If you try to hold onto your Christ-less lifestyle, you will not find the life that matters, but if you live identified with Christ, will find true purpose and contentment in life. —Luke 9:24 (King Jimmy Translation).

“The Oldest Off-Color Joke in The Church”

Warning! Discretion advised when reading the following story about the oldest, off-color joke told in the church.

I first heard this joke years ago, while a freshman in high school. Told by an old-fashioned Pentecostal preacher to a spellbound audience, my shocked innocence reeled that such a scurrilous tale came from the pulpit. Remembering my puritanical upbringing, it remains a mystery to me how this preacher avoided public defrocking and flogging. Privately, pious parishioners gathered behind closed doors to re-tell the unholy story, then laughed so hard they snorted like a pig, which added to their guilt, seeing that Jesus didn’t eat pork. Once the laughter subsided, they formed a prayer circle since repentance was mandatory.

The counter-culture of the 60s and 70s loosened the standards of protocol for repeating this joke in church. Still, devout parents scrambled to plug their children’s ears if the preacher told the joke. Although the punchline remained intense, the “free-love” era now made repentance optional.

So, with a brief history of the oldest sordid joke in the church, your humble Aggie scribe presents the story. Again, be warned—the end is graphic.

A lady evangelist came to town and set up a revival tent. The sawdust was spread, the pulpit and loud speakers set up, and chairs aligned with enough room in the middle to allow running. Several local churches participated in the nightly revival meetings.

One night, while preaching the gospel, the lady evangelist got “happy.” She ran. She jumped. She shouted “the end is near” with such conviction that Lucifer would have repented.

As she jumped over the first row of the local religious dignitaries, suddenly her skirt fell completely off. The audiences’ gasps sucked the oxygen out of the tent. There she stood with her skirt down around her ankles, exposed in front of the stunned, but happy, audience—clad only in her slip and holding her 17-lb. King James Scofield Study Bible. (I warned you this was intense.)

A local pastor, gifted with the wisdom of Solomon, stood up and declared, “Everyone, cover your eyes. God will strike blind anyone who looks up here.”

On the back row, an old man struggled to rise and faced the front. He slowly dropped his hand covering his right eye and said, “I think I’ll risk one eye.”

(Please use this time for personal repentance after reading such off-color material.)

You need to be like that old man, Jimmy, I heard the Spirit say.

“What?” I laughed. “Am I hearing you right, Lord?” I questioned if I’d heard the Lord or if that cheap pizza the night before affected my brain. “You want me to become a ‘sneak-a-peek Aggie?’”

No, Jimmy. The Holy Spirit sighed. I want you to become a risk-taker again—take risks of faith. Let’s review your past, okay, Aggie?

“Go for it, Lord.”

You’ve walked with Me over thirty-five years but you have grown too comfortable. You’ve become a little stagnant in your faith.

“I have, Lord?” Of course, he was right.

Why did you stop taking faith-risks? Step out in faith and do something. If I tell you to do something, you know I’ve got your back.

Sweat formed on my brow as sudden fear gripped me. “Your last command to your followers was to go into all the world and preach the gospel.” Nervously, I pleaded with the Lord. “I just retired, Lord. Please don’t tell me to sell everything and start a mission in Mauritania or some ‘I-stink-i-stan’ country.

Oh, no. I haven’t called you for that.

Whew. That’s a relief. I gave the standard Christ-follower’s not-me-Lord excuse. “There are so many things I cannot do. You know I struggle with several of the Ten Commandments every day, so how can you use me, Lord?”

Why do you think I put my Holy Spirit to live within you? Believe me, Aggie, I know your imperfections quite well, but I can still use you. My Spirit lives within you because you cannot do on your own what I ask you to do. Therefore, my Spirit guides you, strengthens you, and helps you do the things I ask you to do.

“Where do I start, Lord? I’m listening.”

You can start by admitting you’ve tried to live this Christian life on your own strength. Are we frustrated yet?

“Well . . . sometimes?”

Here’s the deal, Aggie. Once you’ve identified with Me, you have lost your life to this world. People won’t treat you the same anymore, maybe even hate you. They really enjoy condemning you, calling you a hypocrite. But if you belong to me, you’re no longer condemned.

“That’s reassuring, Jesus.”

Some friends will turn their backs on you. I how you feel because they did the same to me, so don’t fear. Get involved in the ministries at your church or charities, serving others. There’s plenty to do. I’ve got you covered. But step out in adventures in faith and take the risks!

“I’ll be a risk-taker for you, Lord.”

************

Lord, help us to be servants to you and others as we walk in faith-adventures with you. I pray everyone who calls you their Lord will find a place of ministry where they can grow and flourish. Thank you, Jesus

Stay close to Jesus

Jimmy

P.S. I’m thankful God called me to write annoying stories and didn’t send me to the mission field in Oklahomistan.

Jimmy Eskew © 2015

Start now to follow me. Send your treasures ahead of you to Heaven, secured forever from destruction and loss—Matthew 6:20 (King Jimmy Translation).

Prepare for Retirement

Retirement—oh, how sweet. It’s the dream of every normal working person. Some eager-beavers plan for retirement right after high school, while others delay retirement plans until they are established in their careers. Most workers probably wait a few years before retirement age to put money away, after the mortgage is paid, the kid’s college is out of the way, and they finally get that new set of Callaway clubs with the Big Bertha Epic driver.

Have you seen the story about Derrell Alexander? He’s the 100-year old car salesman for White Mountain Motors in Casper, Wyoming. Derrell made his first car sale sixty-six years ago and is still putting satisfied customers in new Chevys, or giving a good-looking 80-something year old young lady a deal on a cream-puff one-owner, only driven to the Bingo hall on Saturdays. Alexander said as long as he could get out of the house, retirement was never an option. ^[1]

How about Loran Wade? ^[2] In 1983, at age 70, he retired from the US Postal Service to become an associate at Walmart. He worked another thirty-one years before being called to be a higher associate. Wade stayed in the workforce more than ninety years, since his first job at age twelve. Imagine, not only did he live through World War I and WWII, or go from a windup phone to an iPhone, he watched awestruck as man landed on the moon. He experienced great breakthroughs in technology, like the app that gets up in the night to go pee for you, and saw drastic culture changes, from Prohibition to women gaining suffrage to Miley Cyrus-esque Walmart shoppers.

Some government workers retire while in their 50s, young enough to begin another career. Most workers retire in their 60s, while some, for one reason or another, work well into their 70s or 80s. Others hit a bonanza through risky investments as hedge fund managers or become professional athletes to earn their millions. Don’t get me started on politicians. That’s another story. Unless one is investment savvy, most use a financial planner to build a retirement program

Your humble Aggie scribe joined the retired ranks at the tender age of sixty-eight, after a forty-six-year career with Caterpillar and the heavy equipment industry. Mrs. Aggie and I worked with a financial advisor for several years to prepare us for retirement. We made some lifestyle changes to achieve our goals:

• Mrs. Aggie sold her shoe closet, except for her flip-flops and a pair of Keds High-Tops, and invested the $35,653 in a Roth IRA.
• I quit my golf lessons and deep-sixed my dream of playing on the PGA tour. Instead, on the advice of a hedge fund manager, I invested the $54,675.23 yearly expense in the promising merger between Gerber Baby Foods and Five Hour Energy drinks. (We have not seen the results on that investment yet.)
• After the Aggie’s narrow 77-0 loss to Oklahoma, I sold the entire 2003 Texas A&M football team on eBay. The A&M Chancellor stepped in before the money transfer and re-negotiated the price to $750 but allowed me to keep the original amount of $150.

Folks trust their financial advisors with their money and assets to secure their earthly retirements. Retirement plans usually include a mortgage-free home, travel, fun activities with family and friends, while confident their money will last until Jesus comes. God is good but life is unfair. Remember 2008? The financial meltdown crippled many retirement plans. Overnight, 401(k)s became 201(k)s. Large percentages of retirement investments vanished.

But who do we trust about the security for our ultimate retirement—where will we retire for eternity? What treasures are we laying up in Heaven for our eternal retirement?

In his famous Sermon on the Mount, Jesus stated clearly in the Beatitudes that we should lay up treasures in heaven, where they are forever safe. He followed with this truth: “wherever your heart is, there will be your treasure.” You can read Matthew 6 for the details, but allow me to paraphrase this sermon in simple terms. Jesus said: “If you want to send treasures ahead of you to Heaven, kept there for your reward, just make me, Jesus, your treasure.”

Become a Christ-follower. Believe the work Christ did as the sacrifice for our sins. As God changes us, he makes direct deposits in our heavenly bank account. For instance, when we love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength—God makes a deposit. Love your neighbor—another deposit slip with your name is submitted. Pray for one another, forgive those who offended you, be generous yet remain anonymous—more deposits. Help the poor, stand up for those who cannot speak up for themselves, show mercy, shun evil, hate injustice, love the unlovely—we send more deposits heavenward. These good works, noble as they are, cannot save us. God’s gift of salvation is obtained only by placing our faith in Jesus. Funny, but for some reason, these good deeds just follow those who follow Christ.

The Lord God is our eternal retirement advisor who always steers us into the right investments. No need to worry about meltdowns.

Lord Jesus, you are our treasure, here on Earth as well as in Heaven. The treasures we send ahead to you are kept safe forever.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. Walmart advertised another “Roll Back.” They rolled back Loran Wade’s age from 103 years to 78 years to get another 25 years of service.

Jimmy Eskew © 2017

[1] http://casperjournal.com/community/article_430d4eeb-7cfa-5484-bb37-3d29df917e6f.html

[2] http://abcnews.go.com/Lifestyle/walmarts-oldest-us-employee-celebrates-103rd-birthday/story?id=32716324

When I reflect on God’s grace, whatever I have gained from knowing Christ far outweighs whatever I may have loss since I became his follower

—Philippians 3:8 (King Jimmy Translation).

“Good Luck Flaunting the Law”

Some laws can be ignored with little, if any, consequences. For example:

• Tags may be ripped off pillows and mattresses in Colorado without fear of fine or imprisonment. But when I take these same pillows into Oklahoma, I become a hardened criminal. However, the chances are slim-to-none the pillow police will stop me and throw me in the slammer for possession of an illegally altered-pillow(s).
• In Nevada, the law is clear: No! —You cannot buy drinks for more than three people at a time. Meh! I can flaunt that ordinance and be the most popular guy at the bar and never fear apprehension.
• Aren’t we blessed to live in Texas and not in Maine? In the land where man and moose are friends, it’s against the law to leave your Christmas decorations up after January 14th. The icicles hanging on the Aggie homestead in August remind us that cooler weather is just around the corner. And the City of Grapevine has never threatened me with a stiff fine for leaving the lighted, plastic Santa Claus in the chimney year-round.

Other laws cannot be broken and gotten away with. For example:

• If I jump off the roof (removing the plastic Santa), despite flapping my arms at 500 strokes per second, the law of gravity prevails.
• If I drive 38 mph in a 30-mph zone in Sonora, Texas, officer Medrano wins.
• Another immutable law: if you own a computer, you must have a back-up system since you will have a failure at some time.

While writing another Pulitzer Prize winning story, I stepped away to refill my coffee mug. In the brief moments I was away, Microsoft did an unwanted automatic update on my computer. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. Frustrated, I waited till the updates were completed, hoping my inspiration would not slip into never-never land. I rebooted and resumed writing my suspense-filled, inspirational story. As I hammered on my keyboard, I noticed something different. The praise and worship music, which plays softly while I write, wasn’t crooning the glories of God. Although the You Tube videos were playing, there was no audio. Even the ‘volume’ icon was missing.

What has Bill Gates done to me now? A pox upon him!

Your humble Aggie scribe navigated through the computer, failing to un-date the updates. After banging my head in frustration, I did what I should have done in the first place: I called Mrs. Aggie. With her computer skills on display, we left-clicked and right-clicked more windows than featured in a Pella^® catalogue. Finally, success. We high-fived, rebooted and waited . . . and waited.

Nothing. Just a blank screen.

We needed a miracle and called technical support. God answered our prayer. A technician named Morgan, who spoke excellent English (first miracle), immediately answered (second miracle) and we were not on hold for three days (third miracle). We explained what happened, and regardless of what we tried, we got the same maddening results.

He guided us through more computer tests, but the results were the same. “Oh, brother,” Morgan said in a funeral-drige tone. “I suspect the hard drive has failed. You need to send me your computer for repair.”

Words not used in Sunday school lessons wandered through my mind.

“It’s a good thing you have a back-up,” Morgan said.

Here is where my awkward moment of prolonged silence became noticeable.

“You do have a back-up, don’t you?”

“Err . . . well, no . . . not really,” I stuttered. Somehow, I’ve got to save face. “But I have a few files on a memory key, though.”

Morgan’s silence shattered my eardrums. “Ohhh,” he finally muttered. “You’re not a very smart Aggie, are you?”

I no longer considered Morgan’s English to be excellent.

I broke the computer-world law of failing to back-up my hard drive. If indeed the hard drive failed, I’ve lost all my stories for my book, Jesus Just Cracks Me Up! Gone were the research files for manuscripts underway. My email contacts disappeared. Writers’ websites went AWOL. Everything was gone, joining all of Hillary’s missing documents in cyberspace.

I resigned myself that I may have to start over with my writings and stories. The devil didn’t do it. I can’t blame Congress, climate change, or Skipper, my mischievous dachshund, for eating the hard drive. I have no one to blame but myself for my foolish procrastination to get a back-up system.

But God is good. It’s not like I lost everything as the Old Testament Patriarch Job did. Job trusted God even though he lost all his possessions, his health, even his children. Despite Job’s great losses, he offered sacrifices of praise and worship to God. Because of Job’s faithfulness, God eventually restored to him twice what he lost.

Jesus reminds me not to worry about the future since he implemented a back-up plan for my life before I was born.

That’s amazing.

Whatever I may lose, or what I release, for Christ’s sake in my earthly journey, the joy of knowing God and having his presence in my life surpasses what I willingly gave up. Best of all, Jesus’ back-up plan is guaranteed never to fail. None of his eternal promises on his hard drive are lost.

Sounds like a good plan to me.

God’s promises caused me to worship him despite the possibility I’d lost all my data. In his mercy, I may recover the data. Either way, God is good.

Thank you, Lord, for having a back-up system for each of us when we trust you for our salvation. Your back-up plan never fails, and your firewall is failproof.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. Morgan updated my computer with an air bag that deploys if the hard drive crashes. This prevents me from banging my head in frustration against the computer.

Jimmy Eskew © 2017

The mouth speaks of that which dwells within the heart—Luke 6:24 King Jimmy Translation.

“Finding Hidden Treasures”

The year 2002 will be remembered as a benchmark year.

• Only two years into the 21^st century, Michael Jackson received the Artist of the Century Award, presented by the American Music Awards.
• The Mars Odyssey discovered signs of ice deposits, indicating the possibility the red planet could sustain life. The Democrats immediately launched a rocket to Mars, loaded with voter registration cards. Not to be outdone, the Republicans followed with their own rocket, loaded with materials to build a wall.
• Doctors found large deposits of Crohn’s Disease in the intestines of your humble Aggie scribe.

In emergency surgery, the doctors removed nine inches of my small intestine and the ileum, the final segment of the small intestine.

Dr. Husein, my surgeon, came to my bedside two days later. His ashen face indicated bad news. “We got the results back from pathology,” he said. “It came back as Crohn’s. You have Crohn’s Disease.”

“Oh, thank you Jesus.” I raised both hands in praise. “I am so relieved. I was worried you might have f-f-found a s-s-stutter in m-me.”

My comment sailed completely over the serious surgeon’s head. He never smiled, smirked, or showed a toothy grin, but with a dead-pan face said he’d check on me in the morning. After he left, Mrs. Aggie nearly choked trying to suppress her laughter. For a moment, I thought I’d have to leap off my deathbed to give her the Heimlich maneuver.

I’d heard of Crohn’s Disease. My dear cousin has this auto-immune illness, but I didn’t know much about it. I envisioned the old Pac-Man video game inside your intestines, making pulled pork of your guts. As it turns out, that is a close description. To monitor this all-consuming, intestine-eating disease and to ensure no other digestive disorders are hiding undetected, a colonoscopy is recommended every three years. My employer provided excellent insurance that covered four colonoscopies.

Then, in 2015, I retired.

Mrs. Aggie and your ileum-less humble Aggie scribe searched the Internet for new insurance. The Affordable Care Act [Obamacare] premiums were higher than a free-spirited millennial sitting atop a mound of marijuana bigger than Mount Rushmore. Every insurance company asked this same too-personal question: “No surprises now—Do you have any pre-existing conditions we need to know about?”

Being the honest souls that we are, we checked the “Yes” box and entered “Crohn’s Disease.” In every instance, the default rejection message appeared: “Thank you, but we need to go in a different direction.” This screen was followed by YouTube episodes of Marcus Welby, M.D.

Mrs. Aggie finally enrolled us with an Oklahoma-based insurance company, Mutual of Ardmore. Their policy covered colonoscopies but restrictions applied. The $19,300 deductible must be met first, and the procedure must be performed using the Acme Do-it-Yourself Colonoscopy Kit—Home Edition, which Mutual of Ardmore generously covered 50 percent of its cost. The kit included thirty-six inches of clear plastic hose, a disposable camera and a Junior Scientist Microscope. To cleanse the digestive track before the procedure, the patient was required to watch fifteen hours of Burt Reynolds movies, which were included in the kit.

My first in-home exam yielded good results and some unexpected finds.

The procedure disclosed a healthy colon with no indications of Crohn’s or other autoimmune deficiencies. Praise the Lord.

However, we did find the missing set of car keys for the 1997 Honda Civic, as well as the remnants of the plastic milk crate Mrs. Aggie warned me about standing on. We recovered the missing U.S. Government pamphlet #11-9743 How to Navigate the Obamacare Health Website Effortlessly. Praise the Lord?

Jesus talked often about hidden things although I doubt he referred to this unpopular medical routine. He taught a biblical truth: whatever a person thinks, whatever is hidden in a person’s heart, will be revealed by what he says.

Most look at this truth as a negative warning. Regardless of the efforts people take to disguise their hypocrisy, or to hide dishonesty and guile, unless they repent, God promises a day of reckoning—a “gotcha” moment of humiliation that is coming their way. Those who consider God’s truths as nonsense, this disgrace is a certainty, albeit for some people, especially those whom God has turned over to their reprobate minds, shame and dishonor have little, if any, effect on them.

As a Christ-follower, I often stumble in my faith journey. Even in times of my self-centeredness, when I make dumb choices that leave God shaking his head, graciously, he doesn’t condemn me. The Holy Spirit, sometimes gently, but usually using a spiritual sledge hammer, reminds [convicts] me of my wrongdoing. He’s not buying my story these little sins I’m trying to hide are not that big a deal. All sin is a big deal. Jesus was crucified because of sin. I repent and my heavenly Father lovingly forgives me. Cleansing my heart is a full-time job for the Holy Spirit. He still finds junk I wasn’t aware of comfortably hiding in corners of my heart.

Is it the same for all believers in Christ? Probably so, since we all sin.

But exposing what is hidden in our hearts can also be a good thing. The psalmist wrote, “your truths that I hide in my heart protect me from sinning against you, Lord.” (Psalm 119:11). Christ-followers who practice hiding God’s truths in their hearts display to the world his grace and mercy. Truth-hiders love people, regardless of who they are or their lifestyle, even if it’s polar-opposite of theirs. People notice this godly behavior, although the command to love others presents a challenge when it comes to loving a non-truth-hiding politician or Hollywood actors. The psalmist David wrote “surely your goodness and grace will forever be my companions wherever I go,” (Psalm 23:6). When the Holy Spirit controls us, God’s love flows freely from us.

Jesus summed it up succinctly: good or bad, “the mouth speaks of that which dwells within the heart” (Luke 6:24). Like the sun rises from the east, this truth is undeniable.

Lord, make us truth-hiders of your words so that as goodness and mercy follow us we may share your love and grace to all, even to the unlovable.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. We also removed a crumpled envelope lodged deep within—my contested 2011 Employee Evaluation review, which the H R department had filed during the dispute.

Jimmy Eskew © 2017

You shall not have any idols. None. Nada. End of discussion—Exodus 20:4 (King Jimmy Translation)

“Making the Most of Idol Time”

I’m into my thirteenth year in Bible Study Fellowship (BSF) ^[1] We spend a year delving into a book of the Bible, searching for deeper truths. One question in this year’s study of the book of Romans got my attention.

“What substitutes for God could you be worshipping or serving, and how would your life be impacted if God removed those substitutes?”

The Holy Spirit had to Aggie-slap me on this one. Let me explain.

Every Aggie takes Texas A&M football to the peek of fanaticism. We live, eat, breathe, walk, talk Aggie football. If we cut ourselves while shaving our backs, we bleed maroon and white. All Aggies, regardless of their location, turn toward Kyle Field five times a day, close their eyes and sway side-to-side until the image of Jackie Sherrill ^[2] appears. Aggies who fail to maintain this regiment are banned from the Dixie Chicken ^[3] for life.

Sunday, September 3, the Aggies played UCLA in Los Angeles. We jumped out to a 38 to 17 halftime lead. Exultation floated my soul’s boat. To make the victory even sweeter, Mrs. Aggie kept the nachos coming. I visioned the final score to be at least 75 to 17. Maybe 175 to 17. It was gonna be a good week to gloat, after the ultra-conservative Aggies soundly thrashed those liberals in their backyard. Bring on Alabama, baby, I thought. As I witnessed the level of brutality by which we were pounding the Bruins, your humble Aggie scribe felt sorry for the looming embarrassment of Alabama’s Crimson Tide. Hey Coach Saban, just go ahead and forfeit the game against the fightin’ Texas Aggies. The money I’d withdraw from my 401(k) for sympathy cards to my Alabama friends would be substantial, but they would see my sensitive side while they licked their wounds.

Then came halftime.

Followed by the second half.

Which brought disaster.

The final score: UCLA 45, Texas A&M 44 . . . and the nachos grew stale.

This letdown surpassed the pain of the 2003 narrow loss to Oklahoma 77–0, when the Aggies had the Sooners on the ropes but ran out of time.

The angst.

The frustration.

The fist pounding.

The emotional roller coaster left me feeling like a wet dishrag, discarded after scrubbing plates covered with dried asparagus. From an euphoria beyond belief to humiliating depths of despair, I looked for someone to blame for this unforgiveable loss. I shook my fists. Heads are gonna roll for this, as if I could do something about head-rolling. There was no consoling me.

Even with the lights on, darkness covered the room. Sleep took the night off while the instant replays in my head never ceased. My mind dissected each missed tackle, every dropped pass, and the numerous muffed assignments. That’s when the Holy Spirit had to Aggie-slap me with this truth:

Why can’t you be this passionate about me and my kingdom as you are about Aggie football? I never see you this worked up about rebuking the devil who’s trying to destroy your family and friends. When was the last time you were this fervent in prayer?

Ouch!

The Lord was spot on. Doing an honest review of my priorities, my enthusiasm for Aggie football exceeded the things of God. When I read the Old Testament, I’ve wondered how those folks could be so stupid as to turn from God to worship idols. Those idiots, I self-righteously thought. Substituting powerless, man-made idols for the living God. 

Hello, Aggie, the Lord said, as he thumped my head, which made its usual hollow sound. Whatever or whoever you put ahead of me becomes an idol. Remember that second Commandment of mine: “You shall not have any idols. None. Nada. End of discussion.” You’re not putting Aggie football ahead of me, are you?

What could I say in that awkward moment? “Who? Me, Lord? Surely not.”

He was right, of course. I considered what the Lord said. The truth stung—I do put all other activities in the back seat when the Aggies take the field. At that moment, Aggie football is supreme—nothing else matters.

God’s Spirit laid it out. So, what are you gonna do with this Aggie football idol of yours?

“Okay, Lord,” I said. “I’ll make a deal with you. I won’t watch the next two games. How’s that?”

You’re not serious, are you? the Lord said. I don’t think you want to give up your idol.

Crunch time—and my idol still stood. “You’re right, Lord. I’m not serious. I will give up watching Aggie football games this year.” Did I just say what I heard myself say? But I had to show the Lord the sincerity of my repentance.

That’s not enough, the Lord said. That’s not the 100 percent devotion I want.

“Do you know the great sacrifice that I’m making, Lord?” As soon as I uttered those words, I realized how stupid I sounded, remembering his sacrifice for my sins. “I’m an idiot. Forgive me, Lord. Whatever you want, I will do.”

Since you already blocked off the time for the Aggie games, spend that time with me. We need more Father/child time. There’s so much I want to show you. We can work on your BSF lessons, I can show you insights about my glory, give you more awareness into my power, make you stronger.

“That would be good, Lord. I can also use that time for writing. I need to work on my Walking with Wilbur series.”

It pleases me when you write to me, the Lord said. I’ll give you some inside scoop on those Wilbur-guys. And I love your love-letter prayers, I read them over and over.

“Okay, Jesus, it’s a deal.” I felt the Lord’s hand as we high-fived.

It’s been three weeks since we made our deal. The Aggies won all three games, including the big win over Arkansas. That’s okay. I still made the better trade. I would have missed such insight into God’s word if not for this Aggie-football-less time.

Lord, may we never place anything above you, but always keep you as Lord of our lives.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. I’ll show you mercy, Jimmy, the Lord said. You can watch the Cowboys this year.

“Thanks a lot, Lord.” #sarc

Jimmy Eskew © 2017

[1] Bible Study Fellowship, Inc. © 2017 www.bsfintenational.org

[2] Jackie Sherrill; Texas A&M football coach, 1982-1988

[3] Dixie Chicken; iconic bar and grill hangout for Aggies in College Station http://www.dixiechicken.com

The Lord keeps his eyes on the righteous. He hears their prayers. But the Lord’s anger is against those who do evil.—1 Peter 3:12 (King Jimmy Translation)

“The Best of Humanity, the Worst of Humanity”

Do you remember where you were, what you were doing on September 11, 2001?

I remember my circumstances. Your humble Aggie scribe waited in the parts department at the shop, hoping my backordered parts had come in. At that time, the parts department had a TV mounted to the wall to keep customers entertained while they waited for hours, sometimes days, to get their parts. A crowd had gathered, watching the burning North Tower, one half of the iconic Twin Towers in New York City. An American Airlines 757 had crashed into it. The announcers were still calling this a horrible accident when the second plane, a 767, slammed into the South Tower. The gasps of witnessing such an act took the air out of the room. Could we believe what we just saw? In stunned disbelief, calls upon God were immediately uttered. Others offered curses using the same God. All work ceased. Needed parts weren’t so needed right now.

I called Mrs. Aggie, who worked outside the home at that time. She was crying. Her voice trembled. Their office also watched the second plane hit. Like us, the scenes on TV seemed surreal. Her attempts to reach our two daughters to check on their wellbeing failed, but they were probably communicating with their spouses and children. We called our friends and loved ones to check on them.

The people surrounding the TV in the parts department wondered who was behind all this. “We’re under attack,” some said. “No way,” others countered. “Not here in America.” “What group is behind this attack?” Questions flew around the room as to what we witnessed. When we thought it could not get worse, another 757 crashed into the Pentagon. Then within an hour came the report of a United 767, flight 93, crashed into a field in Pennsylvania. Speculations were this aircraft was headed toward the White House or the Capitol. We watched horrified as people leaned out the windows above the hellish blazes, waiting to be rescued. “God help them,” is all we could say. “Lord, have mercy.” Our emotions ripped apart as we saw those who knew they were doomed, leap from the windows into eternity. Some jumped holding hands, not wanting to die alone. There are no human words we can us to show how evil forced us to witness its horrors. ‘Horrors’ seems too weak a word to describe what happened to humanity. No one should have had to see that.

Evil murdered over 3000 innocents that day, representing 115 countries. Their “crimes?” They came to work, they went on a business trip, they started their long-awaited vacation, they longed to see loved ones.

September 11, 2001 will forever be a dark day in America. It revealed the worst of humanity. In other parts of the world, people celebrated the destruction of the Twin Towers, the Pentagon and the crashed 767. Videos of dancing and celebrating over the successful attacks repulsed every red-blooded American and our allies. Our righteous rage rose within us. September 11, 2001 brought out the worst of humanity.

More important, September 11 brought out the best of humanity too.

As the events unfolded, stories emerged about the courage of people. Stairwells were the only exit from the towers. People helped one another escape, some carrying the frail, handicapped, or wounded on their backs all the way down to safety. Race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, Republican, Democrat—none of that mattered. Humanity cared for one another. There were stories of those who could have escaped, but refused to leave those who were wounded until the first responders arrived. They never came out. People prayed with each other. As people called on God for mercy, I want to think there were no atheist left in the towers. The best of humanity.

Enough cannot be said about the firemen, police and emergency responder who rushed into the buildings, up the stairwells, as others rushed out to safety. Their courage to save others overruled the dangers they raced into. The New York Fire Department lost 343 firefighters and paramedics. The New York Police Department and the New York Port Authority lost 59 officers. They gave their lives to save others. The best of humanity.

At the Pentagon, 184 perished. Rank mattered little as military brass worked side-by-side with the enlisted people, civilians and politicians worked together, clerks and visitors helped one another without thought of their own safety. The best of humanity loving humanity.

On Flight 93, after the hijackers commandeered the aircraft and turned the aircraft toward D.C. the passengers bravely took matters into their hands. Todd Beamer, a committed follower of Jesus Christ, led the charge. His holy rallying cry of “Let’s Roll” is now part of the American lexicon. Knowing they were now not heading to San Francisco but headed toward eternity, they regained entry into the cockpit to overpower the hijackers. They crashed into a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Everyday people fighting evil—and triumphed. The best of humanity.

America came together in common purpose as she did in World War II. How the terrorists meant to bring harm to us instead brought out the good in us. Although we saw the worst of humanity that day, we saw the best of humanity more. Differences were put aside and Americans were committed to one another. We were united.

Missionary Lucas Ellis stated so perfectly the spirit of 9/11. “The difference between someone who is scared and someone who is brave is that the brave person is scared, but tries anyway. Bravery cannot exist without fear.”

Lord, unite us again. Forgive our sins and let us see one another as you see us. Help us live together in harmony and peace. Lord, we have no one else we can call on.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

Jimmy Eskew © 2017

“Father and Son”

                  Robert Bethel © 2017

“Father and Son”

For the Father loves the Son and shows him all things he is doing—John 5:20

Good buddy Brother Robert, a.k.a., the “Beard,” posted this picture on Facebook. While working on their spread, Brother Beard thought he was taking a selfie with his precious son, Hank, a.k.a., the “Hankster,” one tired little farm hand.

Our heavenly Father smiled. “Thanks for the selfie, Beard.” God used this priceless selfie of a father and son to show how he welcomes his kids when we to come to him.

As we read these, hopefully our heavenly Father will reveal more ways he desires our companionship.

• The Lord God, our heavenly Father, has his arms always open, welcoming us to run to him. As his child, we crawl onto his lap any time we want to, any time we need to. This brings a big ole smile to his face. He never rejects our love feast to him. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he says. —

This is acceptance.

• We look to our heavenly Father as our “Daddy.” Jesus often affectionately referred to his father as “Abba” [Daddy in Hebrew].

This is relationship

• Our Daddy is our hero—he can do all things. Our knight in shining armor. Nothing is impossible or too big that my Daddy can’t handle.

This is confidence

• We run to him when we are hurt. Ever scrape your knee? Fall off your bike? Someone offend you? Your loved one wound your soul by actions or words? Because Jesus and the Father are one, he knows pain—our pain—firsthand. He became flesh and blood like us so he could experience everything we do. And oh my, how Jesus was hurt—physically, emotionally and spiritually.

This is empathy.

• The Father’s eyes are always on us. He looks with pride at his kids. He sees our every move. He rejoices when we succeed, doesn’t give up on us when we fall, which is often. He picks us up, dusts the crud off, and says, “Come on, let’s try again. I’m here with you.”

This is support

• We run to his arms when life seems to fall apart. Fear grips our souls. Our Father is good; life is unfair. “What do you mean you want a divorce?” “Doctor, are you sure it’s cancer?” “Mother passed last night. She’s gone.” “Sorry, but your job has been outsourced.” Our Father cradles us close to him and whispers, “Fear not, my child. I am here with you. I love you.”

This is comfort.

• When we are in his arms and he pulls us close, we’re completely at peace. We’re safe. His love for us is unconditional, even when we have failed to meet his standards, which is normal for most, if not all, of his kids. Yet nothing ever created will separate us from that love.

This is security.

• When we snuggle in our Father’s arms, the worries and pressures of life are shut out. The stresses of life fade as our Father hums his favorite love song to us. We close our eyes and drift into a time of refreshing and renewal.

This is rest for the weary.

• When we lay our head against our Father’s chest, we hear his heart beating for us. Soon, our heart beats as one with his.

This is oneness.

• When we are in our Father’s arms, he listens to our concerns. He is mindful how we struggle to understand why some situations arise, why bad things happen, but he assures us he has our best interest at heart and is working on our behalf. He knows our lives from beginning to end. He only asks we trust him.

This is faith.

• When we’re in our Father’s arms, we want to please him. We want to draw closer to him, not just know about him, but to know his heart, to know his character in a more intimate way.

This is passion.

• When we choose to run from our Father’s arms, foolishly heading off in the wrong direction, he follows. He continually calls to us, warning us of dangers we cannot see, but waits patiently for us to change. When we fall and cry out to him, our Father runs to pick us up. It’s amazing how quickly he forgives when we admit how dumb we acted—no condemnation hurled our way. — This is pursuing grace.
• When we are in our Father’s arms, he looks at us with such love that he would die for us.

Oh, wait . . . He did.

This is salvation.

Lord, thank you that we are always welcomed into your arms anytime. You never reject us but draw us close to your heart. Heavenly Father, you are all we need. You are our everything.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

Jimmy Eskew © 2017

Picture used by permission; Robert Bethel © 2017

Thankful: https://jimmyeskew.wordpress.com/

Be diligent to grow your faith. The graciousness of the Lord will grow as you gain knowledge of him. Practice self-control to protect yourself while you persevere under trial, which produces your godly character. Love your brothers and sisters in the Lord, and you will love all people — 2 Peter 1:5–7 (King Jimmy Translation)

“Layer it on Me”

Some readers ask your humble Aggie scribe where he gets these off-the-wall stories. “Do you ever have writer’s block?” “Where do your ideas come from?”

When a story idea evades me, I practice a writing exercise using writing prompts, which is a statement upon which to build a story. Then I do what is called “layering,” which adds tidbits of information, drawing the reader into the story.

At a recent writing clinic, we practiced our creativity using a prompt. Here are some examples of writing prompts.

• “I didn’t expect to see you here. Either you have great nerve or you’re a fool.”
• Well, that’s a change. She’s smiling today. Did they finally meet?
• “Don’t go,” she said. “It’s not safe.”
• “The choice is yours, Mitch,” President Trump said. “Either pull the trigger on healthcare reform or pull my finger.” (I made that one up.)

I chose this prompt: “Don’t go,” she said. “It’s not safe.”

Reading the phone book is more interesting. Let’s add a layer.

Layer One.

“Don’t go, Margo.” Lisa grabbed his arm. “Those people are dangerous.”

Margo and Lisa are introduced. Lisa’s tone suggests Margo faces danger. The reader asks who are these people and why are they dangerous. Add a layer.

Layer Two

“Don’t go, Margo.” Lisa grabbed his wounded arm. “They’re dangerous. That Oklahoma family puts mayonnaise on hot dogs.”

How did Margo hurt his arm? The danger is revealed—an Oklahoma family lacking culinary tact.

Layer Three

“Don’t go, Margo.” Lisa grabbed his wounded arm. “Them Okies put mayonnaise on hot dogs. She watches Oprah and doesn’t cook with cumin either.”

“Leave me alone, Lisa,” Margo said. A bobble-head doll fell out of his pocket when he pulled away. A sharp pain shot though his shoulder, but the hurt wasn’t as bad as the bikini-wax he needed for his job. “I’ve got to see her again, or I’ll never forgive myself.”

What is driving Margo to flirt with apparent danger? Is it love? Revenge? Hunger? What kind of job requires a bikini wax? And who cooks without cumin? #SMH

Layer Four

“Don’t go, Margo.” Lisa grabbed his wounded arm. “Them Okies eat hot dogs on wheat buns with mayonnaise. She writes book reviews for Oprah’s Book Club, and she thinks cumin causes morning sickness.”

The storms raged, battering the house with hail and driving rain. He struggled to put on his raincoat with his good arm.

“Don’t stop me, Lisa.” As he pulled away, a bobble-head doll fell from his raincoat.

“What’s this?” she said. “How much did it cost?”

A sharp pain shot up his shoulder, although it wasn’t as bad as the bikini wax required for his job as the stand-in double for Benny Hinn. His arm injury was a freak accident. When he “waved” at a group of followers to fall over, he struck and overturned the table of Benny Hinn bobble-head healing dolls. But the excruciating pain paled to the storm raging in his wounded heart. “I’ve gotta see her again. I must know if it’s my fault she hates cumin.

***

You get the picture how this writing exercise works. It starts simple, and then as elements are added, the story takes a life of its own.

Our salvation uses layering as well. After coming to Jesus for salvation, we need lots of work to transform us into his image. Simon Peter, the former professional-fisherman-turned-preacher, knew this truth well. Like Pete, we had rough edges that need sanding. He wrote in his second letter: “Make every effort to add to your faith . . .”

Add a layer.

“Make every effort to add to your faith graciousness.” Because God’s grace forgave and redeemed us, he helps us share this grace in abstract ways like kindness, gentleness, forgiveness.

Add a layer.

“. . . to your faith, graciousness; to graciousness, knowledge.”

God didn’t hide from us. He reveals himself in nature. He puts within every man a desire to know him. He gives us his word—the Bible—and his Holy Spirit to live within us, who teaches us everything God did for us through Jesus.

We’re ready for another layer.

“. . . to knowledge, self-control.

The first two layers support our improved behavior—self-control. Christ dethroned our sinful nature when he regenerated our spirits, but our souls haven’t caught up with the new boss who rules our hearts. As ferociously as our sinful nature fights against the work of the Holy Spirit within us, our new behavior becomes more Christlikeness.

We ain’t through yet.

“. . . to self-control, perseverance.

Jesus said we’re in this battle until the end. The Holy Spirit helps us endure the trials and problems that Jesus promised would come. God is good, but life is unfair. With God’s help, we grow in grace as we “run our race.”

Need another layer.

“. . . to perseverance, godliness.

Godliness, or piety, becomes a by-product the longer we run our race, seeking God’s will for our lives. This leads to our next layer—mutual affection.

“. . . to godliness, mutual affection.

As Christ-followers, we’re bonded to those who share the same faith and submit to the same Lord Jesus Christ. We love our brothers and sisters in Christ since we share a similar journey of faith.

This leads to the ultimate layer:

“. . . to mutual affection, love.

God’s love in us. Love for the lost, the outcasts, the misfits, the broken, those who hate us because of our faith—loving others as Christ loves them.

Oh, Lord. We may be the only Jesus that people see. May we evolve more into your character to draw people to you.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. Lisa broke into uncontrollable sobbing. “Please, Margo. Please don’t go.″

Margo slammed the door and walked into the dark, rainy night.

“Wait, Margo.” Lisa yelled. “You forgot the mayonnaise.”

Jimmy Eskew © 2017

God must become greater in my life; I must become less as I submit to his Lordship. —John 3:30 (King Jimmy Translation)

“Little by Little”

An east coast newspaper reporter was sent to “flyover country” to write a story about the little people who lived such mundane lives. He arrived in some midwestern podunk  town, rented a car and took off to explore the backward ways of a forgotten America. The endless plains of wheat fields dotted with red barns and silos and John Deere tractors looked alike to him.

The journalist spotted a farmer plowing and he pulled over onto the dirt road. He carefully high-stepped over the pie-looking objects scattered around the field. I’ve never seen these in Central Park. Oh, the horrors if his Gucci shoes or skinny jeans were soiled.

***

What in the world is this? The sweaty old farmer eyed the approaching whippersnapper suspiciously. I ain’t never seen such a delicate fellow with a man-bun in this part of the country. He ain’t no farm hand looking for a job, that’s for sure. He climbed off the tractor and put a pinch between his gum and lip.

***

The reporter eyed the farmer suspiciously. So—this is what flyover people look like? He put on a fake smile and extended his hand. How can this hick be seen in public without designer overalls or at least a Rodeo Avenue bandana? Ooooowwww.

The reporter introduced himself. This country bumpkin probably never vacations in the Hamptons. While making small talk, the reporter suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. What? This smelly farm atmosphere is playing tricks with my mind.

A humongous hog waddled by the tractor.

“That pig has two wooden legs,” he said. “What happened to that hog?”

“Oh, that.” The farmer spit tobacco within an inch of the columnist’s shoes. “Well, I was a-plowing one day, and the danged tractor fell over inna ditch and rolled over on top of me. Broke both my arms.” The farmer spit again, the reporter backed up. “That hog lifted the tractor, pulled me out, set my broken arms and called 911.”

“Wow! That’s how he lost his legs?” the reporter said.

“Naw, that wasn’t it. One night the barn caught fire, and I was helpless with my arms broken. That hog led all the cows out of the barn to safety, and saved the entire dairy herd. Then he pulled the water hose out to fight the fire with the fire department.”

“Amazing! That’s how he lost his legs?” The reporter wrote furiously on his iPad.

“Oh, no. Not even close,” he said. “Last spring, I had a massive heart attack. This pig loaded me onto the tractor, gave me CPR while he drove the tractor to town, got me to the ER and saved my life.”

“And that’s how the hog lost his legs, right?”

“No!” The farmer said. He seemed exasperated with the reporter’s ignorance. “Didn’t you learn nuthin’ at that big fancy college back east?” He spat again. “Everybody knows—it’s just common sense—you don’t eat a pig like that all at once.”

Isn’t that how life goes? We eat the pig little by little?

Although the Israelites were porkless in the Promise Land, they conquered their enemies to take possession of the land a little at a time. God is a big God and could have wiped out the opposition in an instant, but God needed to go “little” with the Israelites, for their own good.

With all aspects of life, success is achieved little by little. We cannot start at the top in whatever we attempt. An athlete becomes an all-pro a little at a time. Business people make wise decisions after they gained marketplace experience a little at a time. The pianist who starts with “Chop Sticks” evolves into a concert pianist a little at a time. A retirement nest egg grows substantially a little by little. Goals are obtained by taking little steps, experiencing the necessary ups and downs.

When we come to Christ, much needs to change in us to make us like him. In his wisdom, he knows we cannot absorb everything he wants to change all at once. Instead, he takes us on a never-ending journey of faith, a little step at a time. It’s called sanctification. He takes us through trials to refine us deeper into his character. Little by little, our old self disappears. And little by little, our new self, made in Christ’s image, emerges.

Who, besides your humble Aggie scribe, relates to the following?

Strange, isn’t it? This new love for people was not a part of my old nature. Lord, you know that weird guy in the department who just doesn’t fit in, and that obnoxious opinionated coworker, and that rebellious teen, and those other misfits—thank you for showing me how to love them like you do. Little by little, more of Jesus, less of me.

Never thought I would see this day. Those activities that I spilled all my energies into are no longer important to me. Lord, I make you number one. I now prioritize those activities as how they affect my adventures with you. Most of those activities had no eternal value. Little by little, more of Jesus, less of me.

Now this is a change. What happened to that hothead I used to be? You remember that guy? Quick to profane that which I thought as an assault on my lifestyle—ungodly as it was. “No one’s gonna tell me what to do.” Lord, my desire is to be obedient as I make you Lord of my soul. I will follow your word daily. Little by little, more of Jesus, less of me.

Something’s happened. I’m no longer fearful of what others think of me. Friends treat me differently since I started talking about this Jesus guy. Lord, what counts is what you think of me . . . and you think of me as your own beloved child. Little by little, more of Jesus, less of me.

Lord, may this be everyone’s prayer: More of you and less of me as you transform me into your image to achieve my God-given destiny.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. “What’s gonna happen to the pig when you take the two front legs? the reporter asked.

“Well, that’s obvious,” the farmer said. “The pig will identify as a groundhog.”

Jimmy Eskew © 2017

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The Lord takes my hand and we rest in lush meadows, where life and beauty thrive beside the quiet waters. Here, we talk and he restores peace to my soul. —Psalm 23:2–3 (King Jimmy Translation)

“Do I Need a Hearing Test?”

If there was one thing I enjoyed about my job, it was watching the sunrise every morning from my office. If there was one thing I hated about my job, it was watching the sunrise every morning from my office. Every day at the office started before the rooster crowed.

Five o’clock—17:00 hours—couldn’t come fast enough. After another day of nonstop activity that started before six, dealing with delayed backorders, miscommunications with uncooperative colleagues, missed lunches, I was ready to vacate the office.

I gathered the second shift guys for the nightly team meeting, outlining the production goals for that night. Being responsible for the production of twenty-two technicians with varying degrees of maturity and competence, plus keeping upper management happy by making budget every month, created stress. At times, I felt like I ran a daycare.

At one minute after five, I shutdown the laptop, loaded up and at 5:02, I shot out of the parking lot. My shot was short.

“Oh, crud!” All three lanes of the freeway were bumper-to-bumper. Just my luck! More delays. I queued into the line longer than a freight train to enter the so-called “free”way. Congress will pass a budget quicker than I’ll get home tonight.

It wasn’t ten minutes before the phone rang. “How’d it go today?” the boss asked.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe.” I lamented my normal, frazzled day.

“It’ll be better tomorrow,” he said with a chuckle. “Get with me first thing in the morning about your department’s number last month. See ya.”

Within thirty seconds, the phone rang again. “Hey, boss,” the night shift guy said. “we got a problem.”

Creeping through traffic at 3 mph, we brainstormed for a solution to avoid another production setback. This must be how the freeway accident occurred—some yo-yo yakking on phone, not paying attention. The traffic reporter said the best alternate route from Irving to Fort Worth would be to go through Kansas City. I took two more calls before reaching home.

Around dusk, I pulled into my driveway. For the first time that spring, I noticed the trees budding after the rough winter. This can’t be. How could April be sliding into May since it seemed like just last week we celebrated New Year’s Eve? I sighed deeply. I’m too busy. I enjoyed the quiet of the truck for a couple minutes, closed my eyes and breathed pleas to Jesus. Help me to unwind, Lord. My old Aggie body may be home, but my mind lingers at the office.

The shop called again. I ignored it.

A most pleasant aroma greeted me when I opened the door. Oh, yeah! Snookins got something good on the stove. I snuck up behind Mrs. Aggie. “Hey good looking. Whatcha got cooking? You’re stud-muffin is home”

She made no response but kept stirring the skillet.

Uh, oh . . . The silent treatment. What did I do now? Birthday? Anniversary? New Callaway driver? I’ve learned over the years, to avoid major bodily harm, do not grab Snookins during her silent treatment.

While I changed clothes, the phone rang. Shop again. Another problem, another twenty-minute conversation. I went back to the kitchen, hoping baby pumpkin was over her mad. “Solved another crisis at the shop, babe. What’s on the stove?”

Again, the silence was deafening. You know, maybe tootsie needs her hearing checked? She may not hear me. Maybe all that screaming she does when she watches The View has affected her hearing. I should set up an appointment for her. “I’m gonna check my email,” and went to the den. She needs a little more chill’n time.

The Holy Spirit finally got my attention via an instant message. This has gone on long enough.

You’re right, Lord. I turned and marched back into the kitchen. “I’m sorry for whatever I did. I promise it won’t happen again. Forgive me. Now, what’s for supper?”

Mrs. Aggie slammed the spatula on the counter and glared at me. “Jimmy! Honestly!” She shook her head in disbelief. “For the third time, Aggie, I told you we’re having chicken!” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m setting you up for a hearing test tomorrow. You can’t hear squat.”

During my working years, I was the “go-to” guy. Need something done—see Jimmy, he’ll handle it. My ADHD teamed with my OCD to keep me jumping from one technical headache to another assembly malfunction. I’d almost have one fire put out before another erupted. Catastrophes ranged from a technician’s hurt feeling, to tracking lost parts, to buying the wrong brand of picante sauce for break-time burritos. While engine computers were stacked three-feet high, ready to be downloaded and updated, annoying salesmen handed me a dozen quotes to review. My writing OCD even compelled me to rewrite a memo eleven times, making certain it was grammatically correct, with plot, subplot, antagonist and obstacle, with all the i’s crossed and all the t’s dotted. The final edited memo: Work time: 05:30 to 17:00.

Mrs. Aggie was correct. I wasn’t hearing. But it wasn’t just my physical hearing that needed healing; my spiritual ears had massive wax buildups that kept the voice of God muffled. This around-the-clock busyness affected my spiritual hearing. Spending time in God’s word and prayer became a challenge, with the demands of life, work, family activities. There was always something that needed to be done. Stay busy, accomplish more.

You know what is ironic? Church ministries, services, charity work all required more energy from my own already drained source of strength. These deeds, noble as they are, cluttered my mind, hindering the Holy Spirit’s calling me to follow him “to lie down in green pasture beside the still waters. I want to restore your soul.”

Am I alone in this? Have any of my readers experienced a similar situation? We’ve been so busy doing good things for God, our family and mankind that we failed to hear him speaking to us?

************

Dear Lord, unclog our spiritual hearing. Help us to put aside these distractions to follow you as you lead us beside still waters and restore us as only you can.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. Mrs. Aggie: “Jimmy, you need a hearing test!”

Your humble Aggie scribe: “Whatcha mean? I already have a hairy chest.”

Jimmy Eskew © 2017