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