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We were on the hunt. 

Carefully stalking our prey, we were both armed and dangerous… and hungry. 

Suddenly, we both spotted it. 

I looked at Joe to see if he had seen it, and he was looking right back at me. Then, we both emptied our hands and charged. I got to it first - a locked metal box on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, it had to be Pirate treasure!

We sat on the bottom in about 85 feet of water, miles from shore, trying to pry the lid open and stirring up the mud, making the water very murky. I grabbed Joe’s hand and patted his sheathed knife, so he unsheathed his blade. I guided the blade to where the lid latched and gave a thumbs up. Joe twisted, and his knife popped loose. I quickly checked the tip and realized that it had slipped off of the box. So, we tried again. It popped again, but this time, the box was open!

We could see about as well as if we were in a sea of chocolate milk, so couldn’t tell what was inside of that valuable chest. All we could think to do was sit still and wait. We waited some more, and then more. It seemed as if the water didn’t want to clear, but little by little we could see the box; then, shapes within the box. They were cylindrical, like a stack of coins, perhaps. When, at long last, we could tell what we were looking at, we both laughed – at ourselves and then at each other and then at ourselves again. We laughed long and loud because we were holding a broken meter box which had been discarded or dropped from the drilling platform where we were diving.

Then, as if someone had turned on a light in a dark room, we both stopped and looked around frantically. It had dawned on us both at the same moment that we had discarded our spearguns when we so eagerly charged the broken box. We threw away something which had high value to us, to chase after someone else’s garbage, which had no value to anyone.

I deliberately choose to never forget that day. It serves as a bare reminder of how easily I can become distracted from what matters most: my Lord, my wife and family, truth and my integrity. Sometimes, I discard something which has high value, to chase after someone else’s garbage, which has no value to anyone.

Too often in life, we forget what matters most. Without giving it any real thought, we begin chasing after the wrong things - someone else’s garbage, which has no value to anyone.

We would be wise to deliberately remind ourselves of the most valuable things in life.

We would be wise to deliberately remind our family of the most valuable things in life.

We would be wise to deliberately remind others of the most valuable things in life.

We would be compassionate to call them back to the most valuable things in life.

Carl Schneider

“Yes, I’m a Christian by Choice”

When I say “I am a Christian, “I’m not shouting that I’m living a clean life. “I’m whispering that I was lost, but now I’m found and forgiven.”

When I say, “I'm a Christian not speaking pride, I’m confessing that I stumble and need Jesus Christ to be my guide.”

When I say “I’m a Christian, I’m not trying to be strong, I’m professing that I am weak and need His strength to carry on.”

When I say, “I’m a Christian, I’m not claiming to be perfect, my flaws are far too visible, but God believes I am worth it.”

When I say, “I’m a Christian, “I still feel the pain, I have my share of heartaches, so I call on His name.”

When I say, “I’m a Christian, I’m not saying I’m holier than thou, I’m a simple sinner who received God’s good grace, somehow.”

These beliefs are in my heart, reminding me who I was, and that Jesus is not a bandage for my misgivings and failures, but the cure for my broken spirit.

Truly when you look at me, you see the outside man is still the same, but on the inside the new is struggling to get totally free.

With Jesus Christ, in me I will become what I was meant to be. A victorious, child of the King, made whole, a member of the family looking toward heaven as my eternal home!

By Ricky Dodds

Letter to the Editor, Victoria Advocate, Ralph Nance, June 16, 2022.

Why are drag queens reading to children in schools and libraries? Why are children in Dallas being dragged to gay bars? (Not my verbiage: the sponsors of those events named them “Drag your Child to Pride.”). Nina West, an early proponent of such events, called them opportunities “… for children to get creative and think outside the boxes us silly adults have crafted for them.” Yes, “male and female” are silly boxes—that just happen to bear the miracle of life. Every other alternative must step outside of its box to “have” a child. And if straight adults are accused of making boxes for children, doesn’t the accusation fly both ways? For the umpteenth time, we see that whenever one group accuses another’s morality of being based on power, they immediately add, “But not ours!”

What is surprising is how our (yet) predominantly heterosexual culture has leapt over several sexual barriers to get to this point. Why haven’t we had strippers bounce into our elementary classroom to read of the pleasures of dance? Why haven’t parents taken their children to strip joints to pop them out of their prudish boxes? And to be fair, why not male strippers popping from cakes, dancing to “YMCA?”

Did I forget to mention pole dancers?

But of course, we haven’t done those things, and we all know the obvious reason. We once believed in preserving, for as long as possible, the fairy tale castle of INNOCENCE, that exists not because of sex, but because of magic. In that world, a benign God has poured out wonder upon wonder to the child’s delight—strawberries, cat’s fur, climbable (somewhat) trees, sun, rain, grass, playful love, love-filled play—and we glimpse that, just maybe, there’s a world where no one is ever exploited, betrayed, or used for someone’s financial, sexual, or self- aggrandizing purposes. Some call it an illusion, but even so, it is a greater reality than all that follows its loss, and the hope of what might be regained. Without that world, children, whatever sexual path they choose, lose a valuable standard for someday judging what is said, offered, or done to them. For sin has no sexual identity, and sexual exploitation hunts for us all, and in us all. Let the strippers, the pole dancers, the drag queens wait outside the gates of Innocence; it is lost all too soon.

I never knew how the person on the other end of the line would answer that question. It was a national broadcast, and there was no way to identify the identity or location of the callers. One day the response was, “I’ve got a loaded gun on my lap and you’ve got 1 minute to talk me out of using it.”

The only responses I could coax out of the man were, “Yes” or “No”. Eventually, I gleaned enough information from him to determine that he was angry at God about something, and it was something fresh and painful. So, having failed at all previous attempts to get the man to talk, I decided to provoke him. It worked. He took my bait and started pushing back at me. I, in essence, dared him to tell God why he was angry. Somehow I managed to talk the guy into praying, but believe me, he wasn’t the only one praying. He began to tell God about the pain, and then stopped. He bellowed into the phone, “…and if that’s the kind of God you are… then, FINE!” …< click >

As I heard the dial tone, I threw the phone off of the hook and dropped to the floor, pleading with God, “Lord, stop him! Let him miss… misfire… only injure himself… just STOP HIM, PLEASE!”  My mind was pulsing with adrenaline, and played and replayed the conversation in my mind. What if…? What if…? What if…? What if…? What if…? WHAT IF!!!?

I went from adrenaline to exhaustion rather quickly. I couldn’t reach any answers to the questions that crowded my mind like popping popcorn. I couldn’t continue to play the what-ifs. I couldn’t carry it anymore.

So . . .

I carried it to God.  

I walked up to the front of the church, and knelt. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself place a small, golden box on the steps. I placed the whole conversation into the box. I put the lid on. I tied a golden ribbon on top to hold the lid in place.  

Then, I removed my hands from the box and turned my eyes toward heaven. And I poured my heart out, “Lord, I will answer for every word, every action, and every thought. I did what seemed best. I did all I could think to do. I sought to honor You and this man. Please, Lord, forgive me for my short-comings, but, I cannot carry this any further. I need You to carry it from here. So, I give it to You.”   

Then, I stood. I turned around. And, I walked away. I didn’t look back, and I’ve never wanted to open that box again…

…because it’s not mine.  

I gave it to God.  

It belongs to Him now.

Some burdens, 

some grief, 

some wounds 

are too heavy to carry.   

“So humble yourselves under the mighty power of God, and at the right time He will lift you up in honor. Give all your worries and cares to God, for He cares about you.”

1 Peter 5.6-7.

I’ll never know the outcome of that morning. But my Lord knows. 

What about you? What burdens are you straining to carry? What grief needs comforting? What wounds need to be cleaned and re-bandaged? What wrongs do you need to forgive? For what wrongs do you need to seek forgiveness?

Approach God with your gift. Put all of these things into the box, one at a time. Place the lid on it. Now, tie it up with a nice ribbon and take your hands off of it. It’s not yours to carry anymore...

…because it’s not yours.  

You gave it to God.  

It belongs to Him now.  

Let Him carry it from here.

By Carl Schneider - posted March 23, 2022

We plant a seed. 

We plant a kernel of wheat to get more wheat. But, we don't get wheat. Instead, we get a plant - a plant that doesn't even look like wheat.

Our plant needs attention: resources, and protection, and nurture . . . and time. Our initial sacrifice of a kernel of wheat was the small part of the cost, and we still don't have a return on our sacrifice - our investment. Contrariwise, the cost keeps going up. Our plant keeps demanding more and more.

This may not seem fair, but it is reality. It is necessary. It is required. We can choose to quit and receive nothing. We can choose to endure and receive the natural results of the process - 30, 60, or even 100 times as much as we planted.

We plant a kernel of wheat.  God grows a plant.

We care for the plant.  God grows wheat.

So, what's the point?

I routinely pray, "Lord, I want to know You more, and please make me more like Jesus." I get trials and temptations of various kinds. It doesn't look like I got what I was after. 

But, then I read in James 1:2-4:

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything."

I want to know Him more. He gives me opportunity to exercise my faith in Him.

I want to be more like Jesus. He grows my character through trials and temptations.

As I endure, I mature.

As I endure the trials, I encounter God as He sustains me, encourages me, strengthens me, comforts me. I come to know Him more intimately.

Perseverance is not the goal. It is simply the mark of those who love the Lord. But, perseverance will grow me up. It will make me more mature and complete . . . more like Jesus.

• I want to know Him more and to be more like Him.
• I get trials, and temptations of various kinds.
• I seize these opportunities to exercise my faith in Him.
• I get to know Him more and become more like Him . . .

But the seed falling on good soil refers to someone who hears the word and understands it. This is the one who produces a crop, yielding a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown.” Matthew 13:23

By Carl Schneider, elder

Dibs on the bow-line!

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is the time that Jesus fell asleep in the back of the boat while His disciples sailed for the far shore after a long day. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped, and they were in great danger.

To describe commercial fishermen as bikers with different machines and different wardrobes is not far off the mark. You’ll not find a tougher breed.

Some of these disciples had grown up on this lake and new it well. They were commercial fishermen. These men knew the danger of a sudden storm on the water. These men had braved them before. But tonight, these men were afraid for their lives. Like men driven by fear, they did the only thing they could do. They panicked and woke up the sleeping guy to save them!

Now, if you’ve never been offshore in rough weather, I will tell you that it drives into you a feeling of terrified helplessness. It makes you feel small, powerless, feeble, very vulnerable… and frightened. So, when Jesus wakes up and sees what’s going on, I expect Him to show compassion, sympathy, and to express comforting words to calm their fears. After all, the storm is real; the danger, looming.

But, this gentle encourager reprimands his frightened friends. He spanks them.  “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

At this point, I want to rewrite the end of the story. I want Jesus to stand up confidently and command the storm to cease. Then, I want to see Him turn to the men and reassuringly say to them, “Don’t you realize that I’m going to take care of you? Now do you realize it? Good, then I’m going to finish my nap and you finish the storm. Let me know when we get there. Storm, back on!”

Everything would be just as it was; everything, except those men. They would be transformed. I can imagine being one of them. I can imagine yelling, “Dibs on the bow-line!” and fighting for the rope tied to the front of the boat so that I could catch the spray of water in my face when we crashed through each wave. Then, like a rollercoaster cresting the highest point in the track, we would plummet down the back of the wave with a triumphant, “Yeeeeee-haw!”

But, we cannot rewrite the story. We must take the spanking in this storm and remember it. We must keep it fresh, because, there is another storm coming. There will always be another storm coming. Some of the storms will be furious squalls that come up quite unexpectedly.  The waves will break over the bow of your boat, so that it is nearly swamped.  And, you may be in great danger.

When, in the terrified helplessness of that storm, you are tempted to panic once again, you must look to see Him. Fix your eyes on the creator of the storm. He has the authority to command it to stop, but He has chosen to let it rage against you. He can be trusted; can you be trusted? Can you be trusted to cast all of your cares on Him, knowing that He cares for you?

“Don’t you realize that I’m going to take care of you?” Trust Him. Put your faith into action. Exercise your faith. Put your faith to the test. You will find that as you trust God in ways you have never had to before, that you will come to know Him in ways you have never known Him before, too. You will discover an intimacy with God that is only found in storms. You will discover, too, that as you learn to persevere through the storms, that you become mature and complete. You will become more and more like Jesus as you draw closer and closer to Jesus.

And, don’t be surprised if storms begin to excite you and you find yourself shouting into the wind and rain, “Dibs on the bow-line!”

Carl Schneider

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference."

Beaten down with some pretty severe headaches, several doctors assured me repeatedly that it was, “just post-covid symptoms. It’ll gradually improve. Don’t worry about it.” Then, on Wednesday, November 4, 2020, I was overcome with strong and sudden nausea, so I called in sick. My doctor walked me across the street to the hospital. They started using a string of strong terms which arrested my attention: you’re stroking out, kidney problems, kidney damage, kidney failure, cancer. After a week in the hospital and a couple of surgeries, my life has taken a dramatic turn. 

Now, a year later, I spend most of my time living life on a couch with the companionship of a herd of pillows and my favorite blanket. I have a constant diet of medication and a faithful water glass which never leaves my side. 

I find that I face a choice between two options on at least a daily basis. I am painfully aware of what I can no longer do, and I resent it… I hate it. There is so much I want to do. I want to build some things. I want to repair some things. I want to take my kids fishing. I want to explore. I want to mow the lawn. I want to swim. I want to do… go… live!

If I focus on these things, then that becomes a one-way, dead-end street called, “Bitterness”. It is dead-end because I will get stuck there and, consequently, never fully appreciate today. I will ever miss the present because it’s not what I want it to be. It is a bitter way to spend my life. It is a self-centered way to spend my life. It is a tragic, inexcusable waste of my life.

The alternative choice is to remember that this day is a day the Lord has made. That means that there is room to rejoice and be glad. So, I become vigilantly conscious of what I can do. I am on the lookout for my continually changing limitations so that I can be aware of what I can do today. I pray often, “Lord, will you open my eyes to see what can I do? Please help me to want that.” This helps me to identify where I can rejoice and be glad, because I recognize His blessings in my day. The natural response when we recognize God’s blessings is gratitude. Gratitude, when cultivated, produces joy.  

I have today. I have another day to be grateful to God as He fills my day with family, friends, and the beauty of His creation. I love my Lord and I am grateful that He has taught me to cultivate a loving relationship with Him as He has forged me into some semblance of a man. And now, during what appears to be the Autumn years of my life, like Him, I get to rest and appreciate the beauty of all that my family has created. 

I love my life. I love my Wife. I love my family. I love the many friendships we have cultivated over the years. I love the life we have built… full of the memories we have made. I love the memories we are making today. I look forward to the memories yet to be made. I am the richest guy I know.

So, the choice, more simply, is either to move away from God to wallow in my own self-pity, or to move toward God and reap joy.  

Carl Schneider

January 2021

FBC Social Gathering Barbecue

We all feel the impact of COVID-19, specially on gathering to enjoy fellowship.

Jesus ate with his disciples and many others to have fellowship!

And so, we want to offer a time to gather for an informal meal just to be together.

When: Saturday, October 24, 5:00 PM to 8:00 PM 

Where: Hopkins Park – 505 S Laurent St

Victoria, TX 77901.

What: FBC will provide meat (barbecue), canned drinks, bread. Mike Klinkerman will be barbecuing chicken using his barbecue pit, delicious!

How:

• Families and individuals will need to bring side dishes of their own to eat themselves.
• We've been asked by the Parks and Recreation Dept. to abide by the social distancing and masks policies still in force in our county.
• Bring your own lawn chairs, etc.
• 
  

Please RSVP (to know how much meat to cook):

1. Email reply,
2. Phone call to the office,
3. Use sign-up sheet in Foyer,
4. Homing pigeon or smoke signals ;).