Do Over

“Jesus said, You shall forgive them not seven, but seventy-seven times." ~ Matthew 18: 22

Jack stared down at his prose.  As suicide notes go, it wasn’t bad.  He’d chosen his words purposely; careful so as not to be weepy and drawn-out.  Instead, he preferred something short but sweet; words loving and durable.

“To Anyone (who cares):

I don’t quite know what to say, I’ve never written a suicide note.  I never had to.  I guess I have to now . . . anyway, I’m sorry!  I don’t mean for this to hurt anyone, I’m just tired.  Tired of loneliness, tired of crying, tired of faking it – I’m just tired of living.

Mom and Dad: I know I was a mistake, something you didn’t plan for, something you didn’t want.  I’m sorry for ruining your life.  I could’ve acted better, less juvenile, more like you wanted.  But I’m still a kid and I couldn’t grow up any faster.  I love you both very much, even though you don’t love me.  I understand; who could ever forgive a son who takes his own life?  No one can.  I get it.

Brandon and Gabby:  I’m going to miss you the most.  I could’ve been a better older brother, but I wasn’t.  You both drove me crazy sometimes.  I wish I would have listened to you and treated you better.  Be nicer to each other now that I’m gone.

Friends: I love you all dearly; you were like the family I didn’t have.  We had our ups and downs but I tried to always be there for you.  I’m sorry I can’t help anymore.

Please forgive me all for taking my own life so early.  I tried hard to fight this battle.  I reached out for help so many times, and yet I believe, I was turned away because of the things I did.  That’s a punishment I deserve and am willing to accept.  I know that being who I am has only brought myself and others great pain.

I love you all and will forever treasure the memories we created.  

Good-bye.”

He glanced at the note again, as tears poured down his cheeks.  The paper is wrinkled; its folds are deep.  His handwriting is illegible in some parts but that doesn’t matter.  He committed every word to memory years ago.

Today, on his 76^th birthday and for the 61^st time, he reread the suicide note he’d written as a teenager.  Had it not been for a close friend who happened to stop by randomly at the perfect time, he probably would have gone through with it and ended his life. 

So today he celebrated the anniversary of the day he wrote that letter, to remind himself of everything he would have missed.  He got a do-over; a second chance at life.

Almighty God, You’ve given us second, third, and sometimes even fiftieth chances.  Help us to put these priceless opportunities to good use and to be truly repentant so that we might learn from our mistakes.   Amen

Count Our Blessings

“Each day He provides for all our needs." ~ Psalm 103:5

Some call them geezers; behind the times, unfashionable, no longer cool.  Like two bookends, the two old friends sat quietly on the park bench enjoying a game of chess.  They didn’t keep score.  They just kept each other company.

Like many from their era, their kind was easy to spot.  During the playing of the National Anthem, they held their caps over their hearts and sang without embarrassment.  They knew the words and believed in them.

Their friendship spanned many decades.  They remembered World War I, the Depression, Pearl Harbor, D, V-E and V-J Days.  Things like boob tubes, thongs and pigs all had different meanings in their time.  Socks Hops were fun, leaded gas was cheap, and gay meant happy back in their day.

They rarely spoke to each other, but today was different.  Al could tell that something was bothering his old pal; Bud appeared to be unusually depressed.  Bud asked, “What’s wrong my friend, you seem to be on the verge of tears?”

Joylessly,  Bud spoke.  “Three weeks ago, my brother died and left me his stamp collection.  It’s worth a fortune.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your loss,” said Al.  “But that’s a mighty nice gesture on his part.”

“It gets worse,” Bud interjected. “Two weeks ago, a cousin I never even knew died, and left me eighty-five thousand dollars, tax-free.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve been incredibly blessed?” Al probed.

“You don’t understand!” Bud interrupted.  “Last week my neighbor passed away.  She left me her 1964 Eldorado Cadillac.  It’s in pristine condition.”

Al was totally confused.  “Then, why do you look so gloomy?”

“This week . . .  I got nothing!”

That’s the problem with receiving something on a regular basis.  Even if it’s a gift, we eventually come to expect it.  If we receive perks long enough, our natural tendency is to view them as entitlements.  We feel hurt, even angry, if we stop receiving them.

It is the same way with the blessings God gives us every day.  I don’t deserve the comfortable home that I live in, the beautiful scenery around me, the clean water I drink.  But after receiving these gifts (and a horde of others) for years, I sometimes forget to be thankful.  I’ve come to expect these good things.  And when one of them is removed even for a short time (like water or electricity or the internet going down), I get upset.

On this Thanksgiving Day, let’s drop our take-it-for-granted attitude and our sinful pride, and recognize that everything we have is really a gift from God.  Join King David today in the first few verses of Psalm 103 to praise Him and “Count Our Blessings!”

Dear Lord, when I have food, help me remember the hungry; when I have work, help me remember the jobless; when I have a place to sleep, let me remember the homeless, and when I’m in pain, help me remember those who suffer.  Amen

In Her Shoes

“I am a poor Lord, please listen to me and answer my prayer!" ~ Psalm 86:1

The park was relatively quiet for a weekend morning.  There were a few joggers, a mom out with over-energetic kids who were burning off excess energy and a couple of dog owners with their canine friends.  She loved Saturday mornings in the park – it was really her only time off from the role of caretaker in her family.

The oldest of three children, she must look after her siblings while her father ekes out a living driving a truck.  Her father is a hard-working man, but his 12 to 15-hour shifts don’t provide enough income to pay the bills.

Megan dreamed of graduating from high school and attending her prom.  But while her friends buy prom dresses and arrange after-prom parties, she struggles to feed her sisters and brothers.  As other families choose between colleges, hers must choose between medical care and welfare.

After attending classes all day, she fixes dinner, helps her siblings with class assignments and puts them to bed – all before starting her own homework.

Across the creek, she noticed a young Asian girl sitting alone on a park bench.  She was cute; not supermodel pretty, but attractive with an approachable smile and perfect hair.  She had it all – good looks, nice clothes, and probably the ability to make friends easily, especially boys.

Megan walked across the stone bride and glanced down at her gaunt reflection in the water below.  Mismatched clothing hung loosely over her bulky frame; the result of high-fat, processed foods that so frequently make up a low-income diet.  Her vacant eyes told the story of a teenager living at the margins.  She closed them in silent prayer. 

“Why Lord,” she pleaded.  “Why am I so poor while others are so rich?  Why do I have little to eat when others leave platefuls of food untouched?  Why am I always feeling so anxious, desperate and broken?”

She opened her eyes again to see an old woman pushing an empty wheelchair in the direction of the girl on the park bench.  Maybe the elderly woman was using it for balance; as a better walking aid.  She stopped for the girl.  “Sorry it took me so long Brandi, we can go now,” Megan overheard.

After locking the chair’s wheels, the paraplegic girl struggled to transfer herself to her only means of mobility and independence.   As the old woman struggled up the sidewalk’s slight incline, Megan felt ashamed.  Things aren’t always as they seem; we seldom know the weight of another’s baggage.  But God had answered her prayer – not in the way she had envisioned.  Instead, He offered an opportunity.

She raced toward the pair.  “Hi,” she said, “I’m Megan, may I help a little?”

Thank You Lord that Your blessings come to me abundantly, unexpectedly, delightfully - like showers from heaven, like rivers flowing through a thirsty land.  Thank You for the way You influence my heart, draw my spirit, and delight my soul.  Amen

Gammie's Advice

“I wish for you tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness." ~ Gammie

“Get outta the passing lane you moron,” Rhianna yelled flashing her headlights and accelerated quickly past the slower vehicle.  Darkness closed quickly in her rearview mirror; she had to get to Gammie’s before it was too late.

Twenty minutes later, Rhianna entered the home that that had once been her mother’s.  The timeworn home was quiet except for a ticking wall clock and creaking floorboards.

She made her way down the musty hallway to Gammie’s bedroom and before pausing briefly.  “Gammie?” she called softly and gently pushed the door open.   “It’s me, Rhia.”

She wasn’t prepared for what she saw - a frail emaciated form that had once been her grandmother.  Tired grey eyes brightened as she spoke.  “I knew you would come dear.”

“How are you Gammie?” the middle-aged granddaughter asked, fighting tears threatening to escape from her eyes.

“You know how I’m doing child,” the old woman said weakly.  “I’m dying.” 

“Talk to me Gammie,” Rhianna encouraged.  “Tell me again those things that you used to tell me when I was a child too thick-headed to accept.”

“Ah, let’s see if I can remember,” Gammie began.  “I hope you learn humility by surviving failure and learn to be honest even when no one’s looking.  I hope you have a close friend to be with you in case you ever have to put your old dog down.  I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in.”

Gammie took an uncertain breath before continuing.  “Be a witness, not a judge, focus on yourself, not on others.  Don’t educate yourself to be rich, do so to be happy.  Listen to your heart, speak your mind, and remember that you’ll never be too old to make a difference.”

Lost in thought now, Rhianna suddenly noticed how quiet the room had become.  She smiled at how peaceful Gammie rested. 

She was gone . . . but only from this life.

Rhianna lifted Gammie’s hand to her lips and kissed her gnarled fingers.  Rising gently, she placed Gammie’s hands tenderly on her lap and left room.

Sitting alone on the front porch, Rhianna reflected on the things Gammie had just said.

Gammie loved me no matter what, she thought.  She taught me that holidays should be celebrated with family.  She urged me to serve others when I'm feeling selfish.  She taught me how to say "I love you," frequently but not casually.  And whenever I went on a date, she said, "Remember who you are, and who your Heavenly Father wants you to be."

Two failed marriages, an addiction to painkillers, and a mountain of debt later, it’s never too late to realize her truth.

Lord, we live in a world where respecting our elders is becoming ancient history.  We don’t admire our elderly the way You call us to.   Don’t let us discard that precious gift of wisdom.  They’re to be respected and honored because they earned it.  Amen

Eyes Wide

“Don’t worry about what you will eat, drink, or wear.  ~ Matthew 6: 25-6

Life travels faster than you can imagine.  One moment you're getting on the preschool bus and the next you're dreaming of life after college.  Its one big rush to the next chapter of a book that really isn't very long after all. 

Outside traffic sounds woke Nic.  He heard a Harley motorcycle cruise past his window.  He smiled vaguely, pleased that he could still recognize its low, guttural growl. 

More time for reflection.  It seems we’re always too busy to appreciate life’s simpler pleasures, things that don’t cost a thing but make our lives so much more complete.  Things like feeling warm sand between your toes, the smell of fresh baked cookies, or even holding a newborn baby.

Nic’s attention was drawn to the sounds of a slight commotion in the hallway.  Janitors or nurses he thought; maybe even late night visitors.  

He thought about the birds in his backyard; so vibrant and animated.  He recalled lifting rocks that revealed a whole network of life beneath them - insects of every kind going about their lives with purpose.  He reminisced about twinkling stars, realizing that humans occupy only the tiniest fraction of time in this universe.

Clearly, his senses were amplified.  He registered Jay Leno’s late night voice on the TV next door, the soft whine of medicine cart wheels, and the annoying tick-tock of the clock near the foot of his bed.

He felt an itch on his forehead.  Instinctively he reached up and scratched.

Bringing his hand close to his face, Nic wiggled his fingers, first the thumb, then the ring finger then in a flurry his whole hand and arm.  He tried the rest of his limbs.  Nothing!   He couldn’t move a single limb, but he grinned nevertheless.

For now he savored any movement.  He scratched his head some more, feeling his disheveled hair.  He touched his soft but cracked lips and let his fingers travel the length of reachable parts of his body. He can't feel anything from his neck down but the effort felt good anyway.

It’d been nearly four months since Nic almost died on a sidewalk in Peoria.  In a neighborhood peppered with gang ties, he was beaten, kicked, and stomped; he suffered near-fatal, paralyzing injuries.

People say that your life flashes before your eyes before you die, but they’re wrong, reasoned Nic.   It’s not your life that passes before you, it’s the regrets that do.

So he thanks God for a second chance at life.  This time he’ll appreciate it more.  He’ll surround himself with love, anywhere and everywhere he can find it.  He’ll make memories, hide nothing and praise God for every breath.

Lord, You work in ways well beyond our grasp.  All of life’s pressures are self-inflected - we’re not meant to stew over every last detail.  Thank you for the life you’ve given me and help me find ways to make You proud of whatever life I have left.  Amen

Teen Mom

“He never sleeps; He’ll never let your down.” ~ Psalm 121:3

A typical day for a high school girl consists of going to class, hanging out with friends, maybe catching an episode of Jersey Shore and meeting up later with your boyfriend.   But Jodee’s days were more random – and not in that ‘What-should-I-wear-for-Friday’s date?’ sort of way.

She’d imagined graduation, going off to college, getting married and having kids with the man of her dreams.  That was before she got pregnant . . . and her plans shifted into reverse.

It was bad enough that she’d given up her teenage life and any hope of finishing high school with her friends, but raising a child alone scared her the most.  The boy she’d known since middle school, the one she’d envisioned spending the rest of her life with, the one who she’d given her body to – left.   He dropped out of the picture three weeks after Madison was born.

Jodee stared at her reflection in the mirror.  Dark circles under her eyes proved that sleep had become a scarce luxury; her cheeks itched from the tears that had dried on them. 

She hated shows that promoted the joy of teen pregnancy, shows like "Teen Mom", "16 and Pregnant" and even "Glee."  They dangerously market pregnancy as “no big deal!”  Babies ARE cute – motherhood is REAL. 

It has its great moments, but it's difficult not to wonder what might have been if she’d made different choices.  But Jodee tries not to dwell on being a teen mom.  It’s just the next chapter in her life: one filled with endless diapers, midnight feedings, and the translation of Madison’s snorts, grunts and wails.   

Despite a supportive and loving family, the odds are against her.  Parenthood is the leading reason that teen girls drop out of school; more than half of teen mothers never graduate from high school, less than 2 percent earn a college degree by age 30.

But success requires looking forward; it’s never too late to start over!

Last month Jodee’s Grandma invited her to a Bible study.   It was amazing - just bringing those women into her life provided a ray of hope.  “If these women could love me . . . then maybe God can too,” she reasoned.  And today they were throwing a baby shower in Madison’s honor.  Mom and daughter were blessed.  For now, she’d devote her energies to raising a child; someday she’d be the mentor that another girl might lean on.

So many times we want to ignore past mistakes and just go on with who we are now.  But as our faith matures and we grow closer to God, we come to understand that suffering is as much of a blessing as faith itself.  Hardships mature our spirit, deepening our personal relationship with Christ. 

Child - I never tire of hearing your petitions.  When you are weak, I become stronger.  So rest in My love and cast all of your cares on Me.   Trust Me, I got your back.  God

Green, Green Grass of Home

“It's good to touch the green, green grass of home."  ~ Curly Putman

“I only have a few seconds more,” the soldier in Afghanistan told his young wife.  “I need you to send me some things.  I’ll detail them in an email.  Gotta go, bye, I love you and can’t wait to be home again.”  The connection went dead.

The call was a luxury of sorts, about once a week or so.  Ten minutes of real time, real voice, honest to God personal contact.  What would the World War II vets think of that?  They’d sometimes gone without letters for months on end. 

But the call’s end always left her longing; emptiness swallowed her up whole like Jonas the whale.  She wondered what he needed.  Socks, T-shirts, food items?  Maybe some new DVD’s?

His email left her confused.  She appeared to be having a conversation in her head; of all the things he could have asked her to send from home . . . he asked for American soil, fertilizer, and some grass seed.  She questioned his sanity briefly.

Later, she’d learn it was so he could feel the grass tickling his bare feet.  When the other soldiers of the squadron were given a new mission, they took turns walking through the grass too.

What was it about American soil? 

Could it have been because walking barefoot strengthens and stretches the muscles and tendons in your feet and calves?  Or maybe it’s because walking in the grass sans-boots helps decrease anxiety and increases the levels of those ‘feel-good’ endorphins.  Some even believe that walking shoeless in the grass is the best cure for insomnia.

Or maybe these dedicated men and women believe so fiercely that America is still the greatest nation in the history of the planet, they’re will to sacrifice everything for her.  Sure our nation has issues, but American creativity and ingenuity cannot be matched anywhere in the world.  American colleges and universities are just straight up the best the world has to offer. 

American companies dominate all the important industries in the world.  The variety of our natural resources plus a good chunk of arable land make our geography some of the most highly desirable on earth.

What makes us American?  Diversity, tolerance, resilience, ingenuity, and patriotism.  And also our faithfulness.  We have no official faith, no national church.  But the United States is by far the most churchgoing country in the developed world.

In the end, I’m sure it’s for good luck and the hope of returning to the “green, green grass of home.” We pray that day will come soon.  Thank you to the men and women of our Armed Forces for volunteering to protect us from those that wish harm upon us!

Lord Jesus, thank you for our Veterans – those active, discharged, retired, deceased or on reserve.  At some point in each of their lives, they wrote a blank check payable to the United States of America for an amount up to and including, their own lives.   Amen

She Never Forgot

“Here I am Lord.  Send me!" ~ Isaiah 6:8

For a brief moment the soldier turned and gave one last wave to her daughter before boarding the military transport bound for a distant war.  The little girl began waving frantically; as if the act would trigger a quicker return home.

The next and only contact she’d ever have again with US Army First Lieutenant Amy C. Wisner, would be a handwritten letter that had been composed in the event of her death.  Lt. Wisner was killed by an IED during the first Gulf War.

She never got the chance to hold her Mommy’s hand again, or sing for her in the school musical.  She’d never get to hear Mommy laugh at her birthday party or get a good-night kiss from her.  She just carried the image of that fateful goodbye and the wound in her heart that might never heal.

 

"Dear Madison,” it began. 

“I'm sorry I broke my promise to you when I said I was coming back.  It broke my heart the day I left and you said, “Don't go; I need you Mommy, why do you have to leave me?”

Leaving you and Daddy was the hardest thing I ever had to do.  The best day of my life was the day you were born. Every time I saw you smile my heart would just melt.  My life wasn’t complete until you entered it.

Never forget that God knew what was best for us before we were even born.  Take comfort in that.  This happened for a reason.  Always remember to say your prayers at night and give thanks for your many blessings.

If you can do anything for me, take school seriously and do your best.  Try to learn as much as you can about the world you live in.  With a good education you can do anything.  

Stay away from drugs and bad men; they’ll both ruin your life.  You deserve better.

Finally little one, please be proud of me.  One day you’ll understand the choices I made.  Until then never forget the value of freedom and always remember that I love you that much.  Stay beautiful, stay sweet. I’ll always watch over you.  Love, Mommy"

As the briefing continued, the young soldier thought back to the day her Mom boarded that plane.  Fear, honor, and sorrow overwhelmed her.  

Madison stared off into the distance at the same fence where so many years ago she and her Dad had stood.  Slowly a tear fell as her faded Mother’s memory disappeared into the cavernous C-5 Galaxy aircraft.  Madison smiled at the phantom image before reciting under her breath: "I understand now Mom . . . I never forgot."

Her heart raced with pride as her company began loading their gear.

Father, we could never thank our military men and women enough for their courageous service and sacrifice to our country and its people.  Show us ways in our communities, churches, and families to thank and love them better.  Amen

Where There's Rope, There's Hope

“Those who know the truth are not equal to those who practice it." ~ Confucius

The big day had finally arrived.  For nearly three years Tommy, a 13-year-old had been consumed by breaking the school’s rope climbing record.  He’d come close before, but with 8^th grade graduation approaching, this would be his last chance to leave his mark.

Most students climb from a standing start to a point 18 feet high in as few seconds as possible.  Tommy, however, would start from a sitting position since a head-on collision with a drunk driver had taken away the use of his legs. 

The school record of 4.1 seconds had stood for nine years.  As he wheeled into position and gripped the rope tightly, Tommy beamed with confidence.  When Coach Kyle yelled “Go!” he began a quick ascent, hand over hand, ability over dis-ability.

He slapped the board and slid back down the rope.   The entire class gathered around to check the watch.  “4.1 seconds,” signaled an enthusiastic Coach.  Tommy – you just tied the record!”

“I’d like to try again Coach,” said an undeterred Tommy.

On his second try the watch stopped at 4.0 seconds flat, a record!  But as he descended the rope, there was a slight doubt in Coach Kyle’s mind whether or not the board at the 18-foot height had been touched.  Only Tommy knew for sure.

With the class already cheering his record-breaking feat, Coach Kyle asked, Tommy, did you touch?”  An affirmative response meant that the record he’d dreamed of since he was a skinny sixth-grader and had worked for every day would be his.   Coach would trust his word.

As the gym got deathly quiet, Tommy shook his head negatively.  And with this simple gesture, they witnessed a moment of greatness.  The dry-mouthed coach gathered his thoughts and said “While Tommy didn’t break the record, he set a much finer mark for everyone to remember by telling the truth!”  Then he turned to Tommy.  “I’m proud of you son.  Try again but this time - reach higher on your takeoff.”

A strange stillness washed over the gymnasium.  Forty boys and one coach watched nervously as Tommy climbed the rope in 3.9 seconds!  A school record, maybe even a world record for a middle school boy. 

Tommy - a young man with superb character never went to the Olympics, but he stood as tall as any Olympian that day because he was honest with himself and with his God.  He reached a height many of today’s athletes will never achieve because they put winning ahead of character.   We share a collective blame for creating a culture that undervalues sportsmanship, considers publicity priceless, and the cost of winning an expense to be borne by others.

Lord from today on I seek Your truth; whatever form it may take.  Protect me Father and help me always speak the Truth, knowing full well that stealing is evil, cheating is wrong, and anything that is not a deliberate reflection of You is sin!  Amen