Little Debbie

Debbie T. returned to her one bedroom apartment with the words "four to six months" boldly emblazened into her mind. A few weeks earlier, a shadow appeared on one of her test results. That shadow, her doctor discovered, was a fast-growing form of cancer. Deb was faced with the news that she had only a few months to live.

Deb had lived her life without really giving her own eventual demise much thought. Now, it was all she thought about. "But it was just a shadow," she kept repeating through her tears. "How can a shadow kill?"

Eventually, Deb began to take inventory of her life. She looked at herself and her situation. She was a divorced, 57 year-old woman with no children. Her parents had both died before she was 50. Her sister, twelve years ahead of her chronologically, was now 50 years behind her mentally and emotionally, spending her remaining years in a care facility for alzheimer patients. Deb worked as a cashier at a small, family-owned grocery store in rural Louisiana since her divorce fourteen years ago.

The first phone call she made was to her boss, Randy. Through her tears, Deb let Randy know that she would not be coming back to work. In spite of his many efforts to find out why she was crying and quitting her job, Randy soon heard the line go dead. A strange, illogical fear kept Deb from telling anyone that she was dying. It was as if, by saying it aloud, it would make it true.

The second phone call Deb made came two days later. She called her bank to find out how much money she had in her checking and savings accounts. The amount surprised her. She had hoped to have enough money to get away for a few days. She wanted to sit on a beach and watch the sun rise and set. Instead, she had enough money to go practically anywhere she wanted for a week! Upon further investigation, she discovered a sizeable deposit into her account the previous day. Randy.

Randy and his wife and family had always been good to her. She knew she had to tell them what was going on, but she decided she would wait until she returned from her trip. She had to get away. But where? Deb wanted to see at least one place on earth that she had always dreamed of seeing before it was too late.

Deb knew what that one place was --- Hawaii! For years, she watched game shows and dreamed of being a contestant and winning a trip to Hawaii. But it had only always been a fantasy. With Randy's help, she had just enough money to get to California for a week.

A plan developed in Debbie's mind. She would go to California, get on a game show, and win a trip to Hawaii. It seemed simple enough...until she tried to apply as a contestant. The waiting lists did not fit her limited calendar. The tryouts, application forms, and the odds of being selected were not in her favor either. The only game show she could get tickets to immediately was the one she had watched all her life: "The Price is Right."

"The Price is Right" is the one game show that pulls contestants from the audience. She knew the likelihood of being selected as a contestant was a long shot. She knew the chances of winning a trip was an even greater long shot. And the odds of her winning a trip specifically to Hawaii? Just this side of "not-a-chance." But what did she have to lose? At least she would die knowing she finally took a risk on fulfilling her dreams.

To her surprise, an ad on "The Price is Right" website inviting people to be a contestant on the show had a sample contestant name tag that read, "Debra!" It was all she needed to point and click her way toward contestanthood.

With great fear and enormous butterflies in her stomach, she booked a seat in the audience and one on an airplane. She then found the big, luxurious hotel that they always advertise on the game show and booked a room for three nights. The fear of the shadow was driven away by the excitement of going to California and being in a television audience.

This was a huge step for Deb. Her flight left in four days and she didn't sleep for the next three nights. She packed and packed again a dozen times, ignoring all phone calls, emails, and knocks at the door.

Deb felt totally out of place in Los Angeles. She tried to act like a seasoned traveler, but knew she was failing miserably. In spite of her anxieties, she forced her way through LAX, baggage claim, and an unforgettable cab ride to the hotel. As she checked in at the snazziest place she had ever seen, she looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Richard Gere, only to discover that everyone was looking at her. They had obviously never seen anyone from the other "LA"!

When the door closed behind her in her immaculate hotel room, she let out a gigantic sigh of relief, flung herself onto the soft bed, and let the emotions flow. It was an odd demonstration of grief, laughter, sorrow, satisfaction, disbelief, and relief.

The next day, Debbie sat in the studio audience of "The Price is Right" with a big tag on her shirt that read, "Deb." The process of getting to her seat was all a blur. She vaguely remembered filling out paperwork and going through security, but it was mostly a fuzzy series of events that didn't find a home in her memory.

Deb enjoyed the entire show, but her name wasn't called...until the second half! "Debbie T, come on down! You're the next contestant on 'The Price is Right!'"

Deb couldn't believe it! She didn't jump up and scream. She floated down the aisle in shock. It didn't seem real. When she reached her place in the contestant line-up, tears began to flow down her cheeks. The host of the show saw the tears and tried to help her laugh it off, "Wow. She's crying. That usually only happens backstage BEFORE I go to makeup."

Everyone laughed. Everyone except Deb. She cried harder. The place went silent. Fear gripped Deb like never before. Barely discernible words crept out of her for the first time about her diagnosis and her dream. Before she could stop herself, she blubbered to a studio full of strangers what she had kept from close friends: "A shadow...cancer...four to six months...Hawaii..."

People in the audience gasped. Producers began to whisper. Deb saw their reaction. "What are you DOING?" she thought to herself. She suddenly felt foolish and alone. She ran as fast as she could out of the studio. She didn't stop running until she got to the hotel.

Deb hid in her room for the next two days until time for her flight home. She was miserable. She felt like a total failure, having stood at the plate of "the oppurtunity of a lifetime" and struck out.

When Deb entered her home, the sound of the door closing behind her seemed like the closing of the casket on her hopes and dreams. She went straight to bed and slept for ten hours. "Why wake up?" she thought to herself. "What's the point?"

Deb laid in bed staring at the ceiling fan for another hour before getting up and fixing herself some toast and coffee. She had two messages on her answering machine. One number she recognized. Randy. The other number must have been a telemarketer. She didn't recognize the area code. Deb let both messages sit and blink while she ate her breakfast and started the bathwater in the tub.

While in the tub, the unrecognized area code bounced around in her head until it finally found a home. In Deb's mind, there was almost a "ding, ding, ding" sound that went off. The area code was the same as her hotel in Los Angeles. Deb knew that she had paid her bill before leaving, so she decided to finish the relaxing bath before checking the message.

BEEP. "Debbie T? This is Adam Sandler, producer of 'The Price is Right.' Would you please give me a call? I have something I would like to discuss with you."

BEEP. "Deb? Hey, it's Randy. Listen, I need to talk to you. Can you please call me back?" BEEP.

"The Producer is calling ME?" Deb was shocked, scared, and embarrassed. She had replayed her incident on the show over in her mind ten million times and it always left a painful hole in her stomach. She knew they simply edited her out of the program and called another contestant to take her spot. So, why was Mr. Sandler calling?

Three slight raps on her apartment door jolted Deb out of her attempt to understand Mr. Sandler's message. Deb went to the door and looked through the peep hole. Randy and some man in a business suit. Both smiling.

"What do you want, Randy? And who is that with you?"

"This is Mr. Sandler, Deb," answered Randy. "He's a big Hollywood producer. Would you please let us in? We would like to talk to you."

Debbie stood silent, trying to process the situation. "I know about your cancer, Deb," said Randy. "Mr. Sandler tracked me down from the paperwork you filled out to be on the show. He told me what happened. You have nothing to be ashamed of. We know there's nothing we can do or say to change what you are facing. But please, give us a chance to change how you face it."

Tears flowed down Deb's cheeks. Her heart was broken, but her will was stubborn. "Randy," she answered. "You and your family have been so good to me. But this is something I have to deal with alone."

"I apologize for interrupting, Mrs. T," said Mr. Sandler. "If you wanted to deal with it alone, why couldn't you stop yourself from telling a theater full of strangers? I don't think 'alone' is working for you. We'd like to help if you would be kind enough to let us in so we can talk."

"You came all this way to talk to me?" Deb couldn't imagine such a thing.

"I did," answered Mr. Sandler.

A brief silence followed. With trembling hands, Deb unlocked her apartment door, opened it, and buried her face in Randy's embrace. The three of them sat in Debbie's apartment and talked briefly about her cancer, treatment options, and grim prognosis. Few conversations fill a room with as much heaviness and sadness as this one did.

But the heaviness and sadness didn't last long. Through Mr. Sandler's travel connections and sponsors, as well as sizeable donations from businesses and banks in Deb's small Louisiana community, Deb was going to Hawaii for four weeks! All expenses were paid. Reservations and flights were already booked. Randy handed her an envelope with all her ticket and hotel information and enough spending money for a family of twelve, and said, "I hope your toothbrush is still in your suitcase. You have a plane to catch tomorrow evening."

Did you catch her name? Deb T. Put them together. Debt. We all face Debbie's dilemma. We live in bodies cursed by sin and sentenced to death. The hope of our soul is to gain an envelope of grace that grants us a ticket to Heaven.

We can't earn it. Our debt is higher than our ability to pay. But there is One to whom our value is higher than our debt.

God loved us so much that He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, into the world to pay the cruel price and purchase our fare to Heaven. Jesus came all this way for YOU!

Debbie didn't go to Hawaii until she reached her hand out and accepted the envelope from Randy. Any gift involves a willing giver and a willing receiver. God has willingly given you the gift of salvation. Jesus willingly gave His blood to pay for your sin's penalty. Have you willingly, personally received that gift?

You can. Here's how: Admit to God that you have sinned against Him. No excuses. No comparisons to anyone else. Just acknowledge that you are a sinner in need of His gift of salvation. Then, ask God to forgive your sins through the sacrificial death of Jesus on the cross. Then, by an act of your will, heart, mind, and soul --- turn away from sin and turn toward the Son of God, Jesus Christ. Invite the resurrected Christ to enter and change your life forever.

Have you? If so...believe. Stand on your soul's liberty through the promises of God's Word, the Bible, that you are forgiven and redeemed by the blood of Jesus. You invited Him into your life by faith. Now, live by that same faith.

If you just prayed to receive God's gift of salvation through Jesus Christ, I would like to know about it so that I can pray with and for you, and help you take your next steps as a born-again child of God. Please email me and let me know of your decision. I look forward to hearing from you.

Indebted,
Perry Crisp
perryphrase@yahoo.com

GLAD I'm No Longer HEFTY

It's trash day. In our neighborhood, several neighbors share a trash corner. Every Monday, each neighbor carries his or her week's worth of trash to the corner and adds it to the ever-growing pile.

There's no dumpster. We just drop our sacks and stacks of trash on the grass near the street sign. There are huge sacks of trash and little sacks of trash. There are white sacks and black sacks. There are high-dollar, reinforced, double-walled trash bags with objects bulging and pushing, but not bursting through the sides of the bag. There are cheap bags that rip and tear easily.

All bags of all kinds from all neighbors taken to the same exact spot and left there. Later in the day, a trash truck pulls up to trash corner and picks up all our trash and takes it away. By mid-afternoon, trash corner is always cleared of trash...as if the trash had never been there.

This morning I drove past trash corner without stopping. Not because I didn't have trash. I'd been carrying three trash bags in the bed of my truck for two days. I put the trash back there in anticipation of trash day. But after a couple of days of hauling it around, I forgot it was back there. I became accustomed to seeing it there and didn't even notice it when I drove out of the driveway this morning. I drove right past trash corner with my trash still in my truck.

I made it about a block and a half before it dawned on me that I forgot to drop off my trash. I turned around at the next driveway and returned to trash corner. I removed the three bags from the bed of my truck and left them there.

After I set the trash bags down, I looked up at the sign. The sign had two identifying markers on it: a county road number and the name of the county. I looked up and saw the county name -- Wood -- and that's when things turned weird.

As I stood beneath that Wood County road sign with my trash bags at my feet, my mind transitioned from the physical to the spiritual. I saw myself standing beneath a Wooden cross, having laid my bags of sin at the base of it.

This is what Jesus did for me. And for you. But it wasn't a Monday. It was a Friday. Good Friday. Jesus took the trash of our sins away to a hill called Calvary. On that hill, Jesus "became sin for us" on a wooden cross and removed every bag. He didn't toss it in a landfill and cover it up. He took it down to the ocean floor of the Sea of Forgetfulness and there it dissolved.

How often do we carry our sinful trash around with us? How many times do we overlook our baggage and bypass the cross? Turn around. Repent. Take your sins to Sin Corner and gratefully lay them beneath the Wooden cross of Jesus.

"If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and cleanse us from all unrighteousness" - 1st John 1:9.

Perry Crisp

Hope Beneath the Rope

A man sat broken in the pew next to me last night after church. A stranger, yet a brother. He spilled his life out to me in raw clarity. Anger, hurt, emptiness, and regrets outlined his life.

He described himself as barely clinging to a knot at the end of his rope. Ever been there? Yeah. Me too.

He talked of how things used to be. Things used to be great. At one time he was walking with God and had even enrolled in a Bible institute with plans of becoming a preacher of the gospel.

Life took an unpredictable bounce. Bad news left a bad taste in his mouth. Like Job, this man's religious friends laid a load of blame and guilt on him. The bad taste left his mouth and settled in his attitude. His attitude toward God, the church, and life grew worse and worse.

He has spent years living on poisonous bitterness and rebellion. Every time he drove by our church, he felt drawn to go inside. Last night, the arguments against walking into a church house filled with strangers lost out to a deep desire to come home to God.

I told him to let go of the knot. He looked up at me with fear. "As long as you're holding onto that knot, you're not giving God control of your life," I said. "Let go. God will catch you before you know you're falling."

The man released his grip on the knot and landed instantly in the grip of God's grace.

After repentance came regret. He looked at me and said, "I wish I could go back to where I was...to the way I once felt."

With that statement, he had no idea how much we had in common. Regrets have a certain flavor to them that lay long on the tongue of our memory. Yet, as much as we'd like to go back and do things better or different, we can't.

We can't travel back in time. People named Garmin or Tom-Tom may adjust easily to your wrong turns, but others won't. Board games may let you go back ten spaces, but life doesn't.

There is one exception. God has allowed one moment in history to which we can all go back. The cross.

We can all go back to that moment on Calvary's hill when the Son of God hung on the cross to pay the bill for our sin, guilt, and regrets. The outstretched arms of Christ are infinite. They stretch around the world and across human history. They reach to the beginning and end of time and cover the sins of us all. Forgiveness drips from the cross.

We sat together on that pew last night equal in God's eyes. Equally sinners. Equally forgiven. Peace covered us because our pasts are covered.

It was pretty awesome to see a man who was at the end of his rope only moments before, take his first steps toward a new beginning. That's what God does...when we let Him.

I look forward to seeing my new friend Sunday and introducing him to his new family and his new future.

"We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand --- out in the wide open spaces of God's grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise...
"Christ arrives right on time to make this happen. He didn't, and doesn't, wait for us to get ready. He presented himself for this sacrificial death when we were far too weak and rebellious to do anything to get ourselves ready...God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him" (Romans 5:1-2, 5-6, The Message).

The Parable of the Garden

Into your Garden of Eden comes a friend or relative whose actions and attitudes always seem both irritating and irritable.

I don't know the specifics, but I see you there. You smile at the beauty of your garden. You pull a fragrant rose toward you, inhale, close your eyes, smile, and let out a refreshing sigh. Your bare feet enjoy the tingle and texture of soft, green grass. The birds surround you with songs of joy and peace. The blue sky above you is an open canvas of heavenly color, brightening your garden and your heart.

Then the irritable one enters. He (or, perhaps she) tromps through one of your flower beds, oblivious to the beauty being destroyed beneath his calloused and heavy foot. Everywhere he goes within your garden, the insensitivity of his actions and the fumes from his mouth are like poison being sprayed upon each leaf, blade of grass, petal, and flower. The birds choke on the fumes. The sky coughs at the pollution of his attitude.

You do your best to help him see the beauty of the garden. I watch you as you tolerate his destructive spirit. Yet I see something growing inside you now. A root of bitterness has been planted in the soil of your heart.

It grows. It sprouts branches of hurt and flowers of resentment that eventually bear the fruit of anger. "Enough!" Before you realize it, you have shouted at this perpetrator of your Eden. That felt good!

It felt so good that the adrenalin kicks in with greater force. You mentally and emotionally wrap handcuffs around this beast, unworthy of your garden. You march him to the outer limits of your garden where you are surprised and thrilled to see a small, dark, dreary prison cell with bars.

The rusted prison door creaks as you open it. You toss the bearer of badness - that vile creature who hurt you so terribly and deeply for so long - into that prison cell and slam the door! You lock the door and remove the key.

Now, you can return to your garden of peace. Now, you can be mellow and relax in the pleasures of your beautiful garden without the scent or residue of his poison.

Hours pass. Days go by. Weeks. Months. Years. Throughout each passing second since you incarcerated the source of your displeasure, your peace and tranquility have faded bit by bit. A slight erosion has ensued. The pink in your pink roses isn't as pink. Clouds multiply and darken with each passing tick of his prison sentence. The birds, one by one, have found other gardens in which to sing. The grass is harder to walk on. It crackles beneath your weight.

"What is happening to my beautiful garden?" you shout. But you know. Or at least, you think you know. It is HIM! It is his fault. HE has ruined your garden!

Though you haven't visited his prison since the day you threw him in there, you stomp toward it ready to give him a piece of your mind. Just seeing him rotting in that dark, stale, small room will make you feel better.

But something has changed.

His prison doesn't resemble a prison at all. In fact, it looks more like a garden than your garden. His handcuffs are gone. He isn't emaciated or suffering or sorrowful. He hasn't changed at all. He seems oblivious to his prison sentence. It's as if he doesn't even know...or remember. He has continued on with his life as if nothing ever happened.

He turns to look at you. Only a glance. No emotion. No recognition. Nothing. He has been completely unaffected by these years under your control.

You grab the bars and shake them in anger. You want to go in there and destroy his world like he destroyed yours. You reach for the key that you've been wearing around your neck. It has rusted so bad that it crumbles in your hand.

He turns and looks down at the lock on the prison door. Your eyes follow his. There is no place for the key...on your side. Stunned, you reach around and feel that the keyhole is now on the outside. You turn around and find yourself in the prison.

Resentment chains us to the past. Forgiveness sets us free. Like the little boy who was in obvious pain sitting on a park bench. A passerby asked him what was wrong. He said, "I'm sitting on a bee."

"Why don't you get up then?" asked the stranger. "Because," answered the boy, "I figure I'm hurting him more than he's hurting me."

God's Word encourages us to forgive just as God, through Christ, has forgiven us. The Bible has nine different words for forgiveness. Four of them are the predominant ones. Of the four, two are found in the Old Testament and two in the New Testament.

1. Forgiveness covers over a wrong. Like a painter who makes a mistake on the canvas, but fixes it with a few creative strokes of the brush (Deuteronomy 21:8).

2. Forgiveness lifts away...like a burden lifted from the shoulders (Psalm 32:5).

3. Forgiveness sends away...like a note attached to the leg of a pigeon (1st John 1:9, Psalm 103:12).

4. Forgiveness grants as a favor (Ephesians 4:32, Luke 7:41-43).

Control is an illusion. The only one being controlled by unforgiveness is the one who will not let go. Though the hurt may be so deep and affect you so permanently that you may never be able to forget it, you can learn to forgive to the degree that your relationship with that person is no longer colored or tempered by that hurt.

There are no easy answers. Only choices. Which will you choose? Your garden or your prison? God can help restore your garden. He has already signed your release papers. But you have to will yourself to walk out of that prison and into your garden.

Take His hand and let Him lead you...
Perry Crisp

WoW

"Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits - who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases" - Psalm 103:2-3 (NIV).

Hold your thumb over your pinky so that your three remaining fingers form a "W." Do the same with your other hand. Put one hand on each side of your mouth and open your mouth wide. Stay frozen like that until you can see yourself in a mirror.

Do you see it? According to the book, "Sign Language for Dumb Blondes," it is the sign for the word, "WOW!"

That's how I feel about God's forgiveness and healing (both of which I will probably need if any blondes are offended by this devotional).*

For God to forgive all sin is beyond comprehension. For God to forgive MY sins alone is incredible. But to add yours and multiply those of millions of others -- my mind cannot even go anywhere near there.

And that's not all. Not only does God forgive; He heals! God heals spiritually, emotionally, relationally, and physically. The same God who molded us into being can certainly mend us when we're broken.

God forgives. Wow! God heals. Double wow! Put them together and you have a thing called "justification." To be justified is to be "just-as-if-I'd" never sinned. It means that we have the same position with God that we had before we sinned. We are right where we would have been if we had never sinned. Amazing, isn't it?

Cindy played with a bell from her mother's bell collection and broke the handle. Afraid to tell her mom, the four-year-old hid the broken pieces under her bed. It wasn't long before her mom found it.

"Cindy, look what I found," said her mom. Cindy's mom had the bell and was holding it by the handle. She had glued the handle back in place!

Cindy exclaimed, "Wow! It's like brand new!"

After Cindy's tearful apology, her mom hugged her and assured her that she was forgiven. Cindy's relationship to her mom was repaired "like brand new," too.

Forgiveness plus healing equals justification. God forgives our sin and heals our soul. With our sins removed and our soul restored, we too, are like brand new.

Feel free to have someone take your picture while you are making the "WOW" pose, and PLEASE send me a copy. I need a good laugh. THANKS JIM BARRETT...I'M STILL LAUGHING!!!

Just-as-if-I'd Never Told a Dumb Blonde Joke,*
Perry Crisp

*Disclaimer: The author of this devotional in no way implies that all who have blonde hair are dumb blondes. "Dumb blonde" is a cultural colloquialism applied to all societal dingbats,** regardless of hair color or the existence of hair.

**Disclaimer: The author of this devotional in no way intends to insult the bat population of the animal kingdom. "Dingbat" is a commonly used colloquialism originating in printing press factories as an onomatopoeia...for heaven's sakes.

Do Over

"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 will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land" - 2 Chronicles 7:14 (NIV).

Which of the following would be hardest to forgive?

1. A doctor who prescribes a laxative for your migraine.
2. A beautician who thought you said "shave" instead of "wave."
3. A store clerk who asks for a price check for your zit zapping cream over the intercom.
4. A preacher who preaches on good hygiene and uses you as an example of what NOT to do.

Would you make an appointment to see that doctor or beautician again? Not likely. Could you ever show your face (pardon the pun) in that store again? I doubt it. Would you ever go back to hear that preacher again or would you rather sign up for acupuncture with horse needles?

There are not many places on earth where a person can expect a second chance. But there is a place in heaven. God forgives His children and gives them a second chance.

Whenever you fail God, He does not change His heart toward you nor abandon you. He waits patiently for you to return and repent.

A sin against God means we have moved away from Him, not the other way around. When that happens (and it will/does/has), God wants us to realize our error, return to Him in prayer, and turn away from the sin that moved us away from Him in the first place.

I know it's only Monday, but have you failed God yet? Return to Him with a humble heart and a desire to change. God will hear you, forgive you, and draw you close to His side once again.

A second-chance God begets second-chance children. Is there someone who needs a second chance from you? Follow your Father's example and forgive.

On my 2,456th chance...this year!
Perry Crisp

Good and Ready

"For You, Lord, are good, and ready to forgive. And abundant in mercy to all those who call upon You" (Psalm 86:5).

A child nags his mom and gets a familiar response: "I will get to it when I am good and ready!" An impatient response to an impatient request.

The Psalmist tells us that God is always "good and ready." Our God is a "good and ready" God.

It seems so basic. So simple. But once grasped, this knowledge of the soul that God is good, can be one of the most exhilerating and freeing discoveries you can ever know.

We are acquainted with bad. We are familiar with diluted good. But God is purely, wholly good. That is not something we are quick to accept.

Our defenses are always fully alert. The more "good" we see in someone we meet, the more suspicious we are. The "too-good-to-be-true" virus always gets blocked by our antivirus protection.

Why? Scars. We've been hurt. We've been conned. We've been used. We've been sold a bill of goods. The old cowboy movies set us up for failure. They always put the good guys in white hats and the bad guys in black hats. We thought we could trust the guys in white hats. Sooner or later, we learned different. Good is always diluted to some degree.

But not with God. God is always good. All the way up and all the way down. Frontwards and backwards. Through and through. Day and night. Always.

If you can grasp that, then move on to the next part: God is always ready to forgive. No reluctance. No pondering. No pandering. You ask - He forgives. Simple. Simply incredible.

Don't stop there. As amazing as it is, it's only half the verse. God is good. God is ready to forgive. And God has more mercy than you will ever need. You are not a contestant on His "Gong Show" that has to fear being booted.

He is abundant in mercy. All you have to do is call on Him. He's good and ready...

Perry Crisp