Printer Friendly VersionSeveral years ago my wife and daughter and I were living in
the San Bernardino, California area. My parents, who lived in Pueblo, Colorado,
phoned one day and said they’d like to come out for a few days of visit
and vacation. I replied, “Come on out, we’d be glad to have you.”
My dad was a retired railroader, and part of his retirement
benefits was free or minimal cost travel on Amtrak. They made their way westerly
until they arrived at the train depot on 3rd Street.
We had a nice week of visit. We took them to some famous Southern
California vacation spots, obviously Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm,
and to multiple high-calorie restaurants. As I recall, their departure time
was about ten o’clock on a Sunday night.
I was home between revivals and I wanted to attend the Sunday
night service at our local church with my wife and daughter. (My parents never
attended church -- I was a bus kid from an unchurched home.) So we went to
the evening service while my folks stayed home to pack. We returned home,
loaded their luggage in the trunk, and we all headed over to the train depot.
I helped my folks check their bags at the ticket counter. My
dad had a couple of “carry-ons” that he wanted to take with them.
Typically a porter would help a senior adult on the train with their “carry-ons”;
but that night the porter was occupied with a passenger in a wheelchair. I
said, “Dad, I’ll help you on with these.” And my wife, Vickie,
and our daughter, Nickie, asked if they could get on, too. They never had
seen the inside of a passenger train before.
I checked my watch. We had plenty of time. My Mom and Dad climbed
aboard and found their seats. I stowed my Dad’s carry-on bags in the
bin above, while Vickie and Nickie checked out the new travel environment.
All of a sudden, with no forewarning, no “all aboard”
or “last call”, the train took off! My wife, daughter and I exclaimed
in unison, “The train is moving!!” The other passengers looked at
us rather inquisitively, wondering, “What do you think this thing is
supposed to do? That’s why we got on board and bought a ticket!”
Well, something had to happen, so I ran out into the hallway
and found the emergency cord. I pulled it a couple of times, but it didn’t
do a bit of good. Then I examined that sliding door and figured out how to
unlatch it. I unlatched it at the top and at the bottom and slid it open.
Then I purposed to my wife and daughter, “Now, Vickie, I’ll jump
first, then you jump, and then, Nickie, you jump.” (That just proves
you don’t have to have a brain to be an evangelist!)
It was no big deal to me. We were barely moving. You see, the
summer between my freshman and sophomore year at Pasadena College, I got a
job in Los Angeles on the Santa Fe. I was a switchman. Part of my job was
jumping on and off of trains when they were moving. It’s no big deal,
especially if you do it right!
Well, Vickie and Nickie didn’t like the idea. Respectfully,
Nickie said,” Daddy, I don’t want to jump.” And insistently
Vickie said, “Norman, I am not going to jump!” So they won that
debate. About that time the Conductor showed up, and very gruffly he said,
“Who pulled the emergency cord, and who opened the door?”
I said, “I did both”.
He responded, “What’s going on around here?”
I answered, “My Dad is elderly, and he had a couple of
carry-on bags. And the porter was busy with the guy in a wheelchair, my wife
and kid never saw the inside of a passenger coach before, and we were on plenty
early. There was no “last call” or “all aboard”, and this
fool thing took off! And I want you to stop this train right now!”
My temperature continued to rise as the lyrics of “Called
Unto Holiness” and “Glorious Freedom” lingered in my memory
from the Sunday night service. Can you imagine that we had a “situation”?
The conductor folded his arms, as though he had all the authority
on earth, and said, “Sir, this train will stop in Barstow” (seventy
miles away).
I was so frustrated! My wife and daughter sat down next to my
Mom. They thought it was funny! They laughed and laughed and laughed. Finally
I barked at them, “If you’re going to laugh, go to the next car
where I don’t have to hear you.” So they went to the café
car and had a party.
Pretty soon the conductor came down the aisle looking for me.
He patted me on the back and said, “Relax son, have a good trip. I’m
not even going to charge you for a ticket. In fact, I’ll see you have
a free trip on the next in-bound to San Bernardino.”
About midnight we pulled into the train depot in Barstow, California
(in the middle of the desert). And about that time conviction had settled
on my heart pretty strong about blowing up at the conductor. The first thing
I had to do when the train stopped was to apologize to the conductor, in front
of my Dad. Well, I was feeling a whole lot better. We waved good-bye to my
folks as they headed out of town. But there we were, all dressed up, on the
sidewalk at the train station in Barstow, at midnight, with no place to go!
We went into the depot lobby and I asked the young man behind
the counter, “When is the next in-bound to San Bernardino?” He had
been “pre-warned” of our situation. He timidly stammered, “Well,
sir, I have good news and bad news.”
”I responded, “What’s the good news?”
He said, “The good news is that the next in - bound is
due at 4:00 am.”
I said, “That’s good news? What’s the bad news?”
He replied, “It’s two hours late.”
I tried to get a nap on an oak depot bench, making a pillow
out of outdated newspapers and magazines. That lasted about 22 seconds. Then,
just to kill time, I read every travel poster on the depot walls, places where
I never wanted to go. Then, just to appease my troubled emotions, I extracted
a Payday candy bar out of a remote candy machine. But it must have been installed
in 1942!
About three in the morning I went up to the counter clerk and
asked, “Is there any other way to get out of town?”
He answered, “There might be a bus tonight; I’ll give
them a call.”
With a grin he announced, “There’s a bus in about
20 minutes, and they have plenty of room; I’ll drive you over.”
When we climbed on the bus I was feeling a whole lot better.
But I quickly learned that the bus company was in business to make money.
And they did that by hauling as many passengers as possible. That bus driver
stopped at every cactus and trashcan between Barstow and San Bernardino. It
took us until about 8:00 in the morning to go 70 miles down the hill! The
driver pulled up beside the curb at the bus station on D Street. I climbed
off that bus, and I was tired, unshaven, and hungry. But my car was at the
train depot!
There was a yellow Chevy Caprice taxicab in front of the bus.
The driver saw us get off and said, “Where would you like to go?”
I replied, “To the train depot.”
He drove us over. We got out of the cab, I paid the driver,
and we got in our car and drove off. As we exited the parking lot, I looked
in my rear view mirror and saw the driver standing there, scratching his head,
no doubt wondering, “Now they got off the bus, to get in my cab, to come
to the train depot, to get in their car?” I wonder if he’s still
trying to figure that out?
Why relay such an embarrassing story? Because it’s possible
for a born-again, sanctified, Spirit-filled disciple of Jesus Christ to have
an unexpected “night train to Barstow!” Have you ever had one? Have
you ever admitted it?
Our central question here is: How do you handle your failures when what you
did or what you said or how you reacted was a long way “out of bounds”
from what you wanted to do and be? Some folks ignore it, some deny it, others
rationalize it, and still others transfer the blame. Now what good would it
do for me to say, ”But he made me mad.” Is that the truth? No way!
What’s the truth? I made a bad choice in a moment of weakness and vulnerability,
and I chose to respond in an angry way to that irritating situation.
Well, let’s see how it’s supposed to be. In Galatians
5, Paul gives us a list of attributes of a Spirit-filled life. “But the
fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,
gentleness and self-control. “
Well, how do you think I did that night on the train? Let’s
look: love? . . . none that night; joy? . . . no way; peace? . . . a long
way off; patience? . . . I blew that; kindness? . . . not quite; goodness?
. . . messed up there; faithfulness? . . . I blew that too; gentleness? .
. . I shot that in the head; and self - control? . . . obviously not! There
are nine attributes of a Spirit-filled life, and I struck out on all nine
of them!
Even as a born-again, sanctified, Spirit-filled Christian we
are still human. And in a moment of weakness and vulnerability it is possible
to make a wrong choice. Rather than ignore it, deny it, rationalize it or
transfer the blame - God’s Word gives us a better option: we can confess
it. At I John 1:9, it says, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and
just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness..”
I have been learning the benefits of living a confessional life style. No,
we do not have to sin unavoidably daily, but in the time of failure open,
honest, candid, transparent admission is our best option. One of the benefits
of living a confessional lifestyle is you can quit rationalizing your wrongs.
Now my “night train to Barstow” -- was that a sin
or was it a mistake? Maybe it was the result of a choleric personality, who
likes to be in control. Or maybe it’s simply the result of the Scotch,
Irish, English and Indian ancestry! When we live a confessional lifestyle,
we just admit the truth: “God, I messed up and it’s my fault, and
I’ll do anything I can to fix it with anyone I’ve offended.”
You see, I’ve concluded that we aren’t very objective
in the moment of an offense. Our predictable tendency is to position us in
the best light possible, in order to maintain the thin veneer on our vulnerable
self esteems. We can trust God to “call it as He sees it”, and we
simply “own” our responsibility for our actions and make the corrections.
Another benefit I’ve discovered in living a confessional
lifestyle is we can quit “running scared”. By that I mean you can
avoid looking over your shoulder, imagining some mean, irritable, grouchy
god who’s itching to fry you as quickly as he can. That’s not God!
He paid a terrible price on Calvary to redeem us, and He’s not going
to walk away just because we’re not absolutely perfect all the time!
One day I was reading John 14. I was glad to rediscover Jesus
words: “And if I go to prepare a place for you, I will come back and
take you to be with me that you also may be where I am” (John 14:3).
No, I do not believe in unconditional eternal security. But neither do I believe
in conditional eternal insecurity. It is reassuring to know that God wants
us to make it!
A third benefit I learned in living a confessional lifestyle
is that our credibility is enhanced and our witness is heightened. There are
folks who observe you in your normal, daily life. And they have seen you in
your “less impressive moments” like my “night train to Barstow.”
Family members, work associates, classmates, friends and neighbors have noticed
and have drawn some silent conclusions. Some of those who observe your life
don’t know the difference between John Calvin, John Wesley or John Deere!
They don’t know; and you know what else? They don’t care. Do you
know what they do care about? The difference between someone who is real and
someone who is phony. And when we live a confessional lifestyle, we can go
to the one we’ve offended and say, “You know, about the other day,
I was all wrong. I was way out of bounds; it’s all my fault, I was a
total jerk. Please forgive me. What can I do to make it right?” If we
live that way, the holiness that we talk about will have a whole lot more
substantiality and credibility.
I think it’s like the day I taught our daughter, Nickie,
to rider her two-wheel bike. After she returned home from school one afternoon,
we went into the garage and I removed the stabilizing trainer wheels off the
back of her bike. I moved the bike to the street and held it as Nickie climbed
on and gripped the handlebars. Then I coached her, “Remember, keep on
peddling and in case you need me, and I’ll be right beside you.”
I asked her, “Are you ready to go?” And she nodded “yes”.
I gave her a good push and jogged along beside her and chanted a dumb song,
“Peddle, peddle, peddle, don’t stop peddling”. Well, a dog
would bark or a car came around the corner and she got scared and BAM! She
had a wreck!
What do you think I did? Do you think I blew up at her and said,
“Man, look at you, you bent the fender and twisted the handle bars! You
tore a hole in your new jeans. I’m fed up with you. Get in the house.
I’m going to give your bike to the Salvation Army.” Is that what
I said? No way! Why? That’s my kid. I love that kid! She’s cost
me plenty!
I picked her up and hugged her. I just let her cry and cry and
cry, until finally her tears soaked the belly of my T-shirt. Then I bent down
and kissed her on the cheek. I examined her bloody palm and her skinned knee.
I pushed a tear off her cheek and asked her, “Would you like to try again?”
She whimpered “yes”.
I helped her get back on the bike and reminded her, “Keep
on peddling and if you need me, I’ll be right beside you.” Then
I gave her another shove, jogged along beside her and again chanted, “Peddle,
peddle, peddle, don’t stop peddling.” BAM! She had another wreck.
Reflecting on my own boyhood memories of two perpendicular sidewalks at the
corner of 6th at Kingston Street and the adjacent elm tree, I remembered that’s
a part of what it takes to learn to ride a two-wheeled bike.
I don’t mind disclosing to you, friends, that in my moments
of greatest inconsistencies and failure, when what I did or what I said was
a long way out of bounds, when I finally quit kicking myself it seemed that
I heard a friend say something like, “Would you like to try again?”
God is not permissive, but He is patient. When we learn to live confessionally, we can quit rationalizing our wrongs, we can quit “running scared”, and we can enjoy an enhanced credibility.
