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