As a father of five children, I frequently draw upon my military experience to make sure everyone behaves properly and is ‘squared away’. It is not uncommon for me to bark out orders to various children, or to quell any dissension ‘in the ranks’ with a raised eyebrow that my Basic Training drill sergeant would be proud of. I love my children dearly, and am often playful and silly with them, but I expect to be obeyed quickly and completely, as long as they are under my authority. This gets tricky as they begin to pass out of my authority, but that is a subject for another day.

As the scripture indicates, a mature believer “… must manage his own family well and see that his children obey him with proper respect.” (1 Timothy 3:4). I don’t think this passage refers only to elders, but for any Dad who desires to be a honored vessel in God’s household. Seeking to pattern myself after that standard, I like to have the things in my life under control, all nailed down and figured out.

Even little Sarah likes to keep all her plastic bears in line, properly color-coded.

Last week I was driving home from church, and I looked in the rear-view mirror of my car. I noticed a lonely, half-bowl of dry Peanut Butter Crunch ™ cereal, neglected by my youngest daughter between the car seats. Breakfasts on Sunday mornings are often taken on-the-fly — Kathy must’ve been driving more quickly than usual, and so Sarah’s breakfast was cut tragically short. I had an idea.

David often has good ideas.

“What luck!” I chortled. “Her loss is my gain,” I exulted. Boxes of Peanut Butter Crunch don’t last long in our household, even when it seems I buy them by the gross. I reached back between the seats and grabbed the bowl with my right hand, carefully maintaining my grip on the steering wheel with my left hand.

Suppose you were riding with me in the car, and you were the kind of annoying person who liked to place bets on everything. “I’ll bet a dollar that you can’t get that cereal without spilling it,” you might sneer. I would have offered ten-to-one, or maybe even fifty-to-one odds that I could successfully grab that bowl of Peanut Butter goodness, and bring it safely to my lap without spilling a single one. After all, I have a pretty steady hand, and am a skilled driver; there is no reason I would lose control over such a simple physical operation. Besides, I’m awfully fond of Peanut Butter Crunch.

David and Sarah are awfully fond of a good story.

As I brought the bowl over the passenger seat, the right front wheel of the car struck a small bump in the road, and what seemed like a family-sized box of cereal leapt out of the bowl and into the air. Pandemonium ensued, as two competing objectives fought for supremacy in my body:

• (a) the laudable objective of keeping the car on the road, or
• (b) the understandable effort to catch every piece of Peanut Butter Crunch before they rolled away into oblivion

Later, after the car was pulled from the ditch, I thought about this life-lesson: I am not in control of my life.

Hopefully, Sarah won’t hold a grudge about her lost Crunch cereal.

The car didn’t really end in the ditch, I’m just teasing about that. But it made me think about the many factors in my life that I work so hard to control, and which are really not controlled by me at all. My health, my job, my family, my relationships with people at church, even my relationsip with God — all of these things are outside my complete control. I may be able to influence them, but the sovereignty of God is supreme. I can trust and pray, and do my best to obey my King, but He decides when the bowl moves smoothly to the front seat, and when a crunchstorm fills the car.

Not my actual box of Captain Crunch.

Tim

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One of the huge blessings in this life that God has given me is a job that challenges my mind, and pays enough for our family to live comfortably. Because my work involves connecting remotely to servers I will never see, it doesn’t really matter where I do my work; for this reason, I am permitted to work from home quite often.

When I was employed by another company, doing a similar job, I used to work four days a week from home, only going ‘into the city’ once a week. If something prevented me from doing this, it might be a couple of weeks between visits to my office. Over time, this caused me to avoid projects on which I would need to collaborate with other employees, and ultimately that practice reduced my value to the company. In the Fall of 2002, I was laid off, and did not find regular work for another seventeen months.

When it began to be possible to work from home in this job, I was determined to be more careful. I make sure to go in to the office whenever there is any meeting that requires my attendance, and I almost never work more than three days a week from home.

Not my actual office ‘in the city’.

I work in a team of four, and we mostly each have our own responsibilities, few of which overlap. Still, the days I’m in the office are often festive – we congregate in the corridor for impromptu team meetings, and there is much banter and wit exchanged. We play jokes on each other, and laugh together about the latest corporate buzz-words and propaganda. Upper-level managers, visiting our corner on days when we’re in full swing, often walk away shaking their heads in bemusement.

Today was a particularly good day, even though it started out quite badly. I woke before my alarm (a fate nearly worse than death) with an allergy attack, and spent the extra time paying bills. I packed my own lunch, and it wasn’t as generous as Kathy usually provides (I often eat all three meals away from home on my commute days). I forgot my allergy meds at home, and rushed back to get them, nearly missing my train.

Not my actual commuter train, but very close.

Arriving at work, I fretted about the size my lunch. “Will it be enough to forestall the mid-afternoon munchies?” I wondered. “I don’t think so,” I answered myself gloomily. I’m not a major source of encouragement in my life.

Several weeks ago, I scraped the last morsels from my secret jar of Nutella (the one that I kept discreetly stashed in my desk drawer) and the last of the Christmas chocolates was long ago devoured. A sad feeling welled up briefly as I sat, contemplating an afternoon barren of chocolate. I pondered the burning question of the ages: “Is life worth living without Nutella?”

Setting my face like Play-doh ™ against such maunderings, I turned to my work. It wasn’t until lunchtime, when I needed some salt for my lunch, that I opened my desk drawer.

There, gleaming in the sickly fluorescent lights, was a brand-new, un-opened jar of Nutella! The rich auburn brown of my favorite hazelnut spread was clearly visible through the translucent jar, all the way to the top. I grabbed for it, afraid it might be a holographic trick, but its solid heft reassured my tight grasp … it was real!

“A jar of Nutella, in my desk drawer,” I exulted, loudly enough to bring my co-workers out of their cubes. “Which of you did this wonderful thing?”

Not my actual Nutella jar.

Guilty looks abounded, but my benefactor chose to remain anonymous. “Maybe Eric brought it up,” hypothesized one co-worker, innocently. (Eric, when he chooses to reward us, usually brings donuts, and never secretly.)

There was only one thing to do, truly the only thing that can be done with a new jar of Nutella: I broached the foil seal and dove in with a spoon.

Even now, riding home on the train, the unexpected gift brings a smile to my face. It is true that I prefer to work from home on the days that I can, enjoying my family and a very short commute, but working in the city has its charm: my faithful Nutella jar, waiting patiently in that desk drawer.

Tim

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Today I was blessed by a song in our worship service: Jesus, Thank You.

I’ve been a follower of Jesus Christ for 38 years, and in all that time I’ve had ample opportunity to sin against my Holy God. Today it was brought home to me how awesome a gift that it is, that the blood of my Savior has cleansed me, and turns aside God’s wrath completely.

‘Nuff said.

Tim

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