Time Passages

“Even fools seem smart when they are quiet." ~ Proverbs 17:28

Ernie grabbed hold of the board that served as a rung and hoisted his body onto the makeshift ladder.  He hung there for a moment before slowly hauling his lanky frame up the ladder into the hayloft, something he’d done every day for the past sixty years.

Ernie loved hard work – today was no exception.  Bailing twine dug into his leathery palms as he threw a few bales to the waiting cattle below.  Feeling the strain in his worn-out shoulder and hip joints, he reached for his pocket watch.  About time for dinner he mused.

But all that remained of his treasured timepiece was an empty chain; he’d lost his precious heirloom.  Nothing about it was spectacular, but it had been given to him by his father decades ago with the promise that it would be kept in the family; never to be sold.

After searching among the hay for a long while; he gave up and enlisted the help of a group of children playing outside the barn.  Ernie promised them that whoever found it would be rewarded.

Hearing this, the children hurried inside the barn, went through and around the entire stack of hay but still couldn’t find the cherished memento.  Just when the farmer was about to lose hope, he felt a small, hard object in the cuff of his jeans.  The watch had broken lose and landed there safely.  It opened with a loud snap; as if its rusted hinges protested Ernie’s negligence.

A little girl with liquid blue eyes and golden hair approached explaining that her friends had given up, but asked if she could stay a bit longer.  A youthful aura of optimism enfolded her.  “Maybe I could help you,” Ernie offered.

“I think I should do it myself,” said the girl with an uninhibited smile.

So before he left the barn, Ernie surreptitiously hid the watch back under some loose hay; and waited.

After a while the child came out with the watch in her small hand!  Ernie smiled and asked her how she succeeded where her friends had failed.

She replied proudly, “I did nothing but sit on the ground and listen.  In the silence, I heard the watch ticking and just looked for it in that direction.”

Ernie ran his fingers over the worn metal, tracing the leaf-like design sentimentally.  It gave him comfort, like a reassuring hand in the darkness.  And then he paid her generously.

A peaceful mind thinks better than a worried one.  Allow a few minutes of silence to your mind every day, a time for reflection, a time for God.  Then see, how sharply it helps you to set your life on the right, most productive path!

God, this world’s problems are so complicated that I can’t make my way without Your guidance.  Quicken my mind and deepen my understanding.  Help me hear Your voice and heed your advice.  Keep me walking along the path behind you.  Amen

Fail Forward

“Don’t be discouraged, the Lord will be with you wherever you go." ~ Joshua 1:9

Alone on the park bench, he guzzled liquid from a brown bag and muttered something to himself.  At a time he should have been at work, he wasn’t.

That was the root of all his problems.

While the sky was beautifully clear, Daryl’s luck (and mood) had soured.  He’d recently been laid off from his job.  ‘Downsizing’ they called it.  And now, depression gripped him like a boa constrictor; paralyzing him with an odd combination of the sadness, fear and indifference.  There was seemingly no hope for things ever feeling better; nothing seemed worth living for.

A pigeon waddled toward him, hoping there’d be a scrap of something from the brown bag.  But what James was drinking, the pigeon would have refused.  A fog of despair swirled around him, leaving him in a gloomy mist.

A few dozen yards away, a little girl’s mom was trying to teach her to ride a bike without training wheels.  Her strawberry curls and impish grin reminded him of his own daughter years before.

Balancing on two wheels is a pretty improbable thing for anyone to do, much less a seven-year-old.  The kid was failing miserably – but she kept at it.  Daryl wondered how many Barney Band-Aids it would take to patch this little one back together.

She’d climb on, pedal about five feet and tumble over into the soft grass.  But instead of moping about it, the kid picked up the bike and tried again . . . and again, balancing a few more seconds each time before falling . . . again.  Finally about an hour later, the girl pedaled around the park and back to her mom (where she promptly fell over once again).

Daryl tossed his bag aside and walked over to the triumphant girl and her mom.  “I’ve been watching you, young lady.  Great job!”

The little girl adjusted her bike helmet and said, “Thanks.”  Then she continued in a completely different voice:  “I didn’t quit.  I could’ve laid there in the grass feeling sorry for myself, but I would’ve missed a lifetime of adventures.  I didn’t quit.  You shouldn’t either.”

Daryl was stunned by her comment.  “How’d she know?”  Daryl looked back at the bench and the bag and tried to clear his head.  His desperate eyes watered as he looked at the kid who seemed to have no fear of failure. 

Kids are like that - they try things.  They experiment. They fail and then learn from it.  Adults are so cautious.  Then he realized an undeniable truth: “Falling down is part of life.  Getting back up is living!”

He thanked the little girl and her Mom again and walked back home to “get back on his bike!”

Heavenly Father, everyday trials can be discouraging.  Remind us that our strength doesn’t come from ourselves, but from You.  Don’t allow us to be defeated by our problems, but encouraged by our dreams.  Amen

Blood Works

“Act as if everything depends on you; pray as if everything depends on God.” ~ Mother Teresa

They’d never met.  The one she should have called Mom took off the day after Latisha was born, leaving her to the care of a maternity shelter.  Latisha shuffled in and out of countless foster homes, most of which were dreadful.  She often fantasized that it’d all been a huge mistake – that her Mom was coming back to get her.  But she never made a single attempt . . . until today . . . an invitation . . . to try and reconnect.

She once dreamed that this day would come, but that was long ago.  When she really needed a Mom to talk to about boys, about hair and other ‘girl stuff’ - no one answered the call.  Too late now; no chance for reconciliation!  She actually hoped her rejection would break her bio-Mom’s heart.  Served her right! 

Besides, Latisha had enough to worry about.  She’d been recently diagnosed with aplastic anemia, a rare but very serious disorder that occurs when bone marrow fails to regenerate blood cells.  Her best shot at beating it was a bone marrow transplant so long as a suitable donor could be found.  But ethnic minorities on the bone marrow registry are disturbingly rare.  Survival rates for non-blood-relative transplant patients are not great, barely 50%. 

It’s a lonely illness and Latisha was devastated not only by the diagnosis, but also the isolating lifestyle of immuno-compromised living.  She literally went underground, avoiding most contact except texting.

A potential donor surfaced once, but after the match was confirmed, she received a letter saying that the transplant was no longer viable.  Two years later, Latisha received another call from the registry - the original donor’s health had improved enough to begin the transplant process.

The procedure involved risk.  First, Latisha’s diseased bone marrow was destroyed by radiation.  Next, the donor’s healthy marrow was surgically extracted and injected into Latisha’s bloodstream.  New blood cells began forming in just a few weeks.  The process required a lengthy hospital stay and ‘buckets’ of pills to prevent rejection of the donated marrow. 

When the Hematologist announced five years later that she was in complete remission, Latisha finally grasped the significance of her terrifying ordeal.  She’d beaten a life-threatening disease by the grace of God and the help of a perfect stranger.  She was blessed . . . and lucky!

She’d finally have the opportunity to meet her donor.  She’d learned that her biological Mom donated her own bone marrow as often as was medically possible (22 donations) in a selfless attempt to help save Latisha’s life.  Today a long-overdue reunion will take place . . . and her healing would be complete.

I’m just so grateful for all of your blessings in my life, Lord.  I pray that You remind me of just how lucky I am, and that you never allow me to forget to show my gratitude in prayer and returned kind acts.  Amen

Praying Hands

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

Odds are that you are familiar with Albrecht Durer's most famous painting below.  You may even have a reproduction hanging in your home.   But do you know the story behind his renowned piece “The Praying Hands?”

During the 15^th century, lived a family with 18 children.  Despite their poverty, two of the brothers dreamed of becoming famous artists.

Knowing that their father could never afford to send either of them to the Art Institute, they devised a plan.  The loser of a simple coin toss would support the other by working in the gold mines.  Then, when the winning brother completed his studies, he would finance the other brother’s artistic studies by either selling his artwork or, if necessary, by laboring in the mines.

Albrecht won the toss and went off to Nuremberg.  Albert toiled in the dangerous mines to support his younger, whose work at the Institute was almost an instant sensation.  In fact, Albrecht Durer's pieces were far better than most of his professors.  By graduation, he was earning substantial fees for his commissioned artwork.

The successful artist returned to his village a hero.  After a festive celebration of wine and song, Albrecht rose from the head of the table to toast his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled him to fulfill his ambition.  He closed by saying, "Now Albert, my humble brother, it is your turn to go to Nuremberg to follow your dream.  I will care for you now as I promised!"

All heads turned to the end of the table where Albert sat.  Tears ran down his pale cheeks, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed.  "No brother, I can’t go!  It is too late for me.  Four years in the mines have broken bones in every finger.  The arthritis in my hands is so bad that I can’ even hold a glass to return your toast; much less make delicate lines on parchment with a pen or a brush.  No, brother . . . for me it is too late."

One day, to honor Albert for his loving sacrifice, Albrecht meticulously drew his brother's abused hands, palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward.  

The moral is simple enough.  Sacrifice involves forfeiting that which is most dear to us.  It’s not sacrifice if we give what we can afford.  It’s not sacrifice unless it is given for the right reasons.  Sacrifice does mean that we must trust God to provide whatever we need.  It’s hard to remember this when a loved one is suffering - but it’s still true.

Lord, in your words, humility doesn’t mean putting ourselves down or having a low opinion of our own talents. It means freedom from thinking about ourselves at all!  What opportunity have You placed in my way today?  How can I better serve You?  Amen.

Leaf Lessons

“Slow down.  Take a deep breath.  What's the hurry?" ~ Jeremiah 2:25

He paused, leaning for a moment on his old red rake.  Jacob knew there were faster methods, but ‘raking’ leaves brought back warm memories.  He drew a refreshing breath and listened to the autumn breeze as it whispered through the outspread arms of the maple trees that made their homes in his yard.

A single leaf fell slowly from its previous host, twirling silently as it landed near his boots.  He admired its golden canvass tinged with auburn accents.  Jacob looked up at the tree that he and Dad planted some 50 years ago.  Its tangled branches, silhouetted against a blue grey sky, seemed to touch the soft clouds.  

But that of course was an illusion, like life sometimes; things aren’t always as they seem.  What had seemed like an arduous task back then was actually a life lesson.  His Dad was gone now, but his traditions remained; his wisdom preserved.

Dad taught him how to rake leaves when he was seven years old, even building a special kid-sized rake for Jacob. Sweeping away the decomposing leaves would allow sunlight to warm the soil below and the grass to breathe.  But one had to take care not to damage the roots.  “Like raising children,” Dad explained, “you had to be firm enough to teach kids responsibility, but gentle enough to allow for growth.”

Back then, fallen leaves were not the enemy of well-coiffed lawns.  Raking leaves was an opportunity to get some exercise, and fresh air, and create family memories. 

He thought back to the days when this same yard had been alive with kid’s laughter.  His dog Ginger loved autumn; running and romping through the leaves.  Eventually she’d sit in the middle of a pile and thump her tail as if looking for approval to lie down.  Then she’d take a deep sigh and fall fast asleep.  “Let sleeping dogs lie,” Dad would say.

In his mind’s eye, Jacob could still see the tree house he and Dad had built together.  He and his pals spent hours giggling, making secret plans and eating snacks in the sanctity of their sky fort.

Every birthday, Dad took a picture of him standing next to the old maple.  It was amazing to see how with each passing year, both he and the tree grew taller and stronger. 

And finally, after they’d finished raking, Dad chased Jacob around the pile several times before picking him up and launching him into it.  The leaves were so soft; he sank right into the pile and couldn’t stop laughing.  Work was supposed to be fun too, Dad would remind him.  It was one of the happiest memories from his childhood.  Thanks Dad!

Lord, my life seems to be a daily race against time.  Help me live at a gentler pace and pause to savor life’s experiences more fully.  And remind me that saying ‘no’ to one thing means leaving room for ‘yes’ in other, more meaningful areas.  Amen