American agriculture blossomed in the 19th century. Jethro Wood lit the fire of change with his invention of the steel moldboard plow. This plow caught on wildly, but had a troubled journey. Many copied it, causing Wood to spend fortunes on lawsuits against those small manufacturers—lawsuits which ultimately reached the US Supreme Court. Ultimately, Wood never benefited financially from his invention; basically due to lawsuits. Jethro Wood died in poverty.

Use of plows was not new. More than 5,000 years ago, Egyptians used some kind of wooden spike, tipped with iron, to till soil. It must have served okay; animals, and sometimes human beings pulled such plows. Centuries later, the plow was improved. First, Jethro ‘s Wood’s idea of the steel moldboard plow in 1819; and in 1837, John Deere improved and successfully launched its manufacture and sale. Now farmers had a new lease on tilling soil. Faster more efficient farming, meant more land could be tilled.

The steel moldboard plow revolutionized tilling soil; the rapid gain for American agriculture dramatically evolved. It was especially effective in the midwest. The tough, clay soil there would clog other plows, dramatically slowing the plows they used. The steel moldboard overcame that obstacle, allowing it to cut through tough clay soil, making farming easier.

We can be thankful that the steel moldboard plow was a boon to farming. It has been, and is being used for good in multiple ways. As with almost any good thing, excessive use or abuse of a good thing can sour it’s benefits. It is sad that Jethro Wood died penniless. John Deere managed to overcome obstacles Wood’s moldboard plow was unable to navigate, bringing dramatic changes in farming.

The mechanical tractor was a child of the Industrial Revolution. Enter the  gasoline-powered tractor invented by John Froelich. Fordson and John Deere became leading mechanical tractor companies. These tractors were large, heavy, steel-wheeled, gas-powered, machines. Many traditional farmers complained that these monsters packed the soil too firmly for plants to grow.

Nevertheless, use of mechanical tractors grew, as Cyrus Hall McCormick, entered the picture with his famous mechanical reaper later emerging as International Harvester (Farmall tractors) introducing additional farm equipment. The Steel Moldboard plow and mechanical farm equipment became multipliers for farmers.

I do not berate farming. I grew up on a farm. I love the farm. Until my calling pulled me another direction, I studied Vocational Agriculture in school. I was an officer in The Future Farmers of America (FFA). Farming is vital to our livelihood. The Bible is strong on good stewardship of the land and everything that lives on it; the Bible pleads for humanity and respite for all is necessary; that includes the land. I contend that humans overreached on land use and turned a deaf ear to good soil stewardship. The Bible pronounces creation “Good,” and humanity was given responsibility over it

While the steel moldboard plow has not been blamed for the Dust Bowl of the 1930’s in the US midwest, it was culpable, in a manner of speaking. Cascading factors, including superstition, ill advised congressional action, population migration, war, to mention a few,—over a few decades—became a perfect storm. The role the steel moldboard plow played simply made it easier to till more and faster, the midwestern prairie grasses’ deep roots. Over-tilling, denudement of the land, erratic policies, and poor soil management played important roles as well, in causing the Dust Bowl.

It may well be that Jethro Wood lived out Jesus’ words, “Greater love has no one than to lay down one’s life for his friends.”I do not know if Mr. Wood was religious or not. I can believe that he fought to his impoverished death for his invention to win in the courts. He was convinced that the Steel Plow would not only lighten the load for farmers, but would also increase their productivity; thus, good for humanity.

While I was working toward my pilot’s license I learned a virtual lifesaving caution; “When There Is A Bee In The Cockpit—remember to fly the airplane.” No one needed to give me a graphic description of what could/would happen if I turned my focus to the bee. Distractions can be disastrous.

In AARP Driver Safety classes I taught, a key point in their curriculum was to ignore other drivers—focus on your own safety! Only you can control your attitude, and to a great extent your vehicle. And. Think about it; how many times have you veered from your traffic lane, looking at something else—sometimes called rubbernecking.

Social Media easily becomes a rabbit hole of distraction; you log onto the Internet looking up something crucial to your project, While searching you discover something really interesting or an app you don’t have on your phone. An hour later you realize you forgot what you had been looking for!? And. I don’t mean necessarily, you were slumming on nefarious sites, or ignominious links.

A Bee in the Cockpit, is a graphic alarm; not only is the bee a distraction, but also a danger. It could hurt you. From the bee, it would only be a sting. (Unless you are allergic to a bee sting—which could be fatal). There bode other disastrous possibilities. Minor distractions may appear, well, minor; we tend to discount their ultimate power to damage or divert you from your objective, hopes, and even your life.

The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration reported, for the year 2019, nearly 3,000 vehicle accident deaths related to distracted drivers; 387 of the deaths were due to cell phone use. On a different plane is another distraction—thievery; it flings an open door to thieves and robbers—they relish it. Some thefts occur due to an intentional distraction; your attention is lured to something else. Often it was an intentional interruption created so you don’t notice you’re being robbed.

Jesus spoke of how to avoid a “Bee in the cockpit” distraction; “Seek first the kingdom of God…” In preparing for and and teaching Time Management seminars, I found this secret—three simple words: first things first. Yes, I know, life gets in the way; intrusions clutter our days. The reality is, that you largely have control of your life. Yet, somehow the deception of distraction creeps in like a cuddly puppy. Musings of the moment muzzle in as if they don’t matter much.

Harry Chapin’s song, “The Cat’s In The Cradle” captures the sense of such distractions;

My child arrived just the other day
He came to the world in the usual way
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay
He learned to walk while I was away…

…and you know the rest of the story; distracted by life’s little lapses, this father misses his son’s growing up to be —“…just like me.” Jesus tells his disciples they squander life being distracted by life’s worries. Like the distraction by the Bee in the Cockpit, misfortune can plague the pilot causing loss of focus on the larger picture. Remember to fly the airplane!

Mr. Dampier, father of Paige, my late wife, admired skilled craftsmanship; he felt the same about any carefully crafted, completed task—be it a well presented dinner, an excellent Rotary Club project or an elegant garden. Heck, he even had a word of praise for an extra good sermon by his pastor; Mr. Dampier’s praise phrase was “lily work.”

The book of 1 Kings, describes in detail how Solomon built his magnificent Temple; Sturdy pillars were put in place, vital to the Temple’s structural integrity. In describing completion of this exceptional work, there is a strange comment; verse 22 says, ^“And upon the top of the pillars was lily work: so was the work of the pillars finished.” (Emphasis added). Mr. Dampier loved that verse—lily work; it spoke volumes!

That lily work did nothing to support the temple. lily work was not necessary—not even in the plans for the Temple. So, 1) why was the lily work placed there? And, 2) why, with fifty-nine verses meticulously describing construction details, was this minute detail added? Mr. Dampier said it defined elegance, the extra effort and loving care taken by the craftsmen. As the Cajuns like to say, it is giving a “lagniappe”. Poet, John Keats said, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever!”

Jesus took the idea further, to doing good, especially to those who do not deserve it. He said go the extra mile; when rebuffed, return good. In the aftermath of this Pandemic, I’ve heard people talk about positive things they did or experienced. And there are numbers of articles I have read documenting that extra mile (lily work) taken or given with resulting exponential benefits. What’s more, these efforts had nothing to do with a multiplier result…many said, “I just did what needed to be done!” In every instance where I found such effort, it exceeded what was needed or expected; lily work.

Working her way through college, Jennifer, my daughter waited tables at The Cloister, a five star restaurant and resort on Sea Island, GA. She learned that the housekeepers not only turned down beds, but also laid out a mint for each guest. Of course, I know the guests were paying a king’s’ ransom for staying there, but a mint on the pillow is that extra touch, going beyond. In Performance Reviews, businesses call it “exceeding expectations.” lily work.

At a farmer’s marked I met a man who lived in the”low rent district” of town with his sister. They lived on Social Security and made a little extra money by shelling peas and pecans for patrons. I took pecans for them them to shell that Paige would use in baking. Not only did I enjoy their friendship, but also one day they invited me to eat lunch with them. Their home was sparse and that invitation was unexpected. The lunch was meager yet I left there thinking, “That meal was delicious; not even the Cloister could surpass the experience; That meal was lily work!”

Among other things my grandmother left me, is a Barrister’s bookcase. It had been in a storage unit for decades. Dust, rust, and broken glass defined the unit. Mark, my friend, restores furniture, so I asked if he would take this project. In due time, it was done, and and he called me to his workshop. Not only is it now a beautifully finished piece of Oak furniture, but also Mark had done some research. Inside the cabinet, he found the the manufacturer’s original label. Searching the Internet, Mark discovered exciting details of the era of its construction, what one sold for back in the day, and its rarity today. lily work.

The Apostle Paul, wrote the book of Philippians from his jail cell. Though a prisoner, he is almost euphoric in his gratitude to the church at Philippi. Wouldn’t you expect a prisoner be anxious about his conditions, and bemoan his fate—especially if it portended death? Not so of Paul; there is good reason Paul praised the church at Philippi. Through their help, hope, and care—even from a distance—they exuded—lily work.

June 14 is Flag Day. The United States Flag is a significant symbol. While not a religious symbol, still it is to be revered. There are precise protocols for displaying and respecting our flag. The colors of the flag have specific meaning. It is now proper for Veterans, not in uniform, to stand at attention and salute the flag, instead of the civilian posture. In all situations, the Flag should be respected. It is not that difficult.

Even the disposal of worn or damaged flags has a specific protocol. Having been Chaplain for a troop of Boy Scouts of America, I have been privy to numerous flag retirements by my troop. The ritual is always a respectful, impressive, (not to mention teaching) experience. By the way, if you have a worn, tattered, or otherwise irregular flag, seek out a Boy Scout troop in your church or community. They will gladly receive your flag and give it a respectful retirement. That failing, contact the Atlanta Area Council BSA to locate a troop near you.The ritual is observed on many campouts. Your call will help a troop. It is part of the BSA service.

The wishy-washy manner in which much tradition and ceremony are sloshed around lately, many customs get trampled; symbolism is diluted or lost. It is credited to writer-philosopher George Santayana that: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” The Flag helps us remember. Symbolism and meaning of the Flag suffer such demise if they are not held fast.

The Flag of The United States should always be displayed in proper form, above any other symbol on display. Read the code (see my first hyperlink above). This is why the flag is not displayed in Christian churches other than when BSA troops are recognized and a proper posting and retiring of the flag occurs. In a Christian church there is only one sacred symbol, a single Cross.

Jesus’ adversaries tried to trap him in just the sort of controversy we have today over the flag and the cross. He told them to make proper distinction and do the right thing. Basically, he told them to “think.” Don’t muddy the water. You live in this nation. Put God first, and follow the laws and customs of the nation, insofar as they don’t violate God’s laws. Love God first and put your neighbor in your shoes. That’s the RWV (Revised Willis Version.)

The Flag represents, to a patriot, a claim similar to that of the cross to a Christian. Patriotism has been savaged lately, not at all what it meant to folks of Paul Revere’s time. Merriam-Webster defines a patriot as—“one who loves and supports his or her country.” For a patriot this loyalty is lofty. For a Christian, loyalty is given to God. The two are not automatically mutually exclusive. Blood has been shed in pursuit of both. I have a friend who is annoyed by hymns that speak of blood. Although The Old Rugged Cross does not use the word “blood,” it is implicit in the words as it addresses loyalty;

To the old rugged cross I will ever be true
It’s shame and reproach gladly bear
Then he’ll call me some day to my home far away
Where his glory forever I’ll share

Actually, it does not imply such blood as caused by the Crusades. The blood is of the ultimate self-giving of Jesus. He said, No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. And Jesus laid out the greatest commandment: This is the greatest and the most important commandment.“‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ ³⁸ This is the greatest and the most important commandment.”

Letters. Remember them? My natal family received a neatly written two page letter every week from my paternal step-grandmother. She was a first-grade teacher and a farm wife. Her carefully crafted cursive surpassed any font past or present. Her letters were newsy, caring, and welcomed. My biological paternal grandmother wrote each week—crowding 900 words on a single postcard. Every Wednesday I typically raced to the mailbox to get those “letters.” My maternal grandmother lived across the road, thus I enjoyed daily visits instead of letters. Every Sunday night, my father wrote a letter to each of his parents as long as they lived.

Time, technology, and temperment change things; as well as the practice of sending letters—to the point that few people send/get personal letters any more. But as my mother-in-law said about roses, “They say so much!” Unlike letters, how many Emails do you intentionally save to read again and again, or tuck into your purse or pocket to keep handy? My guess? None.

Writing a letter takes time, thought, and, well, toughness. Posting a meaningful personal letter is not for the fainthearted. Yet, it is a virtual Vitamin B-12 to the person who receives it. As is true of Vitamin B-12, if you don’t get a letter, you won’t get sick—or die for missing one; you do experience a latent loss. A caring, friendly letter is a dose of your presence to the recipient. It shows a depth of caring that’s missing in an Email or Text message.

Paige kept the letters I wrote to her before we married. I found them recently while unpacking yet another box—yes, it has been a while since I moved here. Back then, I knew she kept them; I know this because she needed me to read my handwriting when I came to see her; that way she would know what I had written! (But alas, once in a while, not even I could read my handwriting.)We laughed a lot about that; I am not thin-skinned about my awful handwriting. (At least no one can forge my signature!) I didn’t know till now that she still had those letters! Sometimes my handwriting chafed her to the point she would say, “I wish I had been your First Grade teacher!!!” But I digress.

Down through the centuries, letters have been kept for posterity. Much of Christian theology originates from letters, foundational for Christian believers; the Apostles to the early Christian Fathers and Mothers wrote letters, even in difficult circumstances. Paul, writing to Philemon, pleaded for him and the church that met in the home of Archippus, to accept his friend, Onesimus, as a gift of love to these friends. To churches in Rome, Thessaloniki, Corinth, and others, Paul wrote letters of encouragement, direction, and sometimes simple scolds for their errors.

The seventeenth century brother, from the order of Discalced Carmelites in Paris, Brother Lawrence, wrote letters—often called “conversations”; Abbé Joseph de Beaufort, compiled these into a book, The Practice of the Presence of God. Brother Lawrence’s letters continue still, inspiring and guiding the journeys of untold numbers of people down through the centuries.

There is something visceral—in a positive way—about holding a hand-written letter in your hand. It has something—almost the feeling that you’re having an in person visit. And. By the same token, you may never know what a positive impact derives from a letter you write.

Go ahead. Write that letter you’ve been saying was too much trouble to post—or wouldn’t matter. If there’s a chance the person may need you to translate your handwriting—then type it and send both—leading with a typed amusing disclaimer, but send it! your reader will know you took the time to care. You will “make the day” for someone!

When Paige and I were in seminary at Emory University, we had a friend, John a second career student, who kept us all in stitches with his unique comments. One of our favorites from John was, “People are funnier than anybody!” It was appropriate in legions of situations. In current vernacular it sounds creepy , but my mother used to say, while waiting, “I just enjoy watching people!”

The song People, written by the Jule Styne and Bob Merrill team, and made famous by Barbra Streisand, echoes the heart of God—at least as James Weldon describes it in “The Creation.” God created the world and all that’s in it…

“And God said: I’m lonely still.
Then God sat down–
On the side of a hill where he could think;
By a deep, wide river he sat down;
With his head in his hands,
God thought and thought,
Till he thought: I’ll make me a man!”

He knew the man would be lonely still; so God also created woman; the two were commissioned to be fruitful and multiply. Thus like it or not, we all are in this together. It does not take Ancestry-dot-whatever to reveal that we all are kin to each other. The song, “People” echoes this reality;

“People who need people,
Are the luckiest people in the world
We’re children, needing other children
And yet letting a grown-up pride
Hide all the need inside (Emphasis added)
Acting more like children than children”

Sitting in an arena, or a stadium, it is not so creepy to watch people from such a distanced vantage point; you get to watch the antics of, well, people. As Yogi Berra said, “You can observe a lot by just watching.” As I think about it, there is a science devoted to this topic; Sociology. And then, there’s the unblinking eye of our ubiquitous cameras. As is true of almost anything, these “people watchers” are both bane and blessing. But I digress.

I see a consensus among these; The Bible, Yogi Berra, James Weldon Johnson, and the Styne-Merrill team—let me paraphrase a line in their song; “The luckiest People in the world, are the people who recognize that we need each other.” If nothing else, COVID-19 taught us the ravages of isolation from—people. Especially people who matter to us. Amanda Mull wrote, in the current issue of The Atlantic: “For the luckiest Americans, the past year has been marked by soul-deadening tedium and loneliness.” (Emphasis added). A cheerless, but real reminder that we need each other.

It is pretty clear that we needed and still need each other. There are untold outpourings of stories how this neighbor, or that community, or another business/organization helped. Many discovered that reaching out to others is a multiplier.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s messages lately, show that as the USA begins significantly to level the curve, hope begins to brighten—joy and smiles begin to bubble up. There is light in the eyes of people greeting each other—-even for those who still, out of an abundance of caution, wear masks.

As Jesus was teaching about the only important commandment, a lawyer asked “Who is my neighbor?” The story Jesus told about an unlikely act of kindness; that story reverberates down through the centuries. So significant is the Good Samaritan story that every state has some form of The Good Samaritan Law.

Yes. As John amused us by saying “People are funnier than anybody,” it is true, we need each other and to laugh with each other and at ourselves. “People who need people,—(really) are the luckiest people in the world!!

The Go Kart craze had its heyday in the 1960’s, becoming a sport. Of sorts. It was a kinda rise and fall of the sport; tracks were built all over the nation, but nothing was organized or systemized. No one really knows for sure why it faded into near oblivion. Poor regulation, poor construction, and scarcity of reliable parts were likely culprits.

But wait. I’m getting ahead of myself. In the 1950’s my Uncle Royce Veal, owned a machine shop. He read an article in Popular Mechanics about a fun little motorized cart a man built for his kids. Never one to back away from a mechanical challenge, he told his son, Wayland, and me. “We can do that!” That set him on task! With Wayland and me in tow, Uncle Royce set out on a fantastic odyssey.

On one of his scavenger missions to a Macon junk yard he found two Piper Cub airplane wheels, complete with good tires. Back in his shop in Goat Town, he laid out a plan, and cut one -inch angle iron to appropriate lengths. Angle iron framed the entire layout. He took the steering column of a Model A Ford from the scrap pile out back, shortened it to an appropriate length a child of 12 or so could manage. This would make a 3-1 steering ratio instead of a direct (and dangerous) steering turn. Using wizardry which only he could conjure up, he fashioned an adjustable tie rod. In the middle it had a turnbuckle for setting precise front wheel toe-in alignment

Front wheels were pneumatic wheelbarrow wheels. Spindles for the wheels were 3/4 X 6 inch machine bolts. Their heads were machined down to fit into cannibalized universal joints for paired turning. The grille was an old Ford truck grille altered-to-fit. Brakes were fashioned from scrap parts; the handle was from the emergency brake of said Model A Ford. The engine was a spare Briggs & Stratton 3-hp gasoline engine he had on hand. He took the seat from an old cultivator, and bolted it in place.

We never clocked the speed, but I am sure it was not over ten mph. But how fun!! It’s inauguration was in the Kaolin Festival, in Sandersville, GA. Wayland entered it, and drove the Kart the entire length of the parade—in much the fashion of Shriners’ little vehicles in parades these days.

There is something exciting about “a new thing.” Especially when it works well, fills a need, or is just good fun. A baby gets excited and coos warmly at a jiggly whirligig. Children thrill at the new rope swing, or running through the lawn sprinkler the first hot day o summer. More than that, deep down inside marvelous discovery tends to offer rejuvenation to the soul.

I think the freshness of an experience brings revitalization. How many times did Jesus, when wearied by the pressing crowds or the pernicious presumptions of the Pharisees, turn to time away for renewal? And when the opportunity for a visit with children came up, he hushed the naysayers and took time with the children.

Even in the Old Testament, “A new Thing” is heralded by the Prophet Isaiah;
“Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.”

Of course a Go Kart is basically a toy. But new, unexpected things or events bring freshness into bold relief. It reminds me of the Wright boys tinkering with the idea of flight; in their little bicycle shop out back, they annoyed Bishop Wright. But that must wait for another story.

Mose Bass managed, no, presided over, the men’s dormitory at Georgia Teachers College, (Georgia Southern University) Statesboro, GA. Mose Bass governed his charges with unmitigated care, attention , and skill. There is a quip you likely have heard: “Some people are born great; some people achieve greatness; some have greatness thrust upon them.” Mose Bass was all three. Ask any GTC student of the era. A gregarious man, cheerful, and instinctively inclined to build up others, Mose Bass met life and the men in his charge with vigor and optimism. Mose Bass greeted each man of his charge with a large, happy, “How ‘ya do’n?” He made it his mission to know each man, and called him by name.

Mose Bass exceeded expectations. He noticed if you were homesick, or lovesick, and would sit with you in your room and listen like Job’s friends. I don’t know how many petty conflicts he calmed. I do know the had the respect of everyone. Mose knew who had difficulty waking up mornings; those were honored by their door being flung open at 6:30 a.m. with a hearty “Good Mornin’ Babe!” —and if one was too reluctant to arise, he found himself unceremoniously dragged onto the cold tile floor. No one was ever injured by Mose’s skilled maneuver. (He was practiced!)

One student of that era said Mose would frequently fry fish on weekends and invite him and other guys to eat together.  He said Mose cooked the best fried fish he ever tasted!  When any notice was posted on any bulletin board on campus about an upcoming event, or anything else—weighty or trivial—there would always be a notation on the bottom of the notice—in mysterious handwriting— “approved by Mose Bass.”  Another student told me, “I honestly do believe we would not have felt any posting was official until we saw Mose’s approval.  Best kept secret at GTC was who actually wrote the ‘approval.’  It may just have been the first person who happened to see the post, but it was always there!”

Most males of college age are referred to as “Men.” Even though in class we were called, “Mister,______”, I never heard anyone resist or resent being one of “Mose’s Boys.” Actually we guys preferred to be referred to this way, as if it were a mark of prestige. Lost Key? Homesick? Mose was Mr. Fixit. He could be depended on to keep our trust better than a counselor. Although no one enjoyed a laugh more than Mose Bass, he never had fun at the expense of one of his boys.

One of the most endearing gestures toward Mose Bass was the Dedication Page of the 1955 GTC Reflector (the Yearbook). You can read the students’ sentiments below his picture;

You’ve seen those words before . . . just as you see his shiny face and toothful grin wherever you meet him on campus.  Down through the years as the human alarm clock he has become a tradition among the T.C. men, and that familiar signature always mysteriously presents its forged approval on the notices of the campus bulletin board.  So THE REFLECTOR staff and the senior class want you to know that this, too—the 1955 edition—is “approved by Mose Bass.”

During my college years I worked in a church, primarily with children ages 9-12. These days I cannot imagine doing that. Our times were hilarious, unsettling, frustrating, and we had great times together. Among the fun things for them was a visit from my college roommate, Jim.

Jim fancied himself an Elvis Presley impersonator; actually he did, kinda resemble Elvis. And he could sing. Having a visit from Jim always had the girls giddy; I’m surprised they did not ask for his autograph. They may have done so, surreptitiously. They loved calling him “Roomy,” —my nickname for him. Jim got a kick from the visits too. I think he was also happily adding to his radio audience; he was a DJ at the local radio station.

The other highlight for the kids was my “name.” We somehow got into a name-game and they wanted to know my “full name.” I inserted a volley of whimsical names; “Willis-Homer-Salamander-Alexander-John-Henry-Jones-Moore, — Junior” —for some reason they liked the rhythm of that name and chanted it every session. It also allowed them to avoid the stuffy handle, “Reverend Moore.”

Names identify people, places, and things. Sometimes a name can be a barrier in relationships. While the Capulets and Montagues were feuding, their children, Romeo and Juliet fell in love; Juliet felt that Romeo’s family name, a rival of her family, did not matter; she said, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” And yes, sometimes a person can see beyond a stigma, and move on.

Your name is important. Even if your name is popular, like John or Kim and there are scores of others with “your” name. It is your, unique identity. It is how your name. is to be treasured. Some cultures have traditions that shape a child’s name. My maternal grandfather’s name is now passed on to the fourth generation. His name is important to our family; it is good to find it passed down the generations.

You appreciate it when someone remembers your name after a long separation, don’t you? One of those girls from long ago, Jan, married a colleague of mine. Our families are together at events from time to time. When Jan greets me, “Hello Willis-Homer-Salamander-Alexander-John-Henry-Jones-Moore, —Jr.”– she and I laugh, while others looking on are puzzled. Well, even a silly name has its moments.

Jesus spoke powerfully of his name; he said, “… the Father will give you whatever you ask of him in my name“. He did not mean that if you want an ocean cruise, or a good grade on a test you didn’t study for, or for your salary to be increased exponentially. He said “In my name.” That means in his character and spirit. When I was in college, my dad made arrangements with the service station owner to charge my gas to his account. Weekends, when I came home, I could fill my tank there, sign the bill, and dad would pay it. The deal was based on the character and spirit of my dad’s name.

Dr. Luke warns also about abusing the name of Jesus. Jesus’ name is not a mojo that brings wonderful results. Just don’t do it. A theological word for such use is “blasphemy” Mistreatment of a name is tantamount to theft, an outright highjacking. In today’s cyber culture, it would be like taking the URL of, well, Wal-Mart, and changing a character or two to direct the user to another website attracting users away from the intended website.

Name abuse comes in a variety of forms. So hold on to your good name. It is you. It is your treasure. I like the Proverb; 22:1 -“A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches, Loving favor rather than silver and gold.”