Behind a Painted Smile

“Children are a blessing to be nurtured; a precious gift from God." ~ Psalm 127:3

Amy’s high school class voted her for ‘Best Smile’ in their senior yearbook.  She had to admit, it was a pretty great smile.

Actually, it was beyond wonderful.  It was like something from another world, a good place, a world without frowns.  Joy radiated from her smile; heavenly peace too.  Folks were infected by it.  

Amy was a Christian; people could see it in the way she lived her life.  She was a figment of God’s imagination!  She knew Christ had blessed her with the smile; Satan couldn’t wipe it off her face.

If only they knew . . .

. . . that she and her sister live in constant fear of an alcoholic father.  He made her a fake ID when Amy was fourteen, so that she could fetch beer for him when he was too drunk to buy it himself.  She sleeps with a golf club just in case he tries to beat her again.

If only they knew that Amy literally has to play the Mom-role now.  She’s all they have; Mom died 3 years ago and long before Amy really understood how much she loved her or how an adult relationship with Mom might have changed things.  Amy wished that it had been her Dad, not her Mom that died in that car crash.

If only they knew that her younger sister Brandi dies a little each day.  She’s bullied at school for the hand-me-down clothes she wears.  When Amy’s not at home, Brandi spends her time locked in the bedroom, terrified of a father who disgusts her.  She has but one close friend.  Such a sweet, kind-hearted girl; Brandi doesn’t deserve this.

If only they knew that sometimes Amy steals money from her Dad to buy things.  Luckily, he’s never sober enough to notice . . . or really bad things would happen to them (again).  Amy works part-time at Family Dollar for the discount she uses to buy clothes for Brandi when she can.

If only they knew . . . that school, was the only place Amy could smile.

Regardless of your situation, parents can erase "control" from your job description and add "validate and nurture."  While you're at it, don't forget all that fine print about paying for things, teaching spiritual values, driving all over town, disciplining, and setting boundaries.

Don't take this wrong; abuse and neglect are highly destructive.  But the damage can be just as severe for kids who don't get enough validation from their dads or nurture from their moms.  Without it, they won’t die physically - but may cease to exist emotionally.  Hug any kid today – then tell ‘em how proud you are of them.

Jesus, children are precious to you, a blessing full of potential.  The Bible say we should always love, respect and care for them, raising them to become the adults You intend them to be.  It’s not easy sometimes, please help us.  Amen

Why Daddy?

“Everything you do or say, should be done in the name of the Lord Jesus." ~ Colossians 3:17

“Why is Daddy leaving?”

A simple question, but one Sheila had been avoiding.  Why would any sane person want to join a distant war characterized by tropical disease, monsoon rains, and guerilla tactics?  Why would a family man enlist for a job that insured missed birthdays, school programs, and job opportunities?  

The question hung in the air like the wisp of smoke in a silent wind.  “It’s part of his job, honey,” Sheila said hoping that would end the conversation.

Their soldier gave one last glance before turning and boarding a transport plane for Vietnam.

"Wave to Daddy sweetie," Sheila said choking back tears. 

As the plane left the runway, endless doubts pulsed through Sheila’s brain.  She considered her daughter’s question, wondering what she could possibly offer that might ease the child's heartache.

One day Sheila would explain that Daddy left for a greater purpose - so that protesters marching the streets could do so, free to say what they felt.  He loved America that much!

Daddy left so that the children have the freedom to go to church and school.  Even though kids don't understand the sacrifices Daddy made . . . he loved them that much.

Daddy left so that people may own weapons even though your Daddy died at the end of a gun barrel . . . he loved this country that much.  

Your daddy left for the love of freedom, even when it took away his own.  Be proud of him; one day you’ll understand the choices he made.   Never forget that he loved you that much."

"Atten-hut"? "boomed the Drill Sergeant.

As they were being briefed, the young soldier thought back to the day her Daddy boarded that plane.  Fear, pride, and sorrow overwhelmed her.  She could still see her Daddy's eyes as he disappeared into the dark.  Her heart raced, as the company loaded gear bound for Afghanistan.  As a tear warmed her cheek, she whispered to herself, “I never forgot Daddy, I’ll never forget!"

To her it’s about defending our nation and protecting one another.  It’s about experiencing a sense of exhilaration unmatched in the civilian world.  It’s about assuming hardships that most people would never consider and doing it with a sharp salute and an immense sense of pride. 

It’s about trying to be something greater than what our culture thinks is vital or cool.  It’s even about shrugging off the anger that sometimes bubbles up when she thinks about how so few have given so much for so many.

It is about standing alongside, serving with, working for, and leading some of the greatest human beings that she’ll ever know – soldiers to whom words like honor, brotherhood and duty are voiced without snickering irony or shame.

Because she loves us all that much.

Lord, please be with their families; don’t let them be alone.  Let them know that what they’re fighting for is waiting back at home.  Amen

Coming Home

“The Lord cares deeply when His loved ones die.”  ~ Psalm 116:15

A wispy fog was just burning off the Chesapeake Bay, as Sgt. Ramirez raced to meet a USAF C-17 at Dover Air Force Base.  Its cargo compartment would be nearly void except for two flag-covered boxes strapped down in the belly of the aircraft.   

Driving through tiny towns, passing farms with fields of flaming red columbine and yellow lady slipper, he reminisced about serving in a similar capacity during Vietnam.  When choppers landed, they unloaded the wounded, then those killed in action.  The KIA would be shipped home to grieving families, who would invariably pose the question, "Are you sure that’s my child?"

He’s constantly haunted by how young they are, and by how many leave behind small children.  That’s why Sgt. Ramirez doesn’t investigate their backgrounds.  During the height of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, 10 to 20 bodies arrived daily.

This event is not a "ceremony" but rather a "dignified transfer" of remains.  No families are present; no small children feeling sad or confused.   Just a small group of soldiers who take immense pride in honoring fallen comrades.

Once the plane arrives, conversation ends with a discipline needing no command.  Rodriquez joins a squad of seven who march out to the tarmac.  A General follows, flanked by a chaplain.

The plane's cargo door opens slowly revealing a cavernous space.  The Honor Guard rises on a mobile platform that’s raised to the cargo bay.

The remains have been packed on ice into flag-draped, metal transfer cases that can easily exceed 500 pounds.  Later, the remains will be washed and if necessary, bones are wired together and damaged tissue is reconstructed with flesh-toned wax.  Once prepared and dressed in military uniforms perfectly tailored, starched and pressed, they’ll be placed in a casket.

With marked precision, soldiers place themselves on both sides of the case.  The squad lifts, the soldiers buckling slightly under the weight.  They move slowly back onto the elevated platform and deposit the casket with compelling tenderness.  The process continues until the last casket is removed from the plane.

The caskets are lowered together to the ground, where soldiers salute in slow motion before briskly carrying each box to a white van.  Only muted commands break the solemnity.  A white-gloved soldier respectfully closes the van’s back doors to a half-speed salute. 

Just before the van departs, someone speaks in a hushed tone.  They extend a final, sharp salute.

Our jobs take many different paths.  Sgt. Ramirez prays that he made a difference today, a positive contribution.   He considers it a privilege to escort these War Heroes into the loving hands of their families.  He knows he did his very best to memorialize their soldier.

Lord God, it is our deep and sacred honor to welcome them home once again.  Bless all our soldiers, living and deceased.  May their bravery strengthen our resolve in the difficult work of laying the foundation for peace in our time.  Amen

Ralston's Reunion

“We love because He first loved us." ~ 1 John 4:19

Navy Corpsman Boyd Eppley and his dog Ralston were nearly inseparable.  That was until Boyd was deployed aboard a submarine repair vehicle in the South Pacific for 9 months.  Weeks after his departure, his wife Jennifer, took their aging Lab-Beagle mix for a routine checkup.  The exam revealed a shocking diagnosis: the pooch had oral cancer.  Ralston had only 2 to 3 months to live.

That meant the pup would pass away without her owner by her side; Boyd would never see Ralston again.

Jennifer was determined to prolong their beloved pet’s life long enough for her to see her master one last time.  The tumor in Ralston's mouth made eating and drinking difficult. So she hand-fed the dying pooch special meals to maintain her weight and made sure she took her medication.   

Jennifer wasn’t sure she’d make it.  But the resilient mutt hung on, toughing it out for several more months.

Jennifer became more hopeful.  A week before Boyd was supposed to return home, she received news that his deployment was being extended for three more months.  She feared that Ralston, now growing weaker by the day, wouldn’t make it.

The sweet pooch continued anticipating Boyd’s arrival. When Ralston heard any sort of noise, she’d bolt toward the door, only to let out heartbreaking whines after realizing it wasn’t her owner.  Against all odds, the ginger-colored pooch pulled through, as if knowing somehow that she needed to stay alive for Boyd’s reunion.

A few days before Christmas, Eppley finally came home after twelve long months away.  Ralston ambled straight for him; her tail waggling furiously.  The devoted pet couldn’t contain her excitement as she licked and pawed at her ‘main man’.   Boyd, overwhelmed and speechless by his loyal friend’s reaction, gently carried Ralston to their favorite chair for a much needed belly-rub.

He and his wife were sure that they’d be putting Ralston down within days of the reunion, but then something unexpected happened.   Boyd's return was some sort of magic pill for her; she began eating and drinking again, without struggle!

But the heartwarming reunion was fleeting.  After New Year’s, Ralston’s health began failing again.  She lived to celebrate her 12th birthday in January, but when good days became good hours, they knew it was time.  Just before Ralston’s suffering came to a peaceful end, she licked the tears off Boyd’s face thus sealing a legacy of love and devotion . . . kinda like God’s love for us.

Love - it’s such an overused word.  We "love" apple pie and going to the beach.  But His love has a much richer meaning; a kind of love that transcends our understanding – uncondemning; unconditional; uncommon.

My God, Your love is never contingent upon whether or not we go to church, tithe, witness, pray enough, or even sin; Your affection is always the same.  We didn’t do anything to deserve it, and we can't do anything to keep You from loving us.  Wow!

Aborted

“Human life is sacred to God." ~ Proverbs 6:17

Dr. Rachel Cooper, Head of Pediatrics at Boston Children’s Hospital, stepped to the lectern to address her colleagues about prenatal disability screenings used for abortions.  At 47, her remarks would be based on very personal experiences a decade earlier.

“It’s the news every expectant mother dreads: their baby faces a life of disability,” she began.  “A routine scan had changed everything. The doctor reread the DNA blood test before facing me.  I cringed as he stated somberly: “I’m sorry, but your baby has Downs Syndrome.”

“Later, head in hands at our kitchen table, I wept at the horrible dilemma my husband and I suddenly faced: a choice no parent should ever have to make.  As an adult, I felt a woman should have the right to terminate a pregnancy - but that was an opinion framed by rational thought, not personal experience.

I tried to shake away images of a little boy, lonely and friendless, robbed of the most basic human functions.  I pictured him clumsy and frustrated, as his sisters turned cartwheels in the living room.  The prospect of watching him made me sick.  I hugged my stomach, as if I could in some way shield him from the misery that lay ahead.

A close friend has a son, Robert, with cerebral palsy.  Robert, now 7, spent months in the neo-natal intensive care following his birth, and has undergone several orthopedic and heart surgeries.  He’s still not potty-trained and needs help with many normal body functions like eating dressing, and bathing.  My friend explained that our child’s handicap could prove unbearable for all concerned, especially our son.

Her advice resonated with me in a powerful, almost absolving way.  I couldn’t bring this child into the world, knowing the suffering he would endure.  Her words somehow gave me permission to consider termination.”

She continued her speech for another 17 minutes before ending to a stirring ovation.  As the crowd headed for the exits, a small boy with Down’s Syndrome approached Dr. Cooper.  “I just want you to know Mommy, that I really love people like you who love people like me."

She’d aborted her abortion plans.

The pressure to abort handicapped babies is built on the mere "likelihood" that a child has some kind of disability.  Often, the tests prove wrong, and more often still, these children, if allowed to live, end up with lives of joy and happiness that far exceeds those of their "more healthy" peers.  

Suffering and hardship are not bad things. They are means to a greater end, a crucial part of the human journey.  It is not for us to decide who has a life worth living and who doesn't; I certainly don’t want someone else making that decision for me!

We were created in Your image Lord. But yet, in today’s world, we seem to think that we can selectively place our own values on life and in turn, eliminate births in certain circumstances.  Please forgive us!  Amen

Mom's Sparkle

"As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you." ~ Isaiah 66:13

They burn slowly rather than exploding like firecrackers.  Of course I’m talking about sparklers and my Mom loved them!  The way they crackled and danced like tiny falling stars.

She always brought plenty to our family cottage on the lake.  We'd sit near the water's edge and wave our sparklers, writing our names and drawing intricate designs in the air.  Their magic never dimmed even as Mom’s health did. 

We shared a glass of Chianti one summer night on the balcony of her assisted living apartment.  I’d been mostly quiet, still hurting from a painful divorce.  Mom knew – she always did.

She re-entered her residence, brought out a box of sparklers and lit one.  It burst into dazzling white light and sizzled all the way to the bottom of the stick!   The mini-starbursts chased years from her face.  “No problem is too big for God's light,” she said.

Reassurance washed over me like a warm blanket.  Her mere presence acted like a transfusion of her unwavering faith.  I knew everything would be alright!

Years later, Mom passed away peacefully.   I was left the task of cleaning out her apartment - emptying cabinets and closets, donating furniture to a thrift store, and boxing clothes and linens for the church rummage sale.  I scrubbed every inch of that apartment; Mom would've wanted it that way.

Alone now, there were only memories: faded paint on the walls where pictures had hung, slight indents in the carpet where furniture had been.  It was almost as if Mom had never lived there at all, and in that instant all the sadness I'd kept in check in the days following Mom's funeral welled up within me.  She was gone . . . forever.

I began checking kitchen cabinets one last time.  And there it was!  On the bottom shelf of a cabinet that I’d already emptied, laid a thin silvery thing—one lone sparkler.

I immediately too it out onto the balcony, struck a match and lit it.  As sparks popped and sputtered, I was moved by their brilliance; inspired mostly by my mother’s faith.  A spark of heaven here on earth, like Mom's last sparkler.

Some mothers teach their children to knit, bake or garden.  My mom taught me to love, to pray and to have faith.  To me those are the most important life lessons, the rest can be learned from a book.

Just as a skillful mother is able to pacify and quiet the woes of her child, so is God with us.  He will soothe you . . . calm your troubles . . . enable you to unburden your pain to the One whose wings we shelter under.

Lord, like the brilliance of a sparkler in the night’s blackness, fill us with Your holy light.  Let the radiance of Your coming expel the darkness of sin.  May our lives mirror our love for You whose love comforts us and whose wisdom guides us.  Amen

Blood, Sweat and Fears

“There is no greater love than to give your life for your friends." ~ John 15:13

Molly walked down a flight of stairs to the women’s bathroom.  There in front of a mirror, she splashed cool water on her face.  Nausea had painted a strange pallor on her face.   She patted herself dry with a paper towel before stepping back into the hallway and heading back up the steps to the Blood Donor Center.

Pale and sweating, she found an empty seat and read the donor manual for the umpteenth time.   

Observing blood seep from a wound, flow into a syringe or spatter on the ground always caused her heart rate and blood pressure to skyrocket.  She fought dizziness and tried to calm herself by focusing on the serenity of a clear, blue mountain lake.

A sympathetic nurse called her number and Molly proceeded to the exam room to begin the endless list of personal questions she’d soon be confronted with.  Thankfully, she had nothing to hide.

“Just to remind you,” Molly said.  “I’m deathly afraid of needles!”

“Dear, you’re not the first,” the nurse named Colleen replied.  “We’ll take it slow; as long as it takes.”  She’d drawn Molly’s blood many times before and knew that the next question would bring some peacefulness.  “Tell me again honey, why you keep subjecting yourself to this?”

Molly began.  “Thirteen years ago my twin brother Monte had a close encounter with an oak tree along a winding Tennessee back road.  Let’s just say – the tree won!  He managed to squeeze through an opening between the side window and door frame despite multiple injuries.  Once free of his mangled truck, he collapsed in shock.”

She continued.  “With every beat of his heart, blood gushed from Monte’s body.  He’d lost more than a pint of blood before an off-duty pediatrician discovered him along the side of the road.  He lost another two pints in the ambulance.  By the time Mom and I arrived at the hospital, surgeons were standing in puddles of my brother’s blood.   Monte was cold and ashen.  The surgery team looked grim.

As Molly spoke, a certain calmness seemed to wash over her.  Confidence growing, she finished her tale: “Because the team refused to give up, and selfless people had donated blood, my brother lives today!  He’s a miracle – few people lose that much blood and live to brag about it.  They saved his life.  Now I come every 8 weeks to save others.”

“But I still hate needles,” she laughed.

When we’re truly selfless and compassionate, we also become fearless.  Our desire to help replaces our anxieties and indecision - in some extremes, even fear of death or painful injury.  There is power in self-sacrifice – the power of the Holy Spirit.

“Loving God, grant that I may not try to be comforted, but to comfort, not try to be understood but to understand, not try to be loved but to love.  Because it’s in  giving we receive.”  Amen