The God of Second Chances

Image by Irina from Pixabay

It’s an awesome feeling to realize that you’ve got a second chance, isn’t it?

A friend of mine discovered this after moving into a house with a large garden in the summer. A beginner gardener, she was delighted to finally have enough space for an extensive vegetable garden. She immediately planted some tomato and cucumber seedlings, which are now growing vigorously.

Because she’d moved in mid-summer, however, she lamented that she’d missed the chance to start growing vegetables like beets, spinach, peas, and carrots from seed in spring. She knew that cool-weather-loving veggies like peas wouldn’t thrive in the summer heat. She figured that if you didn’t plant those seeds in the spring, you’d missed your chance for the whole year.

But the garden, like God, often gives us second chances.

I told my friend that she could actually plant those seeds in summer for a fall harvest. There was still time to grow a second crop before the frosts of November hit. She hadn’t missed out after all: she could still grow the cool-weather veggies she’d hoped for.

What a wonderful metaphor for how God deals with us!

So often, we think we’ve missed out on what we’d wanted to accomplish or what God had planned for us. We figure that either the passage of time or our own mistakes have disqualified us from achieving our dreams. We lament that it’s too late for us.

But with God, it’s never too late. Our Heavenly Father never gives up on us, and never writes us off.

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Break Your Four-Minute Mile

Marathoner Eliud Kipchoge
Photo by Denis Barthel on Wikimedia Commons CC BY-SA 4.0 International

A few years ago in Vienna, Kenyan Olympic champion Eluid Kipchoge made history.

He became the first person to run a marathon in under two hours, a feat that had long seemed impossible.

After running the 26.2 mile course in one hour, 59 minutes and 40 seconds, Kipchoge drew comparisons to Sir Roger Bannister. Bannister was the Briton who in 1954 became the first person to run one mile in under four minutes, an achievement also once thought to be unattainable.

Kipchoge said something very significant after his race: “I expect more people all over the world to run under two hours after today.”

Why did he say that?

Because Kipchoge knew that a funny thing had happened after Bannister’s victory: other people began breaking the four-minute mile as well.

They suddenly saw that it was possible, and were inspired to believe that if Bannister could do it, so could they. The barrier he broke for people was just as much a mental one as a physical one.

Do you have a “four-minute mile” in your life? Are there things you would like to achieve, but you feel they’re impossible?

Take courage, because God specializes in breaking barriers!

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Eternity In Our Hearts

Image by Szabolcs Molnar from Pixabay

They say elephants never forget; I think the same may be true of cats.

A friend of mine recently downsized by moving into the lower level of her own home and renting out the upstairs.

She’s perfectly happy with the arrangement. One of her cats, however, is not.

This cat remembers that he once had the run of the entire house. He still recalls that there was a wonderful place called Upstairs.

Despite having lots of room to roam downstairs, including access to a big backyard, this cat keeps trying to break into the upper level of the house. I’m told he meows plaintively at the connecting door between the two units, and tries to pry it open with his paw.

This cat knows that there’s something missing in his life. Even though Downstairs is perfectly nice, he still feels the ache to be Upstairs once again.

I think many of us know the feeling.

We have an innate sense that this world is not as it should be.

It’s broken in some way: there’s something missing.

Humans seem to have a mysterious longing for a world set right. We ache for it, even though we haven’t experienced it.

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The Slippery Slope

Image by Hermann Kollinger from Pixabay

As in many northern climes, a favourite pastime of Canadian children in winter is tobogganing.

I did my share of barrelling down snowy slopes on a sled when I was a kid.

Even though we lived in a big city, we had nature nearby. A ravine adjoined our neighbourhood, featuring steep hills bordering a river valley.

These hills were perfect for tobogganing.

The trick was to follow the paths through the snow that others had already made. Trying to forge a path through newly fallen snow yourself was hard going, but if you positioned your sled on ready-made routes, you could really pick up some speed.

The highest hill in the ravine was nicknamed “The Killer” by the kids. When the snow was tamped down by dozens of tobogganing runs it became icy, and you’d find yourself going faster than you expected.

You could build up so much momentum sliding down this hill that you could end up plunging into the freezing cold river.

It was a slippery slope, quite literally.

And dangerous.

Sometimes in life we find ourselves on slippery slopes, don’t we?

If we’re not careful, we might blindly follow the path of others into sin. It might seem fun at first, and we might not notice that we’re accelerating.

Eventually, though, we may lose control and not be able to stop in time. We can unexpectedly end up in dangerous places.

Make no mistake, sin is a killer.

It kills relationships, reputations, trust, and future options.

Most importantly, it kills our connection with God.

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Thirteen By Any Other Name…Is Still Thirteen

I recently realized that I wasn’t living in the house that I thought I was.

Last summer I moved into a house bearing the number 15. I love everything about it: the house itself, the neighbours, and the area’s community spirit.

It wasn’t until some months later that I realized that I didn’t actually live at #15: I live at #13. The house next door is #11, and opposite my house is #12. Counting from the bottom of the street, mine is the thirteenth house.

So why didn’t the city call it #13 when it was assigning street numbers to the houses?

In many countries, the number 13 has unlucky connotations. Why? One reason is that there were thirteen present at the Last Supper, including Judas, who would betray Jesus.

Some people are superstitious about this number, and try to avoid its “bad luck” by keeping away from anything labelled 13. There’s even a word for the fear of the number thirteen: triskaidekaphobia.

The result is that many companies and cities fudge their numbering to avoid 13. This is why many hotels and tall buildings seem to lack a thirteenth floor: the elevator buttons skip from floor 12 to 14.

The thirteenth floor continues to exist, as does the thirteenth house on a street: we haven’t erased them. But we just call them by other names. We simply pretend that they’re actually the fourteenth floor or the fifteenth house. Everyone goes along with this fiction because it means we don’t have to face reality. We’re deluding ourselves, of course, but it seems we prefer to live in denial.

We do the same with sin, don’t we?

We call it by other names so we don’t have to face up to the reality of what it really is.

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The Dreams of the Blind

What do blind people dream about?

Do they dream in pictures, or in sensations and sounds?

Researchers tell us that it depends on when they lost their sight.

The brains of those who went blind after ages five to eight will have received a lot of visual inputs during the years when they could still see. These individuals are able to form visual dreams using the images stored in their memory banks for a good while after they’ve lost their sight.

People who are blind from birth are different, researchers say. The brains of these individuals have no visual images to work with, so they don’t dream in pictures like the rest of us. Instead, their dreams are based on input from the other senses: sound, taste, smell, or touch.

The upshot is that the blind can only dream using the inputs they’ve received.

Isn’t this true for all of us, in a way?

We can only dream about achieving or receiving things based on the examples that have been “inputted” into our minds. If we have never seen a real-life example that something is possible, we’ll probably never dream about it for ourselves.

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Divine Forgetfulness

Image by Tumisu from Pixabay

Does God have a bit of a memory problem?

It would appear so, according to the Bible.

Several Scriptures tell us that when God forgives our sins, he also forgets them.

Isaiah 43:25 tells us that God blots out our transgressions and remembers our sin no more.

Hebrews 8:12 echoes this: “And I will forgive their wickedness, and I will never again remember their sins.”

But if God’s memory of the sinful things we did is wiped clean, why isn’t ours?

Why didn’t He arrange it so that we can’t remember our shameful deeds, either?

I’m sure many of us would love to have amnesia about our moral failures, but God knows that this isn’t best for us.

I think there are several reasons for this:

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Need A Clean Slate?

Image of birch bark by Lisa Johnson from Pixabay

If you feel like you could use a clean slate, you’re not the only one.

Birch trees feel the need to start afresh with a new page occasionally, too.

Except they do it literally, by allowing their outer bark to peel off to reveal a fresh layer underneath.

Why do birches do this?

After all, most trees don’t shed their bark. As trees grow from the inside out, their rigid outer bark, which can’t stretch, splits and cracks instead. This gives tree bark the rough texture and fissure-like patterns that we’re all familiar with.

The drawback of these crevices and grooves is that pests and parasites like to burrow into them, which can affect the health of the tree.

Birches have solved this problem by growing smooth bark. This type of bark doesn’t split, which means it’s more impervious to insects, bacteria and fungi. As the birch grows, it exfoliates some of its outer bark, like a snake shedding its skin.

Along with the shed bark the tree is able to cast off insects, moss and lichen at the same time. Birch trees are continually refreshing themselves.

Smart, isn’t it?

Could you use a fresh start, too? Would you like to get rid of some things that are dragging you down?

Jesus gives us an opportunity to do just that.

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God Will Never Give Up On You

Image of antique shop by Rudy and Peter Skitterians from Pixabay

One of the things I love about antiques is that they usually have a story to tell.

The type of wood and the style used to make a piece of furniture can tell you where and when it was made. Marks on the bottom of pottery give you a clue to its origins, and perhaps even the name of the artist who fashioned it. The condition of a piece tells you what sort of life it’s had.

But occasionally antiques tell us something a bit deeper than that.

For instance, I recently bought an antique oak side chair dating from the mid-1800s. It’s nothing impressive, simply the type of armless chair you might have at your dining room table.

The tale it tells is rather moving, however.

I can tell from the dozens of drilled holes around the perimeter of the seat frame that it once had a cane or rush seat. The material must have broken decades ago, because a plywood seat was later installed. Even this seat has been upholstered twice since.

One of the chair’s bottom rails broke at some point and is being held together with a tiny makeshift splint. Several of the back splats fractured as well, and were replaced with ones made from a different type of wood. There’s also evidence of repairs to wobbly joints over the decades.

What does all this tell me?

That someone never gave up on this little chair.

With all its woes and breakages, they could have simply thrown it out. But they loved it so much that they thought it was worth repairing, and they did so, over and over again.

Do you know that God feels the same way about you?

He’ll never give up on you!

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Not In Kansas Anymore

Characters from the film “The Wizard of Oz.” Photo by Richard Hitt.

Have you ever brought preconceived notions to a new situation, but then realized they simply don’t apply anymore?

I did something of the sort when visiting Southern California as a teen.

Growing up in Central Canada, I was used to street numbers being put on the actual houses themselves, at eye-level. But when I stayed in San Diego for a time, I noticed that the street numbers were instead spray-painted on the vertical parts of the curb at the foot of people’s driveways, just a few inches above the pavement.

That made no sense, I thought to myself. In winter, those numbers on the curb will be covered under several feet of snow, and no one will be able to read them. How silly!

I soon realized that my line of thinking was faulty: it doesn’t snow in San Diego. The numbers on the curb will always be readable. What was true for Toronto had no bearing on what was true for San Diego.

I needed to realize that I was “not in Kansas anymore,” as Dorothy said in the film, “The Wizard of Oz.”

I think we sometimes make the same mistake when we think about the Kingdom of God.

We superimpose our past experiences and assumptions on it, but we don’t realize that with the Kingdom of God we’re in a whole new world. The old rules don’t apply anymore.

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