spiritual – Jerry Lout ⚬ Writer ⚬ Speaker ⚬ Mobilizer

February 5, 2026

Down-to-earth

Some call them spiritual disciplines. Others say spiritual practices. Either label works.

The refreshing thing for the Christ-follower is understanding that God has supplied down-to-earth practical exercises to aid them in their journey toward Christlikeness. Disciples of Jesus worldwide routinely celebrate these provisions – practices that fuel actual growth in Christ.

CELEBRATION

Wonderful news of hands-on, easy to grasp, and habit-building exercises has made its way across the globe (afresh) in recent times. And Richard J. Foster has brought immeasurable aid to believers of most every demographic through his masterfully-crafted work, aptly titled Celebration of Discipline. Fosters’ is a voice among many.

Christ’s followers everywhere – those longing to reflect the character of Jesus while savoring richness in the with-God life, happily find themselves on a transformative adventure.

Practicing spiritual disciplines, especially those repeatedly seen across the pages of scripture, results in God’s children getting changed from the inside out. Always occurring in the company of (through the empowering presence of) the Holy Spirit.

What are some of these habit-inducing (and doable) spiritual disciplines that people have been putting into practice all the way from Bible times til now?

Common among them are the disciplines of praying – studying scripture – worshipping in community – serving – advancing justice. .

One reason the disciplines continue generation after generation is found in their effectiveness. Orange trees are known by the fruit that they produce. Things are no different in the spiritual world, within the believer who cultivates and nurtures the plant-life of their own souls. Flourishing becomes
predictable, inevitable.

One could ask, “How many practices or disciplines are there?” Fixed numbers are hard to come by as concerns and needs and opportunities can vary from community to community
and from season to season.

We do know of a dozen or so disciplines, tracing back through church history, faithfully served the Christian family – and through it the world – for centuries.

A host of changed lives stands as shining evidence to the
wisdom of growing a close friendship with these practices. Aiding the ordinary person toward Jesus-likeness.

One such practice – talking with God.

October 6, 2022

A New Look

Marathoner or sprinter, the athlete runs with focus, keeping the goal ever in view.

The best kinds of changes tend to often happen over time. Changes of character, changes of growing into the kind of person one is trusting or hoping to become. As we shift our attention from our own selves redirecting our spiritual gaze to the person of Jesus (the power source of a transformed life) a lot of old, unprofitable things begin simply dropping away.

Once the sprinter hears the crack of the starting gun her focus is laser-like. One thing alone matters. The finish line. Even when circling the track at points where the finish tape is momentarily out of view, the athlete keeps in some way holding that image constantly before her mind’s eye.

In my broken state as a teen I had been fixated on me. . . my wants, my self-centered ego. One Old Testament prophet casts a flood light about the soul, “We have turned – every one – to his own way”.*

Finally, in all the mess of my self-inflicted pain, I looked away to God (memo: prayers of mothers are underrated). And right away, then and there, my head turned his way, a curious thing called wisdom started taking form. Redirecting my line of vision. A radical shift in focus had happened, spurred from the aching heart of a wayward teen. turned me Jesus’ direction. I didn’t know it but he would soon be positioning before a new starting block. What a run lay ahead!

Anyone who has ever competed in a race – even a childhood dash to be first to the ice cream truck – feels a heart-stir in a brief reading from an old Hebrew parchment. Note, in the appeal, the object of the athlete’s focus, the disciple’s gaze.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” (Hebrews 12:1-2 ESV)

April 28, 2015August 28, 2017

Family Addition(s)

It wasn’t an appealing dwelling place for a family but California’s Mojave Desert supplied one perk. Houses didn’t cost much. South African immigrants had assigned retired gold mining communities their names. A two mile drive west of Johannesburg led to Randsburg. Clyde, Thelma and seven-year-old Betty settled into their new home. He paid $150 for the house. His plumbing skills secured work for him at a nearby military base.

Clyde privately pledged that he and Thelma would have no more children. He vowed so during the agonized hours after Bobby’s drowning. For sure, his heart began a slow healing as he read through Bible stories. The life and words of Jesus especially drew him in, bringing more composure. And he sensed growth in his spiritual journey.

Still, something he dreamed after going to bed one night in their small Randsburg home left him astonished.
In his dream he pictured small children whom he couldn’t recall ever seeing before. They were lively, happy at play.

After some moments into the dream a crisp, convicting message – like a theme – overtook his mind. Bringing no further children into the world was not Clyde’s decision to make. Not really. His choosing this path closed the door to receiving precious little ones assigned to their family’s care.

Receiving? Assigned?

In the days following, Clyde could not shrug off images of laughing, playing children nor the dream’s assertion as he experienced it. The matter became a conviction. He yielded.

In due course Thelma delivered their third child. All nine pounds of Timothy Arthur Lout were clearly present. Exclamations erupted at Red Mountain’s hospital.

Now there’s a Big boy! He’s half grown already!

Timothy was still a baby when the family moved once again. Back to the Bay. To Berkeley. My mother (Thelma) later reviewed the setting and its seasons. When you were born, Jerry, Berkeley was just a quiet little college town.

I came into the world one year, one month and one day after my brother, Tim. I skinned up the tip of my nose from regularly rooting face-down into the bed sheets. For this the hospital nurses labeled me ‘little bull’.
How our small-framed mother actually delivered us bruisers, Tim and me, is a marvel. I trumped my brother Tim’s birth weight, tipping the scales at a disquieting ten pounds. A vital, robust life seemed clearly ahead.

During this period a word was finding its way into conversations all around. The word polio.