Blessings From a Child

"Pray for everyone.  Ask God to help and bless them all." ~ 1 Timothy 2:1

Matt jumped from bed as soon as the sun peeked through his window.  He crammed his favorite things into a backpack for his trip to Grandpa’s.  In went his swimsuit, a library book about tree houses, and plenty of ‘Twizzlers.’  Carefully placing his stuffed bear Grizzlee inside, Matt zipped the flap.

Going to visit his grandfather for a week by himself was always Matt’s favorite part of summer vacation.  They’d go fishing and watch baseball games.  Grandpa also taught Matt how to fix things around the house.

Last year, when he was five, Matt learned how to repair a broken window (one he’d accidently broken) and how to paint the storage shed.  Grandpa was patient and didn’t mind the time it took to show Matt how to use real tools.

Matt grabbed his backpack and ran to the kitchen where Grandpa now waited.  “Ready, big fella?” asked Grandpa.

“Oh yeah!” Matt replied eagerly.  As he kissed his Mom goodbye, his stomach rumbled.  Breakfast at our usual spot?”

The ten miles to ‘The Golden Biscuit’ flew by as Matt jabbered about his latest science project.  They sat at the counter.

Grampa ordered buttermilk biscuits smothered with sausage gravy.  Matt had a side of bacon, two stacks of blueberry pancakes and fresh bread slathered with enough apple butter to feed his entire class.  He reasoned they’d need extra energy this week with all they planned to accomplish.

The man seated next to Matt at the counter did not seem too happy.   He barked at the waitress about a slightly chipped water glass that wasn't clean enough.   A smudge on the rim meant the glass wasn't cleaned properly.  He griped that he’d probably end up with some kind of virus.  All this before he even got an opportunity to criticize the food – stale bread, overcooked sausage, soggy cantaloupe.  He sure was cranky!

When it was time to leave, Matt slid off his stool - careful not to bother the grumpy old man.  But just before he reached the exit door, he turned around and walked directly toward the old coot.  “I really hope your day gets better mister,” Matt said with complete sincerity.

We’ve all been there – a crummy start to a day that gets worse.  But the way we start the day affects our behavior, and therefore, how people relate to us.  When we wake up feeling grouchy and out-of-sorts, it spills over into everything else we do.  We’re apt to feel upset and lethargic.

If on the other hand, you begin your day feeling cheerful, upbeat, and enthusiastic, you’ll probably find that you’re more efficient, productive, and you just enjoy life a lot more.  The direction is up to each of us; the first steps taken will dictate your forward progress.

Dear God, I’m not perfect.  Sometimes I question my faith.  I lose my temper and treat others unkindly.  But thank you for loving me unconditionally, and giving me another day to try again.  Amen

The Chase

“Don’t jump to conclusions - there may be a perfectly good explanation." ~ Proverbs 25:8

Officer McMurphy (Mac) was in a funk.  With all that’d been publicized recently about police actions, he wondered if he was on the wrong side of right.  Mac had signed up to protect and serve.  Maybe he was old fashioned, but he believed in public service.  He saw the worst of humanity on a daily basis and it tested his faith in people’s goodness and his natural optimism.

As he sat pensively considering retirement options, a car rocketed through a red light at the intersection of South and Main.  A semi-truck nearly blindsided it as the Mustang thundered away leaving a line of dazed cars in its wake.

Mac hit his lights and siren concurrently.  The Charger’s 370-hp Hemi V-8 roared to life as he tore down Main in wild pursuit.  With its menacing mug and scalloped body sides, the police cruiser looked frighteningly ominous.

Eyes wide, heart pounding, Mac prayed to remain under control.  The Mustang weaved in and out of traffic, running 3 consecutive red lights.  Pedestrians on the sidewalk melded into blurs as the two vehicles jetted past; the reflection of moonlight on parked cars turned into a blurred white streak.   

Despite the police car’s vivid strobe lights and screaming siren that pierced the night’s stillness, the Mustang didn’t appear to be decelerating.

Just as Mac was nearly within spitting distance, the Mustang pulled a hard right turn and gunned its engine down an obscure alley.  Police protocol requires backup, but have you ever tried to talk on your cell phone at 100+ miles-per-hour on city streets meant for 35 MPH?  He couldn’t let this cray driver get away.

Mac started to imagine what kind of conversation they’d have when the driver finally gave up, hoping that he’d have the chance to speak with a breathing person rather than a mangled corpse.

A hospital emergency entrance guarded the end of the alley.  The Mustang screeched to a halt directly in front of two automatic doors.  A man ran inside, ignoring the Officer’s call to surrender.  Mac ran after him, into the emergency room, where his 4-year-old son was bleeding to death after being hit by a car.

Mac said a prayer and walked away.

Jumping to conclusions is like putting two and two together and getting five.  When our minds race in the wrong direction, it can lead to false conclusions, stressful situations, flared tempers, and hurt feelings.  Maybe that’s why God says to think the best of others instead of imputing motives, making assumptions, and jumping to conclusions.  If we really want people to give us the benefit of the doubt, then we’d best do that for them.

Lord Jesus, You tell us not to judge, or we too will be judged.  Help me overcome the tendency to jump to speedy conclusions that can cause harm to others.  Use me to build others up and be ready to have my heart changed.  Amen

Wooden Wise

“No one wins an athletic contest without obeying the rules." ~ 2 Timothy 2:5

The small Indiana town contained barely 100 folks, but on weekends its dirt playground teemed with kids.  A brand new game called basket ball was attracting much attention.

Dad removed the bottom of an old tomato basket and tacked it on the hayloft inside the barn so his sons could practice.  Mom crafted a ball from an old sock stuffed with rags.  Though all four boys were quite good, Johnny was the best athlete.  His quickness more than made up for his lack of height.

At age eleven, Dad allowed Johnny to play on the school’s seventh grade team.  They played a haphazard schedule of five or six games (weather permitting).  Team uniforms consisted of a bib worn over their overalls; few owned shoes.  The lopsided leather ball matched an equally lumpy court.  He’d later credit both for forcing him to become an expert dribbler.

One day Johnny’s coach told him that a hastily-arranged game had been scheduled for that afternoon.  By now, he was easily the team's top scorer and a little conceited.  He’d forgotten his shoes and jersey, so he told the coach he'd need to be excused from classes early to go home and get them.   His coach responded unsympathetically.  “That's too bad, we're gonna miss you.”

Years later, Johnny went on to coach his own team, winning ten national championships (7 in a row).  He amassed a 620-147 record, the old-fashioned way, over 27 seasons at UCLA.  No dribbling behind the back or through the legs.  "There's no need," he'd say.  No UCLA basketball number was retired under his watch. "What about the fellows who wore that number before? They contributed too!" he'd say.  No long hair, no facial hair. "Takes too long to dry and you’ll catch cold leaving the gym," he'd say.

One day, his All-America center showed up with a full beard.  "It's my right," he insisted.  “I feel strongly about it.”

Coach John Wooden said, "That's good, Bill (Walton).  I admire people who have strong beliefs and stick by them, I really do.  We're gonna miss you."

There's never been a finer man in American sports than John Wooden, or a finer coach.  There’s never been another like him, quiet as a harvest moon and as moral as Andy of Mayberry; loyal to one God, one woman, one school, one way.

If you played for him, you played by his rules: “Never score without recognizing a teammate.  One word of profanity and you're done for the day.  Treat your opponent with respect.”

Coach Wooden died in 2010, four months short of his 100^th birthday.  Sure could use his wisdom now.  Kinda glad he isn’t here today to see what travesty college/pro athletics has become.

Loving God, when we they practice – give them strength.  When they compete – give them courage.  When they win give them humility and peace when they lose.  In all they do, their actions praise You.  Amen

Hope Restored

“By His grace, you have been saved through faith." ~ Ephesians 2:8

On a warm summer afternoon, Bobbi sorted everything her family owned into two piles: essentials and things that would go into storage.  Into one pile went pajamas, underwear, and socks for her boys.  Their PlayStation, bicycles and beach toys went by the front door for the storage unit, as did kitchen utensils, DVDs and bedroom sets.

Bobbie picked up a photo album, briefly recalling happier times: kids at a pizza place, Justin proudly holding a rainbow trout, a Christmas tree with a mountain of gifts.

Those were scenes from their old life.  Justin, after serving two tours in Iraq, worked full-time at Lowes and she ran a home-based childcare business.  In this tight economy, fewer hours (as in Justin’s case) and lost jobs (like many of Bobbi’s customers) left them without much cushion. 

Four year old Mitchell looked up from his video game.  “Mom, where are we going?” he asked.

Bobbi felt dizzy.  How could she explain that they’d been evicted from their apartment after the landlord jacked up the rent?   With just $695.36 in the bank, she’d booked a room at the Quality Inn across town.  

“We can’t live here anymore,” Bobbi told her curious son.  “We’re going to a motel until we figure out where to go next.”  Though eyes that could cry no more, she tried reassuring him.  “It’s going to be okay.”

As Justin stood alone in line at the convenience store, his heart ached with humiliation; shame like he’d never felt, even in his darkest moments as a soldier.  From behind, a soft-spoken man tapped him on the shoulder. “No need to turn around, but please accept this money.  Jesus loves you!”  

Justin took the money without ever seeing the preacher behind him.  Back in the car, the pain that Bobbi failed to disguise was now clearly visible on her face.  His hope faded like a passing sigh.

On the way to the motel, they passed a church.  The sign out front read: ‘Jesus loves you!’  They went to that church the very next Sunday, and every Sunday after that.

Seven years later, a guest pastor spoke at the church.  After the service, Justin approached him and shared his story about how they’d come to faith in Christ.  “Several years ago, my wife, our children and I were destitute.  We’d lost everything - no hope, no money; an anxious future.  When I’d just about given up, a perfect stranger gave us some money.” 

“As you spoke this morning, I knew from your accent that you were that man!”  “Just when I thought I’d lost everything, God took a few more things from me – ego, anger, depression, insecurity and fear of death.  If Jesus loves me – He adores you!” 

Loving God, I’ve not always lived for You.  I’ve sinned in ways I probably don't even know yet are sins.  Please forgive me!  I want to live in Your grace by choosing this minute to accept Jesus into my heart.  Amen

Who's Your Star

“They followed the star until it stopped above the place where the child was born." ~ Matthew 2:9

Over two thousand years ago, three mysterious strangers appeared in the land of Judea.  They travelled from an area now known as either Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia or Yemen. 

The Three Wise Men (or Magi) were on a special mission to find the messiah, the true ‘King of the Jews’.  They were wise indeed; today we'd call them astrologers.  

Of course, like all good stories, this too has a villain – Herod, the king of Judea.  As one can imagine, King Herod wasn’t thrilled to learn about this so-called ‘King of the Jews’ might take his place someday.  So he enlisted the Magi to find this would-be-king and immediately report back to him so that “(He) too, might worship him.”

As the Magi set about finding the messiah, they had one thing in their favor - an unusual new star in the sky.  Its brilliance acted as a beacon of hope for all the lost souls of the world.  They knew that it told of the birth of a special King.

It led them right to Mary’s doorstep in the sleepy little town of Bethlehem, where baby Jesus was born.  And that’s when everything that’d happened up till then, became BC.

For centuries, historians, scientists and astronomers have tried to explain the special guiding light.  Some scholars think the “Christmas Star” was a comet.  Others believe that the “Star of Bethlehem” was a celestial gathering of planets in the night sky.  Finally, an exploding star, or supernova, has been proposed to explain the “Star in the East.”  All three explanations have been scientifically debunked.

Personally, I believe it was a temporary and supernatural light.  God often used special, heavenly lights to guide his people - a visible manifestation of His divine majesty.  After all, the first Christmas was a time of miracles.

The great mystery of Jesus birth was not the origin of its special star, or why the Magi were chosen to follow the light to the Messiah.  Rather it was to illuminate the fact that we are given the same invitation today.

When we don’t know which way to turn, God will gently pull at our hearts and lead us in the right direction.  He knows what direction is best for us and will guide our paths to get there.   We can make it successfully and victoriously if we trust His guidance.

Epiphany is an ancient church festival celebrating the Magi’s visit to the Christ Child.  Epiphany comes from a Greek verb meaning "to reveal;" a revelation of God revealed in the human life of Jesus.  It’s the kind of enlightenment that transforms lives and calls for new allegiances and directions.

What ‘star’ guides your path?  Where has following that star lead you?

Dear God, be my guiding light.  Help me know you on a personal level; that I might follow the path that You’ve chosen for my life and trust Your guidance along every step of the journey. Amen

Jumper's Remorse

“Don’t let your hearts be troubled.  Believe in God." ~ John 14:1

Allen was 27 when he boarded a city bus to Golden Gate Park one peaceful autumn morning.  After treating himself to a caramel mocha latte, he began sobbing and hiking across the Bridge.  

Stopping midway, Allen climbed the four-foot safety railing.  Then he lowered himself carefully onto the bridge’s outermost reach, a 32-inch-wide beam known as “the chord.”  It’s on the chord, 220 feet above San Francisco Bay that people attempting to kill themselves often pause.  

The view was spectacular: Angel Island to the left, Alcatraz straight ahead, Treasure Island farther off.  He’d every reason for wanting to fold the crappy hand life had dealt him.  Recently evicted by his girlfriend, his career was going nowhere and an extensive search for his father had yielded precisely nothing.

Allen counted to ten but remained motionless.  “Will I die on impact or gradually from drowning or hypothermia?” he wondered.  Everything he’d read suggested jumping was quick and certain.

Fearing cowardice, he launched himself over the edge.  A split-second later after making the irrevocable decision, Allen changed his mind.

One-one thousand (200 feet to splashdown).

He instantly realized that everything in his life that he’d thought was unfixable was totally curable, except for having just jumped.

Two-one thousand (140 feet to impact).

“If I die,” he reasoned, “my own son will suffer precisely the same Dad-shaped emptiness I had.”

In the few milliseconds before collision, Allen prayed. 

He hit the water at about 80 miles an hour and with a force of 15,000 lbs/in².  Ninety-eight percent die instantly. 

Not Allen.  He swam frantically to the surface, terrified after he felt something brush against him.  That despite suffering shattered ribs, broken neck, and burst spleen - all so he might see his son again.  He’d later learn that it wasn’t a shark but a sea lion that miraculously kept him afloat until the Coast Guard arrived.

But that isn’t even the most amazing part.

Two weeks later, a local retiree read about Allen’s failed suicide attempt.  Citing her proficiency at finding missing people, she tracked down his missing father in less than two weeks.  After literally years of searching, Allen finally reconnected with his long-lost Dad - partly because someone cared enough about a stranger’s misery to sacrifice a week of her life helping him.  Mostly because a loving God graced him another chance at life.

God often grants us second, third, fourth chances, etc., and we either put them to good use, or hopelessly squander them.  We all stumble, we all make mistakes, and we all inevitably beg our Creator for yet another chance.  He believes in second chances . . . with strings attached to these fleeting opportunities: namely repentance and change.

Forgiving Lord, thank you for people, opportunities and favors you have blessed me with.  Allow me the courage to change my life for the better by casting all my burdens to You.  Bless me with love, strength, wisdom, and a willingness to learn.  Amen