One of my all-time favorite hymns, “Praise the Savior, Ye Who Know Him,” was written by Thomas Kelly, an Irish minister who wrote nearly 800 hymns.  Kelly was a zealous evangelist, a socially gracious man, and a gifted musician and poet.  His best known hymn is “Look, Ye Saints, the Sight is Glorious.”  But “Praise the Savior” is a great hymn that combines worship with consecration in a comforting way.

The words say, “Praise the Savior, ye who know Him! / Who can tell how much we own Him? / Gladly let us render to Him / All we are and have.”

At age 85, Kelly suffered a stroke.  He passed away the following year, on May 14, 1855.  At his deathbed, someone quoted Psalm 23, saying “The Lord is my Shepherd.”  Kelly’s summoned enough strength to respond with his dying words:  “The Lord is my everything.” 

I learned to sing this hymn at college chapel, and I discovered that once learned the words and tune stay easily in one’s mind.  If you don’t know it, you can read all the words and hear the music at www.cyberhymnal.org. 

I was impressed today in reading Romans 16:12, about three little-known biblical women who were commended for their hard work.  The verse says:  “Greet Tryphena and Tryphosa, those women who work hard in the Lord.  Greet my dear friend Persis, another woman who has worked very hard in the Lord.”

In my Bible, I underlined the phrase:  “…work hard in the Lord.” 

It tells us two things:  1. Church work is hard work.  2.  It is not work for the Lord but work in the Lord.

The preposition is important.  We’re to do our work in the presence, in the power, in the purposes, and in the momentum the Lord Himself provides.  Our own strength is nothing but weakness; but His strength is made perfect in weakness.  So we simply trust in Him, plunge into task, work hard in the Lord, and trust Him to give the increase.

Katrina and I want to let everyone know that our daughter, Hannah, is now wearing a beautiful rock on her finger. Earlier this week, her boyfriend, Eric Olsen, asked for permission to marry her, and shortly afterward he proposed. Eric is a great guy from a great home, and we already love him like a part of our family, which he is. He treats Hannah with love and respect, and we appreciate and cherish the two of them more than we could ever say. So congrats, Eric and Hannah!

My mother’s parents, Maude and Clifton Palmer, lived about twenty miles from us in a white house on a hill near Elk Park on the Tennessee / North Carolina border. I enjoyed going there a great deal as a child. They had two enormous boxwoods near the steps leading from the dirt road up to the house, and chickens that ran wild in the yard. There was a little closed hut with a rooster in it, and I sometimes asked my Granddad why the rooster was in the hut. He said it was because he had misbehaved and had to be put in jail.

My grandfather Clifton, who seemed very ancient and didn’t say much, had a thatched head of gray hair, and I recall hearing that the barber had a hard time cutting it because it was so thick.

Close by the house was a whetstone where Granddad sharpened his tools, and I liked spinning it for fun. Nearby were a woodhouse, a little shop, and another small storage building that was locked. And there was another little hut I had to visit from time to time–the outhouse. I remember how excited we were the day my grandparents finally installed indoor plumbing.

I liked the old house. It seemed large to me, with a striking clock on the wall, and with French doors with glass doorknobs between the living room and dining room. (I realize now that why I put French doors with glass doorknobs in my own house between the living room and the kitchen, and a striking clock on the wall).

The large front porch looked down over a steep hill at highway 19-E at the state line, and gave a bird’s eye view of cars and trucks as they wended through the valley. My grandparents sat in the porch swing for hours, saying nothing, reading nothing, just watching the occasional car the appeared at the lower end of the valley and, a in less than a minute, disappeared around the curve at the upper end.

Clifton and Maude had married young. I don’t know their exact ages, but evidently my grandmother was 15 or 16 when Clifton came on his horse to fetch her for marriage. They were going to slip away and elope, and Maude had made herself a special dress for the occasion. But while crossing the river, she fell off the horse and drenched her dress; so Clifton took her home and the wedding was postponed for a week.

I wish I’d known Clifton better. I think he was a good man, but by the time I came along he was austere. I recall his seeming irritated with me, and once I think he threatened to whip me, which didn’t do much for our relationship. One lamentable day he even cut down my favorite swinging grapevine over the gorge.

Still, my memories are generally good–and I think it’s important to instill good memories into one’s grandchildren. One psychologist wrote that the grandparent / grandchild relationship is the most uncomplicated relationship in life. It’s just pure love and joy.

That’s why the adjective is “grand.” The Bible says, “Children’s children are a crown to the aged” (Proverbs 17:6). I’m thankful for my grandparents, and for my grandchildren!

PS – For my sermon, “The Grandest People of All,” visit http://www.donelson.org/pocket/pp-agng05.html.

I had the opportunity today to be on The Debbie Chavez Show.  You can listen in at www.debbiechavez.com.

Oscar Wilde once wrote, “Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.” That’s true, and I’ve met quite a few people in the latter category. I want to be in the former group. We cannot always be happy, for some days are overshadowed with care. But we can be cheerful, not sour; and joyful, not bitter. I’ve found three quotes that speak to this point:

• A man is as unhappy a he has convinced himself he is–Seneca
• A person is about as happy as they make up their mind to be–Abraham Lincoln
• I feel it my duty to be as happy as the Lord wants me to be–Robert Murray McCheyne

We should build cheerfulness into our daily routines. Here are two suggestions. In the morning, sing a verse of a hymn on your way to work. You can sing more if you want, but I only have time for one verse since I have a short commute. I walk out my front door, around the house, and into the basement entrance of my study. But I’ve found it very worshipful and therapeutic to stand on the porch a moment, look over the horizon, and start singing whatever verse comes to mind. Today it was “And can it be that I should gain an interest in my Savior’s blood.” Yesterday it was the little chorus, “This is the day, this is the day that the Lord has made.” A song in the morning is worth a whole bottle of tranquilizers.

And then at night, think of three things you’re thankful for before going to sleep. I’ve started doing this after reading a scientific study that actually did research on the practice. Instead of letting your mind mull over the stresses of the day, take a few moments to thank God for three good things–perhaps for giving you the grace to hold your tongue at a moment of provocation, perhaps the lower prices at the gasoline pumps, perhaps a warm greeting or friendly note from a friend.

When we begin the morning with a song and end it with a prayer of thanksgiving, it creates a routine of happiness that will help others, making us the kind of people who spread happiness wherever we no, not whenever we go.

There an old devotional book entitled “Daily Strength for Daily Needs,” which I’ve found a source of encouragement from time to time; but the best thing about it is the title. That’s what we need every 24 hours–daily strength for daily needs.

Yesterday, for example, I was nervous going into the day because of its busy-ness. I had two morning sermons on the rather difficult subject of whether or not the church will be raptured before the tribulation; then a two o’clock audio taping; then a four o’clock Discovery Dinner that required speaking and fielding questions for about an hour. Then our six o’clock service with another “rapture-sermon” and concluding with the Lord’s Supper. In between were scores of conversations and general greetings, not to mention a handful of MS-related difficulties with Katrina. I was afraid my voice might fail or my energy would falter.

But no, they didn’t. I was borne through the day.

Deuteronomy 33:25 says, “As your days, so shall your strength be.” We always find it’s true: The Lord gives us just enough strength for each day’s assigned tasks. As someone once wrote: “At home or abroad, on the land, on the sea, / As your days may demand shall your strength ever be.”

There’s something wrong with all of us, but it’s best to simply ignore our limitations and plunge headfirst into what God calls us to do.  For example, I was reading today about Thomas Hastings, who was an albino (as were three of his siblings).  He was also afflicted with eye problems and a speech defect.  He came from a poor family that moved by ox sledge to Clinton, New York, when he was a boy, and he had little formal training. 

Yet Thomas taught himself the rudiments of music, and as a teenager he began directing his church choir.  When he was a young man, Thomas became such a popular singing school instructor that twelve difference churches in New York City wanted him to direct their music.  During his life, Thomas penned fifty volumes of church music, including a thousand hymn tunes and hundreds of hymn texts.  He’s often credited with being the single greatest force in shaping the nature and development of church music in America.  He’s best remembered for giving us the melodies like:  “Rock of Ages,” “Majestic Sweetness Sits Enthroned,” and “From Every Stormy Wind that Blows,” which I have posted below. 

Hastings died in his eighties in New York City on May 15, 1872, but he’s a great example of someone whose enthusiasm for Christ overcame every disadvantage and liability.  I think it’s a great lesson.  There’s something wrong with all of us, but there’s nothing wrong with the Christ we serve.

From every stormy wind that blows,
From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a sure retreat;
’Tis found beneath the mercy seat.

There is a place where Jesus sheds
The oil of gladness on our heads;
A place than all besides more sweet;
It is the blood bought mercy seat.

Oh, let my hand forget her skill,
My tongue be silent, cold, and still,
This bounding heart forget to beat,
If I forget the mercy seat!

November 7, 2008 – I’ve just returned from 100 Huntley Street, and I’m as impressed as ever with the staff and impact of this unusual ministry north of the border. In 1977, Rev. David Mainse began a daily television broadcast in Canada, sharing Christ across the width of that nation. The studio was at 100 Huntley Street in Toronto, which gave the program its name. Today the show is broadcast from a beautiful complex in Burlington, a few minutes’ drive from Toronto, and hosted by Ron and Anne Mainse. It’s the flagship program for Crossroads Christian Communication, which has an excellent galaxy of ministries for reaching Canada, the northern USA, and many other parts of the world. Ron and Ann are as genuine as gold, and the staff, including special friends of mine–Gary Gerard, Michael Moon, and Rob Reed–are always refreshment to me.

If you want to see my interview, it will air next week, on the morning of November 11, and it will be posted later that day online at www.crossroads.ca. We also taped ten segments of stories behind Christmas carols, which will air in late November and throughout December.

Each month, over 30,000 people call the prayer line at Crossroads, and each caller receives Christian help and a Gospel witness by trained volunteer counselors. They have an excellent follow-up program overseen by Norm MacLaren. The folks at Crossroads really believe in prayer and evangelism, and they have a passion for spreading the Gospel via radio and television throughout the ten provinces of Canada and beyond. Their website and ministry is worth checking out.

This morning I had a beautiful flight into Toronto and we passed directly over Niagara Falls. Looking down at it, I couldn’t help thinking of when Katrina and I visited the Falls on our honeymoon. Or of when several years later we returned with our daughters (just as my parents once took my sister and me when we were children). Today I peered down at the Falls as long as I could, but the plane pulled away; I never could hear the roar or feel the spray or sense the ground tremblng. It was just a lovely sight from a distance.

I think that’s the way a lot of people experience God, or even church — a lovely sight from a distance.

Better far to draw near, stand on the edge, and be awed to silence by the power!