When the shepherdess saw her, she dismounted from her horse, looked at me, and chuckled. "They aren't the brightest of beasts." She righted the animal, and off it ran.

We aren't the brightest of beasts either. Yet we have a shepherd who will get us back on our feet. Like a good shepherd, he will not let us go unclothed or unfed. "I have never seen the G.o.dly abandoned or their children begging for bread" (Ps. 37:25 NLT). What a welcome reminder! When homes foreclose or pensions evaporate, we need a shepherd. In Christ we have one. And his "good pleasure [is] to give you the kingdom."

Giving characterizes G.o.d's creation. From the first page of Scripture, he is presented as a philanthropic creator. He produces in pluralities: stars, plants, birds, and animals. Every gift arrives in bulk, multiples, and medleys. G.o.d begets Adam and Eve into a "liturgy of abundance"2 and tells them to follow suit: "be fruitful and multiply" (Gen. 1:28).

Scrooge didn't create the world; G.o.d did.

Psalm 104 celebrates this lavish creation with twenty-three verses of itemized blessings: the heavens and the earth, the waters and streams and trees and birds and goats and wine and oil and bread and people and lions. G.o.d is the source of "innumerable teeming things, living things both small and great. . . . These all wait for You, that You may give them their food in due season" (vv. 25, 27).

And he does. G.o.d is the great giver. The great provider. The fount of every blessing. Absolutely generous and utterly dependable. The resounding and recurring message of Scripture is clear: G.o.d owns it all. G.o.d shares it all. Trust him, not stuff!

Command those who are rich in this present age not to be haughty, nor to trust in uncertain riches but in the living G.o.d, who gives us richly all things to enjoy. Let them do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to give, willing to share, storing up for themselves a good foundation for the time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal life. (1 Tim. 6:1719) Are you "rich in this present age"? If you have the resources and education to read this book, you are. Almost half the world-more than three billion people-live on less than $2.50 a day.3 If your income is higher, then you are rich, and your affluence demands double vigilance.

"Adversity is sometimes hard upon a man," wrote Thomas Carlyle, "but for one man who can stand prosperity, there are a hundred that will stand adversity."4 The abundance of possessions has a way of eclipsing G.o.d, no matter how meager those possessions may be. There is a predictable progression from poverty to pride. The poor man prays and works; G.o.d hears and blesses. The humble man becomes rich and forgets G.o.d. The faithful, poor man becomes the proud, rich man. As G.o.d said through Hosea, "When I fed them, they were satisfied; when they were satisfied, they became proud; then they forgot me" (Hos. 13:6 NIV). The proud, rich man falls under G.o.d's judgment. How can we avoid this? How can a person survive prosperity?

Do not be haughty . . . Do not think for a moment that you had anything to do with your acc.u.mulation. Scripture makes one thing clear. Your stocks, cash, and 401(k)? They are not yours.

To the Lord your G.o.d belong the heavens, even the highest heavens, the earth and everything in it. (Deut. 10:14 NIV) Yours, O Lord, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the majesty and the splendor, for everything in heaven and earth is yours. (1 Chron. 29:11 NIV) "The silver is mine and the gold is mine," declares the Lord Almighty. (Hag. 2:8 NIV) The rich fool in Jesus' story missed this point. The wise woman Jesus spotted in the temple did not. "Then a poor widow came and dropped in two small coins. Jesus called his disciples to him and said, 'I tell you the truth, this poor widow has given more than all the others who are making contributions. For they gave a tiny part of their surplus, but she, poor as she is, has given everything she had to live on' " (Mark 12:4244 NLT).

The dear woman was down to her last pennies, yet rather than spend them on bread, she returned them to G.o.d. Wall Street financial gurus would have urged her to cut back on her giving. In fact, the investment counselors would have applauded the investment strategy of the barn builder and discouraged the generosity of the lady. Jesus did just the opposite. His hero of financial stewardship was a poor woman who placed her entire portfolio in the offering plate.

Do not put your "trust in uncertain riches." Or, as one translation reads, "[the rich] must not be haughty nor set their hope on riches-that unstable foundation" (1 Tim. 6:17 WEY). Money is an untrustworthy foundation. The United States economy endured ten recessions between 1948 and 2001. These downturns lasted an average of ten months apiece and resulted in the loss of billions of dollars.5 Every five years or so, the economy dumps its suitors and starts over. What would you think of a man who did the same with women? What word would you use to describe a husband who philandered his way through nine different wives over fifty years?

And what word would you use to describe wife number ten? How about this one? Fool. Those who trust money are foolish. They are setting themselves up to be duped and dumped into a dystopia of unhappiness. Have you ever noticed that the word miser is just one letter short of the word misery?

Bob Russell learned the connection between the two words. He relates this great story: A few years ago our family got involved in a game of Monopoly. I was on a roll. First time around I stopped on Illinois Avenue and Park Place and bought them both. Then I added Indiana Avenue and Boardwalk. Let anyone come down that street and I had them dead. I bought all four railroads. I had houses and hotels; I couldn't keep from smirking. I had so much money; I had to set some on the side. Everyone else was counting their little dollar bills and I had hundreds and thousands!

Finally, about 1:00 a.m., they all went bankrupt and I won! They got up from the table with no word of congratulations and headed for bed. "Wait a minute, now!" I said. "Someone needs to put the game away." They replied: "That's your reward for winning. Good night!"

And there I sat, alone. All my hotels, all my deeds, all my money, and I realized, it doesn't amount to a thing. And I had to put them back in that box. Fold it up and put it on the shelf. And I went upstairs to a cold bed. My wife did not say, "You know, I'm so proud of you. You are such an impressive investor. We can never beat you. You are Mr. Monopoly." She just gave me a perfunctory kiss and turned over.6 Good thing, in Bob's case, his mistake was in a game. Too bad, in many cases, the mistake comes in life.

So don't be impressed with those who get rich and pile up fame and fortune. They can't take it with them; fame and fortune all get left behind. Just when they think they've arrived and folks praise them because they've made good, they enter the family burial plot where they'll never see sunshine again. We aren't immortal. We don't last long. Like our dogs, we age and weaken. And die. (Ps. 49:1620 MSG) G.o.d owns everything and gives us all things to enjoy. He is a good shepherd to us, his little flock. Trust him, not stuff. Move from the fear of scarcity to the comfort of provision. Less h.o.a.rding, more sharing. "Do good . . . be rich in good works, ready to give, willing to share."

And, most of all, replace fear of the coming winter with faith in the living G.o.d. After all, it's just Monopoly money. It all goes back in the box when the game is over.

CHAPTER 10.

Scared to Death Don't let your hearts be troubled. Trust in G.o.d, and trust also in me.... I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am.

JOHN 14:1.3 NLT Fear of life's final Moments Once, in a dream, I encountered a man who was wearing a fedora and a corduroy coat. He was the cla.s.sroom version of Indiana Jones: distinguished, professorial, strong jawed, and kind eyed. He frequented funerals. Apparently I did as well, for the dream consisted of one memorial after another-at funeral homes, chapels, gravesides. He never removed his hat. I never asked him why he wore it, but I did ask him to explain his proverbial presence at interments.

"I come to take people to their eternal home." In waking moments this explanation would have prompted a call to the FBI for a background check. But this was a dream, and dreams permit oddities, so I didn't probe. I didn't ask about the source of his list or the mode of his transport. I didn't think it odd to see the fedora at funerals. But I did think it strange to run into the man on a crowded street.

Think Thanksgiving Day parade or Fourth of July festival. A people-packed avenue. "I'm surprised to see you here," I told him. He didn't reply.

I saw one of my friends standing nearby. A good man, a widower, up in years, poor in health. Suddenly I understood the presence of the fedora-clad angel.

"You've come for my friend."

"No."

Then the dream did what only dreams can do. It dismissed everyone but the visitor and me. The crowded sidewalk became a quiet boulevard, so quiet I couldn't mistake his next words.

"Max, I came for you."

Curiously, I didn't resist, object, or run. I did, however, make a request. When he agreed, the street suddenly filled, and I began going from person to person, saying good-bye. I told no one about the angel or the hat or where I was going. As far as others knew, they would see me again tomorrow.

But I knew better, and because I did, the world righted itself. As if the lens of life had been out of focus, with a twist the picture cleared. Follies and offenses were forgotten. Love was amplified. I shook the hand of a harsh critic, gave my wallet to a beggar. I embraced a few coldhearted and hot-tempered folks. And to my dear ones, my wife and daughters, I gave a prayer. A more simple prayer I could not have prayed. Stay strong. Trust Christ.

And then the dream was done. I was awake. And within an hour I had recorded every memory of the dream.

It's lingered with me for years. Like a favorite song or sweater, I return to it. Can't say I do the same with other dreams. But this one stands out because it resonates with a deep desire that you might share: a desire to face death unafraid. To die without fright or a fight . . . perhaps with a smile.

Impossible? Some have said so.

Aristotle called death the thing to be feared most because "it appears to be the end of everything."1 Jean-Paul Sartre a.s.serted that death "removes all meaning from life."2 Robert Green Ingersoll, one of America's most outspoken agnostics, could offer no words of hope at his brother's funeral. He said, "Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights."3 The pessimism of French philosopher Francois Rabelais was equally arctic. He made this sentence his final one: "I am going to the great Perhaps."4 Shakespeare described the afterlife with the gloomiest of terms in Hamlet's line: "The dread of something after death, the un-discover'd country from whose bourn no traveller returns."5 Such sad, depressing language! If death is nothing more than "the end of everything," "barren peaks," and "the great Perhaps," what is the possibility of dying bravely? But what if the philosophers missed it? Suppose death is different from how they thought of it, less a curse and more a pa.s.sageway, not a crisis to be avoided but a corner to be turned? What if the cemetery is not the dominion of the Grim Reaper but the domain of the Soul Keeper, who will someday announce, "O dwellers in the dust, awake and sing for joy!" (Isa. 26:19 RSV)?

This is the promise of Christ: "Don't let your hearts be troubled. Trust in G.o.d, and trust also in me. There is more than enough room in my Father's home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am" ( John 14:13 NLT).

While Jesus' words sound comforting to us, they sounded radical to his first-century audience. He was promising to accomplish a feat no one dared envision or imagine. He would return from the dead and rescue his followers from the grave.

Traditional Judaism was divided on the topic of resurrection. "For Sadducees say that there is no resurrection-and no angel or spirit; but the Pharisees confess both" (Acts 23:8). The Sadducees saw the grave as a tragic, one-way trip into Sheol. No escape. No hope. No possibility of parole. "The living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing" (Eccl. 9:5 NIV).

The Pharisees envisioned a resurrection, yet the resurrection was spiritual, not physical. "There are no traditions about prophets being raised to a new bodily life. . . . However exalted Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob may have been in Jewish thought, n.o.body imagined they had been raised from the dead."6 Ancient Greek philosophy used different language but resulted in identical despair. Their map of death included the River Styx and the boatman Charon. Upon death, the soul of the individual would be ferried across the river and released into a sunless afterlife of bodiless spirits, shades, and shadows.

This was the landscape into which Jesus entered. Yet he walked into this swamp of uncertainty and built a st.u.r.dy bridge. He promised, not just an afterlife, but a better life.

"There are many rooms in my Father's home, and I am going to prepare a place for you." We Westerners might miss the wedding images, but you can bet your sweet chuppah that Jesus' listeners didn't. This was a groom-to-bride promise. Upon receiving the permission of both families, the groom returned to the home of his father and built a home for his bride. He "prepared a place."

By promising to do the same for us, Jesus elevates funerals to the same hope level as weddings. From his perspective the trip to the cemetery and the walk down the aisle warrant identical excitement.

This point strikes home in our home as we are in the throes of planning a wedding. I use the word we loosely. Denalyn and our daughter Jenna are planning the wedding. I'm smiling and nodding and signing the checks. Our house bustles with talk of bridal gowns, wedding cakes, invitations, and receptions. The date is set, church reserved, and excitement high. Weddings are great news!

So, says Jesus, are burials. Both celebrate a new era, name, and home. In both the groom walks the bride away on his arm. Jesus is your coming groom. "I will come and get you . . . " He will meet you at the altar. Your final glimpse of life will trigger your first glimpse of him.

But how can we be sure he will keep this pledge? Do we have any guarantee that his words are more than empty poetry or vain superst.i.tion? Dare we set our hope and hearts in the hands of a small-town Jewish carpenter? The answer rests in the Jerusalem graveyard. If Jesus' tomb is empty, then his promise is not. Leave it to the apostle Paul to reduce the logic to a single sentence: "There is an order to this resurrection: Christ was raised as the first of the harvest; then all who belong to Christ will be raised when he comes back" (1 Cor. 15:23 NLT).

Paul was writing to Corinthian Christians, people who had been schooled in the Greek philosophy of a shadowy afterlife. Someone was convincing them that corpses couldn't be raised, neither theirs nor Christ's. The apostle couldn't bear such a thought. "Let me go over the Message with you one final time" (1 Cor. 15:1 MSG). With the insistence of an attorney in closing arguments, he reviewed the facts: "[ Jesus] was raised from death on the third day . . . he presented himself alive to Peter . . . his closest followers . . . more than five hundred of his followers . . . James . . . the rest of those he commissioned . . . and . . . finally . . . to me" (1 Cor. 15:48 MSG).

Line up the witnesses, he offered. Call them out one by one. Let each person who saw the resurrected Christ say so. Better pack a lunch and clear your calendar, for more than five hundred testifiers are willing to speak up.

Do you see Paul's logic? If one person claimed a post-cross encounter with Christ, disregard it. If a dozen people offered depositions, chalk it up to mob hysteria. But fifty people? A hundred? Three hundred? When one testimony expands to hundreds, disbelief becomes belief.

Paul knew, not handfuls, but hundreds of eyewitnesses. Peter. James. John. The followers, the gathering of five hundred disciples, and Paul himself. They saw Jesus. They saw him physically.

They saw him factually. They didn't see a phantom or experience a sentiment. Grave eulogies often include such phrases as "She'll live on forever in my heart." Jesus' followers weren't saying this. They saw Jesus "in the flesh."

When he appeared to the disciples, he a.s.sured them, "It is I myself!" (Luke 24:39 NIV). The Emmaus-bound disciples saw nothing extraordinary about his body. His feet touched the ground. His hands touched the bread. They thought he was a fellow pilgrim until "their eyes were opened" (Luke 24:31 NIV). Mary saw Jesus in the garden and called him "sir" ( John 20:15 NIV). The disciples saw Jesus cooking fish on the sh.o.r.e. The resurrected Christ did physical deeds in a physical body. "I am not a ghost," he informed (Luke 24:39 NLT). "Handle Me and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see I have" (24:39).

Jesus experienced a physical and factual resurrection. And-here it is-because he did, we will too! "Christ was raised as the first of the harvest; then all who belong to Christ will be raised when he comes back" (1 Cor. 15:23 NLT).

Aristotle was wrong. Death is not to be feared. Sartre was mistaken. Your last moment is not your worst. The Greek itinerary was inaccurate. Charon won't ferry you into oblivion. Five hundred witnesses left a still-resounding testimony: it's safe to die.

So let's die with faith. Let's allow the resurrection to sink into the fibers of our hearts and define the way we look at the grave. Let it "free those who were like slaves all their lives because of their fear of death" (Heb. 2:15 NCV).

Jesus grants courage for the final pa.s.sage. He did for Charles Lindbergh, the first person to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean. When the pilot discovered he had terminal cancer, he and his wife went to spend their final days at his Hawaiian home. He engaged a minister to conduct his last rites and wrote out these words to be read at his burial service: We commit the body of Charles A. Lindbergh to its final resting place; but his spirit we commit to Almighty G.o.d, knowing that death is but a new adventure in existence and remembering how Jesus said upon the cross, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit."7 Death-"a new adventure in existence." No need to dread it or ignore it. Because of Christ, you can face it.

I did. As heart surgeries go, mine was far from the riskiest. But any procedure that requires four hours of probes inside your heart is enough to warrant an added prayer. So on the eve of my surgery, Denalyn, I, and some kind friends offered our share. We were staying at a hotel adjacent to the Cleveland Clinic in Ohio. We asked G.o.d to bless the doctors and watch over the nurses. After we chatted a few minutes, they wished me well and said good-bye. I needed to go to bed early. But before I could sleep, I wanted to offer one more prayer . . . alone.

I took the elevator down to the lobby and found a quiet corner and began to think. What if the surgery goes awry? What if this is my final night on earth? Is there anyone with whom I should make my peace? Do I need to phone any person and make amends? I couldn't think of anyone. (So if you are thinking I should have called you, sorry. Perhaps we should talk.) Next I wrote letters to my wife and daughters, each beginning with the sentence "If you are reading this, something went wrong in the surgery."

Then G.o.d and I had the most honest of talks. We began with a good review of my first half century. The details would bore you, but they entertained us. I thanked him for grace beyond measure and for a wife who descended from the angels. My tabulation of blessings could have gone on all night and threatened to do just that. So I stopped and offered this prayer: I'm in good hands, Lord. The doctors are prepared; the staff is experienced. But even with the best of care, things happen. This could be my final night in this version of life, and I'd like you to know, if that's the case, I'm okay.

And I went to bed. And slept like a baby. As things turned out, no angel came. I saw no fedora. I recovered from the surgery, and here I am, strong as ever, still pounding away at the computer keyboard. One thing is different, though. This matter of dying bravely?

I think I will.

May you do the same.

CHAPTER 11.

Caffeinated Life I am leaving you with a gift-peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don't be troubled or afraid.

JOHN 14:27 NLT Fear of What's Next If only we could order life the way we order gourmet coffee. Wouldn't you love to mix and match the ingredients of your future?

"Give me a tall, extra-hot cup of adventure, cut the dangers, with two shots of good health."

"A decaf brew of longevity, please, with a sprinkle of fertility. Go heavy on the agility and cut the disability."

"I'll have a pleasure mocha with extra stirrings of indulgence. Make sure it's consequence free."

"I'll go with a grande happy-latte, with a dollop of love, sprinkled with Caribbean retirement."

Take me to that coffee shop. Too bad it doesn't exist. Truth is, life often hands us a concoction entirely different from the one we requested. Ever feel as though the barista-from-above called your name and handed you a cup of unwanted stress?

"Joe Jones, enjoy your early retirement. Looks as if it comes with marital problems and inflation."

"Mary Adams, you wanted four years of university education, then kids. You'll be having kids first. Congratulations on your pregnancy."

"A hot cup of job transfer six months before your daughter's graduation, Susie. Would you like some patience with that?"

Life comes caffeinated with surprises. Modifications. Transitions. Alterations. You move down the ladder, out of the house, over for the new guy, up through the system. All this moving. Some changes welcome, others not. And in those rare seasons when you think the world has settled down, watch out. One seventy-seven-year-old recently told a friend of mine, "I've had a good life. I am enjoying my life now, and I am looking forward to the future." Two weeks later a tornado ripped through the region, taking the lives of his son, daughter-in-law, grandson, and daughter-in-law's mother. We just don't know, do we? On our list of fears, the fear of what's next demands a prominent position. We might request a decaffeinated life, but we don't get it. The disciples didn't.

"I am going away" ( John 14:28).

Imagine their shock when they heard Jesus say those words. He spoke them on the night of the Pa.s.sover celebration, Thursday evening, in the Upper Room. Christ and his friends had just enjoyed a calm dinner in the midst of a chaotic week. They had reason for optimism: Jesus' popularity was soaring. Opportunities were increasing. In three short years the crowds had lifted Christ to their shoulders . . . he was the hope of the common man.

The disciples were talking kingdom rhetoric, ready to rain down fire on their enemies, jockeying for positions in the cabinet of Christ. They envisioned a restoration of Israel to her days of glory. No more Roman occupation or foreign oppression. This was the parade to freedom, and Jesus was leading it.

And now this? Jesus said, "I am going away." The announcement stunned them. When Jesus explained, "You know the way to where I am going," Thomas, with no small dose of exasperation, replied, "No, we don't know, Lord. We have no idea where you are going, so how can we know the way?" ( John 14:45 NLT).

Christ handed the disciples a cup of major transition, and they tried to hand it back. Wouldn't we do the same? Yet who succeeds? What person pa.s.ses through life surprise free? If you don't want change, go to a soda machine; that's the only place you won't find any. Remember the summary of Solomon?

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.

A time to be born and a time to die.

A time to plant and a time to harvest.

A time to kill and a time to heal.

A time to tear down and a time to build up.

A time to cry and a time to laugh.

A time to grieve and a time to dance.

A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.

A time to embrace and a time to turn away.

A time to search and a time to quit searching.

A time to keep and a time to throw away.

A time to tear and a time to mend.

A time to be quiet and a time to speak.

A time to love and a time to hate.

A time for war and a time for peace. (Eccl. 3:18 NLT) I count twenty-eight different seasons. Birth, death, lamenting, cheering, loving, hating, embracing, separating. G.o.d dispenses life the way he manages his cosmos: through seasons. When it comes to the earth, we understand G.o.d's management strategy. Nature needs winter to rest and spring to awaken. We don't dash into underground shelters at the sight of spring's tree buds. Autumn colors don't prompt warning sirens. Earthly seasons don't upset us. But unexpected personal ones certainly do. The way we panic at the sight of change, you'd think bombs were falling on Iowa.

"Run for your lives! Graduation is coming!"

"The board of directors just hired a new CEO. Take cover!"