind of like girls, but I don’t know how to talk to the girls I like. I’m active; I spend a lot of time outside with friends. I usually ride my black and gold BMX bike wherever I go. I play pick-up games of flag football, half-court basketball, softball, volleyball and love to hike in the eighty plus acres of woods near our house.

Today, to my shock and horror, I have a corn on my foot. It may seem trivial or even silly, but to this active preteen, this is as close to death as I have ever gotten (well, maybe second to talking to girls). I hobble around for several days waiting for it to go away. A few days later at a weekly bible study my family went to, there was prayer time for any needs. Slightly embarrassed, I asked to be prayed for. The Bible study leader placed his hand on my foot and everyone prayed that God would heal it and that the corn would fall off that night. I went about the rest of the evening not thinking about it while I hung out with my friends playing Frogger and Asteroids and eating copious amounts of Wisconsin cheese. As I was going to bed, I took my socks off, and to my delighted surprise, the corn fell off! Coincidence? Maybe, but I don’t think so. I don’t believe God is a Christian’s personal genie in a bottle, and things are not always rainbows and unicorns, yet I believe nothing is too insignificant for God's concern in my life (and yours too).

To complete this thread in my story, we will take one last trip with ‘ol Doc Brown. This time we head to 1996. I’m now twenty-one and I work two jobs, at Toys Я Us and at Radiant Book & Music Center selling music. My job at Toys Я Us requires me to re-stock the floor inventory. This afternoon, I am in charge of overstocks for the “boys” section. I will have to lift heavy boxes and place them on the shelves eight to ten feet above the aisles. As I’m carrying a box of remote controlled cars up the ladder on my shoulder, I almost lose my balance and jerk to catch myself. After putting the box on the shelf, I can barely make it down the ladder. I had thrown out my back.

I finish work and head home in severe pain. When I get home I decide to sit down and relax my back until I feel better. However, as I sit down I discover that I can’t move and I can’t stand back up. Trying to do so sends sharp pain from my lower back to the base of my neck. Ten minutes or so later, one of my four roommates, Eddie, arrives home. Right when he walks in, he can tell something is very wrong. It’s written all over my face, as they say. I tell him what had happened, and he immediately placed his hands on my back and begins to pray. He simply, but confidently prays that God would heal my back. Almost immediately, the pain slowly starts to leave, and within fifteen minutes it’s absent altogether.

We jump in time to four months later. Today I’m working my second job at Radiant. I love it. I get to listen to music, talk to people about music and sell music. I love music. At this moment, I’m getting ready to stock the shelves with a newly arrived shipment of CD's and cassette tapes (yes, actual cassettes). As I move a large box, it slips out of my hand. I jerk to catch my balance and once again throw out my back. In severe pain once again, I have to leave work early. I spend the rest of the afternoon uncomfortably in pain. I try ice, I try heat, sitting, standing, lying down, nothing brings relief. Evening comes and I head to the weekly young adult service at my church. I can barely keep focused because of the pain. Near the end of our time together, I ask my friends to pray for me. Without hesitation, they gather around and ask God to relive the pain, and by the end of the prayer time, the pain was completely gone.

I believe God is real. I believe He is capable of anything. Many in this day and age don’t. Many think belief in God is a fool’s errand; a delusion to placate some deep seated fear or an unwillingness to face reality, a concoction of men to control the masses. I believe that to disavow what has happened in my life as evidence of God or to chalk it up to coincidence is foolish. But, I cannot convince anyone of that. I can’t explain how or why God chose to heal me when He did. I can tell you that I believe He is willing to meet each human being on this planet where they are, in the middle of any pain, because He cares for us (John 3:16-18, 1 Peter 5:7, Matthew 10:28-30, Psalm 103:13-14).

I will never doubt the power of God. He has proved it to me time and time again. If we have the faith, He can move mountains. (Matthew 17:20) Nothing is too great or too small for Him to do. Nothing.

Further reading on prayer: Philippians 4:6-7, James 5:13-18, Mark 11:22-25, Matthew 6:5-15, Psalm 17:6

Reasons: Part I

Lets take a ride in the DeLorean and go back to June 24, 1975. We arrive in front of Sherman Hospital in Elgin, IL at 9:50pm as my parents, Robert and Paula Shreckhise, welcome me into the world. This beautiful moment is dampened by the news that I was born with an inguinal hernia. This is a kind of hernia that sometimes happens during delivery, most common with premature babies (which I was not). Over the following months, every time I had a fever, the area around the torn tissue would swell and fill with water. Sometimes the swelling would be so bad the skin would become almost transparent. The doctor told my parents that if the tear didn't heal by the time that I was eighteen months old, I would need to have surgery to repair it. Great Scott! The thought of having a procedure done on me at such a young age, and the expense it would incur, worried my parents to say the least.

At the time I was around eighteen months old, my dad was enrolled at Trinity Bible College in Ellendale, North Dakota. I had become sick and the area was once again swollen. The thought of surgery weighed on my dad’s mind. That week they were having a series of special services in the college chapel. My dad asked that those present pray for me, and they did. Within an hour after coming home from the service, my swelling had gone down. Within a week it was completely gone. It never came back. My parents’ prayers were answered. I know what you’re thinking - this is heavy… but weight has nothing to do with it.

Program the Time Departure Circuits to 1981 and we’ll head… back to the future! I am now six years old. My family is getting ready to move to Wisconsin, where my dad has taken a job as senior pastor of a small town church. He had to travel from our home in Illinois for several weekends to preach there before we moved. On one such weekend, I had a cold when my dad left. He returns to find me very sick. Since he left, I had rapidly gotten worse. I had a fever that was spiking, my left eye was swollen shut, I was delirious, irritable and I had a rash all over my body. My mom and grandma didn't realize how ill I was. They thought my demeanor was ordinary crankiness from having a cold. I was immediately taken to the doctor and within the hour, I was admitted into the hospital and put into isolation. It was serious.

Tests discovered I had a virus that had invaded my eye socket through my sinus cavity. The virus was heading toward my optic nerve and the doctors feared that from there, it could enter my brain. This was very dangerous, potentially fatal. The virus had also gotten into my blood steam, which caused my rash. They didn't have time to try to figure out what had caused it; they had to treat it swiftly before it spread. I was quickly put on three different antibiotics. Two of them were on a constant drip. One of them was only given to me every four hours because it burned the lining of my veins. I still remember that discomfort.

The first afternoon that I was in the hospital, a pediatric surgeon advised surgery. Squeamish warning: he wanted to take my eyeball out of its socket to clean out the infection by hand. Our family doctor advised my parents to wait and let the antibiotics have a chance to work. My parents were faced with a difficult decision.

They decided to wait and pray. They also called the church and they began to pray. My dad spent that first, very long night by my bedside praying. Morning came and with it, hopeful news. My fever was almost gone, the swelling in my eye had gone down and I was sleeping peacefully!

I spent a week in the hospital and was on antibiotics for a total of fifteen days. To this day, I can’t stand the flavor of artificial strawberry thanks to children’s penicillin. During my recovery, I remember watching a lot of Sesame Street and Electric Company (my favorite part was Spider-Man), I remember not liking the hospital food except for the Jell-O, and, I remember the innumerable people from the church that came by to pray for me. Along with my parents, they had faith that God would be there, and without a doubt, He was. Though I didn’t really understand all that was going on with me physically, I knew that others were praying for me and their faith in God and their dedication to the practice of prayer was a tremendous example to me.


These are just two of the experiences that have helped form my belief in God, but there are many others. If you think these are intriguing, stay tuned, my journey has had many unexpected stops along the way.

See you next time, same bat time, same bat channel…

Creed

The movie “Creed”, starring Sylvester Stallone and Michael B. Jordan, came out in 2015. If you came here hoping for a review filled with insight, introspection and pithy comments, I’m sorry to disappoint, this isn’t about that movie. This also isn’t about everyone’s favorite mid-90’s-shirtless-leather pants wearing-American rock band (you know you love ‘em!), again, sorry to disappoint. Keep reading, this is much better.

The moniker “Christian” doesn’t mean much anymore, at least not in American culture. It used to, but it has become so diluted by personal preference and complicated by bad theology that one cannot simply say, “I am a Christian” and expect people to understand what that means.

I’m a Christian. I am a follower of Christ. Admittedly, I am not the best follower. I am an imperfect follower, but I try to become a whole-hearted follower each day. But what does that mean? You probably have several things running through your mind right now that answers that question for you. Your idea of what a Christian is may be partially based on what you know of me, but most likely, it’s based on your own perception of what you know (or think you know) about what Christianity in general is. There have been innumerable people throughout the last two thousand plus years who have claimed this title, but who have done or said things that make our eyes roll and our skin crawl. Some of that may have even been a reaction to me (I’m truly sorry). For most in the good ‘ol U.S. of A., our example of a Christian is reflected in prominent people who claim this affiliation, because, after all, we are collectively obsessed with celebrity. It’s an easy trap to fall into. Some of us see Christians behaving badly and say, “See, they’re all like that!” Others of us see Christians doing the right thing and say, “Gee, I wish I was that good!” Honestly, I’ve said both. In reality, this is foolish, because the only person someone who believes and follows the teachings of Christ should be aspiring to is, in fact, Christ (Gal 1:10; Gal 2:20).

What I basically mean when I say “I’m a Christian” can be summed up in what many know as the Apostles Creed. I’m not Catholic (Note: I have updated two lines to reflect this), but the sentiments of this statement are the sentiments of belief for most Christ followers.

I believe in God, the Father almighty, (Is 44:6; Is 45:5, Mt 5:45; Rom 3:23)
Creator of heaven and earth, (Gen 1:1; Rom 1:20; Jn 1:1-3)
And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord, (Mt 3:17; Jn 3:16; Jn 20:28)
Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, (Lk 1:35)
born of the Virgin Mary, (Lk 1:26-27; Lk 2:7)
suffered under Pontius Pilate, (Lk 23:23-25; Jn 19:16)
was crucified, died, and was buried. (Jn 19:29 – 42, 1 Cor 15:3; 1 Pt 3:18)
He defeated sin and death; (1 Cor 15:55-57; Heb 2:14; Rev 1:18)
on the third day He rose from the dead, (Mt 28:1-10; Jn 20; 1 Cor 15:4)
He ascended in heaven, (Lk 24:51; Acts 1:11)
and sits at the right hand of God, the Father almighty; (Mk 16:19; Heb 1:3)
I believe He will come again (Mt 16:27; Acts 10:39)
to judge the living and the dead. (Jn 5:22; 2 Tim 4:1)
I believe in the Holy Spirit, (Jn 14:15 – 31; Acts 1:7 – 8; Acts 2)
the holy church, united in Christ, (Mt 16:18 – 19; Eph 5:26-27; Acts 4)
the communion of Saints, (Mt 28:19 – 20; Heb 10:25; James 5:16; 1 Thes 5:11)
the forgiveness of sins, (Mt 26:28; 1 Jn 1:9; 1 Cor 5:17; Eph 1:7)
the resurrection of the body, (1 Cor 15:51 – 54; 1 Thes 4:13 – 18)
and eternal life. (Jn 10:28, Jn 17:2-3; 1 Jn 5:20)
Amen.

This may seem elementary, but these tenants of faith often get lost in the religiousness of ritualistic recital and the self-centeredness of have-it-your-way beliefs. These phrases go beyond tradition and stand at the core of my faith. They give perspective and help keep me grounded. They are a reflection of my belief in God as well as a defining element of that belief. 

Some say they don’t believe in God because of the actions of some of the people who do. I choose to believe in God in spite of those people and because of the actions of God in my life. More on that next time…

BTW, One of may favorite songs by the late Rich Mullins is Creed...

Code of the Order of the Blogger (more what you'd call "guidelines" than actual rules)

"As long as you live under my house, you will abide by my rules." Like so many of the youth of the past, and no doubt those of the future, I heard these words from my dad on numerous occasions during my freedom-fighting teen years. And like so many dads of the past and future, I just might say these words to my boys one day. But today I am addressing them to you, the illustrious reader.

Sort of.

I've dabbled in blogging before. Back in the mid 90's, I had a page on my first personal website (hosted by Earthlink.net, then by AOL) called "For Your Consideration" (a couple of you might remember that). Once a month, I would choose a topic and express my thoughts. Only a few of my friends read it, and after a sporadic couple of years, it was gone like the elusive Star Wars Christmas Special.

Since then, blogging has changed and so have I. The interaction on blogs has become intellectually collaborative at best and emotionally destructive at worst. So, I thought for my return to the forum I would set some simple ground rules, a code of conduct, if you will.

The purpose of this blog is to tell my story of life and faith. That may sound somewhat narcissistic, but that is not my intent. I think to appreciate where you have come in your journey, you sometimes need to reflect on where you have been. In doing so, I also want to encourage those who have been or might some day find themselves on a similar path. It may actually be narcissistic in thinking that my experiences could offer some small measure of consolation to someone else, but I believe it's worth bearing one's soul, as it were. In the spirit of my former blog, the intent here is to facilitate contemplative introspection. Or as many seem incapable of doing these days... to critically think.

Things I write might make some mad. That's not my intent. To borrow an idea from Abraham Lincoln, you can please all of the people some of the time, and you can please some of the people all of the time, but you can't please all of the people all of the time. That being said, I am not providing a forum for debate, though some would like that. You can disagree with me, but I won't entertain debate here. Similarly, I don't tolerate trolls. No hobbits being squashed into jelly here either.

Simply put, I will be respectful and polite and I would ask the same of all who interact here. In our current social climate this may seem like a pipe dream, but I believe in setting the bar high and reacting with grace rather than having minimal expectations and feeling disappointed.

Welcome. Take off your overcoat of skepticism and bias and stay for awhile. I will try to keep the sarcasm and geeky nerd references to a minimum (but if you can pick them out, you get a cookie).