Author: David Tyra

While visiting our son recently, we had the chance to sail on a tall ship out into Lake Michigan, and got a closer look at a lighthouse, one of many that are scattered around the lake.

We also got to attend Sunday morning worship at the Moody Memorial Church, which stands like a spiritual lighthouse in Chicago’s Olde Towne. And what a wonderful experience that was!

We parked in the first-time visitor’s lot just across the street from the church, and we were greeted by dapper parking lot “attendants” in coats and ties. I asked, “How do we prove to you that we’re first-time visitors?” He smiled a million-dollar smile and said, “Just tell us ya are!”

When we got out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk, we joined a throng of people streaming to the church from all points of the compass. And that’s when we started to feel the excitement. People were smiling and greeting one another with “Good morning!” (I think that’s the first time that’s happened to me in Chicago!) We immediately felt that we were surrounded by brothers and sisters in Christ.Read More

We just finished a monumental week of Vacation Bible School. We had a high attendance of 82 (that’s just kids, not including workers), and I have to say that the whole thing seemed to run like a well-oiled machine. Every night that week the church was filled with a “joyful hubbub”. The kids sang louder and more exuberantly every night, building to an admirable peak in Friday night’s program. And the Gospel of Jesus was presented to them many times, in many ways during the week. We know of at least one child, and perhaps two, who prayed to receive Jesus that week; and the seed was sown in so many more young lives.

There always seems to be someone who asks, “Does it really do any good?” The only answer I can give you is: “It did for me.”

I called on the Lord Jesus at the close of a VBS session when I was ten years old. Nobody manipulated or coerced me. They asked if there was anyone who wanted to know what it meant to be saved, to come forward and somebody would talk with you. I went forward…bringing a friend with me! When they found out he only came because I asked him to, they let him go back to his seat. Nobody manipulated or coerced him, either.Read More

Last Memorial Day weekend I read this to our morning worship service. I wanted to share it with you again, in print. Here’s what I read:

This is Memorial Day Weekend. Memorial Day is observed every year in the United States on the last Monday of May… but it was not always so. In 1968, Congress moved four holidays, including Memorial Day, from their traditional dates to a Monday, in order to make a 3-day weekend. Before this, Memorial Day was always on May 30th, and was called Decoration Day.

Decoration Day originated after the Civil War. The sheer number of dead soldiers, from the North and the South, made remembering and honoring them a matter of great importance to their countrymen. People in towns all over America began decorating the graves of fallen soldiers. Following President Abraham Lincoln’s assassination in April 1865, memorial observances for the dead began to be held in May. As time passed, May 30th became the traditional date to remember fallen soldiers by decorating their graves. It became known as Decoration Day, though by 1882 some also began calling it Memorial Day.Read More

Last Friday evening our church was host to the Moody Men’s Collegiate Choir under the direction of Dr. H. E. Singley. It was a wonderful evening of music; I think it was the most outstanding event at our church in the last 15 years. The voices of those 28 young men absolutely filled our sanctuary. At times I was moved to tears, especially during their acapella version of Be Still, My Soul. And the young men themselves were a breath of fresh air: respectful, polite, enthusiastic and unashamed of the Gospel. They were of different races, backgrounds, and even nationalities, but they were unified by their faith in Jesus Christ. I hadn’t really expected the diversity. And I hadn’t expected to have a close encounter with a Chinese Christian, right here in our home church.

Some of the men were a little older than the rest, and had already been involved in ministry before coming to Moody Bible Institute. My wife and I hosted two of the men in our home that night. One was an energetic pastoral studies student named Garrett. (He played guitar, so we hit it right off.) The other was a soft-spoken Chinese man from Beijing, named Enoch. I pronounced his name “Enuk”, and he politely corrected me: “E-nock”, he’d say. After a couple of times I caught on.Read More

I was on the internet when I first heard that Davy Jones died. I immediately emailed one of my friends and asked if he had heard this news. His response perfectly summed up mine: “No; that’s terrible!”

Davy Jones died on February 29, 2012 of a heart attack at age 66…pretty young by today’s standards. Now you might be thinking how silly it is to be affected by the death of a celebrity I never met. But I have to admit it did affect me. Weatherman Al Roker summed it up in his response to the news: “A little bit of my youth just died.”

It was more than a little bit for me. I have played guitar for 46 years, and The Monkees are the reason why. My Dad had tried to get me interested in guitar by playing Chet Atkins records. While I eventually became a big Chet Atkins fan, my initial response was to lay my Dad’s archtop guitar on my lap and beat on it like a bongo drum. (Dad wasn’t encouraged.)Read More

Not long ago I was having lunch with a friend of mine, and he looked at me and said: “You and I are becoming old men.” (Isn’t it great to have friends who will encourage you like that?) I quickly pointed out to him that he was five years older than me, and therefore way ahead of me on the downhill side of life. But, after reflection, I had to admit he was right. Not only was he getting older, he was dragging me along right behind him!

My mother used to tell me that she didn’t mind getting older, except that the parts wore out. I’m beginning to understand what she meant. I’m not really depressed about being the age I am, just surprised (as in: “Wow, I’m here already?”).

My Dad just turned 80 years old last November. That seems unreal, to me and him, both. My Dad still does 50 dips a day (where you support yourself with your hands, on the backs of chairs or the corner of a countertop, and lower and raise yourself…kind of like an upright push-up). He tells me, “On days when I’m tired, I can only do 40.” (I don’t think I can do 10!) He said if he doesn’t do them, his neck and back get stiff.Read More

I always thought Christmas lights were…you know, nice. I loved to see them as a child, and when I became an adult, they’ve always made me smile, when they start appearing on houses every December.

But I have gained a whole new perspective on Christmas lights since my grandson came along. Somehow, when we see the world reflected in the face and eyes of a little one, it seems new and wonderful to us again, too.

I loved holding Andrew up to the Christmas tree to show him the lights for his first Christmas. I didn’t enjoy it as much trying to keep him from eating the lights during his second Christmas. But let me tell you, we both have a real blast looking at Christmas lights from “Gwampa’s dok-wed Fod Wanger twuk!” (Translation: “Grandpa’s dark-red Ford Ranger truck”)Read More

The other day, in a moment of happy coincidence, I found myself in the glad company of two older preachers, and the three of us spent a few minutes together, laughing and talking and encouraging each other. It was wonderful. And once again a thought occurred to me that I say rarely but live constantly: I love preachers.

I love to be with preachers, I love to hear them talk, I love to hear them talk about what they do, I love laughing at their stories. I treasure their advice (well, most of it, anyway), I’m grateful when I can benefit from their experience, and I’m glad when there is something I can do to lift their spirits. I love to serve them, to bring them glasses of water, to stand up straight when they talk to me, and to say “Yes, sir!” and “No, sir!” when they ask me questions. I love hearing of their triumphs in the Lord’s work, and my heart breaks to hear of their heartaches through years of dealing with people and churches.

No offense, but this is sort of a private club. I really believe it is a rare person who truly understands the joys and heartaches of being a preacher, who is not a preacher themselves.Read More