A Holy Mission

I'm in Monetta, SC this week leading revival services at Bethel Baptist Church, the church my son-in-law, Josh Davison, leads as pastor.  During the day, I'm keeping my grandson so that his mom and dad can go to work (and leave us alone!).  I've told folks that I've come to Monetta on a holy mission, and that I'm preaching too!  Spending time with family and with dear Christians seeking to renew their walk with Christ has already been a renewal experience for me.  Last night, as I preached, Liam heard my voice and decided that the time had come for us to talk.  So....for most of the rest of my message, I had a "hey" and "oh" corner (sort of like an Amen corner).  Some days I preach pretty well, but I can't compete with the voice of an angel.  My only complaint is that I was the only guy in the building who didn't get to be quiet and listen to Liam.  This may be an example of God speaking in spite of the sermon.  In any case, I'm looking forward to the rest of the week.  

A Chance to Share

Sunday night, I led a worship service that I called "My Story--My Song."  In that hour, I sang a few songs that I've written and others I just love to sing and shared stories of times that God has made Himself very real to me.  The congregation was made up of folks from several churches, friends we've known and loved along the way.  Seeing who was there was both a joyful reunion and, in some ways, a sad reminder of the pain of recent months.  During the service, we laughed and cried and worshiped.  The most meaningful moment of the evening for me was the chance to share a song that I wrote about my dad's life and death, "You Guide My Way."  I rehearsed that song pretty calmly while alone at home, but choked back tears when I shared it with others.  The joy of being loved and the pain of grief are timeless in the human heart, at least they seem to be in mine.  One gentleman who attended wrote me to say that he had known "Dr. Vaughan" for a while, but had the chance to get to know "Dee" Sunday night.  I'm glad that he did.  I'm very blessed to have people in my life who will listen lovingly to my stories and my songs.

You're Invited

Thirty Years, But Not a Day

September 14 marked thirty years that my father has been gone from this world.  I saw that milestone in my mind, off and on throughout that day.  As is always true for those who grieve, my feelings were mixed.  I was saddened by all of the good things that dad was not here to see and share with me in the past three decades.  He didn't see any of his children married.  He didn't get to hold a grandchild.  He didn't hear me preach as a pastor.  I sorted through the confusing ideas of what God allows those in heaven to know and what they don't know.  I come to a joyful moment and think "it wouldn't be heaven if dad doesn't know about this."  Then, in a heartbreaking time, I think "it wouldn't be heaven if he had to know about this."  


My strongest feeling on that milestone day was how much my father is alive in me.  Though he has not walked this earth since 1981, I have not lived a single day that he has not been with me.  The memories are good.  The lessons are truth.  The example is faithful.  I am blessed.  I stayed up late that night and wrote down some of my thoughts about my father's absence and presence for the past thirty years.  I hope that these words will one day grow up to be a song.  


Though you've been gone so many years
I have never walked alone.
Your strength and wisdom 
go with me each day.


And though I've cried so many tears
Still my heart is filled with joy
for a father's love that ever guides my way.  


Remembering and Giving Thanks,


Orin's Boy

Sometimes the Dog Has the Last Barf

Saturday night, our family was packing for our early Sunday morning trip to Monetta for Liam's dedication service.  Suddenly, Linda and I realized that we had made no plans for the care of our dogs.  Half serious, and knowing that I would get a strong reaction from Linda, I suggested that we put plenty of food and water in the garage and leave them cooped up for a few days.  Linda, a lifetime dog lover, assumed the role of defense attorney, and gave me a list of reasons why we couldn't leave our little dogs behind.  As planned, I relented, but didn't realize how closely the dogs had been listening.  Winston, riding in the back seat on the way to Monetta, suffered from an upset stomach and, well, barfed all over my suit coat hanging in the back and my tie that was inside the coat.  Talk about holding a "garage." When we arrived in Monetta, I had only one suit and only a few minutes to get the coating off of my coat and remove the new puke pattern from the the lower third of my tie.  This story has no lofty moral to teach.  I offer it simply to make an observation.  You may think that you're the master of your dogs, but sometimes they get the last barf!

Dedication Day

I had the honor and joy of leading the dedication service of my grandson, Liam, at Bethel Baptist Church in Monetta, SC, on Sunday, September 4.  Let me share the thoughts I wrote for the occasion.    

This is such a happy and holy moment for our family and, I know, for this church family. 

I am Elizabeth’s father, Josh’s father-in-law, Linda’s husband, Andrew’s dad, but most of all today I am Liam’s Papa Dee. 

We’re here today to celebrate a miracle, to thank God for the life of Joshua Liam Davison and dedicate him to God. 

In truth, we’re here to dedicate ourselves to the holy work of teaching Liam to love God and live for Him, to “train up this child in the way he should go, so that when he is old, he will not depart from it.”

As we take this sacred step together, I want to speak first to Joshua and Elizabeth as Liam’s parents, then to those of us who are blessed to be a part of Liam’s extended family, and then to all of you who will be his church family.  All of us have a part to play in the unfolding miracle of his life. 

Joshua and Elizabeth, I can still remember the night that you called to tell Linda and me that you had a child on the way.  I was upstairs in our home working at the computer.  When I heard the news, I froze for a long long time.  But now, here you are, parents.  Liam will learn more from you than from any other people in this world.  You are his first teachers.  You are his first theologians.  You are his first coaches.  You are his first counselors. From you, he will learn how life works.  Both of you hold very important jobs, Elizabeth as a teacher, a shaper of young lives, and Josh as a pastor, a shepherd of God’s flock.  But other than the call to follow Jesus and to be faithful to each other, loving Liam is your highest and holiest calling. 

So I ask you, “Will you strive to be the parents that God calls you to be?  Will you show the love of Jesus in your words and your ways?  Will you worship Christ in this church-house and in your house? Will you raise this beautiful boy in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, praying for the day when he will receive Christ as his Savior and follow Him as Lord?  If you will strive to be parents like this, say, “We will.” 

Family, we are here, beaming with pride and joy and thankful for God’s goodness that allows us to share our lives with Liam.  Each of us has a part to play in the unfolding miracle of his life.  If you will join me in pledging your prayers, your hands-on help, your wisdom, and your love to this child and his parents, say “We will.” 

Church family, you are called to continue the work of Jesus, to take little children into your arms and into your hearts, to teach them the scriptures and the songs, to show them Christ’s love and give them His blessing.  If you will promise to be God’s family to Liam and all of the children in your care, say “We will.” 

Let us seal these promises we’ve made in a moment of prayer.

A wise man has said that every baby brings the message that the world must go on.  Children are messengers of hope.  As we close this dedication service, let us sing and celebrate the hope that is ours because Jesus lives.  

How sweet to hold a newborn baby

And feel the pride and joy he gives

But greater still, the calm assurance

This child can face uncertain days because He lives

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow

Because He lives, all fear is gone

Because I know He holds the future

And life is worth the living just because He lives!

This is the manuscript of a message I preached at Parisview Baptist Church on Sunday, August 7. my first message after the birth of my grandson, Liam.  

Lessons from Liam

On July 25, 2011, Joshua Liam Davison was born.  That little guy has made some big changes in our family.  My daughter and son-in-law are now parents.  My boys are uncles.  My mom is a great grandmother.  My camera is about to burn up from taking so many pictures.  The poor little boy believes that he’s been born into a world where a bright flash of light occurs every five seconds.  The two hour drive from Travelers Rest to Monetta is suddenly no problem.  My wife and I have changed our preferred names from “Dee” and “Linda” to “Papa Dee” and “Nama.” 

I wasn’t surprised that little Liam changed our family, but I was surprised by how much he changed my heart.  Liam’s birth, and these two weeks that we’ve shared with him, has been a time when God has spoken to me as He has at very few times in my Christian journey.  That very little boy has taught me some big lessons.  He’s been like a little angel bringing messages from God for me. 

This morning, I want to share with you a few of the lessons I’ve learned from Liam, ways that God has taught me and touched me through him. 

You Are a Miracle

I’ve heard many people say that they believe in miracles.  I’ve heard a good number say that they’ve seen a miracle.  But the experience of Liam coming into this world took me beyond believing in or seeing miraculous things.  His birth taught me that every person can look into the mirror and say, “You are a miracle.” 

Psalm 139 is a song through which the singer praises God for the miracle of his life. 

(Psalm 139:13-14) For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. 14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

During her pregnancy, Elizabeth would send me updates on what was happening to Liam as he grew and got closer and closer to birth.  As I read what science has learned about the growth of a child before birth, I thought of those words again and again, “you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” 

Where do you see the glory of God, the evidence of His power and His purpose?  You might see the glory of a sunrise.  You may look into a cloudless night sky and see the countless stars He calls by name.  You may gaze upon the mountains, dressed up in fall colors by countless leaves changing at His time.  Or you may, like a friend of mine, say that he no longer says that there are no atheists in the fox holes of a battlefield.  When he became a father, he said, “there are no atheists in delivery rooms.” 

But little Liam reminded me that every human being wonderfully made by God, knit together by His hand, can look into the mirror and say, “I am a miracle.”  You are not merely the result of a process.  You’re not an accident.  In God’s mind, you weren’t a surprise.  You are a mighty act of His power, His creative purpose, and His love.  And the same God who did a mighty thing in creating you can do might things through you.  You can live in the confidence and purpose that come from knowing, “I am a miracle.” 

Liam taught me something else the night he came into this world…

Pain is the Price of New Life

The day that Liam was born, Linda and I arrived at the hospital and went to her room to visit with her and Josh.  Every two or three minutes, Elizabeth would have a contraction, a passing moment of tension and discomfort, but between those contractions, she visited with us and talked about many things, posed for pictures, and even joked about becoming a mother.  But in a few hours, the hurt she was feeling became far more intense and came more often.  I saw the look of pain written on her face and the fear that comes from hurting like you’ve never hurt before.  The time came for all of us to leave the room, leaving Elizabeth with her husband, her nurse, and the challenge of enduring the pain she was feeling. 

As excited as I was about becoming a grandfather, I spent the next several hours pacing up and down hallways, questioning anyone who came out of Elizabeth’s room, and even putting my ear up against the door to hear any clue that could tell me how my girl was holding up in her battle with pain.  A few times, a doctor or nurse would open the door to leave, only to find me in the doorway with my ear turned toward the door.  I didn’t care.  I was worried about my daughter.  Everything inside me wanted her pain to end.  For hours, we heard the voices of doctors and nurses coaching her, we heard her voice as she fought the good fight, and then, at 7:21 p.m., almost 14 hours after she had begun, my daughter’s pain turned to joy, the joy of a new life.  Outside in the hallway, we who had been listening to Elizabeth’s struggle heard something new, a little voice crying out to announce his entrance into the world.  I hugged Linda and we remembered three such days in our own marriage.  But now we felt the joy of our daughter’s pain leading to the miracle of a new life. 

Childbirth is one of the most painful and dangerous experiences a woman can know.  I wish that it were different.  I wished it a hundred times that night.  But in God’s plan, pain is the price of new life.  It’s true for a woman giving birth.  It’s also true for any person asking God for a new beginning. 

Liam’s birth taught me that, for any of us, pain is the price of new life.  So many people want a new start, a new beginning, a deeper faith, a greater faithfulness, victory over a struggle, joy on the other side of weeping.  But what we must realize is that we won’t hear the sweet sound of a new life unless we are willing to endure the pain that new life demands; the pain of honesty, the pain of confession, of heart-broken repentance, of letting go of the old in order to make room for the new, of enduring a night of darkness in order to see the glory of a new day. 

The Apostle Paul tells the Galatians that he is bearing great pain with the purpose of seeing Christ more alive in their hearts and in their church.  He writes, in Galatians 4:19,

(Galatians 4:19) My dear children, for whom I am again in the pains of childbirth until Christ is formed in you…

Many times, over the past few months, I have asked God why I’ve had to hurt so badly—why the people I love have hurt so badly.  I don’t know that I’ll ever understand the reason for this pain, not on this side of heaven, but I can find hope in the result of this pain.  By God’s grace and power, my pain and your pain, can be the beginning of a new life. 

When Elizabeth’s time of hurting was over, when we heard Liam’s voice and then got to hold him and see him, he taught me another great spiritual lesson. 

We’ll Understand When We See Him Face to Face

ILL: Several times during Elizabeth’s pregnancy, she sent me ultrasound images of Liam.  I don’t know how well you interpret an ultrasound image.  I find most of them to be like a two-year-old’s picture that they draw in Sunday School.  I look at it and say, “Wow, that’s amazing!  Tell me about it.  (Which is a nice way of saying, “What in the world am I looking at?”)   

Sometimes I could be guided to see Liam in the picture, other times I had to trust that others saw things I just couldn’t see.  But all of that changed the first time I held him in my arms and looked into his little face.  That face-to-face moment revealed more to me that I had seen in all of the moments before.  Later, I returned to those ultrasound pictures and, now, some of them made perfect sense, especially one in which I could trace the features of his face and see that those hazy images were, in fact, my Liam all along. 

In 1 Corinthians 13:12, Paul says that our journey through life is that very same way.  He writes,

(1 Corinthians 13:12) Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

In Paul’s day a mirror was nothing more than a shiny piece of metal.  The reflection it gave was often dark and distorted.  We don’t see life so clearly while we’re living it.  We want to see the plan, the purpose, the meaning; we want to see Christ working in the joys and challenges we face each day.  Sometimes we catch a glimpse of him in that poor reflection our human hearts can perceive.  Other times we don’t what we’re seeing or what it means.  We just have to live by faith. 

But one day, we will see Jesus face to face.  When we do, all of those poor reflections, all of those small glimpses of His grace and His glory, will make perfect sense.  We will look back and see that He was there, in every step we took, every tear we shed, every burden we bore, even every question we asked. 

When our faith becomes sight, we will see that Jesus was with us every step of the way.  

One more lesson my Liam has written on my heart;

God Wants You to Know How Much He Loves You

            I had held little Liam for the briefest moment when I heard myself telling him how much I love him.  Even though he’s a genius baby, as we call him, I don’t think that he could see me clearly or understand the meaning of the sounds my voice was making.  But I didn’t give up.  I’ll never give up.  I’ll always tell him and, hopefully, show him that he has someone in his life, one of many, who look upon him and feel nothing but love.  And though I don’t want to rush him in growing up—he’ll change too quickly, I know—I look forward to the day that he knows, truly knows that I love him and he, in his own childlike way, can love me back. 

            Paul wanted the Ephesians to have that same kind of experience with God.  Listen to his prayer for them in Ephesians 3:17b-19,

(Ephesians 3:17b-19)  And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, 18 may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, 19 and to know this love that surpasses knowledge-- that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

            I want you to know how much Christ loves you.  I want you to build your life upon that confidence, “being rooted and established in love.”  I want you to see how big his love for you truly is, “how wide and long and high and deep.”  And I want you to know His love, not just as an idea in your head, or the right answer to a question someone asks you in church, but as an experience that changes you from the inside out, that fills you with the presence and power and peace of God. 

            As long as you have been in this world, God has been telling you how much He loves you.  For a long time, you didn’t recognize His voice, much less understand what He was saying.  But God wants this to be the day when you know His love, when you experience the love that gives you life, eternal life; the love that fills you with God’s spirit. 

            Have you heard His voice?

            Have you understood how much He loves you?

            He’s shown you most clearly in Jesus, the One who died to take away the sin that stands between you and God, the One who rose from the dead to say, “Love has won.” 

            This can be your day to know how much He loves you.