Tag: life

  • Different Perspective on a Different Day

    Different Perspective on a Different Day

    Yesterday, I listened to a song I’ve heard for decades. Or so I thought.

    Like most people, I knew the chorus. What I didn’t know very well were the verses.

    As I listened, one line stopped me in my tracks:

    “It may have a new perspective, on a different day.”

    The older I get, the more I realize that some of life’s deepest truths are hidden in those few words…

    Father’s Day always brings two men to mind.

    My Daddy, Raymond James, gave me life and made sacrifices and decisions for his children that no parent should ever have to make. The older I get, the more I appreciate the weight he carried and the decisions he was forced to make. I am grateful for him every day.

    The second was Dad, my Uncle Stanford Gaylor.

    What was supposed to be a temporary arrangement became a lifetime commitment. When my sister and I had nowhere else to go, he opened his home, his heart, and his wallet without hesitation.

    He taught me lessons that have stayed with me for more than fifty years.

    He taught me that gentleness is not weakness.

    He taught me that a man’s strength is measured more by how often he kneels before God than how loudly he stands before men.

    He taught me that hard work matters, even when nobody notices.

    He taught me that you never turn away someone in need because one day you may need the same grace yourself.

    He taught me to slow down and see God’s handiwork in nature, and that fishing was never really about the fish.

    As I reflect on Father’s Day, I also find myself thinking about my own journey as a father.

    Like most fathers, I have moments I treasure and moments I wish I could do over. There were seasons when distance, circumstances, and some of my own decisions created challenges in my relationship with my son. Looking back, there are things I see more clearly now than I did then.

    But yesterday I spent several hours with Tommy. We talked about everything and nothing. Life, work, family, memories, and a hundred other subjects. As I listened to him, I realized once again how grateful I am to be his father.

    Fatherhood has taught me that we don’t have to be perfect to love deeply. We don’t have to get everything right to keep showing up. And sometimes God’s grace is found not only in raising children, but in the opportunity to keep growing alongside them.

    Neither man who raised me was perfect. And neither am I.

    But both left fingerprints on the man I became, and I pray that I have left some good fingerprints on the man my son is becoming.

    Today, I thank God for all of it.

    Happy Father’s Day, Daddy and Dad. I love you, and I look forward to seeing you again someday.

  • What If I Gave Everything?

    Another day. Another 30-minute drive to work. Another song on Pandora.

    And once again, my eyes started to leak at 70 mph—thanks to another set of powerful lyrics.

    Isn’t it funny how we can hear a song we’ve sung along with countless times, but this time… we’re actually listening? Maybe God opens our ears to hear it—really hear it—and our hearts to accept the depth behind those anointed words.

    Today, it was “What If I Gave Everything” by Casting Crowns.

    “All my life I longed to be a here. My sword raised high, running to the battle. I was gonna take giants down. Be a man you would write about. Deep in my chest is the heart of a warrior. So why am I still standing here? Why am I still holding back from You?…”

    Isn’t that the dream of every little boy and young man? To be the hero. The one others look up to. The preacher behind the pulpit delivering a fiery message to a hungry congregation. The missionary, thousands of miles from home, risking his life to carry the good news of Jesus Christ and the salvation He offers.

    I was about 13 when I first saw the movie The Cross and the Switchblade. David Wilkerson was a giant in my eyes—the way he brought his family to the inner city and preached to violent street gangs. That kind of courage stirred something in me.

    But I cowered.

    When I was 18, I had an opportunity to pray with a drunk man beneath the railroad bridge at Peoria and Archer.

    But I flinched.

    Why? That was my neighborhood. What if someone I knew drove by and saw me kneeling… praying… with a homeless drunk?

    “I hear You call me out into deeper waters. But I settle on the shallow end. So why am I still standing here? So afraid what it might cost to follow You. I’d walk by faith if I could get these feet to move…”

    And that’s where many of us find ourselves, isn’t it?

    We hear the call. But we lack the courage.

    I’ll be the first to admit—it’s a scary proposition.

    So… we settle. We ease into the shallow water. Right at the edge. Getting our feet wet, but afraid to wade deeper. Maybe up to our ankles. But it’s a fight to get that far. Knee-deep? Waist-deep? Chest-deep? Why risk drowning?

    I get it. I’ve been there. I’ve gone out and tried to wade neck-deep, only to have it all collapse around me. Rebuked. Reviled. Castigated. Told I was out of the will of God.

    So… I stepped back.

    Back into the shallow water. Back to safety. Away from the criticism. Away from the heat.

    I found my niche. A quiet place in the shadows. Away from the spotlight, doing my small part. Don’t get me wrong—it was, and is, rewarding. When I look back at the ministries God allowed me to help nurture and cultivate, I’m eternally grateful.

    “But I don’t want to live that way. I don’t want to look back someday. On a life that never stepped across the line. So why am I still standing here? Why am I still holding back from You? You’ve given me a faith that can move a mountain. But I’m still playing in the sand. Building little kingdoms that’ll never stand…”

    But why? Why do I keep retreating to the relative safety of knee-deep water? What’s keeping me from diving in?

    If I’m brutally honest? Fear. Insecurities. My past. My abysmal failures. Other people’s opinions. My defeats.

    Over thirty years since stepping across that line just once… and I’m still “playing in the sand, building kingdoms that will never stand.” I hear Him calling me into deeper waters—but I keep settling for the shallows. And I’m so tired of standing here.

    How long? How long will I wait? What will it take to finally act on the faith He gave me—faith that can move mountains?

    I’m not satisfied here. Haven’t been for a long time. I feel the current pulling me, yet I keep resisting. I’m tired of fighting it. Tired of pulling against the tide. Tired of kicking against the pricks, as Paul so eloquently wrote. And just as Jesus asked him that question 2,000 years ago, I feel Him asking it of me now.

    “What if I gave everything to You? What if I gave everything? What if I stopped holding back from You? Starting now, I’m stepping out onto deeper waters. What if I gave everything? What if I stopped holding back from You? I want to see some mountains move. Ready to give everything. Say goodbye to standing here…”

    What if I gave Him everything?

    What if I handed over my life—and the reins—with no strings attached? What if I truly forfeited control for the first time?

    Is that a frightening thought? Yes. It is. Makes my stomach knot up. Makes my hands tremble. Makes my eyes blur with unshed tears as I sit here at my desk.

    But do you know what’s even more frightening?

    Another day of doing nothing. Another sunrise spent standing at the water’s edge. One more day in the safety of the shallows, fighting the current instead of flowing with it.

    I don’t know where this will lead.

    I have no idea what’s next.

    But I know this—it starts with a step. A step of faith. Out into deeper waters.