A Sacred Act

 “Act justly, love mercifully, and walk humbly.” ~ Micah 6:8

While the rest of her class focused on the whiteboard, nine-year-old Elinor Grace feared the erratic rhythm in her chest. Doctors had a lengthy name for the defect; adults spoke of it in measured tones and worried glances. Elinor simply knew she tired easily, forcing her to listen to the quiet places where her body’s pain hid—paying attention in ways healthy kids never had to.

Consequently, Elinor noticed what others didn’t—the quiet ones who moved through the world as if they were made of glass, fragile and easy to overlook. Like Marcus. He was one of the "Invisibles," drifting through the school like a shadow, unnoticed even by teachers.

In the lunchroom, Marcus always sat alone, folding his hands on the table and staring blankly ahead. Watching him, Elinor could see how hard he tried to ignore his empty hands while the sounds of laughter and crinkling wrappers seemed to belong to another world.

Elinor thought about him long after the cafeteria noise faded. Living with a fragile heart had taught her that suffering didn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it was silent and better behaved; other times it waited patiently for someone to notice.

So the next morning, Elinor packed an extra sandwich, some chips, and an apple into a small paper bag. Before folding the top down, she tucked a carefully written note right on top where Marcus couldn't miss it. It simply read: “You matter. I’m glad you’re here.

When the hallway emptied, she secretly slipped the bag into Marcus’s open locker. Her heart raced. Not dangerously this time, but deliberately—filled with empathy and hope. She trusted that a small act of kindness could matter and that generosity didn’t require permission.

The next day, the bag was gone. And every day after that, another appeared. Watching from down the hall, Elinor thought Marcus seemed a little embarrassed at first, but he never searched for the giver. Both secrets secured.

Something stirred in Elinor—a sacred confirmation that noticing was itself a form of care, a moral responsibility. Perhaps even a calling.

She would never know that Marcus remembered those lunches long after he’d forgotten spelling tests, multiplication tables, and nearly every lesson taught from the front of the classroom. They nurtured his mind, yes, but more importantly, the lunches taught him that kindness didn’t have to be loud to be life-changing.

Years later, Elinor carried that lesson into her own classroom. She watched for the quiet ones. She noticed the children whose hearts, in one way or another, were working harder than the world realized. She made room for them—not only at her desk, but in her attention and her prayers.

Lord, open our eyes to the people in our lives who feel unseen and unwanted. Soften our hearts to hear what is never spoken. Teach us to notice the quiet ones, to act with kindness without seeking praise, and to love in small, faithful ways. Amen

Under the Sycamore

 “You are never alone, for I am always here.” ~ 41:10

Laura came to the park most afternoons, settling on the same bench under the old sycamore tree. Its branches stretched skyward as if in silent prayer. She carried a solitude that felt both sacred and heavy—a quiet isolation sharpened by modern expectations.

The weight of being a thirty-something, single woman applauded her independence yet questioned her choices. She owed her strength to her voice, yet society's unspoken judgments sometimes made the room feel smaller, as if others shrank away from her self-reliance.

Among the branches and benches, Laura’s loneliness echoed softly. Watching life unfold was safer than joining it. She observed the world, aching at times, burdened by the weight of her own distance.

Couples laughed in a language that seemed just beyond her reach, while families moved together in a rhythm she hadn’t yet mastered. She watched children chase birds and wondered whether she would ever feel that free, that safe, that noticed.

Laura listened to the wind rustling the leaves, to the gentle rhythm of her own heartbeat, to the whisper in her soul. In the stillness, she felt God’s call: “I am here. You are not alone.”

Looking closer, Laura truly began to notice those around her—a mother soothing a fussy toddler, an old man feeding ducks with focused attention, and strangers passing with silent burdens of their own. Life began to flow back in.

She started with small steps: a warm smile to the mother, a polite nod to an old man, letting her presence quietly acknowledge theirs. Subtle, yet each became a tiny conduit for grace.

Over time, her presence stretched outward. She offered a spare blanket to the mother with the restless toddler. She shared coffee with the old man by the pond, listening intently as he spoke of a love that endured beyond loss. Laura smiled at a weary stranger on the path, and occasionally, a small spark of connection flickered back.

She felt God’s hand guiding her, showing that grace was not meant to be hoarded, but shared through small acts of kindness. What had once been a wall of isolation was becoming fertile ground for compassion and empathy; a bridge reaching outward to a broken world.

The bench beneath the sycamore had become more than a place to rest; it was a sanctuary from the constant demands of life’s expectations. In the patient rhythm of stillness, God was shaping her into someone whose quiet presence could meet others right where they were.

In the hush of the park, Laura realized that her loneliness carried purpose. Even in solitude, she was never abandoned. Her quiet moments were rich with possibility—a space to root herself in God’s peace, cultivating the courage, patience, and empathy her voice needed to truly flourish.

She lifted her face to the sky, letting the breeze brush her cheeks, and whispered a prayer:

‘Heavenly Father, turn the ache of my loneliness into a channel of Your love. May it become a bridge that points others to You. Amen"

Brick by Brick

 “Facing trials of many kinds produce perseverance.” ~ James 1:2-3

The ribbon lived in a drawer he never opened. It was red—second place. To eleven-year-old Caleb, that meant second loser.

His science fair volcano had buckled moments before judging, the baking soda fizzing with a weak, apologetic hiss. The judges offered pitying smiles while his best friend took gold with a solar system that actually lit up. That night, Caleb shoved the ribbon into the dark and told his mother he didn’t care. But of course—he did.

Years later, that lie became a refrain—when he was cut from varsity, when his first love chose "friendship," and when the landscaping business he launched at twenty-three withered under a brutal drought and a dead truck transmission. Each blow felt like a verdict stamped in red ink: “Not good enough.” Each time, he considered quitting.

After the business collapsed, he took a job stocking hardware shelves. He called it "temporary," though the fluorescent lights felt like a permanent sentence. At night, he dissected his ghosts: he should have charged more, marketed more aggressively, prayed bigger.

One afternoon, an older man asked about soil. Caleb walked him through nitrogen levels, drainage, and the stubborn defiance of clay. The man watched him intently. "You know your craft," he remarked. "You ever do any consulting?"

Caleb almost laughed.  “Used to,”  he muttered, recalling his bankrupt LLC.

The man nodded slowly. "Sounds like you earned your degree the hard way."

The words haunted Caleb. He began sketching garden plans for neighbors on weekends—no overhead, just drawings and hard-won wisdom. When something failed, he adjusted. When a yard flooded, he recalculated the slope. When anything died, he treated the autopsy as a lesson.

He kept failing, smaller now. Sharper. More instructive.

The consulting grew. Then he added a small team and gained a reputation for fixing “impossible” landscapes that could endure heat, flood, and neglect.

At a small business awards banquet, one he never imagined attending, someone asked him the secret of his success. He thought of the red ribbon. The volcano. The truck that wouldn’t start. "Failure," Caleb replied.

The room chuckled, mistaking his honesty for humility. He didn't join in. Failure had been the fire that burned away his ego and tempered his judgment. It grounded him in the hard realities of the terrain. Every setback had cleared the ground for something stronger.

Driving home that night, Caleb revisited the mental drawer where he’d tucked away his misfires and defeats. They no longer felt like scars; they looked like bricks. And brick by brick, those "misfires" had built the foundation he now stood upon.

Failure, he realized, had never been the opposite of success. It was part of it.

Heavenly Father, thank You for love that endures, for promises that don’t break, and for the hope of reunion beyond this life. Teach us to love faithfully, to trust You fully, and to live in ways that prepare us for eternity. Amen

Idol in the Mirror

“Whoever wants to follow Me must first deny themselves.” ~ Matthew 16:24

Andrew’s mornings began with coffee, emails, and a glance at his reflection in the hallway mirror. Not to admire himself, but to make sure he looked “put-together.” Over time, the mirror offered more than reflection. It became quiet witness to everything he refused to see in himself.

The mirror caught him declining to help a friend because he “needed some self-care that day.” It observed him skipping church because he was exhausted, though never too tired for his own pursuits. It watched idly as his prayers, once rich with gratitude, thinned into requests for success, applause, and recognition.

He didn’t recognize it as pride. Andrew told himself it was simply being responsible, managing routines, and doing what normal people do.

The turning point didn’t come with a crisis… but with a small child.

One Saturday afternoon, his six-year-old niece, Hannah, visited with Andrew’s sister. While the adults talked, Hannah wandered down the hallway. Her tiny sneakers stopped before the mirror. Andrew watched her eyes scan the glass, not with vanity, but with a curious, unflinching honesty.

“Uncle Andy,” she said, tilting her head, “why do you look sad today in the mirror?”

Andrew froze. He hadn’t realized she could see the reflection he’d spent decades hiding. “I’m not sad,” he said quickly, his words thin against the weight of truth.

“But your face looks tired… like it’s not happy right now,” she said without wavering. Her words landed like a bell in an empty cathedral - sudden, pure, and impossible to ignore.

She saw what he’d refused to see in himself: a man hollowed by worship of his own image.

After they left, silence swallowed the apartment. Alone, he returned to the mirror and saw it differently this time. Not just the dark circles beneath his eyes, but he faint lines of a soul starved for meaning. The ache of a man who’d wandered so far from his real self that even he no longer recognized himself.

For the first time, his image reflected the cost of worshipping himself. He’d prayed for applause, not surrender; for adoration, not transformation. Standing there, he felt the cold shadow of what that devotion had cost him: joy, peace, true identity.

The mirror, of course, said nothing, but its truth settled heavily. Andrew had built an altar to himself and asked God to bless it. He turned away from the image he’d tried so hard to perfect, and faithfully returned to the God who’d loved him all along.

Later, Andrew lay down to sleep, unpolished and unfinished. Not because he’d suddenly become enough, but because he remembered the One who is. And when the idol in the mirror crumbled, worship found its rightful target again.

“Lord, forgive me for the times I’ve turned my heart away from You. Help me to lay down my pride, my need for approval, and my busyness. Teach me to seek You first, to rest in Your love, and to live for You each day. Amen

The Town Under One Roof

 “Just as each body part has a distinct function, every believer has a specific role.” ~ Romans 12:4-5

Nestled along the cold, steel-blue edge of Prince William Sound, Whittier, Alaska, looks like the kind of place you might miss if you blinked. An hour south of Anchorage, it serves as a gateway to glaciers, fjords, and breaching whales. But the spectacular setting has its peculiarities and lives by rules all its own.

There is only one way in or out: a single-lane tunnel bored through solid rock, opening in alternating directions every half hour. When it closes at night (10 p.m. in summer, 5 p.m. in winter), Whittier is tucked in, sealed off from the world. No exceptions.

Most of Whittier’s 214 full-time residents live together in Begich Towers, a fourteen-story concrete giant originally built for military families. Today, it functions like a vertical village.

The complex offers a convenient and secure place for people to live and access essential services under one roof. In addition to apartments, there’s a school, post office, medical clinic, café, grocery store, church, and municipal offices.

Rush hour isn’t measured by traffic lights, but by how long you wait for an elevator.

Begich is actually three connected towers, separated by narrow gaps, allowing them to sway during fierce winds or earthquakes. Bears sometimes wander into the maze of tunnels below. Yet the residents stay.

Even when snow piles nine feet high and wind chills plunge toward forty below, Mayor Daniels walks to work in sandals and a short-sleeved shirt. His apartment, decorated in cheerful Hawaiian style, overlooks the bay and the Chugach Mountains. “We keep binoculars by the window,” he says, smiling. “You can watch the whales breach.”

Locals like Traci wouldn’t trade this place for anything. “God’s little acre,” she calls it. “We live really close together, but we’re warm with one another. We look out for each other. I’ve learned they need me… and I need them.”

Whether sharing coffee downstairs or gathering for community meetings, the “Whittiots,” as they call themselves, have learned something essential: life works better together.

Scripture echoes that truth. We need each other! Just as a body depends on many parts working in harmony, the church is formed by believers united in Christ. It’s within community that our gifts are nurtured, our faith is renewed, and Christ’s love is reflected to the world.

God forms His church not from isolated parts, but from hearts united in Him. He never intended for us to walk alone. Alone, we weaken. Together, we thrive.

We become what none of us could be apart – many members, one body, sustained by grace and guided by Christ. It’s within community that our gifts find purpose, our faith deepens, and Christ’s love becomes visible - one life, one role, one body at a time.

Father God, thank You for allowing me to be a part of something dynamic, powerful, and eternal. Please help me find and use my special gifts and abilities for the good of Your people and to glorify Jesus, in whose name I pray. Amen

The Piano Lesson

 “Don’t look back, lengthen your stride, and press toward the goal." ~ Philippians 3:13-14

By the time Ignacy Paderewski began his first American concert tour, he was already a European celebrity. Audiences in Vienna, Paris, and London had witnessed his virtuosic piano recitals, which often extended to hour-long encores, as he interpreted works by Chopin, Liszt, and Bach.

It seemed only natural that the red carpet would be rolled out for him in America. As the story unfolded that evening in a New York City concert hall, a mother and young son took their seats near the stage to witness Paderewski’s first U.S. tour event.

She hoped the live concert would encourage her son to continue the piano lessons with which he’d been struggling. Once situated, the mother spotted a close friend in the crowd and walked back up the aisle to greet her.

Kurt, a shy, very polite 7-year-old, was awestruck at the sight of the glimmering Steinway grand piano standing alone in a single spotlight on the stage. He’d never seen anything more beautiful.

Seizing the opportunity to explore the wonders of the concert hall without supervision, the curious boy rose and wandered past an unlocked door until he found himself backstage. The kid was awestruck by the beautiful instrument standing before him.

The house lights dimmed as the concert was about to begin. The mother returned to her seat and discovered that her son was missing just as the curtains parted.

Everyone turned their attention to the impressive Steinway… and the unknown child pianist, plunking keys to a simple tune with one finger, seated on its bench.

The horrified Mom rushed toward the platform just as Paderewski himself appeared on stage.

The Grand Master sat beside the boy and whispered in his ear, "Don't quit; keep playing!" As the little boy continued to play, Paderewski began to fill in the bass part with his left hand.

With his right arm around the boy, he added a running obbligato. The unlikely duet instantly captivated the audience. Paderewski had transformed a frightening situation into a wonderfully creative experience.

I wasn’t able to confirm this story’s authenticity, but so what! There’s a lesson in it for all of us.

That’s the way God works.

What we accomplish by ourselves is barely noteworthy. We try our best, but the results don’t flood the chamber with melodious, joyful sounds. With help from the Master’s hand, however, our life’s work truly can be magical, a soulful blessing to others.

Our willingness to become more intimate with God will enable us to sense His presence above the chaos of our lives. So, the next time you attempt great feats, listen carefully until the Heavenly Master whispers in your ear: “Don’t give up. Keep trying.” Feel His loving arms around you. Know with certainty that comforting hands are delicately playing the concerto of your life.

Teacher Lord, Lord, I’m so grateful to be a part of Your divine symphony. And though it may be an insignificant part, I’ll take it, use it, and perfect it so that we might make beautiful music together. Amen

Hero Daughter

 “Don’t let anyone look down on you because you’re young." ~ 1 Timothy 4:12

When air conditioning refrigerant spilled onto her Dad's hands, leaving them badly burned and unusable for months, two-year-old Vara could only provide affection. But she gave him all she could. As she matured, she became the glue that held her family together.

Vara’s Dad, Clint, barely knew his father, who died from a heart attack at 32. Construction work kept him healthy and vigorous. So, when his chest and left arm hurt, he disregarded the warning as the aches and pains that come from approaching 50.

On the Saturday before Thanksgiving 2024, and four days after celebrating her 11th birthday, Vara watched her dad collapse. The situation escalated quickly; his heart had stopped.

Vara’s world shifted from normal childhood routines to a perilous situation where every second mattered. With incredible composure, the young Girl Scout immediately called 911, unlocked the front door, and started CPR. Even as she worried about what life would be like without her Dad, she performed chest compressions for about five to seven minutes until paramedics arrived.

Her swift, textbook response went a long way toward saving her dad's life. Dr. Talreja, Chief of Cardiology, explained. “Clint experienced sudden cardiac death. He collapsed with no heartbeat or pulse. He was clinically dead. Vara’s use of CPR kept oxygenated blood flowing to her Dad’s brain until his heart could be restarted. She saved his life!"

How did this pre-teen know CPR?

Just two weeks earlier, Vara practiced CPR on a dummy during a Girl Scout training session. She was the only person in the class to successfully save “Resusci Annie” (the mannequin’s lights turn green for doing it correctly).

She’d learned the warning signs and the importance of seeking help immediately. Her practice on ‘Annie” had substituted fear with focus, and an unwavering resolve to do what was necessary.

Two months later, Clint returned home from the hospital. He’s following a strict recovery plan and has steadily regained strength. The best part of this story might be the deep, loving bond he enjoys with his daughter. This divine intervention not only saved his life but also transformed him into a healthier person who values life more.

God uses people of all ages to change the course of history. Moses, a stutterer, was called to teach and lead the people of Israel. Abraham and Sarah were told they were too old to have a baby, but they gave birth to a nation. God gave Vara the strength to recall her CPR training and the courage to help her father when every second counted.

There’s nothing we can do to disqualify ourselves from being a candidate whom God chooses to work through! We are all ordinary… but can do amazing things with God’s help.

“Use my hands, use my feet, to make Your kingdom come. To the corners of the earth until Your work is done. Faith without works is dead. On the cross, Your blood was shed, so how could we not give it away so freely?” ~ Brandon Heath

Righting a Wrong

 “God sent His Son to make peace between Himself and us.” ~ 2 Corinthians 5:18

Olympic boxing has been rife with charges of cheating for decades. Controversies ranged from corrupt judging to broader issues within its former governing body, the International Boxing Association. These problems have robbed deserving athletes of their medals, leading to major reforms and the expulsion of the IBA from all future Games.

Perhaps the most brazenly appalling decision came in Seoul ‘88 games when Roy Jones took on South Korea’s Park Si-hun in the light middleweight gold medal match.

American 19-year-old Jones blazed his way to the final with a flurry of punishing left hooks and Muhammad Ali-like footwork. Park (23) had been far less impressive on his home turf. Some experts felt he should’ve lost all four of his fights on the way to the final.

Jones dominated the light middleweight gold medal bout against Park. He barely raised his guard, pummeling Park with 86 punches to Park’s meagre 32. The Korean even took two standing eight-counts and was warned twice by the referee.

Judges from the Soviet Union and Hungary voted Jones the clear winner. Those from Uganda, Uruguay, and Morocco gave Park the win. To the astonishment of spectators worldwide, the referee declared Park the winner by a 3-2 margin.

Before they left the ring, Park apologized to Jones and acknowledged his unfair victory. The medal ceremony was awkward: Jones received huge cheers; Park couldn’t have looked more embarrassed. He held the American’s fist aloft.

After the fight, the three judges who declared Park the winner were suspended for six months. Two of them were later banned from competitions for life.

As a result of widespread criticism, Park’s life took a downward spiral. He battled severe depression, facing multiple suicide attempts and the burden of being maligned in his home country.

Roy Jones refused to let the incident define his career. Motivated by his Christian faith, Roy Jones cemented his legacy by holding multiple world championships in four weight classes, including the heavyweight championship of the world.

The long-awaited day of reckoning came 35 years later. Jones, believing he was heading to the gym for a routine on-camera interview, was shocked to find Park Si Hun standing in the boxing ring. In a heartwarming and emotional scene, Park greeted Jones warmly and, in a moment of redemption and with the IOC’s final approval, returned the ‘stolen’ Olympic gold medal he’d received in 1988 to its rightful champion.

“This belongs to you,” said Park via translation. “I often wondered how my life would have been happier had I finished second.”

Their exchange symbolizes a powerful act of contrition, reconciliation, and faithfulness. “Life is like boxing,” said Jones, “when you get knocked down, get back up! Keep moving, keep fighting, keep believing in Christ!”

“I'm waiting on You Lord, and I’m hopeful. Though it’s painful, I will wait patiently. I will serve and worship You even while I wait and move ahead bold and confident, taking every step in obedience.” ~ John Waller “While I’m Waiting” lyrics 2007

He Welcomes the Weird

 “Do not be conformed to this world, let God transform you." ~ Romans 12:2

When asked to introduce himself during college orientation, the freshman said, “My name’s Hedley. I love Jesus and Aerosmith, because seriously, what a combo?”

“That guy’s a weirdo!” thought Colin, “super-strange.” He joked with friends that the kid had the social skills of a morel mushroom. Curious, he later met with the boy for Cokes to learn more. He turned out to be an interesting dude focused on the Lord’s direction in his life.

Hedley didn’t think making a public declaration of his faith was strange. While our culture has conditioned us to feel awkward about explaining our faith to strangers, to him it seemed perfectly normal. “God calls us to be weird. If you think I’m odd, wait until you get a load of the Guy who’s coming!” he suggested.

Encouraging further explanation, Colin quickly became captivated by the young man.

“Gospels reveal Jesus was an unlikely Messiah. His inner circle wasn’t comprised of religious zealots but blue-collar workers, fishermen, corrupt bureaucrats, and other sinners. What a peculiar crew to start an evangelical movement!”

“Reviled by his own people,” Hedley said, “Zacchaeus, a corrupt Jewish tax collector, got rich by overtaxing his countrymen. His notoriety grew after Jesus called the odd little man down from a sycamore tree he’d been perched in. Their encounter changed Zacchaeus’ life. He gave back the money he’d stolen and joined Jesus’ band of weirdos.”

“Bible history records Mary Magdalene as a demon-possessed prostitute. Yet, Jesus eagerly welcomed her and helped Mary overcome her social challenges. She became one of the earliest and most devoted followers of Jesus. She certainly didn’t fit the mold most people would assume characterizes a devout, loving follower of Jesus. Weird, right?”

“Yes, being a Christian is weird,” Hedley concluded. “That’s a good thing!”

Over time, just as Jesus converted his followers and changed the world for good, God patiently transformed Colin’s heart from the inside out (think spiritual heart surgery). He’d apologized for his error in judging Hedley too quickly and realized it was OK to be “weird.” He found that his encounter with the super-strange kid offered an example that gave him the courage to draw from.

When you feel out of place or ask yourself why it can be difficult to be the “weird” Christian that other people might make fun of, remember that you may be leading by example for someone else to follow. You may be giving them the confidence to realize there’s nothing out of place about living as an example for Christ.

Jesus came as a liberator. It was through His example that He let our imaginations be different and the freedom to fly.

Almighty Father, as I awaken today, thank You for the gift of life that I’ve been given. I’m thankful for the opportunity to live and breathe, and most of all, for the hope that I have in You. Strengthen me to live like one who is truly alive. Amen

Respect - Earner or Given?

 “Show proper respect to everyone: love others as He loves you." ~ 1 Peter 2:17

While the guest speaker waited for his turn to address an assembly of young people, their Youth Leader attempted to make some brief announcements and a blessing. Throughout this, the students talked, laughed, texted, and were disrespectful to the leader and each other.

When it came time for Joshua to speak, he began by asking if they knew what ‘respect’ meant. Out of almost 100 students, only one offered a meaningful description: “It’s something you have to earn!” she proudly said.

“Hmm,” Joshua began thoughtfully. “Actually, respect means honoring people when they talk; valuing them, and treating others as you wish to be treated. I observed a lot of disrespect during the gathering beforehand, not just to your Leader, but also to your peers.”

He gazed over the crowd, noticing several heads bowed as a wave of embarrassment washed over them. He’d gotten their attention.

Perhaps I’m just a curmudgeonly old guy now, but it seems to me that we aren’t as respectful as we used to be. Much of our culture believes that you don’t have to respect someone unless or until they respect you first. That’s a twisted version of how the Bible defines respect.”  

Then his tone took a more personal tone.

“Before I took my first baby steps, my father moved out of our home and left my pregnant Mom to raise six children on her own. I grew up believing that I had no obligation to show respect for that man who steered our family into a life of financial and emotional poverty.”

He went on to explain that wasn’t the standard Christ followed. The Apostle Peter (above) provides no prerequisites, restrictions, or guidelines for respect.

“My father, like Peter, was not perfect. Despite the mistakes he made, I must love and respect him because he’s precious to God and was made in His image. People shouldn’t have to “earn” the privilege of you treating them the way Jesus preached that they deserve to be treated.”

“Isn’t it amazing that we don’t have to earn God’s respect, or force others to earn ours? We are redeemed by His incredible gift of respect. As Christians, we should be dynamic examples of respect in our communities, and we have the chance to offer the unfathomable respect and grace of God to them, without asking them to earn it. How beautiful… and counter-cultural!”

Joshua closed by asking: “What would it look like if we changed our mindset from it's not all about us; that people don’t have to ‘earn’ the right to be treated rightly? What would it be like if you gave respect freely to everyone you encounter? Would others notice a difference in you?”

He ended his talk to raucous applause.

Jesus, thank You for the loving example You showed during Your life on earth. You were considerate to everyone, especially the poor and the sick. Help us to notice and respect the feelings of those around us, just as You did. Amen

Every Day's a Gift

 “Whoever hears His word and believes Him has eternal life." ~ John 5:24

After nine heart surgeries in his 17 years, Riley has come to grips with his body being too fragile to survive a heart transplant. The teen was born with Double Outlet Right Ventricle (DORV) heterotaxy syndrome, a rare, abnormal heart condition that occurs once in about 10,000 live births worldwide.

In a normal heart, the pulmonary artery (which carries blood to the lungs for oxygen), connects to the right ventricle. The aorta branches off from your left ventricle and carries fresh, oxygenated blood to the rest of the body.

For Riley, only half of his heart formed before birth. Both major arteries connect to the right ventricle (pumping chamber). His heart continuously pumps oxygen-poor blood through his body.

Poor weight gain, fatigue, and shortness of breath are frequent symptoms. Cyanosis gives his skin a bluish tint. He receives drugs to extend his life, but Riley and his parents have talked openly and accepted his severely reduced life expectancy.

Though his organs are failing, he has more heart and stronger faith than most others. “It's in God's hands now,” he declares. “Life is fragile, precious, and unpredictable. Every day’s a gift, not a right. I take nothing for granted.”

“It’s weird accepting your mortality at 16," he mused, "something kids my age ignore. I imagined myself getting married, raising a family, and growing old with them.“

“That’s been tough,” Riley admits. “People should stop wasting so much mental energy on the trivial stresses in life and try to remember that we all have the same fate.”

“Quit whining about minor annoyances. Listen to what God may be teaching you and move on with a laugh. It’s okay to acknowledge minor irritations without dwelling on them. But try not to carry on about them and wreck other people’s days.”

“I talk about death rather than treat it as a ‘taboo’ topic! I don’t want to go. I love my life. I owe my happiness to my loving family and friends. I’m fortunate in a way to realize that my finite time on earth offers me the chance to live boldly and unafraid.”

“Use your money on experiences. Don’t miss out on opportunities because you spent all your money on stupid, material stuff.”

“Life isn’t meant to be lived through an iPhone screen. Enjoy being in moments. Stop trying to capture them for everyone else.”

“Get up early sometimes. Listen to the birds while you watch the sun’s beauty as it rises.”

“Give, give, give. The real key to happiness is to make others happy. Since I’ve been sick, I’ve met the most incredibly giving and kind people… more than I can ever give in return.”

“Until we meet again, be kind. Always be kind!”

“Heavenly Father, my time is near, but I’m unafraid. I trust You, that I may enjoy eternal life in Your Kingdom. Help all who know and love me to accept Your gift and live each day with courage, faith, and peace.” ~ Riley

He's Found Enough

“You were made from dust, and to dust you will return.”~ Genesis 3:19

Working as a grave digger isn’t a dead-end job, although technically, every workday is a graveyard shift. For Allen McCloskey (89), it has been his passion for over seventy years.

His unconventional career began in his late teens when a local grave digger at one of Galveston’s cemeteries asked him to cover for him so he could take his wife on vacation. After the man returned, he convinced Allen to keep on diggin’. For the next 5 years, Allen manually dug nearly 500 graves until he could afford a used backhoe.

Grave digger jobs are found not only on the margins of vocational choices but also at the bottom rung of the funeral profession. They often get strange looks and questions about their motivations. Maybe not a dream job, but for Allen it’s been a fulfilling one.

After the casket has been lowered, while tears flow, and people leave the burial site, McCloskey shovels dirt into the now-occupied hole. His role puts him inside the circle of the departed’s mourners. It’s a calling that requires tact, skill, and emotional sensitivity.

He's been carving out plots from the Indiana soil since 1952: 25,000 days on the job and thousands of graves. In 2021, he became the Guinness world record holder for the longest grave-digging career. Turns out that the man who lifts Galvestonians up is the same man who puts them down.

“I’ve buried plenty of classmates, friends, and family members, including my parents. It’s really sad when I have to bury babies.” But the toughest job of all was preparing a burial site for his beloved wife, Barbara. When asked how he got through it, he said: “Well, I figured she’d want me to do it.”

At a surprise party to celebrate his achievement, the town’s residents also honored him for the plethora of odd jobs he’s done and the ways he’s made life easier for the people of Galveston, all without accepting a single payment.

When asked why he refused to accept payment, McCloskey politely laughed. “Preparing a final resting place is reward enough!” So, he still digs graves.

Allen has figured out that there’s more to life and happiness than money. He’s okay with who he is and doesn’t need to change to be more worthy or loved. A close friend added: “He’s always placed a higher value on quality relationships, time with loved ones, and helping others.”

Honorable, hard-working, and humble. He's found ‘enough!'

The strange thing about finding enough? Sometimes, you end up with even more. “I never expected to spend my life in a cemetery," McCloskey noted dryly, “but I’ll retire someday - on the other end of the shovel.”

God our Father, at this sacred place and in Your Divine presence, we pray for all who are buried here. Now freed from the bonds of mortality, count them among the saints in heaven. Continue to enfold them in Your mercy, love, and peace. Amen

Table Talk

“Let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think and act." ~ Romans 12:2

At 37 years old, Sophia was still “daddy’s little girl”, even though she’d lost him to a massive heart attack months before. She hadn’t entered the world through his body, but the mother of three had arrived through his heart. The bond they shared was unlike any other.

Her Dad, Hernando was a happy, kind man. At dinnertime, their family would gather around the battered kitchen table each evening, no exceptions! Before grace, Dad would look at each sibling and ask: “I wonder what the poor people are doing.” Despite their abject poverty, he wanted them to know that they were rich because they had each other (and another wonderful meal).

As Sophia carefully arranged each place setting, she paused for a second and felt the smoothness of the antique wood. A faint smile crept across her face as she remembered the table’s history.

If it could talk, it would speak of their everyday lives, celebrations, and conversations. Around this table, family members had experienced joy and heartache, love and tears, victories and defeats.

For Hernando, it had been a kind of a workbench. He’d studied the bible on its surface and fixed various household items there. Dad sat at the table for hours worrying about which bills to pay first. It’s where decisions were made, and punishments metered out.

For the kids, it’d always been a reliable place to do homework or work their childhood magic in a coloring book. They played countless hands of Rummy and epic games of Monopoly on it.

Sadly, the kitchen table had aged with them, becoming more of a pointless souvenir with age. After Dad had passed on, the table made from barn wood, complete with nail holes and splinters, was now unsuitable for family gatherings.

Until Sophia’s husband, Miguel, rescued it from the junk pile, hauled it into the garage, and started sanding it.

Their youngest daughter, Isabella watched intently as he abrasively rubbed course paper against the wood’s grains. “You’re hurting the table!” she protested, but Miguel just smiled. He knew what she didn’t – that the sandpaper was exactly what that table needed.

He’d been wise and thoughtful.

After meticulous sanding and finishing, it was lovingly placed in their kitchen. Tonight, Sophia placed a “Thank You” note on Miguel’s plate. The table would serve as a steady companion to the aroma of freshly baked bread and the happiness of family ties.

Sophia snapped back to the present, thinking about the things in her life that felt uncomfortable, like sandpaper. Maybe she should really be thankful for the situations and people that rubbed her wrong. Were they meant to somehow transform her like the sandpaper had this table?

Jesus, if only we could be like You and show our “sandpaper” kindness and love. Smooth those edges that make us bitter, impatient, and unkind. They reveal the refinements that we may need to work on, to soften us, mold us, and change us. Amen

Treasure the Family Crest

 “Consider earlier generations, study the past, understand your roots." ~ Deuteronomy 32:7

With both parents deceased and her oldest sibling’s recent passing, Naomi became the family’s matriarch. So, as the holidays approached, she sensed a burdening responsibility to roast a delicious turkey and bake the family’s secret apple pie recipe to perfection.

More importantly, she felt an even greater obligation to ensure that her children, nieces/nephews, and grandchildren (who never had the chance to meet their grandparents), learn the memorable points of the family’s history.

Years earlier, her parents had invited Naomi and her siblings, their kids, and two dozen older relatives for Thanksgiving dinner in the small town where they all grew up. As elders reminisced in the living room, she heard stories, examined old photographs, and enjoyed the laughter she’d heard countless times before.

It reminded Naomi of her family's influence; and how much her life had been shaped by the life, love, and faith lessons taught when they gathered. What appeared to be favorite songs, funny jokes, and amusing (sometimes tall) tales came with priceless lessons of tolerance, adventure, persistence, and self-confidence.

She watched how others worked together in the kitchen preparing the holiday meal. They practiced sharing around the table. Prayers revealed an understanding of humility and thankfulness. Engaging in conversations deepened their relationships. Laughter and sorrow exposed the woven fabric of their lives.

Old stories reconnected generations. They were as much a part of the holidays as a Thanksgiving turkey or Christmas tree.

When someone started to tell a story, most already knew its ending. But everyone listened, always laughing at the right time as heartily as they’d heard it for the first time.

Family folklore arouses our sense of belonging. These stories are “treasures” of the family crest, a family’s unique inheritance. Those who reminisce together build stronger bonds.

That’s why family gatherings are essential! They create a foundation of support, love, and shared experiences that contribute to a resilient family unit.

The elderly especially need this sense of family and togetherness. They often feel neglected, isolated, and alone. It’s so important for them to spend time with loved ones over the holidays. It can be a life-saving experience!

With that in mind, try not to leave anyone home alone this holiday season Consider making written copies of recipes passed down from elders for your guests to take home. Maybe even include a short write-up about each author. Ask the younger guests what they’d like to know more about. Inviting new stories could be fun and make youngsters more active participants.

Finally, resist any temptation to shut elders out of the conversation just because they tend to repeat the same stories or seem to confuse fact with fantasy. They’re the ones who carried the family stories forward. Let’s do what we can to help them continue benefiting from their own tales.

Almighty Father, thank You for the world’s diversity. Help us encourage connections between the older and younger generations so that we learn from each other, appreciate similarities, and understand differences. Amen