I saw it and my heart dropped a bit. I had known it was coming — it always comes — but I hadn’t expected it so soon. A fine, corpuscle of a crack has appeared in the concrete of the patio next to our house. I realized, yet again, that living in a beautiful new house does not take away the responsibilities and duties that come with being a home owner. If you have something, you have to be faithful to maintain it.

He ran into our back yard, panic on his face, eyes frantic, and came right toward me. “Sir, can you help me? There’s some really bad people chasing me and they’re trying to shoot me!” I immediately exercised appropriate concern but, if I”m honest, I was having a bit of an internal chuckle — not at this poor man’s expense but because of God’s sense of humour.

I’m an influencer! I’m sure of it. I also have no followers on the internet (at least, none that I know of), no blog, no podcast, hardly any real presence at all. As far as I know, I don’t get paid for my influence. And here’s another bombshell — you’re an influencer too! And I’m just as sure of that!

Do you love God? What does that love look like on a daily basis? What does it feel like?

Most people that have been following Jesus for awhile would have no problem describing how God loves them. Verses like “God so loved the world …” and “God demonstrates his love for us in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us,” and others of that tenor are not hard to find or to quote. We are aware of God’s extravagant love for us and to what lengths he goes in loving us. It may be hard for us to actually live in this love but we tend to know about it.

The Toronto Maple Leafs lost another game seven and are out of the playoffs. The media (at least the Toronto based media, some of it, ironically, owned by the same conglomerate that owns the team) are crucifying the players. The fans displayed their “class” by throwing all manner of objects on the ice, even during play. Even more ironic, a star player and the head coach of Florida (the team that won the game) both spoke at length about how well the Leafs played and how the media were unfairly treating the players.

Normally, I wouldn’t give professional sports the time of day but….

It was forty-five years in the making but it’s done. At least, it will be done, later this week, when I assemble the various parts and move it from my garage floor to my house. We have a dining room table and I built it — with a little help from friends and family. Today, I’ll share some reflections regarding this journey.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” is a statement that usually precedes a failure or a disaster story. I have one to tell you this week.

You are predictable. How does that make you feel? What questions does it engender?

Everyone is predictable — even the unpredictable. Their very unpredictability is what makes them predictable. You say, “But I’m a unique person, an individual. I’m not predictable.” Yet, your uniqueness doesn’t affect your predictability.

“Hi Reuben! How was your day?” asked his mother, Rachel. Without missing a beat, Reuben replied, “Good. How was your day?” I was impressed with my grandson’s manners!

“Just give up control!” “You’re too controlling!” “He’s a control freak.” “Let go, and let God!”

Have any of these things been said to you, or about you? Does the subject of “control” leave you frustrated or angry or cold and bewildered?

I had a “Little Red Riding Hood” moment last Saturday while at a Thinking Shrewdly conference in Edmonton. That intrepid little lass was confused when her “grandma” didn’t look like her grandma. That was my conundrum as well.

Names can create humour — especially across cultures. For example, I can’t tell you how many times people have laughed or snickered after I was introduced in Ghana. You see, when they pronounce my name, it sounds like “Dog.” When people hear that, they wonder why any parent would name their child after a canine. I have a colleague whose name is Gord Martin (he told me this story) who now spends most of his time with diaspora peoples who have immigrated to Canada. In the same way that Ghanaians pronounce my name “Dog,” many southeast Asians pronounce his name, “God.” Some time ago, Gord was scheduled to go to Ottawa to speak at a church. He planned to stay overnight with the church pastor and his family. Because their home was small, the pastor informed his daughter that she would have to give up her room because “God Martin” would be staying with them. The little girl’s eyes grew large and she exclaimed, ‘I didn’t know that God had a last name!’

Have you seen them? They’re a great invention — foam soccer balls. They can look like real soccer balls. You can kick them, head them, and do everything with them that you can do with a leather soccer ball, but they’re soft!! They don’t hurt your foot when you kick them. They don’t destroy furnishings when you play inside a house. When you poke them, you don’t stub your finger. The ball absorbs the pressure and then returns to its original shape. Foam soccer balls have only one downside so far as I can see (unless you count the number of indoor objects broken during a now possible game of indoor soccer in the living room!). This was demonstrated to me on Sunday morning by my little friend, Sylvan. He was so excited to show me his lime green soccer ball and how he could kick it. Then he stopped and said, “Broken.”

I spent three hours yesterday using a tiny little motorized drum sander to shape compound rounded notches in several blocks of wood. On a previous day, I spent a couple of hours cutting 3 1/2” by 4”, five degree wedges out of blocks of maple. On a couple of other days, I spent several hours with carving tools, cutting six mortises. Each of these operations are a skill in themselves but I was not doing them to hone my skills. They aren’t random pursuits.

Let’s think about others this week. No, I’m not trying to encourage you to do something for another person (though that is always a good idea). I’m literally saying that we should think about the term “others.” So, let’s begin with a definition and then an observation. An “other” is “a person (or thing) distinct or different from one already mentioned or known about.”

We were doing so well. Sunshine, warmth, snow melt, the appearance of grass — and then we wake up to snow and a winter wonderland all over again. Oh, and while we’re at it, the world seems to be controlled by despots and idiots. Media continues to champion the banal over the substantive. My wife is in a dark place right now. I know others who are struggling with everything from death-bringing disease to mental health issues to marital problems to grief. And beyond all this, let me tell you about …

Tim recently found himself trying to arbitrate a dispute between his two eldest daughters. Despite his well-honed arbitration skills (he’s a lead pastor, after all), his daughters were having none of it. Things went sideways rapidly. They shouted angrily at each other. Tim lost his temper a bit and yelled at them. The girls stomped off to their respective rooms. Elly, the youngest, who had observed the whole thing, commented drolly, “Well, that was a an overreaction!” It was all Tim could do to exit the room without busting a gut in laughter.

This past Sunday, Tim did a great job of dealing with the subject of death as he took us through the last act of David’s life. There can be no denying it: David did not finish well. He died a bitter, frail, vindictive, and impotent man. But there can also be no denying that the bible refers to David as “a man after God’s own heart,” and that the title, ‘Son of David,’ was not only one of great honor but one reserved for God’s Messiah. So what do we do with all this? What are we to make of it?

Two completely unrelated events foster my thoughts this week. The first occurred this past Sunday, when a dear friend said she’d been thinking lately about confession. The second occurred two days earlier as I was running the edge of a section of my dining room table past a high speed router bit. The bit was cutting that hard wood like a hot knife through butter when my ears detected just the slightest click for one brief instant. I held my breath, finished the pass and used my thumb to briefly check the edge. All was well and I was relieved, having completed one of the most challenging operations on the dining table I’m building.

The smoke billowed around my shop, its acrid smell making my breathing uncomfortable. Yet, contrary to the adage, there was no fire, only clouds of smoke that required me to open both my overhead door and the entry door in order for at least some of the smoke to dissipate. With temperatures in the minus 20’s, that was no great delight!

My shop is still standing today, despite yesterday’s shenanigans. Let me explain.