Along Same the Spider

 “God made all sorts of living creatures and was pleased with what He saw." ~ Genesis 1:25

Michelle became a mother in that chair.  She’d nursed and rocked babies, sang hundreds of lullabies, and prayed thousands of prayers there.  Name an emotion - any emotion - and she’d experienced it . . . in that chair.

But eventually, the chair got relegated to the front porch, where it sat now largely alone.  Except for the spider who built her web between that chair and a post outside her living room window.

Michelle hated spiders.  She’d rather swim in a barrel of rattlesnakes, than be in the same zip code as the tiniest garden spider.  Her first instinct was to march out the front door and destroy the web and kill the creepy, little crawler who dared breach their space.  Spiders were her enemy!

But didn’t the Bible say something about loving your enemies?  She’d read that somewhere.  Love a spider?  Sorry, never!

The next-door neighbor with the noisy dog?  Sure, she could pray for her. 

The guy who cut her off in traffic yesterday?  Yeah, him too.

Friends with political party affiliations with whom she disagreed?  [Sigh] Perhaps, in a pinch.

Spiders?  [Long pause] Maybe . . . what’s loveable about them?

Michelle googled ‘spiders’ and learned that spiders are primary controllers of insects.  Without them, our crops would be consumed by those pests.  We’d likely face global famine from the resulting insect apocalypse.  

Honestly, that spider had as much if not more reason for living on earth as she did.

She wondered how many spiders were killed each day by people who were frightened by them? Some people thought that they’re dirty creatures that live in filthy houses.  But it’s been said that we have spiders within a few feet of us at all times.  Even in hospitals.

She continued reading that female garden spiders can live for years if they survive the first hard frost.  Patience and perseverance.  We all need a little of both right now as we enter a cold winter with uncertainties abound.  She glanced again at the spider’s delicate web; an intricate, sculpture of silky thread, adorned with dew in the watery light of early morning.

The chair rocked back and forth in the breeze.  Perhaps its greatest wonder was the abundant forgiveness that took place there each night decades ago.  After stories, songs and prayers, they dropped all transgressions right there at the foot of the chair, piling them on top of one another like stackable cups.

Every cry, every stressor, every negative thing that happened that day was forgotten; baptized anew every single night in that rocking chair.  Grace washed over them like a warm rain, forgiven and redeemed, ready for slumber and new mercies in the morning.

Michelle looked back at the creature with a newly discovered fondness: “Looks like you found a good home!”

Dear Lord, thank You for making beautiful creatures that remind us to be still - to hold on and have faith.  Even creepy spiders!  Amen

"What Makes Us Human"

 “We were created in God’s own image." ~ Genesis 1:27

Carrying a backpack full of sand, Shavarsh sprinted the final leg of a half-marathon powered by intense anger.  The Soviets had dropped him from the national swim team although, at 23, he’d already captured eight European titles and several world records for the USSR.

Armenia had become an unlikely source of gold medals in finswimming, a niche sport where competitors propel themselves underwater using a monofin (like a dolphin’s tail).

Just as he rounded the bend, he watched in horror as a trolleybus full of people disappeared below the surface of Lake Yerevan.  He sprinted down the hill, stripped to his undies, and dove into the icy-cold lake.  His brother Kamo, also an expert swimmer, followed him into the water and remained above the sunken vehicle helping rescue surfacing passengers.

Shavarsh dove and kicked open the bus’s back window.  Shards of glass shredded his leg; frigid water helped stem the bleeding.

Some 90 passengers were trapped underwater when it sunk: factory workers, schoolkids, students, housewives, pensioners.  Many were knocked unconscious when the bus struck the water 80 feet below and sank 33 feet.

After lifting each passenger, Shavarsh took five deep breaths, then back down.  He dragged 30 to 35 passengers out of the water, several who were already deceased.

Among the chaos, Shavarsh left the scene unnoticed.  At home his temperature spiked after the prolonged exposure to Lake Yerevan’s cold, polluted water.  He remained hospitalized for 45 days due to pneumonia, sepsis, and irreversible lung damage.  

Three weeks later he was back in the pool.  He strapped on the giant monofin that harnessed the explosive energy from core and leg muscles.  By the time the USSR championship rolled around the following spring, he sought to reclaim his perch atop the finswimming world.

“I never raced so angry before,” he told one reporter.

His lungs burned as he touched the wall a victor.  Too weak to exit the pool by himself, Kamo jumped in and delivered a massive bearhug for Shavarsh’s 11^th and final world record.

Only later would his heroism be recognized by Soviet authorities who were loath to publicize any news (like a bus crash) that might reveal frailties in the communist state. 

Today, he remains a legend in the former USSR.  Organizers of Sochi’s 2014 Winter Games even tapped him to carry the Olympic torch into the Kremlin.  

The 1976 trolleybus rescue was not the first time Shavarsh Karapetyan saved lives.  In 1985 while walking near Yerevan’s Sports Arena, a fire broke out in the building.  He’d receive severe burns after unselfishly rush into the inferno before fight fighters arrived.

“Anyone can find himself in a place where somebody needs help,” he said.  “The main thing is to remember what makes you human.”

Lord, among all that we have, there are so many hurting and needy people. We ask that You bless them, help them, heal them.  We also pray that You would open our eyes to the opportunities to bless others in need.  Amen

Blinding Light

 “Be alert, be smart, be sober." ~ 1 Peter 5:8

It was the year he’d dreamed for.  A college business major, Trevor loved sports and girls - a good combination for an athlete who’d already accepted a lucrative NY modeling offer with hopes of earning enough money to pay his way through law school.

We’d been best friends since high school.  Now because of one seemingly harmless decision, both our lives changed forever. 

We’d been out enjoying a night of drinking and socializing.  Each drink seemed like a better idea; conversations got more interesting; flirting got more intentional.  Under alcohol’s influence, everything seemed fabulous.

A small voice nagged at me, reminding me that I wouldn’t feel very good tomorrow; that my actions might have consequences.  But when drunk, I’m well beyond the point of caring.  I just live in the moment!

Trevor was in no condition to drive home.  Frankly, neither was I.  So, without a plan for a designated driver, I recklessly drove his pickup … lost control … and slammed into a tree on Trevor’s side. 

Sirens woke me from oblivion.  I heard a police officer say it was another drunk driving accident.  It took me a moment to realize that he was talking about me. 

I glanced over at Trevor.  He wasn’t breathing … or moving.  I wanted to tell the paramedics to save him, but I couldn’t.  I wanted to say “I’m sorry” but I couldn’t.  All I could do was bawl.

Some would politely say that the tree inextricably changed our lives that day.  A horrible tragedy, being in the wrong place, rain-soaked road conditions.  But they’re wrong!

Truth is: I did it!  I hurt my best friend.  And for what?  For a night of irresponsible partying. 

I plead guilty to a charge of intoxication assault and was placed on 10-years’ probation.  My goal of becoming a football coach vanished.

Trevor didn’t fare so well.   His brain injury left him unable to talk or walk.  He can’t dress or feed himself or go to the bathroom alone.  Once, fiercely independent, he’s now forced to rely on others for everything.

Not only am I responsible for his lifelong disabilities, I’m left with the penance of facing his family and friends for the rest of my life.  I may have stayed alive, but death would have been a kinder punishment then living with this regret.

The only thing I can do now is to share my story and hope others will listen.  What will it take?  I pray it will never happen to them? 

Today I’m going to pick up Trevor.  We travel the country now sharing our story with high school students.  Since he can longer speak, I translate his thoughts for all to consider.

Maybe someday, that will be enough.

Dear Lord, we come to You in deep pain and sadness for those we know who are suffering in one way of another due to substance abuse.  Both those that have been ensnared in their own excessive addictions and also those that affected by them.  Amen

Happy Choo Choo

 “Smile, the joy of the Lord is your strength." ~ Nehemiah 8:10

Riding the subway in New York City, there’s not a whole lot to smile about.  Delays, filth, riders who take up multiple seats - there’s always something to rankle you.

The ability to sweeten the drudgery of a subway commute is what sets Kenneth Burton apart from his peers.  While most conductors make announcements with calculated indifference, he actually makes passengers smile with delight. 

As Burton’s ‘Choo Choo’ screeched to a stop on the Upper West Side, he spotted a toddler in a stroller near the cab window, and leaned out of the conductor’s cab to hand out a sucker.  

His friendly but commanding voice bellowed through the crackle of the subway station in Times Square: “Be nice to each other as you go down the steps,” he announced.

Burton exited the train grinning, wearing aviator-style glasses and a conductor’s hat cocked at an angle.  Among regulars, friends and family he’s known as “Happy.”  Three minutes later the train left … nearly on time.

As he chugged through the next few stops, Burton broke into his practiced routine.  Born and raised in Harlem, he’s a genuine NYC tour guide.  “Change of scenery; Christopher Street, anyone?”

Soon, “Stonewall Inn Station - statutes, taverns and libraries,” he enunciates with theatrical precision each time he enters Greenwich Village.  He strings out the syllables of “Stonewall Inn” as if he were introducing a popular athlete in Madison Square Garden.

Burton’s style is reminiscent of Harry Nugent, arguably the most beloved subway conductor of all time.  He’s subverting the formal tone of those humdrum announcements that passengers mostly tune out.  But he discovered that when he throws in a little friendly commentary, some ears perk right up.  His casual remarks do seem to lighten the mood, as if he were joining you for the ride.

Burton’s improvisation, though, seems in direct conflict with the agency’s drafting of official scripts for subway conductors.  But the agency allows some measure of “flexibility” because Kenneth “maintains such great rapport with [our] customers.”

Clocking out, Burton drove home to his wife and four grandchildren.  But before laundering his grease-stained uniform, he removed a small piece of paper from his yellow-striped vest.  It had been given to him by a commuter several years ago.

It read: "KEEP SMILING!”  Happy is what others feel when they board his Choo Choo.

It’s been said, “There's a big difference between being a human and human being.”

"Being human" means showing humane qualities like kindness, empathy, and generosity.  Years of serving others taught Kenneth to always respect others just for being human, to discover the unexpected beauty at every stop, and how even the most ordinary job can lead to a career full of unrestrained cheerfulness.

Lord Jesus, sometimes I seem to be simply going through the motions; missing the point of it all.  Mend my heart, Lord for You alone, are where I find peace.  Let me be a branch on Your vine, that I might bring forth fruit in the joy of Your Spirit.  Amen

Great Is Thy Faithfulness

“The Lord’s love never ends; His faithfulness begins anew every day." ~ Lamentations 3:22-3

Hugh woke as if there were an emergency; as if sleeping had become too dangerous.  He forgot to call their son William yesterday.

Then, as the fog cleared from his brain, he remembered.  William was gone.

It’d been almost a year since William lost his battle with PTSD and taken his own life.  He’d wanted to serve his country.  They were all so proud and grateful when he returned home safe.  But the Marine that came back was not the same one that left.  And for his Dad, today will pass as if hungover, not from alcohol, but from the nightmares that demand solutions.

William struggled readjusting to civilian life.  He had difficulty finding a meaningful job and felt as if his friends had all moved on without him.  While he was away serving his country during tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, they’d gone to college and gotten married.

He seemed so lost, often complaining that his head just didn’t seem to work.  He tried so hard to focus, but it was like running through molasses.  His brain fogged up; almost as if a natural anesthesia to numb the pain and clear away the trauma.  Triggers could include sights, sounds, smells, or any thoughts that reminded him of fighting in the war.

Oh, how they’d tried to convince William to get professional help, but he refused.  Hugh still felt guilt and shame, that he should’ve somehow known what to do to save him.  He wondered if his son died believing God loved him?  Was William at peace with You, Lord?

Hugh got up and walked to the table they’d made into a small memorial for William.  It held items from his funeral - Marine Corps mementos, medals and pictures of the brave men and women he’d served with. 

He affectionately touched each item.

Then he noticed a small blue bible, one he’d sort of forgotten about.  William received it from their church upon completing his Confirmation studies.  Well-worn pages suggested it still held great value to his son.  

He picked it up and held it to his chest.  A small piece of paper fell out and tumbled to the floor.  It was a note in William’s handwriting, apparently written to himself. 

“William,” it read, “never forget!  God loves you very much, whether saint or sinner; soldier or preacher.  No matter how many times you sin, God’s mercy is never ending, and as many times as you ask for forgiveness, He’ll give it to you every time, no matter what.  He’s got your six!”

Hugh blinked away tears.  At last, he knew his son was at peace.

Heavenly Father, sometimes I’m downright unlovable.  I make mistakes, say the wrong things, and don’t deserve the love of the ones I care most about.  But, while human relationships and feelings can fade or disappear over time, Your Word reminds me that You’ll never stop loving me.  No matter what!  Amen

Our Cup

 “He took the cup, said thanks, and gave it to them, saying, "Drink from it, all of you." ~ Matt 26:27

Most of my Mom’s family worked in the sun.  Shade trees wasted valued farmland; they built houses for shade.  The hard, physical work created a ravenous thirst; every lungful of hot air robbed more water from their bodies.

There were no fountains of fluorinated drinking water on the farm.  When thirsty, they went to an old, rusty pump outside Grandma’s machine shed for cool water from deep in the ground.

It often took many strokes from the long lever in order to gather just one gallon of water from the hand-dug, rock-lined well.  Sometimes it worked … many times it didn’t.

A communal metal drinking cup, dented from experience, hung from the old pump.  They all drank from the same cup then hung it back for the next thirsty soul. 

Preventing dehydration was always a priority.  They’d rinse it quickly before sipping from it, not worrying too much about germs, but mainly to wash away any chicken feathers, bird poop, or anything else that might be hiding inside the mug.

As kids, we loved using that old pump.  The water was free and on blistering hot days, we couldn’t get enough of it.  There was something truly magical about eagerly waiting for cool water to emerge from deep below the earth. 

It was also a place to gather; a respite from hard work.  We’d rest up, share stories, and clown around.  It was an opportunity to build respect, empathy, and friendship.  That pump was an important symbol of daily life; once as common as today’s kitchen faucet. 

Grandma’s farmhouse is gone now, along with the machine shed and that old pump and rusted cup.  Gone too are the good times we had on the farm – back in the days when “neighbor” was both a noun and a verb.  Drinking from an old communal drinking cup taught us all a lesson.

As Christians, we are nourished because we’re united.  Because you and I, and the fellow over there, and the person working two jobs to stay ahead of the bills, and the angry neighbor, and the single mom sleeping under a bridge, can be nourished by recognizing our dependence on each other, and even more, by recognizing the gifts of each other. 

You’re all invited to drink from the Cup of Christ.

So come, you who have much faith and you who have little; you who have been here often and you who’ve not been here long, you who tried to follow and you who have failed.  Come, because it is the Lord who invites you to drink from His Silver cup and read from the Holy grail.

Father God, You’re so kind and patient with me for the many times when I’ve placed myself above others.  Forgive me and help me realize that the greatest of Your people aren’t striving to sit at Your right hand, but to serve humbly in Your name.  Amen