Hard Days Night

“Teach your children well; teach them in your home and on the road." ~ Deuteronomy 6:6-7

It’d been a long, hard day at work.  As a high school teacher in her mid-thirties, Sandra felt like she was ninety.  When each day finally ended, she boarded the bus and wondered where the kids that valued learning went to school.  Each day seemed to take a little more out of her. 

As an English teacher with 159 students, it took 28 days just to grade their essays each semester (if she worked six-hour days with no breaks).  Classes were too large . . . but also too short! 

Time was the most valuable commodity teachers had.  But class periods were often cut short by drug, sex, social conscience, and ‘whatever’ education.   That stuff really threw off dedicated teachers.  Sandra actually ached for more instruction time with her students.  She hated the role of surrogate parent, clergy, cop, EMT, judge, janitor, secretary and counselor.

Broken families made it tough to teach.  Brilliant kids had to leave their comfortable school and close friends because of family splits.  Many kids – even those in high quality schools – came to school incapable of learning because they were so upset.  Tragically heartbreaking - it robbed even more time from teaching.  

Troubled teens had too much unsupervised time.  Not surprisingly, they got into trouble.  Newspapers were full of examples.  Many parents allowed their children to run around at night instead of doing homework, allowed kids to “fall in love”, and all kinds of other crazy things.  Then they questioned why their child failed to graduate.

And don’t even talk to Sandra about the over-emphasis on extra-curricular activities and sports. When did kids have time to be kids anymore?  

Home now, Sandra collapsed on the couch trying to relax with her eyes closed before starting dinner.   Suddenly, she felt the cold, moist nose of their little puppy curling up in a ball next to her.  Sandra smiled and petted him softly before opening her eyes again.

When she did, her sweet young daughter stood directly in front of her holding a favorite children’s book.  Sandra smiled.  Innocent brown eyes begged for an early ‘story time.’  Sandra bent over and pulled her favorite student to her lap. 

“Of course, Sweetie," she said as peace surrounded her like a warm blanket.  As she started to read, fresh energy soon filled her body and spirit.  Soon they were laughing at silly characters, rooting for heroes and playfully scolding villains.  Best of all, Sandra was teaching, and sharing, and learning again.  She knew then that everything was going to be alright and silently thanked God for His love, for their family, and for her extraordinary life.

Loving Father, we spend our lives seeking happiness.  Yet, sometimes all we need is to take a seat on the couch and wait as love climbs on our lap, peace curls up by our side, and happiness fills our heart.  May we love as freely and joyfully as You intended.  Amen

Gut Instinct

“Whenever in need, we should come bravely before God’s merciful throne." ~ Hebrews 4:16

For nearly eleven years Naomi “Pepper” Andersen patrolled the streets Miami-Dade County.  She’d been hit, bit, kicked, and spit on; witnessing every vile act a human can perpetuate on another.  Most people get little more than a momentary glimpse of what 'Pepper' survived.

Today’s all-too-routine call took her to the local grocery.  An armed security guard had detained a teenager trying to steal food; probably a gang-banger initiation stunt.

She placed the boy in the back-seat of her cruiser.  “Dude - What were you thinking?” Pepper asked.  But Rafael’s modest silence stirred something in her gut.   She decided to take him home instead.

Upon arrival, she hiked the broken steps to the door and knocked.  Preschool-eyes peered from behind the door.  When Pepper asked to see her mommy, the child scampered down the hall to retrieve her. 

Pepper pushed the door open and stepped into the entryway where she saw everything she needed to know.  The kitchen was barren; the furniture old, worn, and threadbare.  No doubt - this family was very poor.

A few moments later, the little girl returned and told Pepper: “Mommy’s busy.”  She told the girl to go back and tell mommy that the police needed to talk to her; she’d return in 10 minutes. 

Mom asked if her children were OK.  Pepper explained that they were fine and asked her to step out to the police car and an empty backseat – except of course the bags full of groceries.

You see – instead of arresting Rafael, Pepper had returned to the store and purchased the food with her own money.  Arresting him wasn't going to solve the problem of hungry children, so she let him go.  His was a mother so distraught over her inability to provide for her children that she pleaded for a miracle - as the answer to her prayers knocked at her door.

But the story gets even better!

After word got out about what happened, fellow officers donated another $625 for the family to spend at the grocery store.  But best of all - a local business owner invited her for an interview and hired her on the spot as a customer service rep.

It all started with one veteran police officer trusting her “instinct” rather than going “by the book.”  But Pepper’s actions were nothing more than an answered prayer . . . there’s no way any human could execute something so powerful.

Oh great and awesome God, thank You for working Your miracles through me.  Thank You for peace of mind, heart, and soul.  Your loving world is the real one, and my gratitude runs deep.  Amen

Sharing Hearts

“Care about others as much as you care about yourselves." ~ Philippians 2:4

One week ago my best friend was involved in a terrible car accident on her way to a high school wrestling match.  The doctors tried to prepare us for how she’d look . . . but no words could ever have described how Brandi appeared when we walked into the ICU.   My beautiful friend, so intelligent and musically gifted, who’d go off to college in the fall on a full scholarship, now lay motionless and barely recognizable.  The sadistic whoosh of a ventilator softly mocked us.  An array of lights danced purposefully on the monitor's screen. 

Six days ago we were shocked to learn that Brandi had suffered irreversible brain damage; a condition that worsened as her brain continued to swell.  I quickly learned the significance of cranial pressure measurements.  As each hour went by, I dreaded looking up at the rising numbers; yet I feared not doing so either.  She was in as deep a coma as one could be.

Five days ago, after friends and family said their good-byes for the day; I stayed in the room with Brandi.  I talked to her.  I sang old, familiar hymns to her.  I told her how much we loved her and how special she was.  I rested my head gently on her chest, listening to the beat of a heart that lived too short a life.  It all went too fast before it was time to leave the room . . . forever.

Four days ago Brandi died.  The hospital waiting room was filled with teenagers, parents and her church family. Their love and support was very comforting - proof that Brandi had touched so many lives during her short 18 years and that her family would get the help they needed from all of us in order to heal.  That day, her family learned something about Brandi they’d never known: she’d registered as an organ donor.  Doctors explained that her decision meant that her young heart would be used to save another’s life. 

Three days ago I heard that a nine year old boy named Nathan received Brandi’s heart. 

Today Nathan’s family invited me to meet him.  With someone else’s heart beating in their son’s body, the parents’ joy was tempered by intense sorrow for Brandi’s grieving loved ones.  They knew that Nathan’s second chance had come at an incalculable emotional cost for them. 

They offered me a stethoscope so that I could hear my friend’s heart beating powerfully in Nathan’s chest.  Nathan, who first suffered heart failure at age 6, smiled, then whispered to me that since he had been given my best friend’s heart, he’d be my best friend now too!  J

Lord God, who loves us from life to death and back to eternal life, inspire us to do the same for one another.  Give to me a virtuous heart, which no evil intention can divert.  Give to me a constant heart, which no pain can crush.  Amen

This Old Guitar

“Whenever two or more gather in My name, I’m there too." ~ Matthew 18:20

When he was too young to understand, Braxton’s dad told him that someday he’d be part of something bigger than himself.  As he matured; he learned to appreciate those words by observing a father who’d sacrificed his time, money and energy for the country he loved. 

Today after a brief trip to the cemetery that honored his late soldier-dad, he glanced over at the old guitar and sensed the connection Dad had been talking about. 

A layer of dust now covered it like a warm blanket.  Somehow he felt unworthy of touching it; let alone picking it up.  It had been such a big part of his childhood, hearing its amazing notes flow without hesitation, but only when played by his father’s delicate fingers.   It would probably stay silent in that corner of the room for the rest of eternity.   

He recalled their last time together; Dad was heading overseas again.  Sitting on the sofa facing the guitar, he could almost hear his dad telling him that it was the second best thing in his life.  “You were the first,” he told Braxton.  Then he played a little Johnny Cash.

As usual, Dad was proud to serve his country.  He never complained, but he hated being away from his wife and son.  If Braxton had known that it would be their last time together, he would have begged him to not to leave.  Dad would have left anyway!  He believed it was his duty to keep America safe.

He’d promised to teach Braxton how to play when he returned.  Then he placed the guitar there, where it remained, untouched, collecting dust.

“I miss you, Dad,” Braxton cried out loud to no one in particular.  He stood from the couch and headed off to bed.  Half way there, he turned around, picked up the guitar and wiped the dust off with a moist towel.  It looked as if Dad had never left.

Braxton touched the instrument’s bare wood; feeling something he couldn’t explain and probably would never be able to.  It was the connection Dad must have felt all those times he played for other people; a link that bonds us as brothers and sisters in Christ.

For the first time since Dad died, Braxton felt him again.  He would learn to play this old guitar.  Because as long as he kept playing, Dad would be there beside him . . . coaching him, reassuring him, encouraging him.  

For every person, every animal, every thing is part of the same spiritual community - even in death.  We are fashioned from "God stuff," making us all equal to each other in His eyes.

Heavenly Father, our parents are often the best model of You in our lives.  We owe them a debt that can never fully be repaid.  For any who have died, grant them eternal rest and let the perpetual light shine upon them.  Amen

Bad Hair Day

“You, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection." ~ Buddha

 

She understood perfectly – the two 15 year old girls were mortified that their mother was with them.  So she agreed to drop them off far from the mall’s entrance. 

Once inside, Taryn and her friend Sydney could smell the Food Court’s aroma.  That was always their first stop, not necessarily to eat, but to “check things out,” just in case Jake or Drew were hangin’ out too. 

They amused themselves by watching others; like sons embarrassed having their mothers pick out their clothes, or elderly couples who took their sweet time searching for just the right bargain.  Cashiers in the kiosks chatted on their smart phones ignoring customers while Security Guards watched for suspicious people.

“If we’re watching them . . . do you think they’re watching us?” Sydney asked.  “Probably,” Taryn shrugged as she stood up, motioning that they should start walking around.

Next stop was the jewelry shop.  They each purchased two pairs of cheap earrings.  They went to the Music Store and browsed DVDs.  They bumped into a few friends and headed for the Arcade where they laughed, played video games, and took snapshots in the photo booth.

“There’s Jake,” whispered Sydney.  “Go talk to him!”

“OMG, not yet, she said in a slightly panicked voice.  “Not before I check my makeup and hair!  You coming?”

Taryn frowned skeptically at the restroom’s mirror. “I hate my hair!” she screamed.  It has a mind of its own; too wavy.  I didn’t have time to straighten it; I can’t let Jake see me like this!”

Trying to reassure her friend, Sydney countered “You look great!  I think he really likes you.”

They continued to play the “You-look-great – No-I-don’t!” game until a girl about their same age walked in wearing a shirt that read “Die cancer! Die!”  She had no hair at all.

Taryn felt her cheeks get hotter and hotter, and wondered if anyone was ever as embarrassed as she was right then.

When asked why they don’t like themselves, most teens respond based on the way they look, or how popular they are, or if they have a boyfriend, or what ‘others’ say about them.

If you find yourself thinking these same things . . . STOP!!!

The truth is that you’re beautiful in the eyes of the One who matters most.  STOP comparing yourself to others, especially to models who have had their pictures professionally edited, or actresses who have others do their hair and makeup.  STOP wanting to be part of the ‘popular crowd’!  If you have to be anyone other than ‘yourself’ to fit in, you’re trying to hang with the wrong people.  STOP begging for the approval of a boy, who at your age has no idea how to treat you properly.  STOP worrying about the opinions of others! 

Girls, STOP . . . and take time to appreciate how uniquely, and wonderfully, I made you!   STOP . . . trying to seek others’ approval and work to gain My approval. ~ God