Two Choices

 “Never tire of doing good." ~ Galatians 6:9-10

One afternoon, Serena and her Mom, Regina, walked past a park where two teams were playing softball. Serena sheepishly asked, "Do you think they’d let me play?"

Regina knew that her daughter’s cognitive and physical limitations would probably dissuade any of the girls from wanting her on their team. But she also knew that allowing her to play would give Serena a needed sense of belonging.

She approached one of the teams’ coaches. “Losing by 11 runs, we’re about to be “mercied,” the coach admitted. Why not, if we don’t get two runs this inning, the game’s over anyway.”

Regina glowed. Serena’s smile was effervescent.

After two strikeouts, the third batter on Serena’s team hit a blistering single. The coach motioned for Serena to pick up a bat. Having never played before, she didn’t know how to hold it properly. One of her new teammates walked her to the plate and gave her a quick swing lesson. Everyone knew it was probably futile.

But, as Serena stepped proudly into the batter’s box, the pitcher moved in a few steps and lobbed the ball softly. Serena swung clumsily, missing the first pitch. The pitcher took a few steps closer, encouraging Serena to try again. The second pitch was also wildly unsuccessful.

But on the third try, Serena hit a slow ground ball back to the pitcher. With plenty of time to throw the ball to first for the final out, she threw the ball deep into right field. Players from both teams yelled, "Serena, run to first. Run fast!"

Eyes wide, she raced down the baseline screaming with excitement. When she got to first base, fans yelled, “Keep running, Serena. Run to second."

The right fielder retrieved the ball and intentionally threw the ball far over the second baseman's head and into left field. Serena reached second base safely where the shortstop turned her in the direction of third base and shouted, "Keep going!"

When Serena rounded third, girls from both teams encouraged her to “Run Home!” Almost out of breath, she stepped on home plate where both teams cheered her enthusiastically.

Her team still lost but Serena’s home run extended the game for two more innings. She played right field without a fielding chance, but would never forget being the hero, making her Mom so happy, and watching her Dad tear up when recounting her time in the spotlight.

Did you find yourself rooting for Serena, too? Those girls helped bring a slice of benevolence into our world.

Every day presents us with hundreds of seemingly trivial opportunities to do the same. We have two choices. Do we extend a little spark of kindness and inspiration, or do we pass them up and leave the world a little bit more indifferent and uncaring?

Oh God of compassion, comfort, and refuge. Thank You for surrounding me with good people. Remind me to show them daily how much they matter and shower them with the same kindness You have given me. Amen

Dry Spell

 “The Lord will finish the work He began in you." ~ Philippians 1:6

Every morning, Bennett entered his study with a steaming mug of tea and locked the door. Except for answering nature’s call, he’d stay there until he’d written two thousand words. But he’d written his last paragraph nearly a week ago, deleting and retyping it multiple times before erasing the idea altogether.

He stared contemptuously at a blank screen. Try as he might, no words came. Fragmented thoughts bounced inside his brain, but he couldn’t form them into anything coherent.

Bennett had hit a dry spell.

At first, he ignored it. He kept pushing forward, pretending everything was okay. For creative people, burnout is the scourge; both unexpected and stressful.

He’d power-cleaned his office – three times. He waded through previous story ideas. He even tried writing an unrelated short story. Nothing sparked.

Meditation and relaxation techniques were boring - like walking through water instead of air. He could do them, but he’d much rather run and jump.

Bennett decided a mountain might unlock his deeper self.

As he trekked through the golden aspens and jagged cliffs, Jesus’ voice became clear. “Why don’t you live like this, walking with Me and enjoying the suspense of what’s coming next?”

Bennett stopped suddenly. What if he released the yoke and let God fly the plane? If Christ led this adventure, wouldn’t he be able to enjoy the view more? Could the anxiety that’s currently blocking his creativity be unleashed?

Amid the rolling hills and towering peaks, a sense of wonder engulfed him. He prayed. “Lord, teach me to live with anticipation and excitement rather than limit myself to my expectations. Help me see what You’ve planned is greater than anything I could imagine.”

As Bennett finished his six-mile hike, he heard God’s whisper again. “What if you relaxed and let My hand guide your thoughts and words? Together we can write a magnificent story.”

Reenergized, Bennett returned to the keyboard. He began weaving prose as naturally as a bird weaves a nest, rich in emotion, imagery, and metaphor. But this time he let God guide his thinking with a new purpose.

His first novel climbed to the top of the ECPA’s (Evangelical Christian Publishers Association) ‘Best Sellers’ List. He’d go on to write several additional books (with his ‘Ghost’ writer’s help), reigniting his passion for artistic writing.

We all go through phases where we feel like we’re wandering through a spiritual desert. But don’t be discouraged. Christ is still working, and He will finish the work He began in you. He might even use an arid season to teach perseverance.

The Lord is always with you. He loves you, and He will bring about fruit and growth as you remain attached to Him through a desperately dry period. At any given moment God could do something amazing in your life.

Father God, free us from the limits of our plans and expectations. Free our minds to use the skills You’ve given us to serve Your people better. Amen

The Color Purple

 “They clothed him in a purple cloak and twisted together a crown of thorns." ~ Mark 15:17

When a grenade landed at Duane’s feet during the Korean War, he hurled himself on it without hesitation. The bomb lifted him off the ground. He sustained severe shrapnel wounds throughout the lower part of his body. But miraculously, Duane survived – as did all six fellow squad members whose lives he had saved.

The army sent him home with a Purple Heart medal. It rested in a beautiful walnut box, representing bloodshed in the call of duty. More notably, it symbolized phenomenal courage and “extraordinary fidelity to fellow service members.”

Designed by President George Washington himself in 1782, it featured a heart of purple cloth, or silk edged with narrow lace or binding. It wasn’t until 150 years later that the award was redesigned and named the Purple Heart.

Famous recipients include actors, writers, athletes, and even service animals. JFK is the only President with a Purple Heart.

Perhaps the Bible offers a clue to the color’s significance.

Its rich, vivid hue dates back to ancient Rome when purple dye was extremely rare. Made from the mucus of Murex snails near the Mediterranean Sea, each mollusk produced only a single drop of the necessary fluid. A pound of dye required thousands of mollusks. Because of its rarity and difficulty to produce, purple became the symbol of wealth, royalty, and prestige.

Purple is linked to suffering and resurrection in the New Testament. Roman soldiers clothed Jesus in purple before beating and crucifying Him. For Christians today, the color purple paints a vivid celestial image of His sacrifice and the ultimate victory over death through His resurrection.

His willingness to endure suffering for our redemption is a powerful reminder of His love and faithfulness. Further, it serves as a reminder of our eternal royalty as children of God.

Courageous people like Duane Dewey are called heroes because they do what others wouldn’t dare to do, even at significant personal risk. Almost two million Purple Hearts have been given out over the years since this special decoration was instated, more than half given in World War II.

Being a spiritual warrior sometimes requires courage just as fierce and tenacious as that required for battle. Derived from the old French root “coeur” (meaning “heart”), courage means to take something to heart; to deliberately gain an authentic, integrated sense of self rooted in Christ.

Spiritual courage requires us to turn our eyes to God and not to the worries and troubles of this world. When we shift our focus and trust to Him, we gather strength and gain self-confidence. The more deeply we feel a closeness with God, the more fearless we become.

Lord, help us prepare today for the continual battle against evil and wickedness. Teach us not to cower in fear or be anxious about the future. Inside each one of us is a Spiritual Warrior armed by faith and waiting to be fully employed by You to further Your Kingdom. Amen

An Unlikely Missionary

 “On Judgment Day, the quality of each person's work will be exposed by God” ~ Corinthians 3:13

She attended Ireland’s best boarding schools and relished the fruits of wealth and privilege. One day when she and her mother enjoyed tea and biscuits in a fine restaurant, a little beggar pressed her dirty nose against the window.

Amy’s heart broke for the starving, sickly girl. She promised that when she grew up, she’d find a way to help those disadvantaged. Fifteen years later she traveled to India, never to leave.

For an aspiring missionary, Amy had an unusual background. In the late 1800s, it was rare for single women to go into a foreign country and preach the Gospel. She also suffered from neuralgia, a condition causing weakness and pain so great that she was often bedbound for weeks at a time. Finally, Amy lacked any formal Biblical training.

Upon arrival, she immediately started learning the Tamil language. Amy entered a world where the predominant religion was Hinduism, where Christians were scarce, and the caste social structure neglected women and the poor.

Despite dying her skin brown with coffee to fit in, villagers mostly responded to her gospel message with disinterest or rejection.

Until she heard the cry of a 7-year-old girl named Preena.

“Pleeease help me! Don't send me back!" screamed the terrified child as she jumped into Amy's lap, clinging to her neck. She’d just escaped from a Hindu temple. Preena's mom had given her to the temple priests in hopes of winning the favor of the gods.

Amy set her sights on helping girls who’d been forced into prostitution. Soon four more girls came to Amy for refuge.

With the help of another missionary couple, they found an empty house in the village of Dohnavur and established a sanctuary for the kids.

By the end of 1924, the number reached 30 children under their care. Amy oversaw around 140 of India’s most vulnerable by decade's end. Amy, now 63, had developed neuritis and arthritis which kept her bedridden for the rest of her life.

Though Amy’s conditions slowed her down, they didn’t slow God’s work. By the 1940s, around 900 children and adults and 40–50 helpers lived in the village. What began with a single house was now a thriving village with nurseries, homes, a school, and a hospital with three doctors.

Amy continued to manage the staff and meet regularly with children who needed special help or discipline until she died in 1951 at 83. No fanfare – all Amy asked was to be buried in the garden outside her window, the one she’d looked out at during the last twenty years of her life.

Thank You Lord, for blessing us with selfless people like Amy who answer Your call. We continue to pray for those missionaries to open doors and hearts in Your Name so that more of Your children would come to Your table. Amen

Two Old

“Be kind to strangers, some may be disguised as angels.” ~ Hebrews 13:2

As Amy neared the last of the shelter’s two dozen pens, a dog in the shadows struggled to his feet, ambled to the front and sat down. Years had etched his face with shades of gray. Geriatric hips jutted out in unnatural angles. But his adoring eyes caught and held her attention.

“That’s Wiley,” the kennel clerk said. “He’s a sad case! After several rounds of ‘rehoming,’ we’re probably his last home. We took him in two weeks ago, but his time is up tomorrow. We simply don’t have room for every unwanted dog.”

Amy returned home with Wiley nuzzled beside her on the front seat.

The old hound was a gift for her much older father who, at 83, had come to live with them on a small Iowa farm. While Jack had survived the heart attack, his passion for life did not. He rejected any offers of help. Friends disappeared. Jack imprisoned himself in a cocoon of his own making.

Amy helped the mutt from the car when Jack shuffled onto the front porch. “Look what I got for you, Dad!” she said unapologetically.

Jack shook his head and wrinkled his face. “If I’d wanted a dog, I’d have picked one better than that old sack of bones.”

Amy swallowed her anger before speaking. “You’d better get used to him, Dad. He’s staying!”

They stood glaring at each other, while Wiley wobbled toward Jack and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw. Jack stared at the lifted paw as confusion replaced his cynicism. Wiley waited patiently… until Jack tenderly petted the mangy mongrel.

That marked the beginning of a warm, intimate friendship.

His bitterness faded. The new pals spent hours hiking dusty roads and meandering riverbanks. Both were arthritic and walked with pain, yet together made every walk worthwhile. They even attended church services together, Wiley reverently lying quietly at Jack’s feet.

One morning after an unanswered breakfast call, Amy entered Jack’s bedroom. He lay peacefully in his bed; his spirit having left quietly during the night.

Wiley passed away two days later. As they buried him near a favorite fishing pond, Amy silently thanked the precious pooch for his help restoring her Dad’s peace of mind.

Jack’s funeral brought sweet sorrow, blossoming like the freshness of spring meadows. Amy was gratified to see the many friends Jack and Wiley had made filling the church. The pastor began his tribute to both Dad and the dog that had changed his life, turning to Hebrews 13:2 (above).

Suddenly, it all made sense: Wiley’s unexpected appearance at the animal shelter, his calm acceptance and complete devotion to Jack, and the proximity of their peaceful deaths. God answered her prayers with a furry face, wagging tail, and generous heart.

Father of all living things, thank You for the kind, generous animals that provide daily distractions from our trials and troubles. Watch over these sweet souls for they give us an unparalleled level of comfort and compassion. Amen

The Face of Jesus

 “Look beyond mere appearances before making judgements." ~ John 7:24

Bree had been listening to Gramma’s stories long before she could read them. Quiet and secure, she followed pictures on the colorful pages of the Children’s Bible Story. Nanna’s animated brow creased as she commented on each character in a different voice. Today’s treat was about Jesus healing a paralytic man.

Bree pulled out her thumb and turned her tiny, caramel-eyed face up at Nanna, so she could talk clearly. “What did Jesus look like?” she asked.

Nanna paused. The question showed a level of curiosity that thrilled the platinum-haired woman. “That’s a very good question,” she began. “Because the Bible says very little about Jesus’ physical traits, we have to guess what He looked like.”

Because Jesus was Jewish, He inherited the Middle Eastern traits of his mother, Mary. Like others from the region, He was a man of color, with dark hair and brown eyes. 

Men tended to keep their hair and beards fairly short and well-combed, to lower the risk of getting lice.

He probably looked extremely poor, wearing but a simple tunic (like a robe). We know too, that Jesus was a strong, healthy man from His work as a stone mason and the many miles he walked during His ministry. His body was also pretty dirty.

Standing about five feet tall, some experts say that Jesus was not remarkably handsome. But His appearance commanded attention and revealed warmth and kindness. You’d have felt comfortable in His presence, Bree.

“But Nanna,” Bree politely interrupted. “Who is the Jesus in this book? His skin is white. He looks like a movie star.”

“Ahhh,” Nanna replied, again thrilled by the child’s level of understanding. “The white-skinned, blue-eyed, tall, and white-robed Jesuses from TV and movies have little in common with the real Jesus. While we have no solid evidence of what Jesus looked like, he didn’t look like the picture in your book.

Over many years, we’ve created Jesus in our own likenesses. The fact that the Bible has so little to say about the Jesus’ physical form tells us that such things weren’t as valuable back then.

We tend to depict Jesus in a way we see themselves or in the culture we best understand. That way, we can better imagine Jesus as one of us, as ALL of us.

It’s hard to understand, but according to our faith, Jesus is Love; love doesn’t have a face, but a heart. It’s the expressions of our hearts, through helping, caring, healing and living that we witness God. That’s what Jesus looks like.”

Nanna looked down and noticed the child sleeping in her arms, not sure when she’d actually dozed off. Enough for one day, she reasoned. Fully satisfied.

Jesus, You get us! You were one of us. You looked, lived and suffered pain like us. Yet You were so much more. Help me to see the Your image of others much more clearly than I notice their brokenness and inconsistencies. Amen