God Honors Honor

“All people will know that you are my followers if you love each other.” ~ John 13:35

My Dad worked nights managing a convenience store.  Since Mom worked days, Dad was the one who picked me up from kindergarten.  For a few hours each afternoon, we rode one of his motorcycles: excursions that took us deep into the woods on his lime-green Kawasaki dirt bike or over paved streets on the matte-black Triumph 650.

“Don’t tell your mom,” he’d say, placing the musky helmet over my head, always promising to teach me to ride once I was old enough.  Dad would turn the key and just sit for a moment, listening to the purr of the engine.  That was his therapy.

When he opened the throttle, I grabbed his waist tighter.  I remember his laugh as he scared the crap out of me.  Sweet memories I hope never to forget.

One night changed my life forever.  I was in 5^th grade.  Mom woke me up at just before sunrise to tell me there’d been an accident.  An early morning fog shrouded everything in a thick white veil, the light barely managed to penetrate the haze.  A drunk driver tried to pass an 18 wheeler . . . he never saw my Dad on his motorcycle in the oncoming lane.  The driver never knew he had a son and a wife only a few miles away whose lives would never be the same.

Mom was devastated.  She cast her eyes to the heavens; she needed His love more than ever.  "Dear God, take care of my baby."  

I too learned the emptiness of grief that night.  Numbness pounded my brain as salty tears flowed unchecked.   Things that seemed important yesterday . . . didn’t matter anymore.  Sadness threatened to engulf me entirely.

The very next night, a group of people came to our home.  Led by our Pastor, they included choir members, Sunday School teachers, deacons, close church friends and families.  They held hands and formed a circle in our backyard and prayed.  No one saw me peeking at them from Mom’s bedroom window in her room.

I knew then God had everything under control. 

We often view fellowship as what we do in “fellowship hall.”  It’s the place where we have casual conversations and savor coffee and donuts.  This can contribute to fellowship, but it falls way short of fellowship according to biblical standards.

True fellowship involves getting together for spiritual purposes: for sharing needs, for prayer, for discussing and sharing the Word to encourage, comfort, and teach one another.  Jesus didn't just minister to people, he ministered WITH people.

Spend time intentionally with the people around you.  Pray with them.  There’s no greater gift to those you love; there’s nothing that promotes MORE unity than presence. 

Lord of all, restore us back to fellowship with You through the blood of Christ, and bless us with the fullness of the gospel, that we may know the wonders, teachings and miracles of Your holy Word.  Amen

Puppy Love

“Welcome all His followers; never criticize those whose beliefs differ from yours." ~ Romans 14:1

Abas cherished his job as the doorman for NYC’s Westport, a pet-friendly luxury apartment high-rise in Midtown Manhattan near the theatre district.  Whenever asked how he was on any day, at any time, he always replied, “I’m blessed!” 

This from an Albanian immigrant whose family had been falsely accused of treason and forced to live in a remote labor camp.  At age 39, our government granted his family asylum in America.

Abas never married; the Westport became his family.  He took care of the residents, acting as gatekeeper, bodyguard, confidant, and at times, father figure.  Not because it was part of the job, but because he was a good man.

And so it was that Abas befriended Gibson, a young boy staying with his mother at the skyscraper for several months while being treated at a local hospital for mitochondrial disease.  The chronic disorder prevents the body’s cells from working properly, causing muscle weakness and pain; learning disabilities; seizures; and sometimes organ failure. 

While Dad worked, Mom struggled to care for her sick child whose condition seemed to worsen by the day.  Theirs became a friendship created by circumstances. 

Abas noticed the youngster loved playing with Ginger, an adult Cockapoo “ambassador” at his building.  The little fluff ball melted hearts with every glance from her sweet, dark eyes.  

That’s when Abas got the idea that Gibson needed a dog of his own.  Like Ginger.

He started a fundraiser and with the help of employees, some guests and the blessing of Gibson’s parents, he worked sensibly to track down the perfect puppy. 

Abas found a breeder with a new litter in Pennsylvania.  He made the 11-hour round trip and surprised young Gibson with an adorable cockapoo pup of his own.  It was love at first sight as the pup viciously attacked the boy with all the cuteness, playfulness and love he had. 

Uncharacteristically, Gibson rejected names like Gizmo and Peanut.  For his chew-toy-obsessed K-9, there was no other choice but to name him ‘Abas’ - in honor of his friend and mentor.

In a world that can overwhelm us with problems, it’s good to know that one can find kindness and generosity, even among people and animals that started out as strangers.  

Abas the doorman knew that the four-legged version would bring a healing touch to a young boy in constant discomfort.  Puppies love with wags, licks, and leaps. 

There’s no inhibition on their part, just pure joy in their devotion to us.  They don’t care about the color of our skin, our education or profession, the sins of our past, or our religious affiliation. They’re simply thrilled when we chose to spend time with them.

Isn’t that what God wants from us too?

“God of all races, nations, and religions, You know that we cannot change others, nor can we change the past.  But we can change ourselves.  Grace us with Your blessing.  Amen” (Father Richard Rohr, 9/11/15)

Gentle Woman

“God’s grace offers endless hope and comfort." ~ 2 Thessalonians 2:17

The cold that had seemed bearable at first now numbed Esther’s face and limbs.  Or maybe it was because her circulation had slowed with age.  Homeless at 58, Esther spent much of her days walking the lonely Cleveland streets.

She glanced in the Laundromat’s steamy windows.  They owners wouldn’t mind if she stopped in for just a minute to warm up.  Not many customers today; just a young woman and a small boy.

Once inside she savored its warmth.  “Thank you Lord!” she murmured knowing tomorrow isn’t guaranteed to anyone.  So much work needed to be done here.  Esther straightened some newspapers and gathered up trash, savoring the joy that comes with of being useful.

A small voice brightened her sullen mood.  She turned.  “Can I get a candy bar, Mama?”

The little boy gazed hopefully up at his mother.  To say that his eyes were blue was like saying the sun was yellow.

“Not today, baby.  I’ve got just enough change to dry our clothes.  Maybe next time, OK?”

“Then Mama, can we go play in the park?” the boy probed.

The woman glanced outside as the sun’s rays struggled through dense grey clouds.  “Maybe for just a few minutes, then I have to fold our clothes.”

Esther watched them cross the street to the park where small children were playing on various, play equipment.  As the woman pushed her child on the swings, Esther lost herself in memories of monkey bars and lightning bugs; hot wheels and gumballs.

God how she missed those days; the inspiring and hopeful ones.   A smile warmed her cheeks as she considered their clothing wrinkling in the dryer.  There was work to be done.

Opening the dryer door, she picked out the clothes of a busy little boy – grass stained and well worn.  Her gnarled fingers caressed Lego pajamas as her heart flooded with yesterdays of bedtime stories and bubble baths.

“Thank You, Lord, for this precious little boy.  Tuck him safely beneath the shelter of Your wings," she prayed, as she folded the last T-shirt and stacked it neatly atop the machine.

Next there were nurse scrubs to fold, brightly colored, the name Jasmine printed on the collar.  A working Mom who probably crammed every house chore into the weekend.  Esther shook out the wrinkles, folded one leg over the other, then folded them neatly into thirds.

Sudden movement outside caught her eye.  Jasmine and her son were crossing the street hand in hand.  Esther folded the last pillow case and added it to the stack.  She fished a candy bar from her handbag and set it lovingly on top.   As mother and child reentered the laundromat, Esther made her way across the shopworn linoleum, out the back door, and into the morning’s light.  The Lord’s work was done!

Lord, today I just want to take a minute, not to ask You for anything, but say Thank You for blessing me with Your mercy and grace.   Amen

Toy Store Angel

“Give and it will be given to you.” ~ Luke 6:38

Jack hated everything about holiday shopping: the crowds, the tacky decorations and the aching feet.  Christmas music nauseated him, as did the special deals tempting him to overspend.  He even hated free food samples, seeing them as the ideal flu dispersing agent.

But today was different.  He was on a mission to find the perfect teddy bear for his son Dixon.  Not even overly perky shopping assistants could annoy him today.

Entering the store’s front door, the spectacle of toys gave way to a simpler, happier time: humming train engines; rainbows of Legos, and children squealing as they ‘tested’ the latest toys.

Jack found an entire wall of teddy’s – big, small; soft, furry; and everything from fleece to fake fur.

He paused for a moment, remembering his own faithful friend, with beady black eyes and a small, sad smile.  Its brown fur darkened over the years by the grunge of constant companionship.  A handful of stuffing leaked from a worn seam.  

A kindly old proprietor interrupted Jack’s trip down memory lane.  The shop had been in his family for generations.  Sometimes people would pop by just to chat.  But he didn't mind, his little shop was the heart of the community and he served it with joy.

“May I be of any help today?” he asked in a friendly voice.

“I’d like the biggest, cuddliest teddy bear you have for my son,” Jack replied eagerly.

“How old is your boy?” the old man asked.

His cheeks flashed pink, as embarrassment spread across his face.  “Dixon is 3 weeks old today.”

Showing no sign of surprise, the savvy owner led him to the store room, where a bear as tall as Jack greeted them.  He ripped off plastic dusted by years of inactivity, and carried his newfound treasure toward the cashier.  As Jack stood behind the only woman in line, he noticed two things.

First, the woman handed the clerk a $5 bill.  “I’ll have the rest next week,” she said without conviction, and left without a purchase.

Second, he realized the insanity of buying a stuffed animal that dwarfed Dixon’s size.  The root problem of holiday-shopping-gone-mad isn't the kids.  Its parents like me he thought.

He approached the counter, leaving the ginormous bear behind him.  “How much does she owe?” he asked, “the lady who just left.”

“$175,” the clerk offered timidly.

Jack pulled several bills from his pocket.  “Here’s $500 to forgive her layaway charge.  Use the rest for anyone else who needs it.  Please keep this between the two of us.”

Watching from a distance, the shopkeeper picked up a soft, plush bear from his shelf and handed it to Jack.  “On the house sir.   Merry Christmas.”

Teach us Father, how to live according to Your will.  As we prepare for your birthday, let our hearts overflow with Your Grace so that we may extend this grace to one another and love everyone the way You have loved us.  Amen

When You Believe

“Children have angels in heaven who are always with the Lord." ~ Matthew 18:10

During the first precious years of her life, Andrea felt the security and warmth, of adventure, excitement and vivid colors of a simple daily ritual.  Sometimes it brought laughter, and sometimes tears. 

There seemed no limit to these escapades and her little heart would beat faster than she could have ever imagined.  There were occasions when she would giggle so much it hurt and there were just as many other times when she plunged into darkness pretending to hide, finding protection under the soft comfort of her blankie.

Each night at almost the same time, she’d lay her head on the pillow, teeth and hair brushed, and waited patiently for Mommy to come and sit on the edge of the bed.  They always ended the day the exact same way: one sweet bible story and a prayer.

She prayed with no proof anyone could hear the simple words she spoke when talking to God.
------------------------------

Far to the west, Sasha’s hunger gnawed at her.  Listless, dull eyes revealed no laughter or interest in play.  Food was her constant obsession.  She didn’t even care if it was tasty or varied, just that it could stave off the pains a while.

Eighteen months ago when her Mom lost her job, things went downhill.  After the bills are paid, there’s no money left.  In fact, there’s hardly money to pay the bills.  They’re constantly forced to make tough choices like choosing between food and medicine.  It’s especially rough now at the end of the month.

To Sasha, hunger isn’t about how her grades are failing or that she doesn’t have the proper nutrition to grow.  To her, hunger is scary and emotional, the meanest, ugliest monster ever.  She’ll cry herself to sleep tonight again.

Distracted by her predicament, Sasha almost didn’t hear her Mom cheerily breeze through the front door with a huge sack full of groceries.  “I stopped to buy a box of saltines, you know, to carry us through until the first of the month,” she explained to her dumbfounded daughter.  “A total stranger gave me a large grocery bag and told me to fill it up.  His treat!"

Prayers answered.

We’ll probably never know how many disasters are averted because of the prayers of children.  You may ask why is it that a child’s prayer is so powerful with God.

It’s because they are so innocent, and God willingly hears the prayers of a humble heart.  Their faith is pure and transparent (Scripture says their angels "always see the face of the Father in Heaven").  There can be miracles, when you believe.  “Out of the mouth of babes!”

God, are you really there?  Do you hear and answer every kid’s prayer?  Some say that heaven’s far away, but I feel it close around me as I pray.  Jesus told His disciples: "Let the little children come to me."  Father, in prayer I'm coming now to thee.  Amen

Faith Unbridled

“Never stop praying. And when you do, keep alert and be thankful." ~ Colossians 4:2

When there’s an emergency, somebody’s always first on the scene.  Whether it’s an EMT, police officer, or trained volunteer, First Responders (FRs) provide temporary medical support until more-skilled personnel arrive.

FRs who weren’t working on this routine Friday were shopping, waiting in line at the local deli or hanging out at home when the call came in.  They were needed at Sandy Hook Elementary right away.

More than 30 professionals and volunteers rushed to the scene of what was first described simply as “gunshots at the school.”  They quickly set up triage sites, preparing to treat the wounded.  But as ambulances rolled up, sirens blaring, the FRs slowly realized that their training would be tragically underutilized on this horrifying day.

Only a few of the wounded would need stabilizing treatment.  Everyone else among the 20 children and six adults who were shot had been killed by what turned out to be a crazed gunman, who committed suicide at the end of his rampage.

Asst. Chief Sharon McCarthy looked out at the expressions from the other side of the police tape – faces stained with unbearable sadness and hopelessness.  They weren’t called to save lives.  They didn't even get a chance to try.

As tears tumbled off her cheeks, she dropped to her knees and offered the prayer below.  Then she praised God and even offered to take some of the burden off Him too. 

When finished, a calm voice spoke.  God said:  “In this world you’ll have trouble.  But take heart!  In Me you’ll gain strength and courage and peace.” (John 16:33)

McCarthy rose from her knees and turned toward her discouraged team.  She approached them, people different in ages, skin tones, and professions, but united in one goal – helping others.

She spoke these words inspired by the Holy Spirit:

“Brothers and Sisters, for those of us who believe in Christ, we know that He speaks to us in myriad ways.  Sometimes, it’s a sermon that feels as though it was prepared just for us, or a timely Scripture that practically jumps off the page and into our hearts.

Other times, however, the Spirit’s voice is soft as a spring rain – we only hear it if we’re listening for it.  Today we’re called, not for our medical training, but for the hope and compassion that we can bring these heartbroken souls. 

Reassure them with your presence - one which reflects God’s love, peace and existence.  We may not have broken bones to mend or open wounds to close, but we can help heal the innocence shattered by evil today, and calm the fears of frantic parents.  God Bless you for all you will do.”

Dear God, our world has so much pain.  Please give me the strength to be an agent of inspiration for those hurting.  Like a superhero, you know.  With some kind of super power; to inspire them to live, to love, and to laugh again, in Your Son’s Holy name I pray.  Amen

This Old Truck

“Teach your children well … and feed them on your dreams." ~ Graham Nash

Travis, as a general rule, hid his emotions.  They were vital intel he'd rather not share.  But today was different.  

Ever since Dad told him that he’d bought him a car for his 15^th birthday, and that it would be delivered today, Travis had worn the facial expression of a small child awaiting Santa.  He had a good feeling about today; nothing that felt this right could possibly go wrong.  

He woke early.  Last night’s dream placed him in the leather seat of a convertible sports car – with wind in his hair, the sun on his face, and the purity of nature’s bouquet.  Anticipation ripped through him like electrical sparks on the way to the ground.

But when a tow truck rattled down the street and into their driveway, blood drained from his face.  It wasn't the rag top he’d pictured in his mind.  Instead, the truck towed a hideous, rust-covered, 1946 Chevy pickup truck.  He could find no words to describe the repulsiveness of this two-door crap mobile.

“Happy birthday son,” his Dad said before instructing the driver where to park the old beater.  “I know it doesn’t look like much now, but give it a little time and sweat,” he paused, “and we’ll get‘er in tip-top shape.

For the next twelve months, the pair would work on the truck every afternoon and weekend.  It had taken forever to repair all the dents, remove the old paint, and locate new parts.  But a year later, after countless hours of labor and frustration, the re-chromed, gleaming two-tone (forest green with black fenders and running boards) boy-toy became the envy of the entire town.

There’s something magical and undeniably cool about finding an old vehicle and restoring it until it’s shinier than the day it rolled off the assembly line.  The dedication, the aggravation and the unadulterated passion for such projects make them so interesting.

But the education Travis gained did not end there.  In every disappointment there’s a lesson to be learned.  But it’s up to us to find that lesson.

One thing for sure - that truck stoked a lifelong friendship between him and his Dad that never before existed.  Working together he saw him in a different light, fueled by the appetite for something he loved to do while teaching his son valuable lessons about life.

It's all too easy for parents to be sidetracked right when their children need them most — during the teenage years.  Unfortunately, this is the time when the kids get busy with school, sports and youth group activities, and parents are at the peak of their careers.  Find a challenging activity that you both appreciate, then pursue it together with excitement.

Father, the teen years can seem arduous and never-ending.  As a parent, help me be more consistent … spend quality time with them … interact more lovingly … and worry less about the minor stuff.  Amen

Forever Grateful

“Be thankful in all circumstances." ~ 1 Thessalonians 5:18  

From my knees down I’m completely artificial: titanium, carbon, silicon and some nuts and bolts.  I lost my lower legs when I was 17 in a climbing accident on Mt. Washington.  My friend and I got caught in an unexpected blizzard, became disoriented, and found ourselves in a deep ravine.  We were rescued 4 days later suffering from severe frostbite and hypothermia. 

But that wasn’t even the worst part!

While being airlifted off the mountain, I learned that a volunteer climber had died in an avalanche trying to rescue us.  I felt devastated; my mind became an icy wasteland of self-loathing desolation.

For months, a medical team tried unsuccessfully to save my limbs.  Eventually, both legs were amputated.  It was shocking how close to the ground my body had become.

But here’s the thing.  Many of the richest and greatest blessings come through experiences and situations which to us seem adverse, and from which we shrink.

Months of rehab motivated me to do something to honor the memory of the rescuer who died trying to save me.  I went to college and received advanced degrees in biophysics and mechanical engineering. 

Not only do I wear prosthetics today, I design them too.  In fact, I have many pairs of legs in my closet – a pair for running, mountain climbing, scuba diving . . . you get the picture. 

God always has a plan.  It’s profound, the way He opens our minds to new possibilities when we engage a thankful heart (He can do very little for petulant one). 

For example, my biologic body will degrade with age but the artificial parts will improve (with constant upgrades).  When I’m 90, I’ll be more stable and probably able to run faster than you!

So here’s my message: “Let the spirit of Thanksgiving become the habit of your life.”  Thanking God for these will raise your spirits above any problems:

 Mother Earth: Consider the amazing variety of plants, creatures, and scenery God’s provided for us to enjoy.
Life’s Provisions: Even though we say grace, we often take the food we eat for granted.  You’ll enjoy it much more if truly thankful!
Our Possessions: Everything comes from God.  Don’t forget to thank God for our families, our home, warm clothes and all the things that make life easier.
 Fellowship:  When we grieve or feel depressed, our brothers and sisters comfort us and pray for us.  Their friendship helps bring us through troubled times.

Anybody can be thankful on one day each year.  Even the most pessimistic person can reveal grateful feelings on Thanksgiving Day.  The ideal life is one that’s incessantly grateful.   Giving thanks makes people happier and more resilient; it fortifies relationships, improves health, and reduces stress.

Thank you God for giving me health, for the food You provide, for the awareness You awaken in me.  Thank you for the energy that feeds my soul, the sun that warms my body and the air that fills my lungs.  Amen

Too Good Deeds

“Just as treasures are uncovered from the earth, so virtues appear from good deeds." ~ Buddha

William clung to an umbrella large enough to shelter both he and Mamie from the cold, dingy rain that dribbled past gas-lit street lights.  Needing a room for the night, the elderly couple ducked into a small hotel which stood boldly at the corner of Broad and Walnut in Philadelphia.

They approached a friendly desk clerk with unexpected warmth.  His name tag read ‘Georg.’  We’d like a room please,” the husband requested, trying poorly to hide his travel weariness.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the well-mannered clerk began.  “All our rooms are taken.  There are several conventions in town.”

The hope in William’s eyes faded with disappointment. 

Sensing their desperation, Georg continued.  “But I can’t send a sweet couple like you back out in the pitiless rain.  Would you consider sleeping in my room?  It’s not luxurious, but it’s safe, warm and comfortable.”

Mamie declined shyly, but the clerk insisted.  “Don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine,” Georg told them.  So the aging couple spent the night in his room. 

As he paid his bill the next morning, William told Georg, “You’re an exceptional man.  Finding people who are both courteous and helpful is rare these days.  You’re just the kind of person who should manage the best hotel in America.  Maybe someday I’ll build one for you.” 

They both chuckled.

A few years passed.  Georg still supervised the Philly hotel when he received a handwritten letter from old William, recalling their ‘rescue’ on that stormy night.  Enclosed he found a round-trip ticket to New York, asking Georg to visit them.

In early 1893, they met Georg in NYC at the corner of 5^th Avenue and 33^rd Street.  He pointed to a magnificent palace of reddish stone with towers that reached to the sky.  “That,” William declared, “is the hotel I’d like you to manage.”

That old man’s name was William Waldorf Astor, and his Waldorf Astoria hotel set the global standard for exquisite dining, lavish accommodations, and sacrificial service for over a century.  The 13-story hotel, complete with electricity throughout and private bathrooms, were just two from a long list of Waldorf firsts.  Its first manager was Georg Boldt. 

Someone who goes out of their way to help you makes all the difference in the world.

It’s the difference between getting a grumpy, inattentive waitress and a friendly, skilled server who allows a special order to fit your tastes.

It’s the difference between plowing through automated customer service menus and being instantly connected to a pleasant person who goes out of their way to help.

It’s the difference between a teacher who grudgingly tolerates your questions and one who goes the extra mile to help you master the concepts.

Lord, make me useful for Your Kingdom.  Help me to see with Your eyes, feel with Your heart, and think with Your mind.  Let me know clearly what needs You want me to handle.  I'm available and listening. Amen.

Restraining Your Complaining

“Do everything without whining or complaining." ~ Philippians 2:14

They gathered at the same table each day for lunch.  Perpetual complainers – you know the type, everything sucked and you couldn’t convince them otherwise.  They didn’t see themselves as negative people.  Rather they perceived themselves as forever being on the losing end of things; as drawing the short straw on a daily basis. 

Nan was the kind of person they hated - always in a good mood, always with something positive to say.  “If I were any better, I’d be triplets!” she’d reply when asked how she was doing.  

But not today.

Her headaches were now more frequent - almost constant, without relief.  Sleep came hard, sometimes unbearable.  In the last few weeks, she sensed her physical strength waning and her mood swings widening. 

She waited anxiously before the nurse finally motioned for her to follow.  Drowsy, confused, and unsteady, Nan knew before any diagnosis that something was seriously wrong.

The doctor called it a spinal arachnoid cyst.  The exact cause was unknown and extremely rare.  “Your tumor’s the size of a golf ball,” he explained somberly.  “But we don’t think it’s cancerous.”

Nan’s response surprised him.  “That’s great news!” she said.  To lighten the mood, she asked what the odds were that her cyst was actually the rogue Lego she’d shoved up your nose as a toddler.  He awkwardly explained in detail the implausibility of that.  Most neurosurgeons don’t get sarcasm. 

“The bad news is,” he interjected, “it’s inoperable.  It’s located in an area that makes surgical removal impossible.” 

“That’s even better news Doc,” Nan countered.  “I’m not big on brain surgery anyway!  Hospital scrubs, while comfortable, aren’t really designed for gals like me.  And head shaving - Ugh!”

“I’m afraid,” he continued, “that it’s very likely you’ll become paralyzed from the waist down within the next 12 months.”

That got her attention!  For a healthy 20-something woman, that news was definitely discouraging.  It could’ve ripped Nan’s heart right out.  But for her it was only a slight blemish on her otherwise positive spirit. 

Instead of hailing a cab for the long ride home, she decided to walk – to appreciate the movement in her legs.  Along the way she prayed for the complainers, that they could envision a God like her God.  One that in the face of despair, has the power to energize; the power to heal.  That in the face of anguish brings hope.

We all vent to get things off our chest occasionally.  But remember, if you have to complain about something to God, complain about the sin that keeps you from Him.  We can complain to God because He's big enough to take it.  And even then, we won't have to complain long, because He tells us that if we trust Him, things will always work out for the best.

Lord Jesus, All too often, my focus is on what I don’t have.  Please forgive me and help me to focus on and be grateful for what I do have.  Amen

Forged by His Father's Grip

“Just as iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." ~ Proverbs 27:17

The body rested in a fine mahogany coffin.  Funeral arrangements had been carefully prepared; simple yet meaningful.  His face bore a faint smile, as if death had been painless.  Thick, rough hands lay peacefully across his abdomen.

Connor gripped his father’s lifeless hands.  It may have been the first time that he’d really studied them.  They were cool like river stone, yet callused and raw.  Arthritic knuckles and scarred fingers were the price that he’d paid for Connor’s education, school activities and his future.

As one of the few remaining Blacksmiths in this country, Darren’s hands had taken on the character of his life’s work.  They melted, hammered and reshaped raw iron into something beautifully functional.

He was old school. 

His finished products relied on his God-given talent and skillful execution.  He understood that life owed him nothing for simply existing; his family’s livelihood depended 100% on him and the grace of God – nobody else. 

It sometimes took hundreds of swings with a hammer, steady and calculated, to shape iron into something useful.  He knew that success never happened overnight, but came from constant improvement, day after day for years at a time. 

Each day, the Blacksmith begins a new task and completes it by day’s end.  He understood the importance of getting things done.  And once he’d completed his work for the day, he went home to spend time with his family, leaving the day’s toils and worries for tomorrow.

And if mistakes were made, Blacksmiths fire up their forge and remake the piece.  He never got overly excited when things went right or made excuses when thing went wrong.  Failures brought him closer to finding a method that worked.

When old age finally overtook him, his huge hands seemed out of place on his shrinking frame. Those hands that had pounded and formed iron were timid at the end.  They were not made for the simplest tasks in his final days.  They shook and were awkward when he tried to wipe his mouth or bait a hook.

Connor glanced down at this own hands.  He now saw his father’s hands in his own.  They were a mixture of strength and tenderness; tough but nimble.  He recalled the hard labor of his early years and the changes that led him to diverse kinds of work.  Not better work; just different.  

We are what we do.  Because what we do with our life says more about us than what we say.  Words can lie, but the body and the hands do not.  Your work is a sacred thing, a vocation.  And because of your hands, you carry the story of your work with you all the days of your life.  So start swinging!

Carpenter Jesus, teach me the ways of the Blacksmith – fixing, hammering, and improving myself a little each day.  Like iron being heated and reshaped, help me view life’s challenges as a way to rework, remold and restart.  Amen

Turtle Tales

“Slow down.  Take a deep breath.  What’s the hurry?" ~ Jeremiah 2:25

Danny and his Grandpa were out for a drive.  The road lay before them like a black ribbon; albeit, one that had been scarred over time.  Wetlands bordered both sides of the potholed asphalt; a warm breeze caressed everything it touched – peaceful, quiet, comfortable. 

That was until Grandpa hit the brakes - hard!  Tires screeched on scorched pavement.

Danny’s collision with the safety belt nearly took his breath away.  Grampa turned on the hazard lights before jumping from the vehicle.  He’d narrowly missed ending the life of the small snapping turtle that was crossing the road, probably looking for a place to nest.

It had a glossy, ridged shell, bearlike claws, and a thick, thorny tail.  Danny stayed in the truck as Grandpa pushed the reptile from behind with a blunt stick (never pick them up by their shell) in the direction it was heading.  He was ever so careful not to hurt the turtle.

By the time Grampa returned to the truck, Danny’s heart rate was close to normal.  “That was crazy!” he said nervously.  “You could’ve lost control and killed us both.”

“Nah,” Grampa replied.  “We’re fine, and that little critter will live another day.  Turtles ROCK!”

“You see Danny,” the old man began, “Turtles are tough dudes.  They’ve outlived dinosaurs.  They’re probably the longest living animal on earth due in part to their slow metabolism and ability to regulate their heartbeat (like an on/off switch) so their organs don’t deteriorate over time like ours do.  They seldom die of old age.” 

“If turtles didn’t get diseases, eaten or harmed by humans, or crushed by cars, they could live almost indefinitely.  Display the organs of a 75-year-old turtle beside those of an 8-year-old, and there's virtually no difference.  The creatures can get sick, but an aged turtle is no more vulnerable to disease than a youngster.” 

“A snapping turtle has no aching joints, no hardening arteries, no loss of lung capacity, no need for a liver transplant, no deteriorating vision, and no more wrinkles than he or she was born with.  Researchers think turtles make hold the secret to extending human life.”

“We could learn a lot from them,” he continued.  “For example, we should learn to slow down and take things at our own pace.  And we could be more self-sufficient; turtles carry their houses on their backs for heaven’s sake.”

“Turtles develop a tough shell to withstand life’s hard knocks.  And they know when to retreat into their shells when they’re overloaded.”

“And Danny,” the old man quizzed, “Can you image the courage and commitment it took for that turtle to cross the busy road with no ability to rush or swerve?  We should all be that dedicated to our goals in life!”

We thank you Jesus, for all living creatures.  Every single one has a purpose.  We are reminded that we’re given a mandate to care for and cultivate.  Not to dominate, but to provide safety and space for harmony and peace in your Creation.  Amen

Made Her Day

“Live so that others will see the good things you do in God’s glory." ~ Matthew 5:16

As Wilson dressed for work, his demeanor changed.  He became quiet, stern and pensive as he mentally prepared for whatever the day would bring.  Ballistic vest – check!  Utility belt – check!  Silver shield – check!   The transformation to ‘Officer’ Wilson now complete, he headed for the local breakfast dive.

Lots of negatives about police work, he thought.  Long hours, low pay, uncomfortable uniforms, and flying bullets were bad enough.  Hollywood’s portrayal of cops as dumb, knuckle-draggers or irascible, head-thumpers doesn’t help either.

As Wilson brought the second cup of coffee to his lips, a twenty-something female entered the diner, looking as if her facial muscles had gone on strike.  He knew the look – chemo fog.  He had watched the love of his life fade away a few years back.  Recalling its cruel toll, his heart sank.

Her shoulders drooped, giving the aura of one who’ spurn even the most well-meaning attempt to strike up a conversation.  She fell into her booth like a sack of dead puppies.

She's in there, he thought, but it's as if she withdrew from life.  He wanted to reach in and tell her it wasn't hopeless, but she wouldn’t believe him.  He wanted to rekindle her passion for living but her insides were too damp with uncried tears.

Then it hit him like a frozen puck!   

Wilson called the waitress over and explained that he wanted to buy the young lady's lunch, anonymously.  Then he instructed the waitress to give her this note when she attempted to pay her bill:

"Someone today thought you were beautiful, that your smile glowed with excitement and your eyes lit up the world.  Today somebody cared and wanted you to know it.  Enjoy the rest of your day, may God bless you with His gentle touch."

Several minutes later the young woman asked for her check.  The Officer watched discreetly as she was told her tab had been paid for.  “Why?” she questioned.  “Who?”  The waitress simply handed her the note and informed her that the gentleman who did it already left, keeping her promise for Wilson’s anonymity.

Officer Wilson watched as she slowly read the note.  Her eyes teared up, for only a moment, and then came the smile!  A huge, beautiful, hopeful smile!  Her expression lit up the room and she sat up straight, not caring who saw her.  

Wilson kept his grin concealed for now.  Cops have the ability to affect lives simply based on what they do or how they treat others, he reasoned.  Whether it's by helping change a tire, showing empathy at a crash scene, or helping see that justice is served for crime victims, he reminded himself that they took the job because they wanted to help others.  Today would be a great day!

Dear God, each of us have been gifted great purpose!  Use me to appreciate and inspire; to affirm and love categorically.  Remind me to point them toward You in Jesus’ name. Amen

Never Too Late

“God sees all; nothing can be hidden from Him." ~ Hebrews 4:13

Before the hockey game, identical twins Andrew and Steven, each bought a $10 raffle ticket for a chance at the $50,000 intermission shot.  The hole in the plywood 90 feet away was just barely larger than the puck.  It was about like trying to throw a golf ball into a beer mug from center field. 

Steven was recovering from recent shoulder surgery.  As (bad) luck would have it, Andrew was off flirting with some girls when the stadium announcer called his name.

So Steven, his brother’s ticket, and his bum wing entered the ice rink and lined up the absurdly difficult shot.  They look so much alike, who would know?  No real harm! 

Steven let it fly.  The gliding puck headed straight for the tiny opening . . . but quickly lost momentum.  The crowd roared as if its clamor could energize the rapidly fading disc. 

And it worked!  A cacophony of cheering, whooping, and back slapping erupted as the puck barely crossed the goal line and into the net. 

As Steven stood proudly for pictures and congratulations, his mind quickly wandered toward how best to spend his fortune.  He’d start with some new hockey equipment; maybe give a thousand or so to Andrew.  He’d even donate some to their hockey association.

Their dad thought: "Fifty grand?  Four kids, a daughter in college, two boys in high school?  This will really going help.

When they all got home that night, something didn't feel right.  After the kids went to bed, both parents felt the same conscience betraying their guilt.

But why?  

The money came from a huge insurance firm, since the youth hockey association had taken out a legitimate policy.  Who cares about greedy insurance companies? 

But lying just wasn't worth $50,000.  So the next morning, the parents were about to tell the kids they were going to have to give the money back when the boys floored them with their own announcement.  They didn't think they should take the money.  “It just felt wrong," Steven said.  “And it’s never too late to do the right thing.”

Steven called the insurance company whose name appeared on the check and explained what had really happened.  Yes, he was the boy who’d made the shot.  But the raffle ticket belonged to his brother.  Wrong kid.  They’d return it immediately – uncashed.

The boys were disappointed, yet relieved.  Mom and Dad beamed with pride; an unplanned opportunity had blossomed into a teachable (although expensive) moment. 

Our God Sees us when nobody else does.  When we couple that with a desire to please Him and not grieve Him, it makes a difference in how we act and behave.

Lord, I’ve not lived my life the way that You wanted, nor did I choose the path that You  wished I’d take.  Help me change that!  So that when the day comes, I’ll hear Your words: “Well done my good and faithful servant.”  Amen