The Ultimate Resolution

“Keep your eyes on the goal – the prize of being called to heaven." ~ Philippians 3:13-14

Clare bit her eraser as she read back her extensive list of New Year’s Resolutions.  The usual suspects appeared, flowing carelessly from her pencil tip year after year. 

As she paused to admire two full pages of ideas, her Dad spoke from over her shoulder.  “That’s a pretty impressive list!

“Thanks Dad,” said the slightly embarrassed teen.  “I really COULD accomplish all these things!”

That’s a pretty tall order, I think I can help make it easier and simpler,” he offered.  “Just mark the items on your list that you absolutely SHOULD do.”

Clare looked puzzled but there he must have a reason.  Actually, this task was much easier.  She was able to quickly commit eight practical resolutions that she felt would be both realistic and useful.

Get more sleep, physical activity and better nutrition.

Resist peer pressure to try cigarettes, drugs and alcohol.

Wipe negative "self-talk" out of my vocabulary (i.e. "I can't do it" or "I'm so ugly").

Spend less time on TV, video games and social media.

Treat my parents, teachers and elders respectfully.
 

Join a volunteer group that helps people in need.

Choose who I date carefully.

Find more constructive ways to deal with the stress such as reading, writing in my journal, or spending quiet time with God.
 

When she finished, she found Dad in his study.  "Tell me about your lists," Dad pressed.

“The first list contains all the things I COULD do if I completely changed my life,” Clare began.  “The second contains all the things I SHOULD do by taking practical steps towards the life I want to lead."

She handed them to him and held his gaze for several seconds, waiting for Dad’s review of her ideas.  After an unusually long silence, he crumpled them into a ball and tossed it into the trash.

Clare was frantic; at least he hadn’t torn them into unreadable pieces.  "What’d you do that for?" she said, her anger swelling.

Dad began speaking in a quiet, confident voice.  "What you COULD or SHOULD do with your life doesn’t matter.  The only thing that matters, from this day forward, is what you MUST do."

He then drew a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to her.  Clare opened it carefully noting three simple words in the middle of the page: "Trust God More."

“Now you've got a much better chance for a Happy New Year,” Dad said as a familiar smirk crept onto his face.

Life’s a roller coaster, with its dizzying heights, gut wrenching turns, and freefall downslopes.  But we have God as our seatmate, there to steady, guide and protect us.  If you only make one resolution this year, may it be to trust Him more.

Heavenly Father, I want the New Year to be different for me.  I know that I'm going to need a lot of help for this, so right now I place myself in your hands.  Help me to receive Your strength. Amen.

A Manger for Two

“Whatever happens, keep thanking God because of Jesus Christ."  ~ I Thessalonians 5:18

Jenna woke early – not from the whine of her squeaky cot, or the stifling humidity, or the fear of pigeon-sized mosquitoes circling her protective netting.  Anticipation coursed her veins this morning like molten magma.  Today was the Vacation Bible School her mission team had planned for months.

Christmas would arrive 8 days from now in this small Honduran village.  Accordingly, Jenna’s team would tell the story of Jesus’ birth to the children at Sister Rosa’s orphanage.  

They were greeted like rock stars by children eager for the attention of American missionaries with a lesson to teach.  But their eyes told a story too – one of hardship, and loneliness . . . yet thankful for life’s meager blessings.

Jenna told them about Mary and Joseph arriving in Bethlehem.  Finding no room at the inn, the couple went to a stable, where the baby Jesus was born and placed in a manger.  The orphans sat on the edges of their stools, trying to grasp every word.

When the story ended, the children were tasked to recreate the manger scene from brightly colored paper, Popsicle sticks, small figurines and a host of other craft items. 

Jenna helped a shy, 6 year old boy named Eduardo.  Coming from a non-Christian background, the youngster hadn’t heard many Bible stories or built much of anything with his own hands.

When she looked at the little boy’s work, she was startled to see not one, but two babies in his manger.   How creative, she thought and asked Eduardo why he’d chosen two babies instead of one baby Jesus.

Choosing his words carefully, Eduardo repeated the story perfectly . . . until the part where Mary put the baby Jesus in the feeding-box.  That’s where he ad-libbed his own ending.

“When Mary laid the baby in the manger,” Eduardo began, “Jesus looked up and asked me if I had a place to stay.  When I told Him I really had no place to call home, Jesus told me I could stay with him.”

“I was thrilled, but I didn’t have any gift to offer him.  So I asked, if I keep You warm, will that be enough?”  Jesus replied, “That would be the best gift ever!”

"So I crawled into the manger and Jesus told me I could stay with him - forever."

As Eduardo finished his story, tears splashed off his little cheeks.  The orphan child had found someone who would never abandon nor abuse him, someone who would stay with him – forever!  That's the promise of Christmas past, present and future.

And Jenna?  She’d learned the lesson she’d come there to teach - that it’s not what you have in your life, but WHO you have in your life that really counts.  

Jesus, thank You for the people in our lives that ‘keep us warm’ - not the least of which is the enduring love of Jesus Christ, the one person who keeps us warm and safe,  forever.  Amen

The Christmas Truce

“As I have loved you, so you must love one another." ~ John 13:34

Today, even after centuries of war, only a few understand the burdens of fighting, being on guard constantly, and leaving family behind.  Go back in time and add muddy trenches, frigid temperatures, and soldiers already sick and tired of senseless killing.

Such was the backdrop on Christmas Day 1914, only four months into one of the bloodiest wars in history.  The zone between enemy forces was a sliver of space between opposing trenches.  No soldier would venture there; machine guns had brought new meaning to the term ‘slaughter.’

It had been pouring rain; mud lay deep in the trenches on both sides.  Like his comrades, Johannes lay restless, stiff and cold.  If there would be a surprise enemy raid on their trench, they’d have a tough time defending themselves.  None of their rifles worked anyway. 

Johannes heard it first.  German voices interrupted the war’s darkness by singing “Silent Night.”  The gesture received loud applause and calls for an encore.

As he peered over the piled dirt, careful to avoid sniper fire, he saw tiny Christmas trees lining the tops of the German trenches with signs that read “Merry Christmas.  You no shoot – we no shoot.” 

This could be a trap, he thought at first.  But it was Christmas; not even the enemy would mock such a holy occasion.  They can’t possibly be less miserable, he reasoned.

So he crawled out of the trench, stood upright, and nervously walked the short distance toward the enemy’s position.  To his amazement – he wasn’t alone.  Hundreds of Allied troops (British, French and Belgian) had also disobeyed their superiors to fraternize with the (German) enemy in a fleeting sign of peace.

They joined together, setting hostilities aside, declaring their brotherhood with each other and refusing to fight.  Conversations in broken languages ensued.  They sang Christmas carols; compared family photos, shared rations and exchanged souvenirs.  Soldiers embraced men they’d been trying to kill just moments before.  They even agreed to warn each other if the top brass ordered them to fire their weapons, and to aim high.

Unfortunately, the truce was only temporary.  Soon the ‘killing machines’ were back in full operation.  By the end of World War I in 1918, casualties reached nearly 40 million – 19 million civilian and military deaths and 21 million wounded.

While The Christmas Truce is a true story of peace, it brings hope and challenge.  The hope is that even in the muddy trenches of raging aggression, peace can blossom.  The challenge is how to sustain those moments into longer stretches of time.  How can we turn thoughtful gestures into lasting momentum and achieve God’s example of loving each other unconditionally?

Peaceful Lord, the spirit of Christmas loses luster at times.  Family pressures overtake us.  Economics burden us.  Unfathomable events sink us.  Help us rise up, embracing peace as a daily standard, not just something to be practiced during the Christmas season, even in face of turbulent times.  Amen

Purse-on of Interest

“Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust can’t destroy them." ~ Matthew 6:20

Madeline searched frantically for the purse she seemed to have lost on the crowded bus.  Though well into her 80’s, she was still in excellent health to travel alone.  But she did misplace things occasionally.

Sweat broke across her wrinkled forehead.  Her eyes darted across the floor of the moving vehicle, through the gaps between legs of passengers seated in front of her.  After several anxious moments, she’d not reclaimed her lost “treasure.”

That soft leather bag was like a fifth appendage; it went wherever she did.  Always!  It contained the usual stuff – credit cards, coupons, and identification.  It was large enough to hold just about anything she needed for short excursions: cosmetics for touch ups; books to read while waiting in line, and of course, emergency chocolates.

But it also carried memories of what was left of her life; pictures of family and friends, the first dollar she’d ever earned, the spelling bee award her young daughter had won years before a car accident ended her life.  Her most valued possession was her mother’s hair ribbon; a faded blue one.  It used to smell like her.  Now it just smelled old.  

With a sigh of resignation, she leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes and recited a short prayer to St. Anthony, patron saint of things lost.  “If I can’t find it,” she prayed, “please restore to me peace of mind, for the loss which has hurt me even more than any material loss.”

The bus continued on its assigned route; it never seems to care about the individual predicaments of its passengers.  Madeline continued to rest eyes closed, her awareness now temporarily is connected from the day’s worries.

After returning home, she rested with some cookies and tea, trying desperately to mentally retrace her steps.  Never once did the thought of her purse being stolen cross her mind.  She believed in the goodness of every one of God’s creatures.

A heavy knock on her front door brought a teenager’s smile to its peep hole.  There outside, stood an unfamiliar young man . . . holding her weathered, old purse.  A quick survey revealed the bag was perfectly intact, including $367 in cash when she left it resting by the fountain at the mall.

“Dear boy!” she said.  You made an old woman very happy today.  She thanked him by giving him $100 - a reward he reluctantly accepted.

Later this evening the doorbell rang.  It was a flower delivery service with a dozen roses.  The card read, “Mrs. Bippy, I noticed on your ID that it was your birthday yesterday.  Happy belated birthday!  ~ Chad”  

O gentle and loving St. Anthony, whose heart was ever full of human sympathy, whisper my petition into the ears of the sweet infant Jesus, who loved to be cradled in your arms, and the gratitude of my heart will forever be yours.  Amen ~ Prayer to St. Anthony 

 

 

Preacher's Choice



“All of us have sinned and fallen short of God's glory.” - - Romans 3:23

Pastors come and Pastors go – but when they do, most churches go through a difficult adjustment period.  Change amplifies anxiety  . . . and fear . . . and disorder.  One of the toughest tasks a congregation faces is choosing a new minister.  

Jack knew this all too well.  As Chair of the Selection Committee officially charged with this responsibility, the the stress was eating at him; his patience was wearing thin.

The Committee had already rejected numerous applicants for various minor faults.  Some were too young, others too inflexible.  A few were gifted orators; others had broad pastoral counseling skills.  One had third world missionary experience to her credit.  None was a perfect match, but all were credible choices.   It was time Jack thought, for a bit of soul-searching by the Committee.

After their third meeting that week had adjourned, Jack penned an anonymous letter to himself, as Chair of the Selection Committee, introducing a new candidate for the position.   To make a point, Jack stood and read this letter out loud at their next meeting:

Ladies and Gentlemen:

I understand your pulpit is vacant and I should like to apply for the position.  I have many qualifications:  I'm well informed and, some would add, a talented writer.    People follow me – I’m a good leader and organizer.

The churches I’ve preached in have been much smaller than yours, but large crowds don’t bother me.  I've lived more than half century but have never preached too long in one spot.

Honestly; I’ve had to leave some places because my sermons caused disturbances, even riots. I’ve been jailed three or four times on account of this – but never for anything illegal.  

I've not always gotten along well with other religious leaders in some of the towns where I’ve preached; some would call me a bully.  Some have threatened me, and even attacked me physically.  I’m not great at keeping records either and sometimes forget who I’ve baptized.

Fact is, my health ain’t too good, but I’ll work very hard and if you can use me, I promise to do my very best for you.

His eyes rose from the paper as Jack stared purposefully at each of them before asking, "What do you think?  Should we call him for an interview?"

Their appalled expressions were irrefutable!  He waited for someone to speak.

“Jack, have you lost your mind?” questioned one.  “Are you suggesting that we consider a sickly, trouble-making, absent-minded, jailbird?” asked another.  A third inquired angrily “Who had the gall to think we’d consider someone like?  Who signed that outrageous letter?”

Jack had set the hook and was about to reel them in.  He eyed them intensely before responding. 

"It's signed: 'The Apostle Paul."

Our Father, no one is perfect and nobody has it all – not even Pastors.  All our lives are filled with quiet desperation.  This day Lord, more than any day, I need to feel You near, to face whatever is to be.  Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Hairy' Night

“I, the Lord, will teach your children, and they will have real peace." ~ Isaiah 54:13

Like a lot of married couples, Eric and Cindy rarely found time for each other.  With two small children, their six-year wedding anniversary came and went last June and until tonight; they’d yet to celebrate the occasion. 

Their first night out in years didn’t start well.  The babysitter arrived late, he failed to notice the stain on his favorite tie, she couldn’t find her comfortable shoes. 

He tried a joke to liven things up.  “What’s the difference between a monkey, an orphan, a prince, and Bald Eric?  A monkey has a hairy parent, an orphan has nary a parent, a prince is an heir apparent, and I have no hair apparent,” he laughed as he stroked his hairless-scalp.

Cindy smiled.  “I love you Cue-ball.” 

Cinderella’s Ball it wasn’t, but then again post-baby dates weren’t meant to sweep you off your feet.  Dating was an acquired skill - they’d get better at this with practice.

While they were gone, the babysitter paid more attention to her cell phone texts than the children.  Samuel, the four-year old took his dull, round tipped scissors and cut as much of his hair as he could before the sitter closed down the ‘barbershop.’   

Upon their return home, Eric eyed the boy furiously.  He grabbed Samuel roughly and prepared to give him a spanking he’d not soon forget.

The child, hoping to save himself a whoopin’ looked up at his angry father and said eagerly “Wait until you see Emma!"

Cindy, followed by Eric still clasping Samuel, rushed to the two-year old’s room to find her waist-length hair in a pile beside her.  Teddy Bear, the only witness to the crime, was propped next to her leg utterly covered with Emma’s curls.

Even at two, Emma must have been able to read her mother’s disappointment as she raised her innocent eyes from the pile of long hair to her mother’s horrified expression. 

"But Mommy,” the youngster began.  “Me and Sam were just trying to look like Daddy.” 

There are some rites of passage that are pleasurable for parents.  The first smile!  The first steps! And then there is the very first time you discover your child has gotten hold of a pair of scissors and given something - or worse, someone - a haircut.

But this is what kids DO!  We did it.  Our parents did it.  There's no shelf high enough for a four-year-old who can push a chair.  If it hasn't happened in your home . . .  it will.  Just wait until you hear their explanation before you decide how to handle it!  You never know what they'll have to say!  Just be glad they don’t chose to imitate a surgeon.

Children possess brilliance in their simplicity.  They lack fear and social boundaries.  They have endless curiosity and love without expectation.  Love them as I love you.  It's Ok to be childish; maturity is grossly overrated anyway. ~ God

Dating Pains

“There is a time for crying and laughing, finding and losing." ~ Ecclesiastes 3: 4,6

Never in a million years would anyone have expected a boy like Trey Masters to take notice of a girl like Emma Jacobs.  But he did.  And soon, in storybook fashion, the football star and the flutist were dating.

The pair made an adorable couple with their matching dark hair, sapphire eyes, and warm smiles.  From their first kiss after the Homecoming dance to hearing those three little words they traded at Senior Prom, everything seemed perfect.

Emma cheered for #12 all season.  After each game, he’d slip his blue and gold letter sweater over her shoulders and kiss the tip of Emma’s nose.  "It looks better on you," he'd say and smile, even though it was ginormous on her. 

Emma loved Trey . . . although she wasn’t sure he ever knew how much.  He planned to play college football and spent most of his summer after graduation lifting weights and practicing.  Maybe Emma should have seen then that he was slipping away.

They spent the night before he left at the lake, wishing on stars and just holding each other.  Trey promised to call every day and swore that being 150 miles apart wouldn't change anything.  Emma was already missing him and crying by the time they pulled into her apartment complex.

When they came to a stop, Trey reached into the backseat and pulled out his letter sweater.  "Please keep this until I get back."  He placed it around her shoulders and kissed her gently.  "I love you," he said.  And then he was gone.

That first week he called every day; the second week, every other day.  By October, he stopped calling at all.

Nearly two months later, Emma sat in the emptiness of her apartment hugging Trey’s sweater close to her chest.  Despite rumors that he’d found someone else, she never lost hope; he loved her!  She simply couldn’t be that forgettable.

Her loneliness was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.  She flung it open, bracing herself against the cold December night.  Perhaps it was the frigid air that took her breath away, or maybe the disappointment that the man outside wasn’t Trey, but her Dad.

He held her in silence for several minutes until she stopped crying.  “I can’t believe I just wasted four years of my life with him,” Emma said.

“It wasn’t a waste,” her Dad replied. “In life you’ll eventually realize that there’s a purpose for everyone you meet.  Some will test you. Some will use you.  Some will even teach you.  But most importantly, some will bring out the best in you.  And this last group of people, although hard to find, are always worth the wait.”

Dear God, teach me the life lessons You want me to learn along the way.  Help me, stretch me, mold me, guide me.  Don’t let my arrogance, my worries or my selfishness hinder this preparation.  I trust You!  Amen.

Daydream Believer

“Dream as if you’ll live forever . . . live as if you die today!” ~ James Dean

Greg owns a horse ranch and lets me use it for fund-raising events to benefit disadvantaged, inner-city kids.  Kids-at-risk are a passion of mine and Greg’s an old friend and a compelling storyteller.  He entertains benevolent audiences with this tale of a wandering horse trainer’s son.

Training horses ain’t no easy life!  Roaming from ranch to ranch, they slept in closed quarters, without air conditioning, shirts for pillows and newspaper blankets.  Foul odors couldn’t be erased with citrus leaves or cheap soap.  As a result of his nomadic lifestyle, the boy’s high school career was continually disrupted.  As a senior, he was tasked to write a thesis outlining his post-graduation plans.

That night he wrote a lengthy paper eloquently describing his goal of owning a horse ranch someday.  His dream was artfully detailed.  He even added a diagram of a 200-acre ranch, showing the location of the buildings, the stables and a track.  A meticulous 4,000 ft² floor plan completed his dream house.  He was proud of his work and excited to hand his “vision” to the teacher.

His paper was returned later that week with a large red ‘F’ and a note that read, “See me after class.”  The boy was heartbroken; he had poured his soul into that assignment.  How could he have failed?

After class, the teacher explained, “This was not to be fiction, but a realistic plan outlining what you are GOING TO DO after graduation.  You have no money; you have no permanent home or job!  Owning a ranch requires a lot of capital – you have to buy land, you have to buy breeding stock.  Later you’ll go broke paying stud fees.  There’s no way you could ever do it,” the teacher chided.  Then he tried to console the boy by adding, “I’ll reconsider your final grade if you rewrite this paper with a more realistic ambition.

The boy went home and pondered his options for nearly a week.  After thoughtful reflection, he turned in the same paper, making no changes whatsoever.  He added this note in the margin:

“Keep your ‘F’ . . . I’ll keep my dream!”

Greg smiled to the assembled group and says, “Welcome – to my 4,000 ft² dream house in the middle of my 200-acre horse ranch.  He added, “The best part of the story is that two summers ago that same schoolteacher brought 30 kids to camp out here on my ranch for a week.  And he admitted to being a “dream stealer.”  

Fortunately I had enough gumption never to give up on mine.  Don’t ever let anyone steal your dreams.  Follow your heart, no matter what!”

Dream Weaver, with You nothing is impossible!  Let my faith provide the golden wings to soar beyond all earthly things.  Help me to reach beyond the stars yet keep my eye on Your Son and my feet on His path.  Amen.