I've never owned a dog like Daisy. I've never known about a dog like Daisy -- ever before. Don't get me wrong, she can be as sweet as a cuddly cherubim, but most of the time, she is just plainly a Wild thing! In a twisted, kind of perverted kind of way, I love it. Strangely enough, although she is the one who gets most of Daisy's wildness, so does my wife.
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Wild thing! You make my heart sing!" (from the film, "Major League," 1989)
Why, you may ask, do I put a clip like that in a Christian piece? The movie is filled with offensive, vulgar locker-room language. Well, this may surprise you, but the "colorful" language is not the point. What is the point? You ask again, and why are you offending me?
Well, let's see . . . tell you what, let's drop back a few years, maybe 2,000 of them and ask ourselves a question: Did Jesus ever hang with men like this or hear language like this? And if he did, how did He deal with it?
He chose them . . . to be apostles!
If you observe the fans in this movie, and listen to their screaming, you might conclude that "these people are not from any church I know."
Yet it was from people like this that Jesus likely chose his diciples!
We are not told too much about the language habits of the disciples, but we are told that they were fishermen. Ever been around commercial fishermen?
You getting the point yet?
It is no accident that Peter fell to cursing and swearing when he denied Jesus. He was -- no doubt about it -- comfortable with such language. It was not new to him.
Sometimes, not often, but sometimes when I stand to sing in church, I wet my cheeks with tears. Through this, I try to sing, but I choke, my voice squeaks, and I quickly shut my trembling lips so that others may not wonder who that strange and troubled man is standing behind their pew.
What do I think others might wonder? Perhaps I am embarrassed that they might see a grown man cry over the words and melody of a powerful hymn. Perhaps they might think me spiritual -- that would be embarrassing. No one can possibly imagine how hopelessly unspiritual I often feel.
But whatever others think, (if they notice at all), I doubt that they think I am singing to them. After all, the tonal character my voice falls somewhere between George Burns and Kermit the Frog. Who would listen?
Strangely, there is One who listens. Am I too bold and arrogant to think that He also understands the tears? There is One who knows why I sing. He doesn't seem to care how bad I croak. He only cares that I do. He doesn't seem to notice my wild, crazy life; my impulse to do things my own way.
"Wild thing! You make my heart sing."
Wait a minute! Who's that singing? It ain't me! It's comes from somewhere above. Hey, that's God saying, "Wild thing! I love you. I love the anthem that is you, the symphony that is your life puts stimulating, provoking, pounding, drum-thumping, joyous melody in my heart."
May God help you understand who and what you are. May God show you that you and I are no different from the character standing on the mound in the Major League movie. And the fans in the bleachers are the "great cloud of witnesses" spoken of in the Bible. Ok, maybe not, but you have to remember Abraham, Moses and Elijah were all of them, disciples with feet of clay. They were people, just like us. Their lives were anything but pristine. And the guy standing at the plate with the big bat is whoever and whatever it is that keeps you from being all God meant you to be.
So let your light shine! Show them your stuff. Let's see that fastball! You need corrective lenses? Remember Charley Sheen's glasses? Then let your faith, your connectedness with God, sharpen your vision and narrow your focus on the strike zone! Find them horn-rimmed glasses and put'em on! Once you find out what you really want, go get it. It's ok to let your stomach scream with hunger.
Wild Thing! You make God's heart sing!
I don't like it very much sometimes. Gets on my nerves. But I dearly love that little four-legged ball of noisy white fur. Wouldn't trade her for a hundred Saint Bernards.
