Max Lucado Confesses Struggle
Author and pastor Max Lucado said that giving up beer helped him get closer to God. Lucado said, "I come from a family of alcoholism. If there's anything about this DNA stuff, I've got it." For more than 20 years, drinking wasn't a major issue for Lucado. But a couple of years ago, it nearly became one. Lucado recalled, "I lowered my guard a bit. One beer with a barbecue won't hurt. Then another time with Mexican food. Then a time or two with no food at all." One afternoon on his way to speak at a men's retreat he began to plot: "Where could I buy a beer and not be seen by anyone I know?" He drove to an out-of-the-way convenience store, parked, and waited till all the patrons left. He entered, bought a beer, held it close to his side, and hurried to his car. "I felt a sense of conviction," Lucado remembers, "because the night before I'd had a long talk with my oldest daughter about not covering things up."
Lucado didn't drink that beer. Instead he rolled down the window, threw it in a trash bin, and asked God for forgiveness. He also decided to come clean with the elders of his church about what happened: "When I shared it with the elders, they just looked at me across the table and said, 'Satan is determined to get you for this right now. We're going to cover this with prayer, but you've got to get the alcohol out of your life.' And I really took that as from God.
Robert Andrescik, "America's Pastor Speaks to Men," New Man (Jan/Feb 2002)
God Turns Our Lives Into Things Of Beauty
Over a hundred years ago, in a Scottish seaside inn, a group of fishermen were relaxing after a long day at sea. As a serving maid was walking past the fishermen's table with a pot of tea, one of the men made a sweeping gesture to describe the size of the fish he claimed to have caught. His hand collided with the teapot and sent it crashing against the whitewashed wall, where its contents left an irregular brown splotch. Standing nearby, the innkeeper surveyed the damage. "That stain will never come out," he said in dismay. "The whole wall will have to be repainted." "Perhaps not." All eyes turned to the stranger who had just spoken. "What do you mean?" asked the innkeeper. "Let me work with the stain," said the stranger, standing up from his table in the corner. "If my work meets your approval, you won't need to repaint the wall."
The stranger picked up a box and went to the wall. Opening the box, he withdrew pencils, brushes, and some glass jars of linseed oil and pigment. He began to sketch lines around the stain and fill it in here and there with dabs of color and swashes of shading. Soon a picture began to emerge. The random splashes of tea had been turned into the image of a stag with a magnificent rack of antlers. At the bottom of the picture, the man inscribed his signature. Then he paid for his meal and left.
The innkeeper was stunned when he examined the wall. "Do you know who that man was?" he said in amazement. "The signature reads 'E.H. Landseer!'" Indeed, they had been visited by the well-known painter of wild life, Sir Edwin Landseer. God wants to take the stains and disappointments of our lives and not merely erase them, but rather turn them into a thing of beauty.
Mistreated. Leadership, Vol. 12, no. 3