LifeLink Devotional

Tuesday, December 22, 2020

When I left work on Christmas Eve in 1983, the temperature was still twenty-eight below zero. I decided to go home and switch vehicles before going to the hospital to pick up my wife and our newborn son Joshua. I pulled the pickup close to the 1978 Ford Fairmont station wagon so I could hook up the jumper cables and get it started.

I let the car warm up for quite some time while I went in the house and called Denise at the hospital to arrange the timing of their discharge. I then called our friends to arrange for the delivery of our other children back to our home later that day.

When I arrived at the hospital I parked right by the front door and left the car running. I went upstairs and Denise was getting baby Josh ready for the cold weather. The nursing staff had provided a large red Christmas stocking and Josh was already inside it with just his face showing above the white cuff. Denise swaddled the stuffed stocking into a receiving blanket followed by a heavier baby quilt.

When we got to the front door, the blanket and quilt were folded down over Josh’s face to protect him from the cold wind. Denise handed the package to me as she walked gingerly to the car. After she was seated, I handed the package back to her.

If you have ever driven an older car in sub-zero temperatures and strong winds, you know that they never really warm up. As a result, Denise left Josh completely covered while we were in the car. We made our way from the east side of town to the far western side where our house was.

When I parked the car in the driveway, I went around to Denise’s side and opened the door. She handed me the package. I carefully helped her up from her seat and she held my arm as we walked up the steps to our home. We stood for a moment in the kitchen as we enjoyed the warmth coming up the basement stairs from the wood-burning stove in the family room.

I handed the package back to Denise after she removed her coat. I took my coat off, and began unfolding the quilt. A gasp escaped from my lungs. Denise looked shocked. We hurriedly turned the package over. During one of the package exchanges, Josh had been turned upside down. We quickly unwrapped him to discover that he was sound asleep. Only his parents were suffering.

Next time life seems upside down to you, remember the visual picture that was just created in your mind of an upside down baby all wrapped up in blankets inside a Christmas stocking, sleeping peacefully. Then remember the promise of Scripture in Philippians 4:7.  “And the peace of God that surpasses passes all understanding will guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus. Then just rest until God unwraps you.

Pastor John

LifeLink Devotional

Monday, December 21, 2020

Contrary to what was announced yesterday in church, our son Joshua did not have his fiftieth birthday.  It was his birthday, but he is far from fifty, although far is a relative term. He is closer to fifty than I am.

I will never forget Josh’s day of birth. It was 1983, and Watertown, South Dakota was in the worst cold snap I have ever experienced.  When Denise informed me that she was in labor, the temperature was twenty below zero with wind chills in the sixty below range. But it was about to get worse.

My faithful 1964 ford pickup started right up, and after it was warm I helped Denise to the truck and we drove to the hospital.  We informed the doctor that the previous two births of children had been very quick, so we were rushed right into the delivery room. The doctor took up his catcher’s position, ready to catch Denise’s fastball. But the unexpected happened. Labor stopped. The doctor left the room, telling the nurses to call him when it was time for an actual delivery.

We waited. And waited. The winds howled outside. It had been the coldest December ever in South Dakota. The average temperature for the month was only two degrees above zero.  And we were smack dab in the middle of the ten coldest December days ever. But we weren’t thinking about how cold it was outside. We were wondering when this baby was going to decide to take its first breath.  We were anxious to see if it would be a boy or a girl.

Finally labor kicked in, and about an hour later the doctor returned. Denise delivered a long and skinny boy. I almost said she delivered a brand new baby boy, but I caught myself. I have always wondered why we use such redundant terms.  Has anyone ever delivered a grown boy or girl?  It’s always a baby, and it’s always brand new.

Anyway, I digress.  While Denise was in the hospital, I had to keep working.  Friends watched our other two children while I went into the radio station every morning to work. There was no family leave policy back in those days. Denise was scheduled to come home on Christmas Eve, which was a Saturday.  I had the morning shift of work so I was on the air at six in the morning. When I arrived at the radio station at five-thirty I remember seeing the digital thermometer in the control room. It read forty-two below zero. I looked at the wind speed. Fifty-five miles an hour.  I pushed the button to calculate windchill. I didn’t know it was possible to be over one hundred below zero, but there it was – one-hundred three degrees below zero.

I immediately called CBS Radio News in New York and did a newscast with Charles Kuralt. It aired on the CBS national news at the top of the hour. My roommate from college days called me from California when he heard it.  I still have a cassette tape of the story. Later that morning I would arrive at the hospital to load up my wife and son in the truck to bring them home. But that story is for tomorrow.

For today, let me share a lesson I learned from recalling those days. I can remember the facts of the story.  I can remember the bitter cold. I can recall how hard it was to go anywhere and do anything outdoors. I can still hear the creaking of the truck as it tried to move, much like the creaking of my bones as I try to move in the mornings. But all of those things combined cannot compare to the warmth that flooded my heart as I held my son and experienced the joy of new life. God has a way of covering all the bad with His good and gracious hand.

Whatever coldness has invaded your heart, you can be warmed by the joy of new life found in Jesus Christ. I’m sure Mary would testify that the joy of Jesus’ birth overcame any manger inconveniences. I know I can testify that the birth of a son warms my heart exponentially more than any memories of the coldest time of my life. 

The birth of Jesus in your heart will do the same for you.

Pastor John

LifeLink Devotional

Friday, December 18, 2020

Stories of Grandpa Roy flow easily in my family. He was a disabled veteran of World War 2, so he had lots of time on his crippled hands. When we visited, he spent most of that time playing games. During the day he taught his grandchildren the nuances of cheating at cards. He was an excellent card player and didn’t need to cheat to win, but there was something very gratifying to him about catching the kids doing it. The laughter never stopped throughout the day. Our children still talk about him.

Grandpa Roy was crippled with psoriatic arthritis which manifested itself in his first year in the military. He received a medical discharge. He would scrape the crust from his skin with his jackknife. It was not the same knife he passed around as needed for opening presents.

His feet and hands were severely crippled. When Denise and I first met I remember him working hard around the house as he was still able to carefully use some power tools. That ability ceased as he grew older. But his ability to persevere never did. Unfortunately, his pride in being able to do everything for himself stood as a hindrance to him seeing his need for a Savior.

Fifteen years ago our family celebrated our first Christmas without him, but in contrast to the grief we felt it was a joyous time.

Several years earlier, Roy’s heart needed repair. He had Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome. In WPW an extra electrical pathway between your heart’s upper and lower chambers causes a rapid heartbeat. The condition, which is present at birth, is fairly rare. It had gotten serious for Roy. He needed a procedure done that was risky for him.

During the procedure, his heart stopped. The procedure ended after his resuscitation. The next day, as the doctors planned to try again, I spoke with Roy privately about his heart condition. Not WPW, but the heart condition of sin.

I asked him if he understood what happens after death. He said he knew about heaven and hell but wasn’t worried. I asked him if he had ever repented of His sin and received the forgiveness of God in Jesus. He said no, and that he had no sin that needed to be forgiven. He ended the conversation.

Fast forward several years following a successful second attempt to correct his physical heart problem. The spiritual heart condition still needed resolution. Roy had developed pancreatic cancer. It spread quickly. Soon he was confined to a bed in his home under hospice care. Denise and I went and stayed with Grandma Ruby after Thanksgiving.

Three days before he died, while he was still coherent before the extra doses of morphine were needed, I asked him again if we could talk about life after death. He agreed. I reviewed with him his previous statement about sin and his need for forgiveness, and this time his answer was different.

“I need to be forgiven.”

As I fought back the tears, I prayed for him and then with him as He confessed his guilt of sin and received the forgiveness of God based on the work of Jesus on the cross. When the prayer ended, I assured him of resurrection to eternal life based on Christ’s resurrection. He smiled. I asked him if he understood. He said, “I’m ready.”

Grandpa Roy died during the early morning hours of December first. It would be our first Christmas without him.

It was his first Christmas with Christ.

We celebrated.

Pastor John

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