Yesterday I wrapped up a summer sermon series on the Ten Commandments. I've spent a lot of time thinking about the commandments and what they look like in our lives over the past couple months, and one of the many things I've realized is that, in a way, the Second through Tenth Commandments help us keep the First Commandment (You shall have no other gods). Let me explain my reasoning.
The Second Commandment (You shall not make for yourself an image) focuses on how we worship God. If we worship God our way instead of His way, it's quickly becomes easy for us to worship not the true God but a "God" of our own design.
The Third Commandment (You shall not misuse the name of the LORD) instructs us to give God the glory He is due. If we talk about God in a disrespectful or flippant way, it can become more difficult for us to really trust that He is real and in control. Then we're more likely to turn somewhere else for our security.
The Fourth Commandment (Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy) is a safeguard to keep us from turning our own work and efforts into our god. This commandment reminds us that ultimately it's God who provides for us and makes us secure.
The Fifth Commandment (Honor your father and your mother) teaches us to respect the authorities God has set over us as a way of respecting God's ultimate authority. It also reminds those of us who have authority that our authority comes from God; we are not free to do whatever we want.
The Sixth Commandment (You shall not murder) reminds us that only God has the power of life and death. We may not think we are gods and have the power to destroy others, nor may we let our anger, hatred, or desire for revenge control our lives.
The Seventh Commandment (You shall not commit adultery) keeps us from making pleasure and sexual desire the most important thing in our lives. Sex is a gift from God and must be enjoyed according to God's rules.
The Eighth Commandment (You shall not steal) teaches us not to make gods out of our possessions and material things. God tells us that we find contentment in Him, not all the stuff we have.
The Ninth Commandment (You shall not give false testimony) is a safeguard against the temptation to put our reputation first in our lives and say whatever we want to make ourselves look good and others look bad. God reminds us that we are accountable to Him and so must speak the truth.
The Tenth Commandment (You shall not covet anything that belongs to your neighbor) instructs us to keep our priorities straight. We may not desire anything more than God. Having proper desires is a safeguard against allowing other things to become the most important things in our lives. We live by God's rules, not another set of rules.
Now there's a lot more to the Ten Commandments than what I've laid out here, but I think this is valuable because it's often easy for us to think about the commandments as ten distinct things. Each commandment is unique, but they're really not separate. They work together to teach us to love God with all our hearts, souls, minds, and strength. And when we do that, we show it in part by loving our neighbors as ourselves. Living our way ultimatley leads to misery, so God teaches us the way to joy and peace and true life.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, August 27, 2018
Monday, August 20, 2018
#96 11 Years and 132,274 Miles
Janie, my beloved 1999 Honda Civic, is no longer mine. After more than eleven years together, I traded Janie in on Saturday. She put on 132,274 more miles after I got her in high school, but she was really starting to show some signs of age lately. So while the weather is still nice and before we had to put more money into Janie, whether for repairs or new tires, Tess and I decided to get another vehicle. (I know I've said in the past that I wouldn't look for another vehicle unless baby #2 was on the way. However, THAT IS NOT THE CASE. TESS AND I ARE NOT EXPECTING ANOTHER BABY. We just wanted to make sure Janie didn't die on our hands.)
So Janie is gone. But the Honda Odyssey (whatever her name will end up being) is here. We'll just have to get started on a whole new set of memories.
I'm going to miss Janie. Eleven years is a long time. I finished high school, went through college and seminary, and got two years into my first "real" job with that car. I knew all her little quirks and perks. Deep in my bones I knew what parking spaces I could fit into and how much time I needed to get up to speed when turning onto a new road. I developed a keen sense of how much luggage I could fit in the trunk, and I'd recently become an expert at feeding the seatbelt through a carseat. Tess, Lanie, my parents, my sister, and several different groups of friends rode in that Civic. So many of my most favorite memories involve my first car. Janie's a car, an object, and yet she was something more to me. Janie was practically my friend.
Saturday was bittersweet, but saying good-bye wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. Part of that is probably that I actually do realize that Janie is a vehicle and doesn't have feelings. But part of that is also that, as my grandma Susan said to me a couple weeks ago, that car didn't owe me anything. She lasted longer for me than she maybe had a right to. We had a lot of great times, but it was time to move on. Janie's earned a rest. So I took a few pictures to commemorate our final moments together:
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| One last odometer reading |
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| One more time behind the wheel |
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| The last picture of Janie and me |
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, August 13, 2018
#95 Again to Carthage
At some point in my college running career I read my friend Ryan's copy of Once a Runner. This novel, written by John L. Parker, Jr., follows a collegiate miler named Quenton Cassidy, who develops into an Olympic-level talent. I have no idea what it's like to be that good of a runner, but the beginning of the book talked about the day in and day out routine of training, the highs and lows of working to get better bit by bit. I understood that, and I resonated with the descriptions of being part of a team, sharing the hard work and the commitment and all the crazy, goofy nonsense that comes from spending probably too much time together.
Over the past couple weeks I read Again to Carthage, the sequel to Once a Runner. This book follows Quenton Cassidy's attempt to qualify for the Olympics in the marathon years after his college days. I've spent this summer doing a little training to get in shape to run a respectable 10k, so I could relate a bit to the struggle of getting back to running hard as well as the familiarity and joy of settling into a routine and improving once more. But what really struck me about Again to Carthage were the scenes were Cassidy reminisced about the good old days of running with his teammates. As Parker writes, even when you're in good shape, it takes a while to run 6-10 miles, as my teammates and I did most days in college. You get to know each other really well over all those miles, and then you add in all the trips to meets and all the other times we hung out because we'd become such good friends through all that running. We became brothers.
There are times I wish I could run the kind of times I ran in college. Races didn't always go well, but when they did, they were electrifying. Sometimes I miss the training, too. I hated it at times, but there's something deeply satisfying about getting better and better and better. But what I really miss about my college running days is my teammates. I run alone now. For the most part I like it. I get some good thinking done on my runs. But being part of a team was so much better. We had a pack of guys throughout the week, and even on the weekend I could grab at least one of my teammates to keep me company. We'd talk about anything and everything because we had the time. We shared dreams and worries and so many experiences. I miss that. A lot. But at least the memories are there. I had seven seasons where I got to make best friends while doing something I loved. I won't forget that.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Over the past couple weeks I read Again to Carthage, the sequel to Once a Runner. This book follows Quenton Cassidy's attempt to qualify for the Olympics in the marathon years after his college days. I've spent this summer doing a little training to get in shape to run a respectable 10k, so I could relate a bit to the struggle of getting back to running hard as well as the familiarity and joy of settling into a routine and improving once more. But what really struck me about Again to Carthage were the scenes were Cassidy reminisced about the good old days of running with his teammates. As Parker writes, even when you're in good shape, it takes a while to run 6-10 miles, as my teammates and I did most days in college. You get to know each other really well over all those miles, and then you add in all the trips to meets and all the other times we hung out because we'd become such good friends through all that running. We became brothers.
There are times I wish I could run the kind of times I ran in college. Races didn't always go well, but when they did, they were electrifying. Sometimes I miss the training, too. I hated it at times, but there's something deeply satisfying about getting better and better and better. But what I really miss about my college running days is my teammates. I run alone now. For the most part I like it. I get some good thinking done on my runs. But being part of a team was so much better. We had a pack of guys throughout the week, and even on the weekend I could grab at least one of my teammates to keep me company. We'd talk about anything and everything because we had the time. We shared dreams and worries and so many experiences. I miss that. A lot. But at least the memories are there. I had seven seasons where I got to make best friends while doing something I loved. I won't forget that.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, August 6, 2018
#94 Sometimes You Get What You Deserve
[Author's note: July was a rough month for the blog. Only 2 posts! Yikes! I'll try to be more consistent in August.]
When I was a little kid, I had nearly boundless energy. My parents and grandparents love to tell stories about how I would incessantly bounce up and down, even while doing activites that are normally pretty stationary, such as playing video games. In school I would rock back and forth in my desk, seemingly unable to sit still for even a moment. You could almost tire yourself out simply by watching me.
Now, a couple decades later, I have a child of my own. And Lanie, like many toddlers, just wants to go, go, go. This past weekend we attended my cousin Kaytlin's wedding. In between the ceremony and the reception, the guests chatted in small groups. Lanie quickly decided that wasn't fun for her. So she started running laps around a nearby group. Then she weaved in and out among the circles, happily yelling as she went. Then it was time for more circles. On and on it went. And all the while, Lanie kept looking back to make sure that I was following her because if she was going to run, I needed to come along. Round and round and in and out we went. Needless to say, I didn't get very many conversations in. But as I contentedly followed my nearly tireless daughter, I did manage to comment to my grandma and a few others who had watched me run around and around and around (and probably chased me themselves) years ago, "I guess I'm getting what I deserve."
Grace and peace,
BMH
When I was a little kid, I had nearly boundless energy. My parents and grandparents love to tell stories about how I would incessantly bounce up and down, even while doing activites that are normally pretty stationary, such as playing video games. In school I would rock back and forth in my desk, seemingly unable to sit still for even a moment. You could almost tire yourself out simply by watching me.
Now, a couple decades later, I have a child of my own. And Lanie, like many toddlers, just wants to go, go, go. This past weekend we attended my cousin Kaytlin's wedding. In between the ceremony and the reception, the guests chatted in small groups. Lanie quickly decided that wasn't fun for her. So she started running laps around a nearby group. Then she weaved in and out among the circles, happily yelling as she went. Then it was time for more circles. On and on it went. And all the while, Lanie kept looking back to make sure that I was following her because if she was going to run, I needed to come along. Round and round and in and out we went. Needless to say, I didn't get very many conversations in. But as I contentedly followed my nearly tireless daughter, I did manage to comment to my grandma and a few others who had watched me run around and around and around (and probably chased me themselves) years ago, "I guess I'm getting what I deserve."
Grace and peace,
BMH
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