tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-98824502012-01-22T18:40:57.716-07:00a simple place for creative thoughts about life, especially in the context of christian spiritualitySteve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.comBlogger831100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-49881022620873254342009-07-17T14:33:00.003-07:002009-10-11T09:29:59.975-07:00

Wouldn't it be grand if everything always turned out great, if good guys always won, if it never rained on anyone's parade? But life isn't like that, is it? Great plans go awry, good guys seldom win, and rain falls on parades.What are we to make of that? What good is a God who can't get the little things right? Wouldn't we be better off in a purely naturalistic world?Hardly! Without God, we would

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-61863004164110109972009-04-20T18:06:00.002-07:002009-04-20T18:50:01.237-07:00

Okay, it's time I started writing again.For several years I wrote a column for our weekly newspaper. It was well received by our community, and I enjoyed finding a way to gently communicate spiritual truths to a secular audience. Many of those articles found their way into this medium.When the paper closed a year ago, so did the pressure to write. I've missed it.I'm not making any resolutions,

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-2734139061784078692007-12-25T21:44:00.000-07:002008-03-25T21:50:01.275-07:00

Without the benefit of knowing the whole story, we are not sure what to think of Strider when first we encounter him. He lurks in the shadows of The Prancing Pony, keenly interested in the Halflings and their songs. It is evident he knows more than he reveals. Is he friend, or is he foe? We are unsure.In time, we learn that Strider is in fact a friend, and will be a trustworthy guide for the

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-80795781529797778362007-12-15T21:40:00.000-07:002008-03-25T21:44:40.224-07:00

It is our twenty-eighth Christmas as a married couple. Twenty-eight freshly-cut Christmas trees. Twenty-eight years of hanging stockings. Twenty-eight Christmas mornings waking up together.In the early days we traveled to someone else’s home for Christmas. But for the most part, Christmas has been our own private family tradition, a blending of the homes we grew up in, as well as those habits

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-61804421031600123142007-12-11T13:09:00.000-07:002007-12-11T13:14:51.534-07:00

Although baseball and football were my passion in high school, I have always enjoyed competitive sports. If it requires skill and a ball, count me in.That is why I was happy to pack my tennis racket when my friend and I went to a summer camp together. He was an avid player, and I was happy to give him whatever competition I could muster.When we headed out to play, however, we were dismayed to

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-59758805508174140222007-12-04T17:36:00.000-07:002007-12-11T17:40:47.737-07:00

I’d like to introduce you to some fascinating folks. I wonder if you can recognize them.These people are fanatical about living a good life. Models of personal purity, and careful to live above reproach, they are among the most respected persons in the community. They’re honest, hardworking, and conscientious.They take their spirituality very seriously. They are scrupulous about attendance at

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-37282106212208626722007-11-24T17:51:00.000-07:002007-12-11T18:05:05.085-07:00

Tony had polio. I presume he was one of the thousands of children who contracted the disease during the epidemic in the mid-twentieth century. Like most self-conscious adults, however, I never asked him about it.His right leg was stiff. He walked with a cane. Once I got to know him, I hardly noticed it. His quick humor and keen insight quickly captured my affection.As best I recall, he only spoke

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-77273529450009673492007-11-22T18:11:00.000-07:002007-12-11T18:18:00.263-07:00

I have always loved Thanksgiving. I don’t know if it is the mild climate, the scrumptious turkey, the fall football, or the family gatherings – I’ll take them all!Growing up in Lake Havasu City, we’d squeeze the whole family, Mom and Dad, three boys and our little sister, into the ’69 Rambler wagon. Our goal was to reach Phoenix and my uncle’s Moon Valley home by noon.Upon entering Wickenburg we

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-31851341159842167882007-11-10T18:38:00.000-07:002007-12-11T18:59:17.494-07:00

The picture commanded a torrent of memories. How old was she? Twenty-five, he guessed.He remembered those blue jeans like yesterday. High on the waist, loose on the hips, straight down the leg, folded at the ankle…. Her waist-length golden brown hair rested casually over her shoulders, nesting on the tan knit vest and short-sleeved shirt. It must have been late summer, early fall.Hoisted upon her

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-69752111379677781962007-11-03T19:03:00.000-07:002007-12-11T19:09:42.119-07:00

In the movie "Shawshank Redemption," Red speaks about Brooks, his beloved inmate friend. After a lifetime in prison, he was released -- only to take his own life. He couldn’t live on the outside. “Brooks is just institutionalized," Red mused.This is the sad state of many Christ followers. We have been “institutionalized.” Set free from the sentence of death, we have never learned how to live. Our

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-22664448209663218462007-10-26T19:10:00.000-07:002007-12-11T19:13:23.625-07:00

All right, brothers and sisters, it’s time for some straight talk.If you are serious about following Jesus, you will be active in a local church. Otherwise, you are only playing pretend. Period.The idea that you can follow Jesus without being part of a local fellowship of believers? Forget it. It’s not in the Bible.I’m not saying you’re not a Christian. I’m not questioning your faith. I am saying

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-45344660981722689082007-10-19T19:14:00.000-07:002007-12-11T19:17:59.075-07:00

James had a problem, and it was about to split the church.The good news was that hundreds of new people were beginning to follow Jesus. The bad news was that they were not the right kind of people.No one doubted their sincerity. No one questioned their devotion. However, their habits were disgusting. Their hygiene was despicable. Their respect for the traditions which had birthed their faith?

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-50051880159540687692007-10-10T19:18:00.000-07:002007-12-11T19:24:46.441-07:00

Watching Cleveland in the playoffs is a huge memory jolt. In a story I’ve recorded here previously, my ten year old son and me had the privilege of attending a World Series game there in 1997.It was a gift from Major League Baseball – a prize I won when my wife entered me into a contest while we attended an Arizona Fall League game in Scottsdale. All I had to do was throw a strike between innings

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-80394688321675493272007-10-04T19:25:00.000-07:002007-12-11T19:28:20.325-07:00

Writing during a period of philosophical and spiritual upheaval in Russia in the latter nineteenth century, Fyodor Dostoevsky brilliantly depicted the futility of a world view which marginalized God.I first read him as a young college student. Wading through “The Brothers Karamazov,” my primary motivation was to complete the weekly reading requirement as painlessly as possible. Only later did I

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-76580258803666507742007-09-29T19:28:00.000-07:002007-12-11T19:32:14.914-07:00

On the one hand, my editor wants this article by a certain date and time. She wants to make sure that everything fits, that nothing is objectionable, that all the words are spelled correctly, and that obfuscation is eschewed.I have no problem with that. In fact, I am grateful someone is willing and able to correct my mistakes before they become public knowledge. If only that were the case for the

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-7281016086748018542007-09-25T21:51:00.000-07:002008-03-25T21:58:20.766-07:00

Ivan gave his brother a penetrating look. “The question is this: is freedom a gift or a curse?”“Are you serious? Of course it’s a gift!” The provocative question unnerved Alvin. Why would anyone question the value of freedom?“Be careful what you wish for,” Ivan cautioned. “For if you embrace the gift of freedom, you can no longer blame God for evil. You can’t have it both ways.”Alvin was

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-33447118271337096162007-09-08T11:46:00.000-07:002007-09-08T11:47:51.184-07:00

Milton Bradley was miffed. Not the company that makes the games. The athlete who plays the games. That Milton Bradley.Baseball players have some of the strangest names. What other sport can claim someone who is a toy-maker (Milton Bradley) and a breakfast cereal (Coco Crisp)?Anyway, Milton was miffed. “Strike Three!” said the umpire. Milton didn’t think so. He remained in the batter’s box,

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-2528185190803563452007-08-23T23:38:00.000-07:002007-08-23T23:41:24.403-07:00

We didn’t know any better. After all, what kid would question the opportunity to go play at a friend’s house?“I’m going to drop you off at so and so’s for a while. You boys play while I go shopping,” Mom said. “Does that sound like fun to you?”What’s not to like about that? After all, these were the days (please don’t call Child Protective Services) when it was fairly common for Mom to leave us

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-73570459307250208742007-08-15T23:54:00.000-07:002007-08-24T00:01:00.995-07:00

Eschew Obfuscation. Two words, bold white letters, light blue background. I saw them on a poster while studying in my high school library.Eschew I thought I knew; obfuscation was unclear. Ever inquisitive, I looked it up in the dictionary. Thirty years later, I have forgotten neither it nor the ironic library poster.In an effort to eschew obfuscation, then, let me be perfectly clear: the key to

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-26387767124934405252007-08-09T23:50:00.000-07:002007-09-08T11:55:50.887-07:00

Some people swear because they are angry; others swear because they are stupid.That at least is my opinion. I state it merely for shock effect, for calling someone stupid is practically the same as swearing at them.Angry swearing I can understand. I can see why, for some, “shoot!” just doesn’t capture the moment of frustration. For my part, the guilt of saying something unseemly would outweigh

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-67382241337512372832007-08-02T11:58:00.000-07:002007-09-08T12:02:22.538-07:00

In her novel, Death Comes for the Archbishop, Willa Cather crafts a fascinating portrait of a nineteenth century Jesuit priest.Born and bred to a scholar’s life in France, Father Latour served instead in the obscurity of the wild and woolly New Mexico Territory. He battled harsh conditions, primitive superstitions, and renegade priests while building a thriving diocese in the greater

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-65178101085142556332007-07-25T23:47:00.001-07:002007-07-25T23:49:13.890-07:00

Let’s just say it wasn’t a good day. The beautiful monsoon storm that dumped 1 ½ inches of rain in Cave Creek? I loved it, but my septic tank certainly did not. It will cost me several thousand dollars to have it fixed.Ouch! I feel like suing somebody. I am really angry to be put in this situation after less than a year in my brand new home.In times like these, my Christian faith is decidedly

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-85094947271642044972007-07-19T12:07:00.000-07:002007-09-08T12:14:16.300-07:00

It was 4:30 in the morning. I was driving down Cave Creek Road. Half asleep, I balanced a hot cup of coffee in one hand and the steering wheel in the other.I was traveling 62 miles per hour. I know, because that’s what the officer told me. He also mentioned that I had neglected to signal when changing from the left to the right lane. He gave me a little piece of paper to remind me never to do it

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-26648997379684722712007-07-12T12:18:00.000-07:002007-09-08T12:20:02.536-07:00

Tamar. Rahab. Ruth. Bathsheba. Mary.These extraordinary women are members of an exclusive club, one usually reserved for men: they are listed in the Bible as ancestors of Jesus (Matthew 1).You might imagine that these women had to be pretty special to be included in the official record of Jesus’ lineage. And they were.But not for the reasons you might expect.For example, Tamar got on the list by

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-36841262092390191892007-07-04T12:29:00.000-07:002007-09-08T12:31:35.748-07:00

What responsibility does a Christ-follower have toward the government?If you think this is a difficult question in today’s arena, consider the quandary for believers in first century Rome. They had no rights, their government had no conscience, and their religion was virtually illegal.What was the appropriate Christian response to such a godless government? The answers were not easy then – and

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-19097159291074652832007-06-14T16:20:00.000-07:002007-06-14T16:39:31.451-07:00

Among other things, I am a substitute teacher. Most of my time is spent at public schools. I rather like it, to be truthful. I hear all manner of profanity, see all states of dress, encounter every level of interest, and receive every shade of respect. “Whaddup, Dog?” when I call the roll, is my favorite.Recently I was invited to substitute at a Christian school. You might think it would come

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-48457737890590410272007-06-12T22:03:00.000-07:002007-09-19T23:08:49.793-07:00

After a while she got used to her situation. But she never got used to the stares.In time, she forgot about her misshapen body. But whenever someone’s eyes averted after meeting her own, she remembered.That’s when she realized that her condition was more than a daily nuisance. She was a public eyesore, a person to be avoided. People viewed her with pity or revulsion, or both.She was on the

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-5302293560660865292007-05-13T16:51:00.000-07:002007-05-13T16:56:28.696-07:00

My grandmother’s name was Ruth. I always thought she was the best grandmother in the world, but then, you probably thought the same thing.Born in the Netherlands and reared in the Michigan, she bore all the stereotypical characteristics of her Dutch ancestry: obsessively clean, famously frugal, affectionately reserved, and religiously devout.Whenever we visited I saw her and Grandpa enjoy coffee,

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-8585870346273737342007-04-18T19:03:00.000-07:002007-05-02T20:00:41.334-07:00

Karen went to work just like she always did. She kissed her husband good-bye, wiped the dew off the windshield, and made the twenty-minute drive to Oklahoma City.She arrived in her office around 8:30. At 9:02 a.m., a rental truck blew up on the curb outside, killing her and 167 others. It was April 19, 1995, the date of one of the most horrific crimes in our history: the bombing of a federal

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-80242717756957011862007-04-05T22:36:00.000-07:002007-04-16T15:42:33.467-07:00

Substitute teaching is one of the things I do to support my church habit. It’s been, if you’ll pardon the pun, quite an education.Take today, for example. I write these words on Maundy Thursday, the evening Jesus shared the Last Supper with his disciples. In a minor nod to the fading influence of Christianity in America, it’s also the end of a four-day school week for students.I’m subbing for a

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-38745403453416466322007-03-31T12:35:00.000-07:002007-03-31T12:42:56.691-07:00

What is it that separates the ethical advice of the Bible from that of other forms of spirituality, or, for that matter, Dr. Phil’s counsel on television? After all, don’t most religions and self-help books generally say the same thing?At first glance it might appear to be so. However, the difference is not so much in what they say, but in the foundational truths that support their ideas.For

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-62385240550161374402007-03-21T13:10:00.000-07:002007-03-21T13:16:15.215-07:00

As a child, I loved Bible stories. Who wouldn’t be enchanted by the little guy beating the big guy in David vs. Goliath?The scriptures are chock full of stories like that: shipwreck and adventure, adultery and murder, passion and lust, conquest and failure. It’s fascinating reading, really.But you wouldn’t know that by visiting most churches on a Sunday morning. It seems we preachers view these

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-62826194043749446502007-03-21T13:09:00.000-07:002007-03-21T13:10:47.212-07:00

This was going to be the article where I gave you a progress report on my spiritual exercise for Lent.As you may know, Lent is the fifty-day season leading up to Easter. For the past thousand years, followers of Christ have engaged in voluntary fasting in order to identify with Jesus’ suffering before celebrating His resurrection.Of course, fasting is not much in vogue nowadays, and neither are

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-25467185687074751192007-03-18T07:52:00.000-07:002007-03-18T07:55:40.428-07:00

I have to admit it was a little embarrassing. When you're looking at missionary pictures in church, it’s not too unusual to see some extra skin exposed here and there. But when the guest speaker showed aboriginal men wearing kotekas many of us got a little squeamish."Kotekas are worn by the men of Dani and Yali tribes as a traditional part of their wardrobe," the speaker intoned. "I believe it is

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-72836692727729978022007-02-14T10:15:00.000-07:002007-03-31T10:42:22.310-07:00

Our son, Kyle, was probably nine years old when we went out for a rare steak dinner. His kid’s meal came complete with ice cream. Why is it that the kids always get the good stuff?Naturally, dad wanted to sample his booty. Without a second thought, I reached for a dad-sized scoop. "No," he said, defending his ice cream with a spoon. "It's mine!"Surprised, I said, "But didn’t I pay for it?”"Then

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-38529870359334771982007-02-13T17:31:00.000-07:002007-03-18T08:00:46.659-07:00

I looked at my cell phone. The screen said, “Kurt.” Answering with a bit of hesitation, I said, “Hi; how’d it go?”“I passed,” he said.“Congratulations! Are you driving right now?”“No, but Mom’s taking me to get a wallet.”And so it is that another chapter of parenting comes to a (screeching?) close. For the first time in 23 years there is no child who needs us behind the wheel in order to drive

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-41295175406554953132007-01-30T12:26:00.000-07:002007-09-08T12:28:01.133-07:00

I was a little nervous when Chris came to our youth group. He and I were friends from the football team in high school.Both of us had moved from end-of-the bench roles our junior year to starting positions our senior year. I was fast, and played cornerback. He was strong, and played linebacker.As juniors, we were both on the meat squad. Our assignment was to play the opposing team’s offense and

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1169066282979119882007-01-17T13:35:00.000-07:002007-01-17T13:38:02.980-07:00

Last Saturday evening I stopped at Circle K to get a cup of coffee. While there, I heard an older gentleman ask the attendant how to get to the theater to see the production of “Hot ‘n’ Cole.”The attendant was unsure, so I pitched in to help. “Take Cave Creek Road back to Carefree Highway. Turn left. At 60th Street, turn right, and ….”Hmmm. If you know where the theater is, you know that things

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1169065956623922482007-01-11T13:30:00.000-07:002007-01-18T22:03:04.848-07:00

Before he sailed, he had his hair cut off because of a vow he had taken (Acts 18:18).This simple sentence fascinates me. Why was it included in the scriptures?Just before he left for Syria, the apostle Paul got a haircut. His biographer, a doctor named Luke (who wrote most of the New Testament, by the way) tells us that it had something to do with a vow he had taken. Did Luke know what vow it was

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-84234363099376319322006-12-30T23:46:00.000-07:002007-02-03T23:50:07.284-07:00

The holiday is over. Packages and paper, like confetti, are strewn across the floor. Mom and Dad are exhausted from a late night of playing Santa. The kids? They’re just getting started. There are toys to break, video games to wear out, and clothes to admire.It’s a good day, the kind that passes by unnoticed, but lodges itself somewhere in the heart. Life’s best moments are often like that. Just

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1167104487570779032006-12-25T20:39:00.000-07:002006-12-25T20:41:27.583-07:00

Suppose your child was lost. What would you do to find him?My mother experienced the palpable panic of a lost child years ago. The child was me. I was in my first grade classroom when the intercom called my name: “Mrs. Christensen, Steven Gilbertson’s mother called. He is to go to Grandmother’s Place after school today.”I had never heard of Grandmother’s Place, but the cute little girl next to me

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1165940483858941252006-12-12T09:20:00.000-07:002007-01-10T22:49:59.693-07:00

I'm not much of a songwriter, though I certainly wish I was. My friend Mike is really good at it and it makes me jealous. But he thinks I'm a better writer than him, so I guess that makes us even. Anyway, the recent public failure of Ted Haggard, a well known Christian pastor in Colorado, left me feeling morose and sad. Ted apparently harbored a secret life, and it finally caught up with him. He

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1165887371940853862006-12-11T18:35:00.000-07:002006-12-11T18:36:11.950-07:00

As you know, the Christmas season is in full swing. For many, it’s become a holiday so tepid that even the word “Christmas” is avoided. “Merry Whatever,” I guess.Last year, as the Christmas — I mean “holiday” — season began, one department store decided not to sell Christmas trees. Instead, they called them “holiday trees.” Another store took all references to Christmas out of their

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1164524575527816362006-11-26T00:00:00.000-07:002006-11-26T00:03:53.143-07:00

One of the favorite volumes in my library is a tattered Bible that once belonged to Aunt Nora. Nora wasn't a blood relative, but as long as I can remember she shared in all our family celebrations. When she died, my grandmother saw to it that her Bible was given to me. I noticed immediately that Aunt Nora was not the type to keep her Bible hidden away until Sunday mornings. Virtually every page

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1164509143539541112006-11-25T18:54:00.000-07:002006-11-25T23:51:26.883-07:00

It was an auspicious beginning. I crawled out of bed at 3:45, threw a few clothes on, woke up Kurt, our oversleeping son, and squeezed into the van parked perilously close to our other car. We were, as usual, touching the edge of tardiness.By 5:00 he needed to be at the home of a family who had consented to take him to an important soccer tournament in San Diego. We were sleepy-tired, a little

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1161799521397849632006-10-25T11:01:00.000-07:002006-11-18T00:31:53.613-07:00

Nemo was crestfallen. Created to live in the wide open spaces of the sea, he was trapped inside a dentist’s aquarium.It was his own fault. His father had warned him not to leave the reef, but he’d wandered out there anyway. Sure enough, a diver had captured him and taken him to his office in Sydney, Australia.Most of the other fish had never lived in the sea; aquarium life was all they had ever

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1159394151886653702006-09-27T13:54:00.000-07:002006-09-27T15:07:24.223-07:00

Judging by his family tree, I'm not sure you would have expected him to amount to much. Growing up in a culture that prized ancestral purity, his was, to be honest, a little embarrassing. We would expect these family skeletons to be kept safely in the closet but there they are are in plain view.To start with, one of his ancient relatives, though prized for her heroic actions, never lost the

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1158083203451014042006-09-12T10:43:00.000-07:002006-09-12T10:47:35.286-07:00

For as long as I can remember, Kurt, our 15-year-old son, has been a helpful guy to have around the house. Even when he was very small, he loved to help Mom and Dad.He was just a little tyke when I needed to move twelve tons of dirt into our backyard. He had a little toy shovel which he used to help me fill the wheelbarrow. Shoveling dirt was never as much fun as it was that day.Of course his

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1156458593360362222006-08-24T15:24:00.000-07:002006-08-24T15:29:53.373-07:00

Call me Gollum. He and I are brothers, as are all who cannot part with the very thing that destroys our lives…. It started innocently enough. Smeagol was fishing when his brother found a shiny ring in the river. Fascinated, Smeagol asked for it as a gift since it was, after all, his birthday. A fight ensued and, shockingly, he killed his brother in order to gain the ring.That was ages ago, a

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1154672355511816482006-08-03T22:59:00.000-07:002006-08-03T23:30:29.746-07:00

I always liked Chuck. He was a good old country boy who loved to 'coon hunt. Born and raised in Arizona, I knew nothing about that kind of thing.In fact, I knew nothing about most things in rural Indiana.I remember talking to the man who owned the farmland around our home. He wasn’t a member of our church so I thought it was safe to ask him a stupid question.“I recognize the corn around me, of

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1154111011988596452006-07-28T11:16:00.000-07:002006-07-28T12:01:48.166-07:00

Nowadays, couples often go public with both the gender and the name of their as yet unborn child. Not us. Why take all the adventure out if it?“It’s a boy,” the doctor says, and they say, “Yeah, we know. You told us six months ago. We’ve already picked out his name and furnished his bedroom and bought his toys and signed him up for Pop Warner.”My goodness! Where’s the fun in that? We specifically

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1153501849663657942006-07-21T09:53:00.001-07:002009-04-20T19:05:39.516-07:00

While our home is being built in Cave Creek, we’re living in a small apartment. It’s … ahem … cozy. For example, our son who is home from college sleeps in the closet of his brother’s room. Like I said, it’s cozy. This winter our TV went on the fritz. To make a long story short, we were left with — horrors — antenna TV. Do you remember those days? Only a few stations, fiddling with the antenna,

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1153509739176878642006-07-14T12:14:00.000-07:002006-07-21T12:30:30.516-07:00

At first I was pleased. Then I was offended. Now I'm fmish’d (is that a word?)I was pleased ... because a friend from long ago contacted me out of the blue. I hadn't heard from him in many years and was delighted to learn something of what was happening in his life.Then I was offended ...for suddenly the tone of his letter changed. It started with the words, "I am writing you to let you know

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1152290436638892962006-07-07T09:30:00.000-07:002006-07-07T11:42:12.266-07:00

“Steve, they called your name! Go down to the field!”“What?” I said to Donna as I looked for my seat.“When we came in I signed you up for a contest. I guess they picked your name!”Incredulous, I made my way to the dugout. Seven other fans were there along with the ballplayers. “What’s going on, I asked?” trying not to appear completely ignorant.“In between innings you will try to throw a strike.

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1151623603600878032006-06-29T16:22:00.000-07:002006-06-29T16:26:43.616-07:00

Yes, I'm one of those guys in tight shorts on a bike. You know, the kind that irritates you on the road? That’s me.One day, for example, I was pedaling toward Bartlett Lake when something crashed against the back of my helmet. I nearly fell off my bike! Catching myself, I saw a chunk of ice bouncing on the road. I guess the driver thought it would be fun to see if he could hit me. If he knew how

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1150511649316137122006-06-16T19:32:00.000-07:002006-06-16T19:34:09.333-07:00

Mary was frantic. “Where’s my boy? Have you seen him?”No one had. Two days later found him in, of all places, a house of worship.Can you imagine her relief and frustration? “Why have you treated us like this?” she asked.Like any other twelve year old boy, he didn’t understand why she was so worried. “Didn’t you know I would be in my father’s house?” he replied.These are the first recorded words

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1149183991971285932006-05-31T10:07:00.000-07:002006-06-01T10:48:48.676-07:00

Sometimes it pays to be young and foolish.As a young man I thought I knew something about love. I met a girl in high school and, at the ripe old age of twenty, we thought we were ready for marriage.It was 113 degrees on our wedding day. The guys wore brown velvet tuxedos and bow ties; the girls peach dresses. Miraculously, no one passed out.The groomsmen decided to play a joke on me. They wrote "

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1148070151029136132006-05-19T13:18:00.000-07:002006-05-19T13:22:31.040-07:00

The most anticipated movie of the year opens this weekend: The DaVinci Code. I read the book when it first came out and, yes, I’ll go see the movie too.In the event your head’s been in the sand, The DaVinci Code is part mystery novel, part conspiracy theory, and part an indictment of the institutional church. In a round-about way, it’s about the search for the truth about Jesus.A lot of

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1147411254369972702006-05-11T22:10:00.000-07:002006-05-11T22:20:54.383-07:00

"God Forgives Me" was the title of a talk I gave out our church a while ago. It's one of my favorite topics, probably because I need it so much. But as I feverishly finished it that Saturday night I wasn’t the least bit happy with it.My message seemed pedantic and propositional, proving the need for, basis of, and results of forgiveness. What was I doing: presenting a case to the jury, or

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1146849003636158252006-05-05T10:08:00.000-07:002006-05-05T10:10:03.660-07:00

Does it ever feel like you meet yourself coming and going? This week’s been like that.One of the sad realities of life is that you simply can’t be two places at once. Most of the time we can avoid facing that truth. We’ve got text messaging and cell phones and email and video cameras and who knows what else we’ll invent to help us pretend to be omnipresent? But every so often the illusion

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1104573903829171722006-04-27T23:01:00.000-07:002006-04-28T10:36:39.506-07:00

How she was caught is never revealed. But now that their illicit relationship served to advance the agenda of the religious elite, they were stalked and she was caught. Her accomplice? Mysteriously absent.Snatched from the arms of her lover, she stands terrified before a leering crowd. Her accusers grab stones. Tension drips like a muggy Houston afternoon.How will the carpenter-turned-rabbi

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1146204509709445132006-04-23T23:02:00.000-07:002006-04-27T23:10:53.310-07:00

I’d like to introduce you to a fascinating group of people, people with whom you may already be familiar. I wonder: can you guess their identity?As a whole, this group of people takes spiritual life very seriously. They are widely known for their attention to the details of their religion. They are scrupulous about attendance at religious events. They give generously. They fast regularly.

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1131249443635548292006-04-19T20:54:00.000-07:002006-04-20T03:46:53.876-07:00

Okay, okay, I’ll admit it: I was eavesdropping. I couldn’t help it, really. The woman across the way was so excited she was hard to ignore.I’d been sitting in the coffee shop for quite some time; it’s one of my favorite places to hang out. I love the environment, the java, the spicy mango salad, and the friendliness of the staff. Everything is first rate.They even have free wireless internet (

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1145249728085709712006-04-16T21:47:00.000-07:002006-04-17T13:39:13.250-07:00

In his classic children’s book, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis imagines a world where "it's always winter and never Christmas." As Lucy, Edmund, Peter and Susan discover, this is because the land of Narnia is under the control of the Wicked Witch, who rules it with an iron fist.Knowing that the children, who arrived in Narnia through the wardrobe of an eccentric old Professor, are

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1144921384811673582006-04-13T02:36:00.000-07:002006-04-13T03:43:14.266-07:00

I stood helplessly beside my son’s hospital crib. He had just endured a life-threatening operation to remove half of his defective right lung. His breathing was labored. The night nurse, concern etched on her face, would not leave his side. Neither would I. I seriously wondered if he’d ever grow up. It’s not a pleasant memory.That night, I was faced with a choice: would I succumb to fear and

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1118963142893031362006-04-04T15:48:00.000-07:002006-10-02T17:48:38.210-07:00

I saw the movie Mr. Holland's Opus when it first came out and, frankly, didn't think too much of it. For one thing, while Richard Dreyfuss is a terrific actor, he's not much of a conductor. It reminded me of Elaine's dance on Seinfeld. I kept thinking, "Couldn't they cast someone who looked like a real band director?"The problem's much more noticeable when it comes to casting actors as athletes.

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1144923574571313182006-03-30T15:16:00.000-07:002006-04-13T03:19:34.586-07:00

I didn't grow up in a liturgical church. In fact, I grew up thinking or assuming anyway that liturgical churches didn't really believe the Bible, and that they put more trust in their traditions than God. We, on the other hand, believed the Bible and were not bound by religious tradition.That's a lie, of course, but I didn't know any better. In fact, I'm still trying to figure it out. In my

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1144924166922572542006-03-25T01:21:00.000-07:002006-04-13T03:29:26.926-07:00

Warning: Thinking out Loud.I've begun to read novel called The Red Tent. It's a story about Dinah, Jacob's only recorded daughter in the Old Testament. One of the new believers in our church told me she'd read it, so I decided to give it a whirl. So far, it’s a pretty good novel, but critiquing it is not my purpose here. Instead I’ve got some thoughts rattling around my brain which I’ll now

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1134249833749398712005-12-10T14:23:00.000-07:002005-12-10T14:26:07.930-07:00

As you know, the Christmas season is in full swing. For many, it’s become a generic holiday so tepid that even the word “Christmas” is avoided. “Merry Whatever,” I guess.As the Christmas — I mean “holiday” — season began, one department store decided not to sell Christmas trees. Instead, they’d call them “holiday trees.” Another store took all references to Christmas out of their advertisements,

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1130044235836163092005-10-22T22:05:00.000-07:002005-10-22T22:14:12.790-07:00

They both called on the same day: my son and my father. One called to see how I was doing. The other called to tell me how he was doing. Long conversations in both cases. Neither call was expected; both calls made my day.There’s something about family, isn’t there? The source of our greatest pain and our greatest joy, both rolled into one. Odd, isn’t it, how love and pain seem joined at the

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1125200771160665532005-08-27T20:32:00.000-07:002006-07-21T12:23:25.796-07:00

Yes, I'm one of those guys in the tight shorts on a bike. You know, the kind that irritate you on the road. Why just the other day I was pedaling up a ten mile stretch when I was startled by a crack on the back of my helmet. I nearly fell off my bike for fright! Catching myself, I saw a harmless chunk of ice bouncing on the road, apparently thrown at me by the Jeep jaunting merrily ahead.I don't

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1112757731382584612005-04-05T20:19:00.000-07:002005-04-05T20:22:11.383-07:00

Just time for a quick note: We've recently moved and have temporarily lost internet access and, more importantly, the ability to read/send emails. So if you've tried to contact me, please be patient. I'm not ignoring you, really! It's just that your email is lost in cyberspace. Hopefully I'll be up and running soon. Just wanted you to know....

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1109142473401501792005-02-23T00:07:00.000-07:002005-02-23T00:07:53.403-07:00

Like any good camp counselor I was doing my best to be sociable. Sitting among a crowd at a large wooden table during lunch I spied a quiet girl. She was aloof and substantially overweight. Feeling sorry for her, I tried to initiate a conversation. "Are you enjoying camp?" I innocently asked. "Yes," she said in an oddly squeaky voice. We exchanged a few pleasantries. She didn't seem too bright. "

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1108665645168205702005-02-17T11:39:00.000-07:002005-02-17T11:40:45.170-07:00

There’s no question about it: Jose Canseco is a money-grubbing sleaze ball. He’s an embarrassment to the game of baseball -- the very game which made his name a household word. He has broken the athlete’s honor code: don’t rat out a teammate.It serves baseball right that someone with Canseco’s dubious pedigree finally forced players and managers to talk honestly about steroid use. After all,

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1108244248385346152005-02-12T14:36:00.000-07:002005-02-12T14:37:28.390-07:00

We'd been on the road nearly five hours. It was a beautiful night but we were tired and anxious to make it home before 11:00 p.m. After all, I had to preach in the morning. The weekend had been miserably chilly and wet. It was a lonely desert road, the kind where the speed limit is merely a suggestion. I'd set the cruise control on 79 hours before.As we neared civilization the speed limit changed

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1106819250046214252005-01-27T02:27:00.000-07:002005-01-27T13:34:19.093-07:00

Yes, I've been quiet for a while. Perhaps it has to do with my birthday which came and went last Sunday. Actually, that's not the reason, but it's as good an excuse as any. All in all, it was a good day, full of the ordinary moments which make life extraordinary. But it didn't start that way. It began with every preacher's worst fear: oversleeping on church day. As best I can recall, it's the

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1106091107506841722005-01-18T16:30:00.000-07:002005-01-18T21:22:04.556-07:00

At first I was pleased. Then I was offended. Now I'm furmished (is that a word?) I was pleased ... because a friend from long ago emailed me out of the blue. She'd gotten our annual Christmas card and responded with a few greetings of her own. As a vital part of a former church, she'd gone on to marriage, parenting, and the like. You know, the usual stuff. I was pleased to hear from her and

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1105125020229095892005-01-07T13:09:00.000-07:002005-01-07T12:10:20.230-07:00

"But you've got to kill the terrorists before the killing stops. And I'm for the president to chase them all over the world. If it takes 10 years, blow them all away in the name of the Lord." (Jerry Falwell, CNN Late Edition, October 24, 2004). Does this statement trouble you? It does me. I'm certain that I am to pray for others in the name of the Lord. It's also clear that I am to baptize

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1104856427375628082005-01-07T08:56:00.000-07:002005-01-07T00:04:06.926-07:00

In her forward to the book Future Church, Sally Morganthaler wrote: Many of us launched our boats on the Mississippi of church growth in the past two decades. We dutifully set them afloat in the world of big and simple. We followed those who had built massive riverboats, along with the equally massive paddlewheels of programs to propel them. But the landscape shifted beneath our feet. From big

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1105051590099762252005-01-06T15:08:00.000-07:002005-01-06T16:11:04.236-07:00

Like many adult males I did a little last minute Christmas shopping. My motto is, "why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?" (I keep angling for a new motto, but it seems these things rather find us than the reverse.) Anyway, I wanted to buy a Christian book for a good friend. Usually I'd simply order it off the internet but, as I said, this was the last minute. I instinctively

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1105027178167037162005-01-06T08:57:00.000-07:002005-01-06T08:59:38.166-07:00

I'm one of those drivers you hate to see on the road. Now don't be too critical; you're likely just as bad as me. I know it's not a race, but still, I'd rather lead than follow. Besides, I tell myself, the faster I go, the more quickly traffic behind me can travel. It's like the interminable traffic light. Don't you hate it when the line is so long that you only move forward once the light turns

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1104874014562320922005-01-04T14:23:00.000-07:002005-01-04T14:26:54.563-07:00

John Donne (1572-1631) has long been my favorite poet. Following are two reasons why: Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend Your force, to breake, blowe, burn, and make me new. I, like an usurpt town, to'another due, Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end. Reason, your viceroy in mee

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9882450.post-1104572453691908302005-01-01T01:23:00.000-07:002005-01-04T14:29:06.063-07:00

How to begin a brand new year and a brand new blog? Perhaps with old words. Homer... Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story of that man skilled in all ways of contending, the wanderer, harried for years on end, after he plundered the stronghold on the proud height of Troy. TS Eliot: Four Quartets, Little Giding, stanza V... What we call the beginning is often the end And to make and

Steve Gilbertsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15359491522130147152noreply@blogger.com0