THANKFUL

God took his time to make each one of us with unique characteristics so that, in Christ, we might do the good works he prepared for us to do so as to bring glory to the Father (Ephesians 2:10 King Jimmy Translation).

In the water-pot pottery world, fierce competition exists among the pots for superiority. Some pots think they are better than other pots because of their painted exteriors or shapely forms. Other pots believe they are privileged because they were baked longer or created from a better-grade mud.

This is the story of Yang and Yo, two five-gallon water pots. Each was kilned to the exact degree in the same furnace and beautifully painted with intricate Chinese detail by the same creator. They appeared identical, yet one suffered a flaw. Yo was cracked.

An old Chinese sage lived in a remote mountain village. Every morning and evening, he placed Yang and Yo on each end of a pole that he placed across his shoulders and carried them to the bottom of the mountain to fill them with water from the stream. While he arduously walked up the mountain carrying the full water pots, something was happening. Yo leaked water. This wasn’t an occasional drip, but a constant drip-drip-drip. By the time the master reached the top, Yo was empty.

Yang relentlessly criticized Yo. “You are useless, Yo. The master can’t use you; Yo’s a cracked pot!” Yang delighted ridiculing Yo. “We sit all day in front of the mirror. See how perfect I am—but everyone can see you’re cracked. Yo, you leak!” Yang laughed. “You’ll never be on the cover of Pottery Fair.” Yang even questioned the sage’s wisdom for using Yo, knowing how broken he was. Yo fell into depression and contemplated jumping off the pole and shatter himself on the mountain side.

On their journey to get water one day, Yo said to the master. “Why don’t you just get rid of me? I’m of no use to you. I leak badly and waste the water you work so hard to get. You can do more with another perfect pot like Yang, who isn’t flawed.”

The master stopped and set the pots down. He picked up Yo, and held him to his bosom. “I knew you were cracked when I purchased you. The merchant thought he pulled a fast-one on me, selling a cracked pot for the same price as a perfect one. I gladly paid that price for you.” The master looked at the crack in Yo. “But I had a purpose for you. I searched for a pot with a flaw, a crack, because I needed you for a special assignment. You were perfect for what I needed.”

“Really, master?” Yo said. “I had no idea.”

“Let me explain,” the sage said. “We make this journey twice a day, In the morning, you are on my left side and in the evening, on my right. Do you know why?

“No, master,” Yo said.

The master, embracing Yo, looked down the path to the stream. “Before I purchased you, I planted flower seeds along the path to the stream. When we come up the mountain, you think you are leaking but you are actually watering the seeds I planted along the path, causing them to grow. Your purpose is to water what I have planted. Have you noticed how the flowers look forward to the water you give them?”

Yo was astounded. “I try so hard not to leak, yet I can’t help it.” He felt vindicated. Yo faintly smirked as he looked down at Yang, the perfect pot, on the ground. “I can’t believe you want me to leak. I never saw that.” He wanted to stick his tongue out at Yang, but pots don’t have tongues.

“The perfect pot only serves me,” the master said, “but you serve not only me, but also many others. Because of your imperfections, I use you to cause growth in others. You are valuable to me. What you see as a flaw is in reality a blessing to others because you share what’s inside you.”

What flaw has our Heavenly Father trusted you with? There’s a reason our Heavenly Father created you with flaws: it is to show His power in your weaknesses [cracks] (2 Corinthians 12:9). Let your flaws be used for our heavenly Father’s glory.

Lord, you know I’m as flawed as they come. You knew fully well all our flaws and defects yet you purchased us anyway with your blood on Calvary. My prayer for me, and all others you have called, will be the cracked pots for Jesus you called us to be. Use us today, Lord, to bless others.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

After the master’s death, Yang was sold to the Knights of Columbus in Toledo and now serves as an umbrella stand. Yo copyrighted its name and made a fortune off royalties from rapper songs.

Jimmy Eskew © 2015

Not every human being is God’s child. Only those who believe in Jesus and believe the work he did on the cross for their salvation—these are the ones who God gave the right to become his children—John 1:12 (King Jimmy’s Translation).

Most folks have at least one. Usually our parents tag us with an affectionate pet name. Our friends or social buddies label us with an endearing, sometimes embarrassing, moniker, that reflects our physical condition or some character trait. As a teenager, who wasn’t embarrassed when, at the worst time—usually in front of friends, our mom called us by our nickname?

How about the 6′ 6″ man called “Shorty?” Have you seen “Tiny?” Who comes to mind when we hear of “The Gipper?” Who remembers “Satchmo?” “Tricky Dickie?”

Because this is a family friendly article, I cannot print the nicknames of our politicians.

I’ve had several nickname during my life.

During my early formative years, my mother’s side of the family called me “brother.” I never knew my real name until the day I plastered Texas A&M Aggies stickers all over Mom’s Michael Kros purse. Her usually soft, angelic voice yelled “James Lee” so loud that Lazarus rose from the dead again.

Because of my stuttering, the torture of junior high school years produced cruel nicknames, which I buried deep within my subconscious for several years. Reminiscing, I see the insecurities of nearly all us kids that age resulted in hurtful words and actions. We were all just trying to survive those turbulent years.

In high school, college and into the glories of Aggieland, I learned to let go and embrace my difference speech patterns. My peers christened me “the Lockjaw”. That name stuck with me throughout my ten-year racing career and beyond.

During my Caterpillar career, “Lockjaw” transitioned from the heavy equipment / earth-moving side of Caterpillar to the Industrial Engines and Power Generation side. In the Power System Division (PSD), we installed, set up and tested emergency backup generators for hospitals, office buildings, banks, Democratic National Committee. (I made up that last one.)

The generators we set up and tested ranged from 120 volts to 13,500 volts in power. These generators produced enough current to turn you instantly into a French fry. Every generator has three “hot” phase cables—A, B, and C.

• “A” phase [color-coded brown]
• “B” phase [orange]
• “C” phase [yellow].

The ground phase is color-coded Green.

A serious problem soon arose. I’m colorblind.

Looking through my eyes, brown and green colors look identical. Lay a brown coded cable next to a green coded cable, chances are 50/50 I’ll pick the right cable. On three occasions, I mistakenly connected the hot cable, brown, to the ground connection, green. When the engine came up to speed and we closed the circuit breaker, sparks flew, breakers popped, smoke belched, bangs banged, cables flip-flopped, generators jumped, buildings shook, and technicians cried out to God. After the third incident of my brown-green dysfunction, I was banned for life from wiring cables to generators. Worst yet, my peers removed my picture from the Generator Technician Hall of Fame Museum.

My co-workers never knew what to expect when I showed up to “help.” They said working with Jimmy was exciting, thus the avatar “Mr. Excitement” originated. The name continues to thrive over two decades after my generator fireworks abruptly ended.

Did you know Jesus nicknamed some of His disciples? He dubbed his principal disciple, Simon, with “Cephas”, which means Peter or “Rock” even though the high-strung Cephas was anything but rock-solid at the time (John 1:42). He called James and John the “Sons of Thunder”. Can you say, “anger issues?” Jesus referred to a second disciple named Simon as the “Zealot” for his hot-headed, radical political views (Mark 3:17-18). The disciples were not the only ones Jesus gave nicknames.

The Lord also gives each of His followers a nickname.

Here’s the nicknames Jesus gave me: I’m Jimmy “the redeemed!” Another one he uses constantly is, Jimmy, “the secured in Christ!” Other times, he simply calls me Jimmy, “a new man,” although like Cephas, at times I act like anything but a new, regenerated man.

But Jesus calls all those who trust Him for their salvation “the redeemed!” He may call you the “grace-saved one”, or the “mercy-extended-to-one”, but you get the idea. Most important, those who trust Jesus are called “His own.” We are God’s own kids. Look in the Bible in the New Testament at John 1:12. It says “But to all who believed him and accepted him, He gave the right to become children of God.” (emphasis mine)

Jesus had a special nickname for God the Father. He called Him “Abba”. This Aramaic term of endearment is closely translated as “Daddy.” Jesus gave us permission to call our heavenly Father, Abba, too. Even though he is the God of the universe, we call him Daddy since he is our heavenly Father and we are his children. We’re always welcomed to run into his arms. This must bring a big smile to Daddy’s face.

As shocking as it may seem to some folks, not all people are God’s children. Sure, God created us all—he is our Creator—but only those who follow Jesus get the privilege to call him Daddy.

Lord, I pray we choose to follow your son, Jesus. I ask our Savior to give us nicknames like “the redeemed!” or “the secured in Christ”, or “child of God”. Thanks, Daddy, for grace-saving us and making us your own kids.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. Your humble Aggie scribe often warbles to his beloved “baby pumpkin”, Mrs. Aggie, but she claims the Mr. Excitement avatar fails to live up to its deification. (emphasis Mrs. Aggie’s)

Jimmy Eskew © 2016

September 28, 2016

How much does God love us? God sent his one and only Son to die for our sins when he knew we hated him and wanted nothing to do with him, yet he sent Jesus anyway—Romans 5:8 (King Jimmy Translation).

While God was busy with creation, He caused Adam, the first man, to take an afternoon nap. He removed one of Adam’s ribs to form the most breathtaking, alluring, exquisite yet most complex, of all his creation—woman. Adam woke from his deep God-induced sleep and rolled over to see the beautiful Eve lying next to him. She gently blinked her beautiful blue eyes, puckered her red lips and whispered, “Hey, Adam.” Scripture recognizes Adam as the originator of the phrase hubba-hubba-hubba and the first man to hold in his stomach around a woman. Man has never been the same since.

Three weeks later, Adam had only three items on his side of the bathroom vanity: a toothbrush, a hair brush, and a razor, which he used only once since Eve liked that “rugged” look on him.

On the other hand, Eve’s side was crowded with 317 items ranging from “Coppershine 4” wrinkle-removing foundation to corn pads to a hydraulically-operated eyelash curler. Adam recognized only four items.

Adam was comfortable in flip-flops or a pair of well-worn sneakers. His favorite shirt was an old Texas A&M sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. He wondered why Eve needed thirty-one pairs of shoes, sixteen pairs of open-toe sandals, nine pairs of flip-flops, and a climate controlled closet.

Eve worried herself sick that she may have forgotten to invite someone to her baby shower for their first child, Cain. Adam didn’t understand her concerns over the guest list since no other people existed on the Earth at that time.

I’m sure I can speak for most guys. The most daunting challenge we guys face is: “We don’t understand women!”

Women like that.

From Adam, to kings and emperors, to modern politicians, man’s attempts to understand women have caused us to throw our hands up in frustration. The poster-child for the “I’m-a-Male-and-I’m-Stupid-Around-Women” theorem has to be King Solomon. His 700 wives and 300 concubines turned his wisdom upside-down. Forgetting an anniversary or a birthday found Solomon regularly sleeping on the couch. His worst nightmares came true when his mothers-in-law came to live with them.

When God created us in his image, he trusted us with logic and reasoning skills. Even with these God-like powers, it’s ludicrous to think we can understand everything. I’ve heard some well-meaning folks say they would not use anything they do not understand. They claim not to do anything that they don’t know all the ins-and-outs of, yet I see them using a computer or driving a car. I guess Bill Gates calls them for advice, and they sit on the board of directors for a major car manufacturer.

Many things I do understand.

My background in construction equipment and oil field / power generation gave me a broad understanding of mechanical and hydraulic systems. I learned the laws of electricity after hundreds of jolts and countless shocks, which depending on the voltage, either curled my hair or straightened my speech.

We may possess vast knowledge in a particular field, such as medicine or mathematics, but the ultimate knowledge belongs to God. Occasionally, he allows us to stumble upon something that mankind hails as an astonishing breakthrough regarding some facet of his creation, only to show us how little we know in the first place.

I love women. My mother was a woman. My sister is a woman. Mrs. Aggie is a woman. In my maleness, I may never understand women. But after many years, one thing I finally understood: in God’ sight, I was a sinner, separated from God, and I could not save myself. I needed a Savior. I understood that I did not deserve His amazing grace, but He extended His love and forgiveness to me anyway.

Why? And why me?

I will never understand why He loves someone as messed up as me. Other things I may never understand. I do not understand the unfathomable depths of God’s love.

Why did Jesus willingly give up the glories of Heaven to come to Earth as a flesh-and-blood human being to save man and reconcile him back to God?

In spite of His love, I don’t understand why, like a dumb sheep, I wander off from time to time, yet He is always patient to bring me back in line.

I don’t understand why He would trust someone as flawed like me with His message of forgiveness and salvation to share with others in my world? The human side of my soul commands me to do things to earn God’s love. God’s spirit tells me my good deeds are nice but do not earn His love. God loved me before I could love Him (Romans 5:8).

One thing I understand perfectly—His grace is amazing indeed!

Lord, when we get an inkling of understanding about Your amazing love, we are overwhelmed. Thank You for Your patience in loving us when we were unable, or unwilling, to love you in return.

Stay close to Jesus

Jimmy

Adam didn’t understand how running to the grocery store at 11:00 p.m. to get chocolate completely changed Eve’s mood and made her happy again. I don’t understand either, but I’m glad it works.

Jimmy Eskew © 2016

 May 6

Lord, you reign supreme over all the universe and all creation. Man-made gods cannot hold a candle to your glory—Psalm 97:9 (King Jimmy Translation).

I’d Make a Lousy God

At a red light, I stopped behind a compact car that apparently contained a couple of free spirits. The driver sported wild-looking hair that could have resulted from a close encounter with 110-volt light socket, and the lady’s hair was straight and stringy. One can only speculate what tattoos adorned their bodies. The rear window was lined with stickers of unicorns, rainbows, and flowers. One sticker resembled either a hobbit from Lord of the Rings or a trampled Dallas Cowboys linebacker after a game.

A large bumper sticker was prominently plastered on the back window, which boldly stated, Don’t follow God. Become one.

I thought, That’s a stupid bumper sticker. Who can become a god?

The God sticker caused me to wonder what kind of god I would be. What would I require of my followers? Allow me a Mount Sinai moment as I give my Ten Commandments to those who would follow me, or they will risk the wrath of Jimmy.

1. You shall not root for or support or have any dealings with other colleges or universities except Texas A&M.
2. All smoothies shall contain at least 50 percent bacon.

3. You shall not be punished for cheating on your golf score. Mulligans are free and unlimited.

4. No man over fifty shall defile his body by wearing a Speedo at anytime, anywhere. Never!

5. You shall never own a dog that has a poodle haircut.

6. All foods, from Jell-O to bun cakes, shall be prepared with salsa, cumin, and jalapeños. No exceptions.

7. Women shall not begin life-changing conversations during the game, no matter how urgent it may seem.

8.You shall not duplicate Donald Trump’s hair in any manner, shape, or comb-over.

9. You shall not waste your words or time attempting to talk logic and reason with people who have more than sixty body-piercings on their face and have “Bernie Sanders rocks” tattoos.

10. You shall not drive under 70 mph in the center or left lanes of the freeway. All hand gestures shown to those who break this commandment will be encouraged and forgiven.

If you can obey these strict commandments, you are worthy to be my follower.

Would forcing people to follow these rules make me a god? Hardly. Adherence to these rules by my devotees would make me a cult leader or make me weirder than I already am. Let’s see how I measure up with some of the One True God’s attributes.

God is eternal. He has no beginning and has no end. He is not limited by time or space.

Wannabe god Jimmy. I have a birthday and I’ll have death-day. The sand in the hour glass is running down on me.

God is omnipresent and omniscient. God is present everywhere at the same time. He has all knowledge and understanding about everything.

In-a-fog-and-always-running-behind god Jimmy. I can be in only one place at a time. This explains why I am always late and why I do not understand women.

God is the Creator of everything. God only had to speak to create the heavens and the earth. When it came to man, however, God took dirt from the ground and formed man in his own image, and then he breathed into man’s his spirit, giving him life.

Unimaginative god Jimmy. With the way I stutter, if I tried to speak things into creation, I’d have 54 planets revolving around five suns. Man would be a stick figure with a default speech impediment.

God is holy. There is no impurity in him, no sin, no moral defilement anywhere in his being. He is perfect in all his ways. Sin cannot be in his presence.

Flawed god Jimmy. I struggle with sin constantly. I’m not immune to temptations and failure. Without divine help, I’m roadkill.

God is pure love. God offers mercy. He loves all people unconditionally. He judges sin but offers forgiveness when we ask him with a sincere heart. After man failed, God offered his only Son Jesus to pay the price for our sin so he could redeem us back to him. Then God lets us spend eternity with Jesus in Heaven. Pretty cool, huh?

Carnal god Jimmy. I’ve got to be honest. Some folks just rub me the wrong way, and I’d be grinning ear-to-ear as I wiped them out. Mercy? Are you kidding? After what they did? And I certainly would not offer one of my precious children to pay the price for these losers’ offenses. Instead, I’d condemn them to Oklahoma.

After reviewing the contrasts between the one true God Almighty and my attempts to be a god, it’s obvious: I’d make a lousy god. I pray those two free spirits in the car sporting that bumper sticker will realize the same truth and come to know the One True God and his Son Jesus.

Thank you, Lord, that you’re the One True God who loves us and made a way to forgive our sins by your Son Jesus. Every time we foolishly replace you as God with gods of our own making, these efforts end in misery. Only you give us meaning and purpose in life.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

A new commandment.

1. Shaving is optional. Not so for women, unless transgendered (refer to commandment IV)

    All the holy Scriptures are inspired by God when he moved upon men, through the Holy Spirit, to record his words. God’s word teaches us, corrects us, trains us in righteousness, and rebukes us when we rebel—2 Timothy 3:16 (paraphrased by Jimmy).

    My twenty-two-year old granddaughter, Cassidy, recently graduated from cosmetology school. Being the good grandpa [Buddy] that I am, and how she can twist me around her little finger, I started going to her for haircuts. I prayed her only men’s haircut did not involve a bowl. She shampooed and towel-dried my dirty-blonde-peppered-with-grey hair before lopping my top-mop to an appropriate length for a sixty-nine-year old, conservative Aggie grandfather.

    She held up her scissors. “The guy is coming this week to sharpen these,” she said. “They’ve had a workout.”

    “I can sharpen your hootus for you,” I said.

    “What?” She stood back, incredulous and opened mouth. Her auburn hair, standing on end, turned redder as she stared darts at me. “You can sharpen my what?”

    “You know,” I pointed toward the scissors. “Your hootus.”

    A little confused, she held them up. “These clippers?”

    “Yeah, those. I bought a grinder at the feed store that I use to sharpen my garden tools. I can sharpen them.”

    My normal morning coffee ritual involves drinking at least two pots of coffee, plus maybe a Starbucks when I go out. Today, I wasn’t as mentally alert as usual, having drank only three quarts of “battery acid” before my 10:00 a.m. appointment. With so little caffeine in my system, a Malaysian tree-sloth possessed more cognizant skills than me.

    “I had a senior moment, sweetheart. Let me explain,” I said. “A hootus is an old-folks term we use when we cannot think of the name of something. It’s like a thingamajig. When us old guys have a temporary lapse of memory and can’t think what to call something, it automatically becomes a hootus. I’ve used that word all my life.”

    “I’ve never heard of hootus before,” Cassidy said. “I didn’t know what to think.” Then she giggled. “I just thought, Oh my gosh, Buddy!”

“With some people, these senior moment lapses are a regular event.” I told Cassidy of some past hootii—plural of hootus—incidents I wished I could take back.

To the lady in the Wal Mart parking lot whose car keys were falling out of her purse, I warned: “Lady, your hootus is falling out.”

To our company’s biggest customer concerning re-programming an engine computer: “Sure, I plug into hootii all the time and put new life into them.”

To the IHOP waitress, when I ordered: “Just bring me some hootus, please. And make it fresh.”

To my boss, when we compared the size of our cell phones: “Wow! My hootus is twice the size of yours.”

    God knew I’d have these senior moments, so He gave me a constant companion to be my helper. Before Jesus returned to the Father, He gave his followers this promise: He would send a helper, the Spirit of Truth—the Holy Spirit, who would bring to our minds all that Jesus said and did.

    The assurance back then is the same for today: The Holy Spirit from God lives inside our heart and reveals what He sees God the Father doing. This holy insight enables us to emulate Christ’s character. Jesus said His Holy Spirit would guide us into all truth. The Spirit’s discernment exposes the devil’s tricks, and he has plenty of those up his deceptive hootus, but God’ Spirit reveals the devil’s schemes so we’re not deceived.

    The Lord God, our creator, just spoke and creation happened. But when God made his greatest creation—mankind—he personally formed man from the dust in the ground. God made man his image and trusted mankind with one of the same attribute he possesses—the ability to communicate. God had no problem calling his creation what it was: “Light,” “Earth,” “sky,” “sun,” ‘moon.” God gave the task of naming the animals, plants, and all the other parts of creation to Adam. If that task fell to me, I would have been stumped after “dog,” “cat,” or “tree.” I’m sure many animals, vegetables, or minerals would have hootus in their name somewhere.

    God showed his wisdom when he inspired men, by the Holy Spirit, to record his words (2 Timothy 3:16). Scripture tells us the writers searched for just the right words to record God’s thoughts in an honest and upright manner (Ecclesiastes 12:10).

   Words matter.

   The Holy Spirit’s job is to correctly and consistently relay God’s word of love and grace to mankind throughout the ages. Our Bible is not necessarily a manuscript of world history, although stories in the Bible and historical events have been found compatible. The Bible is a love story of the relationship between God and mankind and God’s plan to reconcile sinful man back to him.

    I’ve searched, and nowhere is hootus found in the Scriptures.

    God always has the right words to say when we need to hear from him. His word teaches, corrects, and trains us in his righteous ways. And be assured, God uses his word to firmly, yet gently, rebuke us when we need it.

    Thank you, Lord God that your word is sufficient to guide us and to guard and keep us on our faith journey with you.

    Stay close to Jesus.

    Jimmy

    Another senior moment. The right word failed me when I complimented the IRS auditor concerning her luxurious, oversize office chair: “Wow, do all IRS agents have a hootus as big as yours?”

Jimmy Eskew © 2016

Be prepared; study God’s word so when your faith is challenged, you will not hesitate how you react —2 Timothy 2:15 (King Jimmy Translation)

“Time Stands Still”

“I just can’t talk to her. I freeze up,” Bryan sat across from my desk. “Every time I see Rhonda, my tongue becomes a square-knot.”

“Really?” I leaned back in my chair. “I’m surprised. You’re our top salesman. I remember you sold a weight-loss program to some humpback whales after watching a Save the Whales video.” Your humble Aggie scribe sensed desperation in Bryan’s voice. “Take it easy, pal. You’re smitten by this hunka-hunka red-headed burning love, aren’t you, boy?” I enjoyed teasing Bryan. “Whatcha need, Romeo?”

“You’re an Aggie, Jimmy. How did you win your wife?”

“Ah, yes. I remember those days well.” Memories of courting Ms. Aggie always bring an ear-to-ear smile. “Simple. It’s how I talked to her.” I leaned forward and motioned him closer. “Here’s my secret,” I said in a hushed tone. “I looked deeply into her beautiful brown eyes and whispered, ‘Ms. Aggie, when I’m with you, your beauty makes time . . . stand . . . still.’” I winked, locked my hands behind my head and leaned back.

“No way.” Bryan seemed skeptical. “That’s it? Just tell her that ‘time-stands-still’ stuff?”

“That’s all, big boy. Ms. Aggie couldn’t resist me after that. This weekend, stand in front of your mirror, practice that line and I guarantee you’ll sweep Rhonda off her feet.”

Bryan muttered the phrase a couple times. “Your beauty makes time stands still.” He visioned Rhonda falling into his arms, captivated by his new-found charm. She’ll be a pushover!

Saturday afternoon, Bryan opened a bottle of Bordeaux, downloaded images of Brad Pitt on his laptop to mimic his sexy poses, stood in front of the mirror and rehearsed his line. “Rhonda, your beauty makes time stand still.” Cupid sprinkled a few raindrops on Bryan’s drought-stricken-romantic confidence. Yeah, I’ll sweep Rhonda off her feet into my arms.

He sat in front of the mirror, celebrated with a second bottle of Bordeaux, downloaded images of Mark Wahlberg, and practiced his line. Cupid turned on the shower. This should be a piece of cake.

He lay on the floor by the mirror, uncorked another bottle, stumbled upon Antonio Banderas in a Home Depot commercial, and muttered the “come-to-Big Bubba Bryan, baby!” pick-up line. He lifted his cup in a toast. Here’s Bordeaux to you, Cupid.

Bryan sprawled across the bed, saw the mirror’s faint reflection in the other room, opened another bottle of Bordeaux, squinted at a figure that resembled George Clooney—or was it Rosemary Clooney?—in a PBS Save the Whales video and slurred something about needing his clock cleaned by his tick-tock princess. He blissfully floated in Cupid’s #2 washtub.

Monday morning dawned. Bryan felt like Guns ‘n Roses used his head as their drum set. Halfway opening one eye, he strained to focus on the littered floor. Where did these eleven empty bottles of Bordeaux come from?

After coffee-ing up at the office, Bryan strategically positioned himself to encounter Rhonda. He didn’t wait long.

Rhonda waltzed down the hall, Starbucks in hand, the epitome of Venus de Milo, except with arms and red hair.

Bryan stepped into the hallway and faked his surprise. “Oh, hi ya, Rhonda.”

“Good morning, Bryan,” she said softly.

The moment Rhonda spoke, all of Bryan’s romantic-confidence nonsense vanished. He froze, gripped with fear. His clammy hands trembled. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead while his knees knocked like a pair of maracas. He swallowed hard, trying to work up the courage to speak.

“Rhonda,” he blurted, spewing coffee out his nose. Oh, great! I can’t believe I did that!

She smiled but remained calm. “Yes, Bryan.” Her soft, sexy voice sent the butterflies in his stomach into warp speed. She moved closer. “Do you need something, . . . Bryan?” This red-headed bombshell enjoyed making him nervous.

Bryan’s heart raced faster than the roadrunner leaving the coyote in the dust. What am I supposed to say? Beauty? Time? He stood frozen, speechless.

“Venus” moved into his personal space. A whiff of her delicate perfume turned Bryan’s butterflies into bumble bees. She curled her lips and looked up into his eyes. “What do you want,” she slowly blinked her hazel eyes, “. , , Bryan?”

This was his now-or-never moment to make his move. “Rhonda, your face could stop a clock!”

She heard his expletives to himself under his breath.

He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth and waited for the fatal blow.

Apparently, Bryan wasn’t as prepared for his “Rhonda encounter” as he thought. His confidence rested in his abilities, but his efforts failed miserably.

As a Christ-follower, I’ve faced trials that challenged my faith. Often, these issues take me unaware. Other times, I get a warning. In all areas of life, job, finances, family situations—whatever—these unwelcomed events disrupt my life, my plans. My tendency is to ask the obvious: why?

My heavenly Father prefers I ask What? What are you showing me? What areas in my life am I keeping from your Lordship? What activities are displeasing to you?

Will I rely on God’s wisdom? Or be impulsive in my reaction: Ready! . . . Fire! . . . Aim!

Am I alone in this?

The Apostle Paul, bound with chains, confined in a dungeon for preaching the gospel, penned an encouraging letter to an up-and-coming young preacher. “Be prepared, Timothy,” he wrote. “Study the Scriptures. Bury these truths within your heart so you will stand firm in the Lord when the devil attacks, since his purpose is to destroy you any way he can.” Paul relied on the Holy Spirit. He knew nothing prepares us better for trials than hiding God’s timeless promises in our hearts.

With our fast-paced lifestyles, juggling work, family and extracurricular activities, making quiet time is a challenge. Those with children shout a big “AMEN” to that. But, here’s another truth: any time spent with God, meditating on his word, is better than no time spent with him. Be prepared for these Ronda encounters.

Lord, as we spend time with you, may we bury the wisdom from your Word in my hearts so our confidence rest in you alone.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. Bryan discovered how he blew it with Rhonda. Instead of downloading images of George Clooney, he mistakenly pulled up Jackie Gleason.

Jimmy Eskew © 2017

November 27, 2016

Be careful how you judge others, since the way you judge others is the same way others will judge you—Matthew 7:1 (King Jimmy Translation).

The Drunk Cowboy

As the patrons filed into the theater, they noticed the tall, lanky old cowboy laying across three seats, apparently, passed out in a drunken stupor. They called an usher.

A pimpled teenage usher rushed to the scene. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry, folks. Please get up, sir!” he said politely, but red-faced. “I’m sorry, but we don’t allow drunks in here.”

The youngster’s attempts to rouse the cowboy failed. “I’m getting the manager.”

The manager’s anger turned into rage when he saw the cowboy passed out across the seats. “Let’s move it, drunk!” he shouted. His curses did little to rectify the situation. His uncouthness only created uneasiness among the patrons.

His threats didn’t bother the cowboy. He lay there, grunting, his arms and legs spread out.

The manager pulled out his phone. “I’m calling the police.”

“We’ve got an old cowboy drunker-than-a-skunk.” The manager led the policeman down front. “He’s taking up a whole row.” A crowd now surrounded the cowboy. Some looked on with pity, others with contempt.

The officer got in the cowboy’s face. “Can’t hold yer liquor, eh? You been drinking all day?” he said. “What’s your name, cowboy?”

He muttered inaudibly.

The officer got closer. “Can’t hear you.”

“Sam,” the cowpoke barely whispered. “My name’s Sam.”

“Well, come on, Sam. You’re going to the drunk tank and sober up.” The officer pulled out his handcuffs. “Where’re you from, Sam?”

With painful effort, Sam raised his arm halfway, pointed his boney index finger upward. “From the balcony.”

Ole Sam wasn’t drunk—he just had a bad fall. Those around him were quick to pass a false judgment without knowing the details.

“He’s drunk!” they claimed.

“He a derelict,” another reasoned.

“Look, little Johnny,” a mother pointed toward Sam. “If you don’t eat your vegetables, you’ll end up like him.”

That was a mirror of me, Jimmy-the-perfect-judge-of-others, before God’s grace.

We see them every day—those who’ve had a “bad fall in life.”

Some, dressed in mismatched Goodwill clothes, wait on street corners holding cardboard signs “Please Help God Bless.” Others appear normal and functioning, but walk around nursing a wounded spirit.

She fled domestic violence empty-handed. Now, she has nothing.

Did the unskilled worker lose his job in the economic downturn and couldn’t find employment?

How did one little social drink lead to the bondage of alcoholism that destroyed his family, his career, and his hopes?

He went off to war, eager to battle evil and free the oppressed, only to return home a broken man, his life disillusioned with shattered dreams. The government he fought for cast him aside, leaving him with the horrors trapped in his mind that no one should see. He’s alone, tormented by the demons that followed him home. He seeks anything to quiet the storm in his soul.

Pathetic! I thought. What losers. When I compared my life to theirs, in my eyes, I looked pretty good. I didn’t know and didn’t care what caused their fall from the balcony. In my sanctimonious spirit, as a well-dressed, gainfully employed, educated [?] Aggie, I was sure I had not—nor would I—fall from the balcony.

God agreed 100 percent. I would not fall. Instead, in my rebellion, I chose to jump off the balcony. (What was I thinking?) But today, now greatly humbled and restored, I am who I am and have what I have only because of God’s grace and nothing else. Those whom God has rescued from the power of sin [read: ourselves] can testify that the same grace that rescued us redeems anyone who calls on Jesus. He turns no one away.

One warm spring day, while holding church on a hillside for a few thousand folks, Jesus taught how people should treat one another. In their religiosity, they quickly judged other’s actions and spirituality. Judgement was either a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down. Those who believed in God differently received the harshest criticism.

Jesus wasted no time in addressing this spiritual issue. Why do you pick apart the character of others, judging their actions or motives? Can you see into the depths of their hearts like I do? NO! You can’t. Have you seen everything they are going through? No, you haven’t. This judging-others has a way of backfiring on you. Surely you don’t want to be judged unfairly, do you? Just don’t think you are higher on the pecking order than your actually are. Prideful people will fall, and fall badly. Remain humble, don’t judge unfairly, and allow me to build you up.

Are there folks in your world with peculiar traits that make you want to scream? Do they dress funny, or still have 70s hairstyles and wear those pointed-tip eye-glasses? How about the guy with the mullet who says the strangest things that leaves you shaking your head like what planet is he on? Some are our neighbors. Others go to church with us. We give them the once-over and make a snap-judgment, Man! —are they strange?

Wanna please me? the Holy Spirit said. Don’t judge—pray for them. That’s my will for you.

Lord God, drive a judgmental attitude far from us. May we see others as you see them and pray that your grace changes their life, as your grace has changed us.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. Later, during an epiphany, I realized those people I thought socially backward and weird were thinking the same thing about me. Hummm.

Jimmy Eskew © 2016

When you became a Christ-follower, God placed an I.D. badge over your heart, identifying you as his own. He put his official seal on your badge and placed his Spirit to live within you forever. —Ephesians 1:13 (King Jimmy Translation)

“Wear Your I.D. Badge”

Our company issues I.D. badges that verify us as employees. The unflattering picture on my badge looks like it belongs in the Most Wanted bulletins in the post office. No matter, my mug shot identifies me by name and face as being a member of the work team.

My I.D. badge allows me to roam the campus freely. When I scan my badge, doors magically open. Scan my badge, office machines obey my commands. Best of all, if I’m in the right building at the right time, I can walk into the elite’s john as if I own the place. My badge allows me entry to places where outsiders are denied.

The management requires us to strictly follow one rule: always wear your I.D. badge while on duty. Because we employ several-hundred people, it’s impossible to know everyone in the company. If someone without an I.D. badge wanders around the campus, we’re instructed to tactfully ask if they need help, while silently determining if they are friend or foe. At times, employees must implement the gang-tackling approach on the badge-less stranger and ask questions later.

I wear another badge, too.

When I joined the family of Christ-followers, God issued me his I.D badge. He personally hung his I.D. badge upon my heart, then put his official seal on it, making it impossible to remove. Written in bold red letters, God’s badge states my identity: Jimmy—Child of the Most-High God.

Everyone in the family of God receives this identification. No exceptions.

Another thing I should mention. Satan sees God’s I.D. badge as a bullseye. Again—no exceptions.

Before experiencing God’s incredible grace, I lived the typical happy-go-lucky lifestyle of the foolish. My hardheadedness pushed me ahead any way possible, even if I stepped on someone in the process. The altar of pleasure found me as a regularly worshipper. My racing career brought me the vanity of celebrity, which constantly stroked my ego.

If anyone has his act together, it has to be Jimmy, people thought.

Despite all the attention and exposure, something was missing. I lived the ideal, fun-filled life, but I was only a pickle on Satan’s hamburger. I posed no threat to him. My lifestyle suited Satan, so he left me alone to my own demise. But at times, just for laughs, he’d nudge me to do something more stupid than my last dumb act.

Satan was beside himself when God extended his grace to me—and I accepted his offer. When Satan saw my new I.D. badge with the picture of Jesus and me arm-in-arm, he lost his composure. He shook his fist in my face and swore to get revenge. Satan despised my new lifestyle since he no longer owned me. Jesus purchased me at the cross when he paid the penalty for my sins. Satan declared open season on me.

At first, I felt like I wore antlers. Satan attacked with a full barrage in attempts to bring chaos and discouragement. He attacked relentlessly, but God’s relentless grace warded off the devil’s onslaught.

Not seeing the results he wanted, the devil’s tactics became more subtle. Instead of roaring like a lion, he whispered lies into my ear. As a new Christ-follower, some of his half-truths made sense. But they were still lies.

I bet the devil whispers some lies to you, too. Here are some of his favorite whoppers.

Who are you to talk about living right? With your past, who’ll listen to you? Zap! —he shoots a fiery dart at my I.D. target.

Why should God keep his word to you since you fail him time and again? He flings another false accusation.

Incoming! “You’re such a loser. You’ll never amount to anything.”

Zip! Zip! Another series of lies from the father of lies targeted my salvation. “This Jesus guy may have been a good teacher, but a deity? Come on, man, you’re smarter than that! Society has proven him otherwise.”

Satan shoots this lie at me a lot: Don’t stand up for God in the public square. With your speech impediment, you’ll make a fool of yourself.

Even though Satan aggressively targets God’s I.D. badge, the benefits of wearing the badge negates any attack.

My badge assures me that my eternity is secure.

My badge confirms God’s unconditional love for me.

My badge certifies that God supplies my needs.

My badge grants me access to God’s throne room.

My badge indicates God’s Holy Spirit lives within me and guides me in all things.

My badge reassures me that God will keep every promise he made.

When I swipe my badge to enter Heaven’s armory, God custom-fits his armor on me. He gives me his breastplate of righteousness, his helmet of salvation, and his holy marching boots, since I carry God’s message of grace and forgiveness wherever I go. Because God’s I.D. badge covers my heart, his strength enables me hold up the shield of faith to block Satan’ incoming missiles. My badge grants me the authority to use God’s word—the sword of the Spirit—to remind Satan that Jesus defeated him at Calvary. Christ-followers have no fear of death and the grave now.

Satan must get past my I.D badge first before he can get to me. That makes him mad.

That gives me peace.

Thank you, Lord, for issuing your I.D. badge that identifies us as your children, protecting us from the devil’s attacks. May our lives bring you glory.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. Recent changes to the I.D. badges left most employees uneasy.

I don’t know about you Jimmy, but I’m not comfortable with these new I.D. badges.

Jimmy Eskew © 2017

Constantly worship to the Lord, since he will call you into the game of life to spread his message of love and hope to those who are lost—1 Peter 3:15 (King Jimmy Translation).

The 12^th Man

“Hey, Jimmy, did you hear the joke about the Aggie who . . .”

It happens regularly. We Aggies may be the brunt of every joke imaginable, but we are a proud group at Texas A&M. Established as a land grant college in 1876, Aggies have strong bonds to one another and cherished traditions. Aggies have a saying: “If something happens once, it was an accident. If it happens twice, it becomes a tradition.”

Football season brings out the tradition of the midnight yell practice before a game. During football games, Aggies lock arms and legs to sway side-to-side in simulation of cutting off the horns on Bevo, the mascot longhorn for our arch-rival, the University of Texas. What Aggie isn’t moved when the trumpets sound the Aggie War Hymn and shouts of “Whoop!” echo around Kyle Field. These are thumbs-up “Gig ‘em Aggie!” moments.

One beloved tradition, the 12^th man, goes back to 1922, when the mighty fighting Aggies played Centre College. Injuries decimated the team. We were down to eleven men. Another injury, and the Aggies would be undermanned.

Coach Dana Bible (great name!) recruited a student from the press box, slapped a uniform on him and had him stand on the sideline. If needed, he would rush into the battle. From that game to this day, Aggies stand during football games, ready to rush in to ensure victory. The official 12^th man carries the flag leading the football team onto the field.

Even though our traditions may seem strange to others, we are a cultured bunch of rednecks.

Case in point. Recently, your redneck Aggie scribe and Mrs. Cultured Aggie graced the Regal Opera Company with our refined presence to witness The Audition, an opera-takeoff on the myriad of reality shows that currently flood the networks. The story line details the efforts of three singers auditioning for spots on a new TV reality show, the American Opera Idol.

Mrs. Cultured Aggie, dressed to the hilt, looked stunning as I escorted her into the hall. On the other hand, I dodged the “formal-wear bullet” since a tuxedo wasn’t required. I proved to my fellow opera-goers the adage “you can be a redneck scribe in sweat pants and flip-flops and be cultured, too.”

A close, non-Aggie lady friend starred in opera and told me beforehand to pay close attention since I would find great enjoyment in one scene. 

I must admit: opera singers are in a class all their own. Their amazing talent and voice control, combined with acting skills, proved to me opera singers are not sissies. I tipped my Aggie cap to them. The opera flowed smoothly and every scene made me appreciate their talents more. But one passage gripped my emotions and brought tears.

Our dear friend and her two companions sung the classic Three Little Maids from School from the famous opera Mikado. Although written 125 years ago, this song stirred my heart. As the three divas belted out the melody, they suddenly stopped in mid-song, raised their right hand, thumbs extended and yelled, “Gig ‘em Aggies!” and then continued with the song.

Oh! That got my attention. My popcorn scattered over the opera-goers when I leaped to my feet and yelled in agreement, “Gig ‘em Aggies!” The exaltation felt identical as when A&M beat Alabama.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Cultured Aggie didn’t share my enthusiasm. Red-faced, she apologized to her neighbors, and using terminology not associated with Sunday school, insisted I sit down and behave. Most of the audience were obviously Longhorn fans since they refused to lock arms to sway side-to-side. (Bunch of stiff-shirts) In the spirit of the 12^th Man, I stuffed my seat cushion under my shirt to clone the opera singers, just in case one bit her tongue and I needed to rush onstage to sing La Donna e Mobile. Mrs. Aggie refused but I stood for the remainder of the performance.

Somewhere in the middle of a diva’s high frequency, crystal-shattering note, I heard that still, small voice say to me, Are you the 12^th man when it comes to my game plan?

The question caught me off guard. Whadda you mean, Lord?

Are you standing eagerly on my sideline, ready to rush into the battle against the forces of evil when I call you? Or are you sitting comfortably, watching others do battle with the devil?

Okay, I’m listening.

He explained more. How can you remain on the sidelines when I’ve called you into the game? You remember when I called you and extended my grace to you. Forgave all your wrongdoings? Does that ring a bell?

Oh, yeah. Unpleasant memories returned. Those were dark days, weren’t they?

Now you’re wearing the armor I put on you, he reminded me. You know, wearing my righteousness now, and holding my shield of faith. Look here—I even gave you the authority to use my Word—the Scriptures—to fight the devil, but sometimes you leave my ‘sword’ on the coffee table, gathering dust.

I admit he had a point.

Just be ready and obedient to rush into the game when I call you, the Lord said. Others out there are lost and confused as you were and I’ve trusted you with my message of hope. You’ve got to tell them how much I love them and how their life has purpose and meaning when they trust me. Got that?

Yes, Lord, I said. I’m ready to run into the battle when you call my number.

Lord God, may all Christ-followers be the 12^th man, eager and ready to join in the battle for lost souls for your kingdom.

Stay close to Jesus.

Jimmy

P.S. I took a cab home.

Jimmy Eskew © 2016