Subway Savior

“You please God by offering each other a helping hand." ~ Galatians 6:2

Twice each day for nine years, Sandy’s subway excursion presented a migraine ‘opportunity.’   She closed her eyes imagining the most peaceful place she could think of.  In her ‘zone’ now, she started writing a card to a friend; all to block out obnoxious music and the thunderous rampage of steel wheels amplified off tunnel walls.  She wouldn’t be caught dead with a computer.  Handwritten text just felt better . . . more personal, more genuine.

Sandy hadn’t heard from Kim in a while.  Her note was meant to show she cared and would stay by her friend as long as it took; that she hadn't forgotten her.  Someone had been there for Sandy once, now she wanted to be that someone for Kim too. 

She’d almost finished her note, when a drunken man staggered clumsily down the aisle toward her.  He reeked of cheap wine and stale cigarettes.  Swallowing hard, she prayed he’d find an empty seat before reaching her.  No luck!  "Anyone s-sittin' there," he slurred.

Sandy forced an honest, though wary reply, "No. It's open."

He plopped down, jarring her with a shoulder before settling.  She flinched and put the unfinished card away for now; her mellow mood interrupted.

"Naame’s Baaar-ney.  How'reya doin' this wonnerful mor'nin?" he asked, head bobbing sideways.

Inhaling a cruel mixture of sweat and booze, she replied kindly, "Just . . . fine, thanks."  Sandy paused, grasping for some connection, "And how are you?"

"Yaknow, you looks lots li' my ex-wife.  Butcher perti-er."

Sandy blinked uneasily before responding, "Thank you!" then forging ahead she asked, "Where is she now?"

He listed forward as the train decelerated.  Squinting, he sucked air and enunciated two words: "Sheee . . . left."   After which he mumbled, "Don' blame-er."

The train stopped.  "S'my stop," he announced, pulling himself up.  As he turned, Sandy grabbed for his hand.  "It was . . . nice talking to you."  Maybe it was his drunkenness, but she felt him squeeze her hand.  Watching him stumble forward; she brought her hand to her face, smelling the remnants of his touch. 

She pulled out the unfinished card and quickly scratched out Kim’s name, replacing the salutation with Barney’s instead.   Sandy scribbled “Call me anytime,” to complete the card, then signed it with her full name and phone number.

“Barney!  Wait!” she shouted.  “This card’s for you.”

We all get so caught up in our own lives that we sometimes forget why we’re here.  Even strangers need somebody who will listen to their secrets, share their loneliness, and connect compassionately.  The smallest, unexpected gesture can make a difference.  Maybe Barney will call, maybe he’ll stop drinking . . . or maybe he won’t.  But when the alarm goes off for volunteer angels – will you answer His call?

Dear Lord, put someone in my path today, someone who needs a smile, some encouragement, maybe a hug.  Then don’t let me blow the opportunity to answer their prayer by serving You.  Amen

Fear of Flying

“Your Word is a guiding light for my life’s path.”  ~ Psalm 119:105

It’d been a long week, an even longer flight.  Frequent airsickness, insomnia, and a twinge of claustrophobia made travel for her, highly unpleasant.  Cramped seats, lousy food and cranky service completed her disdain for flying.  

That’s why when the Captain announced that they were expecting a ‘little’ turbulence, her anxiety soared.  And as she glanced around the aircraft, it became obvious that she wasn’t alone - others too were becoming uneasy at the approaching weather conditions.  Then all hell broke loose!

The ominous thunder cracks were audible even above the jet engine roar.  Lightening lit up the darkening skies and immediately the jetliner began bobbing like a cork on a celestial ocean.  One moment the airplane rose on enormous air currents; the next, it dropped as if it were about to crash, wingtips pitching like flyswatters.  Reality sunk in.

Life’s too short!  Its tenure flies by with such dizzying speed that all but a few exhaust it just before starting to live.  “What if I die right here - right now?” she wondered. 

She reasoned it’d be quick and painless.   “Had she been a good mother?  What about David, her husband?  The last memory he’ll have is the pointless quarrel they’d had the night 5 days ago.  They were the only thoughts that crossed her mind in those few intense seconds.

Scanning the cabin, the future seemed unforgiving; nearly all the passengers were alarmed.  Some were praying.  A few wept softly.  One small girl, perfectly calm, read a book: the storm meant nothing to her.

Everything within her world seemed trouble-free.  As the merciless storm pounded the plane, when it lurched this way and that, as it rose and fell with frightening brutality, when all the adults were scared to death, that amazing child sat poised and completely unafraid.

Cynthia couldn’t believe her eyes. 

Eventually the storm subsided.  As her adrenaline started to burn off, she gazed out the window at nothing but the blue waters of the Pacific Ocean and an even bluer sky.  Cynthia approached the little girl whose courage she’d admired and asked why she hadn’t been scared. 

The sweet child replied simply, “My Daddy’s the pilot and he’s taking me home.” 

Her father was in charge, controlling the trajectory, making sure she was homeward bound.  Is God at the ‘stick’ in your life or is He merely the co-pilot?  Is life about you, or is it about Him?  Are you a member of your church, or a Disciple of His?  Are you preparing for a heavenly destination? 

The answers lie within the still, small voice of God . . . awakening our souls to a spiritual journey, and yes, letting God be the Pilot-In-Command.

Precious Lord, I wanna live in Your peace, even when the storm winds blow.  If you have a plan for my life, You must’ve given me the tools, the passion and the life experiences to make it happen.  So God, what do You call me to do? 

This Old Barn

“The virtues you teach your children will be your most important legacy." ~ Deuteronomy 6:7

It didn’t put up much of a fight; it must have felt resigned to cessation.  I stood among a small crowd of onlookers who gathered to watch an excavator pull down the towering structure.

It stood majestic in its day – but icy winds and the scorching sun assaulted the old barn until the paint’s all gone and the wood turned silver grey.  The structure itself has far less value today, but what it stood for remains more important than ever. 

Despite missing windows and a rusted roof, it’s memories will forever radiate a cozy presence warmed by the nostalgia of horses chewing hay, kids discovering new adventures, and five 100W bulbs strung along its beams.

Our pioneer ancestors often put more immediacy in getting a barn built than a house.  As the old saying went, there were a lot of barns that paid for a house . . . but few houses ever paid for a barn.

If you know how to listen, a barn is happy to tell you its story.  It will gladly reveal its approximate age and the ethnicity of those who built it.  It can tell you what it was used for and how the barn’s owners adapted to economic challenges over time.  If you’re really good, it can tell you whether the person who carved the beams was left or right-handed.   

I dabbed a thick tear from the corner of my eye.  Even though it’s gone now, I’ll always find comfort in the legacy it left for me – solid, protective, self-sufficient - a beacon of significance.

Old barns are like people in many ways.  They’re strong and sturdy at first but, as they weather time, they begin to fall apart.  We age into rustic grey, and lean a lot more than we used to.  And someday, we too will be nothing more than distant memories.

Life brings many changes our way, some good and some not.  It’s how we react and accept these changes that make us or break us.  God uses the hard winters of our lives, the dry spells, and the stormy seasons, to test our faith and inspire those we will eventually leave behind.     

What kind of legacy will you leave?  Will it be enduring?  Or will you leave behind only tangible things – money and/or possessions?

You have probably heard the saying, “more is caught than taught.”  If you want your children to be truthful, then you need to be honest.  If you want them to serve others, let them see you serving.  If you want them to have an authentic relationship with Jesus, show them what that looks like in your life.

Heavenly Father, like an old barn, You called me to leave a legacy by building Your truth into the next generation.  Help me invest all You’ve graciously given me in the lives of others so that I will live humbly and wisely; not foolishly and selfishly.  Amen

His Speech

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." ~ MLK

This speech had to be different.  While the young man was well on his way to becoming a national political figure, relatively few outside the human rights movement had heard him speak.  He’d given plenty of speeches but none had been regarded as notable. 

He had to nail this one.  With all three major TV networks covering it live, this would be his rhetorical introduction to the nation.  It had to be relevant to millions of people – to calm, assure and inspire a nation. 

After a wide range of conflicting suggestions from trusted colleagues, the young man needed some privacy.  “Thank you for your advice,” he said modesty, “I’m going back to my room now to consult with my Lord.”  With that he left the room.

He finished the final outline about midnight; then spent the next few hours committing his thoughts to longhand.  The final draft was almost unreadable; words had been crossed out and overwritten three or four times.  It was as if he were crafting a poem; searching for the perfect cadence.

He fell asleep about 4am, giving the text to his aides to print and distribute.  His most famous lines were not in it. 

Speech Day was unusually hot and muggy.  Weary from long travels, the crowd’s mood began to wane as the young man (the program’s 16^th speaker) stepped to the microphone-crammed podium.  There were no high definition jumbotrons back in 1963.   All people could see was a speck crowded by dignitaries and their entourages.

Wearing a black suit, black tie and white shirt, the young man started slowly and stuck to a prepared text filled with newly crossed-out phrases and scribbles.  It was a decent speech, but rather boring.  Portions of the crowd started walking away; seeking respite from the heat under the trees on the Mall.

The young man sensed it too; he was falling way short.  So his set his text aside, paused and stared intensely into the crowd.  From that moment, he transformed himself from a lecturer to a Baptist Preacher.

For all of his careful preparation, the part of his “I Have A Dream” speech that went on to enter history books was added extemporaneously while he was standing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.  Aides had warned him not to use the lines about ‘I have a dream.’  It was considered trite, cliché, and King had used it too many times already.

But the Spirit moved him that day.  He turned aside his prepared remarks and didn’t return to them.  On August 28, 1963, the Reverend Martin Luther King stepped up to the podium, and stepped down on the other side of history.

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today!”  ~ MLK

The Body Trap

"Don’t worry about anything, but pray about everything." ~ Philippians 4:6

It’s behind the cherry wood kitchen cabinets where calories abound that my story begins.

While fixing dinner last night, our 8 year old daughter Chloe pranced into the kitchen, pulled up her shirt and asked “Am I fat?”  “Of course not,” I responded.  “You’re just right!”  Then I asked what prompted the question.

She said her tummy felt full after eating.  Relief washed over me like a cool breeze. “That’s the way our bodies tell us we’ve had enough to eat - like the gas gauge in our car.  When the gauge reads full, the car doesn’t need any more fuel.  It won't do any good to keep filling it; the gas will just be wasted.” 

That seemed to satisfy her curiosity, or so I thought.  Until today when I got a call from Chloe’s teacher asking why I hadn’t sent lunch for her the past few days.

Her question hung in the air in exactly the way a brick doesn't.  I can’t remember how, or even if, I replied.  Shock quickly turned to fear, recalling the articles I’d read about how anorexia was spreading among elementary children.  Slumping lifelessly onto the couch I wept.  Then sobbed even harder, consumed by feelings of guilt, panic and helplessness.

Before today, I thought eating disorders happened to other people’s kids.  Not to my daughter, who was savvy and wise, strong and funny.

Before today I thought kids with anorexia wanted attention; that they were perfectionists, bored or self-destructive.  But my daughter was none of those things. 

We’ve always been a close family, open to discuss things, not judgmental, not punitive.  We needed to save our daughter, but we had no tools.  Nothing in our bag of parenting tricks was remotely useful in this situation.  We couldn’t reason with her; anorexia overpowers rational thought.  We needed professional help.

Just then Chloe walked in, noticed I’d been crying and snuggled up next to me.

“Honey,” I began, “The school called and said that you’ve not been eating the lunches I send each day.  Are you dieting to lose weight?  Are you OK?”

Confused, Chloe looked up.  Her expression lacked the maturity it takes to understand the sinister dangers of this world.  She said, "Katie’s Mom is in the hospital and hasn’t been able to make any meals for the last week, so I gave her a few of my lunches.” 

Praise God!

God calls us to something greater than a life of balancing scales; He calls us to place the full weight of our struggles on Scripture’s promises.  To Him, we’re more than any number - neither our weight nor our grade-point averages can define.

Lord, let me accept each day as a gift.  Help me to be thankful for what You give me and trust You’ll take care of all my needs.  Remind me that my role is to love those around me and focus on those who need my help.  Amen



On Shaky Ground

“In times of trouble, God remains our mighty fortress.  Let the earth tremble - we won't be afraid!” - - Psalm 46: 1-2

He'd lived in Japan all his life.  Takumi was no stranger to earthquakes; he knew well the unimaginable forces the earth could unleash.  But this one terrified him.  Life as he knew it was about to change dramatically.

The entire office caved in; ceiling tiles encased him.  The once quiet morning had erupted into a deep bass roar, the sound of breaking glass, and the shrieks of rending wood.  After what seemed like forever, the earth stopped moving.

Momentarily stunned, Takumi pushed through a mound of debris and groped his way toward the doorway.  He must escape before the entire building collapsed.

The scene outside sickened him!   Building chunks clogged the street.  Gas hissed from broken pipes.  The highway split neatly along the center line as if it were perforated paper.   An eerie creaking sound emerged from buildings struggling to remain upright.  Everybody crowded into the street now, their shocked faces white with fear.  Cries of agony and the unnerving sounds of slow, painful death erupted from all sides. 

Takumi ran for home and didn’t dare look too long at anything.  It was like a nightmare, only he couldn’t wake up.  This was for real.  His feet burned as he ran.  His throat seared; his head throbbed, but he had to get home.  He kept waiting for the moment when his over-worked lungs would finally clog from the filthy air he was greedily inhaling. 

It didn’t come; he wouldn’t let it!  Hope was motivating him; but also terror of what he may find, or may never find, if he didn’t keep running.

He rounded the corner toward his once tidy house – and gasped.  The structure was severely damaged.  The roof had collapsed - everything that could have fallen – did.  He rushed inside.

Then he saw her – through the fallen timbers, motionless.  Her pose was strange: she knelt as if in prayer - her body leaning forward, two hands supporting an unknown object.  Her back and head were crushed.  She was gone.

Takumi knelt down through the narrow cracks to search the little space under her lifeless body.   “Oh my Lord!” he screamed.

Neighbors heard his cry and carefully helped remove piles of rubbish.  There, wrapped in a flowery blanket under his dead wife’s body lay Aito, his 3 month old son.  She had used her body to shield  her baby boy from the fate that ended her life.

When Takumi hugged his little boy, he felt something rigid beneath the blanket.  He quickly uncovered the boy and discovered a cell phone inside.  The screen’s text message read: ”Dear Aito, if you live, never forget how much I love you.”

 

“Thank you Lord, for a Mother’s love.  Bless her with Your grace today.  Help her to feel precious in your eyes and to know that I love her.  Give her strength and courage, compassion and peace.  Amen

Snow Day

“A joyful heart is good medicine." ~ Proverbs 17:22

Albert was all alone.  He’d spent a lifetime collecting memories but had no one to share them with now.  Isolation seemed to be his only friend.  He’d cheated death for so many years, why’d he have to live so long?

The old man stared through the frost-covered window into the icy cold morning.   Trees branches hung from the weight of last night’s snowfall.  The sun shown like a million diamonds on the white waves of drifted snow.  

His day just got worse as he envisioned the army of brats dressed in snow gear giggling, cheering and invading this normally quiet neighborhood.  It was a Snow Day for sure.

A knock at the door stirred the old man from his self-pity.  Yanking it open, he was confronted by fat little baby cheeks flushed red with anticipation.

"Who are you?" barked Albert before pausing.  “What do you want,” he continued, “I don’t have all day!” 

“I’m Tommy,” said the doe-eyed child.  “We live over there.”  With a warm, inviting smile, the little boy waved a soggy mitten at the old man.  "Come have a look!  See what we built!"

This was an offer Albert just couldn't pass up.  He donned his warmest jacket, hat and gloves and headed out the front door.

Outside he heard the grinding sound of a snow plow, the barking of a happy dog, and the laughter of children enjoying their day off from school.  His mood immediately brightened.

Tommy urged him toward a small group of child architects and builders who had gathered around a newly constructed ‘snow fortress.’  The satisfaction on their faces declared this icy creation completed.  

“Sir, go on in!  It’s really cool; you'll love it," they all chimed!

Faces sweaty from hard work, noses running from the cold, and the smell of wet wool humbled him.  Albert crawled into the nether-world of youth, puppies and long-forgotten dreams.  This was the world of children.  And he was invited in.  There was suddenly no other place on earth that he’d rather have been.

The sweet music of laughter brought back a flood of winters past.  He remembered building snowmen, making snow angels, sledding down icy hills, and always losing snowball fights with his brothers and later their own children.

The placidity of childhood memories stole the icy chill from winter’s day.  He looked skyward, stuck out his tongue, and for the first time in years caught a snowflake on it.  It tasted so fresh and clean.  It tasted like youth, like joy, like love.  Albert looked up to the Heavens and thanked God for the simple truth that you’re never too old to be young again.  

Children, may you always feel young in spirit and always delight in the simplest of life’s joys.  May you always share your happiness with the heart of a child.  And may you always give your love, your light, your laughter, and your warmth to others even on the coldest of days. ~ God