Great Race of Mercy

“Everyone has been blessed with wonderful gifts; use them to serve others." ~ 1 Peter 4:10

In Nome Alaska, children were dying in January 1925.  Infected with diphtheria, they gasped for air and struggled to swallow.  Every day brought a new case of the deadly disease whose mortality rate was close to 100% without an antitoxin.

Nome’s only doctor feared an epidemic that could threaten nearly 10,000 people, mostly children.  He immediately began immunizing villagers with an experimental but effective anti-diphtheria serum.  But it wasn’t long before his supply ran out.  The nearest batch of life-saving medicine rested in Anchorage – 1,000 miles of frozen wilderness away.  

Nome’s ice-choked harbor made sea transport impossible, and open-cockpit airplanes could not fly in Alaska’s subzero temperatures.  With the nearest train station over 700 miles away, canine power offered Nome its best hope for a speedy delivery.

Amazingly, a group of trappers and prospectors volunteered to cover the distance with their dog teams!  While sled dogs regularly beat these snowy trails to deliver mail, supplies and food, even by Alaska standards, this trip would be particularly treacherous. 

Temperatures hovered at 20-year lows, rarely climbing above −40 °F.  The path chosen was some of the roughest, most dangerous terrain Mother Nature had to offer, throwing jagged mountain ranges, frozen rivers, dense forests, desolate tundra and miles of windswept coast at the “coureurs des bois” (runners of the woods).

More than 150 dogs and 20 drivers participated in the relay from trading post to trapping station and beyond.  Although every second was precious as the number of confirmed cases in Nome mounted, mushers knew they needed to control their speed.  If their dogs ran too fast and breathed too deeply in such frigid conditions, they could frost their lungs and die of exposure. 

With moonlight and even the northern lights illuminating the dark winter days, teams raced at an average speed of six miles per hour oblivious to frostbite, fatigue, and dehydration.  Finally after 144 hours against frigid winds, the serum reached Nome, cutting the previous speed record nearly in half.  

Unfortunately, four dogs died from exposure.  But due the heroics of brave men and their sled dogs, only one additional child’s life was lost to the deadly disease.  Their sacrifice had given an entire town the gift of life.

Every year in Alaska, a 1000-mile dogsled race, run for prize money and prestige, commemorates an original “race” to save lives and honor the mushers and their dogs.  The race begins in Anchorage and finishes in Nome.  Dogs pulling drivers and drivers leading dogs up treacherous climbs and side hills, across glare ice during long hours of darkness and treacherous climbs and side hills, and you have the Iditarod - a race only possible in Alaska.

Father, allow me to give of myself, to give of my talents and goods, my time and energy; my heart and my soul.  Allow me to serve others as You serve - with gentleness and compassion; never keeping score; never expecting to receive.  Amen

From Grief to Glory

“He tests us in hard times just as silver is refined in a furnace." ~ Isaiah 48:10

Melvin had big dreams.  One day he’d play soccer in a big stadium, before a huge crowd of adoring fans – a far cry from his humble home in rural Guatemala.

An energetic but shy five year old, the ball became an extension of his foot.  He could dribble with both feet, pass with some accuracy, and run like a puma.  But mostly, he just loved kicking it around with friends at school.

That afternoon, he was alone in the family’s front yard, one directly across from the little church his Dad helped care for.  He kicked the ball high, then higher.  He practiced “catching” it with his foot and bouncing it off his forehead.

He chased an errant “header” into the street.  The truck couldn’t stop in time.

Melvin’s tiny bones were crushed.  Bone fragments became lethal shrapnel inside his small body. The impact was fatal.  The driver was devastated.  As were Melvin’s family, his schoolmates and the entire village.

Weeks after the funeral, Melvin’s Dad rummaged through his son’s things again.  He missed riding his boy to school on the front of his bicycle.  Of course Melvin could have walked the short distance, but José insisted he arrive there safely.  Plus it offered them a few minutes together before long days in the field.

He touched Melvin’s few possessions again, as if handling them would somehow bring his son back to life.  Playground dust still clung to the laces from his shoes.  There was a school uniform that carried a hint of Melvin’s scent; the tattered ball that’d provided hours of youthful pleasure.

A soft knock on the front door interrupted his grieving.  A sad man with slumped shoulders and a broken heart stood as if waiting for penance.  “I’m so sorry,” the truck driver said without looking up.  “I’ve come to ask your forgiveness.”

“In honor of your son,” he continued, fighting back tears.  “I’d like to build a church; a place where we can give thanks each day for the blessings of our health, our harvest, and our love for each other.  I’d like it to be a tribute to your son.”

Eighteen months later, Templo Adventista Septimo Dia opened in place of the small church across from Melvin’s home – for worship, for healing, for God’s glory.

There are few joys to match what a child brings to a family.  And no sorrows that rival the pain of burying a child.  If you or a loved one is walking through the valley of sorrow - know that you’re not alone.  Those who’ve left us too soon, remind us of His sovereign grace and the joyous mysteries found in the midst of suffering.

Lord Jesus, our grief is real.  Our only sanity is the belief in everlasting life, when the scales are righted and all sufferings are made good.  We trust You - that while this child’s life on earth is done, his life beyond has just begun. Amen

iNanny

“We are many people, but in Christ we are all one body." ~ Romans 12:5

The knock at their bedroom door woke them both.  A pair of tiny feet approached the bed and pulled gently at the covers.  Aaron opened his eyes to find three-year-old, Benjamin standing at the bedside in his pajamas.

“Daddy,” he announced, with a sense of great urgency.  “I need the iPad.”

Aaron checked his watch - 4:12am.  He stumbled to his feet and ushered young Benjamin back to his room.  “You don't need the iPad,” he said, tucking him back into bed.  “You need to go back to sleep.  It's the middle of the night.”

When the alarm clock rang at 7am, Katie noticed something amiss: the family’s iPad, which she’d left charging on the nightstand overnight, had disappeared.  She went to the play room.

There sat young Benjamin, cross-legged on the floor, with the stolen device in his lap.  He was playing a noisy video game called Monkey’s Lunchbox.  The battery was already half empty; he'd been playing for at least two hours.

When she took the iPad away, he screamed.  His tantrum continued all the way to Preschool.  When she picked him up later that day, the nursery teacher asked, “Is everything all right at home?  He’s seemed a little lethargic recently.”

Katie had no idea how to respond.  Their baby had become an iPad addict.

On the road home, Katie’s thoughts returned to her own childhood days growing up in rural Indiana.  Family prayer, values, truths, and stories were shared at that round piece of maple they called the dinner table.  No one called during dinnertime.

They all helped either get dinner ready or washed dishes afterwards.  After a busy day their evening meal was a chance to reconnect with each other.   It seemed like a fitting reward for the day’s hard work.

Now their meals often took place in a crowded restaurant.  They were socializing, but not with each other:  Everyone was nose deep in an electronic gadget.  Once they ordered appetizers, they promptly returned to their own devices.  They were alone . . . together.

Aaron arrived home from work and suggested they “do” Olive Garden for dinner.

“No way!” announced Katie.  “Let’s get take-out and start a new tradition - dinner after prayer at home . . . together . . . no cellphone or iPads allowed.”

Calling something that destroys conversation and interferes with face-to-face human contact "Social" is a sign of the silly, manipulative world we live in.  It’s never too early to set boundaries on the time a child may spend on a tablet.  If you feel your child is obsessed with a piece of technology, reduce its availability.  If you feel your child’s behavior is affected adversely, ban its use altogether.  You’re in charge!

Lord, technology has changed the way we communicate, opened new doors, made Your Word more accessible, and deepened relationships across physical boundaries.  Help us learn to use technology and all things media for Your good.  Amen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One President's Faith

“He who says that religion and politics don't mix understands neither one." ~ Gandhi

For the first two hundred years of this country, most U.S. Presidents worked diligently to keep their religious lives private and preserve a wall between church and state.  For example, even though he was considered one of our greatest presidents, Abraham Lincoln never joined a church, publicly confessed a creed, nor publicly stated belief in God’s validation of his policies.

But this President was different.  Let’s call him ‘Sinner’ for now.  Sinner started every day on his knees, praying not for earthly things, but for guidance, wisdom, patience and understanding.  He read the Bible each morning and studied a daily Bible lesson.  He often asked a Cabinet secretary to lead a prayer at the beginning of Cabinet meetings.  He frequently prayed in the Oval Office (sometimes with foreign dignitaries) and frequently prayed on the phone with a friend back home.

Like so many Presidents, his life was touched by Billy Graham.  But none literally turned their life around after an improbable visit with the Pastor of the Presidents.

At a private family gathering, Sinner vaguely listened to the Rev. Graham through an alcohol haze.   Sober the following day, the two talked religion while strolling through the family’s estate.  Graham questioned him about his commitment to faith.  Later Sinner would admit that he’d been yearning for something different in his life.

Billy sent him a Bible and encouraged him to read it.  It would take a while for Sinner to fully understand that religion was not a course in self-improvement, but surrender.  You allow the living God into your life by surrendering to Him; grace comes from pleasing God, not yourself.

His acceptance of Christ began a long walk; a journey of discipline and focus.  Family, friends and longtime aides say faith helped save his marriage, quit drinking, find his vocation in politics and check his fiery temper. 

He believes it made him more humble and tolerant. 

The impact of Sinner’s faith became evident in his personality, rhetoric, campaigns, appointments, and policies.  It has helped shape his electoral strategy, his political agenda, and his relationship with leaders of other nations.  Proponents argue that his faith sustained him during crises, strengthened his resolve, increased his courage, confidence, and compassion, and shaped his policies in many positive ways.

There's nothing wrong with that.  Frankly, it’s a pragmatic understanding of politics.  We the people want our leaders to be religious.  We want them to be ethical.   We want them to stand for high moral standards.  Whether it's faith-based organizations who get involved with the government on welfare or prison ministries or helping folks in need, this partnership can be accomplished without violating the church/state separation.

“Lord, I find great comfort in my faith.  It reminds me that I’m a person with a lot of responsibility, but I’m nothing more than a human being who seeks redemption, solace and strength through something greater than me." ~ George W. Bush

Smile

“A glad heart makes a cheerful face." ~ Proverbs 15:13

The sky boasted a curtain of cobalt silk.  Bleached white clouds drifted offshore.  It was the fourth day of a week-long sales meeting near Sarasota, and Scott needed a break from the banal PowerPoints and clichéd speeches.   A shoeless walk on the beach offered the perfect remedy.

He loved everything about the ocean: air pregnant with the smell of brine as gentle waves caressed the warm sand.  Scott shaded his eyes from the setting sun and gazed wistfully out to sea.  He saw dolphins, bodies flashed in steel-grey, flipping into the air.  A rare privilege indeed!

Squabbling seagulls flew overhead, searching to satisfy their insatiable hunger.  Gannets, their wings a blur of motion, plunged into that place where sun and water meet trying to spear dinner.

Life was good, he thought to himself.  Correction!  Was there anything as heavenly as a pre-sunset stroll along the seashore? 

In the distance, yachts rocked methodically.  How could such an enchanting paradise become the salty coffin for many a careless mariner, he wondered?

The beach was nearly vacant now – gone were the barely clothed sun worshipers, the local artists and musicians, medicinal entrepreneurs, muscle heads, and rebellious youth that were spiked, tatted, pierced, dyed, torn and bleached.  Scott smiled to himself as daylight faded slowly into the horizon.  

He encountered a random stranger walking in the opposite direction.  She smiled back at him and just before passing said, “Nice to see you!” 

Scott quickly replied, “I’m sorry, do we know each other?” 

“Nope,” she replied. “I just like your smile.”  It wasn’t a come-on, just a statement, but it caused him to reflect . . . on the enormous power released by a simple smile.

It’s a beautiful thing.  A genuine smile is the universal symbol of happiness and a force of nature. Have you ever observed what happens within you when you smile, or better yet, forced yourself to smile when you’re feeling down?

Give it a try right now.  No matter how you’re feeling or what’s going on in your life, close your eyes and smile.  Observe the feeling of warmth that wells up in your stomach as you do it.  Observe the shift in your energy as you turn that frown upside down.   

If you’re still not convinced, go in front of a mirror and notice how you look when you’re smiling.  Once again, observe how you feel within and how you feel about the reflection looking back at you as your facial expression changes.  If you’re feeling particularly sassy, look deeply into your eyes, smile and say: “You’re awesome!”

Smile and smile often.  Smile at yourself, smile at a loved one and smile at a stranger. And whatever that thing is that you love to do, do it and share it with someone.

Dear Lord, show me a simple heart, pure and transparent which harbors no sorrows; one gentle and humble; tender in compassion; faithful and generous; and one bursting with the love of Jesus.  Amen

Nobody Joe

“Whoever does not love doesn’t know God, for He is love." ~ 1 John 4:8

Joe walked up the steps and opened the heavy door with a loud creak.  Sure enough, the church was empty, so he stretched himself out on a pew in the back and chuckled to himself.

His short daydream was interrupted by an incredulous usher.  “What the  h _ _ _? he barked.  You can’t be here; church starts in less than 30 minutes.  Get out!”

It must have been an alarming sight.  Joe had a strange appearance, almost as if it was contrived. His hair was unkempt and straw-like, nearly fossilized it was so dry.  He wore the beard of a vagrant: disheveled and spittle flecked.  His ragged clothes suggested that old Joe had surrendered to the passage of time; a character truly out of place in this holy sanctum.  

Undaunted by the impolite greeting, Joe rose, gathered his bag of dumpster treasures and wandered into Fellowship Hall.   There he greeted people with a friendly smile; asking for loose change to buy food.  No one seemed moved by his begging.

One worried little girl tugged on her father's sleeve.  "But Daddy . . ."

Daddy was busy sizing up the bearded stranger, whose shapeless trousers and frayed work shirt had too often cushioned his ‘concrete mattress.’  "Don't stare at him, honey," he whispered, before rushing her inside.

Soon, sacred music filled the sanctuary as church members settled into their usual spots.   The Worship Leader read a host of Church announcements.  “And finally,” she spoke eagerly, “I have the great pleasure of introducing today’s guest Pastor.”

Sunlight flooded the center aisle as double doors swung wide open.  Joe the homeless man, sloppy and hunched, headed toward the front.  Before anyone had a chance to react, he ambled up the steps and stood behind the imposing oak podium, where he faced a dumbfounded congregation.

The scruffy outsider paused for a moment; then began in an eloquent, clear voice.

"Jesus revealed a love that far surpasses what any of us deserve."

Stepping out of the baggy old trousers, Pastor Joe went on to describe Christ’s love for every one of us.  No strings attached.

Congregants squirmed as reality hit them like a thunderbolt.  The stranger tugged at his wildly disheveled beard before removing it.

"He loves us unconditionally and forever.  No matter who we are, where we've come from, or how badly we may have mistreated others or ourselves, His love never fails."

Today I see a gathering of people . . . not a Christ-like community.  Being a Christian is more than something you claim.  It's something you live by and share with others.  It’s not too late to change.” 

That wise Pastor, under the guise of a homeless "nobody," dismissed the service until next week, leaving everyone with plenty to think about until then.

“When my work on earth is done, and life's victories have been won.  He will take me home above, then I'll understand his love.  Yes Jesus love me!”