Do Faith Healers Have Specialties?

Do faith healers have specialties?

Doctors do, of course. I’d not be surprised to find an LDP specialist available should you need a Left Distal Phalange doctor for your port side little toe.

Not that long ago, I could have used an RDP specialist for my fractured RDP, but my very excellent primary care/GP/family medicine physician and friend), since retired, was more than able to deal deftly with both left and right distal phalanges and anything else from head top to toe bottom. He also knew how my head might affect several different parts of me and when I needed it examined.

Yes, doctors have specialties. But, for some reason, I found myself wondering about faith healers and specialties.

Just so you’ll know, I’d never even consider “hanging out my shingle” as a faith healer. But, if I did, I’m sure I’d be more tempted to work with cancer or heart disease (or maybe headaches or upper respiratory infections) than amputations/prosthetics. If my “cure” rate became troublesome or I were accused of malpractice, I would (forgive me) just blame the patient.

“You have committed sin,” I could charge, and hit the mark since 100% of folks miss the mark.

“You need more faith,” I might say. Well, thanks, a patient who had limped in, crawled in, was carried in, might say. Do you know anyone who doesn’t need more faith?

Or I might say, “You not only need more faith, you need higher quality faith.” Guess what?  My patient already knows that, too, and now has the added burden (if he’s not very good at thinking) of thinking that folks with “Grade A” faith don’t get sick, have accidents, lose loved ones, see marriages fail, etc., so his faith must be “Grade B.” Deal with it and take two aspirin. Or not. If you have faith.

Or what if I, the malpracticing faith healer, said or implied, “You just need more faith, better faith, and better prayer technique, by which I mean exactly the right words, phrases, and formulae (incantations?). “Sure is a shame you or your loved one caught this malady, has this difficulty, is dealing with this loss, but if you or they just prayed with enough mental vigor and used exactly the right technique . . .”

Phooey.

Tough things happen. Bad things happen. Good people suffer. Bad people suffer. It’s far too simplistic to say that good people always prosper and bad people always suffer, and, if you’re suffering, you did something evil or wrong and certainly didn’t “do faith right.”

The simplistic—and wrong—answers are nothing new and are always tempting. Take a look at the Book of Job. Old Job and his friends (whom he could have done without) had the usual theories about his suffering—all sounded plausible, and all were wrong. The friends were, as Job called them, “worthless physicians,” but he also failed as a diagnostician, as God makes clear by the end of the book.

By the way, I don’t like suffering. And, by the way, if I am ill, I’d very much like to be healed. If Jesus would like to do an eye-popping miracle to accomplish that, I’m for it, and I know he can. If he chooses to use the “usual” methods which are just as much his blessing, I’m also for that.

I take it for granted that the Lord who sees when a sparrow falls really does care about “all” of us—the hairs on our heads, our left little fingers, livers, legs, kidneys, and all.

But here’s the thing: He seems to care most about our hearts, by which I mean, our souls.

I love the amazing account in Mark 2 where Jesus first heals a man spiritually and, only then, physically. He seems to think that the former is more important.

This fact brings to my mind a hypothetical question, admittedly flawed and one I doubt the Lord would force on the man in Mark 2 or on us, but what if the choice were between one or the other? Spiritual or physical healing? Not both. Hmm.

And, oh, do you need more faith? Me, too. But remember that Jesus seemed to esteem “faith as a grain of mustard seed” to be real faith, albeit quite small. For my part, I think most of us will be spiritually healthier and have greater faith if we avoid those who are sure that their own faith is quite large.

And prayer? It matters immensely, far more than we can imagine. Our Father has promised to hear and give us what we need. Just don’t forget that the best gift by far is the gift of himself.

A lot of these faith, prayer, and healing questions are way above my pay grade. Still, I don’t think our Father minds us asking them. I think he wants us to use our brains more, not less, than we do.

But, as Job found out, God is God, and we are not.

I choose to trust my Father who is completely good, completely powerful, and completely loving. He loves and delights in all of his children. Me, too. As weak and faithless as I often am, I think he likes me a lot. That, my friends, is a miracle!

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2022 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“Thou Shalt Take Some Time to Rest”

Do kindergartners still take rest mats with them to school as the term begins each year?

It was actually first grade for me when I started public school in Amarillo, Texas, at San Jacinto Elementary School. I had already completed kindergarten, diploma in hand. That K for “kindergarten” was the private kind my folks paid for because they thought I could do with the “socialization.” School districts had not at that time signed on to pick up their students at the hospital the moment the birth certificate ink was washed off their itty-bitty feet.

Mrs. Marvine Francis was my kindergarten teacher, and we did fun things like growing beans in soil in little milk cartons. Except for the first day or so, it was great, and she was, all through the year, wonderful.

I do remember, on Day 1, that Mom & Dad had promised me that we were just visiting to check things out and that I didn’t have to stay if I didn’t want to. I can’t imagine that they actually uttered those words, but that’s the message that lodged in my head. The place seemed okay to me, but I had weighed the decision carefully and figured I’d just go home and continue with my life. Nope. My school career had begun, and my life would never be the same.

On the following autumn, my post-kindergarten graduate work commenced at San Jacinto Elementary. I can, and one day will, tell you more stories about an absolutely wonderful principal and some amazing teachers, but what I’m thinking of now is school supplies.

A cigar box. (Sadly, I don’t think it smelled like cigars, but, come to think of it, I do remember you could buy candy cigarettes at the school store.) It held scissors which could hardly cut paper but would certainly not cut your fingers. Your little bottle of Elmer’s Glue (with its orange top) would fit nicely into that box. Throw in a couple of big—I mean really big and fat—pencils. (Large erasers were forbidden at this point, and my impression is that having an ink pen in your cigar box would issue in at least a paddling and probably jail time.)

Also, of course, each student had the obligatory Big Chief ruled tablet. These things wouldn’t fit into your cigar box, but they were impressive. Deep red. With a formidable Indian chief’s visage splashed across the front in bold black. I wonder if you can still find those. Maybe they’re Big Commander tablets now. Big Commies, for short. Idiots.

But the largest and, I thought, perhaps most important item I took with me to first grade was an inch-thick, quarter-folding, “plasticky-smelling,” “rest mat.” Mine was blue and red, foretelling, I’m sure, my destiny to excel six years later when I began seventh grade at Sam Houston Junior High (“Hail the red and blue!” / Honor, love, and true devotion / We will give to you!”).

I went to San Jacinto prepared to learn—and to rest a bit each day. Mrs. Carmody (hair redder than Lucille Ball’s and fiercely determined that her students would succeed) wouldn’t put up with talking out of turn, dirty fingernails, or any funny business at all at any time during the day. And, yes, when it came time to roll out the rest mats for our daily nap, napping was the serious business at hand. No snickering.

I don’t remember being particularly excited about nap time. Now, of course, I’d pay somebody good money to make me take one. Every day. No ifs, ands, or buts. No talking. Dream if you wish. There’s stuff to do later. Cut. Color. Paste. String some letters together. Read some letters other people have lined up.

But, for now, our serious business is rest. Get to it or face a paddling.

Most of us adults are so pig-headed that we’ll resist ever taking any real time to rest even if God orders it in a commandment. Our refusal doesn’t mean that we’ll get away unscathed and avoid the crashes that will come from a lack of rest and the idolatry which says that if we ever stop for a moment, God probably won’t be able to spin the world without us. But we are (forgive me) as dumb and undisciplined as we are arrogant. Stressed-out families pay a high price for such foolishness.

I still think Mrs. Carmody was right. And I still think, on this and many other points, God and Mrs. Carmody were completely agreed.

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2022 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

When Is a Win Not a Win?

When is a win not a win?

If we don’t care how we win, we won’t ask the question. If a W is a W is a W, and we don’t care how it finds its way into our life’s “win-loss” column, the question above is nonsensical, not worth the breath it takes to be uttered.

But the truth is that a coach, at any level, can win an incredible number of games and still be a loser if he/she cheats to do it. Those Ws won’t mean anything. At least, not anything good. If he turns a blind eye to deplorable conduct by his athletes off of the field or court, he’s complicit in creating losers whose Ws just multiply their shame and bless no one.

If we find ourselves acting as if “winning” and “success” are dependent only upon a person’s bank balance or power or fame, and character and integrity are only an afterthought, the Ws our society awards only show that our culture’s scale of value is woefully inadequate. And we bow before losers who boast about worthless Ws.

The Wall Street Journal recently reported that a Turkish journalist is in jail after quoting a proverb in which the president of Turkey must have recognized himself (though our world is not short of other candidates): “When an ox comes to the palace, he does not become a king, but the palace becomes a barn.” Ouch. Yes, and everyone loses.

Ironically, sometimes a real win looks like a loss. Jesus had much to say about that as he taught us that the only way to truly save our lives is to be willing to lay them down. And then he did precisely that.

Even before the Cross, near the beginning of his earthly ministry, the Lord underwent a long period of temptation in the Judaean wilderness (recorded in the Bible in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke). Satan tempted him to play by Satan’s rules, the world’s rules.

I paraphrase here, but the devil urges, “Ws should be easy for you! Worship and trust in yourself rather than your Father. Turn these rocks into bread and take the easy way out. Win by wowing the crowds. They’ll worship glitz! Jump off the top of the Temple and let the cameras roll and the ratings pile up as angels catch you. Or just worship me, and I’ll have all the crowds and mobs of this world worshiping you and falling at your feet. You’ll own them! I can give you an easy, cheap, and very large W!”

Satan could also have said, “Just watch as I offer made-to-order variations of the roots of each of these same temptations to rulers and despots, politicians and crowd whisperers, business leaders and office oligarchs, trend setters and not a few professionally religious crowd-pleasers. Not all will play my game, but the world will never lack many who’ll always go for the easy W. You, more than anyone else, should, too! It is your right. Take the W!”

Not all in leadership or authority have taken the easy W and sold their souls. Some in high authority honor those “beneath” them and know how to say, “I’m sorry; I was wrong” without choking on the apology or polling to see how these rare words would play to the public.

And, again, reality is not simple. Only the truly naive would think that everyone living in humble circumstances is humble in heart. I suspect it’s no harder to find despots in homeless camps than it is on the world stage. Seventeenth-century English poet John Milton put these words into “his” Satan’s mouth: “Better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven.”

But in all places, in all circumstances, at various times in our lives, we are called on, quietly or in public, to decide what a real W looks like. The God who has given us the gift and the responsibility of “free will” will never force us to make the right choice. But the consequences of our choices are real, and do well indeed to seek our Lord’s wisdom and follow his example.

Written almost 150 years ago, the words of the wise Scottish minister and author George MacDonald are still deeply true: “[T]here are victories far worse than defeats; and to overcome an angel too gentle to put out all his strength, and ride away in triumph on the back of a devil, is one of the poorest.”

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2022 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“We Are So Good Together” Begs a Question

I am writing this column on Valentine’s Day.If you know me, you’ll know that few husbands in the history of the celebration of Valentine’s Day are more accomplished, more innovative, more dependably and incredibly devoted to making memories on Valentine’s Day than am I.

And, if you know me, you are now laughing out loud.

I admit it: I have a dicey relationship with Valentine’s Day, and my wife deserves much better in this regard than I am good at giving. The good news is that, though she seems to appreciate my poor attempts with really great cards, gifts, dinners, special events and surprises (maybe I blunder into such success once a decade?), she knows that I know that I am of all men most blessed. She also knows that I know she’d usually rather have cash than flowers, and that’s the truth.

Still, gents, no matter how practically-minded your wives may be, it is a real mistake not to at least make a serious effort with cards, flowers, etc., on special and, from time to time, not-so-special occasions. Even the gals who claim not to care much at all about glitz care more than they think, and they desire and deserve more than you are naturally turned to give. Trust me. I tend to be a romance-challenged clod, but I am a clod who’s been married for 46 years.

I think my all-time low may have come on a work trip with my wife. She was waiting in the car while I ran into a drug store to pick up a couple of items. Realizing that we were a day or two away from a card-requiring holiday, I was shuffling through the greeting card bin when, wondering what was taking me so long, my beloved walked up behind me. In a moment of weakness, I suggested that since the checkout line was long, she might just read the card, consider it my heartfelt sentiment (it was), place it back in the rack, and we could head on down the road. Triple play. Great card. Free card. Feelings sincerely expressed.

This year, I was early in my Valentine’s Day card-shopping—meaning that it was not the “day before” or the “morning of.” The cards were not completely picked over, so I assumed the remaining were more or less representative of the card company’s offerings.

Those cards were not offered cheaply. Even a very average attempt at a card would set you back about seven bucks.

It also became apparent that writing sentimental card-fodder for a day celebrating deep love and devoted commitment is harder in a time where love is “luuuuvvvv” and the general “pool” of commitment is pretty darn shallow.

A dear friend who is a teacher—and truly committed wife and mother of one of my favorite families—was asked by a high school student how long she and her husband had “been together.” My friend replied, “We’ve been married for fourteen years.” The look of utter amazement in the student’s wide eyes told the story of the appalling price our society has paid for cut-rate “love” with no commitment.

So did that card bin. Among cards of the sort I expected to find were some “let’s cover all the bases” cards.

One or a few led out by saying, “You make me feel so [pick any term for warm and fluffy].” I like “warm and fluffy.” But I do wonder if something might be more foundational in a relationship than how “you make ME feel”? Maybe I’m pickily pushing the card too far.

Another card stoked my cynicism more seriously, proclaiming, “We are so good together!” It kinda seemed to me to beg the question, “What happens the moment I decide that we’re not?” I found myself wondering if the couple in mind had been together three days, three months, or a mind-boggling three years?

George MacDonald was not disparaging love—even of the most romantic sort—when he wrote, “It is better to be trusted than to be loved.” Think about it. In most of our day-to-day human relationships, that is true.

And if we want a romantic relationship that lasts, why would we willingly settle for less than someone we can trust completely and who will deeply cherish the gift of our fully-committed love? Our Father wants for us a love that will bless not just us but our kids and, yes, generations (and our whole society).

What sweet irony that the feelings that come from such a love are far deeper and more truly joyful than “hooked on a feeling” warm fuzzies that come and go and flitter and flee depending upon whether or not we’re “good together.”

It’s also a little ironic that this evening I’m singing at a Valentine’s banquet. But, hey, when I croon, “The Very Thought of You,” I know the “you” I have in mind. And I thank God for her.

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2022 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“Our Father Delights in Us Always”

If you’re interested in watching a bunch of incredibly cute ants race-crawling all over themselves on a basketball court, I’d suggest finding a game featuring teams of mostly six-year-olds.  

That’s the entertainment my wife and I sought on a recent Friday evening, and entertained we were! Even the refs were entertaining—and wise. I don’t think either of them ever whistled out a “walking” call, but they regularly reminded the participants that the ball needs to be bounced. And several players, including one we were watching particularly closely, received kind admonition to release their death-grip on the ball once the whistle was blown.

By now you’re realizing, I’m sure, that we weren’t really there for the love of the game; we were there for the love of our six-year-old granddaughter who was playing in the game.

Kendall did a good job. A great job, PawPaw would say. What she might have lacked in finesse, she more than made up for in energy, an item that little whirlwind has never found to be in short supply. She was something to watch!

She did bounce the ball. She did chase the ball. She did grudgingly give the referee the ball once the whistle was blown and the ref pried the ball out of her white-knuckled hands.

She didn’t shoot much. Maybe not at all, as I recall. Everyone kept yelling at her, Shoot! But there’s a surprising amount of difference between the shooting “size” and ability of those cute little pistols. A few shot often and amazingly well. Our gal will get there, but it seemed to me that, at this point in her career, she’d have needed a ladder or a rocket-assisted basketball to get anywhere near the rim. Practice and another inch or a few will take care of that. In the meantime, what she lacks in vertical ability she more than makes up for in horizontal activity.

 But the scene that lives in my mind did not happen exactly “on” the court; it happened beside the court. Kendall was not actually “in” the game at that time, but she was “body and soul” involved in it.

We, her family, were standing at court-side when her parents started laughing and pointing down to our team’s “bench” about twenty yards down the line. Kendall was briefly “on the bench” but not on it at all. She was standing up, leaning over the line, her arm extended, and she was pointing at something or someone, and yelling at the top of her lungs. She’d morphed from frenetic player into fully-involved coach. (In reality, the family all laughingly agreed that we’d just seen her turn into her mom!)

We never did find out what coaching advice, counsel, cajoling, or warning she was so loudly offering. But watching her give it was the best part of the whole game!

Was it good advice? I’d bet it was. But I don’t have a clue.  The only thing I know for sure is that watching that little girl was a delight. Why? Because we think she is a delight. More specifically, because, at this point, “delight” becomes a verb. PawPaw, and all of her family, delight in her. She and all of her companion ants have a lot to learn about playing basketball. That will come.

What I hope she, and each of them, already feels is that they are loved, just as much when they miss the goal as when they hit it. And, though we love watching them learn and grow, we delight in them always.

Come to think of it, as hard as it sometimes may be to believe, that is exactly what our Father wants each of his children to know. He loves watching us grow and learn. He wants better for us even than what we want for ourselves. But he delights in us always.

That’s a truth, and a word, worth pondering. Really. Stop and think about it. Then, in a few minutes or a few days, stop and think about it some more.

 Always. It’s still true. Even if you’ve just realized that you recently ran the wrong way on the court and shot at the wrong goal. Your Father delights in you. Even if what you’ve just done is far from delightful. 

Ah, watching that little girl “coach.” A delight, for sure.

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2022 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.