Immanuel

“They will call him Immanuel, which means ‘God is with us." ~ Matthew 1:23

I fancy myself a fledgling, amateur photographer.  I love to shoot things … with my digital camera, especially along the beach at sunrise.  Today I saw something truly inspiring – an army of small crabs marching straight forward, instead of sideways.

Although somewhat elusive, these soldier crabs are occasionally found on sandy shores at low tide.  Their appearance is quite unlike crabs we typically see.  They have a sky-blue dome about the size of a nickel.  Attached to this dome are long, spindly, legs, used skillfully to raise up and move freely on sand.

After watching them for a while, I decided to start shooting some photos.  I removed the lens cover to focus.  That subtle movement was enough for them to quickly bury themselves into the sand.  Poof!  They literally disappeared before I could fire off a single shot.

I immediately had to learn more about these fascinating creatures.

Sensing fear from either rising tides or, in my case, from a potential predator, they burrow in a corkscrew motion; digging down with the legs on one side of their bodies while the opposing legs walk backwards.  This creates a safe, breathing cavity around themselves until danger subsides.  At high tide they may be covered by as much as 6 feet of water.

Sensing my presence, they vanished in seconds, leaving nothing behind but sandy mounds.   I likely appeared too large and overpowering.

For me, it created a clear image of what God does so graciously for us.  We are very much like those tiny soldier crabs.  Our fallen nature causes us to feel far too insignificant and much too sinful to converse with God the Almighty.

Neither did He alarm us or oppress us by approaching our world wrapped in Heaven’s majestic and regal splendor.  He chose to approach us in a way that made it easier for us.  He became a human being – not a big, powerful and overwhelming human being, but a common, ordinary person – and then lived among us.

Had He approached us in His grandeur and brilliance we would have been overwhelmed, fearful, uncertain.  We’d have buried our heads (and bodies) in the sand, just like soldier crabs.

Instead, our Sovereign Savior redeemed us by joining us.  The Son of God became a person to allow us to become the children of God.  What a great, gracious and generous God we serve!

The Christmas miracle was not just about a virgin giving birth.  Christian faith asserts that God is so great that He shows His magnificence in the gift of humility and condescension – by becoming one of us in order to save humankind and show God’s love.

Almighty God, help me understand the profound mystery of Your holy Incarnation for our salvation.  There is nothing so wonderful as when You, my God, became flesh so that we might become like God; humbling yourself that we may become mighty.  Blessed are you, Immanuel, for dwelling among us.  Amen

Oh Holy Night

“At the right time, God sent his Son, born of a woman, subject to ordinary law." ~ Galatians 4:4

Believe it or not, "O Holy Night" was written by someone who wasn’t very holy at all.  The words were penned by Placide Cappeau, an amateur poet and local wine merchant with contempt for religious authority.  Nonetheless, when a local priest sought to memorialize renovations to his church’s organ, he asked Cappeau to write a poem for the Christmas service.

Cappeau imagined himself a witness to Christ’s birth.  The wonder of that glorious moment flowed from his pen as "Cantique de Noel" (Song of Christmas).  Ironically, his enduring legacy is for a song whose message he never believed.

Moved by his own work, Cappeau turned to a friend, Adolphe Adams, to put his words to music.  As a Jewish man, the words of "Cantique de Noel" represented a day Adams didn't celebrate and a man he didn’t view as the son of God.

The carol became instantly popular, but plummeted once word got out about Cappeau’s atheism and Adams’ Jewish faith.  The church leadership banned the song from the liturgy.

Eventually, this tune reached the ears of John Sullivan Dwight, a minister, who in 1855, translated it into English.  The resulting hymn became “O Holy Night.”  His version sanitized some of the original, more controversial lyrics.

Chorus

Fall on your knees, Oh hear the angel voices!  O night divine!  O night when Christ was born.  O  holy night, O night divine.

“Holy” means “set apart,” and there was certainly no night like that one.  But the Bible actually goes to great lengths to convince us of the opposite.

The night was ordinary; we have no biblical record of the stars being especially bright that night.  Just, ordinary shepherds, and ordinary and stable, and remarkably ordinary parents.

Yet Jesus was no ordinary baby - innocent, vulnerable, and dependent.  His birth marked the occasion when God became one of us.  The world needed a savior - someone who would provide a way out of the mess of sin and make us right with God.

No god before Him had ever taken such a human journey.  How could we follow His footsteps if He hadn’t crawled as a child?  How could we believe He understood the temptations we face if He’d bypassed the difficulties we struggle with in gaining adulthood?

It would’ve meant less to us if He’d sprung from heaven fully formed, bathed in heavenly glory, saying, "Here are my hands and my feet - place me upon the cross, for I am willing to die."

We trust Him with our lives because He is God.  We love him with our hearts because He was a tiny baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

Almighty Father, I pray that as we listen to “O Holy Night” this Christmas our attention will be drawn away from shopping, overeating and endless images of Santa.  Let our devotion be drawn to the One who made that night truly divine.  Amen

Joyful Anticipation

“I am the light of the world.  Whoever follows Me will never live in darkness." ~ John 8:12

Woody’s brain was at 3% battery power - a level of exhaustion nearing insanity.  He needed to shut down until completely recharged.  He almost finished trimming a Christmas tree that’d taken many days due to 2-year-old twins, frantic shopping, and a furnace that retired unexpectedly.

Decorating the tree had always been his favorite holiday tradition.  But over the years, stringing lights had proven to be the biggest area of contention.  Woody thought the lights should be laced loosely around the tree so that the tip of each branch twinkled.  Rachel, in the name of structural integrity, preferred to snugly bind the trunk so the lights cast shadows on the ornaments outward.

This year, a friend had given them their old, pre-lit artificial tree.  No more arguments about aesthetics, pine needles to clean up, or wads of colored lights to untangle.  Problem solved!

The decoration inspired nostalgia – tarnished glass ornaments, hand-painted salt-dough figurines and vintage beaded garlands.  They’d stopped using tinsel when the cat joined the family.   Candy canes were hung just beyond the twins’ reach.

The final adornment, too, lacked elegance: an angel fashioned from beige cloth and denim; each stitch sewn by his mother.  Dirt smudges lined its face; its once shiny wings had dulled with age.

But age wasn’t the only thing this little angel had accumulated.  It was soaked in joyful memories; a bridge to years gone by.  He climbed the ladder and respectfully placed it atop the tree.

Woody slumped into his recliner just before eight-year-old Kevin climbed onto his lap.  “You gonna turn on the lights?” he asked.

“Just waiting for you pal,” Woody replied, plugging in the cord.

Nothing happened.  The tree remained dark.

Woody felt like crying (brain down to 1%)!  “Maybe we should leave the lights off this year.”

“Dad, we must have lights,” Kevin cautioned.  “We learned in Sunday School that the greatest things about light is that it helps us to see.  The Bible calls Jesus the "light of the world” and we celebrate this when we remember His birth.”

Of course, he thought as he began his quest to discover the broken bulb or connection which caused the entire string to turn off.

Unraveling crisscrossed, knotted, and frayed Christmas lights is a real test of patience.  But it seems the more we hurry, the more tangled they become.  Eventually we discover our hurried pace only lengthens the process and makes preparing for Christmas a chore instead of a holy season of peace and tranquility.

Instead of literally getting caught up in Christmas lights, embrace Advent with “joyful anticipation” of Jesus’ birth and rediscover how it changed the world 2,000 years ago and still does to this day.

Jesus, don’t let me lose my direction or become consumed by darkness because I took my eyes off of You.  Just as you guided the wise men to Jesus, be my guiding light this holiday season. Each day, realign my heart toward what matters most.  Amen.

The Innkeeper

“Our Father’s only Son became flesh and made His dwelling among us." ~ John 1:14

Twas the biggest night of the year - the night of the annual Christmas pageant.  It was a really big deal for the children who auditioned for various roles in the Christmas story.

Owen wanted to be in the play, too, but he was … well, a slow learner – a sweet, gentle boy of below average intelligence.  The director was hesitant.  She knew Owen would be crushed if he didn't have a part, but she was afraid he might flub the pageant’s magic moment.

So, she cast Owen as the innkeeper - the one who turns Mary and Joseph away the night Jesus is to be born.  He would have only one simple line, but no one could imagine what that single line would inspire for everyone's Christmas.

It was a magical night; the church was packed.  The Christmas story unfolded as rehearsed - Angels singing, Joseph's dream, and the trip to Bethlehem.  Finally, Joseph and Mary arrived at the Inn’s door; travel-weary and exhausted.  Joseph knocked on the Inn’s door, and Owen opened it on cue.

"Do you have a room for the night?" Joseph inquired humbly.

Owen flushed; the kind of blushing that reveals the soul, a sort of compliment to its delicate innocence within.  He took a deep breath before muttering his line: “I'm sorry - we have no room."

After a little coaching, he shut the door.  The director heaved a sigh of relief - prematurely.

Discouraged, Mary and Joseph walked away as coached.  Owen let out a huge sigh from behind the closed door; loud enough to be amplified throughout the sanctuary by the hard-of-hearing sound engineer.  The door opened.

Owen reappeared!  Then, in an unrehearsed moment that patrons would not soon forget, Owen ran after the young couple, yelling assuredly: "Wait!  Don't go Joseph. Please come back!  You can have MY room!"

The crowd went silent.  Owen’s misinterpretation was pure genius; so splendid, so profound as to have no parallel.  As if the Truth had been delivered by God Himself through the purity of a child.

Owen may have understood the true Christmas message better than any of the patrons that night.  How can you leave Jesus outside?  You have to make room for the Son of God this Christmas.

Jesus traded His Heavenly palace for a stable, and the praise of angels for human mockery.  He’s at YOUR door this Christmas.  Maybe He's been knocking for a long time.

All your life - even the events of the last few months - have been to prepare you for this moment with Jesus.  Don't leave Him outside any longer.  Open the door this Christmas season.  Let Him have room in our heart, in your life.

Lord Jesus, I believe You are the Son of God, that You came to earth to rescue me from my sins.  Restore me, come reign in my heart, fill me with Your love and help me to become more like You.  Amen

Giving It All

“Gifts not given from the heart gain nothing." ~ 1 Corinthians 3:13

This is the time of year when Harold should be reveling in the spirit of the season; his heart filled with the joy he felt as a child.  He wanted to be lifted by the true meaning of Christmas; he needed to feel it.  But it wasn’t there.  Not yet anyway.

Maybe it’s the daily assault of commercials, ads, and holiday sales.  Every imaginable electronic gadget is touted as something that’ll change our lives.  Kids are asking for these items which cost hundreds of dollars at a pop.  And parents are obliging.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the drudgery of everyday life.  Time is limited.  Bills are abundant.  Harold’s own life was chaotic: coaching high school basketball, raising his own two kids, attending a plethora of holiday parties, and lately – he was asked by his church to chair the annual “Making Christmas Magical” campaign to collect toys for families with limited financial means.  Toy donations are something even very young children can understand and participate in.

They established 12 drop-off locations placed throughout the community – at restaurants, shopping malls, and sporting venues.  And the toys poured in.

As Harold collected one of the boxes for distribution, something caught his eye.  Among the assortment of dolls, plush toys, electronics, and books was something uncommon - a gift not purchased from a fancy department store.  It wasn’t wrapped in festive paper and adorned with ribbons and bows.  This donation came without a receipt and couldn’t be taken back.

What caught his eye were 2 used pencils wrapped in torn notebook paper with a drawing of a “heart” for someone in need.  Harold lifted it from the box; running his fingers across well-worn surfaces.  It touched his heart, dissolving deep into his soul.

Maybe the child that gave these pencils came from a poor family who would have wanted one of the new toys in a colorful, shiny box.  But this child gave something from the core; something much greater than him or herself.

Such a precious gift; offered so humbly and lovingly.  Perhaps it was intended specifically for Harold to remind him of the simplicity of Christmas; that the best gifts are not material items but blessings of listening, of kindness, of remembering, of visiting, of forgiving.

Merry Christmas everyone!  It’s a magical time when miracles happen, hearts are softened, and the pure love of Christ is felt and experienced like no other time of the year.  As we consider the example and infinite sacrifice of our Savior, may we also consider how we can be more Christlike in our associations with family and friends, not just during this season but throughout the year.

Almighty Father, thank You for the most generous gift of all - Your son Jesus.  Open the doors of our hearts and reach out to those around us who are lonely, forgotten, or poor in spirit.  May we glorify You with all we’re blessed with.  Amen

Best Laid Plans

“Don’t worry – I got this!” ~ Isaiah 41:1

Liz had it all figured out by high school graduation.  She knew what she wanted to study in college, where she wanted to live, what she wanted to name her 5 kids, and had a good idea about who would be standing by her through all of it.  However, life happens in between all those pot holes along life’s highway.

After attaining a Master's Degree in nursing, her career rocketed skyward.  But when a long-term relationship ended, her prospects at motherhood dimmed.  As much as she loved playing aunt to a dozen nieces and nephews, Liz needed more.

She sought counsel from a fertility specialist.  Her optimism took a detour with lab results that disqualified her for IVF.  Doubt shot through her heart like an arrow without resistance; killing any hope of becoming a mom.

Or so she thought.

Later that same day, Liz (now Director of Nursing) was doing Pediatric rounds when she stopped dead her tracks by a beautiful baby girl.  Her little face glowed from a light within.  Somehow it felt like she knew Liz needed comfort in the midst of her pain.

“Her name is Gisele,” said the nurse in charge.  The adorable child cooed as only a baby could, unblemished yet by the hurts of life.  Yet hers had been anything but a fairy tale so far.

Born 11 weeks prematurely, Gisele suffered withdrawals from opioid exposure during the pregnancy.  After her birth parents abandoned her, she became a ward of the state and spent the last 5 months at the Liz’s hospital without a single visitor.  Her hospital stay was finally nearing an end, but with nowhere to go, she’d be placed in foster care.

Those plans changed the day she met Liz Smith.

The two bonded immediately.  Liz visited this sweet baby frequently through all her complications and setbacks.  She couldn’t get baby Gisele out of her mind.  With guidance and support from family, friends and co-workers, Liz made the difficult decision to foster the infant. “I’m going to be her Mommy … for now.”  And when Gisele’s birth parents didn’t appeal their rights being terminated and no biological relatives offered to adopt her, Liz again stepped up.

Fate brought them together; God’s grace will keep them so.

The Smiths all gathered at the courthouse to finalize the adoption.  It wasn’t until the judge read her name aloud as “Gisele Katherine Smith” that Liz felt her dream of motherhood come true.

Woody Allen once said, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.”  God continually puts just the right person in our lives, presents us with challenges that stretch our capabilities, or provides timely reassurance to brighten our paths.  We’re never alone; He’s got it under control.

My Lord, help me to know Your voice and not be deceived by any other.  Help guard my heart from the influences of this world and those around me.  Help me to view all thoughts and decisions through Your lens.  Amen

The Furry Cure

The Lord will not leave you or forsake you." ~ Deuteronomy 31:8

As constant as the crashing waves against a rocky shore, so the emptiness in her heart lurked.  Jan prepared a cup of tea, wondering how she’d get through another gloomy day, when Randy’s picture toppled from the mantle.  Again!

Ever since her husband died two years earlier, that pewter-framed photo of them atop Pike’s Peak kept falling.  Perhaps it was just the wishful thinking of a lonely widow, but she still felt his presence in this place?

Jan picked up the frame and placed it back where it belonged.  “If only he were still here,” she wished, needing him now more than ever.  These had been the saddest two years of her life; not how they’d pictured their golden years.

After Randy retired from the Navy, they bought a small Tennessee farmhouse on 65 acres.  A country boy who loved both biscuits with gravy and Hank Williams, he couldn’t wait to fulfill a lifelong dream of raising and training hunting dogs.  Her idea of a pet was more compact – nothing specific, just a teddy-bear canine, one small enough to fit in the arms of a child.

But some months after they’d moved in, Randy shared awful news: “Doc says I need a transplant.”  Like many soldiers who’d served in Vietnam, Randy’s exposure to Agent Orange had destroyed his liver.  They waited eight months for a donor match.

A successful transplant would be short-lived when a blood clot ended his life two weeks later.

Their farmhouse, which had once been so lively and filled with dreams, now sat eerily quiet.  No one to greet her when she came home from work; no one to sit with on the front porch.

Jan stared out the window at rain falling heavier now.  She was about to head back to the kitchen when she noticed something small and furry scampering towards the house.

Grabbing her raincoat, Jan dashed outside.  The animal darted back into the woods.  She calmly knelt … and waited.  Soon the little dog came closer to her outstretched hand and, after a few sniffs, offered a lick.  "Kisses ... why ... thank you!"

It was love at first sight for the adorable little tail-wagger.  What was he doing here?  More importantly, how had he survived in woods full of coyotes?

She carried him inside and dried him off.  He made himself at home, curling right up on her lap.

She asked around town and posted his photo online.   Nobody responded; no one came looking for him.   He was hers to keep.  She swore he cracked a puppy-smile when she played Hank Williams, so you probably guessed what she named him.

He never left her side.  Just as devoted as the One who’d sent him.

Dear God, sometimes life gets me down; I find it hard to see things to be thankful for.  Open my eyes to see the gifts You’ve blessed me with.  And thank You for bringing hope even through the toughest of times.  Amen

Skipping Thanksgiving

“Always find something to be thankful for, even in the hard times." ~ 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

With the 1927 harvest complete, Gordon gathered his children for one final chore.  He wanted them to grasp the richness of God’s providence.  Only after they inventoried everything, would they sit down to the Thanksgiving feast their mother had prepared.

The new year had started off well: they had leftover hay, lots of seed, a cow, 2 pigs, 4 chickens and a turkey.  They also had 2 barrels of apples, bins of beets and carrots packed in sand, and plenty of sacked potatoes as well as peas, corn, and a shelf full of jellies and other preserves.  He even had a little money set aside to buy a hay loader - a machine most farmers only dreamed of owning.

When Gordon’s wife was doing her washing, he took his turn over the washboard and asked his wife to take a break.  “You spend more time doing the wash than sleeping,” he said fondly.  Maybe we should break down and get electricity?”  Although elated at the idea, her eyes teared as she thought of the hay loader that would get postponed.

So, the electrical line went up their lane that spring.  Although nothing fancy, they bought a washing machine and lightbulbs that dangled from several ceilings.  No more oil lamps to fill, wicks to cut, or chimneys to scrub.  The lamps got relegated to the attic.

Electricity was almost the last good thing that happened to them in 1928.  Just as their crops were starting to sprout, the rains beat them into the soil.  Vegetables rotted in the mud.  They sold all their livestock to make ends meet.  Only a patch of turnips managed to weather the storms.

As Thanksgiving approached, Gordon’s wife suggested they skip Thanksgiving: “We haven’t even got a turkey left.”

But that morning, Gordon shot a jackrabbit and asked his wife to cook it.  She did so reluctantly as its meat would be gamey and tough.  When it was finally ready along with some of the turnips, the children refused to eat.

Gordon got up from the table and went up to the attic, got an oil lamp, took it back to the table, and lit it.  He told the kids to turn out the electric lights.

With only the light from the lamp again, they could hardly believe that it’d been that dark before.  They wondered how they’d ever seen anything without electric light bulbs.

Gordon blessed the food.  As everyone ate in the dimness of an old oil lamp, they enjoyed a lovely meal together.  The jackrabbit tasted like turkey; the turnips were the mildest anyone could recall.

Friends, to express gratitude is gracious, to show gratitude is generous, but to live with gratitude forever in your heart is to touch heaven.

Oh, God, when I have food help me remember the hungry; when I have work, help me remember the jobless; when I have a warm home, help me remember the homeless; and when I am without pain, remind me of those who suffer.  Amen

Boundless Gratitude

“Sing and make music from your heart; always thanking God for everything." ~ Ephesians 5:19-20

After being stripped and severely beaten, the man was thrown into a cell along with more dangerous criminals.  His despoiling had left his clothing in tatters; offering little protection for his wounds and the filth of the prison.  No windows.  No way out.  Nothing personal in this tiny room but his own heart beat and rancid breath.

He was bound differently from the others: two rings around his neck; one affixed to a chain secured to the wall.  A chain from the second ring reached his waist with manacles preventing him from raising his hands to his mouth or lowing his head to his hands.

Not a moment passed when he was free from the irritation of the rusty chains and the pain of the iron manacles cutting into his wrists and legs.  The lack of adequate nutrition coupled with their sheer weight (15-18 pounds), eventually rendered his limbs useless.

His bed was the hard, cold stone floor of the dank, prison cell.

Food barely sustained life – and was often used as a weapon of punishment and torture when withheld by guards.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed.  His unkept and matted hair was full of lice.

They’d separated him from his family, taken his land, then took his freedom - all to warn the others not to follow him.  He knew that prison would be his last home; the next footsteps in the corridor might be those of the guards taking him away to his execution.

Separated from friends, unjustly accused, brutally treated – if ever a person had a right to complain, it was this man, suffering almost forgotten in an unbearable hellhole.  But instead of complaints, his lips rang with words of praise and thanksgiving.

The man was the Apostle Paul – a man who had learned the true meaning of thanksgiving even in the midst of great adversity.  “Always give thanks for everything, no matter the circumstances.” (Ephesians 5:19-20)  It wasn’t a once-a-year, celebration, but a daily reality that changed his life and made him a joyful person in every situation.

Today, ingratitude and thanklessness are too often the norm.  Children forget to thank their parents for all they do.  Common courtesy is belittled.  We take for granted the way others help us.  Mostly, we fail to thank God for his countless blessings.

Thanksgiving – the giving of thanks to God for all His blessings - should be a hallmark of our Christian values.  Nothing turns us into bitter, selfish, dissatisfied people more quickly than an ungrateful heart.  And nothing will do more to restore happiness and the joy of our salvation than a true spirit of appreciation.

Almighty Father, sometimes life gets me down; I fail to recognize the blessings surrounding me.  Open my eyes of my heart, that I might see clearly the boundless gifts You’ve provided in my life.  I’ll start by thanking You for loving me enough to come to earth and die so we can live together forever.  Amen

Seasons of Waiting

“For everything there is a season and a time for every purpose." ~ Ecclesiastes 3:1

Ours was not your typical storybook romance.  Yet when you truly love someone, distance and time barely matter.

We lived down the street from each other half of our lives.  One of my earliest memories is playing ‘Dance, Dance Revolution’ with Julian and kissing him on the cheek.  He got mad and said "If you do that again, I'm going home!"

He was a bit shy but I continued to have a crush on him as we grew up.  Did I mention that he became ridiculously good looking in his teens?

One night at a high school football game, he mentioned that he’d enlisted in the U.S. Army.  For whatever reason, we began messaging each other for hours on end; conversations that eventually revealed our mutual attraction for one another.  Before the season ended, Julian asked me to be his date for the Homecoming Dance.

Following graduation, he left for basic training.  While learning how to communicate with him by snail mail, he was becoming a dedicated, hardworking Infantryman.  We fell in love ... one letter at a time.

His first deployment lasted 11 months.  Little did I know that when I went to welcome him home, Julian asked me to marry him right in the airport.  I learned later that he designed the ring while in Afghanistan.  He even showed me the date on the receipt to prove it.

We were married before he returned overseas.  Not exactly an ideal way to start off a marriage.  He'll be back in the U.S. for good in 10 months.

Yes, the restricted communication when he's away is tough.  Yes, the "see you soon’s" are excruciating.  But when we reunite and I get to jump back into his loving arms, I'm convinced it's worth it.  Because every heartbreaking goodbye is NOTHING compared to each heartwarming hello.  Anything worth having is worth waiting for.

Waiting is a part of life.  Even if you marry young, like we did, you still end up waiting.  There’s always something on the horizon, just out of your reach.  Graduation, a job, an experience, a dream you’re working toward — the list is endless.

The trick is to learn how to wait well.

More important than finding your spouse is becoming the kind of person who’s ready to get married.   All we can do is work hard to become the kind of person Jesus calls us to be.

Waiting is active, not passive. Trust God, do good, dig in, get comfortable with who you are, enjoy every sunrise, commit, be still — 7 staccato commands (Psalm 37) all leading to “wait patiently” for the Lord to reveal His plan for you.  God uses seasons of waiting to make us more like himself.

Father, did You hear my prayer?  Please forgive my impatience.  Still my mind as I await Your presence and divine intervention.  Your timing is always perfect and, even as I pray for what I think I deserve, You always bless me with what’s best.  Amen

Sometimes Looks Deceive

“Give respect to whom respect is owed, honor to whom honor is owed." ~ Romans 13:7

Under the wide brim of his ‘Smokey’ hat, perfectly squared-away uniform and almost caricature-like demeanor, Sergeant Porter is one imposing figure.  As a drill instructor for India Company, 3rd Recruit Training Battalion, he’s with his recruits every waking moment until graduation.

Putting on the belt and campaign cover transforms a regular Marine into someone he probably feared as a new recruit himself.  Now Porter understands how much time and dedication his own drill instructor (DI’s) devoted to the job.

As a recruit, they seem downright psychotic.  These men and women subject recruits to endless hours of “incentivized training.”  It's another way of saying abrupt bouts of burpees and pushups.

They don’t even sound like normal people.  They literally scream so hard that they can pass out, give themselves hernias, or do serious and permanent damage to their vocal cords.  That's why they spend a lot of time at DI school learning to project from their diaphragms in order to develop that raspy "frog voice.”

It's masterful performance art, but with a twist - the enormous personal responsibility they feel for building maggots (slang for raw recruits) into disciplined Marines.  Despite their gruff, borderline hostile interaction with recruits, DIs are real people with real emotions and tremendous dedication to molding young lives.

Sergeant Porter is one tough Marine.  But even he couldn't say “no" when his wife arranged a surprise photo shoot with their four-year-old daughter Ashley, who was dressed like a princess for a special tea party.

Told only to show up in his uniform, he had no idea what was going to happen until he showed up for the shoot.  He was a bit hesitant at first but after a little persuading, his wife was able to convince him.  He’d do anything for Ashley.

Although the two are really close, Ashley often misses out on one-on-one time with her Dad due to his rigorous work schedule, deployments, and most recently his job as a drill instructor.  So, with the Month of the Military Child approaching, this seemed like a perfect time to arrange something special for them both.

The magical event was captured by a local photographer surrounded by trees and foliage.  There, the two shared a magical tea party, sitting in tiny chairs across the table from each other.  Ashley wore a long white, lace dress; her head topped with a crown of pink flowers.

The proud Mom and wife wanted pictures to help show that military officers have softer sides to them and she also wants people to realize how resilient military children are to have their parents away.  It seems that’s just what we Americans need to see on this Veterans Day as well.

Dear Lord, today we honor our veterans, who gave their best when called upon to serve and protect our country.  Bless them for their unselfish service in the continual struggle to preserve our freedoms, our safety, and our country's heritage.  Amen

Many Ways to Serve

“I have plans for you." ~ God

Randall woke abruptly, as if sleeping had become a dangerous thing.  He was so ready for this mission work!

From his very first mission trip 20 years earlier, it had always been Randall’s goal to be the hardest working, most productive, most skilled member of any mission team.  Now in his mid-60’s, he still sought the hottest, most demanding jobs.

This trip had taken him to Cusco, Peru.  Over a million people lived in the surrounding area - only 4% were Christians.  Poverty was rampant among the Quechua Indians, a largely unreached group scattered throughout the Andes.  Randall and his team would be constructing a small church.

Randall had that tingly feeling today; the buzz of the new, the thrill of the unknown, the call for new answers that pushed his limits.  At an elevation of over 11,000 feet, Cusco presented just the challenge.  At these elevations, the air’s thinner; each breath contains less oxygen.  He’d have to breathe faster and pump blood more rapidly in order to take in the same amount of oxygen.

His roommate Geoffrey had had a rough night, complaining of dizziness, nausea, and insomnia.  His uncharacteristic loss of appetite at breakfast set off more than a few alarms.  A quick trip to the ER confirmed high altitude sickness.  Geoffrey would need to remain hospitalized for several days until his oxygen levels stabilized and he could move to a lower altitude.

Someone would need to stay with Geoffrey at the hospital.  Randall became that someone.

While the others marched off to their mission, Randall had plenty of down-time for reflection and prayer.  He’d never been on a mission trip without lifting a hammer, pick ax or paint brush.

He remembered the words offered by his Pastor before they left: “Serve as Christ served.  Be humble and accept your role.  Your ability, skills and training are less important on the mission field than your willingness to avail yourself to God’s will.”

Randall smiled.  “The joy of serving others glorifies God,” he understood.  When we give of ourselves, we show the passion, mercy and love of Christ.  God had used him for a completely different purpose – and he felt blessed to have answered His call.

If we're honest with ourselves, sometimes we have ulterior motives for going on a mission trip. We want to travel.  We want to be a hero.  We want to look like a better Christian at home.  Or, more positively: we want to learn about other cultures or something about ourselves.  We’re complicated creatures with complex motives.

Regardless of your reasons for signing up for a mission trip, its essential to prepare your heart for the trip and open yourself to what God may have planned for you through the experience.

Loving God, let me not doubt the things that You can do in me and through me.  Let me simply be a vessel that You fill with Your Holy Spirit so that I can pour into every person I meet and give all glory to You.  Amen

How Sweet the Sound

“Shout to God with cries of joy." ~ Psalm 47:1

On a sunlit spring day, the sky held a soft blue glow.  Tara eyed flowers yet to color her world for warmer days coming, waving in the breeze like a pleasant smile in brilliant shades.

Tara sat on a cool rock overlooking the valley allowing the stress to leak from her bones.  Final exams over forever, she savored the moment, hoping this feeling would never end.  For the first time in 4 years, her body and mind relaxed; no expectations, no deadlines and no schedules to meet.  With her mind’s mental clutter on hold, she sensed everything more clearly.

Tara heard a symphony of fresh melodies: rushing wind through scented pines; two and four-legged creatures welcoming new birth; a swollen stream crashing over random boulders – all witness to God’s majesty.  It got her thinking, “What IS the world’s most beautiful sound?”

Could it simply be just taking time to listen and enjoy in your own carefree happiness?  Or maybe it’s the laughter of children playing without care until tomorrow brings another sunny day.

Sometimes just savoring her boyfriend’s warmth while he gently hugs her close enough to hear her heart’s contentment was more than enough.  Perhaps even a chorus of melodious voices overlaying a Wagnerian orchestra that cradle every bit of your being in its embrace.

Maybe the best sounds symbolize life, like her puppy’s heartbeat, or something more abstract like rainfall on the metal roof of her childhood cabin?  Sounds are some of the trickier fragments of memories, at times instantly recognized (the hook of a song half-remembered); others lost when our recollections dim.

Of course, Tara’s list could go on as she thought about all noises experienced in a day: the hopeful bubbling of a coffee machine, the crisp echo of a new book’s pages, a restless wind just before a thunderstorm.  This competition was indeed personal.

Her choice for “most beautiful sound” was one that melts her heart and energizes her soul.  It can’t be touched, tasted or even seen.  It’s the human voice.

Far from being rendered redundant by modern technology, the human voice has enormous and enduring significance.  Our voices are the personal and social glue that binds us and makes the most important sounds in our lives.

Your voice is a gift to be used wisely and intentionally, not just to add noise.  Use them to shape people’s understanding of issues you’re passionate about.  Use them to champion causes, comfort the suffering, share the Gospel.  Use them to add value to conversations, but also to start new ones.  Use them to encourage, respond, embolden, warn, inspire and teach.

And if you want to hear the sounds that heaven makes, take the time to turn around and just remember all of God's blessings.  You’ll quickly realize they make the loudest noise.

Father, help me use my voice to bless Your name and teach others of Your Word.  Allow me to glorify You by boasting of Your goodness and grace.  And finally, bless me by the confession my sins.  Amen

The Kindness Cure

“People who are right with God take good care of their animals." ~ Proverbs 12:10

Josh sucked in the rich autumn breeze as he hiked a rocky trail up the mountainside.  He was in a zone … one of peace and serenity; perfect for his morning conversation with God.

From the stillness rang a meow that seemed to originate from among the thorny gooseberry bushes lining the path.  Josh stopped in his tracks.  When the cry came again, this time shriller, he started rummaging through the sharp branches looking for its source.

Then he saw her - a small cat trapped among the barbs.  Her piercing amber eyes cast a frightened expression.  Cats are certainly adept at communicating when they’re angry - hissing, flattening their ears, and fur standing on end is hard to miss.  This one just looked scared.

Josh tried to reach in and calm the terrified kitty.  But even though they sometimes seem smarter than us, cats are still animals.  She scratched at him and as he instinctively recoiled, the gooseberry thorns tore into his skin.

Scratching is a natural behavior for cats.  Cats scratch to sharpen their claws, mark their territories and defend themselves when attacked.  Even declawed cats retain the instinct to scratch.

Bleeding, wounded and determined, Josh reached back in again and again.  Each time the cat scratched him.

Another hiker trekked by noticing the bloodbath.  “Leave it,” he suggested.  “Cats only do as much as needed to escape.  They don’t deal in revenge.  She’ll eventually find her own way out.”

Josh ignored the uninvited suggestion and continued trying to free the cat.  Finally, he succeeded and placed her on the dusty path and watched her scamper away.

Noting the warm blood flowing over Josh’s battered hands, the hiker couldn’t help but shake his head.  “You must be some kind of animal rights fanatic,” he chuckled.

“I guess I could have just left her there,” Josh hesitated.  “But forever I will be in this moment; my hands scarlet and sticky.  Yet there’s an exquisite pain that educates in a way nothing else can.”

“You’re correct sir,” he continued.  “Cats are animals that scratch and attack intuitively.  But compassion is a human instinct; a natural, reflexive response that has ensured our survival throughout history.  Our brains are wired to respond to all of God’s suffering creatures.  It’s about giving all the love you’ve got for the blessings received.”

Slightly embarrassed, the other hiker stood frozen; in awe of Josh’s assurance.  “Guess you’ve given me a few things to consider this morning.”

Darwin wrote that “communities which include the greatest number of the most sympathetic members will flourish best, and rear the greatest number of offspring.  We need people to be kind to each other to ensure that our species continues to grow successfully over time.”

O God, may the great beauty and strength of Your love fill the hearts of all creatures with comfort and compassion, as we work and wait for Your Kingdom of light, beauty and kindness upon this Earth.  Amen

He's Waiting

“God remains forever faithful." ~ 2 Timothy 2:13

In the tiny café, he sat alone at a table for two.  Hundreds rushed by it – few stepped inside.

The waitress returned to his table for the umpteenth time.  "Would you like to order yet?"  (He’d been waiting almost half an hour).  "No, thank you," he smiled.  "I'll wait a little longer.”

His blue eyes stared through the flowered centerpiece.  Sounds of light chatter and soothing music filled his mind.  He’d dressed up enough to make a companion feel significant, respected, loved.  He’d taken every precaution to make her feel at ease.

Something tugged at her curiosity.  "I don't mean to pry, but..." her voice trailed off.

Go ahead," he encouraged in a confident, yet sensitive voice.

"Why do you keep waiting for her?" she blurted.  Said the man quietly, "Because she needs me."

“No offense, sir,” she pressed, “she sure isn't acting like it.  She stood you up 3 times this week."

The man’s eyes shifted towards his folded hands.  "Yes, I know, but Andrea said she’d be here."

"She's said that before," the waitress protested.  "I wouldn't put up with it.  Why do you?"

Now the man looked up, beamed, and said simply, "Because I love her."

The waitress retreated, wondering how one could love a woman who stands him up repeatedly.  He doesn’t look crazy.  Maybe this lady has unique qualities.  Or maybe the man's love is stronger than most.  Reflectively, she moved on to another table.

The lonely man sipped at this coffee.  He’d been stood up many times but he’d never get used to the hurt.  He looked forward to this evening all day; so many things to share with Andrea.  But, more importantly, he wanted to hear her voice, celebrate her triumphs, share her pain.

He requested the check after almost two hours, leaving enough for 5 cups of coffee and a healthy tip.  He passed a laughing couple on the way out; his teary eyes pondering the good time they could’ve had.  Stopping at the front, he made reservations for tomorrow.

"Seven o'clock tomorrow for party of two?" the hostess confirmed.  “I hope she’ll come.”

"She will … someday, and I’ll be waiting."  Buttoning his overcoat, he left alone; shoulders hunched.  One could only guess if they were bent against the wind or a broken heart.

As the man walked on, Andrea crawled into bed, tired from an evening with friends.  When she reached toward her night stand to set the alarm, she saw the note she’d scribbled to herself last night.  “Tomorrow,” it read, “spend time in prayer.”

“Darn, I forgot again” she thought casting aside a twinge of guilt.  She needed that time with her friends.  She can pray tomorrow night.  Jesus will forgive her (again).

Loving God, thank You for being the One constant in my life.  No matter what happens, no matter what I go through, or whatever may change, You are still there, and You stay the same - faithful and true.  Amen