This is the 8th of a series of 15 devotionals from the late 80s when my oldest sons were just little boys …

We have reached another milestone in our family life that again sounds a chime on the ever advancing clock of my own life. Nathan is now a little league ballplayer.

Frankly, this is one of the things that I have most looked forward to as a father of little boys – the day that my guys would begin their athletic careers. And most of you know about my personal theology of baseball – that it was created by God early in the book of Genesis and will appear again in its perfect form in the eternal state. It is God’s favorite game (which is why He does not care that much about what happens to the Cowboys).

Actually, I’ve gotten more than I bargained for this season with Harmony Township T-Ball. A man called and asked if I would be a helper. He called back and asked if I would be an assistant coach. The third time he called, he told me that there were too many kids for one team and I was needed to coach the new second team.

Really, it has been a great experience and a marvelous opportunity to meet many unbelievers. BUT, T-Ball is no place for a connoisseur of the world’s greatest sport. Me watching T-Ball is like Charles Stanley listening to Rodney Dangerfield preach, or like Luciano Pavarotti listening to Johnny Cash attempt to sing “The Marriage of Figaro.”

The typical batter may actually hit the ball on the third or fourth swing. When this happens, coaches and parents from all directions begin yelling orders to their players. Inevitably, the ball goes between the legs of the first defensive player, who has no idea what is happening anyhow because he is standing there thinking about balloons. The second defensive player falls down in front of the ball, stopping its progress somewhere beneath his body. All of the other players (who are not looking longingly at the younger children on the nearby playground equipment) make a dash to be the first to pick up the ball for the throw to first base. However, the winner is unable to muster much of a toss since he is surround by angry players who lost the scramble. As the throw slowly rolls in the general direction of first base, the batter is now heading into third base. No problem however, because the runner at first base when the ball was hit is still there, not realizing that a play is in progress, as he was thinking about flying kites at the beach. As the coaches retrieve the ball and establish order, everyone else congratulates all of the players for their brilliant effort. Sometimes it gets so wild that there is no way to intervene and stop it – you just have to laugh and wait until they are done.

God must look at our actions sometimes and watch us seriously attempt the game of life, only to laugh at our silly plays and futile efforts. I fear that many times in church life we are trying to get the runner at first base when the real play to be made is at third!

Just as it takes time to learn the game of baseball and practice to play it well, so also the Christian life takes time and experience to succeed. The Scriptures say that we should study to show ourselves approved unto God. In baseball talk, this means that we must be a student of the game, learning and applying all that we can so that we strike out less and make fewer errors in the field.

Isn’t that much like our goals in the Christian life – to strike out less and make fewer errors? Let us be students of the game and students of the Book.

Today I will share with you two short devotionals – one about having an accurate view of self, and the other about the daily presence of God …

You have all heard much about mealtime at our home, one of the favorite times of the day. How I am ever going to feed these guys when they grow bigger is beyond me. We just don’t know what it would be like to have a picky eater. Aaron is especially fond of meals, which is obvious to all, I suppose. He is all business at the table.

Diana and I wish that the boys’ manners matched their appetites. One particular night not long ago, the demolition was particularly out of control and Nathan and Benjamin were being severely reprimanded. Aaron was too busy eating to be in much trouble and escaped the verbal assault.

After the smoke had cleared, and as the older two wiped the tears away, Aaron grinned and quietly said, “Mommy and daddy, I’m always a good boy!”  I about died trying to hold in the laughter, and in the end it just all came flooding out from everyone.

Aaron’s self-evaluation was surely an exaggeration, but similar to one that many people make. The world is full of folks who know they are not perfect, yet feel they are basically good enough to declare themselves generally righteous.

The problem may be found within the church as well. Many Christians may continually disregard God’s instructions in areas of faithfulness, yet still feel that the situation is not really that bad – that they are basically good Christians. Often the problem is not what we do wrong, but rather what we do not do right.

God’s Presence   

My three guys are like most children their age in that they hate to go to bed. On top of this, they have apparently inherited their parents’ tendency toward being “night people.”

Very frankly, I hate kids’ bed-time. It is often as if the boys are trying to quickly release all of their leftover energy from the day, before they reluctantly have to go to sleep. Clothing is flying through the air; beds are being cleared of blocks, dinosaurs and books; child Olympians are training for the long jump on their beds; the heavily-congested traffic flow between the bathroom and bedroom leads to numerous head-on collisions; toothpaste is dripping from the vanity while torrents of water sweep across the floor; and blonde-haired little munchkins are stashing their pillows with after-dark delights like matchbox trucks, glowbugs, kazoos and chapstick.

It is immediately after this scene that the Buchman boys usually do their Awana work. Aaron has started Cubbies this year and has been learning the days of creation (can you recite what was made on each of the days?).

Diana went through the first six days with him in good shape, he got them all correct. Then Diana said, “And what did God do on the seventh day?”  Aaron exclaimed with a big grin, clearly emphasizing each word, “HE … WENT … TO … BED!!”

Oops. Right concept, wrong answer. God did rest from his work, but I can’t quite see him catching a few Zzz’s.

The Bible tells us in Psalm 121 that God never slumbers nor sleeps. Man, aren’t you glad about that? God’s conscious presence is with us at all times.

Psalm 139 declares this very idea. It tells us that there is no place we may go to escape his presence, not even at the bottom of the sea. Neither does the darkness of night stop God, for it says, “The darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee”

The knowledge of God’s constant presence is for us a comfort, in that He is ever available to help us in difficult times; but also it is a warning, in that He knows and sees our every step and move.

This is the 3rd of a series of 15 devotionals written almost 30 years ago when my oldest three sons were very little …

I am sure you have heard of the expression “a face that only a mother could love.” Obviously my three sons are all so outstanding that none of them qualify for this expression. Rather, what I would like to tell you about is “the meal that only a mother could eat.”

Every so often our boys like to play “restaurant.” It really is cute to watch – that is unless you are playing the role of the customer. We’re not talking about pretend food with play money here. Nope! The real thing! Diana calls it a learning experience; my stomach calls it a churning experience.

Diana and I are escorted to our seats in the living room where our orders are received. The menu is generally rather limited to cold sandwiches, fruit, pickles and olives. Having taken our orders of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a banana, two pickles and three olives, the chefs then race out of the room and around the corner to be the first into the kitchen to “cook” our food.

This entire experience evokes not only physical discomforts (commencing with the initial sight of the platter) but mental anguish as well. For you see, at this particular restaurant, there are no doors between the dining area and the kitchen to muffle the sounds. One is not able to see, but one is most able to hear the preparation of his lunch.

One cook is given the responsibility by the senior chef to get the dishes out, which requires a sort of rock face climbing act on the kitchen cabinets. Cups, saucers and plates cascade noisily from the cabinets to the counters, and finally to the floor itself.

“Benjamin,” Nathan yells. “Those plates dropped right into the garbage can!”

“It’s OK,” Ben pleads. “They really didn’t get very dirty.”

Before I am able to shout my protest, the distinctly clear, bass drum sound of a crashing peanut butter jar precedes Aaron’s screams of “My toes! Oochy-ouchy my toes are boo-booed!”

“Diana!” I exclaim. “They’re going to die in the kitchen before we die in the living room!”

“Relax,” she says with what appears to me to be an uncharacteristically calm demeanor. “They’re fine – this kind of stuff goes on every day around here.”

I am not comforted.

The rancor in the restaurant kitchen has escalated and taken on a menacingly personal sound. “Benjamin, get your yucky hands out of the jar … you’re stepping on the knife … Oh Aaron, you’re messing up daddy’s sandwich … pick up that bread off the floor … No, you dropped the pickle, you wash it off!”

I again press my protest to the kitchen’s owner. “Diana, I’m not going to eat this; you’ve got to be kidding!”

“Oh Randy,” she says. “They really do a pretty good job for their age. You’ll live.”

Suddenly there is quiet on earth and in heaven. Three giant grins walk around the corner with this thing called lunch. “Oh my!” I exclaim, as I swallow hard. “Isn’t this nice! What a good job you’ve done!”  (Seeking divine forgiveness even as I speak)  The plate contains a slice of bread with a blob of peanut butter in the middle an inch thick, six pretzels, 10 olives, three pickles, a slice of fingerprinted cheese, and a candy cane for dessert.

“See,” Diana says. “It’s not that bad. Sometimes you’ve got to let them learn the hard way.”

However, just a bit later I make note that Diana’s attitude slips a couple clicks when she discovers the mess in the kitchen – peanut butter everywhere and more crumbs than there are rocks in the Holy Land.”

All in all, the story illustrates the way in which God frequently has to deal with us as his children. So often we insist on doing it ourselves, exerting our independence. Surely in the process we learn many lessons both good and bad. But in the end it takes God to step in and clean up the mess that we make … redeeming all things. After all, we are the sinners that only God could love!

This is the 2^nd of a series of 15 devotionals written almost 30 years ago when my oldest three sons were very little …

Many of you have asked about our recent vacation. We went to Williamsburg, Jamestown, Yorktown, a marine science museum in Virginia Beach, the Norfolk Navy Base, and the Air and Space Museum in Washington – all in one week with three little kids. But if you were to ask our boys what they liked the most, they would mention things like the replica guns they bought at Yorktown, the tape recorders in the car, the motel room and especially the restaurants where they ate.

Their favorite was a restaurant that offered a 99-cent “Kid’s Meal Deal,” which allowed the boys all they wanted from the soup and salad bar. On top of that, two of them could eat free because they were under five and with a paying adult. So, the three boys could eat all they wanted for a combined total of 99 cents.

Some of you have seen my guys eat or have heard me talk about it. We can’t relate to parents who have trouble getting their children to eat or who have problems keeping their children at the table for longer than five minutes. Our kids will keep eating as long as you keep bringing them food. We have to sometimes say, “That’s it, lunch is done, you’re finished, get down and wash up!”

There is now a restaurant in Williamsburg that will no longer be offering the “Kid’s Meal Deal.” My trio cleaned them out! Benjamin exhausted their supply of “the green stuff with the marshmallows” and Nathan ate all of their kiwi fruit. Together, the three of them emptied several bowls of cracker packages.

Of course, with every return to the salad bar, it was necessary to get a new, clean plate. Well, the plates started piling up in the middle of table and the busboy had to come periodically to take them away and keep the bar supplied. He just looked at the kids with a dumbfounded expression.

Other customers at nearby tables were watching and grinning at this unscheduled floor show. The waitresses were standing together whispering back and forth. The kids were pouring it down and heading back for more, weaving between people like O.J. through a defensive backfield. Benjamin hopped on one lady’s foot while he excitedly returned to the bar saying, “I just love, love, love this green stuff!”

Diana and I had long since finished our meal and she was organizing their efforts and trying to prevent them from talking too loudly in unbridled excitement. I was sitting there watching and taking notes for this article. After two hours we finally said, “This is your last trip … And Benjamin, no more green stuff!”  Nathan protested, “But where are the salad bars, I haven’t found them yet!”  I guess he expected something like a granola bar (maybe he could invent one… imagine it – low calorie salad bars; you could eat them for snacks!).

For us, the “Kid’s Meal Deal” was a kid’s meal ordeal more than a deal. We didn’t go on vacation for the purpose of eating in a restaurant. But I’m afraid we are a legend now at that place.

Why do we exist as a church? What is our purpose? I am afraid that many times we are like three hungry little boys in a restaurant, grabbing all of the goodies for ourselves and forgetting the larger context and purpose for being in the community. We are to be a light to the world; but too often we are consumed with pigging out on the feasts of teaching and fellowship within our own context of the church family. We are to surely minister to those within the body who are hurting, but too often the business of chowing down on varied blessings prevents our awareness of another’s hunger.

As a church we have attempted to be one that offers a lot of the variety at the ecclesiastical soup and salad bar. You can get a big bowl of fellowship and a plate full of discipleship, Bible study and edification, all topped with a dressing of prayer. But in our exuberance let us not forget the hungry who stand outside and all about us.