Who Knew the Go-Kart Wanted to Ride the Human?

There it was. I had seen it in the Montgomery Ward catalog. Now it was within three feet of me in the store. It was a red, single-seated go-kart. I stared at it like I was Ralphie and it was an official Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifle BB gun.

But this wasn't a Christmas story. It was a birthday story. I was about to be ten years old. There I stood next to my dad as we kicked the tires of that beautiful, sleek go-kart. It was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. I never imagined it could be mine.

Then it was. I don't know how. I don't know what magical act of childhood manipulation I used to get it. But somehow, my parents bought me the go-kart. (It may have had something to do with the mini-bike catching on fire while a friend of mine was riding it, but that's another story).

I rode the wheels off that go-kart. We lived just across the road from the church where my dad served as pastor. Between our road and the church was a large field. The church had an asphalt driveway that made a perfect circular race track all the way around it. My go-kart and I went 'round and 'round that church like it was Jericho.

With the go-kart came certain rules. One of the rules involved instructions on getting from the house to the church and back. I was not allowed to ride the go-kart on the street. I was to push the go-kart across the street from our driveway to the field. Then I could drive across the field to get to the church parking lot.

Like most preacher's kids, I was obedient...for a while. Then the influence of the deacon's kids permeated my good nature and I began to take to the streets.

I was not allowed to ride after dark, but I would milk every ounce of daylight I could out of my evening races around the church. As soon as it was "almost dark" (according to my interpretation), I would leave the church parking lot. But I wouldn't cut across the field. I took a right onto Sweetgum Road and the next right onto Moss Hill Drive and a quick left into our driveway.

I noticed something about those three turns. After a long, hot day in the southeast Texas sun, the oil on those oil-top roads would bubble up to the top and make the surface of the streets very slick. If I hit those two rights and that left at full blast, the back end of that go-kart would fish-tail slide just like Starsky's Gran Torino!

Have you noticed how many of my stories come to a "then one day"? Then one day, while I was running circles around the church in my go-kart, a road crew went down Moss Hill Drive resurfacing my road. They sprayed fresh oil on the top of my super-slick road. I saw them do that and I smiled. But what I DIDN'T see was the dump-truck load of small rocks that they laid down on top of the fresh oil!

Near-darkness fell. I sped out of the parking lot at full speed. I took a Starsky turn right and said "hello" to my left back tire as it was parallel to my left shoulder. I turned into the slide like a pro. I got to Moss Hill Drive and took another Starsky turn right. The gravel was loose and just made the slide so much better.

But then...

The left turn into my driveway didn't go so well. Those oil-soaked rocks were firmly embedded in their oil bath and they didn't want to move. I turned left at full blast and one or more of the rocks objected to my right rear tire's attempted slide. The go-kart flipped. And flipped. And bounced. And landed on top of me.

I was face down with multiple lacerations (which sounds cooler than "a few cuts"). The go-kart was sitting on top of me. The engine was still running at full speed. The accelerator was stuck and the back tires were still spinning. The left rear tire was peeling out all over my back. I couldn't reach the kill switch under the steering wheel.

So I stretched my left hand up and back and found the motor. As if I weren't already in enough pain, I kept groping until I grabbed the spark plug. The electrical jolt sent shocks of pain through my body. I felt like the coyote after he hit the canyon floor and the acme anchor landed on him when he tried to get up. Only this wasn't a cartoon.

This was a horrific crash. Surely, someone heard it. I just knew the ambulance was on its way. But once the sound of the tire spinning in my back stopped and the ringing in my ears quit, there was only silence.

I laid there on the rocky road with a go-kart sitting on top of me in the dark, waiting for an ambulance, a stretcher, a concerned parent or neighbor, or even a stray dog's whimper.

All I heard was a car turning from Sweetgum onto Moss Hill. I was about to get run over a second time. Fear became an instant energy boost. I pushed the go-kart off my back, got up, and cleared the road of both boy and machine.

I managed to push the go-kart into the garage and stumble into the house. Mom took one look at me and said, "Go wash up. Supper's ready."

I had just escaped death twice and no one noticed. But I was okay with that. My biggest fear was having to explain why I was on the street in my go-kart. Guilt softened my need for sympathy.

Whatever happened to that? When did sympathy jump in line ahead of guilt. In fact, where did guilt go? How far back in line have we bullied guilt?

Everywhere I turn these days I see people demanding sympathy and/or retribution for messes of their own making. Ignoring the laws of mom, man, and Maker, we go where we've been told "No" and we do what we've been told "Don't." Instead of a healthy dose of guilt, confession, repentance, and restoration, we bypass those and want to guest star on Springer or Oprah or Dr. Phil as the nation's number one victim.

What I am about to say may fly in the face of modern society, but doesn't something need to? Guilt is healthy! Guilt is meant to lead us to "man up" and own up to our mistakes. Guilt is the one who introduces us to cleansing, forgiveness, and healing. Guilt leads us to the mop and leans on us until we clean up our mess.

But we don't do that. We just put up little yellow signs in English and Spanish that let people know there's a mess there, and it never gets cleaned up because no one will own the mess.

Those yellow signs are EVERYWHERE. So, I feel the need to kick a few down by saying, "Guilt, remorse, confession, and repentance are good for you!"

At supper that night, my parents noticed more scratches and cuts than normal. They saw that I was moving slowly. They asked what happened. I scrambled for a lie, but guilt covered my face and called my bluff before I could bluff. I confessed.

My parents did something really strange and bizarre. They punished me. Yep. I know. Weird, huh? I wasn't allowed to ride my go-kart for a week because I had broken the rules by riding on the street. I had disobeyed. I made the mess.

My parents helped me clean it up the right way. I completed my week-long sentence and re-entered the driver's seat of my go-kart with a new respect for the road and the rules.

"The law code had a perfectly legitimate function. Without its clear guidelines for right and wrong, moral behavior would be mostly guesswork" (Romans 7:7, The Message).

"Scrub away my guilt, soak out my sins in your laundry. I know how bad I've been; my sins are staring me down...You have all the facts before you; whatever you decide about me is fair...Soak me in your laundry and I'll come out clean, scrub me and I'll have a snow-white life" (Psalm 51:2-7, The Message).

Never Grab a Spark Plug,
Perry Crisp

Poll Cats

Are you fed up with polls yet? Sure, polls can be accurate indicators of what people are thinking, buying, watching, reading, and doing. They tell us all the ins and outs of public opinion.

They assist the market in recognizing trends. They help congress and the guy in the white house determine their day-to-day values. And they are the last frontier in America allowed to consistently break people into demographic categories of race, gender, geographic location, and age without anyone crying foul (even though they clearly reinforce the notion and existence of stereotypes).

Marvelous. But haven't we gone just a bit overboard? I sense a certain loftiness to the opinions of mankind that reeks of humanism. I expect to find humanism in colleges, universities, and uneducated actors of yesterday. But in the church?

As an evangelical, Bible-believing, Jesus-trusting pastor, I get to read polls that tell me what the average Christian in America thinks. About everything. All the time. Oh, happy day!

I get it. I really do. I don't need a lecture on how the information from these polls can show us where we are failing, where we are succeeding...yada, yada, yada.

But hear me out. My concern is in translation and differentiation. We read polls in secular society and change everything from marketing strategies to international policy based on what the people think. The assumption is, and rightly so in a democracy (like the one we used to have in America), that the majority rules.

However, crossing the bridge from the polls of the secular to the polls of the saints causes me to want to shout out a warning: CHRISTIANITY IS NOT BASED ON PUBLIC OPINION! Be careful how you interpret polls amongst the brethren. We're on different ground now. Holy ground. Christianity is not a democracy. It's a theocracy. You and I don't get to decide what is right or wrong -- true or false.

Choices? Yes. Decisions? No. There's a difference. We have a choice to make concerning what we are going to believe. But God isn't waiting on our final answer to make His. He's already decided. Not only has God decided, He's revealed it to us. Pick up a Bible. It's in there. Even if you don't like what it says, it doesn't alter the truth one iota.

When you read that 84% of American Christians believe God performs miracles, be careful how you process that. It doesn't matter what that number is. It doesn't change the truth. Even if 0.000001% of American Christians believe God performs miracles, God alone gets to do miracles if He wants to. Kapeesh?

If 65% of American Christians believe the Bible is true and 53% believe that Jesus is the only way to heaven, that is a reflection of our failure, not an indicator of reality. What you and I believe about truth doesn't make it any more or less true.

God isn't swayed by man's opinion. But man better be swayed by His. Isn't it time we started reading and paying attention to what God has to say?

Polls, by their nature, are impure. Whatever the numbers are, there will always be a certain percentage of opinions on one side or the other. 100% of the time, one side will be wrong. Sometimes, it will even be the majority who are wrong. And it's even possible for BOTH sides to be wrong.

How is that so? Because every opinion within a poll is a human opinion. And no human (Christ excluded) has ever been right every time.

So be warned. Churches and Christians who change policies and practices based on changes of interpretation of Scripture which are themselves based on political correctness or prevailing public opinion are likened unto houses built on the sand (Matthew 7:24-27).

Great will be the fall.

Read the Bible. If for no other reason than this: Eternity is a long time to be wrong.

Perry Crisp

Did We Order This Meal "To Go"?

Lloyd Olsen went out to his chicken yard to pick out his next meal. He snatched up one of the chickens and picked up his axe. Lloyd loved to eat chicken. But he especially loved the neck of the chicken. Who doesn't? (Insert gagging gesture here).

So to preserve as much of the chicken neck as possible, Lloyd laid his axe at the base of the chicken's skull and chopped the chicken's head off.

If you've ever witnessed a chicken-head chopping ceremony, you know what happened next. If you haven't, you need to put that on your bucket* list.

That chicken lost his head but the rest of him worked just fine. As with most chickens who lose their head, this chicken took off running all over the yard. Unlike most headless chickens, this chicken didn't fall over and die. It lived!

Lloyd kept watching and waiting for his dinner-to-go to stop going. When the chicken finally stopped, it just stood there and acted like a normal chicken. As normal as a headless chicken can act. It walked around, scratched the ground, and may have even tried to peck for food -- but how would you know?

Lloyd named the chicken, Mike. I don't know why. Ichabod sounds more appropriate. But Lloyd took Mike under his wing* and cared for the cranial impaired creature.

Mike went through the motions of pecking for food, but couldn't get anything. He tried to crow, but only made rasping gurgles. Lloyd fed Mike with an eyedropper,** expecting the beakless, brainless bird to die at any time.

A week later, Lloyd took his headless chicken to some scientists at the University of Utah. After scratching* their heads* for several hours, the scientists surmised that Mike had enough brain stem left to live without his head because Lloyd chopped so high on the neck.

This chopped-top chicken made it into Life magazine. I don't think it made the cover because they never could get a decent head shot.* But the chicken was also entered into the Guinness Book of World Records, surpassing all other headless chicken records. Though he had neither, Mike stood head and shoulders* above all the other chickens.

Lloyd took Mike on tour across the country. People from all over marvelled at Mike. They'd never seen anything like it. Mike finally met his demise in an Arizona motel 18 months after he lost his head. Apparently, he choked to death on a kernel of corn. Lloyd tried to save him, but it was the 1940's and Lloyd had no knowledge of the heimlich maneuver. He only knew mouth to mouth...(pausing for effect).

As a pastor, I don't find Mike the Headless Chicken to be such an unusual phenomenon. I see Christians and churches on a daily basis who have learned to survive without the Head.

What do I mean? The Church is made up of individual Christians and is called "the body of Christ" throughout the Bible. Jesus Christ is clearly "the Head of the body" (Ephesians 4:15). Yet, I've seen Christians and churches who've gone through the motions of daily life for years without the Head.

Followers of Jesus Christ are commanded to "grow up into Him who is the Head, that is, Christ...from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work" (Ephesians 4:15-16, NIV).

Mike didn't choose separation from his head and would've given his right leg* to Colonel Sanders to get his head back. That's the difference.

When Christians and churches are Headless, we are the ones who separate ourselves from the Head. And although we can resume following Christ's direction and guidance at any time -- we can literally rejoin the body to the Head through repentance and surrender -- too many times we prefer to remain Headless. Pecking without a head gains no nourishment for the chicken or the church.

We move, but without direction. We are worse than the blind who follow the blind. Without the Head, we might as well jump into the pan and light the stove...we're cooked!

You can't get ahead without the Head,

Perry Crisp

*This is where I would have said, "pardon the pun," but there were just too many to keep interrupting midsentence.

**Feeding a headless, eyeless bird with an eyedropper just seemed......eye-ronic to me.

Your Light Changed...Why Are You Still Sitting Here?

In a rural town of a few hundred people lies an intersection. It is the main intersection of the town. It boasts of the town's only traffic light. Not a full grown traffic light. Just a single light that faces four directions and flashes red on and off. No one knows how old the light is and no one is interested in upgrading it.

More often than not, the light doesn't work. It is, in fact, so normal for the light NOT to work that a knee-high, homemade four-way stop sign welded into an old wheel is always on stand-by next to the town's only fire hydrant. The first local to discover that the flashing light isn't working gets to wheel the stop sign into the middle of the intersection and brag about it the rest of the day.

Contrast that traffic light with those that exist in larger cities. The average traffic light has three bulbs with eyelids. They are responsible for thousands of cars and do their job with efficiency. Their bulbs are always fresh and their boxes are well maintained.

Some are even smart enough to know when one lane has traffic and the other lanes don't. Others are equipped with FOUR lights so that they can provide a helping hand/arrow to the cars that want to turn at the intersection.

The newest traffic lights have taken a course in photography and can take your picture if you disregard the red signal. They can also mail you a ticket to let you know how seriously they take their job.

I'm quite certain of two things at this point. One, you have no idea why I'm talking about traffic lights. Two, every person that reads this devotional could tell me what three colors are in a traffic light and what they each mean. (No, yellow does not mean, "go faster").

What would happen if we snuck into that little town at night and replaced the worn-out blinking red light with a brand new, three-color light with eyelids and arrows? The locals would have a fit! It would be the talk of the town. While a few might welcome the change, most would agree that it was highly unnecessary and obtrusive.

I can hear them now:
"I didn't get to vote on that fancy new light!"
"I don't need a light telling me when I can and cannot turn left!"
"My great-grandfather worked on that old red light. It was good enough for my grandparents and parents. It's good enough for me."
"My kids can't wait to grow up and roll the old stop sign into the street. What am I supposed to tell them?"

Now let's take that old flashing red light and corresponding knee-high "mobile" four-way stop sign and put them in a big city intersection.

Can you hear it:
"Bah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha...."
"Hey!!! Where'd that piece of junk come from?"
"A blinking red light? Are they nuts? Where's my arrow?"

Why all this talk about traffic lights? It raises an interesting parallel to the issues churches face when dealing with change. Some churches refuse to change and get what they ask for. Nothing changes. Other churches welcome and foster change because it helps them grow.

Progress and growth require change. We just have to be cautious of extremes. Some churches change NOTHING. Their motto is, "If it ain't from the '50's, don't ya dare bring it in here." Other churches change EVERYTHING, including their doctrine. They allow changes in society to dictate changes in polity. Their motto is, "Just tell us what you don't like, and we will reinterpret it to make us all feel better."

But the evolving traffic light can shed some light on positive change. The purpose of the traffic light is to direct traffic and help people avoid accidents. To rush through the blinking red light in the small town without stopping is equal to running a red light in a big city. Either way, you break the law. At either intersection, you jeopardize the lives of others.

Is the old timey blinking red light better because it is older? No. In fact, if that town were to grow, that old light would have to go or someone could get hurt.

Is the fancy light with four bulbs, eyebrows, and a camera evil? Not at all. It stands for the enforcement of the same rules as the old red light. It is a necessary upgrade to enable growth, but it doesn't compromise the message. Red still means STOP.

Some churches sing songs out of a book from another century or several decades back. That's fine. Other churches have "singin' on the wall" with songs written yesterday. That's fine, too. Those aren't the real issues. The real issues are loving God, loving others, and obeying God's Word without compromise.

I've said enough for now. Think about the traffic lights and let's have some healthy discussions in our churches about the road we're on and the direction we are heading, and stop fussing about the number of bulbs in our traffic lights.

This may be news to some of you, but...

There IS a GREEN...and it means GO!

How to Avoid "How to" Books

Near the line of cashiers at most home improvement stores or warehouses is a library of "How to" books. You can find anything from "How to Build a Deck" to "Plumbing a 70-Story Building for Dummies."

Actually, I'm not really sure what the titles are because I never pull over and pick one up. I only know they are there because I've glanced in that direction once or twice. I'm thinking of writing a book called, "How to Avoid 'How to' Books."

Why do I avoid those books? Because I know me. I wouldn't make it past the introduction page without trying to figure out who I could hire to do this project. Demolition and disassembly I can do without a manual. But construction, assembling, remodeling, or repairing turns me into Curious George. All I do is make messes and anger the man in the yellow hat.

It's not that I don't think plumbing, concrete, wiring, and construction are important. I do. I just want it all to be done right. I would even appreciate a lifetime guarantee that none of that stuff would ever fizzle or fall apart.

What do I do? I call a professional or a friend who has read the manuals and knows what he is doing. This stuff is too important to put in the hands of a Mr. Get'r Done whose tongue is dangling back and forth over his lower lip and says, "Let's put this thingy over here and that whatchacallit over there. That oughta work. Try it now."

I'm convinced some folks treat the maintenance and construction of their hearts and lives the same way I treat home repairs. The bookstores have volumes of advice on how to do life. But they're all written by tongue-dangling humans whose own lives have missing parts and imperfect performance.

There's really only one book on the shelf that gives accurate (even flawless) directions to the complexities and uncertainties of human existence: The Bible.

Which one? There's really only one. I know there are plenty of counterfeits. But there's really only one true Bible. It starts with Genesis, ends with Revelation, has no more than 66 books in it, and isn't published by the Watch Tower Society. Clear enough?

I find that Christians bypass reading the Bible for themselves for the same reason I bypass the "How to" books at Jowe's and The Domicile Depot. They are afraid they won't be able to understand. They feel overwhelmed and unqualified.

That's where the really good news happens. Let me illustrate. Let's say I walk into Jowe's because I need to repair a faucet. I walk over to the library of plumbing and pick up a book called, "Faucet Repair for the Totally Inept," read three sentences and get frustrated because there are no pictures except the ones with Chinese subtitles. Before I can slam the book shut, a guy in a blue frock wearing a smile and a name tag that reads, "Joe Lee Spearit" comes over and says, "Can I help you?"

Joe guides me through the repair manual, shows me the tools I need, and demonstrates for me exactly what I need to do to fix my faucet. I go home, fix the faucet, grunt, and raise my hands in tool man victory.

It is the same with God's Word. As you pick it up to read it, ask the Author of the Bible to guide you through it. God's authorized representative is God Himself who comes in the form of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit will "teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all things" (John 14:26). The Holy Spirit won't mislead you, either. He will "guide you into all truth" (John 16:13).

Be not afraid. Pick up The Book. Whisper a prayer for help and begin reading today.

You can do it. He can help.
Perry Crisp

"Good Enough" Harbor

My ship was comfortable and content. My ropes were all tied securely to the dock of "Good Enough Harbor." Sure, the rains came and the winds blew. But there was a tarp and a hammock on deck. The fishing was only mildly successful. But fishing is good fishing even without catching. I was the Contented Captain of my own vessel.

While I reclined in my hammock, sleep slipped beneath me like the tide and I drifted away. So did my ship. I didn't see the hands that removed the ropes from the dock of "Good Enough Harbor." Nor did I hear the door to the ship's cabin close and lock.

While I slumbered, my ship set sail. With a few hours of sleep behind me, I slowly awoke to unfamiliar waters. Startled, I rubbed sleep from my eyes and looked around for the horizon. Where did my "Good Enough Harbor" go?

The horizon off each rail of the ship looked the same. No land in sight. Dark clouds in every direction. Beneath my feet, the ropes that once tied me securely to the harbor were neatly coiled and stacked. They hadn't slipped. Nor had they been cut.

Someone was on board my ship!

I ran to the ship's cabin and found it locked. The windows into the cabin were fogged over from the inside. Yet I could see Someone at the helm.

The ship dipped into a deep swell and I nearly lost my balance. Saltwater sprayed and soaked me in an instant. I grabbed a rail and looked into the direction we were moving. It was about to get ugly in a hurry. Blacker skies I have never seen. Swells rising like massive walls.

I wanted to argue with the One who had taken over the steering of my vessel, but self-preservation forced me to prepare for the imminent storm.

I managed to take cover below deck, but it was of little comfort. I gripped a pole with my arms and legs as the ship tossed and dove, rose and dropped. My ship was being hit from all sides with relentless force. A life vest floated by and I crawled into it one arm at a time. But what good was this small vest should the ship break apart and the stormy seas swallow me?

Though I was certain no one could hear me, I screamed and cried in fear and doubt. I couldn't even hear my own screams. Why would anyone want to board my ship, disembark from the safety of the harbor, and guide us through these horrific storms?

Grief consumed me. Tears drained my eyes of strength. Sorrow crushed my soul.

As the ship tossed up, over, and down through an endless succession of gigantic waves, I prayed for mercy. Mercy came in the form of an unidentified metal object that had loosed itself from the ship and whacked me on the back of the head.

The next hours were mostly blurry or totally dark. Sometime later, I awoke. Coughing. Spitting. Choking on all that I had swallowed while unconscious. My head throbbed. I let out a minor sob as if it was all I had left. And I heard it!

It dawned on me that the ship was no longer tossing about. Water no longer filled the ship below deck. Though my ears were ringing, I could hear birds chirping.

I unwrapped myself from the pole and stood with great effort. Everything hurt. As I forced myself toward the stairs that led to the deck, I saw beams of sunlight warming the steps.

I emerged to an unbelievable sight. My imagination could not have found such beauty as what I now saw before me. I was surrounded by sights of glory and majesty that soared beyond my knowledge of reality. It was the most beautiful harbor I'd ever seen.

My ropes were secured to this fantasy harbor. My ship was intact. The door to the ship's cabin creaked open and a familiar face greeted me with a gentle smile. He was the Owner and legitimate Captain of this vessel. I had given it over to Him many years ago because I had wrecked it and couldn't afford the restoration. After He purchased it, I just continued on as if it were mine.

I limped toward Him and fell at His feet. "This place is unlike anything I've ever seen. It is beautiful," I said. He didn't reply.

He touched the back of my head and looked at me with sorrow in His eyes, as if He understood pain and suffering.

I looked up at Him, not sure how to ask about all that I had been through. Then I saw His wounds. Mine were minor compared to His.

I began to cry again. My body went into a sobbing rhythm for a few minutes. I was not able to fully regain my composure, but I managed to ask, "Why? Why did You lead me through those terrible storms?"

He spoke. "There was no other way to get you here."

Weeks later, I was completely restored. Joy was my constant companion. Peace covered the deck of my ship. The fishing was excellent. And I must tell you...the storms of life are worth it when the Owner of the vessel is at the helm. The Captain of my soul knows what He is doing and where He is leading.

(This story is based on a vision God gave me after I read Psalm 31).

Trusting the Captain,
Perry Crisp

Smoking or Non?

I met someone yesterday unlike anyone else I've ever met. He is over 60 and looking for purpose in life. He believes in God, but has a relationship based on fear instead of faith.

He tries to live perfectly so that he can stand before God one day and receive commendation instead of condemnation. He is strong, determined, admirable, and impressive. But the foundation is beginning to crack.

Let's assume he has been successful at not sinning for 60 years (based on his definition of what constitutes sin). As strong as he is, and as successful as he has been in attempting the impossible, he's only one "oops" away from a forever fall.

I wrestled with two main concerns as I met with this man. The first is quite important: It doesn't matter what your definition or my definition of sin is. God decides what is sinful. This man seems to believe that sin is immoral activity only. That sin is somehow confined only to outward activities. God says sin is in the heart, the mind, the mouth, and the life. A single impure thought can strap you into the eternal southbound rocket. The Bible reveals that the greatest sin is the rejection of Jesus Christ as the Son of God.

My second concern is for this man's uphill battle to the top of Mt. Impossible. We each have a choice in this life concerning God's laws of righteousness. We can choose to fulfill the law of God on our own, living perfectly without committing a sin. Or we can choose the grace that God has extended to each of us as a gift in the form of His Son, Jesus Christ.

I encourage you to read Galatians 3:10-14 in your Bible, but I also want you to hear it from The Message:

"Anyone who tries to live by his own effort, independent of God, is doomed to failure. Scripture backs this up: 'Utterly cursed is every person who fails to carry out every detail written in the Book of the Law.'
"The obvious impossibility of carrying out such a moral program should make it plain that no one can sustain a relationship with God that way. The person who lives in a right relationship with God does it by embracing what God arranges for him. Doing things for God is the opposite of entering into what God does for you."

God doesn't grade on a curve. He doesn't do make-up exams. There are no excused absences. It doesn't matter if your dog ate your homework. If you are going to choose to live by the law of God instead of the grace of God, then you have to score 100 every time. You can't pick and choose. Selective obedience isn't one of the selections. Sporadic obedience isn't obedience.

You have to live 100% perfect 100% of the time. One "oops" condemns you to an eternal hell.

Here is where people want to take issue with God. "How could God send people to hell?" While all the time they miss the most important truth of life ---- Jesus took your place and made 100 for you. If you will place your trust and eternity in Him, God will welcome you into His eternal home in heaven and seat you at His dining room table. If you reject that gift, you paddle your own canoe to hell.

It's your choice. Live by the law and fail or receive God's gift of grace and succeed.

I choose grace...gladly!
Perry Crisp