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.
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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