Eddie is an award-winning author with HarperCollins and CEO of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. He is also the co-founder of Christian Devotions Ministries. Learn more about Eddie at EddieJones.org
When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your sinful nature God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins. "> (NIV)
The tree lay dead on the patio. Dead a good long while based on the green halo of needles covering the concrete. Still, this was Christmas. A time for dredging up old memories, hanging garland from the mantle and pretending there was peace on earth and in my heart. My task was simple: mount the tree in its stand and drag it into the house. The rest of the holiday festivities fell to my wife, for she’s the one who keeps the spirit of Christmas alive in our home. I simply endure the decorating in order to get to the cookies. Thus began this year’s Christmas Tree War.
Day one. Fitted tree with round green boot. Inserted metal pins in trunk. Yelled at dog for attempting to relieve himself on the tree’s cone-shaped peak. Snow falling. God's attempt, I suppose, to inject some Christmas spirit into me. I'm warming to the idea.
Day two. Boot's not working. Tree tilts like that rental sailboat in my novel, Bahama Breeze. Wife worried about the tree and my bold threats to fly to the islands and skip Christmas. Surfing reef breaks sounds like way more fun than shoveling ice from the steps.
Day three. Tree slumped against the wall. Stand empty of water. Needles cover the white carpet. Wife yelling at me to clean my mess. I suppose something will have to be done about the tree… and wife.
Day four. Met with a friend who’s handy with tools to review my options. One, toss the tree and buy another. Two, toss the tree and buy a plastic one. Three, toss Christmas.
Day five. Wife in the kitchen. Friends on their way over. House smells of cinnamon, evergreen and other Christmas “smell-good” stuff. Tree starting to shrivel like a castaway sailor who’s been at sea too long.
Day six. Amputation. With crude tools I removed a portion of the trunk. Carpet a mess. Wife’s out shopping, again. Lights askew. Tree needs work. Not a holly jolly Christmas, yet.
Day seven. Tree standing (sort of) erect. Branches adorned with balls. Colorful lights twinkling. Wife snuggled against my arm, whispering, “you da mon!” Might warm up to this idea of Christmas, after all.
Dragging a dead tree into my home makes no sense: no sense at all. And yet, are we not like that tree? Dead in our sins, our lives littered with nettlesome remarks, missed opportunities and nagging regrets?
Paul says God finds us brittle, broken and parched for His fellowship. Though at first, we appear green, pliable, and "ever green," inside we are dead. Dead to God. Dead to our neighbor. Dead to the joy which should be ours everyday.
And yet even in our state of decay God lifts us up, holds us high, and adorns us with His love. Yes we are dead in our transgressions, but we become alive in Christ. Ever green for ever more.
Why do we drag dead trees into our homes each year? Is it not a symbol of hope? Our annual statement that we too can come alive even though we are dead inside? This is the reason I fight the Christmas Tree Wars. I want to recapture the magic of Christ and believe in abundant life He promised.
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. - , New International Version (NIV)
Oh Lord, may I exude the sweet evergreen smell of life to those around me this Christmas.
Eddie Jones © 2011, printed with permission
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Eddie's young adult novel, The Curse of Captain LaFoote, won the 2012 Moonbeam Award in the Pre-Teen Fiction/Fantasy category and 2011 Selah Award in Young Adult fiction. Dead Man's Hand, Eddie's first middle grade novel in the Caden Chronicles mystery series, is now available from Zonderkidz. Eddie sails, surfs and writes in North Carolina.
For I take no pleasure in the death of anyone, declares the Sovereign LORD. Repent and live!
No one gets out alive, but we do go out - in body bags, caskets, and vapors.
I'm 35,000 feet above the planet right now, rocketing through space at 400 miles an hour in a projectile with plastic overhead bins stuffed with briefcases, shopping bags and luggage. In the time it took to boot up my laptop, I exited North Carolina, flew over South Carolina, and entered Georgia. While waiting for my word processing program to load, I read the safety card and was struck by how in life, as on airplanes, we are called to serve as examples during times of emergencies. For example: Here are the rules for exiting this aircraft in case of a sudden disaster.
"If you are seated in a row with direct access to an over wing exit, you may be called upon to open the exit window and help other passengers leave this aircraft." (Check. As a Christian I'm to be a guiding light, a helping hand in times of trouble.) "In order to perform this task, please make sure you are able to complete the following functions." (Roger that. Thanks to years of repeated trials, stress-filled moments and chaotic circumstances, I remain calm during times of crisis.)
Here are a few of the tasks I may have to perform in case of an emergency:
"Locate the emergency exit." (The exit door is right next to me, but the Door to life promises never to leave my side.)
"Recognize an emergency." (On an aircraft this may involve a dramatic increase in cabin pressure, overhead bins snapping open and sudden loss of control. Christ, too, promised we would face sudden loss and stress-filled moments.)
"Comprehend the instructions of the crew." (Twice on this trip I've asked the stewardess for clarification. “You mean all I get is this tiny bag of peanuts and a sip of water? You sure?” The same happens in my spiritual journey. Often I ask the Author of the instructional manual for verification of His message and meaning.)
"Operate the emergency exit." (This is where it gets tough. I'm not ready to leave — at least not at 35,000 feet. But if someone must go first, let it be me.)
"Follow directions." (Now it gets harder. I've never followed directions... in airplanes, in life, in my walk with God. If I'm to be the exit guy and an example for others, I need to improve.)
"Pass expeditiously through the exit." (Okay, Lord. Here we go! I'm opening the door.)
"Follow a safe path away..." (From this plane, this body, this planet… and out we go.)
God takes no pleasure in death and yet, the shadow of death hovers over us. We worry, weep and do all we can to postpone our inevitable departure. And yet we die anyway. Today I received this email from a friend who’s sitting by her father’s bedside.
“Dad is still able to speak with us at times but he isn’t able to eat, so it’s just a matter of time UNLESS God intervenes. We’re open to that option! I explained to Dad that if he could not pass the swallow test and take nourishment he would more than likely be spending Christmas with Momma. She passed away 6 years ago. He quickly answered, ‘not this year!’"
No, none of us wants to die and still we do.
From my seat I can see up the aisle and toward the front of the aircraft; but not into the cockpit. There could be turbulence ahead and I wouldn’t know it. Or a big black hole waiting to swallow this jetliner. (I’ve heard about these black holes and they sound really, really scary.) All I know for certain is that I’ve placed my trust in the pilots, the architect of this aircraft, and the suppliers of its parts. When it comes to my life, I have placed my trust in the Pilot, Architect and Builder of my earthly body.
I'm not ready to go; but our lives, like this flight, will end. When it does I want to be able to walk — not just away — but toward something better.
Repent and live on. Or not. It's your choice.
If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land. (Today’s New International Version, ©2005)
Copyright © 2011, Eddie Jones. Used by permission.
"Naaman's servants went to him and said, 'My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much more, then, when he tells you, 'Wash and be cleansed.' So he went down and dipped himself in the Jordan seven times, as the man of God had told him, and his flesh was restored and became clean like that of a young boy."
My Toyota Celica suffered from the shakes. Each time I hit the brakes the front end trembled and pulled to the right. I drove to our normal repair shop, walked in and asked for John.
“John doesn’t work here anymore,” the new manager replied. “How can I help you?”
I explained the problem. He put it on the rack and told me to wait. A few minutes later he told me the car needed over $3,000 in repairs. I balked. We’d already replaced the hubs, joints and a number of the other items listed on the repair order.
“Not on this vehicle you haven’t.”
I didn’t feel like arguing. Plus, I wasn’t going to spend that kind of money on a ten-year-old car, anyway. I thanked him for his time and went to my car. As I was backing out of my space the manager trotted out with a printout showing our repair history.
“Right here,” he said pointing. “This is all the work we’ve done on this car. And this sheet,” he waved another printout in front of my face, “are the repairs to your van. It shows where we fixed your van’s front end last summer.”
I told him thanks for pointing out my error. Then I shifted into first and drove away. Some months later I sold the car, but I’ve yet to return to that shop.
Often, the simple steps are the hardest to take. Stepping aside to let another take your place. Walking away from a fight. Saying, "I'm sorry."
I'm allergic to apologies. Can't hardly give one without shaking all over. Makes my cheeks go flush, my voice quiver. I'd rather have a tooth filled than say, "You’re right. My mistake."
Drives me crazy to back off and let someone else have their way. Takes both hands clamped over my mouth to keep me from getting in the first and last words, plus the ones in between.
Naaman suffered from leprosy of the skin but, as is often the case in Scripture, his condition also pointed to a spiritual affliction. Pride.
With a sense of pride we claim our rights, prove to others we are right, and hop onto our soapbox to waggle our finger in the face of others. “You can’t… You shouldn’t… You won't enter heaven if you…” Simple steps that lead others—not to Christ—but lead us away from God.
Leprosy begins when the bacteria, Mycobacterium leprae, multiplies. Muscles become weak, especially in the hands, feet and eyes. As the skin hardens, the victim loses feeling in his fingers and toes. He becomes blind. Severe pain grips his body. There is no cure.
Like the bacteria, pride spreads throughout our lives, weakening our resolve to put the concerns of others before us. We become numb to their pain, blind to the poor around us and hardened to souls perishing for lack of love. The only way to kill pride is die to self.
Naaman sought to spend his way to a healing, but God's man refused his money. Naaman thought his position would curry favor, but God's man turned him away. Naaman thought some grand and great effort would save him, but God's man offered a simple solution. "Go wash in the river Jordan and you will be cleansed."
Simple steps with large results. Go. Repent. Forgive. Ask to be forgiven.
Through Christ we receive the promise of new life, new skin. Wholeness and cleansing. This is not our “right” but God’s grace.
“Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it.: "> NLT.
None is clean, no not one. No one is right except Christ. Today if you feel your rights have been violated, consider Christ. He stepped off his throne and down to your level for love. Go, and do likewise.
Copyright © 2012, Eddie Jones, used by permission.
Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a fraction of a penny. Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, "I tell you the truth, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on. (NIV)
God's accounting practices do not work in corporate America or with family budgets. For God, a full day's work is counted the same as part-time piddling. Two copper coins are worth more than a sack of gold. What looks like laziness, Jesus considers devotion:
"Mary has chosen the better part, and it will not be taken from her." - .
Those who are given much will receive more, while those who hoard the little they have will be cast into darkness.
"When God wants me to give more, He'll give me more money, more time, more resources." That's the cry of those too stressed to feel the warmth of God's embrace.
Perhaps more is the solution, but the Scriptures suggest a different accounting method.
"We are hard pressed on every side," the apostle Paul wrote in , "but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." Paul's words are hardly an endorsement for the "give me more and I'll do more" approach to God's work. If we say, "When God wants me to... He will...," we are really claiming that He has not done enough, loved enough, or died enough to satisfy us.
The many "threw in" their wealth. The widow "put in" all she had.
Have we? Have we put our whole heart into the task to which we've been called? Have we put in the time necessary to carry forward His message of hope and life? Or are we waiting for a greater calling, heartier encouragement, or a larger field of work?
God often begins with menial assignments, tiny tithes, and insignificant gestures. In the small matters, His kingdom's economy prospers. God has given us all we need. We only need to give back all we have.
With permission from My Father's Business: 30 Inspirational Stories for Discerning and Doing God's Will by Eddie Jones.
