The Dash of Diotrophes

Dean and I are nearing the end of Beth Moore’s book, THE BELOVED DISCIPLE, and at present we are reading about John’s letter to his friend, Gaius. This name, whether it belongs to the same man or not, is also mentioned in some of Paul’s letters. Gaius very likely lived in the area of Ephesus and was a believer that such men as these apostles prized as a very dear friend.

On the other hand as we read John’s short letter to Gaius entitled 3^rd John, we see mentioned a man, very likely a believer and leader in the local church, who exhibited the very opposite of Gaius’ spirit of love. The name of Diotrophes has been inscribed in the Holy Scriptures for 2000 years as a prideful man, one who always pushed himself to the forefront. I’m guessing he is the first fellow to make it into print as one who believed the saying, “He who doth not toot his own horn, doth not get tooted.” Or something of that sort.

When we read about Diotrophes, I remembered about the “dash” I alluded to some time ago last year when our church’s Small Groups were studying the book “30 Days to Live.” The premise of that study was to take a look at your life and see what changes might be made if you knew that you had only 30 days left to live on this earth. That summary statement led us to think about the dash between the dates we see on gravestones in a cemetery. How might we be graded on the way we lived that “dash” between our birth date and our death date?

One would hope Diotrophes “wised up” and became a more mature believer before he completed his “dash.” Despite the fact that his name is in black and white for all to see, he had a chance to change his attitude from pride of place and malicious speech to love’s sacrifice.

I suppose this post would have made a good New Year’s Resolution posting, but the first month of 2014 is not yet finisheJ.  John’s description of Diotrophes—he loves to have preeminence among the church [members] plus he spoke maliciously of the apostles—does not picture a Godly “dash" nor a pleasant person. Then I compare Paul’s description of his “dash”--I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have kept the faith.”

I choose the latter

Don’t Be a Boiled Frog

For some strange reason, standing in a warm shower, sort of luxuriating in the water coming out from the spout with no effort on my part, seems to lead to numerous “aha” moments. That occurred to me recently. Our hot water heater is aging so I don’t always have the preferred water temperature for the amount of time I would like to stay in the shower. (It’s not that I’m that dirty, I just enjoy the relaxing warmth of the water beating against my back and neck.)

As usual, the water began to cool so I hiked up the temperature knob. This happened 1-2 more times before I decided to get out. And as is normal, when I looked in the mirror, my chest and the front of my shoulders were a warm pink that even my somewhat blind eyes could see. Hence the analogy of the frog being boiled alive.

The story goes that the frog was put in a pan of cold water and despite the fact that the pan was sitting over a hot fire, the frog was perfectly content. As the water commenced to warm gradually, so did the frog but since he had become accustomed to that level of heat, he felt fine. The heat of the water increased but the frog’s acclimation to the temperature didn’t faze him a bit. By the time the frog realized the heated water was getting unhealthy for him, i.e. pretty uncomfortable, his energy was totally sapped by his environment, and he succumbed to his boiled state without a whimper.

The life lesson I deduced from this situation is the danger of compromise. That is not to say that compromise in certain instances may be very necessary. What I’m talking about is the danger of compromising core values, values making up the integrity of our lives.

I can remember back about 35 years ago (that’s what you can do when you’re my ageJ when we decided to disconnect our TV.  On the rare instances when we would go out of town and stay in a motel, it wasn’t long before we were shocked by the language and actions displayed on the shows.

Now, unfortunately, we have allowed our hearing to become calloused or compromised and often find ourselves laughing at innuendos, etc.  That’s just one example of compromise but we could compile a list of attitudes leading to apathy and indifference, both attitudes none of us like to apply to ourselves.

So, as I think about that, I really don’t want to be like the frog who allowed himself to be boiled.!

"Mine" Comes Right After "No"

The blog title is obviously not speaking of alphabetical order. Both words do seem to be something built into the genetic make-up of human beings, however. “Mine” denoting ownership or territory rears its head quickly as toddlers gain vocabulary and reasoning power. I remember our older son coming home from church one Sunday saying “me seffish (selfish).”  During his time in the church nursery he had apparently been unwilling to share time with a toy by insisting it was his. Despite the fact that he’d learned he was selfish (that “mine” was not necessarily a good thing), he seemed rather proud of learning that new word.

This past week I read about a different slant on the word “my” in Beth Moore’s book, THE BELOVED DISCIPLE. She brings out some interesting ideas on times when “my” is actually our rightful claim with no negative connotations. Look at the Psalms and you will find multiple mentions of this:  “my shield, my rock, my fortress, my salvation, my shepherd, my refuge”—and the list could go on and on.

Jesus gave up numerous rights when He left heaven to come to earth as a man—His glory, His honor, and ultimately, His life. Yet one claim He refused to give up was His Sonship to the Father. Despite the fact that His words got him into hot water with the religious powers of the day, He continued to call God His Father, and rightly so.

We know that what we call “mine” here on earth is really given to us on a stewardship basis. Since these earth suits we live in don’t last forever, neither do the concrete things we call “mine” and many relationships fall into that category too. But the one thing we can call “mine” on a permanent basis is our personal relationship with Christ, God the Father, and the Holy Spirit. That means we, like David, can say of God, “my shield, my rock, my fortress, my salvation, my shepherd, my refuge.” Yet there’s no law of diminishing supply with God. Because of that, no matter how much we share Him, our supply of Him will never decrease.

The Story behind the Stories

I was delighted to finally get a small group of short stories in shape and formatted for Kindle this past week.  Click  here  if you're interested in reading the first few pages of the book. Three of the stories had been sitting in my files for more years than I want to admit and had never been honed finely enough to ever find a publisher. Now with the ease of Kindle and its kindred electronic readers, a writer doesn’t need to go through a magazine editor (sometimes to the readers’ detriment). 

Be that as it may, I thought I’d share the background to the stories in TWO SIDES OF A DIFFERENT COIN without giving away the plots.  

The story about the 13^th anniversary is grounded in fact only in that the story germinated in my mind as I modeled my wedding gown at a Christian Women’s Club luncheon Wedding Dress Revue—on my 13^th wedding anniversary. So now you can see how these stories get started.J      

Eureka! had its birth in a short story writing class I took one winter in Laramie.  Since I’ve never been mechanically apt, that story seemed like a natural, but I received a lot of helpful ideas from writer friends on this end of the story. I also pestered Dean almost to distraction one afternoon when the Internet sources had baffled me on one point regarding steering column locking devices.

The idea for The Challenger was birthed the first time I saw my dad play pool in our basement in Rawlins, Wyoming. Dean had seen an ad for the pool table and thought we’d all enjoy playing (of course he’d already learned the game during his degenerate teen-age years). My folks came to visit that summer and Dad wowed the family with his expertise. Turns out the ol’ farm boy had learned to play while he was in the Army during WWII.

The story about the cattle herd and the angel is my dad’s story—a true story, by the way. I first wrote up the account  after he told us the story and I sent it to Guideposts. They called me asking for Dad's contact information since I submitted it as an As Told To story. I gave them the info, but the Guideposts caller never followed through.

After Dad died, my brother wrote up a version of the story and I submitted it to Guideposts again –this was six years later than the first submission. They again contacted me but wanted to talk to my brother since I listed him as the person who told me the story. He informed them that the story was actually our father’s story—and since he was now dead, it would be impossible to verify the story with him. So it didn't get published.

I'm happy to say that now, 25-30 years after Daddy first told us his story, it’s in a format that can be read by anyone interested. I set the story in a completely different family but the story is his, and it’s truth, not fiction. And totally unexplainable unless you credit it to God’s mighty hand. Just thinking about it still gives me chill bumps!