LifeLink Devotional

Thursday, December 17, 2020

I love snow. Growing up in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, I had no choice. When I lived there as a child, the average snowfall was 240 inches every winter. People mounted eight-foot orange fiberglass rods with flags on top to the front bumper of  their cars just so they could be seen at intersections.

Snow is required for Christmas, and I’ve never let it stop me from getting home for Christmas. I’m not proud of that based on one trip that put my family at risk.

It was 1980, and my wife and I lived in Watertown, South Dakota. Our two oldest children were ages three and one. At the time I was working full-time at a radio station as I also pastored two small country churches. It was my job on this Christmas Eve to be on the air at the station until 4:00 PM.

Denise had the family car all packed when I got home in my 1961 Ford pickup. The family car was a Datsun station wagon. I slammed down some supper, loaded the two kids into the car, and headed for Kulm, North Dakota to be with Denise’s family for Christmas.

Throughout the day I had been reading an ominous weather forecast. Heavy snow was expected overnight, with blizzard warnings in effect for Christmas Day. Before I left the radio station, I checked the radar one last time. I estimated the speed of the approaching snow, and shared that information with Denise. We agreed to leave. It wasn’t snowing at the time of our departure, but that was about to change.

We travelled north to Aberdeen and all was well. But not much further north the snowfall had arrived earlier than expected. By the time we crossed the border into North Dakota, the snow was very heavy. Two inches were already on the ground. I estimated it was falling at a rate of over one inch per hour, and we still had over an hour to go. Actually, it would become almost three hours.

There were no plows on the road. It was Christmas Eve. As the snow built up my Datsun was struggling to stay straight. But that wasn’t the worst problem. Visibility was severely impaired. Even on low beam the snow was so heavy that the light reflected back into my eyes and reduced my visibility to ten feet or less. I had no idea where the road was.

I looked in the mirror at two little children. I was not going to get stranded in this car in a North Dakota Blizzard, but I had no idea what to do. I spoke with Denise and we decided to creep along carefully. We knew her parents would be concerned, but we had no way to notify them in these ancient of days without cell phones. But we prayed, and trusted the Ancient of Days to protect us.

I turned the car heat up all the way. Denise zipped up her winter coat and pulled up her hood. She opened her car door just wide enough to be able to look down and see the edge of the road. I held the steering wheel tightly and followed her every direction for the next sixty miles.

When we arrived, we were physically and emotionally exhausted. I don’t believe we have ever felt more grateful than at that moment.  Grandpa was standing in the living room looking out the window. I suspected He would be very upset with me. Instead, when we got in the house, he simply said, “We are so glad you made it. Is there still time to open presents?”

Over twenty-two inches of snow fell that Christmas. It was gloriously beautiful. But in retrospect, we should have stayed home. I praise God that he protected our little family in that little car. As Nehemiah said in the Old Testament, ”The good hand of God was upon us.” Over the years I have discovered that it always is!

Pastor John

LifeLink Devotional

Wednesday, December 16, 2020

The next day was Christmas at my fiancé’s house. It would be my first Christmas with the soon-to-be in-laws. I loved their house. It was very old, very small, and very much a home. I sat down on the flowered couch in the living room to have a conversation with Denise’s dad.

Roy sat in the recliner in the corner next to the folding door that separated the living room from the master bedroom. Now when I say master bedroom, it’s only because that’s where Mom and Dad slept. It had no correlation to master bedrooms of today. It was only big enough for a dresser and two twin beds. The bathroom was connected to the kitchen, and had the tiniest four-foot bathtub I had ever seen.

Next to the bedroom door was the furnace for the house. There were metal grates above it to allow the heat to rise upstairs to the two tiny bedrooms on the north end of the house. Denise’s bedroom was above the kitchen on the south, so the heat from the furnace had to go into the kitchen, then up through the vent there to warm her room. To this day Denise loves to sleep all cocooned up in heavy blankets.

As Roy and I talked, Denise’s grandma showed up. She lived down the street in her own home. She sat on the couch next to me after she put a small round gift under the tree.

Once she arrived, it only took a few minutes for Roy to ask if it was time to open presents. Denise’s dad loved Christmas, and was more like a six-year old than a grown-up when it came to opening them. Christmas dinner preparation was put on hold.

There were many gifts given that day, but I can only remember one. It was the single small gift grandma had brought. It was handed to Denise’s younger brother. Grandma started smiling. Then she started laughing. The gift hadn’t even been opened yet but the joy of giving was bursting forth from her. As the paper was removed, a can of Spaghetti-O’s was revealed.  Grandma was now laughing hysterically. Denise’s brother started laughing. He loved Spaghetti-O’s. He dropped the can and it went rolling across the floor. Grandma lunged for it, losing her balance. As she stumbled to one knee, she grabbed the can of Spaghetti-O’s and lifted it high above her head as she continued roaring with laughter. We all joined her. 

As she made her way back to the couch, I couldn’t help but think of the overwhelming joy that comes from giving. Grandma had not wanted to come to the family Christmas without something to give. She gave what she had, knowing that the recipient had a daily craving for what she gave. The humor of the gift added to her joy. That act of giving a simple can of food brought more joy to the entire family than the sum total of all the other gifts. 

That memory of Christmas has challenged me to be more aware of the simple things God is rolling out to me every day and the joy I may be missing by not seeing them.

Several days ago we had the most amazing sunrise in our city. The perfect combination of light and cloud cover produced a majestic display second only to the soon-to-be-revealed glory of God. The eastern horizon progressed from light pink to dark pink to purple to the most brilliant gold I have ever seen. The western sky followed that pattern as the moments passed. Dozens of pictures of the event, from amateur to professional, have been posted on social media.

I saw it in person as I drove to the office. I stopped the car and took it all in. My heart exploded with one thought as the sky turned golden. “If a normal day can begin with such brilliance, I wonder how brilliant the return of Jesus will be?” I was filled with an inexpressible joy.

Every day God rolls out numerous cans of Spaghetti-O’s. Start grabbing them, and laugh hysterically at the joy He is bringing you.

Pastor John

LifeLink Devotional

Tuesday, December 15, 2020

Time passed quickly, it seemed. Childhood memories of what others had done for me at Christmas soon transitioned into adult memories of investing in others. No longer was I being transported to a family gathering by my parents. Now I was bringing a guest with me to my parent’s home.

After an incredible Christmas Eve dinner prepared by my mother, we gathered in the small living room of the parsonage in Kulm, North Dakota. Dining room chairs filled spaces between living room furniture so everyone could sit. I sat on the couch next to my guest.

Near us, in one of the easy chairs, was my dad’s mother, Grandma Marian. She struggled a little to sit down because the pull-cord on her artificial leg had not released the knee joint so it wouldn’t bend.  After a couple of tries it released and she flopped back into the chair and became comfortable.

As the gifts were distributed, a small box was given to my guest, and the puzzled look on my face was obvious. I was about to be surprised and taught a lesson of acceptance and love.

As Denise opened the present, I figured out it was from my grandma. It wasn’t the present that pointed the finger at her. The look on Grandma’s face gave it away. She was smiling joyously as she watched the ribbon and wrapping paper fall to the floor.

Grandma lived in our house with us. In fact, she had taken over my small bedroom next to the kitchen because she wasn’t able to do stairs with her prosthesis. She had been observing my behavior and the amount of time I was spending at a certain girl’s home. She had concluded that this guest would now be considered family.  But when did she know?

The gift revealed an important timeline. The gift came from a store that was located fifty-five miles away in the nearest large city. She had asked my parents to buy the gift earlier in the month when they were on one of their weekly shopping trips to Jamestown.

What makes this so important is that three days before our Christmas Eve family gathering, my guest had received a lifetime gift from me. It was my heart. On her ring finger she wore a reminder of the gift. We were going to be a family.

Grandma knew the outcome of my focus on Denise before she did. Grandma not only saw what was happening, but she acted on it. She gave a gift of love and acceptance before the actual present was ever opened. Grandma saw the family growing. My Grandma taught me that where the love of Jesus lives, there are no limits to how many people can share it.

Pastor John

LifeLink Devotional

Monday, December 14, 2020

All of my childhood Christmas memories carried a similar theme: I was loved. I was loved by parents. I was loved by siblings. I was loved by grandparents. I was loved by friends. But most significantly, I was loved by God, who sent Jesus to earth as one of us so that we might be saved from my sin and become an eternal participant in God’s love.

Many times the expression of love becomes “thing” or “action” focused. But true love is the giving of oneself to others on their behalf and for their good.

I found this modern-day paraphrase of First Corinthians 13 which I think expresses the struggle we have to keep focused on what love really is.

Modern Day 1 Corinthians 13

If I decorate my house perfectly with plaid bows, strands of twinkling lights and shiny balls, but do not show love, I’m just another decorator. If I slave away in the kitchen, baking dozens of Christmas cookies, preparing gourmet meals and arranging a beautifully adorned table at mealtime, but do not show love, I’m just another cook. If I work at the soup kitchen, carol in the nursing home, and give all that I have to charity, but do not show love, it profits me nothing. If I trim the spruce with shimmering angels and crocheted snowflakes, attend a myriad of holiday parties and sing in the choir’s cantata but do not focus on Christ, I have missed the point.

Love stops the cooking to hug the child.
Love sets aside the decorating to kiss the husband.
Love is kind, though harried and tired.

Love doesn’t envy another’s home that has coordinated Christmas china and table linens.

Love doesn’t yell at the kids to get out of the way, but is thankful they are there to be in the way.

Love doesn’t give only to those who are able to give in return but rejoices in giving to those who can’t.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails.

Video games will break, pearl necklaces will be lost, golf clubs will rust, but giving the gift of love will endure.

Pastor John

LifeLink Devotional

Friday, December 11, 2020

When the Christmas shopping was done, all the gifts were tucked neatly into the trunk, and we climbed back into the car. I noticed something was up with my youngest brother. He had a glum look on his face. I wondered what was going on.

After a few minutes of driving, dad adjusted the rear view mirror so he could see the three boys in the back seat. A conversation was about to take place that I will never forget.

“Did you boys get all your shopping done?”

I said yes. The middle brother said yes. The youngest was silent.

My dad spoke again.

“Answer the question, son!”

Sheepishly and quietly my brother said, “No.”

“Why not?”

Silence.

With a little more emphasis my dad asked again, “WHY NOT?!”

“I ran out of money.”

I could feel the tension that was expressed on my brother’s face. My dad demanded an explanation. He sternly asked his next question.

“What gift was so expensive that you didn’t have enough for everyone else?”

My mind started racing. I wanted my dad to stop and handle this privately when we got home. I wanted my brother to be released from the fear he was obviously feeling. I wanted him to experience the joy of picking out a gift so special that everyone was thrilled with his choice. I didn’t want his joy destroyed by revealing too much information and ruining the surprise. I truly felt bad for him.

“ANSWER ME! WHO’S GIFT COST SO MUCH?”

The sheepish and subdued answer slid over quivering lips.

“John’s.”

In that instant I was conflicted. My childish nature wanted to know what he had bought, while my heart was breaking for my brother as the tears streamed down his face. He had obviously bought something that was an expression of great love and should have produced great joy, and yet all he could feel was embarrassment and shame. It was one of the most gut-wrenching moments of my childhood.

But it wasn’t over. Our father demanded to know what the gift was. I have no idea to this day why that was important, but to my dad, in that moment, it was.

“NO! I can’t say it out loud. He will know what he’s getting.”

It was now a battle of the wills. Three times my dad demanded that he reveal what gift could have been that expensive. Three times my brother refused to answer. The fourth demand came as the car was being pulled to the side of the road.

With a shriek of fear my brother shouted, “A knife. I bought John a hunting knife.”

The car returned to the pavement. Dad was silent as he realized what had happened. My brother was devastated. My eyes were wet. My immaturity couldn’t wait to see the knife.

When we opened presents on Christmas, I realized how hard it is to act surprised. But I had no problem being grateful. My gift had cost my brother a lot more than seven dollars.  Thankfulness sprung from me when I saw this beautiful hunting knife with a multi-colored leather wrapped handle. It is the one childhood Christmas gift that I still possess. I have used it to clean every deer I have ever killed. I have cherished it for 58 years and I will cherish it for the rest of my life, because of the personal price paid for it.

Sounds exactly like how we should cherish the gift of salvation.

Pastor John

LifeLink Devotional

Thursday, December 10, 2020

For the last two weeks the memories of my first recollected Christmas have filled my mind, and it has been very refreshing and encouraging to me to recall the life lessons I learned from those events. I may not have recognized those lessons at the time, but they made a permanent imprint on me.

But I’m not done. Let’s move forward two years to another Christmas. In the Spring of 1963 our family moved to Oscoda, Michigan. Mom had the house all decorated for Christmas right after Thanksgiving. It was time for my dad to introduce the joy of Christmas shopping to his three boys.

My two brothers and I climbed into the back seat of the family car, and didn’t buckle our seat belts. That’s because there weren’t any. We travelled for about an hour north to the “big city” of Alpena where we would do our shopping. After parking the car, dad gave us each a ten dollar bill. “This is what you get to spend on gifts for your two brothers and your mom and me. You will have to choose wisely so you have enough to get gifts for everyone.”

Christmas shopping was far more fun in those days. There were no Amazon lists to guide the shopping. No one asked others what they wanted. The giver was commissioned with buying a gift that they thought would be meaningful to the recipient, and the recipient was always grateful no matter what they got. It required the giver to know the needs and wants of the recipient, and the recipient to be thankful for the expression of love and not disappointed by the gift.

We were turned loose in Woolworth’s and given a time to meet back at the front door. Not only was shopping more fun back then, but it was safer as well.

My first stop was the sporting goods department where I found gifts for my two brothers right away. In the hardware department I found a tool for my dad. I had twenty minutes left to find something for my mom. This had to be extra special.

My mom was an exceptional hostess. Every year, starting before Thanksgiving, she would begin baking traditional Norwegian sweets for an open house she would host for people in our church. On the day of the open house, every usable flat surface in the dining room was filled with goodies. Fancy plates and silverware were brought out of the china hutch for their once-yearly use. Tall crystal goblets stood near the punch bowl. Small juice glasses were next to the ice bowl containing a pitcher of milk and a pitcher of orange juice.

More people than available dinnerware would attend, so it was our job as boys to wash every dish and glass after it was used so it was able to be placed back on the table for another use. There was always a shortage of glasses for milk and juice. Mom needed more juice glasses.

As I wandered through the kitchen aisle, my eyes were drawn to a small set of “juice” glasses. Each glass had a picture of a pheasant on it. They were not only perfect to my 10-year old eyes, but the price matched exactly the money I had left. I bought them.

I was so excited for Christmas morning. I knew mom was going to be thrilled because I had evaluated what she loved doing, and had provided her with a gift would help her do it better.

As she unwrapped the gift, my heart was pounding with anticipation. I gazed into my mother’s eyes to catch the moment of joy she would experience when she saw the gift for the first time. As the wrapping paper was removed, I saw only shock in her eyes. Not disappointment, because she knew I had done my best. But she was shocked as she stared at a gift she could not use. What I thought were juice glasses were instead pheasant-covered whiskey shot glasses.

I cried. I had blown the gift I thought would be the best gift ever. Mom saw my tears. She pulled me to her side, hugged me, and said, “Thank you for the juice glasses. I think we will exchange them for bigger ones.”

The gift of grace my mom gave me was the best gift given that Christmas. Grace heals all wounds.

Pastor John

LifeLink Devotional

Wednesday, December 09, 2020

When my grandfather finished explaining how a gas clothes dryer worked, and I stopped asking questions, he asked me a question.

“Would you like to help me with a project?”

I had a myriad of thoughts running through my mind. The most significant one was this: “Grandpa wants my help. He must think a lot of me.”

I enthusiastically said yes, and followed him into the partitioned room in the basement. When grandpa pulled the drawstring on the light, my eyes almost popped out my head. There in front of me, and all around me, was the most magnificent sight I had ever seen. It was far more exciting than a toy store. Much more inviting than a candy store. I was in my grandpa’s workshop filled with every kind of hand tool imaginable. To this day my favorite store is a good, old fashioned hardware store. I love tools.

My grandfather had a passion for woodworking. He was an incredible draftsman, craftsman, and cabinet maker. He was employed by the White Sewing Machine Company and used his skills to design and build the first ever furniture-style sewing machine cabinet in America circa 1920. I have never seen it, but I understand it is on display in a museum in Cleveland.  

I started asking lots of questions about all the tools. I had never seen most of them. I basically only recognized the handsaw, screwdrivers, and hammer. But the walls were filled with what I would soon learn were chisels, levels, hand planers, hand drills, and more. Every tool was a hand tool. Even in 1961, and for the rest of his life, grandpa never owned a power tool.

Grandpa told me that is I kept asking questions, we would never get the project done. I asked him what we were going to build. He pointed to the workbench with a long board on it.

“I’m building a new cabinet for your grandma. We need to start by cutting this board.”

On the workbench next to the board was a carefully drawn sketch of the cabinet with measurements precisely indicated according to official drafting standards. I would later learn those standards in eighth grade drafting class, which, thanks to remembering how my grandpa taught me, I aced.  Also next to the board was a ruler. It was one of those folding wooden measuring sticks that pre-dated tape measures.

Grandpa asked me to read him the measurement for the side wall of the cabinet. “Huh?” He showed me how to read the sketch and how to properly read the measurement in fractions of an inch. He then used the ruler to mark a precise spot on the board according to the measurement. Then he did something I will never forget. He drew a perfectly straight line across that board at that mark without using the ruler or any kind of straightedge. No matter how much I practiced that after seeing him do it, I never could master it. I always need a T-square. But not grandpa. He was gifted.

He then reached behind him on the wall and grabbed one of the 6 different handsaws he had. I asked him why he had so many. He explained the difference between rip saws and crosscut saws, and the difference in saw tooth size. He grabbed exactly the one he needed.

He asked me to stand on the opposite side of the table from where he was. “This is where I need your help. As I cut on this line, the sawdust is going to cover the line so I can’t see it. I need you to keep the sawdust blown away.”

As he cut, I blew sawdust. Not too hard so as to make it fly up into his eyes. Just hard enough to keep it off the line. When he finished his cut, he said, “John, that was perfect. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Now I was blown away. For one of the first times in my life I felt affirmed. I would later learn through my own woodworking that he could have easily blown his own sawdust away. But to grandpa, giving me affirmation and value was more important than doing it more quickly by doing it himself.

It was such a simple thing…blowing sawdust. But to an eight-year old boy, his words were an affirmation of my value, which set me on a life-long quest to do the same for others.

Thanks again, Grandpa.

Pastor John

LifeLink Devotional

Tuesday, December 8, 2020

Grandma’s house was a great place to explore. The attic wasn’t the only part of the house that captured my interest. The basement also provided many attractions. It was an unfinished basement, with only one room partitioned off. More about that tomorrow.

I went exploring the basement the day after I had been in the attic. The rest of the basement was unfinished, and served as the storage room, furnace room, and laundry room.

Grandma’s laundry machines fascinated me, especially the dryer. It was natural gas. When it was running there was a small window on the front through which I could see the blue flame which provided the heat for drying. My mind began to evaluate how a fire could be inside the dryer and not ignite the clothing. All I could imagine was burning clothes.

Since childhood I have been fascinated by fire. I blame it on genetics. My dad and his twin brother burned down their garage with a new car in it when they were the same age I was in these stories.

Earlier that summer, before we got to Cleveland, I had been conducting science experiments in my bedroom to test the flammability of various materials. I discovered that lace curtains go up in flame very quickly. My curiosity cost me an afternoon confined to my room to consider the dangers of fire and embrace the smell of smoke. If only I could figure out how to conduct my science experiments with the level of safety built into the dryer.

I have always been fascinated with how things work. Taking things apart just to learn how they functioned and then put them back together occupied a lot of my time. This day, I was so deeply engrossed in watching the flame and trying to imagine how it worked that I didn’t hear my grandfather come down the stairs. I jumped when he touched me on the shoulder.

My grandfather was brilliant. He had worked for Thomas Edison as an electrical engineer. Cleveland was the first city in the nation to get streetlamps. My grandpa didn’t have anything to do with that, but he later worked for the Edison Electric company that managed the electric infrastructure of the city. He knew how stuff worked.

Having observed my fascination with the fire in the dryer, he asked me if I wanted to know how it worked. I quickly told him I did, and he fed my natural curiosity to know details. I was told about closed combustion chambers and exhaust venting and heat circulating fans. I asked lots of questions, and grandpa patiently answered them all.

Grandpa filled my head with facts beyond my years of understanding. He was passing on to me the heritage of knowledge and the passion to learn. He knew the best way to help me learn was to challenge me beyond my capabilities. He did not oversimplify anything.

I am convinced that my love for learning came from him. I am also convinced that my love for learning motivated my study of God’s Word. It is why when I preach and teach I don’t oversimplify, but use the big words to express the deep truths. It is intended to challenge you to become a student of the Scriptures.

Thanks Grandpa!

Pastor John

LifeLink Devotional

Monday, December 7, 2020

Today is the day I will satisfy your curiosity. I don’t think in the twenty-four year history of these devotionals I have ever been asked a question more than this one: “What did you find in the attic?”

The summer after that memorable Christmas Eve dinner, on my family’s next visit to Grandma’s house in Cleveland,  my brothers and I let our curiosity get the best of us. It was mostly me, but I needed them along for support.

It was a hot summer day; too hot to play outside.  We were bored.  We needed an adventure. It was not normal for three boys, ages eight, seven, and six, to sit still. We weren’t necessarily looking for mischief, but we definitely needed some excitement. Playing with the jars of white beans grandma kept in the sunroom had become boring, even though to this day I have vivid memories of those containers of beans. We would occupy ourselves for extended periods of time doing nothing but pouring them back and forth from one container to another. Don’t laugh, and certainly don’t feel sorry for me. Life was simpler in 1961. Imagination was the best game ever.

On this particular day, the imaginations of three little boys ran wild. Bored with the beans, we started talking about the attic door, and what we thought we would find behind it if we opened it. We decided to have a look. One of my brothers wanted to ask grandpa for a flashlight. I stopped him. I knew that wasn’t going to get us behind the door. This had to be a secret mission.

One by one, starting with the youngest, we left the sunroom and headed upstairs. It was smart to start with the one most likely to spill the beans. When I arrived in the room my brothers were already moving my bed to get at the attic door. I immediately took the leadership role, starting with the command to be quiet. It is surprising how quiet three boys can be when they don’t want to be caught. 

When the bed was pushed far enough away for the door to swing open, I asked my brothers if they were ready. Not wanting to be left out, they both agreed, even though body language said otherwise, as one brother stayed on the other side of the bed. After getting their consent, I pushed the sliding lock to the left and grabbed the small doorknob. The door creaked open. I was hit by a blast of hot air from the poorly ventilated attic. I pushed the door shut. I had never gone in an attic before. Not only did the unknown scare me, but I had a sudden awareness of the known potential of bees. Do they like it hot? Are they more touchy when it’s hot? Do they attack more easily when they are hot? 

Then one of my brothers said, “Chicken!” That was all the motivation I needed. I slowly opened the door wide enough for me to squeeze in. My two brothers followed. All I could think about was the three young men in King Nebuchadnezzar’s fiery furnace. As we stood there, we could see tiny beams of light coming from a vent on the far end of the attic. We decided to walk towards the light. About halfway to our destination, the floor boards started creaking. We heard the voice of our father yelling from below. “What are you boys doing up there?” We were directly over his bedroom where he had been trying to nap. BUSTED.

We quietly but quickly exited the attic, shut the door, and moved the bed back into position without answering his question. We hoped he had gone back to sleep. He must have because he never came to check on us. 

We had succeeded in going into the attic. We had not found bees, but we also didn’t get to really search and we had no light. All we know is we didn’t get stung. At least not by the bees. But I did get stung by my conscience. Do you know how hard it is to keep a secret, especially a secret sin? 

Two days later, before we left for home, Grandpa pulled me aside. “Did you find any bees?” After he allowed the shock to have it’s full affect on me, he continued. “I was a curious boy once. It’s how we learn stuff. I knew you would go in the attic, so before you got here I went in there myself to make sure there were no bees, or anything else that could hurt you.”

Grandpa taught me what my Father God is like. He goes ahead of me, even in places I shouldn’t be, and makes the way safe for me. The only real danger is my knowledge of my guilt. But when I told grandpa I was sorry for disobeying him, he hugged me and said, “I hope you learned a lesson.”

I actually learned two lessons: God is always watching out for His children; and guilt is removed when we repent of our sin. 

Thanks Grandpa.

Pastor John

LifeLink Devotional

Friday, December 4, 2020

It was Christmas Eve, 1961. I was with my family at my grandparent’s house in Cleveland, Ohio. Grandma had done an amazing job of decorating. To an eight-year old boy’s eyes it seemed that every possible space in the house shouted the beauty and excitement of Christmas.

As I played with my brothers that afternoon, we were interrupted by my dad and my Uncle Al. They closed the sliding French doors that separated the sunroom from the dining room, and spoke very quietly to us. Uncle Al did most of the talking.

“You boys have never eaten Christmas Eve ‘You’ll Regret’ before, but believe me, it’s not good. So I have an idea. Let’s sneak out in my car and go to a new restaurant I want to try. The only thing is you can NEVER mention to grandma that we went.”

Having never tasted the Norwegian rice dish that is double-boiled in heavy cream, we boys were all in favor of something to eat. Christmas Eve dinner would be in two hours so Uncle Al and My dad figured the timing was perfect to satisfy us through supper if we didn’t like what grandma made. So one by one we left the sunroom, grabbed our jackets, and snuck to Uncle Al’s car.

Once we got in the car, Uncle Al started telling us about the new restaurant to which we were headed. He told us to be looking for golden arches. We were headed to the first McDonald’s that had opened in Cleveland earlier that year. Little did we know what an influence that meal would have on our lives. Even less did we realize the trouble that was waiting at home.

My first taste of a cheeseburger and fries with a strawberry milkshake was unforgettable, and I have the waistline to prove it. Two Big Macs, a large fry, and a strawberry milkshake was my everyday lunch while in college. My brothers loved their food as well. After we were done eating, Uncle Al spoke sternly.

“Not a word of this when we get home. Grandma must never know. Do your best to eat a little of the ‘You’ll Regret’ but don’t let on that you’ve already eaten.“

As we sat down for supper, and grandma brought out the rice, the butter, the brown sugar, the cinnamon, and the Norwegian fruit bread, I was very nervous. It all looked amazing to me, and I knew I was going to love it. But could I eat enough to convince grandma that I liked it since I was still satisfied from the afternoon Mickey D’s run.

After grandpa prayed, as everyone served up their food, the silence was broken by the loud shout of my youngest brother.

“Man I’m full!”

I was looking at my grandma when he said it. She had a shocked and angry look on her face. I saw her look at my dad, who was looking at Uncle Al. Grandma spoke.

“How can that little boy be full?”

Uncle All confessed to what had happened. Grandma looked at me as I took another spoonful of “I don’t regret the rice but I regret being a part of a lie.” I told grandma how good it was, and that I wish I had more room in my stomach for more. She smiled through tears.

I learned several lessons that day. Don’t lie. Don’t keep secrets that could hurt others. And the most important lesson of all – love forgives even when it’s been hurt.

Pastor John