A Father's Hero

 “Put on all the armor that God gives, so when the battle is over, you’ll still be standing strong.” -- Ephesians 6:13

Gary loved an early sunrise through the southern pines as a ray of morning light emerged from murky grey to brilliant crimson.  But he loved most the quiet time for reflection.  It was the best time to write to his son Sgt. Nathan Strong, USMC, stationed somewhere in Iraq.  His pen silent now, he reread the heartfelt prose:

Dearest son, my hero:

It’s Memorial Day.  I never really understood what Memorial Day meant until this weekend.  Now I wish I was still naïve enough to celebrate as though it were a “holiday weekend.”   Today I agonize with so many other families, knowing someone they love is in harm’s way to protect our freedom.

I never imagined that missing you could hurt so much.  Everything reminds me of you – pictures, places, and even certain music.  If you were here today, we could play catch, or go fishing, or relax with a few 'cold ones' watching the Indy 500.  When I see your mother’s pain, I would gladly change places with you so that she could hug you instead.

I vividly remember a “little man,” wearing my shoes and gloves (five times the size of your own) trying to be just like me.  As you got older, we grew apart.  I couldn’t seem to remember what it was like being a teenager.   You became your own man.  I felt so proud the day you became a Marine – Semper Fi (always faithful)!

It’s ironic how the farther away you are the closer that we seem to be growing.  I long for the day you return home so that we can start again.

Until then, know that I love you and pray for your safe return every day!  Thank you for courage, your service and your faithfulness.  Your sacrifice for our nation is inspiring and will not be forgotten this day or ever – I promise.   I miss you, my Hero.

Love Dad

Soon Gary would discover, however, that the homecoming he had so desperately yearned for would be nothing like the one that he had dreamed of.  Three Casualty Notification Officers would inform him that their nineteen-year-old son had been killed in Ramadi.  His homecoming would be under the shroud of an American flag-draped coffin.  After telling his wife that their only son had died in the heat and dust of a distant battlefield, he fell to his knees in grief-stricken prayer:

Prince of Peace, on this Memorial Day, we pray that: Our homeland will be free from violence and terror;  All cultures will seek harmony  and justice;  Violence will be defeated by love; Weapons of destruction will be transformed into tools of justice; and hate will give way to charity.  May we bravely face the challenges ahead, grateful for and inspired by those veterans who have given their lives for our country.  We pray to You Lord, Amen.

Soldier Mommy

   Be brave and fight hard to protect our people and the towns of our Lord God.”    -- 1 Chronicles 19:13

Stephanie Braxton, a pilot deployed in Afghanistan, sits in the cockpit of her Apache helicopter. This is her third combat tour.  There’s almost nothing she’d rather be doing.  “It’s better than driving a race car," she claims.  That’s Steph – pure optimism! 

But war is hell, especially for a Soldier Mom.  Family is a concern she’s had to reconcile.  She misses tucking in her 4 year old son Joey at bedtime and spending quality time with her husband Jack.

Her job is demanding and dangerous.  Helicopters drop like rocks when hit by mortar fire.  No soft glide path.

The desert air is hot – like a dog’s breath fuming over bared teeth.  Nighttime is the most difficult.  Darkness allows terror to sneak up on you unannounced, and unwanted.  It also brings shelter to cry anonymously.

Sand has become the enemy that cannot be fought by rifles.  It works its way into socks and undergarments.  The small grains eat into the flesh with each booted step causing unbearable blisters.

She’s not supposed to remember where she has been for security reasons.  She even tries to forget about home sometimes in case she would be captured and interrogated.  Braxton worries that war is teaching her to hate - that as soldier, she will always be at war with someone or something. 

They don’t speak of fallen comrades heading home under flag-draped caskets.  Maybe they’re the lucky ones!  They’ll have no memories of the bunkmate who lost a leg, the wailing mother holding her bloodied infant, or the old man who vanished into dust after a powerful explosion.  Nor will they be returning to their childhood bedrooms at their parents' house after the war.

Sundays make it all worthwhile!  She’ll call home from inside a long green tent.  When she hears the sound of little Joey in the background, she’ll wipe away a tear before he gets on the line and asks ever-so-sweetly, “Mommy, when you coming home?"

She’ll remind him again that she’s there already!  “Honey, look around,” she consoles.  “I'm the sunshine on your shoulders.  I’m your imaginary friend, and you are in my prayers tonight.”  Wouldn’t it be nice, she considers, if the only ‘arms’ necessary . . . were for hugs?

Jack’s back on the phone now.  “I really miss you darling.  Don't worry, we’re alright,” he says.  “I know that I'll be in your dreams tonight.  I'm the beat in your heart; the whisper in the wind.  I'm with you every step!”

She hangs up – it goes by so fast.  Her faith brings her peace, and with peace there is hope.

Heavenly Co-Pilot – Bless the men and women of our armed services – those actively serving and those who have served to protect the freedoms we enjoy every day.  Keep them and their families safe Lord, and be the conduit that allows them to know that we love them and pray for them daily.  Amen

Better to be Good, Generous or Wise?

"Take care of God's needy people.” -- Romans 12:13

Terence was parked in front of the shopping mall wiping down his new BMW.  He had just come from the car wash and was waiting for his wife.  He was so proud of his new purchase – a reward to himself for his successes.   Coming toward him was one hapless soul – what most would consider an old bum.   His scraggly grey beard matched the color of cigar ash; his sad, leathered face revealed a life hard as cold steel.

From the looks of him, he had no car, no clean clothes, and no money.  Today, Terence just didn’t want to be bothered or shamed into a handout.  This is America, land of opportunity.  “Get a job!” he thought.

The old man sat silently on the curb in front of the bus stop.  He couldn’t possibly have enough money to ride the bus.  A few minutes passed before he spoke.  "Name’s Joe,” he offered with an accent as thick as old sod, “That's a sweet ride!”  He was ragged but he spoke with an air of dignity.  

Terence continued wiping down his car.  The expected appeal for money never came.  As the silence between the two widened, something inside Terrence stirred.  "Do you need any help?" he asked.

Old Joe answered in three simple but profound words that Terence would never forget.  "Don't we all?" he said matter-of-factly.

Terence, feeling powerful, successful and certainly superior to this street drifter, felt his knees weaken and his chest tighten.  Don't we all?

Of course we do - maybe not for material possessions, but . . . 

Terence reached in his wallet and gave Joe not only bus fare, but enough to get a warm meal and shelter for the day.  Those three little words ‘rocked’ him.  No matter how much we own, accomplish, or experience – we all need help!  

By contrast, no matter how little we have, no matter how countless our struggles, and even lacking education or status, we all can help.  There’s no charge for a genuine compliment or a warm smile!  Or maybe a different perspective on life, a glimpse at something beautiful, a respite from daily chaos – those are special gifts too.

Joe might have been just a homeless stranger wandering the streets.  Perhaps he was more than that.  Maybe God smiled down, dressed an Angel like a beggar, and then said, "Go minister to that man cleaning his car.  He’s a little too self-absorbed, he needs help too!”

Don't we all?

Is it better to be good, generous or wise?  If you are wise, you don’t have to be obsessed by being "good" or "generous."  You already know what to do.

“Almighty Adonai, I’m always pretending to be either richer, smarter or nicer than I really am.  Don’t let me waste time weaving imaginary situations in which the most heroic, charming, witty person present is me.  Show me how to be humble of heart, like you.  Amen.”

'Grace' Full Race

“If any of you are suffering, you should pray . . . and keep praying.  And those who have reason to be thankful should continually sing praises to the Lord."  --James 5:13

The big Pinewood Derby race was coming up soon.

Trevor had no carpentry skills which made the task of building a small race car that much tougher.   Within days his block of wood was transformed into a race car – a little lopsided, but certainly unique.  When finished, he was feeling pretty proud - the pride that comes from knowing you did something on your own.

When the big night came, his confidence quickly turned to humility.  His “Pig Mobile” was the only car made entirely on his own.  All the other cars were parent-child partnerships with cool paint jobs and sleek body styles made for speed.

Some of the kids giggled at Trevor’s’ square, unattractive design.  

And so the single elimination event began.  One by one the cars raced down the ramp. To everyone’s surprise – Trevor kept winning!

At last it came down to Trevor and the fastest looking car there.  Just before the final race, he asked if they could stop for a minute.  He wanted to pray first.

Trevor dropped to his knees clutching his funny looking block of wood near his heart.  With reverence, he prayed for more than a minute.  Then he stood boldly and announced, “Let’s do it!”

Trevor watched his block of wood wobble down the ramp with surprising speed as it rushed over the finish line in triumphant fashion.  He leaped into the air with a loud "Thank you" as the crowd roared in approval.

After the race, Trevor faced the obvious question, "Did you pray to win?

"Oh, no,” he said modestly. “That wouldn't be fair to ask God to help me beat someone else. I just asked Him to make it so I don't cry if I lose."

Thank God for the wisdom of children!  Trevor didn't ask God to fix the outcome, he asked for strength regardless of the end result.  When he saw the other cars, he didn't complain to God, "No fair, they had their father’s help."  He asked his heavenly Father for courage.  He never doubted that God would answer his prayer.  He didn't pray to win, thus hurt someone else; he prayed that God would supply the grace to lose with dignity.

My Lord - Sometimes we spend too much time asking You to rig the race, to make us winners, or to remove obstacles in our lives.  Please help me!  Teach me to trust You.   Give me the strength and humility to get through any struggle.

Wasting a Weigh

“So use your body to honor God.”   -- 1 Corinthians 6:20

Chloe cringed in disgust as she stared into the vomit-filled toilet.  She felt a strange sort of rush – the satisfaction of purging impurities from her body.  Then she turned off the faucet used to muffle her retching, flushed the toilet, and prayed for a miracle – instant thinness.

Seventeen year-old Chloe struggled with low self-esteem since she was a child.  At age five, she began to measure her self-worth by the size of her jeans.  Eating became an act of shame.   

At thirteen, Chloe discovered an online social network called “Mia loves Me” – ‘Mia’ being a nickname for bulimia. Every day she would chat with girls around the world who also hated their bodies.  Her new-found ‘Mia’ friends provided support - sacrificing food became a noble act of willpower.  

The thought of food made her sick even though her stomach needed it so badly!  Her mind convinced her body that food was evil, the devil incarnate.

After a yearlong relationship with bulimia, friends and family began to praise her for her weight loss.  Her jeans were looser.  Her shirts were baggier.  

Her social life soared - she was popular, loved, and admired.  Nobody knew her gums were aching from the daily stomach acid that burned her tooth enamel.  Nobody knew she had dangerously high blood pressure. She only realized how bad her lifestyle was getting when she collapsed in gym class after a routine fitness test.

Alone in the locker room, she studied the reflection of her half-naked body in the mirror.  Her bloodshot eyes glossed with tears  . . .  she hated the anguish, the isolation, this disorder. 

Therapy would help her realize the extent of her self-destructive behavior.   Treatment was dreadful - it was torture being forced to eat in front of nurses and peers.  After gaining enough weight, she went back home.  For the first time in years, she ate dinner with her family.  When dessert arrived, she excused herself to check for email from her Mia sisters.  One email stated:

“Where have you been - I hope you’re OK.  It’s tough, but you can beat this ‘fat’ battle! Beauty comes with a price - we must sacrifice to reach our goals.  You’ve come a long way.   You’re so thin, so beautiful.  Never give up!”

Chloe ran to the basement bathroom.  She stood in front of the toilet and with tears dripping faster than the water running from the faucet, she pulled her hair back.  Eyes closed, her tongue extended.  Her index finger stopped short of her mouth . . . and Chloe vowed never to purge again.  The war within her would persist – but she won the first battle decisively!

 “Loving God, please help me to choose healthy foods in moderation. When I’m feeling lonely, helpless, or out of control, help me to choose ways other than food to deal with my problems.  Guide me to love my body and myself, as You love me.  Amen.”

Mother's Day Rose

"Make your parents proud, especially she who gave you birth.” -- Proverbs 23:25

On his way to the florists to wire flowers to his mom, John reminisced.  Memories of his loving mother wafted back to him like the aroma of freshly baked bread.

He remembered mom walking her three “cubs” to elementary school into a blizzard wind so strong, she clutched their small hands for fear they’d blow away.  Then she walked back home in the icy cold.  Sometimes he waited for Dad to go to bed so he could talk with her privately – like when she consoled him after breaking up with his high school sweetheart.  She even sent him self-addressed envelopes in college so that he’d write back to her about his latest achievements.

As a boy, John was a handful.  She forgave him when he broke three windows in the same day on different sides of the house.   And when he carelessly spilled India ink on the beige carpet – he thought he might have to leave home permanently.  She was quick to forgive, even when as “pirates,” they couldn’t remember where they hid her jewelry.

She kept every single handmade gift – the tin can lid Christmas bells, multicolored ceramic angels, and popsicle picture frames – she cherished every single one.

Five years ago, Mom began to change – gradually at first.  She got confused easily.  Over the next two years she deteriorated rapidly. 

Alzheimer’s grips her now.  She can no longer speak and doesn’t recognize family members.  But she seems content in her own little world. 

John agonizes over mood swings that range from emotional highs of love and respect to the depths of resentment and frustration.  Mostly there is just heartbreak at witnessing this once brilliant woman lose herself within her own failing body.

Her hollow eyes reveal an empty palette.  Months ago he decided to let her go; to remember how she used to be.  His wife pleads with him to visit her before it’s too late.  But in John’s mind – it’s already too late.  He’ll send Mom a beautiful bouquet instead to celebrate their 57^th Mother’s Day.

The sight of the florist snaps him back to real time.  As he got out of his car he noticed a young girl sitting on the curb crying.  He stops briefly and asks what’s wrong.  "I wanted to buy a red rose for my mother,” she sobbed, “But I’m a whole dollar short.”

John smiled. "Come in with me,” he motioned.  “I'll buy you a rose."  And so he did . . . and ordered a lovely floral arrangement be shipped to his dear Mother also.

He offered the girl a ride home.  She accepted but directed him to a cemetery, where she placed the solitary rose on a freshly dug grave.

John returned to the flower shop, canceled the wire order, picked up a bouquet and drove the two hundred miles to his mother's nursing home to deliver it in person.

Alzheimer's can't destroy the bonds between people.  Whether she remembered him or not, it will never change the love they once shared. 

Alzheimer's can't destroy faith either.   If we view the disease as people rotting away, then we too will suffer futility and despair.  But, picturing our loved ones pain-free, in the gentle arms of Jesus, provides us hope despite the agony of the journey getting there.  

“Gracious Father, thank you for Moms and Dads.  They prove  that love cannot be destroyed by suffering - and that the only way to truly be happy  . . . is to make others so.  Amen.”

“Tall” Tales of the Serengeti

"Be strong and never, ever give up, for your work will be rewarded." -- 2 Chronicles 15:7

Damascus took his first breath and gazed curiously at his weird new world – fresh dry air, vibrant scenery, independence!   Birthing a giraffe is a very ‘tall’ order; Mama giraffe gives birth while standing.  So after a gestation period of more than one year, he plummeted 8 feet from his mother's womb and tumbled to the ground. 

Too weak to stand, he tucked his long legs under his body and shook off the last remnants of the birthing fluid from his eyes and ears.  His new life was amazing so far – now if he could just taste some fresh milk.  Acacia leaves would have to wait until he’s a bit older, and taller.

Mama proudly approached him and lowered her neck to lovingly nuzzle her new calf.  Then she did something unthinkable.  She swung her long, pendulous leg outward and kicked him, sending Damascus sprawling head over heels.   Must have been an accident he thought, she had to be delirious from the delivery.  Maybe it’s best to lie low for a while, he was exhausted anyway.

When he doesn't get up, she boots him again.  The sadistic process continued over and over – he struggled to rise, she knocked him back down.  Finally, Damascus stood triumphantly on wobbly legs and smiled broadly. 

You guessed it - she jerked him off his feet again . . . and again . . . and still again, until he stood erect with well-earned confidence.   Mama was delighted!  She snuggled and licked her beautiful infant calf.  Within the hour, he’d frolic through the grassy meadow with the grace of a gazelle.

Later he will learn that it was out of love not cruelty, that she taught him to get up quickly and run with the pack.  Lions, hyenas, leopards, and wild dogs all hunt for tender giraffe meat.  If Mama had not taught Damascus to rise quickly – wild carnivores would surely have gotten their ‘fill’ of the vulnerable newborn.  Only 1 in 4 giraffes survive to adulthood – Damascus had a fighting chance now!

Things are not always as they seem.  We wonder why God places seemingly unbearable challenges in front of us.  But not only is His plan perfect, He’s with us every step of the way. 

Job knew it!  So did Helen Keller, and Nelson Mandela.  Every time they were knocked down they stood back up. They would not be defeated.  And at the end of their lives they’d accomplished something memorable . . .  but maybe not so unbelievable.  Faith helps ordinary people accomplish extraordinary things.  Rest if you must . . . but don’t ever stop trying – success is just failure turned inside out!

 “Loving God, the road to success is never easy.  There are many obstacles – we all fall sooner or later.  Help me to taste failure with confidence knowing that you are with me every time I fall.  Amen.”