A Flash of Crimson

“Forgive them not just seven times, but seventy-seven times!” ~ Matthew 18:22

That’s all Anna recalled about driving to work that day, when another car swerved into her lane, hitting Anna’s sedan head-on.  With her left leg pinned between the dashboard and the front seat, Anna drifted in and out of consciousness for almost an hour before firefighters rescued her.

Her injuries were extensive: her spleen, appendix, and two-thirds of her colon had to be removed. Besides nearly losing her left foot, the crash shattered her left arm and punctured a lung.

She learned weeks later that the 33-year-old who’d caused the accident had had a blood-alcohol level well beyond the legal limit.  The driver’s lack of insurance left Anna saddled with huge medical bills.  Then after recuperating for nearly a year, her employer ‘laid her off.’

Anna gradually tumbled deeper into emotional darkness.  The rage she gripped for the drunk driver who’d ruined her life followed her like a black shadow.

The night before the court appearance when she’d confront the woman who caused the accident, Anna had a dream; more like a vision.  She remembered thinking she was going to die.  Pain seared through her legs again; her chest felt like it would explode. 

Then a figure approached.  Not human, but human form.  It wasn’t reflecting light, but emitting it, actually glowing from within.  Anna was strangely reassured by its presence.  A soft whisper echoed over and over: “Let it go Anna . . . let it go.”

She woke abruptly, breathing heavily, like she’d had been crying. 

Two years had passed since the accident - the day she almost died.  Over time the pain boiled away; her body healed itself.  But her anger had intensified.  Anna knew she needed one last thing to close the door on that day, that accident, that time she’d faced death.

In the courtroom the next day, Anna approached the public defender.  “Please let your client know that I forgive her.  I wasn’t in control of her actions that morning,” she said.  “But I’m entirely in control of how I respond from this day forward.  So I chose forgiveness over hatred.”

We’ve all been hurt by another person at some time or another.  And while this pain is normal, sometimes that pain lingers for too long.  We relive the pain over and over, and have a hard time letting go.  Trapped in a cycle of bitterness, we miss out on the beauty of life as it happens.

Forgiveness doesn’t come easy.  But, when we continue to place blame, we’re the ones who suffer most.  When we choose to forgive, the Lord sets our hearts free from the anger, resentment and hurt that imprisoned us. 

Dear Lord, help me forgive when everything inside me tells me not to.  Help me let go when my heart is breaking.  Give me the inner strength to heal and not to break, to comfort and not to destroy, to repay good for evil and love for hatred.  Amen

Too Late

“No one should separate a couple that God joined together.” ~ Mark 19:9

Bruce held his wife’s hand and uttered words no spouse wants to hear: “I want a divorce.”  Not outwardly annoyed by this, she simply asked, “Why?”

“I’m in love with someone else,” he said with a deep sense of guilt as warm tears poured from her eyes.  She stumbled to the guest room and sobbed.

The next morning Jayne presented two divorce conditions: she wanted a month's notice before filing during which time they’d continue to live normally.  She wasn’t ready to burden young Jason with their wrecked marriage.  

And one thing more.  Recalling how Bruce had carried her into the bridal suite on their wedding night, she asked that he do it again . . . every day for a month.

An odd request, thought Bruce.  But he accepted and clumsily carried Jayne from the bedroom to the front door.  Their son Jason clapped at the noble gesture.  Bruce put her down gently and without speaking, drove alone to the office.

On the second day, both seemed more relaxed.   Bruce realized that he hadn't looked at his wife carefully for a long time.  She wasn’t young anymore; marriage had taken its toll and he wondered how much was his fault.

As time marched on, Bruce felt a sense of intimacy returning.  This woman, who’d given ten years of her life to him, suddenly became easier to carry. 

One morning, he found her fretting about what to wear.  None of her dresses fit anymore; she’d been losing weight dramatically.   Subconsciously, he reached out and caressed her hair just as Jason walked in.  “Dad,” he said, It's time to carry mom now.  Seeing his Dad carrying his Mom had become an essential part of the young boy’s life.  

So he lifted Jayne, her arms wrapping around his neck fondly and naturally - just like on their wedding day . . . when he’d promised to love her until death parted them.

At a floral shop on the way to work, Bruce bought a stunning flower bouquet.   On the card he wrote, “Jayne, I'll carry you forever!”

He returned home and with flowers in hand, raced up the stairs.  Jayne lay motionless on the bed. 

Cancer had been eating away at her for months.  Today it dealt its final blow.  Knowing the end was near, she’d wanted to save Bruce from any negative reaction from their son.  At least in Jason’s eyes, Bruce was a loving husband.

Over the course of time, many marriages dissolve into the humdrum of routine.  Couples grow apart as work schedules, family commitments, and financial concerns transform what were loving relationships into little more than business arrangements.   Find time to be your spouse’s friend and do those little things for each other that build intimacy.

Lord, the small details of our lives are what really matter in relationships - not the property, the money, or the achievements.  Help me find time to be my spouse's friend and do those little things that create greater intimacy.  Amen

Fixing the Flag

“Happy is the nation whose God is the Lord.” ~ Psalm 33:12

In 2003, Liza and her Mom sat anxiously in the hospital’s waiting room, surrounded by dozens of desperate family members.  Every few minutes a Surgeon entered through large swinging doors.  Everyone could tell instantly if the news was good or bad.

Liza, a five year old girl with eyes that sparkled with hope and certainty, seemed the only audible voice an otherwise hushed room.  Despite appeals from her Mom to “Shhhhh, don’t bother these people,” Liza would smile and shake the raven-colored braids off her shoulders to make them fall behind her neck again.  Then she’d continue talking to anyone who would listen in a way that created a hopeful diversion from the day’s tension.

She spoke about her Daddy.  Occasionally, shed glance down at the picture of him that she held in her hands.  In the picture, she held a tiny bird with a splint on its wing.  “That’s Floppy,” she smiled.  “My Daddy made the splint so the wing would heal and Floppy could fly away.”

 “And did Floppy fly away after his wing healed?” someone asked.

“Sure he did!” she answered.  It was strange, but inspiring, to listen to the certainty in Liza’s voice, as if to say, ”Duh . . . my Daddy can fix anything!”

“Are you here to see him?” another asked.  “Oh no, we’re here to see his friend,” Mom interrupted.  “He’s still in Iraq.  The friend we’re seeing was badly injured.  He has no family.  So we are here,” she said in a voice radiating compassion and understanding.  “It’s the least we could do.”

Liza had amassed quite an audience by now.  She told of the special bunk beds her Daddy made from a picture in a catalog, and the broken bicycle made new because he could fix anything.

She even told of a special doll that’d been ruined when she left it outside in the rain.  “He fixed it better than new,” she beamed. 

Mom winked at the tale signaling that her ruined doll had been secretly replaced by a new one.  But Liza didn’t know.  To her, “Daddy fixed it,” and that was enough.

“Know what else?” she asked, her emerald eyes gripping every visitor.  “When the naughty men crashed those airplanes into those buildings on 9-11, I asked Daddy if he could fix the great big flag that was dirty and had holes in it from the explosion.  That’s why he’s in Iraq.”

The room got deathly quiet.

“I get letters from Daddy all the time,” she continued, her pride building with every word.  Every time he adds a P.S. that says, “I’ll be home soon, Liza.  I’m busy fixing the flag.”

Mom looked lovingly into her daughter’s eyes noting the absolute certainty in that promise her

Daddy had made.  

Protect and guide our soldiers, dear Lord.  Strengthen them in their trials; give them courage to face the perils they face.  Grant them a sense of Your abiding presence wherever they may sleep tonight.  Amen

  

Ruptured Duck

“In a world filled with sin, hatred, and evil, war is inevitable." ~ Romans 3: 10-18

Harold sat pensively by the window.  It’s July 4^th and for most Americans, firing up their grills and watching fireworks are about as meaningful as this holiday will get.  Most won’t really consider the sacrifices that paid for this Independence Day.

Harold remembers the war and all of its horror.  He still hears the thunder of bombs exploding around him, the deathly quiet, the blood curdling screams.  He’s tried to forget but his mind won't let him.  Some friends came home, others didn’t; but none were unchanged.

He never considered himself a hero.  No, not a bit.  He simply went where his country asked him to go.  Harold went because he’d been raised in a God-fearing family who believed in brotherhood and freedom with all their hearts.  He was raised to believe with every fiber of being, that God truly inspired America’s leaders, guiding their every decision. 

So how could he ignore Uncle Sam’s call for help . . . without hesitation?  To him, he didn’t do anything special.  He just went where his country told him to go, that’s all!”

Now, he strains to hear the music they play as they march down the street in the annual parade, forgetting that the city ended the parade years ago.  The people in charge didn't think that wars should be honored any more.

He marched down that street the year he returned home from France.  Soldiers were heroes then.  Adults cheered and children waved little flags.  Times were different.

Wherever you went people smiled and shook your hand if they noticed the small “Ruptured Duck” you wore on your lapel.  Civilian soldiers wore them proudly back then. 

His “Duck” now rests in the drawer by the nightstand.  He stopped wearing it the day someone pointed at it and asked what it was.  There just weren't enough words to explain it.

Not many flags on the street today.  Back then, flags hung everywhere.  Americans were proud of “Old Glory” and treasured what she stood for.  It wasn't something hidden in a garage, or the attic.  Nobody would have ever considered burning it – or God-forbid, stomping on it. 

No, the old days are gone now.  Gone like the days when it was patriotic to serve, patriotic to vote, and patriotic to help a neighbor in need.

Still at 72, he’ll always honor those men and women whose names are written on that granite wall, or who can’t fight for themselves anymore.  He’ll always stand up for what’s right and for those who can’t protect themselves.  He’ll never forget his comrades in arms and will always, to the last day on the soil they fought for - be grateful for Independence Day.

Father, we the people in the land of the free and the home of the brave desperately need You.  We beg for Your guidance and wisdom for our leaders.  Please protect us from our enemies, both within and without.  Amen

Mircle on 23rd Street

“Faith alone, without action, is dead." ~ James 2:17

Despite the early morning hour, it was already approaching 80 degrees.  The air felt so thick he could almost chew it.  To make matters worse, Martin was running late for work . . . again.  His GPS found a shortcut that might save a few precious minutes.

But when he crested the hill, brake lights flared from the car ahead.  Martin slowed; slowed some more, then pressed the brake pedal hard.  Traffic had come to a complete stop, a long ribbon of taillights flashed bright red.  An accident?  Road construction?

Glancing at the gas gauge, Martin wished he’d filled up last night.  This line of cars could be trapped for hours.  He pounded the steering wheel.  As one prone to fitness, this week he’d pushed his sleep needs well beyond their limits.  He’d snapped at his wife; said hurtful things he didn’t mean and blown minor issues way out of proportion.  It's just too easy to be cruel in the moment.  So many times he wanted to unsay things; take them back.

He hit the steering wheel again as if beating it would release stress and guilt.  Martin sat still for a few minutes, gazing out the car window unaware that he was about to witness a minor miracle.

A young mother caught his attention as she hurried toward an old house.  Swollen eyes failed to hide an emotion that Martin couldn’t quite put a finger on – depressed, scared, worried?  The toddler in her arms seemed to have absorbed her tension; tightly clutching her mother’s neck as they scurried into the dilapidated building.

When they came back out ten minutes later, Martin noticed two things.  First, their expressions had changed radically.  A smile spread over the mother’s face faster than syrup on a hot pancake.  The little girl laughed and skipped around her Mom; happy as a kitty in a cream pie.  Everything seemed to be alright now.

The other difference was the heavy bag of food that Mom carried.  The once-pristine manor was now the home of a local food pantry.

Since that day, Martin helps restock the pantry’s shelves.  It feels good helping them help others, knowing that he’s partnering with God to keep the miracles growing.

What can you do today to make this world a better place?  Today you can help fill a hungry child’s tummy or give a struggling family hope.  Today you can ease another’s sadness with your smile or lift another up with your joy.  Today you can make a minor miracle by sending out ripples of love that have no end.

Today you can make God smile and the angels sing by using what you have to make Earth a little more like Heaven.

Servant Christ, help me develop a heart and spirit like Yours.  Let nothing I do be from selfish ambition but for the well-being of others.  Let Your Holy Spirit guide me along the way and reveal how You wish me to use the talents given to me.  Amen

Hear the Music

“Being a parent is a God-given privilege - a blessing from God's own hand.” ~ Neva Whitney

Have you heard the one about the little boy who asked his father how much he made an hour? Surprised by the question, the father gave his son a glaring look and said tersely: "Look pal, that’s personal!  You don’t need to know that.”

“Please Daddy,” the youngster insisted. 

Surrendering to the child’s timid voice and adoring eyes, the father conceded: “$20 per hour."

"Okay, Daddy.  Will you loan me ten dollars?" the boy asked.

“No!” said the confused and slightly annoyed parent.  “Go get ready for bed.”

Curious as to his intentions and later feeling guilty, the father went to his son’s room.  "Here's the money asked for earlier," the father said.

"Thanks, Daddy!" rejoiced the son, while putting his hand under his pillow and removing seven $1 bills and a handful of loose coins.

"Now I have twenty dollars!" shouted the elated boy.  "Daddy, could I buy you for an hour?"

What a joy and privilege it is to be a parent and what a great responsibility too.  But if you’re like me, you’re far from perfect.  How often have your kids dropped in to chat and sat in silence while you checked your email?  Ever told your daughter, "We'll do it tomorrow."  And in your haste, not see her disappointment?  Or missed a son’s important milestone because “work comes first?”

Life has a way of accelerating as we get older.  The days get shorter, and the list of promises to ourselves gets longer.  We can be so busy with our jobs, and our personal goals, and changing the world, that we have very little time to spend with our kids.  One morning, we awaken, and all we have to show for our lives is a litany of "I'm going to," "I plan on," and "Someday, when things settled down."

When you worry and hurry through your day, it is like an unopened gift . . .  thrown away.  Life’s not a race.  Take it slower.  Do something you WANT to do. . . . not something from your ‘SHOULD DO’ list.  End each day with PLAY.

Go watch your kids playing on a merry go round or listen to the rain slurping up the soft grass.  Follow a butterfly's erratic flight or gaze at the sun into the fading night?  Start a pillow fight, invent a new board game, or explore a museum.  Play loud music, dance crazily, or make mud pies.  The activity isn’t necessarily important – the TIME is.

Our children are God-given disciples and they will define most of our daily schedule and when all is said and done - our life's work!  Hear the music . . . before the song is over! 

Help me as a parent, Lord, with all my weaknesses and imperfections.  Give me strength and godly wisdom to raise this child in a way that leads to eternal life.  Please supply what I lack.  Amen

Garbage Grace

“People who don’t take care of their families, have given up their faith." ~ 1 Timothy 5:8

No one answered when Karl called out after arriving home from work.  The silence was eerie.  He raced up the stairs to her room.

His daughter lay on her bed - eyes welling up with a sadness her young years should not know.  A single tear fell from Sadie’s warm, butterscotch eyes, followed by another, until soon, a steady stream of salty tears made its way down her small pale cheeks.  

Karl scooped her up into his massive arms and held her until the heart wrenching wails subsided. 

“Cupcake,” he said tenderly.  “Did something bad happen at school?”

Sadie didn't want to tell him at first.  She was embarrassed and didn't want to hurt her father's feelings.  He sat her gently back on the bed. 

"It's OK, sweetie.  You can tell me anything.  But you don't have to tell me your secrets, if you don't want to.  Is this a secret?"

"It's not a secret Daddy. The other kids poked fun of me because you're a garbageman.  They said your job was dirty and you smell bad.  They said I stink too."

Jodie gazed at her Dad.  He didn't seem angry or hurt.  His mouth twitched as he fought back a smile.

"Well," he said.  "I guess they don't know how much fun it is to be a garbageman."

"But your friends were right about one thing.  Mine’s a dirty job; garbage is messy.  Every day I see stuff so disgusting it'd make you skin crawl.  And girl, does it ever stink! 

But then we grab that slimy, rotten garbage and throw it in a big green truck we call the ‘Monster.”  It growls and gulps nasty garbage.  Then everything's nice and clean, the way we like it.  After a long hot shower, I'm as clean as a toddler’s rap sheet.

Sadie grinned.

I love my job Honey.  And I like the people I work with, too.  But ya wanna know the best part?”

“Well, while most people are still working, I get to come home, clean up, give your Mom a big kiss, and wait for you to come home from school every ding-dong day.  I’m so blessed!”

Now whenever somebody asks Sadie what her Dad does for a living, she politely replies, "He's a garbageman!"  And if they say "Ew!" or “Yuk!” she says, "Everybody makes garbage, but my Daddy hauls it all away.  Otherwise, we’d be to our eyebrows in garbage! 

Work is God’s gift to us.  We bring glory to Him by working diligently and serving others by helping Him meet their needs.  In serving others, we serve God.  And that’s why our work matters to God.

Lord, thank you for this job and the blessings it provides.  May my hands always be prepared to help lighten another’s load.  Remind me that the quality of my work is a reflection of You to those around me.  Amen (by Mike Stevens “The Worker’s Prayer”)

 

 

 

Full Throttle

“Godly people are also kind to their animals." ~ Proverbs 12:10

For Jacquie, working at Loving Hearts Animal Shelter was not just a job, it was her passion.  There she shared a love for animals and the people who cared for them.  The best part was adopting out a rescued pet – the worst part . . . well, you probably know that part due to the space constraints of their shelter.  Today would be a great day!

A young family arrived early, eager to adopt a puppy.   As usual, the Shelter was bursting with cast-off hounds, but no puppies.   Jacquie recognized their disappointment; she’d seen it many times.  Everyone loves a puppy, but like they say, "Every puppy grows up to be a dog.”

Not to be dissuaded, little Jayden decided to take a look around anyway because these dogs really needed a home badly.

One dog was walking and jumping on his hind legs.  Full Throttle, as the name on his cage read, was unquestionably a hyper dog with sad brown eyes that followed their every movement. 

Jacquie knew that no one would ever consider adopting him; he’d be put to sleep before long.  As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t encourage first time pet owners to adopt an overactive dog; they're just too much trouble.  This dog never seemed to rest.

“I want this one Daddy,” Jayden said excitedly.  “He’s trying to shake hands; I think he wants to come home with us!”

Jayden knelt down near the cage; their bond was immediate, almost sacred.  “Pleeeze Mom!  “Can we let him out?  Can we Pleeeeez?”

In anticipation, Full Throttle hopped impatiently on his hind legs.  When the kennel door opened, he peed all over the place.  It was probably the first time he’d been out of his cage in a while.

Jacquie cringed.  As much as he’d like to see Full Throttle go to a nice home, she feared that it would only be a matter of days before she’d see the uncontrollable dog back at the Shelter.

And she was right! 

Less than two weeks after Jayden and his parents took Full Throttle home, the little boy and his Mom entered the lobby with a huge box.  When they opened the lid, Jacquie just stared at it open mouthed.  Her brain formulated no thoughts other than complete shock. 

The container was filled to the rim with big bags of treats, toys, blankets and other supplies that the Shelter desperately needed.

“Today is Jayden’s 5^th birthday.  Instead of presents, he asked his Dad and me to help donate these items for your use.  We couldn’t be happier with our newest family member.  What a blessing you have given us.  Thank you!”

Please Lord, help me find a home today,  I’m lonely and scared.  I heard them say, just one more day.  So I plead, can just ONE help me?  Whisper in a rescuer’s ear, tell them to be the ONE.  Cuz’ that’s all I need, just ONE loving, friendly, peppy human.  Amen

A Beautiful Thing

“God’s Spirit gives us power, love, and self-control." ~ 2 Timothy 1:7

“Whatchadoin’ Zac?”

“Writin’ love notes to my parents.” the young boy answered back, “For when I’m gone.”

“Where ya goin’ buddy?” his best friend Benjamin asked.

“To heaven,” Zac answered matter-of-factly.  “I got cancer.  The angels will take me there when I get too sick.  So I’m hiding notes around the house, in books, in books, in Mommy’s dresser, in Daddy’s toolbox . . . so they’ll know that I still love them when I’m gone.”

After feeling ill and tired for weeks, Zac Eisenberg was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL).  ALL, a fast-growing disease of the white blood cells, is the most common childhood cancer.  Most are cured with standard chemotherapy; Zac’s form was resistant to even the most intense therapy regimens. 

The two first graders have been almost inseparable since birth.  So it was no surprise that Benjamin showed up at Zac’s house the next day with a shaved head.  Well, not totally shaved.  The child barber-to-be had tried his scissor-best, but left small tufts of unreachable hair.  Still, his effort made Zac giggle, and feel less alone.

Benjamin started asking questions and learning about cancer.  He taught his fellow classmates that ALL is “when your white and red blood cells fight each other.”

When he learned that Zac's treatments were expensive, Benjamin raised a couple hundred dollars by selling stocking caps on Facebook that he made with his Mom.  “I sold them so the doctors can fix you,” he told a grateful Zac.

There’s pure joy in their laughter.  “Why did the chicken cross the playground?” Zac asked with a boyish grin.  “To get to the other slide!” finished Benjamin.

Until recently though, there hadn’t been much to laugh about.  Then the news came that Zac’s cancer had gone into remission.  His friend’s encouragement seemed to be working.  As a precaution, he’ll continue to get treatments for two more years.

The two best friends have a lot to teach the adults in their lives.

When a news reporter recently asked, “What is friendship?” Zac replied simply - ”A beautiful thing.”  Clearly, wisdom doesn't always come with age.

Kids with cancer often feel isolated and alone, especially if they're in the hospital or away from school for long stretches of time.  Visit as often as you can.  Fight the urge to stay away because you feel awkward or wish this weren't happening.  Even if you aren't sure what to say to your friend, just being there to show your support will mean so much.  If distance or your schedule makes it hard to be there in person, stay in touch by sending notes and cards and by emailing, IM’ing, phoning, or texting.  

“For the children and the flowers are my sisters and my brothers, their laughter and their loveliness will clear a cloudy day.  Like the music of the mountains and the colors of the rainbow, they're a promise of the future and a blessing for today.” ~ John Denver

 

God Doesn't Make Mistakes

“Rejoice my son, your brother was lost and now he’s been found." ~ Luke 15:32

Both his dad and grandfather were pastors; evangelists for over 100 years combined.  Young Vince did missionary work with them on Arizona’s Apache reservation.  The only way his Christian upbringing could’ve been more complete was if he’d married the daughter of a Baptist minister – which he did in 1976.

Once the poster boy of Christian morality, Vince Furnier (aka Alice Cooper) shocked the world in the 1970s with am outrageous stage show that featured baby doll mutilation, boa constrictors, and Cooper's dark, androgynous make up.   ‘Shock Rock’ as it was eventually labeled, celebrated moral decay.  Cooper’s band set the standard for countless heavy metal and punk bands such as Ozzie Osborn and Marilyn Manson.

Introduced to drugs and alcohol when he began his music career, Cooper quickly became obsessed with both.  “I was probably the most functional addict ever; I never missed a show or slurred a word,” he admitted. 

That all changed when his wife Sheryl threatened to leave him because of his decadent ways.  They attended a church with a “hellfire” pastor. 

Cooper claims Divine intervention broke his drinking habit.  “I guess you can call it a miracle.  It’s the only way I can explain it.” He shocked the rock world again by quietly embracing Christianity – “more out of the fear of God, than the love of God.  “I didn’t want to go to hell.” 

Now he sees his faith in Christ as “an ongoing journey; something you just progress in.  You learn.  You study the Bible.  You pray!” Further he admitted, “I’m a rock singer - nothing more than that.  I’m not a philosopher.  I’m low on the totem pole of educated Christians.  So, don’t look for answers from me.”

Cooper’s revelation was more a return to faith than a coming to faith.  “I was convinced all my life that there was just one God.  And there’s always been a Devil too,” he said.  And he has this advice for his critics: “I was one thing then, and now I’m something new.  Don’t judge Alice by what he used to be.  Praise God for what I am now.”

“I’m the modern day Prodigal Son,” said Cooper.  “I messed up and then God started reeling me back in.  He chips away at your life all the time to try to make you more like Him,” said Cooper.  “That’s what a Christian is, a person that’s constantly being molded and shaped.

That’s exactly what that visionary pastor advised him years before.  He said “God doesn't make mistakes!   God put you in an uncommon situation with a purpose.  Now let your lifestyle be a better example.” 

That’s not the counsel Vince had expected.

Dear Lord, of all the things I want for my child, salvation is the greatest, yet it feels the most elusive.  Embrace my child with Your wisdom and love. I pray that (s)he is becoming tender toward You and receptive to Your Word.  Amen