A Thousand Sounds

As the water whispers

We listen so intently

To a thousand sounds 

Played out in our hearts

The trees wave to us

As we pass quickly by

Carried along the way 

By the beauty of it all

Mountains stretch out 

And pave a way for us 

To behold the majesty

Of all that He has made

White clouds float on by

Against a light blue fresco

Moved by a rushing wind

That leaves us so amazed

All these things He has made

By speaking them into being

But by His hands we are formed

Because of His great love for us

What's In A Name

“What’s your name?”

He sat there, tired, beads of sweat dripped down his face.  He could feel the touch on his hip, and the limp in his step.  He had wrestled with Him all night long.  Never had he struggled so much, so long.  It wasn’t just the physical wrestling, but the spiritual struggle taking place in his heart.

It echoed again in his mind, “What is your name?”

He knew his name.  This wasn’t the only time there had been a wrestling in his heart, a struggle in his mind.  Yet tonight, it all came to this one life changing, life altering moment.

“What is your name?”  “Deceiver” raced through his mind.  He knew why God was asking him this.  It was more than just the name, it was what the name meant;  Deceiver.  His life had been filled with it.  Deception was his name, and he lived up to it well.

“What is your name?”  His mind raced back to the smell of fresh meat broiling on an open flame out in the fields.  It was fresh hot stew that he had just made after a long day of work.  In the distance, he saw his brother approaching.  “Can I have some?”  Quickly Jacob said no, and continued to prepare his meal.  Again Esau asked.  This time a thought came to Jacob’s mind.  But hesitant, he again said no.  Finally Esau, starving after a long day of hunting ,but with no success, pleaded with his brother.  “I will give what ever you want, I am hungry!”  The Deceiver saw his opportunity, and in a moment he had stolen his brother’s birthright.

“What is your name?”  In another instant, Jacob was taken back to his father’s bed.  His deception this time was not his alone, but his mother’s as well.  To complete the process of stealing a birthright, Jacob, with the help of his mother, prepared to gain the blessing from his father.  As he approached the frail image of who his father once was, Jacob, covered in thick fur, and smelling of Esau’s garments, approached Isaac.   Kneeling down, he altered his voice, and prepared in his heart to deceive his own father, for a birthright that was not his.  In that moment, he reputation as a deceiver was sealed.

“The man said, "What's your name?" He answered, "Jacob."  Jacob knew what his name meant, and he knew he had lived up to it well.

 He realized that his life had been nothing more the a deception to others and himself, and surely now, in this moment, God was seeing the same.  His life had reached this moment of fear, frustration, anger, pain, doubt and anguish.   He knew he was about to face the brother he deceived so long ago, the one who’s very existence he had taken away so many years ago.  He feared the rumors he had heard, his brother was seeking revenge.   It was this night, that he wrestled with God.

It was in this moment of struggle, God gave Jacob hope.  He changed his name.  He changed who he was, and changed history.

“Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, because you have wrestled with God and with men, and have prevailed.”  Jacob glimpsed.  Israel?  Prince of God?  What about my deception, my sin, my past?  God had taken this all away, and in its place God gave birth to hope, and created a nation.  Israel, the “Prince of God, “the Righteous Man,” the one “Of God,”  the one who once was “the deceiver” would rise to become the father of a nation, and the seed of Salvation.

Heroes Don't Come in Capes and Costumes

Heroes hardly come in cape and costumes. Rarely do they ever know they are the heroes we have been looking for. Never do they assume on themselves the role we have assigned them. Such is the case with my father.

He was born in Ashtabula, Oh to Edith Ostrom Tuttle, a registered nurse, and Stuart Wayne Tuttle, a WW2 Veteran, on January 4th, 1949. He lived the typical life of any kid growing up in the Midwest with adventures filled with snow, paper routes, a dog named Sarge, an older sister, and a family who struggled to make ends meet.

Like many boys his age, he went in to the military. He joined the air force to avoid being drafted in to the army. He quickly learned the ways of life, and how to survive away from home. It was during this time (in the air force) that he ended up at Beale Air Force Base, found a church attend, and met my mom.

This is where our story together begins. Here are the memories of my father:

For as long as I've known, my dad has worked in a paint store, and he knows his job well. I've never seen anyone who can match a color better than my dad, just by looking at the color. I always know come spring, he's going to start cheering for the Cleveland Indians, and at some point, the 1954 season will enter the conversation. He loves animals. We've had dogs, rabbits, guinea pigs, birds, fish, and who knows what else. He has built more things for me and my brother than I can count: box hockey, spin arts, basket ball hoops, plinko games, and forts... loved the forts!

Along the way, he taught me how to live.

He raised me to love God and have a sincere faith in Christ. My father's humble spirit, and gentleness is evident to all who meet him. We were in church every Sunday and Wednesday. He didn't just take us, he was involved. He was my children's church teacher, my Royal Ranger commander, and my Sunday School teacher. And he knew how to make it fun. We have more games that he made that still fill up the garage in his home. I've been known to borrow them from time to time.

He was firm, but gentle, in discipline (as he reminded me today, even...). He taught me the importance of discipline and being self sufficient and doing well. In it all, there was never a doubt he loved me, because he always told me so.

He taught me character and integrity. He taught my brother and I to be honest, do the right thing, and do good for others. He taught us that it is more important to do right than be popular, for popularity is fleeting, but character and integrity last a lifetime. His name is worth it's weight in gold. Everyone I know, speaks very well of my father. He taught me how to respect others, and expect the best out of ourselves.

He made sure my brother and I had fun and loved life. We didn't always have much, but we had our family. He was there, and more than just present, he was active in our lives. He made our childhood memories filled with camp outs, slot cars, pinewood derbies, rabbits, guinea pigs, vacations, bb guns, and many endless adventures. He was my Royal Ranger commander, create of many great forts, and someone who always had a good story to tell, and I never get tired of hearing them. Practically every good childhood memory is with my dad and family. I still look forward to fishing, because you never know what a Tuttle fishing trip is going to be like. Lets just say we catch more limbs than fishes.

He taught me the value of hard work. I can still remember the day he called to tell me the owner of McDonald's was hiring, and my dad personally could help me get a job. Needless to say, I wasn't jumping for joy. But that wasn't his concern. He wanted me to learn the value of a dollar, and a job well done. I found myself doing many projects around the house from painting rooms, to removing fences, to cleaning up yards (we had dogs.) If our chores weren't done, we didn't go out and play, and we were given ample time. He was teaching us the values of life.

He is meticulous in doing a good job, no matter what he is doing. He is creative and intelligent. From building the shed that would survive a hurricane,to building go carts, rock smoothing machines, fire pits, puppet stages, and much more. He loved working with his hands. Late in the evening, If he's not sleeping in the recliner after a long day of work, he's busy in the back yard or the garage, "puttering" as he likes to call it.

He taught me how to love my family (and someday, my wife). Family always comes first to him. He reminded me of the prayers he prayed when I was weeks old, lying in the hospital, unsure if I would ever come home. I have seen in him the modeling of faithfulness, commitment, love, and compassion. I saw him care for months for my mom, faithfully visiting her, fighting for her when she couldn't fight for herself, and praying for her always, as she lay dying. I have seen him sleep in his truck overnight, just to be close to my mom, while she was sick. He would wake up, drive to work, then drive back (an hour) to be by her side.

That May, after my mom died, he was the first one I found at my graduation ceremony from Bethany University. He couldn't have been more proud. He always reminds me of how proud he is of me.

He continues to be a loving husband, now to Mary, his new wife of 3 years, and a father figure to Mary's daughter and her husband, Tom and Ange. He is a loving grandfather to my nieces, Natalie, Melanie, Austin, and Taylor.

He is known for always having a harmonica, wearing the same style shoes, and always wearing suspenders. I'm glad he never changed. I liked the consistency in a world that is always changing.

My father is a man of peace and patience. He is the most loving man I know, and the greatest example of who Christ has called us to be. Heroes do not hit baseballs, shoot hoops, star in movies, play instruments, and hold to the latest fashions. Heroes commit themselves to their family. Heroes teach their sons to be honorable men. True heroes strive for honor and integrity.

My dad's hard work of being a godly man is extended to others through his sons. When a student at Sutter High School has a class with my brother, a teacher, it's in no small part to my father. When a kid listens to me preaching about the importance of doing good, and having character, it is simply the extension of my father's words and actions I saw him model to me. When my niece Natalie, sings in the children's choir at church, it's because my father, long ago, instilled in us the importance of faithfully following Jesus.

He continues to be my father and my hero.

My Dad and I

Christmas Traditions (An Exerpt)

I wrote this for my church Christmas program 3 years ago:

You know what I love about Christmas; the traditions. The music, trees, decorating, the presents, the eggnog, the snow (or wished for). The list goes on and on.

Maybe it’s the cold winter nights as you bundle up together with eggnog or hot chocolate, or apple cider in hand, a faint fire flickering dimly in the fireplace, kids half asleep on the floor, and you are watching your favorite Christmas Special, like Charlie Brown Christmas.  And as you watch it, you can’t help notice that Charlie Brown’s tree looks a little better than yours.

Or maybe it’s the morning of Christmas, the kids have just finishing tearing in to their stockings, and you just saved them from opening their presents just yet.  Because this is the time where you have that special breakfast that you and your family have, just once a year, saved for this special day, at this special time, where share in this holy moment of feasting together, knowing that in the midst of this, God is there too, enjoying it with you.

For some it’s the Christmas Eve candle light service.  Remember that service?  Especially as a kid, were you’re watching this flame just flicker in front of you, and you’re trying to make sure the wax doesn’t spill off the catcher.  And you watched in amazement at how quickly the flames spread from candle to candle across the church, and when it was all done there was this sacred glow of candles everywhere as your sang “Silent Night” in quiet unison.

What about you, what kind of traditions did you have?  Which ones have you carried over?  When did you open gifts?

For us, it is more than just trees, and gifts and food.  It’s like these traditions are little heirlooms that have been passed to us, and that we pass on to others.  One of my other favorite things to do each year was to set aside a couple of hours, a couple of days before Christmas, pull out all the gifts that I was to wrap, put on my favorite Christmas movie, grab some holiday eggnog, and go at it.  And there was no better movie to get me in the mood than "A Christmas Story."

There was something about the last day of class at the end of my first semester at Bethany, finishing my last final, packing up, and heading home for that month off, where my dad would have me wallpaper the dining room in my parent's new home, paying me $500 (I was a POOR college student mind you), and enjoy a month full of traditions, food, faith, and family.  This was our year to host Christmas for our whole family: aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, nieces, and everyone!  My mom wanted everything just right, and I was there to make sure it happened.  I was the unofficial "Mr. Christmas" in our family.  Like every other year, I was there to make sure every decoration went up as soon as possible, and stayed up late as possible. I helped hang the lights, decorate the tree, eat the goodies.  Everything!

It was like every Christmas I remember as a child, my family sitting together, celebrating the birth of Christ.  I was still the first one up, probably couldn't sleep, never could.  I was quick to invade my stocking that hung over our fireplace.   I know I was the anxious one as we sat around and had a Swedish Christmas Breakfast, BEFORE we opened presents.  Talk about forms of torture.  It was always a struggle over who would be Santa, passing out the presents,  the fight was over who didn't have to do it.  It was like Norman Rockwell Christmas with Tuttle Twists.

Even when my mother passed away the following October, these were and still are things that held my family together, and the memories I hold very near to my heart.  That following Christmas, just 2 months after she passed, we made sure we still decorated the house, hung up the stockings, and celebrated with our family.  It was a continuation of the traditions we hold most dear, and our common faith in Christ.  And now we continue to build new traditions with new family having been added in the last few years.

It was more than just traditions, they are moments in time.  Memories of another life, Christmases Past, and moments cherished.

It was much more than just traditions, it was Home.

Bread Crumbs and the Glory of God

There's a bird walking around inside Lulu's Coffee Shop even as I type.  He's getting his crumbs.  To him this must be heaven.  He's enjoying the crumbs off of someone else's table, probably been stepped on, laying there for hours, but the birds seems to be pretty happy right now.  What's funny is that no one else is even noticing, at all.

Seems like us sometimes.  We get a tiny little speck of God's glory, mercy, passion, grace, presence, and we camp out there.  We live off of other people's crumbs dropped on the floor.   Yet we miss out on the full course, the hot plate out of the oven, the better that God destined for us.  We settle for the crumbs that have landed on the floor, which were better than we had "outside."  Yet God screams quietly into our hearts... "there's more!  There's something show much better than even this crumbly bliss that you have discovered!"

But its easy to pick up the crumbs, live off of someone else's experiences, struggles, longings.  We ride the spiritual coat tails of those who have fought before us.  We happily peck around from books to church finding the nice little crumbs that make us feel good but have no additional value.  All the while, others have slaved in the kitchen, prepared the feast, and put in the effort to create what the crumb is jealous of: delicacy.

This is what God is calling us to.  But it does cost us something.  The great "meal of God" requires more of us than we are willing to give.  It requires our time in the "kitchen."  It demands of us time at the altar of the presence of God, it requires us the sit in the library of Scripture pouring over the heart of God.  It requires the time, sacrifice, and effort needed to eat from the "delicacy" of God.

Yet we happily eat the leftovers, never knowing the right above the crumbs on the floor, sits the bread of life at the table of God.

Fighting the Wind

As is common in the adventures of my life, I found myself again, along the rocky cliffs of Santa Cruz. The weather was stormy, windy, and cold. One step outside of my car, and I realized I had forgotten my jacket.. So I ventured quickly to the edge of the sea to absorb for a few brief moments the violent beauty that I have grown to love. The oceans ripples were seen everywhere as the wind blew across the face of the sea. The waves crashed along the edge of the coast, creating a beautiful sound only heard in nature. I enjoyed every minute of it.

Not wanting to upset the masses, I quickly jumped back in my vehicular mobile, and headed to church. It was on this drive "home" (isn't church supposed to be family?) that I saw for a brief moment the vivid contrast to what I just experienced. Four children stood fighting the wind. It was picture perfect really. Now I am sure that they were having the time of their life, fighting the sea as they would throw pebbles at the ocean with everything they had. Keep in mind, they weren't just tossing them over the cliff with half efforts. No, they were heaving with everything they had, little rocks against the violent wind. It was an epic battle, with no hope of victory for the four valiant warriors.

It reminded me of a couple things. First, it seems like that is how we are with God sometimes. Our futile attempt to fight Him is liking throwing rocks at the wind. He comes to bring winds of change that will be to our benefit, and the first thing we do is pick up our rocks of tradition to fight this change. We pick up or pebbles of position because we don't like the winds of change that God is bringing. It may threaten our positions of power, or traditions, or current way of thinking. Yet, these are the very things that God wants to crash against. Its the very reason he is shaking us up.

I will be first to tell you I do not like change. I do like being thrown of the course that I have set in the sea of life, yet it seems so often that God brings along the winds to change my direction, because He knows I am needing to head a different direction. Ask my roommate how well I have handled graduating, leaving Bethany, being stuck in a transitional period with no end in site. Yet, its in these travailing winds that God wants me to be.

I guess what made the image of the kids fighting against the wind, is that I saw myself standing on those shores. I am spiritually, emotionally, and foolishly throughing rocks again the wind. I guess its time to stop, and stand with my face in the wind, and enjoy the ripples and tides that God has brought to me during this time. It's time to embrace the wind.

Thoughts on Thanks

In this land of plenty, too many of us are left wanting.  To those who would say “I have no reason to give thanks” I would ask you to look again.  We have a roof over our heads and a place to rest tonight.  We have clothes to keep warm, family who love us and friends to share our lives with.  We seek pleasure when we desire and comfort is often found near.

Maybe this season has struggles because of trials you might face.  We can be thankful that we live in a land where supply is abundant to those even in need so that we can go on another day.   Where we can gain help from sorrow and pain. A friend spoke today of even find thanksgiving in death.  Wheat is sown to the ground, a seed left to die, so that it can come to life again.

Some will look back a remember those who are no longer here, and their hearts will be filled with sorrow.   I would say we give thanks for the memories of mothers and fathers, of sisters and brothers, and of loves lost that once gave us joy.  How dreary a place it would have been, if these were people we had never known?
Paul found joy in suffering, and gave praise in the midst of trial.  Scripture compels us to even find joy in tribulation knowing that God works all things out for the good of those who love Him and seek Him.

In this we have most to be thankful for:  that Christ came down and gave his life so that we could be made whole.  Redemption is made available to all who would receive it and grace and forgiveness is obtained by the mercy of God through His son Jesus.

My prayer today is that you find peace in your suffering, that God will supply all your needs and that you find hope in Christ Jesus.

Today I give thanks because I know God is good and His mercy endures forever.