Angel of Mercy

“Always do good to all!” ~ Luke 10:29-37

Thato wasn’t prepared for what she saw when she entered the acute care hospital.  This was the end of the voyage for men with AIDS; where diseased bodies were fed, bathed and held . . . until death brought them peace.

"Please help me," the pained voice of a teenager called out.  "Would you kindly put some lotion on my legs?  They hurt so badly."  Thato grabbed the cream from his dresser and gently rubbed some on his bony legs.  "God bless you," Monana whispered. 

Next, a loud crash echoed from the kitchen.  A disheveled man was throwing dishes on the floor!  He needed something – apparently that was his way of making sure someone responded.   Thato wondered what she might do in the same situation.  Being part of a loving family makes it all too easy to forget those who aren’t.

She gazed at the bedridden children, all certain to be dead within the next few months.  Thato felt powerless to do anything but rely on God’s mercy.  Otherwise, she wouldn’t have the courage to return tomorrow; the suffering was far too great here.   

She watched Sister care for an older man – washing him, feeding him, administering his medicine.  He resented her care; even spat in her face.  He didn’t believe in God or life everlasting.  He just wanted to die alone.

When Thato arrived the next morning, she saw that Monana’s bedside was illuminated by candlelight.  Homeless at 17, he’d died overnight of AIDS.  She glanced at the legs she’d rubbed cream on just yesterday.  Pain-free now, Monana returned home to God, no longer suffering the twin horrors of disease or abandonment.

She overheard siblings of a man who died last week asking if he’d left any money.  Unimaginable, except when one considers that the poorest of the poor only think about surviving until their next meal.  Their brother would gladly have given them any money left over.

Before leaving for the day, Thato again watched Sister trying to dignify the bitter old man in his final days.  Despite her compassionate gestures, he remained angry, demoralized, radically ungrateful.  

Nearby, two other nuns prayed for him.  He wasn't expected to make it through the night.  Unfazed by his rudeness, Sister dressed him in fresh clothes and spooned broth to his lips.  He tried weakly to swat her hand away, refusing her kindness.  Until . . .

frightened, knowing these were his final breaths, he leaned into her arms and begged: “Please tell me . . . that your God is like you?” 

His humble gratitude sent a thrill through Thato’s veins.  If heaven can be felt on earth, it’s here, where the unwanted experience the grace of dying in the arms of angels.

Loving God, we cling to the cross of your Son.   If it’s Your will, please take away this suffering, restore those with AIDS to health and lead us to trust Your powerful healing spirit.  And bless who love and nurse Your sick ones.  Amen

In Honor of Serving

“Be ready!  Let God’s justice protect you like armor." – Ephesians 6:14

The lead flight attendant poked her head into the cockpit of a commercial airliner and stated, "We have an H.R. (human remains) on board.  “He was military,” she continued.

“Please board the escort early and bring him the flight deck,” the Captain instructed.

Moments later, a young, sharply dressed army sergeant entered the flight deck and politely introduced himself.  Escorts of fallen soldiers talk about them as if they are still alive and with us.  “My soldier is on his way back to Virginia,” he said solemnly.

The Captain thanked him for his service to the families of dead heroes.

About 20 minutes into flight 871, the lead attendant returned to the cockpit.  “The soldier’s father, mother, wife and 2-year old daughter are also on board,” she offered.  “They were unable to view his container before we left.  Isn’t there anything we can do sir?” she pleaded in desperation.

Two hours went by before the Captain got confirmation from Ground Control with this message:

“Upon your arrival, a dedicated team will meet the aircraft and escort the family to a private area to be with their loved one before the final leg of his journey home. 

Sir, most of us here in Flight Control are veterans.  Please pass our condolences on to the family and thank them for his sacrifice for our freedom. God Bless!”

The printed message was delivered to the father.  “You have no idea how much this means to us,” he said modestly.

Upon touchdown, all ground traffic stopped for flight 871; an escort team was positioned to meet the aircraft. 

The Captain stopped the giant aircraft well short of the gate for this announcement:

 “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a soldier on board who deserves our respect.  Private Stanley recently gave his life for our country.  He is under your feet in the cargo hold, his coffin draped by an American flag.  Escorting him is Army Sergeant Peacock, along with his father, mother, wife, and daughter. Your entire flight crew asks that you remain seated to allow the family to exit the aircraft first, to greet their son. Thank you!”

They were just words, but nothing could bring that soldier back.  At the gate, the Captain opened the cockpit door.  A multitude of tearful passengers were still in their seats, waiting for the family’s exit.

As the family gathered their things, a passenger slowly started to clap his hands.  More passengers quickly followed and soon the entire aircraft was applauding.  Words of “God Bless You!  I'm so sorry!  Thank You!” and a plethora of kind words followed them as they made their way down the aisle and out the airplane door.

Thank God for this Captain and crew.  Thank God for the people placed in our lives who set a powerful example of kindness, humility, and selflessness, and especially for the soldiers living and deceased, who paid the price for our liberty.   Amen

Remembering Mom

“Children – praise your Mother with great pride.”  ~Proverbs 31:28

Chloe wiggled in her chair, swinging legs that didn’t reach the floor.  She scanned the classroom seeking inspiration, maybe even a little divine intervention.  It came in the form of a heart on the bulletin board left over from Valentine’s Day.  Chloe leaned over a blank paper, poked her tongue out the corner of her mouth for added concentration and wrote:

Dear Mommy - I love you cuz  you’re fun and nise.  I lik the way you push me on the swing.  I love you cuz you helpd me to lern to bake kookies and rid my bike.  You are good at putting on bandaids and making bad dreems go away.   Happy Mothers Day. 

She decorated the margins with colorful flowers, stick-puppies, and plenty of smiley faces.  For one final touch, she added a trophy labeled “BEST MOM.” 

On Mom’s big day, Chloe woke early, tiptoed quietly into the kitchen, and left the letter and a juice-pouch planter on the counter, just as Mom arrived.

“Thank you, honey,” Mom said tearfully.  “It’s so beautiful!”

A dozen year later, an almost-grown teenager sat on her bedroom floor staring at blank stationery.  “Dear Mom,” is all it said.   Chloe wanted desperately to convey something special to her mother, but her feelings were conflicted.  Tears of gratitude flowed for the times Mom understood and hugged her at just the right moment.  But there were also tears of anger – when Mom refused a privilege that everyone else’s mom allowed.   The ‘happy’ tears eventually won out, and Chloe began by writing:

Dear Mom - I know we don’t always agree, but you’re still the best mom ever.  Thanks for loving me, and listening, and for . . .

Tears spilled onto the paper.  She crumpled the note and tossed it at the trash can.  Two more attempts ended the same way.  After collecting herself, she bought a generic card at the mall.  Better than nothing, she thought.

Now a mother herself, Chloe woke to the whisper of bedside giggles.  Three elfin faces gazed back at her, each presenting homemade cookies, cards, and hug coupons.  She fussed over every gift before her kiddie-escort led her to the kitchen for peanut butter Pop Tarts and marsh-mellowed coffee.

That night when she crept into their rooms to kiss them each goodnight, a tsunami of childhood memories washed over her.  She recalled her own mother’s teary-eyed kisses when she was five and wished she’d given the unfinished letter she’d written as a teenager.  Chloe pulled stationary from her drawer . . . and began anew.

Moms are the lifelines to all that’s good, true, and right.  They’re faithfulness shows us how to love and sacrifice for others.  Thank God for all Moms – both living and resting eternally.

Lord, bless all Moms today.  Help them continue to love and give of themselves to others.  Help them feel precious in Your eyes, knowing that they’re loved and admired.  When they’re weary, strengthen them with hope, compassion and peace.  Amen

Hope, Not Hunger

“Your heart will always be where your treasure is."  ~ Isaiah 6:21

The sand burned like the hot coals of a tropical island.  But Zimbabwe is no paradise; like millions around the world, Zimbabweans face a daily battle to put even the most basic meal on the table.  Kya feared that she was about to catch fire, a ferocious wind had kicked up and the sand was prickling her scalp like tiny thorns.  But nothing could stop her.  Today she promised to help Sister Daya dispense food at the make-shift pantry.

Great poverty and hunger defined her small village. Today, one member of every family in the impoverished town would line up with a single bucket patiently waiting their turn to have the religious sisters fill it with dry grains of rice.   Kya, a hopeful Novice, shadowed Sister Daya as this gentle soul greeted every person with a smile and a blessing before filling their bucket.

Before long a frail, emaciated woman reached the front of the line and to Kya’s surprise, had in her possession two buckets.  Sister Daya kindly greeted her by name and proceeded to fill only one bucket.  After politely thanking Sister, the old woman turned to leave, stopping a short distance later to empty half of her full bucket into the second empty one.

Outraged by the unfairness of famine, Kya now questioned the compassion of her mentor and friend.  “Why didn’t we fill both buckets for that poor starving woman?”  Sister Daya replied respectfully, “I’m afraid there’s only enough rice for each family to receive one bucket each day.  She has her neighbors’ bucket and her own.  Her neighbors are quite ill; no one from their family could come to collect the rice.  She emptied half of her family’s share into her neighbor’s bucket to bring to them because she can’t carry more.”

Overwhelmed with sorrow, the young Kya demanded, “Surely we should fill both buckets and take the second bucket to the sick family for her.”  Sister Daya stopped what she was doing, looked at the Novice and said thoughtfully, “These are among the poorest and most destitute people you’ll ever meet.  Never erase their desire to help each other!”

In a region where famished children are branded with red-hot pokers to “cure” their distended stomachs, villagers embrace the procedure.  Most have scars of their own.  Even though some children die, the practice continues because the alternative – providing enough nutritious food or paying for medical treatment – is simply not an option. 

They don’t chose to be poor, or homeless, or nameless.  In the 3 minutes it took to read this story, 85 children died of hunger.  One helping hand, one box of food, one minute of time.  Please help make a difference.

Lord Jesus, who multiplied the loaves and fishes, open my eyes and my heart to recognize those in poverty and raise my awareness of the structures and systems that must be changed so that we may all break bread together.  Amen

Under the Rainbow

“All things work for the good of everyone who loves God.” - - Romans 8:28

Mariah stood under an awning just outside the Target store where she and her Mom had been shopping.  Unlike most children her age, she loved the way rain fell, so rhythmic and purposeful, like Morse code sent down from the heavens.  She wished she could decipher it and unlock the message meant specifically for her.

The dark clouds . . . the splinter of lightening . . . the crash of thunder – it didn’t frighten her as much as it used to.  This beautiful red haired, freckle-faced 6 year old seemed mesmerized by the pitter-patter of soft rain on car hoods and black asphalt: lost in God’s cleansing of dirt and dust from the world.

Adults waited impatiently, irritated that nature had messed up an already stressful day.  Mariah dreamed of splashing carefree through the parking lot puddles – no worries in her day.

"Mommy!  Let's run through the rain," she said in a voice so sweet it broke the hypnotic trance her mother must have slipped into.  "What?" Mom asked.

"Come on,” she urged, “Let's skip through the rain.  It’ll be fun!"

"Honey, let’s wait until it slows down a bit," Mom replied, "otherwise we'll get soaked!”

"No we won’t,” you said so this morning,” Mariah said as she tugged at her Mom's arm.

"This morning?  When did I say we could dash through the rain and stay dry?"

"Don't you remember?  When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said that if God can get us through this, He can get us through anything!'"

The entire crowd went dead silent, no sound but the rain.  Mom paused thoughtfully for a moment before responding.  She was tempted to laugh it off as just Mariah being silly again.  Some might have even ignored what she said.  But this was a teaching moment: a time when innocent trust could be nurtured so that it will bloom into boundless faith.

"Honey, you’re absolutely right, let's run through the rain.  If God lets us get wet, maybe we just needed washing," Mom said.

So off they ran. The others stood watching, smiling and laughing as Mom and daughter darted past the cars and stomped through the puddles.  They got soaked.  Soon everyone followed screaming and laughing like children all the way to their cars.  They must all have needed washing.

Some people dance in the rain  . . . others just get wet.  Circumstances can strip away your material possessions, your money, and even your health.  But nothing can erase precious youthful memories.  Don't forget to make some memories every day.  And never cry because it’s over . . . smile because it happened.

Dearest Lord, help me and remind me to accept joy, play, and fun into my life. Show me the opportunities and encourage me to take the time so I can enjoy life and live it to Your fullest glory.”  Amen