I'm not given to listening to speaking tapes in my car. Music, sports radio, even silence—just not speaking tapes. But recently, on a seven-hour trip alone to visit my in-laws and meet up with my family, I ran out of good options on my radio, and for some reason, I popped in an 11-part series on worship.

And I listened to all 11 messages without pausing. The pastor said we treat God as if we're in some sort of a spiritual petting zoo. God is in the cage, and we casually walk by, scratch Him behind the ears and call it worship. Heaven forbid we actually get in the cage with Him, where he could have His way with us! No, we'd rather have a "safe" God.

It reminded me of one of my favorite passages from C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles Of Narnia. Mrs. Beaver, one of the enchanted animals in Narnia, was trying to explain the Christ-figure Aslan, a lion, to a little girl new to Narnia.

"Lucy asked Mrs. Beaver, 'Is he safe?' Mrs. Beaver impatiently replied, 'Haven't you been listening to what I have been saying? He is a lion! Of course he's not safe ... but he is good.'"

I try to keep God in this petting-zoo cage because I am afraid of what will happen if I let Him out. If I give Him complete control, will He make me look like a fool? Will He hurt me? Will I be reduced to a tearful mess? Will I—gasp—dance in worship?

I realized, in listening to these messages, that I have been totally afraid of what I might look like in the eyes of men. Instead of being God-centered, I have been self-protective in my relationship with the Father.

As I finished the last message, I pulled into my in-laws' driveway. It was around 10:30 at night—long past my kids' bedtime. Just as I cracked open my car door, the garage door opened, and the silhouette of my 8-year-old, Joshua, came running at me, full speed, and shouting, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" Joshua raced toward me and flung his body into my arms for a huge bear hug.

It's been a powerful metaphor for me these last few weeks. Like my son pursued me, I want to worship God with reckless abandon, without regard for how I look in the eyes of others, or even how I might get hurt in the process. I want this worship to be true both in my job and in my everyday life. Our loving Father has eternity in mind, and I can trust Him. If only I will.

When studying the Bible, it's important to understand God's intended meaning. Here are three guidelines to follow:

What does it say?

• Who is talking? Who is the passage about?
• What is happening?
• When did it happen or will it happen?
• Where did it happen?
• Why did the writer say that? Why did the character do that?
• How did it happen? How was it supposed to happen?

That's a pretty ring," my 5-year-old cousin Hannah commented as we played on the swing behind her house.

"Thanks," I replied, giving her a closer look at the silver ring with a tiny gold nugget. "My parents got it for me in Alaska. Do you know where Alaska is?"

She shook her head.

"Well, it's really far north," I started to explain, but she looked at me blankly.

"It's farther away than Canada," I tried again. "Do you know where Canada is, Hannah?"

"No." Her blonde curls bobbed as she shook her head again.

"It gets really cold in Alaska," I said.

"It gets cold here," she replied, thinking of Iowa winters.

"Yes, but it gets even colder in Alaska," I emphasized. Clearly she was not convinced. So I tried again. "Well, it's a really big state," I explained. "Much bigger than Iowa, even bigger than Texas. Have you heard of Texas?"

"Yes," she nodded. Finally!

And that completed Hannah's education about Alaska—it was big.

Often, when I think about the Lord, I feel like I'm 5 years old. God is so much bigger, stronger and more infinite than my mind can comprehend.

Is God as big as the sky? Does God love people the same way I do? Is the Holy Spirit like electricity? These earthly things are weak comparisons to the greatness of God. Although they might offer me a slight glimpse of my Creator, I cannot rely completely on their comparisons.

"For as the heavens are higher than the earth," says Isaiah 55:9, "so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts."

As I grow and learn, God patiently teaches me more about Himself. And I want to learn: I'm not satisfied with my simple caricatures and shadows of truth. Like Hannah's understanding of Alaska, my knowledge and experience of God can move closer to reality. I can read the Bible, explain my faith to non-Christians, pray and spend time with other believers.

If my cousin ever travels to Alaska, she will understand much more. One day, I know, I will meet God face to face.

I grew up on a ranch five miles from the small town of Coweta, Okla., and walking was central to my youth. A bus took me to school each day, but afterschool activities often meant walking the five miles home.

The fall of darkness made the journey seem longer, but my loving mother would always meet me one mile from our home. I never had to walk the last mile alone. Just the knowledge of her presence turned that part of the journey into something positive I looked forward to.

It was strategic for me, even as a teenager, because that last mile included a spooky hollow and a creek, trees bending in the wind, and a hoot owl whose mission in life was to raise the hair on the back of my neck.

About a quarter mile from our house, I could see the light from home. It always buoyed my spirit and put strength in my pace. The light's glow meant warmth, and regardless of my particular state of affairs that day, it meant my father and the rest of our family would soon welcome me.

This real-life experience portrays how I feel about closing my journey on earth.

For the last several years I have been hit with the certainty that I am in the grips of terminal illness. Have you ever thought that to be a strange term? When we get right down to it, our lives are locked into a terminal ending from the beginning. I am not sure why hearing something specific from a physician makes "terminal" seem more final, but it does.

Naturally, people ask me how I handle the "bad news" of disease and death. My reply is to meet it with the good news of life in Christ. He taught us to expect troubles in this life and to overcome them through faith in Him. As for death, He has promised that anyone believing in Him would never die eternally, although the flesh would wither and fade away.

So the real question for me was: Would I recoil in denial and frustration, questioning God, or would I be obedient, and thank and praise Him for this new opportunity to know Him better? Would I continue to love, trust and obey my dear Lord and His Word until my last breath?

By God's enabling, I have an opportunity to let His truth govern my behavior. When Jesus was tested by Satan, what did He do? He quoted Scripture to each challenge and He experienced victory. Jesus now lives in me. So by faith and the assurance of His Word, I can experience victory too.

Believers are commanded to meet trials with joy and thanksgiving. Paul's words instruct us to "always be joyful. Keep on praying. No matter what happens, always be thankful, for this is God's will for you who belong to Christ Jesus" (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, New Living Translation).

I am not trying to be brave or preachy—just obedient. By God's gracious power within, I intend with all my heart to face the winter season of my life on earth in this way: full of faith in our great God, full of joy in the truth of His promises, and full of peace about my future that the Prince of Peace holds in His hands.

There is a longing in every human heart for some place to call home. For the Christian, heaven is the home where our Father God greets us with welcoming arms because of His faithfulness to His promises. Our journey to this home is like a baby in the womb being born into this world and entering another dimension of existence. At first it protests with screams, but before long, it adjusts to this life as it is surrounded by love and tender care. So it is when the time comes for us.

I know that I am on that last mile of my journey, but I am not alone. The Lord Jesus, by His Holy Spirit who is with me, and the knowledge of His presence dispel the darkness and allay any fears. We have tender conversations. I can see the light of my real home, heaven, and it beckons and buoys me more than ever, the nearer I draw to it. It is a glorious sight. My precious heavenly Father and loved ones in the great family of God are waiting open-armed, and I can barely wait to get home at last.

Reprinted by permission of Thomas Nelson, Inc., from the book entitled The Journey Home: Finishing with Joy, ©2004 by Bill Bright. All rights reserved.

In first grade, I played a game with my friends in which we gave ourselves "princess" names. I chose Victoria. As a little girl, I didn't understand royalty.

Yet, after beginning a relationship with Christ, I longed to know more about the King of kings. I could grasp at least a definition of His holiness, wisdom and love. But what about God's majesty?

That I learned from a tree.

During a trip to my parents' home, I went for a walk in the country. At the corner of one pasture, I found the biggest magnolia tree I'd ever seen. I could reach its thick lower limbs, so I climbed into the tree's massive crown. Settling high on a sturdy branch, I gazed out from among the leaves at the cows and barn in the distance. Tucked in this huge magnolia, I felt so hidden.

This towering tree was magnificent, dignified, stately-an astonishing paragon of grandeur that enticed me into an attitude of respect and awe. It offered me strength, safety and shelter.

In the spiritual realm, a majestic God offers me refuge in His strength, and I can stay rooted in Him through all of life's storms. Perched high above the ground, I felt safe in the magnolia. With even greater security, God lifts me in His strong hands above the struggles that tear me down.

This impressive tree moved me to awe and to feel my own smallness. Even better, it moved me to worship—worship of my King. And that's exactly how His Majesty would want me to respond.