March 2009 –  Terrie is on a short trip with some close girl-friends.  I am packing to get ready to leave for Alaska – meetings at Alaska Christian College.  The phone rings – yes, we still had a land line.  I check the caller id (this was a little different than today’s call information.) There was no address book to connect the number to and you weren’t warned if it was a spam call. You simply saw the number the call was coming from. I didn’t recognize the number so I ignored it and went on with my packing.  About 5 minutes later the phone rings again, same number.  I decide to answer it.  Trying to be the polite man my mother raised, I answer the phone, “this is Doug, may I help you?”  For a couple of seconds nothing, then I hear, “this is an emergency call from the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department.  Your area is being evacuated due to a wildfire burning nearby.”  Wait, what?  Evacuation?  Wildfire?  Now what do I do?  We didn’t have a plan.  Honestly we had never thought about it.  I had already packed a suitcase for the Alaska trip so clothes weren’t a problem although what you pack for Alaska in March is different from what you might want to wear in Colorado in the early spring.  My next thought was, grab the computer.  I still had an old desk top model which had a few wires to disconnect.  Nothing like just grabbing a laptop or iPad and throwing it in a bag.  There was the CPU, (for you youngins a CPU contained the mechanical hard drive and guts of the computer) an independent monitor that was about the size and weight of a microwave oven, and disks – for Pete’s sake don’t forget the backup disks!  I then thought about photos.  We had boxes and boxes of photos and video tape, spread throughout different rooms.  Today they are all digitized on your laptop, not 15 years ago. The pile started growing and I was stuffing it all into the back of Terrie’s SUV.  My next thought was her jewelry.  Oh man, where is all of it and what all should I take?  Feeling like a common TV burglar I grabbed a pillow case and started cleaning out her drawers and jewelry box.  My mind was racing.  What else?  What else?  Get the dog – oops we don’t have a dog.  Collectibles?  Terrie throws out anything that doesn’t move for two weeks so we don’t collect anything. Any of Terrie’s clothes?  Well, she replaces everything every few months anyway so why bother?  She will probably be happy if she gets to buy a completely new wardrobe.  By this time the back of the SUV was pretty well stuffed anyway so it was time to get out of there.  So now the question was, “where am I going to take the car?”  I couldn’t risk leaving it at the airport, loaded with all our belongings.  Fortunately, our sons were living in a condominium building in downtown Denver that had secure underground parking.  One of them had an extra parking spot and old Dad had a fob to get into the garage.  All I had to do was figure out how I was going to get to the airport from downtown.  Uber had not been invented yet but there was Yellow Cab so that was the plan.  Terrie was lucky.  She and her friends were somewhere in the Arizona desert having a good time, oblivious to what was going on a thousand miles away in Colorado while I was living out a nightmare.  The nightmare wasn’t just about the approaching fire.  The nightmare was that despite knowing we live in an area that could be impacted by a forest fire we had failed to prepare.  I boarded that flight to Anchorage not knowing if we would come home to a pile of ashes or what the situation would be.  Thankfully, when I got home four days later the house was still standing – the fire never even got close to us.  The good Lord had protected us and our neighbors despite my failure to prepare.

Fast forward 15 years.  It’s 1:00 AM on a Wednesday.  We were fast asleep and the doorbell rings – our doorbell is really loud so it woke me up immediately.  More annoyed than anything else I pulled up the front door camera on my phone (didn’t have that in 2009) and didn’t see anyone on the front porch so I quickly went back to sleep.  Sometime later, I’m not sure how long it was, the doorbell rings again.  At this point I am convinced it is kids pranking us and I am mad they have woke me up again (don’t confuse it with today’s connotation of “woke.). I peek out the bedroom door into the foyer and see a flash light shining through the sidelight next to the door.  My first thought is, “someone is going to rob us.”  They have been ringing the doorbell to make sure no one is home.  I keep a 9mm pistol nearby and was tempted to grab it when common sense got the best of me and I decided to go to the door. Rounding the corner into the foyer I could see the Deputy’s badge through the window.  I was groggy from sleep and not very coherent when I opened the door.  The first thing I noticed was the acrid smell of wood smoke.  Then I heard the Deputy say, “Jefferson County Sheriff.  Your area is being evacuated.   We want you out in 15 minutes! 15 minutes? I might not have reacted so quickly had I not smelled that smoke. That was a real wakeup call – the fire must be close.

We were experiencing an unusually dry summer which followed a pretty damp spring. The fire danger had been relatively low until the previous couple of weeks when the heat and dry conditions dramatically elevated the risk of fire. We have quite a bit of meadow surrounding our home and the hot dry conditions had turned the mowed portion of the tall grass into a crispy, golden carpet. The landscaped portion of the yard, closest to the house, was approaching the same appearance as the meadow. It had been hot enough that no amount of watering was going to keep the turf grass green. Still, I never really gave it much thought. Besides, forest fires are something that happen further up in the mountains, not in our comfy suburban area.

I quickly woke up Terrie, told her to get out of bed and put on some clothes – we were being evacuated. We looked at each other with some fear and some confusion and she said “what are we going to do?” I told her to grab her phone and iPad, her car keys and to get the heck out of there. With the smell of that smoke still fresh there was no way I was going to let her try to start putting together some things to take with her. I wanted her out of there and safe. I ran into my study, grabbed my laptop and computer bag and was on the way to the garage without thinking about much else. When I opened the garage door I could see the flames on the ridge above us. This was no drill, this was the real thing. I paused just long enough to see a tree “crown” – the fire jumping from an adjacent tree and exploding through the top of the next victim. Terrie was in her car, following me out of the driveway. There were several Sheriff’s Department vehicles positioned throughout the neighborhood as they continued their door-to-door evacuation efforts. On the way out I stopped near one of them and asked if there was an evacuation center set up – he told me where to go and we were on our way down the hill and out of the canyon.

We arrived at the evacuation center around 2:00 AM and were one of the first to check in. I was amazed at how quickly the center had been activated and was ready to help the residents of the nearly 600 homes that could be impacted by the fire. Obviously, the first responders were much better prepared than we were. All we had was the clothes we had put on, our electronic devices and our cars. No tooth brush, none of our medications, no change of clothes, no place to stay, no, no, no, no plan! It was a very uncomfortable, empty feeling. Terrie had a peace about her that told me she was totally relying on God to lead us through this little challenge to our normally quiet, safe life.

After a little discussion on what to do next we decided to find a hotel room for the rest of the night. Sleep might help clear the cobwebs of confusion resulting from the chaos of the last couple of hours so around 3:00 AM we found a room and tried to settle down and get some rest. From the parking lot of the hotel we had a clear view of the fire and although we were several miles away we could see tree after tree explode like enormous sparklers on the 4th of July. The fire that had been discovered by a Sheriffs Deputy on a normal patrol through the canyon had spread from 10 feet by 10 feet to close to 100 acres and “The Quarry Fire” was growing by the minute. There was no way to sleep – only tossing and turning as thoughts of returning to a charred neighborhood kept bubbling up despite my constant prayers to God for protection.

Not being able to sleep we were up and out of bed early, hungry, needing a tooth brush, a cup of coffee and some news about the fire. The events of the previous few hours seemed surreal, other worldly. We kept reminding each other we were safe and prayed for the safety of our neighbors, the fire fighters and our families.

I’m not going to go through all the details of the ensuing few days – we have all heard the experiences of other fire victims, survivors of tornadoes, people who have experienced all sorts of disasters. So many of those events end in tragedy and enormous loss. We were blessed – the little wind that was present around the fire had turned northwest, blowing the fire further up into the uninhabited part of the canyon and away from the majority of homes. We were evacuated for 5 days while the amazing fire fighters slowly gained control of the fire. When we were allowed to return home we were expecting to have some smoke damage, maybe some ash, who knew what else. There was none of that. There were signs throughout the neighborhood honoring the firefighters and the Sheriff’s Department. Spray painted on sheets of plywood they said things like, “We are here because you were here,” “Thank you Firefighters.” We have all seen those things on TV before but to experience it first-hand brings a crushing reality to the devastation many others have experienced.

So what are the lessons from all of this? The obvious is I didn’t learn my lesson the first time we were evacuated. Being 15 years older and supposedly wiser, this old dog had not learned a new trick. Despite that first warning I was not prepared. I had been complacent and because of it I had failed at my God assigned duty to provide for my wife. Yes, looking back on it now, we experienced a little inconvenience, being forced out of the comfort and protection of our home for five days. Big deal! But the realization that I had failed Terrie hurt. Lesson number 2 – I pray we never forget the lesson we learned from this ordeal about friendship. The numbers of people who reached out to us when they learned about the fire was amazing. Close friends, acquaintances living near-by, people we have known only a short time, friends from our past that we haven’t heard from in years. Virtually all of them came with offers for housing, concern for our wellbeing and assistance of all sorts. It was humbling, comforting, overwhelming and emotional. There is truly no way to thank them and explain to them what their expressions of support and love meant to us. The final lesson? We are OK. Not just me and Terrie. When I say “we”, I mean all of us. When we experience challenges like what we just went through there is a clear intersection of faith and human nature. It is as if the Holy Spirit works overtime to activate our spirit of concern for our fellow humans. Gone are our differences and in their place is heartfelt kindness that can only be an extension of the love our God has for all of us.

So yes, in the end, this old dog has learned a new trick! It’s not really a new trick but a lesson learned. A lesson I pray will stay with me, shape decisions I make and impact my relationships and love for my friends and others for the rest of my life.

By now, if you have followed this blog at all, you know I share my life experiences in an attempt to help other people avoid some of the mistakes I made along the way. I don’t do this because I think I know more than anyone else. Nor do I use this space for personal gain or because I have a specific agenda. I will admit there was a little ego involved when I first started it but it did not take long for God to show me that no matter how smart I thought (operative word) I was and how important my words were going to be to others, I still have so much to learn and this blog is helping me realize that and seek out answers to questions I have always had.

This entry is an acknowledgment of both my need to continue listening and learning and how deception can result in life-long misconceptions. To give you the full picture of where this is going I need to take you back to when I was four or five years old – hey, I’m almost 70 and some of the memories from that time of my life are a little cloudy. Not the one I am going to share with you. The events of a Sunday morning, some 65 years ago, are still impacting my life today. I recall, very clearly, the morning we pulled up in front of Redeemer Lutheran Church in Albuquerque. Before we could get out of my Dad’s 1957 blue and white Plymouth Belvedere he told us to sit tight until he came back. “We” included me, my Mom and my sister. I had no idea why we weren’t going in for the service but looking back on it now I believe my Mom new exactly why. About 5 minutes after my Dad entered the church he returned to car, calmly got it in, put the key in the ignition and fired up his blue pride and joy with the enormous Plymouth fins. My sister started crying because she wanted to go see her friends in Sunday school. Still not knowing what was going on, I chose to stay silent as the car began to move toward the parking lot exit. It was dead quiet in the car – the only noise was the sound of the V-8 pushing the sedan down the road. A couple blocks out or the parking lot my Mom finally broke the silence when she asked my Dad what happened. All I heard him say was, “we have to find a new church.” It took me a while and some pretty concentrated eavesdropping but I finally had an idea what happened. My father was a Mason and when the Elders at Redeemer Lutheran Church found out, they asked him to not come back to “their” church. That’s right, we had been kicked out of their church. To a child my age this was very, very confusing. I was five years old so there wasn’t a lot about church that I really understood at the time. I knew we enjoyed Christmas and Easter because of church. I knew I enjoyed Sunday school because we got to color pictures and learn a few songs. I knew going to church was important to my Dad and Mom because that’s what we did virtually every Sunday, followed by lunch at one of our grandparents homes. It is important to note that my Dad was only 31 years old when all this happened. To his credit he was determined to make sure his family attended church (keep this in mind, it’s an important insight as this story unfolds) so after talking to friends, relatives and doing a lot of study we found a new church. The new church was also a Lutheran church but belonged to a different synod and wasn’t near as hard line as the one we were asked to leave.

As time went on, despite the Redeemer Lutheran experience, the Masonic order became a very large part of our family life. My Dad continued to participate in his “Blue” lodge and started moving through the process of passing the “32nd” degree and joining the “Scottish Rite.” His goal was to become a Shriner – the pinnacle of Masonry. My mother participated in “Daughters of the Nile”, my sister joined “Jobs Daughters” and I got involved in the Order of DeMolay. They were all “fraternal” organizations associated in one way or another with Free Masonry. I never really questioned if what we were doing was right. We continued to attend church, my sister and I went through Lutheran confirmation. There was never any talk about Jesus being anything but the son of God sent to redeem us from our sins. When I questioned my Dad about Masonry and the role God played in it all he would say is that belief in God is central to the teachings of Masonry. In fact, both the Masons and DeMolay had a strict rule that a meeting could not be opened unless the Bible was open on the altar of the meeting room. When I joined DeMolay the first thing I as given was a Holy Bible. I think I was somewhere around 14 years old and like most guys that age I didn’t spend a lot of time in The Bible so although I still have it, I probably never opened The DeMolay version more than once or twice. I had a couple of Bibles of different translations and since the DeMolay version is a King James translation I decided all those thees, tho’s and thine’s did not work for me. Today I opened that Bible and was shocked at what I found – or maybe more importantly, what I didn’t find. We will get to that a little later.

Let me see if I can pull all this together and explain why I was compelled to write this post today. The Pastor of our church, Jim Burgen, started a new series last week entitled, “Hidden in Plain Sight.” I wish I could share some of the scriptural references Jim used today but it would be much better if you would simply go to YouTube, do a search under Flatirons Church, find “Hidden in Plain Sight” week 2 and listen to the message. Here is the link for anyone who is YouTube challenged like me. (https://www.youtube.com/live/3RshiwROEvM?si=x_a9g0kjvWQymNjt) It will be well worth your time. For me the entire message was impactful but Jim told a couple of stories related to the subject, one of which shook my core. The story Jim related was about Free Masonry and their denial of the deity of Jesus. He shares some deep detail about their beliefs and some of their rituals including one particularly disturbing election day practice. Again – watch the video on YouTube (link above)- it’s a real wakeup call. The full on blast to me is the message about Jesus. For virtually my entire conscious life I believed the Masonic order was an organization that relied on a foundational belief in the trinity as it is defined in The Holy Bible. Like so many others, during the years my ideology was being formed I was not mature enough to ask the questions that needed to be asked. I am quite sure, like my father, I accepted what I was told and didn’t question it. Belonging to the Masons was ok because Masons were Christians, over and out. Back to the DeMolay Bible. I pulled it off the shelf today and opened it up. The text of the scriptures appears to be in tact but looking a little deeper I discovered something that bothers me. The first 16 pages deal with everything from the founding of DeMolay to the purposes of the fraternal organization and some of the ceremonies and rituals not designated as secret. There is a section that deals with “The Bible and DeMolay.” Another section talks about the need to be “religious.” Yet another section speaks about charity and ties it to scripture through quoting 1 Timothy 1:5. However, there is one glaring omission. Even with the scriptural references that are intertwined throughout the first 16 pages, there is not one single mention or acknowledgment of Jesus or the Holy Spirit. Coincidence? I highly doubt it after what I learned today.

So, what is the lesson in all of this? First, you must understand in my heart of hearts I know my father would never have intentionally deceived me about anything and especially about his faith in Jesus. What I do believe is he himself had been deceived and unfortunately never had anyone who came alongside him to encourage him to question the path he was going down. Masonry was a family thing. His father was a Mason so he became a Mason. It was something you didn’t question, it was something you did. He wasn’t spiritually mature enough to know he needed to turn away from the deception and to embrace the truth of the Gospel. My guess is he never realized, in his entire 82 years of life, how he had been deceived. I can assure you that when I was 31 years old there is no way I was mature enough to see through the myriad of ways I was being deceived and separated from Jesus. There is no question, there is a deceiver out there who wants to ruin your life, separate you from the love of Christ and make you believe your life is all about you and nothing else.

It is scary and very humbling to realize that I lived under a false assumption for 65 years. I could sit around and beat myself up about it but I know God does not hate me because of it. I firmly believe it was God himself who protected me from falling into the same trap. In 1978, not too long after Terrie and I married, my Dad approached me and said, “it’s time for you to join the Masons.” I didn’t question it, it was an expectation. I filled out the application and expected the journey through the Masonic degrees would begin soon. A few weeks went by and finally my Dad called me one day and explained that my application had been turned down due to my job. At the time I was working for The Gallo Winery and according to the rules of the lodge no one involved in the liquor business could join. Talk about a hypocritical contradiction – I had never been to an event with my Dad’s Masonic friends where liquor wasn’t part of the get together. The Shriner’s were especially known for their parties that included alcohol. Although my father waged a successful campaign to change the rule, I never again thought about becoming a Mason. Today, I am convinced God steered me away.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines deception as: the act of causing someone to accept as true or valid what is false or invalid : the act of deceiving. Use my example as motivation to look at everything you do and believe. Stop denying the existence of the great deceiver and embrace the truth and freedom of The Gospel.

It would be easy for me to have a pity party over my lack of discernment. 65 years living under a false assumption. 65 years of allowing myself to be deceived. Feeling defeated would be an understandable reaction. That would be the difficult and depressing way to handle this news. But I have a much better way. A way that encourages me. A way that is available to every single person. A way that will always defeat the efforts of the great deceiver. In John 8:31 Jesus said, “if you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth and the truth will set you free.” How much easier could it be?

Soon I will celebrate my 70th birthday. It would be easy to allow myself to be deceived into believing I have learned all I am ever going to learn. Obviously not!

1967, Albuquerque, New Mexico, I was 13 years old and beginning my first season playing little league baseball. I know, today parents start their kids in t-ball when they are just a few weeks old – just kidding – most of them are at least 3. Well, back in my day that didn’t happen. I played a lot of baseball growing up but it was all pickup games at Altura Park and on the all dirt diamond at our school. I never really had much coaching except from my Dad who played “Legion” ball behind the plate as a catcher. I decided to go to try-outs for the Thunderbird Little League organization and thought I could be a top notch pitcher, even though I had never thrown a pitch in a real baseball game. I tried to copy the wind up and delivery of Don Drysdale, an all star pitcher for the Los Angeles Dodgers. I had watched Don live when he played for the Albuquerque Dukes. Even though I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know the difference between throwing from a windup from the stretch and I certainly couldn’t read signals. Of course neither could our coach. None-the-less, I must have got the ball in the strike zone enough during the tryouts to entice the coach of the Thunderbird League White Socks to add me to his team.

The White Sox had some talent, we just didn’t have much coaching. I am convinced the only reason our coach volunteered was so his kid, who couldn’t throw a baseball 10 feet, could be on a team and play. Now I realize that is a pretty good reason to be a youth sports coach but that discussion should be left for another day. When the season began I was pretty nervous because several of my buddies played for other teams and besides the rivalries that created, there were girls to impress and end of season bragging rights to consider. I started out pitching and was doing a pretty good job until one day at practice I lost my control and hit two of my teammates with bad throws. Worst part was, they were brothers and one of them was my favorite catcher. Joe and Gavin Maloof were two really good guys, two friends and their grandfather, Joe G. Maloof owned the exclusive rights to the distribution of Coors Beer for the entire state of New Mexico. Joe and Gavin went on to build an impressive sports and entertainment empire including owning the Sacramento Kings of the NBA and the Palms Hotel in Las Vegas. I should have stayed in touch with those guys! Anyway, back to baseball. After hitting my friends with pitches I kind of lost my desire to pitch and found myself sitting the bench more than I was playing. In a lot of ways, the bench was pretty comfortable. A guy could sort of hide in the dugout, didn’t need to worry about making a game losing error or being embarrassed by a pitcher who could strike you out two or three times in a game. The White Sox had the worst record in the Thunderbird league and it just didn’t seem like risking one’s reputation was worth putting out any extra effort on a bad team. There were drawbacks to being a bench warmer. The primary one, when I wasn’t on the field I wasn’t getting noticed by Susie Lamb. Of course there were also the Edmunds twins, Anne and Betsy, in addition to the always beautiful Chris Darrow. I really needed to be out in front of them – how else would they know what a tremendous, good looking, studly athlete I truly was. I decided it was time to “get off the bench” and make a statement. We were half way through a game against the number one team, the Junior Dukes. Our third baseman was struggling and we were on our way to another loss when I jumped up off the bench, approached our coach and begged him to put me in at third base. I had never played third base but I knew I could do better than Eddie was doing. We finally got out of the inning after the opposing team scored several runs fueled by a couple errors by Eddie. Amazingly coach looked at me and said, “Ideker, you’re in. Go show me something.” The next inning the first batter up for the Dukes was a buddy of mine, Michael Grubbs. He was a big guy and had a reputation for hitting the ball hard. The very first pitch to him he drilled a line drive right at me. I might have closed my eyes but somehow I managed to snag that hard shot and a new third baseman was born. Over the rest of the season I gained a reputation for being a good defensive third baseman and became a decent producer at the plate all resulting in being selected for the Thunderbird league all-star team. The best part was, my all-star team selection earned me a prom date with Betsy Edmunds!

So what’s the lesson in this one. It’s pretty simple really. You can’t make a difference in your life, or the life of anyone else if you are comfortable riding the bench. Being a Christian can sometimes create confusion about the whole idea of being strong enough to get off the bench and stand up for what you believe in. Too many times we get the message that we are to be “meek like a lamb” or the need to be humble goes hand in hand with keeping our mouth shut and avoiding confrontation. So we sit idly by and watch as our faith, our morals, our sense of right and wrong, the confidence of our children, our voting decisions – it goes on and on – are negated by others who use our comfort on the bench to change the world in ways that are in direct conflict with our professed beliefs.

In Joshua 1:9 the Lord asks, “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” That is only one of several places in the Bible where we are encouraged to be strong, to be courageous, to take on the full armor of God, to rely on his strength, his provision, his protection. And yet, even with his encouragement and his promises to us we tend to sit the bench. We serve the God of the universe. The God who parted the sea. The God who made it rain for 40 days and 40 nights. The God we serve can cure disease and heal wounds through his touch. We have direct access to the God who can turn water into wine, who can feed masses with a few loaves of bread and a couple fish, the God who is the same today, tomorrow and for all eternity. The God who loves us so much he gave up his own son for us.

Thinking back to 1967 I now know how much my life changed that day. My decision to get up from the comfort of the bench and thrust myself into the game is something I still look back at and use as motivation when I find myself slinking back to the safety of the bench. Isn’t it time for all of us to stand up, pull the splinters out of our pants, cinch that belt buckle up a little more and and begin snatching those hard hit line drives out of the air? Certainly it’s not easy but we cannot afford to wait any longer. We need to stop whining about things like “wokeness”, the rise of liberalism and the seemingly endless attacks on our “maleness.” Let’s resume our roles as men, as leaders, as followers of Christ. What is happening to our world, our country, our schools, our neighborhoods and our families, is our own fault. We allowed ourselves to be distracted and have retreated to the lazy, risk free safety and comfort of the bench.

Let’s not stop at merely getting off the bench. Let’s burn our benches and make a commitment to never replace them!

I might have mentioned in one of my previous posts that I was an aspiring musician when I was growing up. I started learning the organ when I was in second grade. My Mom was insistent that both me and my sister learn to play a musical instrument. My sister’s choice was the slide guitar. When it was my time to decide what to learn to play I was convinced I wanted to play drums. Upon discovering I had as much natural rhythm as a sea slug I chose the electric organ. That choice had a lot to do with the fact that my Dad had won a “Thomas” organ in a drawing at the New Mexico state fair. It was just sitting there in our living room because no one in the family knew how to play it. My Mom was over the top thrilled when I decided I was the one to make that two keyboard, mahogany beauty sing. That was years before the organ found its niche with rock bands like Iron Butterfly on their iconic song “In A Gadda da Vida” and “Light My Fire” by The Doors.

When I turned 13 I became bored with organ lessons and would much rather spend my time playing football, shooting hoops or hanging out with my first steady girlfriend, Pam. I stopped practicing regularly and my teacher, Mrs. Wilson, became frustrated with my lack of interest and suggested my parents were wasting money on weekly lessons. Truth be known, Mrs. Wilson had a lot to do with my attitude. She was mean and wouldn’t hesitate to belittle me for making mistakes on the intricate, classical music she was trying to force me to embrace. A 13 year-old enjoying classical compositions like “Liebestraum” or “Rustle of Spring?” Give me a break – but that’s for another post. This post is really about debt and the political movement to eliminate student loan debt. Yes, I know there doesn’t seem to be much correlation between playing the organ and paying your debts but hear me out. This writing is about another lesson learned from my loving, guiding father.

The Bible, in Romans 13:8 instructs us to “let no debt remain outstanding except the continuing debt to love one another, for whoever loves others has fulfilled the law.” About going into debt the website “Got Answers” explains, “At the same time, the Bible does not explicitly command against all forms of debt. The Bible warns against debt, and extols the virtue of not going into debt, but does not forbid debt.”

So how does this relate to the lesson I learned when I was 13? When my Dad recognized I was quickly losing interest in continuing my pursuit of learning to play the organ he suggested I consider joining a rock band. There was one major roadblock. To be an organist in a rock band one needed a portable organ and amplifier. All I had was the console organ sitting in our living room and there was no way that was going to get moved every time the band held practice or had a gig. Besides, by that time the old free Thomas organ had been replaced with a beautiful, state of the art, Baldwin with a highly polished cherry wood cabinet. My Mom would have gone into convulsions at the thought of that thing getting scratched. Knowing I was in a bind my Dad decided this was a perfect chance to teach me about borrowing money and going into debt to pursue a desire. He sat me down and said he would take me to the big musical instrument store in downtown Albuquerque. If we could find an affordable, acceptable, portable organ and amplifier he would buy it with the agreement I would sign a promissory note back to him and then make the payments as prescribed. I found a Farfisa compact organ for $300.00 and a suitable Ampeg amp for another $90.00. After again going through the terms of the deal with my father I signed his hand written promissory note, walked out of the store with my new equipment and embarked on my first real experience with debt!

I did whatever I could do to pay my Dad back. I mowed lawns, caddied at his golf course, had a paper route, if the band was fortunate enough to land a job playing a private party, a high school dance or at the NCO club on the Air Force base, all that money went to paying off the organ and the amplifier. I just about had it all paid back, when we moved to Colorado, I joined a new group and during practice one afternoon the speaker in that old Ameg amp blew and I was in trouble. It was like starting all over again. I still owed some on the original note but needed to borrow again because “Bitter Wind” was certainly on it’s way to rock and roll stardom and without an amp little Dougie boy was on his way out the door. All the time I had spent learning the organ leads for classics like Santana’s Evil Ways, Three Dog Nights version of Chest Fever, The Doors Light My Fire and The Zombies Time of the Season would go to waste. Enter my Dad again. Knowing my predicament and trusting me, He cosigned on a loan to help buy me a new Emrad amp and the debt payback dance started all over again, with the remaining balance from the first loan still outstanding. There was no relief from the original debt, it was still payable in full. That was an early experience in digging the old debt hole deeper. When I graduated college he again stepped up and cosigned a loan so I could buy a car. It was a 1973 Mercury Capri, yellow with a black vinyl top and black interior. It was $3,200.00 and I thought I had lost my mind. How on earth would I pay that back? My Dad never hesitated to help me because he knew that due to the lessons he taught me I understood what debt was, the obligations it creates and the need to be faithful in paying back what I owed. Back in those days the lender would give you a coupon book, 12 coupons for 12 payments for one year. When it was close to the end of the payment year you would get a new book of payment coupons and start all over. You could even put cash in the envelope but I chose to write checks because it seemed more sophisticated and always gave me one or two extra days with the money in my account drawing interest.

The point is: My Dad taught me what debt is and how it must be handled. There was no forgiveness, no “woe is me I just can’t find a job.” There was no pandemic to blame things on. If you borrowed money, no matter if from a bank, a friend, a loan shark, or heaven forbid, your sister – you paid it back, with interest.

I don’t want to politicize this (it never does any good) but the reality is, in today’s world the politicians are using consumer debt as a way to secure votes. Take today’s debate about student loan debt for instance. The Biden administration started using student loan debt as a political football prior to the last general election. In the last few days the Supreme Court struck down his plan to relieve millions of student loan borrowers of their debt by wiping out a portion of their obligation and placing the burden squarely on the backs of the public. Now that is a great lesson to teach a young person. Not only does it send a message that those borrowers do not need to be accountable for their debt, it also belittles them by questioning their intelligence for making the decision to borrow the money in the first place. That message is, “oh, you poor thing. You really aren’t smart enough to know what you were doing when you signed on that line. But congratulations on being smart enough to get a higher education. Now, vote for me because I’m going to give you free money.”

I am getting way too political here. My real encouragement to you is to train your children well. Do as my Dad did and make sure they know what assuming debt is all about. Make sure they know there is a cost to getting in debt. We all need to understand that paying off our debts is not only lawful, it speaks to our morals, our integrity, our respect for what is right, and most importantly it is Biblical as stated in Romans 13:8.

There is, however, one more part of the debt story I need to tell. Each of us has compiled mountains of debt in the form of our sin. We have been offered a free way out from under that sin in the form of Jesus Christ. His payment of our debts is not tied to our vote. His payment of our debt does not burden someone else by piling that debt on them. There is no interest rate attached to His sacrifice. There are no payment coupons to mail in, month after month until the debt is fully paid. This is not something that can be approved or dismissed by Congress, the Supreme Court or any federal branch or agency. It is interesting to me that some 43.5 million Americans owe money on federal student loans. The majority would readily accept the “free money” the government is trying to give them, knowing that eventually the cost will come back to them in higher taxes, more fees, stricter regulation and reduced availability of financial assistance for future generations. And yet, a huge portion of that population turns their back to receiving free relief from their most critical debt, their sin debt. Not only would saying yes to Jesus wipe out that debt but it includes the unimaginable gift of eternal life.

Do not let your children or grandchildren go through their developmental years without learning about debt and the obligations it creates. At the same time do not let them grow up without hearing the message of the free gift of The Gospel. The free gift of grace. A gift without future consequences. A gift that will lift a burden from their shoulders and allow them to thoroughly enjoy the life God created them to live.

I titled this blog, God, Love, Life, Lessons. This entry is about a lesson.

Micha 6:8 (ESV) – He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.

Some of the synonyms for kindness are, courtesy, indulgence, grace, blessing, and mercy. Merriam Webster defines humility as, “the absence of any feelings of being better than others.”

The lesson I want to share came during a trip we made to Mexico at the invitation of two close friends. I will simply identify them as Brad and Lori. They very graciously invited us to join them for a week at their beautiful time share property in Cabo San Lucas.

First, a little history on our experience traveling in Mexico. Over the span of our marriage we have grown to love Mexico and have visited several different resort cities including Puerto Vallarta, Cancun, Playa del Carmen, Zihautanejo, Punta Mita, and Cabo San Lucas among others. We love the food, the surrounding sea waters, the culture and the people. It all started when for my 30th birthday (yes – that was a long time ago) Terrie took me on a surprise trip to Puerto Vallarta. Prior to that trip I had been to Mexico once when me and my best high school buddy decided to take a trip to Mexico City and Acapulco. Maybe someday I will share some of that trip with you but probably not! I digress. Terrie booked us into a new resort named La Joya de Mismaloya which was a little south of the actual town. When we arrived at the resort we were given a quick tour of the property, quickly unpacked, threw on our swimming suits and headed for the beach. We had been warned by the resort host to avoid the beach vendors who would be working in the area. We were told their goods were cheap – the jewelry was fake, the clothes would fall apart after a couple wearings and they would steal any valuables left unattended. The host also told us that if we did make a purchase from one of the vendors, all of the vendors in the area would run to us like bees to honey and we would be harassed until we left. Sure enough, we had not been on the beach very long when I was approached by one of the vendors. Considering the advice from the hotel host I politely told him, “no, gracias” but being a persistent fellow he again made his appeal to me. He finally moved on when I ignored him. The vendor parade continued, back and forth they walked, a constant flow of men and women, boys and girls, hawking t-shirts, bracelets, dog collars, silver jewelry, hats, wood carvings – it went on and on. I did my best to ignore them but in the end I became annoyed with them and was probably very rude when I chased them away.

The dance of the beach vendors was repeated at every beach town we visited. Sayulita, Nueva Vallarta, Xtapa – it didn’t matter, they were always there. By the time the new millennium rolled around we had been visiting Mexico for almost 30 years and I had become quite adept at dealing with the beach vendors. Then our most recent trip to Cabo San Lucas happened and everything changed.

Back to our friends Brad and Lori. Like us, they have been visiting Mexico for a long time. They use their time share regularly and are extremely generous in using their time share points to invite friends and relatives to join them in Cabo. Their resort is beautiful and the people working there were all so nice. It was setting up to be a fun, relaxing week with great food, lots of pool and beach time, massages and other activities. Brad explained to me that he would get up early every morning to save us some seats right on the rail overlooking the beach. That sounded great to me because if we weren’t on the beach we could avoid the beach vendor dance. Better yet, the area he was talking about was about 10 feet above the beach level so I would be able to look right over all the vendors and completely ignore them.

The first thing I should have paid attention to was the way Brad and Lori treated the hotel staff. They didn’t just return the greeting, “hola, buenos dias, como esta’?” There were hugs and questions about families and “so good to see you, it has been a little while.” It was quite obvious these were not just polite gestures by the staff to make guests comfortable. These were conversations that arose from genuine relationships that had been established over several years. These were conversations that displayed mutual respect and care for one another.

For me, the real wake-up call came the next morning. After a wonderful breakfast we “retired” to our seats adjacent to the railing overlooking the beach. When Brad and Lori arrived at the seats he was wearing a nice Cabo San Lucas t-shirt and she was wearing an attractive swim suit cover-up. To my surprise they told me they had purchased the items from one of beach vendors during a previous trip. In fact, they pointed out the vendor who was positioned on the sand directly below us. She had a stack of ladies cover-ups similar to the one Lori was wearing. Next to her was a man with a large case filled with silver jewelry. I recalled that on a previous trip with Lori, Terrie had purchased a ring from him. It was actually a very nice looking ring and surprise, it didn’t turn her finger black. It didn’t take long before we were down on the beach being introduced to Jesus and his wife, Alejandra. It was almost like a family reunion. Terrie began to examine a pair of silver earrings and Jesus explained how he made them. Wait, he really did make the wares he was displaying? They weren’t cheap fakes like we had been lead to believe. Then there was Alfred, an older man with a bum foot. When he saw Brad he got a big grin on his face and said, “Hola. Remember me? Alfred. You bought t-shirts from me.” Brad fist bumped Alfred and told him to come around the next day and he would buy shirts for his brother and Lori’s nephew. This sort of “reunion” continued as we walked down the beach. Many of the vendors knew Brad and Lori. It was like old home week on the beach.

So what’s the lesson? The lesson became clear as I watched my friends interact with those creative, friendly, hardworking people. Here were two people from an economic stratosphere the beach vendors could only imagine and yet there was a tangible connection between them. The lesson was poured out time and time again, not only from the beach vendors but from the hotel staff. It is a lesson on humility and a lesson on kindness. It is a reminder that God created each of us to be wholly unique and as Merriam Webster observed, to be without feelings we are better than others. It was a lesson that, like so many others I have experienced, created in me feelings of regret and guilt for all the years I brushed those people off. Humility and kindness – why is it so hard for many of us to practice humility and kindness?

My prayer is that God has forever changed my heart through the example Brad and Lori provided. I know I will fail from time to time but I will always have Brad and Lori’s example to fall back on, to wake me up.

Chuck Swindoll said this about what Micah is teaching us in chapter 6 verse 8. “Most of us don’t decide daily to cut people down or find ways to carry out injustice. Instead, we do it out of habit. Let’s allow the words of Micah to break us out of our apathy about extending justice and kindness to others and press on toward a world that better resembles the harmonious millennial kingdom to come. Let’s determine to live as God desires—“to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God” That is exactly what our friends Brad and Lori modeled for us. Specifically humility and kindness – that is their habit. It is never too late to make them your habit too!