This is the 12th of a series of 15 devotionals from the late 80s when my oldest sons were just little boys …

As most of you know, our family recently went on a brief vacation trip to Boston. We hit all the major landmarks of the city and area – Bunker Hill, the Old North Church, Paul Revere’s house, the Freedom Trail, Plymouth Rock, etc.

As we were returning to New Jersey, we asked the boys what three things they liked most about our vacation. Benjamin and Aaron – being too young to anticipate what we probably wanted to hear – spoke out honestly. “We liked eating in the restaurants, riding on the subway trains, and staying in the motel,” they said.

But Nathan, the consummate politician sweetly responded, “I really liked the historical sites the most.”

HA!! Sure you did!

I know for sure what Nathan liked least on our vacation. It was something he ate at a Chile’s Restaurant. Chile’s was one of our favorite Texas eateries during the Dallas Seminary years. We haven’t been to one in years, so when we saw a Chile’s on Cape Cod, the car just pulled us off the road and into the lot.

You need to understand that Nathan is typical of many people born in Texas – a bit arrogant about their roots! Nathan constantly reminds us of the “nationality” of his birth and how he is going to live in the Lone Star State someday. The kid sees himself as a true son of Texas. It drive me a bit nuts! He even likes the Rangers baseball team!

Diana and I ordered cheese nachos, which are traditionally served with a slice of jalapeno (super-hot) pepper in the middle. Diana was removing the peppers and laying them aside. So I said to Nathan, “You know Nathan, real Texans eat those peppers for snacks.” And he said, “Well I’m a real Texan so let me try one.” He did, and it wasn’t too bad. He even claimed it tasted good. So he took several more, threw them into his mouth and too a big bite.

Suddenly his eyes began to water, he started moaning loudly and quickly drank a glass of water. Then he reached across the table and grabbed Benjamin’s water, then Aaron’s, and then ours. As he cried, the waitress brought him more and more water. I felt badly for him but had to laugh at the same time – it was a sight! After a while the fire was extinguished, but he sure suffered in the process.

Sometimes Christian people are tempted to be something other than what they really are. We feel high-pressured by the world around us to take a taste of an item we are told is “hot.” Not heeding the warning, we try it. Often, the first taste is quite nice. But the further we go, the more the heat builds, and soon we have been burned by our foolishness. In time, and with the Lord’s forgiving assistance, the effects of the fire can be remedied. But oh the pain during the process.

Let us be a people that learn and run from those “hot” temptations of the world system. In a sense, it does us well to be “cool” in Christ.

This is the 11th of a series of 15 devotionals from the late 80s when my oldest sons were just little boys …

Like I said, “Oh well, what’s another boy?” Actually, this is good to have a new little one coming along to say funny things that I can write about. I have noticed that as my first three get older, they say and do much less that is really funny.

I thought it would be a nice fatherly type of thing to do to give Diana a break with baby Jesse and take my three older boys camping overnight. So, the day after Labor Day we packed the gear in the car and took off for High Point State Park.

The kids thought it was great, and I’ll even admit that it was a good time with them. It is amazing how dirty three boys can get in just 24 hours in the woods. When we came home the next day, I stopped at a Dairy Queen with the guys. The waitress looked at us and said, “You guys look like you’ve been camping.” I thought, “Oh, do we really look that bad?”

Just as I figured, the campground was rather sparsely used the day we went. There were only a few others in tents around the lake. I am sure that before the previous evening the campground had been nightly filled with happy campers and their inevitable garbage. What a great place for raccoons! 

Yes, it was just after dark, as we were finishing our hot dogs and getting the marshmallows out, that the first masked bandit rustled through the weeds. Soon, more eyes pierced the darkness, reflecting only the glow of the camp fire. These guys were hungry, and their summer bull market of feasting opportunities had crashed.

“Three sloppy little boys!” said one coon to the other. “Yeah, what an opportunity,” replied the second. “We’re going to eat well tonight. There’s no way that middle-sized blonde kid isn’t going to drop at least one hot dog on the ground! Look! There it goes … what’d I tell ya? … Oh gross, his father is making him put it back in the roll!”  “Drat,” said the first. “But look over at the fire … yeah … right near the youngest kid’s foot; it’s a marshmallow! Go, make a break for it!”

Suddenly a scream from Aaron pierced the darkness. Fearing that he had fallen into the fire, I rushed to him. Through the wailing he stammered something like, “wa oush esh thesh eeech desst yesh!!!”  Nathan translated: “He said that a raccoon was right by his feet.” Calming just a bit, Aaron said, “He wanted to bite me and give me ray-di-bees!”

“I’m so tired. Please daddy, please, can we go to bed now?” pleaded Benjamin. “Yes please, let’s just get into the tent,” whimpered Aaron.

It was time for fatherly action! I took the basin of warm dish water and scored a direct hit. The soaked raccoon raced up the nearest tree to dry off, and we had enough peace to finish our chores.

The next morning I took our trash to the dumpster, opened the lid, and there was our raccoon, fast asleep.

As much as I tried to get rid of that raccoon, he was always there, nearby. A couple of times I thought he had been chased away, but he kept coming back.

It reminds me of the sin nature. It is never really entirely gone. It haunts us around the fringes of our lives – seeking an opportunity to take advantage – a weak moment when we are not paying attention. And even when the sun rises on a new day of the spiritual commitment, we must not think that the flesh is far away. It is just catching a few winks until a darker time descends once again.

“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walks about, seeking whom he may devour.”

This is the 10th of a series of 15 devotionals from the late 80s when my oldest sons were just little boys …

I am completely backed against the wall for time as I sit and write. In fact, I told Karen Smith (church secretary) that I was going to just write something quick rather than the usual thing about my boys. But then Karen reminded me that this is probably my last shot a “3” sons article.

Someone asked what I would name the article after the baby came, and I said, “Life with My Four Sons.” Yes, my faith is gone, although you may continue to pray pink! Liz Stott had a good idea in the event of a girl. She said I could call the column “Life with My Three Brothers” and write it from the perspective of Bethany (that’s the baby’s name – boy or girl!).

My sister in Baltimore is having the boys visit her for some vacation time this summer. Aaron was crying the other night and said, “What if my brothers go away and grow up before the baby comes and then I won’t have anybody to play with!”

Once again, our lives are going to change. We’ve been out of diapers for a long time!

But change is inevitable. In fact, it is the way it should be. We are constantly to be changing, to be becoming more like Christ.

Change can be painful. We like to hang on to what we are comfortable with and know. It takes faith to step out into what is new and different.

I thank all of you who have stuck with us in these days of inevitable change at First Baptist. All we have is the future; the past is already gone. But we have Christ to guide us, so the future in that light is not nearly so fearful. He is our goal, and yet at the same time is our strength – we cannot fail.

(The reference to change at the church was because the long-term senior pastor had recently departed to take on a missions agency leadership position. I would later become the senior pastor for four more years before moving to Maryland, but that was not entirely anticipated at the time of this writing. And here we are in Maryland with a pastoral change of sorts – Chris getting married tomorrow. But churches are bigger and more lasting than the cast of characters who pastor them and come and go.)

This is the 9th of a series of 15 devotionals from the late 80s when my oldest sons were just little boys …

Most of you know how much I like baseball. This is really quite remarkable since my little league experience was a disaster. My first experiences with baseball were so bad that you would think I’d hate the game for life. In my first two years, I never once touched the ball with the bat. I was the other team’s favorite player.

Nathan is now the same age I was for my first year of little league, and he is on his first hardball team. He is even playing on the same field I did 27 years ago. He recently played in his first game, and I was so nervous I hardly sat down at all on the folding chair I brought.

Pitch one – swing and a miss. Oh no, I thought, he has Buchmanitis (and acute disorder wherein the eyes, arms, and hands do not function in rhythmic order pertaining to the striking of spherical projectiles).

Pitch two – swing and a massive foul ball that struck the backstop with great force. A small sense of relief came over me – that’s more than I ever did. Yeah. That’s what I can tell him if he misses the next pitch.

Pitch three – Another foul tip … just barely.

Pitch four – Solid contact! A massive shot!  I yelled, “Run Nathan Run!”  At last the ball was retrieved by the pitcher, but not before Nathan had crossed the bag at first base. It was a hit, fair and square. He eventually scored, and with the smile of a World Series champion … for he had accomplished more than his dad ever did at that age.

I’m sure there are times when God looks at us something like a nervous father. He wants us to do well. In life and service, He desires that we “hit” and “score.” But we so often feel that He should do it all for us, as if He were our permanent pinch hitter and pinch runner. But just as I didn’t step in and do it for Nathan, God will not always step in and fix it all for us. He will provide the encouragement and give us skills we need, but our responsibility is to be faithful with what we have been given and to develop our talents for His glory.

How’s your batting practice coming?

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!