Here Comes the Son

“For those who fear My name, the Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing." ~ Malachi 4:2

Rain pelted the airplane window beside her seat. For some, driving rain is a soulful massage. But for Corinne, it brought back a familiar fear of flying. She said a prayer, tightened her seatbelt; then placed the flight in God’s capable hands. But the weather wasn’t helping.

As the plane rocketed skyward, a blanket of fear gripped Corinne as heavy and dense as the cloud ceiling. Her heart raced. She had to keep reminding herself to breathe as her body jerked, jostled, and lifted off the seat.

Suddenly, the plane broke through the storm. The plane leveled off just as the cabin filled with luminous golden light. Corrine gazed out the window. No more rain. Beneath them stretched a carpet of fluffy white clouds. Up here, the sun had been shining brilliantly all along!

George Harrison’s iconic song “Here Comes the Sun,” gently tickled her attention. It was the ultimate celebration of sunshine; the promise of things to come.  

Harrison wrote the lyrics at a gloomy time in rock history. It reflected his need for respite during the chaos dominating the Beatles’ final days before their breakup. He sought refuge from the turmoil in Eric Clapton’s garden, finding hopefulness in the sun’s radiance. “It’s been a long cold lonely winter but here comes the sun.” Winter is about discontent, and we all seem to be living through a metaphorical winter presently.

But Christmas is about God’s Son coming to earth and becoming flesh. It’s how God’s redemptive plan not only unfolded but was fulfilled! Most of all, Christmas inspires hope.

It’s an amazing story, one that becomes more incredible with every telling. The King of Kings came as the Son. He left the splendor of glory to roam a broken world, to suffer and die for self-centered rebels. The Messiah wasn’t born in a palace but probably in a cave, perhaps a lamb’s stone water trough. He lived as a pilgrim, denied the small luxuries even afforded animals. 

Despised and rejected, then subjected to a painful public crucifixion. And he did so intentionally and willingly so that those rebels would be forgiven. So that those separated from God would have a home with Him forever.  So that grace will be given to those in desperate need.

Light shines brightest in darkness. The Christmas story brings an overriding message of HOPE. God didn’t come into our world at high noon. He entered our lives in darkness - showing us the light, guiding us toward love, and demonstrating how to overcome the shadows.  Even when things seem dark, we can TRUST the everlasting light. Now that’s something worth celebrating!

Loving Father, help us remember Jesus’ birth of Jesus, that we may share in the song of the angels, the gladness of the shepherds, and worship of the wise men. Close the door of hate and open the door of love all over the world. Let kindness come with every gift and good desires with every greeting. Amen  

Merry Christmas Eve

 “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward all.” ~ Luke 2:14

The old man busied himself behind the 7-11’s counter on a lonely Christmas Eve. He’d worked most holidays since his wife Martha passed away. It was just another day to him and just couldn’t find a reason to celebrate.

Pete gazed out at snow that’d been falling for the last hour when an agitated man burst in waving a pistol and demanding all the cash. His trembling hand suggested he’d probably never attempted anything like this before.

“Son, don't do this,” Pete said calmly. “Put the gun down before someone gets hurt.”

The thief looked confused. “Shut up or... or I’ll shoot you. Give me the cash, now!”

“It’s Christmas if you need money, here …” He pulled several twenties out of his pocket and handed them over, simultaneously reaching for the barrel of the gun. “It ain’t much but it’s all I got.”

Releasing his grip on the gun, the man fell to his knees and wept. “I’m terrible at this, aren’t I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son. I lost my job, the rent’s due, and my car got repossessed last week.”

Pete helped the young man to his feet. “We all do dumb things sometimes,” Pete began. “That’s what makes us human.” He motioned toward the chair behind the counter, and said,” Sit there and relax while we sort things out.”

Just then a police car rolled up and two officers got out. They entered the store for fresh cups of hot java.  “Everything OK tonight, Pete,” one asked. “Who’s your new assistant?”

The young man froze. “Just hired him this morning,” Pete answered.

After the officers left, the young man looked up and asked almost inaudibly, “Why?”

Before answering, Pete went into the back room and returned with a box. He pulled out a ring box. “Here’s something for your bride. Martha wouldn’t mind; she knew it’d come in handy someday.”

I can’t take this,” said the young man. “It means something to you.”

“And now it means something to you,” replied Pete. “I got my memories. That’s all I need.”

Pete reached into the box again. An airplane, a car, and a truck appeared next. They were toys that the store owner had left for him to sell. “Here’s something for that little man of yours.”

When to man offered the money Pete had handed him earlier, Pete replied, “Keep it, go home and buy a lovely Christmas dinner for your family.”

The man turned, his tears exposing an honest soul: "l be here in the morning to work if that job offer’s still good.”

“Nope. I’m closed Christmas day,” Pete said. “See ya the day after, Merry Christmas.”

Holy Father, giver of all good things. We know that giving gifts is one way we show our love for each other. Let these gifts we share also remind us of the greatest gift of love you have given to us, your son Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.

Christmas 1941

 “Jesus became human and humbled himself by obeying God." ~ Philippians 2:8

Christmas 1941 was a time of alarming uncertainty. Just weeks after Pearl Harbor, Americans were still reeling from the shock and devastating casualties suffered in the surprise attack.

The Japanese strike force returned home toasting its sweeping success. Across the Atlantic, much of Europe was frozen in Nazi occupation. Churchill and Roosevelt met in Washington to map out their wartime strategy. As the century’s most notable Christmas played out across the globe, no amount of eggnog could quell the fear that came with the US entering another world war.

The war effort required sacrifice from everybody.

Many women not only found themselves as heads of their households but were also called to work in factory jobs and other roles previously held by men. Some even donned Santa’s red suit for the cause.

Real Christmas trees were scarce because men who typically cut them down were either in the military or working in the armament industry. So, people decorated artificial trees made from a type of artificial straw. To ensure cities were less visible to potential enemy planes, they had no lights.

Food rationing prompted creative yuletide recipes. Most gave up turkey for donations to military service personnel. With sugar and butter restricted by the government, Victory” cakes, which used minimal (if any) sugar, became popular as did gelatin desserts.

To bolster the troops’ morale, U.S. Army and Navy Postal Services collected gifts, cards, and other mail to ensure delivery by Christmas 1942. Hallmark reinforced the idea with a “Keep ‘em happy with mail” advertising slogan.

Families exchanged fewer gifts. Due to wartime rationing of products like metal, rubber, and rayon, many children’s toys and gifts were made of wood or paper. Knitted, crocheted, and hand-crafted items were given from repurposed materials and supplies.

Christmas 1941 had a melancholy feel for both the Americans serving overseas and those on the home front with empty seats at dinner tables. During this period, some of the most somber holiday songs were released: “White Christmas” (1941), “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” (1943), and “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” (1944).

President Roosevelt’s 1941 Christmas Eve speech pleaded for God’s forgiveness, guidance, and love in the times ahead. “May we be humble in spirit, strong in our conviction; steadfast to endure sacrifice, and brave to achieve a victory of liberty and dignity," he prayed.

Back then, everyone preached working for the common good. Spiritual stirrings ran far deeper in the years that followed. Churches were busier than they’d been during the Great Depression. And when peace was finally won, the religious upsurge continued. 

U.S. churches today are weakened, shoved to society’s sidelines, and divided internally over basic beliefs. Let us pray for an awakening of our collective Christmas spirit this holiday season.

Lord God, help me remember the true reason for Christmas so that I might experience the true joy that comes from following You. Give me a spirit of anticipation for what You want from our lives and clothe me in Your shroud of hope. Amen

Living Wide

 “God offers second chances and doesn’t punish us when we truly seek forgiveness." ~ Joel 2:13

In what seemed like a lifetime ago, John, a deeply troubled teenager, suffered from social anxiety.  Loneliness and isolation caused deepening violence which he eventually turned on himself. At 16, absent all hope, he raised a gun to his left temple and pulled the trigger. 

But hope hadn’t given up on him. After almost seven hours of surgery, doctors pronounced him alive and stable. They fixed him physically, but mentally John still struggled. He turned to drugs and a felony conviction sent him to rehab.

After getting clean, John attended a vocational school where he met a woodworking instructor who inspired his eager student. Chris Hathaway assured John that he not only had a love for working with wood but a talent for it, too.

Hathaway convinced John to study piano rebuilding at a tech school in Vancouver. He graduated two years later and started his own piano-refurbishing business.  

While in Vancouver, John met an accomplished artist named Anni Becker. Three years after what they like to call their “blind date,” they were married.

Anni bought John a used lathe after listening to his yearning for the smell of maple and walnut sawdust. She encouraged him to quit the piano job and devote his time to woodworking. 

Did I fail to mention that his teenage suicide attempt left him totally blind? Now, consider for a moment working with power tools from John’s “view.” Yikes!

Today the sightless craftsman holds a locally harvested blank ready for turning. With the flick of a switch, the rotating lathe rumbles to life, and he carefully begins shaping the wood stock using his fingers as guides and his hands as his eyes.

Like many great artists, John already sees the finished creation in his mind. Satisfaction comes from giving “new life” to wood and knowing his masterpieces will be seen and cherished by others.

Today he’s “living wide” and happy to share his story with others. John prefers to be defined by the man he is now rather than the teen he once was. At 36 years old, his wooden bowls, plates, mortar and pestles, trays, and smartphone amphitheaters, sell at various local craft events, retail spaces, and online at: https://www.furnissstudios.com/onlinestore

Along with continuing her painting career, Anni helps John run the social media and technology side of their business, Furniss Studios. She does the paperwork, maintains their online presence, and organizes his woods by color and texture.

When they’re not creating or hanging out with their rescue dog, Pickle, John and Anni make time to speak candidly about blind awareness, drug abuse deterrence, and suicide prevention in schools.  Reaching out to that age bracket has led to some life-changing conversations. "Life changes,” he says. “You can affect that change or you can be affected by it – your choice."

Merciful Father, I’m reminded that salvation has a beginning, sometimes a renewed beginning. Thank You that however far we’ve fallen, Your love can still reach us with (another) second chance. Amen

Friends in Worship

 “Ask and it will be given, seek and you shall find, knock and the door will open.” ~ Matthew 7:7 

Aliya sat at the kitchen table in her bathrobe, bleary-eyed, looking down at the steaming cup of coffee.  She’d been up most of the night with her autistic son Allen.  Life had been a roller-coaster ride since the teen hit puberty.

Allen found it difficult to process everyday sensory stimuli.  Too much information could cause him stress, anxiety, and even physical pain.  She and her husband, David, never knew what might set off an explosion.  They couldn't even enjoy church together.

With three other children and David often traveling for his job, Aliya felt exhausted: finding it increasingly difficult to be both mother and caregiver.  She considered moving Allen into a group home with staff that could better care for him, but quickly erased that thought from her mind - it just didn't feel right.

Someone new was coming over from the support agency later today, but honestly, Aliya’s hope was vanishing.   She prayed for someone who would understand Allen’s need for life to unfold at a predictable, well-ordered pace.

Later that morning, she and Allen greeted a soft-spoken young man at their front door with an unfamiliar accent.  His voice had a soothing quality that seemed to put Allen at ease.

They all sat in the living room.  "My name is Malik," the man said.  "I cared for my mother in Africa until she passed away, then I moved here because I’ve always wanted to live in America."  He turned to Allen and started asking him some questions.

"Allen," she said, "why don't you get your photo album to show Malik?"  For the next hour, she watched them together, paging through the book, encouraged at how well they seemed to get along.  Maybe their prayers had finally been answered. 

Malik almost immediately started visiting 2-3 times a week.

An amazing transformation began taking place.  Allen's anxiety diminished.  Under Malik’s patient and skillful care, he emerged as that lovable boy he’d been prior to his teenage meltdowns.  If only Malik could help on Sundays too,” she wondered.  So, she asked him if he went to church.

"I'm a Muslim," he said.  "I worship at the local mosque."

"We need help with Allen in church on Sundays," Aliya continued cautiously.  "Would that be a problem for you?"

"That would be fine," Malik smiled.  "I can worship God in your sanctuary as well as in my mosque." “Of course, Aliya thought, why would God send us someone who couldn't help us on Sundays?”

Now when Malik slips into the pew next to them on Sunday mornings, Allen grabs his hand, trust that’s born of deep love and a sense that they’re champions together.

She’s struck by the beautiful contrast in skin tones and by the mysterious ways of this God we love.

God, our Comforter, and our Friend - rain down on us.  Baptize us with Your fire. Guide us into all truth. Open the heavens wide and shower us with Your Holy Spirit.  Change us, renew us, empower us.  Amen

Sole Survivor

 “Trust the Lord with all your heart; don’t count on your own understanding." ~ Proverbs 3:5

Watchman Dennis Hale (26) was the last shipmate to board the Morrell for its last run of 1966. The ship left Windsor, Ontario early on November 28th, hoping to beat a blizzard that was roaring across Michigan.

The Morrell first sailed in 1906. The huge 600-foot freighter hauled iron ore to ports around the Great Lakes for six decades.

Ships don’t typically sail the Great Lakes in late November when the infamous gales are the most treacherous. Additionally, ships built before the late 1940s had a fatal flaw: the steel used in their construction had a high sulfur content, making it brittle in icy waters. When another of the fleet’s vessels broke down, the Morrell was ordered to sail one more time.

Out deep in Lake Huron, the ship proved no match for the 35-foot waves and damaging winds it encountered. Around midnight, Hale woke from the sound of two loud bangs. Snatching his lifejacket, he rushed out onto the snowy deck wearing only boxer shorts and a peacoat.

Battered by the elements, the ship’s steel ripped apart below the waterline and split in half. As it sank, Hale and three of his crewmates climbed into a small life raft.

Over the desperate hours that followed, the four nearly-frozen men lay helpless. Huge waves washed over the little raft. The wind lashed at their skin. No one spoke.

By morning, Hale’s shipmates had all perished. He lay among his fallen friends and prayed for mercy: “God, please let me die peacefully.” For the next 24 hours, Hale suffered alone, keeping fingers in his mouth to prevent frostbite and holding in his urine to save body heat.

He tried to eat the ice chips off his coat until a shadowy figure with a white beard and bushy eyebrows urged him not to. I must be hallucinating, he thought.  

Still, he sensed himself being drawn to the heavens, where he later recalled "My worldly pain and misery were gone. The love was so profound. I was sure I was about to meet my God … in person."

That afternoon, a Coast Guard helicopter rescued Hale after 38 hours in the raft.  His nightmare had ended. He was airlifted to a local hospital where his body temp registered at 94^oF. Doctors all agreed that any ice chips would have lowered his survival chances.

Of the boat's 29 crew members, 28 died.

As he closes his eyes and remembers his friends, Hale barely has words to describe his near-death experience. He can still feel the manifestation of God’s presence in that lifeboat - that warmth; that loving comfort.

Only now, nearly 60 years later, did he mention the mystery man who helped save his life that night day. God spared his life, he reasoned, to tell the world about the epiphany he’ll never forget.

Lord, we know with You there are no coincidences. Lead me to trust in Your goodness and mercy, knowing You have good things in store for my life. Amen 

Five-minute Window

 “Be ready to tell anyone who asks why you believe as you do. Be respectful." ~ 1 Peter 3:15

The woman in the hospital bed next to Jonah’s wife, Elle, was loud, cranky, and demanding.  Years of drug abuse had reduced her to a ghost of her former self. Tooth decay, body odor, and legions of open sores suggested a serious meth addiction from which she was detoxing.

As a cartoon character does, she reveled in anger; lost in the moment and the torture her brain suffered. She became enraged when declaring: “No one listens to me. I know my body better than y’all. I just need some "Ice" (slang for crystal meth).

Lying isolated in her hospital bed, Jonah couldn’t help feeling pity and whispered a short prayer. Behind the prickly exterior was surely a sad story.

The patient was testing Elle’s patience. One more outburst and she swore she'd find an illegal use for Angie’s pillow. She knew it wasn't entirely her fault, but her existence had become little more than an extended nightmare until the sweet angel of death came to whisk her away.

No friends, no calls, no flowers, no family. Elle had 4 beautiful bouquets, 17 get-well cards, and a constant flow of visitors sharing love and encouragement.

Suddenly, Angie cried out. “Help … anyone! Why am I here? I want my lawyer! I need to talk with a priest, she shouted bitterly.

Jonah got up from his chair and approached the maniacal woman. He sensed her chest tightening; a quiet rage building from within.

"Mam,” he offered politely. “I’m no priest but I’m a good listener, and in times like these we could all use a friendly ear. He rested his hand on Angie’s, feeling the coldness in her fingers. She pulled away, then turned toward the window.

"You don’t have to talk to me. If you’d rather talk directly to God that's OK," he said kindly.

At his words, Angie rolled back toward him, a mere shadow of the woman she once was. Yet her eyes offered free passage into her soul. She smiled apologetically and settled right down.

Jonah held her hand and prayed for healing, then silently prayed for her deeper needs. Angie liked the way he prayed - earnestly and informally, in a deep, rich voice that put her at ease in a way she couldn’t explain. For the next week, when he visited his wife, she called him “Father.” 

Spiritual help had been given in a narrow five-minute window. Maybe now her recovery could begin, inspired by nothing fancier than a warm smile and comforting words.

The stories God writes for us take us down various paths. No matter where you are on the journey, there’s a plan and a purpose to what you experience. If you’re struggling, take comfort in knowing you’re never alone.  He’s always listening.

Father God, caregiving may last only five minutes.  But You surpass time. By the power of Your Holy Spirit, help me answer anyone who asks about my faith in You with gentleness and reverence. Amen