Weather the Storm

“Good people might fall again and again, but they always get up." ~ Proverbs 24:16

Having bagged the highest peaks on six continents, Alison had but one to go - the BIG one.  She dreamed of climbing Mount Everest, the highest mountain on earth at 8,850M.  

She was well aware of the dangers of high-altitude mountaineering.  By the end of the 2011 climbing season, Everest had claimed 236 lives most due to selfish ambition, altitude sickness . . . and bad luck!  It still grips most of their corpses. 

She prepared for anything to go wrong - an oxygen tank malfunction, her tent blown away by wind, dropping a piece of equipment that couldn’t be retrieved.  Any of those could end her quest.

They’d already climbed into the ‘Death Zone’ where at over 8,750M, life can’t survive.  The body starts to decline; each step requires 5 to 10 deep breaths.  She’d come too far to turn back now.  Allison had already survived three heart surgeries and suffered from a neurological disease that left her at extreme risk for frostbite.

Weather conditions were abominable and deteriorating quickly.  Visibility had plunged; massive winds were blowing snow UP the mountain.  Allison was growing weary – already having lost more than 10% of her pre-climb body weight.  Lonely and afraid after two months on the mountain, she and her teammates were just a few hundred feet from the summit when they were forced to turn back.  They had no choice!  Their adventure would not end at the top of the world.

Everest kept another dark secret - most deaths occurred while descending the mountain.  Extreme temperatures caused Allison’s regulator to freeze on the way down so she travelled for three hours to the camp immediately below the summit sans oxygen; barely able to stand during the last 30 minutes to safety.  She was one of the fortunate ones – 5 others hadn’t been so lucky today.  Allison didn't make it to Everest’s peak, but she made it back alive! 

Later she’d tell friends that she’d conquer the brutal ‘Himalayan Beast’ someday because “it had stopped growing.”  She, on the other hand, would learn from her mistakes.

And she did . . . eight years later.  Crossing deep chasms on rickety ladders, navigating bus-sized ice blocks that moved on average 4 feet per day, Allison overcame the deep anxiety that had forced them to back years before.  After learning from the harsh realities of her first trek, she knew what it took to continue the climb in dangerous conditions.

Failure can be a blessing.  It can build confidence and boost creativity.  When uncertainties and mishaps arise, we need to be able to weather the storms if we’re going to enjoy the kind of view God prepared for us at the top of the world.

Lord, give me faith in myself.  Not only on the days when I am winning and nothing seems impossible, but on days when I wonder if I am brave enough, smart enough, strong enough.  Don't let me quit, not ever.  Amen

An Angry Heart

“Give your worries to the LORD and He will never let you down." ~ Psalm 55:22

Abby lived on a fishing boat. Unable to afford a home, her father raised her aboard a rickety vessel on which he’d made a paltry living since Abby’s mother died.

As she sliced open the belly of yet another salmon, she dreamed of a better life; one absent the stares from villagers and taunts from classmates. But this was her fate – flouting the restless sea, greedy seagulls, and the stench of fish guts and diesel fuel. She soaked in the quiet.

Her calm was broken suddenly by the telling signs of an impending storm. Recalling the ‘red’ sunrise earlier today, Abby watched a mountain of dark clouds approach from the south; their undersides black with rage.

She rushed below deck. "Dad! Dad, wake up!"

He lay motionless from an alcohol stupor that would normally keep him mentally vacant ‘til dawn’s first light. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. His head bounced off the headboard. He cursed, "What the hell’s going on?”

"Dad, we’ve got to leave the boat now. Storm’s coming – big one!"

He staggered to the deck, saw the clouds and fired the engines.

"Dad! Where’re we going?

"Can’t stay here,” he cautioned. “If we do, this old boat will be crushed to kindling. We’ll take our chances out to sea."

They headed into the storm. Fuming clouds churned; waves crashed over the bow. The dark day turned into a blacker night. He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat against the stinging salt mist. He wrapped himself in his own miserable reflections.

The boiling sea, he thought, was like a drunken sailor raging through a barroom looking for a fight. Could this be God’s wrath – final payment for a life lived poorly? He dropped to the deck and offered a simple prayer, “Father forgive me; help me do better.”

Soon the wind dimmed; the waves subsided; and the sky brightened. They sailed back into utter ruin. The wharf was gone. The boats that had been tied to it sat damaged on rocks that guarded the coastline like sharp, jagged teeth. Theirs was the only boat that survived the storm.

Abby hugged her father, "You're my hero, Dad!"

He shook his head. "I'm no hero, I'm a drunken bum! If not for you, our boat would be on the shore like the rest of them." He stared at the wreckage. "God protected us for a reason . . . to give me a second chance."

“I love you Dad,” her tears washing the salt from her cheeks.

He stopped drinking. As the only remaining fishing business in the village, they prospered and soon had a nice home and a new boat. He stayed sober.

Lord, we’re like ships on an angry sea - suffering, lonely, hungry, unemployed, emotionally bankrupt, medically challenged. Let no heart be troubled. Though our ships may be tossed by the terrors of this day, thank You for always being with us. Amen

Dirt Poor, Rich Spirit

“Give generously to the poor; the Lord will bless you beyond measure." ~ Deuteronomy 15:10

At 23, Brenda didn't have much to show for her good cheer. No car. No savings. No story-book vacation anytime soon. In spite of that, in spite of everything, her’s was a place in the universe as pure as freshly fallen snow.

As Christmas approached, Brenda-the-all-night-truck-stop waitress moseyed to work strangely content in the sunset’s dimming light. She loved her job; these were her kind of people. They were among society’s poorer folk, especially when compared to doctors, fire fighters and factory workers. Brenda didn't just wait on them at the Diner for minimum wage plus tips. She served up a wealth of good cheer . . . in ways that only a Creator could give someone poor in pocket, but rich in spirit.

Ninety minutes into her 12-hour shift, a family of four entered the Diner. She’d not seen them before. They must have been either lost or perhaps part of the growing class of ‘nouveau-poor.’ Brenda guessed the latter because they seemed uneasy; perhaps a bit ashamed, possibly shaken by one of life’s dreadful twists.

Jason, his wife Yvonne and their children took a seat at a booth in the corner. Jason had lost his $125,000-a-year job as an IT Manager. Yvonne had until recently, chosen to be a stay-at-home Mom. She’d been forced to take a job at Burger Barn to cover the cost of groceries. The emotional strain on the children was taking its toll. Though he and Yvonne discussed their problems in whispers, ‘eagle ears’ didn’t miss much.

Tonight was special – Matthias’ 7th birthday, and although money was tight, they were splurging at the local Diner to celebrate. By ordering two meals and sharing them, they’d have money left over for a tasty desert.

Brenda picked up on their situation immediately. Frugality was no mystery to her having grown up in a large, single parent household. There’d always been food on the table, mostly pastas and chicken. She’d learned that not only was it okay to be poor, it was even a "blessing." After all, didn’t the Bible say that it was harder for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle?

So she doubled their order. “This one’s on me,” she told the Diner’s owner.

When she placed four hearty meals on the table, she explained that there had been a mistake in the kitchen. “Tonight will have to be on us!” she said with contrition. “And by the way, I heard this is a special night. So chocolate cake with ice cream is on the house too. Sorry for the confusion, and happy birthday young man!”

Dear Lord, we lift up to you the poor and the discarded. We know that You are a God whose heart cries out for justice; that You are a God who longs to help those oppressed. We ask simply, Lord, that you give us Your heart.  Amen

Shoeless Joe

“Whatever you did for the poorest of my family, you did for Me." ~ Matthew 25:40

He came barefoot to church every Sunday.  Unaffected by the shameful glances, old Joe looked out of place in his tattered clothes – rags so worn that it was impossible to guess what era they originally belonged to.  Emma was drawn to him immediately . . . and determined to find out why.

After the service, Emma hurried out the doors and waited until she spotted his bare feet amidst a flood of Sunday’s-best shoes.  As Joe headed toward the alley, she ran to catch up.  “Excuse me sir.  I’ve something for you,” she exclaimed holding out a small envelope.

He turned, brows furrowed above warm green eyes.  “Have we met?” he asked.

“Not formally,” Emma explained, “but this is for you . . . so you can buy some new shoes for church.”

His lips curved into a smile. “You’re very kind, and tucked the envelope in his ragged trousers.   “Name’s Joe,” he said before continuing down the alley, head down, hands back in his pockets.

The following Sunday, Joe arrived at church early - same worn clothing and barefoot still.  Curiosity peaking, Emma followed him from a discreet distance down the alley.   Joe walked toward a series of rundown houses surrounding a small, dusty soccer field where children too, ran barefoot.

He slipped into an old building and switched on the only light in the cluttered room.  Emma watched from behind the privacy of a filthy glass pane as Joe picked up a mallet and started pounding on something.  Then he turned the object over, examined it in the dim light, and stroked his wrinkled chin approvingly. 

How odd, Emma thought, Shoe-less Joe was a shoe-maker.  Admiring his final product one last time, Joe turned off the shop light and retired to rest.

Each day that week, Emma went to the field and watched as Joe delivered shoes to different families.  He’d spend the day carefully making shoes and the evening passing them out.  

Finally she approached the old cobbler and said “I don’t understand. Why?”

He smiled gently as the children ran happily across the field. “I’m kinda like God’s money manager.  I try and act as a faithful steward of the many gifts He lets me borrow.”

A few weeks later, Emma saw one of the families from the now-familiar ghetto entering her church.  The mother was wearing brand new shoes; the father and their children wore the shoes Joe hand-crafted for them.  Emma smiled, savoring the cold floor beneath her bare feet. 

Friends, our possessions are to be used not merely for our own enjoyment but for the benefit of the world around us.  So go ahead, unclench your fist.  Open your hand.  Become the conduit of God’s love that expresses itself in serving others.

Lord Jesus, help us who have received so freely from You to give as freely in return, and so have the pleasure of giving as well as the happiness of receiving.  Amen

Bear Cares

“Do all the good you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can."  ~ John Wesley

I’m Bear, a dog specially trained to help people who don’t see well.  My training started when I was just a few weeks old.  Some very nice people began cuddling and petting me.  Puppies learn faster and bond better with humans when we’re treated kindly. 

We’d go for short walks.  I hated being on a leash, but my humans were gentle with me while I learned to behave myself.  God must have given puppy raisers more patience than most people.  It wouldn’t take long before I’d become so exhausted that I’d fall asleep in Mom’s arms.  It was my favorite place for a nap.

During the next year, she taught me all sorts of neat stuff.  I learned not to bark at cars and how to walk over grates.  But the hardest part for me was not chasing squirrels.  It still bugs me that they know I’m harmless.

As I grew older, we went to lots more places – like church.  I sat in the sanctuary with people who’d love to pet me, but I had to be a “good girl” - no chewing, playing, or barking.   Restaurants are the most challenging because despite all the great-smelling things on top of the table, I had to just sit on the floor and act disinterested.    

One day I went off to a special school.  Six months of intensive training to learn about curbs, stairs, and obstacles.  They taught me how to guide a person at night, in the rain, and on busy streets.

After I passed all of my tests, I got my own person.  He loved me immediately; I could tell.  He hugged me a lot.  We worked together for a month before Graduation Day.  The hard work paid off.  My life is wonderful - serving as my friend Dave’s eyes.  We go everywhere together.  I’m one lucky dog!

Today at the store, Dave and I walked up and down the greeting card aisle.  He can see a little, so he picked up a card, held it up very close to his face, and tried to read it.  Reading is one thing I haven’t mastered yet.

Just as Dave was about to give up, a big guy looked over at me and realized that my master could use a little help.  He then proceeded to read almost every single greeting card out loud until Dave smiled and said, “That’s perfect!  My wife will love that one!”

Do you suppose, just perhaps, that God made dogs to show us a little something about Himself?  Do you think maybe "man's best friend" is really pointing us to the One who is truly our very Best Friend?

“Loving God, there is nothing more selfless, loving or patient than a dog.  Its name (DOG) is a mirror-reflection of your own name (GOD).  Hear our humble prayer, O God.  Make us as faithful as our K9 companions.  Amen.

Breaking the Sound Barrier

“Love each other like family.  Be kind and understand each other." ~ 1 Peter 3:8

Not to be confused with pink or white, Ron was definitely a “blue collar” guy.  His dad was a Vietnam War Vet who lost the ultimate battle with alcoholism.  Ron was a fatherless boy who paid the ultimate price for a country that sends its middle class to war.

Ron fixed cars for everyone in the neighborhood.  He could listen to a car and tell you what’s wrong.  Nobody offered to pay him because they couldn’t afford him.  They all knew he was worth far more than the money in their pockets.

He worked every trade on his way through life.  He poured cement, remodeled old buildings, and laid concrete.  He had some carpentry skills, but eventually settled on pipefitting.  Like the name implied, pipe fitters installed and repaired almost anything that carries liquids or gasses.  They are often exposed to dangerous materials such as steam, flammable gases, and various resins.  He loved his job . . . that was until the accident.

The factory where Ron worked used a steam boiler to wash metal parts.  When the boiler’s pressure got too high, an alarm sounded and Ron would open a valve to release the excess steam into a cooling tank.  He’d done this many times without incident until that fateful day . . . when a terrible explosion . . . left him, among other injuries, legally deaf in both ears.

Devastation didn’t come close to describing Ron’s outlook.  He could no longer hear anything or participate normally in the world around him.  Ron began a heartbreaking journey from isolation into depression.  When he considered the thought of returning to work, his heart would skip a beat, one that could be detected by a seismograph.

“Am I ready?” he wondered.  “Will I ever be useful again?  How will I communicate with my buddies?  Will I be able to service that old boiler again without freaking out?  Will the company resent me for what happened?”

After almost six months off work, Ron got out of his car and limped cautiously toward the factory entrance.  He had a lump the size of a piano in his throat.  Maybe I’m not ready for this he worried, considering a hasty retreat. 

Sweating profusely and feeling a little lightheaded, he offered a little prayer before walking into the plant.  To his amazement, several of his colleagues ‘signed’ him phrases like “Great to see you Ron!” Welcome back, my friend!” and “We missed you!”

While Ron was absent from work, seven of his closest friends had gotten together and taken a sign language course. They wanted to be able to communicate with him when he returned.  And for a fleeting moment, all was right with the universe.

Father, open our ears that we may hear the cries of those lonely, those discouraged, those frightened and those otherwise troubled.  Open our hearts Lord, that we may love each other as You love us.  Amen

Never Judge a Song by its Title

“Don't judge others, and God won't judge you." ~ Luke 6:37

Julianne was ‘significantly’ pregnant.  In her mind’s eye she envisioned her baby sucking his thumb, blinking, and rotating inside her tummy, practicing the skills needed for his next gig as a newborn.

Leaving her sister’s apartment, she cursed herself for staying so late.   She’d had to park in a nearby lot because they lacked accessible parking.  Snow-freezing fog had developed into heavy snowfall.  Icicles had formed while she was enjoying spiced cider by a crackling fire.  Still it was a wistfully quiet site.

When she finally reached her car, Julianne noticed it was the only one left in the lot – most people had not ventured out tonight.  Now she wished she’d been one of them.  Nervously, she hopped into the car to let it warm up a bit.  Four faces appeared faintly in her rearview mirror. 

Julianne’s chest tightened; she could feel her knees trembling.  Pregnancy was really messing with her head.  That fight or flight instinct kicked in – time to get the heck outta here.  She hit the gas pedal - too hard.  The wheels spun freely; spinning them faster didn’t create enough friction to melt the snow.  Her car was immobile – as was she!

More panicked now, her eyes stared forward in disbelief.  Closer now, the faces were those of four hooded, teenage boys.  Smiling!  Dressed like gang members.  Her heart almost stopped beating.  Hairs were prickling the nape of her neck.  Terror swelled inside her; she knew she was in serious trouble!

So stupid of her; parked in an isolated area late at night with no means of escape.  She fumbled for her cell phone, although her hands were shaking too hard to dial numbers anyway. They were coming to rob her . . . or worse!

One of them tapped on the window.  No way would she roll it down.  Her Guardian Angel whispered in her ear "It’ll be okay," but Julianne wasn’t believing it.  Bone chilled, breathless, wild with fear – she’d never felt this way before, and never would it happen again!  If she survived.

"Excuse me, Ma'am,” the boy yelled over the hum of the engine.  “Can we help you?  You seem stuck."

Still afraid and fearing the worst, Julianne said "I am stuck, and I’m not opening the door."

"It's okay, stay in your car and we'll push you out of the snow."  And so they did!

When they finally pushed her free, they smiled and waved.  She rolled down her window and thanked them.  She mentally swatted herself for being so paranoid, embarrassed to have judged them so poorly and knowing that when we judge others, we leave little room to love them.

 Jesus, help me to see, listen and experience with acceptance today; to hear what people are saying, and what the true intentions are, without judgment or fear.  Help me use the same gift for myself; to accept me as You do.  Amen

You Don't Need Feet To Dance

"Be strong and do not give up, for your work will be rewarded."  ~ 2 Chronicles 15:7

This is a true story of a young girl with a dream.

So serious was Sudha’s passion for dance that her father tried to enroll her in India’s most-famous dance conservatory when she was only 5 years old.  The school had never admitted anyone so young.  “Just one audition?” he appealed persistently.

Sudha performed so beautifully that they admitted her to the prestigious dance academy.  She was a quick study, so enthusiastic and determined.  At age 8, she danced her first public recital.  By 17, she had presented over 75 stage performances to thunderous approval.

One night, while travelling by bus to a temple with her parents, a serious accident took the life of their driver.  Sudha’s legs became trapped, amidst the twisted metal.  Rescuers were eventually able to free her badly injured lower limbs.  So severe was the damage however, her right leg had to be amputated in order to save her life.

Though the incident brought her rising career to an abrupt halt, she never gave up.  She refused the use of a wheelchair and immediately began walking on an ill-fitting wooden leg.

In the painful months that followed, she met a doctor who had developed an artificial limb made from vulcanized rubber.  Hope filled her heart!  Dreams of dancing again would block out the physical anguish she faced.

Her leg would often bleed from the friction of her skin against the artificial limb.  As her movements intensified, so did the pain.

Sudha believed in herself and her God.  Each day brought her closer to her goal – learning first to balance, bend and stretch; eventually to turn, twirl and leap.  Never once did her face reveal the agony of her tortuous ordeal.

Less than 3 years later, Sudha was back on stage in Bombay.  She felt the added pressure of restoring her once-famous reputation.  With a mix of self-confidence and apprehension – she took the stage to a deafening ovation.

She performed in such a marvelous manner that it moved the crowd to tears.  She was back on top!  Soon she had more work than she could handle.  In time her role as a gifted dancer would decline but demand for her as an actress soared.  They loved her courage and determination.  Before retiring, she would act in almost 30 feature films and 20 TV serials.

Her recipe for success:  “Patience, perseverance, and a burning desire that constantly needs to be fueled.”

Have you fallen recently?  Did you get up and brush the dust off your knees and move on?  Do you view setbacks as only temporary?  Then relax – you’ve not been defeated!  For that matter, you won’t be defeated.

“Loving God, life is filled with dreams and setbacks.  Help us remember that success comes to those who turn adversities into opportunities, and bounce back from momentary defeat with renewed vigor and faith.  Amen.”

Gifts That Keep Giving

“More blessings come from giving than from receiving.” ~ Act 20:35

Jackson knocked heavily on the door that he once called home - the Baldwin Center.  Meals are served there, jobs posted, babies cuddled and the unemployed are given job-seeking skills.  It’s a place where the homeless receive shelter and the neglected find a listening ear.  He carried a small Honey Baked Ham.

A rusty lock creaked just before a familiar face greeted him from inside.  His nametag read Scottie.  “It’s been too long my friend!” said the weary security guard staring back at him.  “I’ve missed you Jackson.” 

“I brought a little gift for your family,” Jackson said holding out the freshly cooked pork.  “I remembered that your children love ham.”

“Thank you!” Scottie blushed humbly.  “But I couldn’t possibly accept this, not with so many, so hungry.”

“Brother, you’re a good man,” Jackson offered kindly, “Do as you wish, but the gift was repayment for your encouragement when I was down on my luck.  God blessed me – now He’s blessing you.”  Jackson hugged his old friend before turning to leave.

Scottie gazed longingly at the mouthwatering delicacy.  This would make several meals for his family of eight.  He decided however, to give the package to Jaclyn, the Center’s cook.  She took care of an elderly mother and handicapped nephew.  Maybe this would bring some joy to their lives.  And so he did.

But the treasure didn’t remain with Jaclyn very long.  Ms. Bert nourishes so many of the Center’s bodies and souls, she deserved this more.  So she left an unsigned note and the ham in Ms. Bert’s office.

Ms. Bert rarely cried, but buckets of tears warmed her cheeks today.  She loved ham – especially the Honey Baked brand.  It was a rare treat on her paltry salary.  But she had a better idea. 

Kendyll was their newest employee.  With a mountain of student loans and a broken-down car needing frequent repairs, she worried that food came last on her priority list.  So Ms. Bert summoned Kendyll to her office for a little chat.

Kendyll was at a loss for words at her boss’s generosity.  Such a thoughtful gesture made her feel like she was part of the team.  That was worth a thousand pounds of pork!  She immediately went looking for Scottie, remembering her first day, and how he made her feel so welcome.

“I was given this,” she said, “but I’d be even happier if it went to your family!  Your smile’s the first one that others see when they come here.  You make strangers feel like family, and family’s what our guests need most!”

Scottie understood now.  Jackson’s gift was destined for him.  The circle had closed - the circle of happiness that engulfs generous people.

Lord, we know on this feast of Thanksgiving, that this life is not all there is; that the best is yet to come if we live for You.  So, help us each day to live our lives in ways that honor and please You.  Amen

Dr. Wise

“Don’t be afraid, the Lord formed you in the womb, and He will help you" ~ Isaiah 44:2

Sandra’s son Carter had been born out of wedlock and was little more than a year old.  Her parents had handled the shame of having an unmarried teenage daughter gracefully.   She wouldn’t hurt them like that again.

Besides, she couldn’t care for another child herself – she had no education, no job, and no self confidence.  Sandra knew it would be better for everyone if she didn’t have this child.  The only option left was Dr. Wise.

She approached his clinic not knowing what to expect.  Seth had promised he’d come with her, but at the last minute he had to work.  He’d given her some money for the appointment, but what she really wanted was for him to be here . . . for support.

After a few deep breaths, she entered the office and stepped into the waiting room with no less than a dozen other girls.  She signed in and took the only empty seat.  The embarrassment and guilt of having an abortion was crushing; tears moistened her cheeks.

The nurse looked up from her clipboard at the sole remaining occupant of the waiting room.  “You must be Sandra,” she said warmly.   Sandra nodded.  “Dr. Wise will see you now.  Right this way, the nurse motioned Sandra into a comfortable office.

Moments later, the door opened and a kindly-faced chubby man entered, wearing a white coat bearing the nametag ‘Dr. Wise’.  He shook Sandra’s hand, then retreated behind his desk.  “How can I help today, Sandra?”

Sandra looked down at her slightly swollen belly.  “Well, ah . . . I think maybe I need an abor . . . 

“Abortion?” Dr. Wise interjected.

“Yeah,” she affirmed with a slight nod.

“Well, that’s certainly an option, always is.  First, I’ll have to ask you a few questions,” he smiled; a kindly, cherubic smile.  Sensing her lack of conviction, he hesitated before responding.  “I think I have a better solution, one that’s far less dangerous for you.”  She relaxed, expecting he’d agreed to her request.  

He continued: “So that you won’t have to care for 2 babies at once, let's kill your toddler instead.  Then you could rest before the second one is born.” 

Sandra was horrified . . . but then the crushing wisdom of his counsel set in.  Before the shame left her face, Dr. Wise continued.  “Dear, there are better options, and many willing to help you.”  He’d made his point.  He’d blessed several lives just now.

For any girls out there in this situation, know that there’s always hope and God has a plan for us all, even those unborn.  Find someone you trust, and pray with them.  Our loving God will never abandon you; His grace will encourage you.

Lord Jesus, bless the incredibly noble women who bear another’s child. Give them an abundance of happiness and love and family.  Let them feel Your grace each Mother’s Day with inexpressible gratitude.  Amen

Bring 'Em Home

“Don’t fear your enemies, the Lord will always be with you and help you.” ~ Deuteronomy 31:8

Billy knew all about prayer.  The first thing each morning he’d kneel by his bedside to ask the Lord’s blessing.  Especially today - his Dad was coming home from Afghanistan. 

He and Mom went to the airport and waited.  But his Dad didn’t come home this day.  So they returned home.  Billy kissed his Mom goodnight and went straight to his room and knelt by his bed.

“Hi God, it’s Billy.  Daddy must have missed his flight today.  So we waited for the next one and the ones after that.  Please send Daddy home so Mommy will stop crying.  Thank you!”

The next day, Billy listened to his Mom on the phone ask repeatedly why his Dad hadn’t come home with the rest of the soldiers.  She must have a lot of tears stored up, he thought.  Skipping dinner, Billy knelt again by his bed.

“It’s me again God. I’m worried about Mommy.  When she’s not crying, she just stares out the window.  She’s really worried about Dad.  Will you please send him home now?  I’d sure ‘preciate it.”

It’d been over a month and Billy’s Dad still wasn’t home.  One day a man in a uniform came to the door and Mom stepped outside.  He seemed like a nice man, but all of a sudden Mom started screaming.  Billy was confused – was his Dad finally coming home?  He ran upstairs and knelt by his bed and prayed.

“I need you bad God!  Some man in a uniform just showed up and made Mom scream.  He ‘pologized before he left.  I don’t understand why she’s so upset?  The man said Daddy would be home tomorrow with a pine box.  He must have lost his suitcase I guess.  Thanks for sending him home.”

As the new day dawned, Billy’s Mom stood silently by her child’s bedroom door.  She listened to as her brave, little five year old boy prayed through sobs.

“It’s . . . m’m’me again J’J’Jesus.  I un’ stand about the wood box now.  I guess I forgot to ask You to send Daddy back to us alive; I thought You knew what I meant.  But you did do what I asked, so thank you for trying. The next time I ask for somethin’, make sure I ask the right way.  Please tell Dad I’m sorry I got him dead.  I didn’t mean to.”

Billy opened his tear-swollen eyes to see his Mom standing in the doorway.  “Oh Billy, it’s not your fault,” she said through tears holding her arms out to him.  ”If it hadn’t been for your prayers, your Daddy may never have come home at all.”

God of all goodness, Bless those men and women who serve and have served in their country’s armed forces.  In faith and hope, we trust You to sustain us as we await the safe return of those separated from the ones who love them.  Amen

Sharpen Your Life

“If your axe is blunt and you don’t sharpen it, you have to work harder to use it.  It’s smarter to plan ahead.” ~ Ecclesiastes 10: 10

Pierre, a Canadian of French descent, made his living cutting down trees.  On a normal day, he could buck 50 or more.  At 20-something his pysique resembled chiseled granite.  A muscular, bushy haired, heavily tattooed Canook with a thick sun burnt neck, Pierre cut his tress close to the ground so that sleds might glide right over the stumps.   

Every morning before sunrise, Pierre hiked into the woods to plan his day’s work.  Once daylight cast its guiding light, Pierre would work continuously until sunset, almost never stopping for rest.

Over time, his productivity began to fall off.  Slowly but steadily, he felled fewer and fewer trees.  So he decided to increase his labor hours and started cutting before the sun rose and left well after dark.  Initially, with the added work hours, his results increased slightly, but eventually continued to decline.  The extra time proved senseless.  Pierre doubted his own strength and suspected that old age had arrived sooner than expected.

On occasion, he noticed another lumberjack working the same woods.  He watched from a distance the leaner man take frequent breaks, apparently to rest.  Mysteriously, this guy was more productive – 10 to 15 more wood trophies per day.  Interesting! 

Pierre approached the lumberman to learn his secret, greeting him with a hearty salutation.  The man immediately stopped working, and with a half-suppressed grin invited Pierre to sit along the trunk of the pine log he had just trimmed.  He peeled off some inner bark, rolled it into a ball and chewed it while he spoke.

“The secret is simple my friend,” the scrawnier woodcutter began.  “We work the same hours, use an identical axe, and deliver blows of nearly equal muscle.  But every hour, I take a short break to relax for a while.

Pierre interrupted.  “I don’t need time for rest – I am much younger, stronger and have greater endurance than you do old man!”

“True enough,” the more experienced lumberman replied, not fazed by the insult.  “During this rest period – I carefully hone my axe.  A razor-sharp tool enables me to cut deeper with less effort.  The occasional respite supplies strength and energy.  Sharpen your life, man!”

Isn’t this true in our daily lives also?  We’re so busy with work; we don’t find time to rest or sharpen our minds.  Prayer, meditation, reading good books, hobbies and healthy interaction with people help hone our character and spirituality.  ‘Workaholics’ like alcoholics become addicted to ‘effort’ and find no time to sharpen their brainpower.  Eventually, their lives turn dull and less prolific.  Wasted energy!

Lord Jesus, I want to see every challenge as an opportunity to showcase Your power and grace.  I want to slow down and invite You into this moment.  Today I’m going to pray rather than panic, using that time with You to sharpen my life.  Amen

 

Smoke Filled

“Welcome strangers into your home, they may be angels in disguise." ~ Hebrews 13:2

Before his accident, my son Arthur had been a great prosecutor, renowned for his many victories.  He’d gotten a little cocky on a crotch-rocket, rounded a corner way too fast, and paid a horrific price. 

Thankfully he survived . . . but something inside him died.  Life’s zest evaporated.  Offers of help were sarcastically rejected.  He sits for hours in his wheelchair, a cup of coffee staring back black as sin and bitter as he feels.  I’d hoped the fresh air and rustic ambiance of my small farm would help him adjust.  But self-pity makes his skin crawl with disgust. 

We often argue.  Even our pastor tried to help, hoping a more direct line to the Almighty would soothe Arthur’s troubled mind.  God’s been silent so far. 

Just when I’d given up hope, I read an article suggesting pets can sometimes ease the loneliness of depression.   Dogs seem perfect – they love even genocidal maniacs.

The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I entered the local animal shelter.   My search for the right companion seemed futile until an old dog struggled to his feet near the last pen.  Years had etched his face in shades of gray: cloudy eyes invoked resolute humility. 

"I'll take him," I said without hesitation. 

At home, Arthur wrinkled his face in disgust.  "If I’d wanted a dog, I’d have picked out a better one than that bag of bones.  Take it back!” he waved scornfully 

Anger burned inside me. "You'd better get used to him, son.  He's staying . . . or you’re leaving!" 

We glared at each other like hated enemies, when suddenly the dog wobbled toward Arthur and carefully raised his frail paw.   

That marked the beginning of an intimate friendship.  He and “Smoke” explored the countryside, taking long hikes down dusty roads.  They spent reflective moments on the banks of the old trout pond and even started attending Sunday services together.  As his bitterness faded, Arthur and Smoke made many new friends. 

Late one night, Smoke’s cold nose burrowed into my bed covers.  He’d never done that before.  I ran to Arthur’s bedside, where he lay motionless.  His spirit had left quietly during the darkness. 

My grief deepened two days after the funeral when I discovered Smoke lying peacefully beside Arthur’s vacant bed.  Wrapping Smoke’s lifeless form in his favorite rug, I buried him near the trout pond before silently thanking him for restoring Arthur’s peace of mind. 

Suddenly the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I’d not seen before: that random article, Smoke’s appearance at the animal shelter . . . his complete devotion to Arthur . . . and the proximity of their deaths.  God had answered my prayers after all.

Almighty Father, thank you for our pets.  They teach us to love unselfishly, to live each day to the fullest, and to grow old with dignity.  Teach us to return what they’ve given us to others in need of inspiration.  Amen