These words are a good reminder for all believers that even though our works contribute nothing to our salvation, good works are the proof of true faith. (Romans 3:28, James 2:26)

If you are Christ’s, let me advise you to do four things.

• You belong to Jesus; then obey Him; let His word be your law; let His wish be your will.
• You belong to the Beloved; then love Him; let your heart embrace Him; let your whole soul be filled with Him.
• You belong to the Son of God; then trust him; rest on nothing or no one but on Him.
• You belong to the King of kings; then be decided for Him. Thus even without being marked with a sign everyone will know to whom you belong.

Devotional material is taken from “Morning and Evening,” written by C.H. Spurgeon, revised and updated by Alistair Begg. Copyright (c) 2003, Good News Publishers and used by Truth For Life with written permission.

To further synopsize: Trust and Obey Jesus by Loving Him and Dedicating yourself to Him.

I sat in my car on the side of the road. My car was in park, my flashers were on, all my windows were down and my sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel at 10 and 2.

Finally, his door opened and he stepped out. I watched him in my rear-view mirror.

“Good morning, officer!” I thought to myself. That’s what I’d say when he got to my window. Try to be pleasant.

He walked directly to the back of my car. I heard something scraping against my bumper as he wobbled in my rear-view.

“Did he step in something? I thought.

Then I saw him talking into the radio mic on his shoulder.

Snow! There was snow covering my license plate and he had to scrape it off to read it. I whispered an oath as I finally exhaled. I could see my breath.

He walked backward a few steps toward his cruiser, never taking his eyes off of me.

“Smart man,” I thought, “and he doesn’t have any idea yet that I have a gun.”

He talked into his shoulder again and then paused to listen. I noticed his head jerk toward me just a little. He knew.

I could feel my heart thumping now. I tightened my grip on the wheel. My neck was hot and my fingers were cold. The gun felt like an anvil on my left hip.

He shifted his weight on his feet and took a lungful of cold Ohio air. I could see his breath too.

Now my ears were hot and my hands almost slipped off the wheel they were so cold and wet. I never noticed before how red the lines in my knuckles were. I glanced in my rear-view again and he was gone.

“Officer, I have a license to carry concealed and I am armed. What would you like me to do?”

“Where is the firearm?” His voice was like a rock.

“In a holster on my left hip, under my shirt.” I squeaked.

“That’s fine,” he said, “Keep your hands on the wheel unless I tell you to do otherwise.”

“Yes sir. My license is in my left back pocket.”

“Get it with your left hand only. Keep your other hand on the wheel.”

“Yes sir. I need to open the glove box too.”

“Go ahead.”

He stood slightly behind me outside my window, his body parallel to the side of my car. I never saw his right hand and figured it was resting on the butt of his pistol.

I leaned to my right, slowly opened the glove box and removed my insurance card and registration. Holding them between my thumb and forefinger, I returned my right hand to the wheel and reached with my left hand really, *really* slowly toward my left back pocket. I removed my wallet and brought both hands back to the wheel.

He moved closer and placed his right hand on the sill of my window.

I relaxed a little bit as I removed my licenses and handed everything over. “Here you go.” I managed.

He took them from me without a word, straightened up and walked toward the front of my car. He never turned more than halfway away from me as he walked around the front of my car and toward the side of the highway. He keyed his mic and called in my information.

I thought ice might be forming under my hands on the steering wheel. My heart wasn’t beating as fast, but now I could feel sweat running down the side of my head. For a misguided moment, I thought about unzipping my coat, and then thought better of it.

My grip tightened. The wheel would never be the same.

“Sir, do you know why I stopped you this morning?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“You had snow covering your rear license plate. Are you aware that you have to keep it clear of obstructions?”

“I am now, sir!” I replied briskly, “I’m sorry about that.”

He held out my paperwork and said sternly, “And this isn’t what I asked you for, you know!”

My hands stayed on the wheel. I just looked at him, my mouth half open. I think I might have blinked.

“I asked you for your driver’s license, registration and proof of assurance.” He stressed the last word.

My hands stayed on the wheel. I just looked at him, my mouth half open. I think I might have blinked.

He grinned as he tucked my paperwork under the edge of the bible sitting on the passenger’s seat. “I noticed the cross you have hanging from your rear view mirror at the same time that my dispatcher said you had a license to carry concealed. Then I saw your bible just before I got to your window. I’m usually a little nervous approaching an armed citizen, but this time I felt pretty calm.”

I managed to close my mouth and take a short breath.

“I thought I’d have a little fun with you and see if you might hand me your bible as proof of assurance.” He said as he tapped the book on the seat.

“I never even caught it.” I replied as I tried to smile. “I thought you said insurance. I guess I didn’t expect to be pulled over by a Christian.”

“I’m a Christian and a cop; but I guess I’m not much of a comedian!”

“I’m sure I’ll laugh about it later” I said as I finally found the ability to smile.

“I’m sure we both will.” He replied as he straightened back up. “Make sure you keep your license plate clear of snow and have a blessed day, brother!”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir… brother. You too!”

UPDATE: This article is a work of fiction; a creative writing exercise focusing on dialog and descriptive realism. I welcome constructive criticism in comments or via email. Thanks for reading!

In the meantime, I need to post an announcement to prepare for a continuing series that I probably should have started months ago.

I have left the church that has been my home since I was two years old. It was the only church I ever belonged to in 45 years of life.

This was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done – and one of the most necessary. I won’t go into the specific reasons for leaving right now, but the words of Bill Hill sum it up pretty well, “I will not go on in compromise. I am ashamed that I have gone along as long as I have. The time has come to obey God and not compromise.”

I am searching for a new church home in the Akron, Ohio area, and have been since the first of February. I hope to post short updates on the process from time to time. My intention is that these will prove helpful or edifying for others who are searching for a new church home.

I’m not going to ‘review’ the churches I visit, but I will offer observations and insights from some of them and keep the reader more or less up-to-date on my search.

It took me three years to decide to leave my former church; it was not a spur-of-the-moment decision. I am now actively searching for a new church home and I don’t know how long the search process will take. I tend to be very methodical and thorough, so it could take a while to find the right place.

Trusting in God,

-Dave

Here is Part 2

Not long ago, I was enjoying a shower-free Saturday and working a little harder than usual in the basement. Just before dinner, I was sitting at the computer and I noticed an odd aroma. At first, I didn’t know what it was, and then it dawned on me that it was me. I immediately shuffled off to the shower before I spoiled my family’s dinner.

Until you smell yourself, you don’t even suspect that you might need a shower. The problem is, other people can smell you long before you can smell yourself. For some reason, we’re somewhat immune to our own scent and we don’t even suspect that we might reek until we’ve been really stinky for a really, really long time.

It is no different with our sin. We are somewhat immune to noticing the stench of our own sins until we’ve allowed them to pollute our lives almost completely. Before I was saved, I was great at comparing myself to other stinking, sinning people and convincing myself that I didn’t smell as bad as they did. Some people, some nominal Christians, go through their entire lives this way. They’re kind of like the ‘deadheads’ of old, thinking a little patchouli oil (good works) will cover up the smell.

God knew that I was rotten to the core and His Holy Spirit convicted me of my sins and let me smell myself for the first time. He put it into my mind (and my nostrils) that I definitely needed a shower. He did that through a preacher who could smell me and was bold enough to tell me that I stank. God also made it clear that no water on earth could wash me as clean as I needed to be. Only the blood of Jesus, the Lamb of God could wash my soul spotlessly clean. Revelation 7:14

Though I still enjoy a shower-free Saturday once in a while and like to think I don’t smell *that* bad, I am much more attuned to the smell of my own sins. Praise God that He rescued me from the patchouli-tainted works of my “carnal Christian” life and led me to trust completely in His Amazing Grace.

It was a diorama about twelve inches square and nine inches high. It depicted a simply appointed living room with a chair, a carpet, a door, and a woman vacuuming. It was an ordinary scene with absolutely nothing remarkable about it. What made this piece of art so memorable to me was what was going on outside the room.

Outside was a fanciful array of men and monsters of all different colors, sizes and shapes. Their tentacles, arms, legs and eyes were all interwoven and they surrounded the room and the woman doing her chores. Inside was a scene of mundane toil; outside was total chaos.

UPDATE: Here is the work of art described above. Click for a larger version.

That piece of artwork depicted my life at the time. To the casual observer, I was an average guy working an average job living in an average house and driving an average car. My main worries were losing my job, losing my wife, losing my house, losing my car and my dwindling bank account.

Since saving faith was granted to me by God through Jesus, I really don’t worry much about my job or whether I will have enough food or clothing (Luke 12:29-31), nor even about having enough money. Strangely enough, I still identify with this piece of artwork and am still concerned with many things.

The monsters lurking outside my window today are my sins that I don’t want to do, but keep doing (Romans 7:15); my unsaved family (both those who claim to know Christ but produce no fruit and those who overtly deny Him); my friends at church who seem biblically illiterate and apathetic about the Gospel;  people I work with who are trapped in a legalistic religion; and what, if anything, I can do to help bring these people to Christ.

For now I think I will pray about it (1 Peter 5:7), be still, and know that God reigns. (Psalm 46:10)

Here’s why.

As long as I’ve been typing (or “keyboarding” as my kids call it) I’ve used my right hand to hit the first digit of the year. I took my first typing class in 81. In 83 I took my first computer class in high school. When I went to college I spent a lot of time on a keyboard typing computer programs and term papers. Every time I entered the year, I went to the 8 with my middle finger.

In the 90s I worked at three different companies and always had a computer for drafting and CAD design work. Moving from 89 to 90 wasn’t a big deal at all; each digit was just one position to the right. It was the same scenario going from 99 to 00; just one digit over to the right.

Now along comes the dreaded 10.

For nearly 30 years, I’ve been going to my right to type the year. Now I need to go to my left and it is a radical change of a long, long-time habit.

Though this typing change is trivial in comparison, I think there are parallels between this and Jesus’ words to Nicodemus about being born anew in John 3:3. Nicodemus didn’t understand how anyone could be born again – it just didn’t make sense to his worldly, works-based mind. But Jesus was talking about a change, a radical change that goes all the way back to the beginning stages of life and learning. Nicodemus had to first unlearn what he had learned and then relearn the way of the Gospel. This is why Jesus said we must be like little children. My youngest daughter had no trouble going from typing 09 to typing 10 because she’s been typing for less than a year.

The older we get and the longer we cling to our traditions, the harder it is make the changes that Jesus demands. I have family that were born and raised in the Roman church and they thoroughly believe that they can’t change. Not that they won’t change, but that they absolutely can not change.

Making even small changes in our lives is difficult; how much more so the big changes that require us to start all over again. Every time I struggle to use the smallest finger of my left hand to hit the 1 instead of using my right ring finger to hit the 0 I’m going to think about what it means to be born anew. 2 Corinthians 5:17

* Yes. I know that the decade doesn’t end until December 31 of 10, but typing 11 will be way easier than typing 10 and my point would be lost if I waited a year to publish this.