The Luckiest Guy on the Planet

“God gave each of you special abilities; use them to help each other." ~ 1 Peter 4:10

Ten year old Danny had reason to be angry.

Five weeks ago he woke up fiery hot.  A purple blotchy rash had started to appear on his body.  He remembered nothing of the next few weeks, missing everything between Father’s Day and the 4^th of July.  He woke again to a shocking certainty.

Patiently, but efficiently, the doctor explained that Danny had developed a very rare but serious bacterial infection known as Necrotizing Fasciitis (Flesh-Eating Disease).  The bacteria quickly invaded his system causing life threatening damage to his lower extremities.

“To save your life,” the doctor stated matter-of-factly, “your legs had to be removed.  Otherwise son, you surely would have died.”

Danny’s gaze fell upon two stumps heavily swathed in thick bandages.  His frustration cresting, Danny snapped that he would have preferred to die than end up with no legs.  “I’m useless,” he snarled.  “What’s the point in keeping me alive?”

Two weeks had passed since that painful realization; 14 days he’d spent refusing to leave his bed or any attempts at therapy.

His parents arranged a visit from Danny’s MLB baseball hero in hopes it would brighten his spirits and encourage him to give rehab a try.

Danny was thrilled at meeting his idol.

The player told the boy, “I want you to get well; let them teach you to walk again.”
Danny replied, “Miguel, if you’ll knock a home run for me today, I’ll learn to walk again.”

Miguel promised.  All the way to the ballpark he felt a deep sense of obligation and even apprehension that he’d not be able to deliver his promise that day.

He didn’t knock one out of the park that day.  He crushed two.

Barely a season later, Miguel was diagnosed with colon cancer and forced to retire as a player.  But on that hot, muggy day he was showered with kind words and numerous gifts.  Forty thousand fans, the governor, the mayor, and many other celebrities paid their respects at the ballpark to one of America’s great heroes.

He accepted the gifts, shook hands with the dignitaries, and waved to the crowd.  Silence fell over the stadium.  Miguel took a deep breath.  Just as he stepped to the mike, Danny, now eleven years old, walked out of the dugout, dropped his crutches, and walked to home plate to hug his hero.

Almost too choked up to speak, Miguel exclaimed: “Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the planet.  I played the game I love for fans I adore.  God made an investment in me with talents to encourage others.  Today, God gave me the blessing of this young boy to inspire me.  To my Savior be the glory!”

Lord, there are so many of us that are hurting, people who need Your love, souls who need Your encouragement.  Help me use the gifts and talents you invested in me to bless them.  Amen

Angel of Mercy

“Blessed are the poor and honest." ~ Proverbs 28:6

Membership in America’s corporate elite comes with not just a hefty compensation package but an abundance of perks.  But Edhi had no bodyguards, personal driver, country club membership or access to a company jet.  He took virtually no salary.

From a small tent offering donated drugs and basic medical care, the Edhi Foundation became a multimillion-dollar enterprise.  Run by himself, his wife Bilquis and their four children, they lived humbly in the same ramshackle building as the organization's offices located in Karachi’s poorest neighborhood.

Motivated by a spiritual quest for justice, Edhi and his team created maternity wards, morgues, orphanages, shelters, and homes for the elderly, picking up where limited government-run services fell short.  All for free.

Bilquis, his spouse and partner, helped build his empire.  She was also the one who secretly sewed a duplicate pair of clothes when one of his only two outfits became too old and raggedy.  “If he found an old hat, he’d save it,” she noted, describing how little her husband spent on himself.

He needed eyeglasses to read but would never buy a pair.  Instead, he’d try on glasses off dead bodies at their morgue until he found a pair he liked.

Edhi might not have spent on himself, but he spent massively on the hundreds of thousands he helped over the years.  The foundation which he started almost six decades ago has an annual budget of nearly $20 million today.  Funding comes entirely from private donations.  He proudly refused any government support.

In a country with a negligible public welfare system Edhi offered cradle-to-grave services.  Some 20,000 people have Edhi registered as a parent or guardian after he and Bilquis began taking in abandoned babies.  They placed cribs outside their offices where unwanted infants could be left, dramatically reducing the practice of throwing unwanted infants in the trash.

The most visible signs of Edhi's foundation around the country are its ambulance fleet; more than 1,500 strong.  They race across the busy streets, sirens blazing picking up dead bodies and transporting the injured to hospitals.  They’re usually the first ones to reach disaster sites, including the many bombings Pakistan suffered during the past decade.  The Edhi Foundation even donated $100,000 to the victims of Hurricane Katrina in 2005.

Up until his death recently at the age of (about) 90, Edhi might have been considered the world's greatest living humanitarian.  He’d suffered for several years with diabetes and kidney failure, even refusing treatment in the U.S.  He preferred to be treated at a public hospital in his own country.  Despite his atheism, there are few men who have done as much good, and made as much a difference to all humanity, than Abdul Sattar Edhi (aka Angel of Mercy).

Lord Jesus, teach me to allow Jesus to enter and possess me so completely that my life, too, may radiate the light and love given by this gentle giant.  Please find a special place in Your Kingdom for such a humble servant.  Amen

Barefoot Reflections

“How clearly the sky and the earth reveal God's glory!" ~ Psalm 19:1

In this small Honduran mountain village, shoeless is the norm.  Barefoot is the only way folks travel around there, the only shoes being worn by the horses.  Children play in parched dirt; the powder settling on their young skin seems the only protection from intense sunlight.  All that play helps prepare them for a difficult life ahead.  Feet must be tough and travel-ready, not sensitive to every little rock on the trail.

As I watched young Jeffery kneel on the concrete church floor in humble prayer beside his mother, his bare feet took me back to a simpler time in my life.  A time when we kicked off our shoes and with a fresh bounce in our stride, took in the first kiss of spring warmth.

As a child, diamonds of dew often greeted us on the fresh morning grass.  Bright-green blades stuck between our toes and tickled our ankles — a reminder that I had an extra dollar in my pocket for mowing the lawn the day before.  Even cutting grass didn’t demand foot protection, because all we had was an old reel-type push mower.

The biggest threat to our feet came from the pesky pinecones littering the yard.  Constantly dropping from the evergreens that graced our lawn, they made for the most time-consuming part of the mowing job.

As the summer wore on, skin that was once so tender gained callouses.  Walking got a little easier with each rising and setting of the sun.  Tough feet helped us endure stubbed toes, thorns, splinters, and bee stings.

Occasionally, the puncture of a rusty nail would require a tetanus shot.  But even the threat of infection wasn’t enough to get us to entertain the idea of wearing shoes.

Without the soreness of my soles there was time to appreciate the fragrance of the air, the sweet fragrance of meadow flowers and buttercups that I’d missed in the winter months.  And how could one possibly claim that the blackbird’s song was not music?

Little did we know that during these memorable childhood summers, we were being brushed by the hand of God through His gift of the earth.  In those marvelous carefree days, we absorbed the soul of the soil through the soles of our feet.

Now that I’m an old man, my going barefoot is limited to inside the house.  Recently, I ventured barefoot out to the mailbox, only to find that each step was an agony from skin that hadn’t been thickened for decades.  But it reminded me that life is not a race.  It’s a walk around the block, a stroll through the park, a trip down the memories of our youth.

Lord Jesus, help me slow down when everything in me is screaming “rush!”  Help me find beauty in the way sunlight refracts through a glass of water, the squishy sound dew on grass makes when I hike through it, or the cute face a kid makes when you listen intently to them.  Amen

Let the Sunrise

"Give thanks to the Lord every morning and your faithfulness every night." ~ Psalm 92: 1-2

Sandra and Max were both in transition.  She, in her newly single mother status, had returned to work and he, in his dual house living arrangement, probably felt much like taffy, pulled in opposite directions and in danger of splitting in two.

Leaving the house for school had become a battle.  Max would delay the pending separation by absorbing himself in everything but dressing.  And Sandra would race around like a drill sergeant barking orders and hollow punitive warnings.  By the time they packed themselves into the car they were emotionally exhausted.

Today was no different.  As they approached their destination, Sandra’s inner critic listed the countless ways she was failing her son.   Late for soccer practice again; two days of dirty dishes stacked in the sink; too tired to read one more bedtime story.  

Fail, fail fail!

Through desperate tears Sandra squinted through the bug splattered windshield.  

It started very subtle, as it was afraid to rise.  Bit by bit, it covered the morning haze with a breathtaking display of radiant colors.  Bright streaks of red, pink, and orange slowly overcame dark hues of the twilight sky.  All the colors blended perfectly into each other.

It was truly showing off, like it wanted her to know that God brushed the earth alive, coloring it with proof that He is infinitely loving and faithful. 

Her inner critic went silent now, replaced by the voice of an unwavering Lord:  “You are loved, Sandra.  You have nothing to fear today; I’m with You.  Feel this . . . feel the sun on your face, child.  That’s Me, reaching down to touch you.”

The past few months seemed to disappear; all the bitterness and the agony she'd been through washed away once the daisy sun finally arrived.  Sandra glanced at her son in the rearview mirror staring out the window apparently willing himself to be anywhere but in his car seat.

“Hey Maxie,” she yelled back.  “How ‘bout we play hooky today.  Maybe we could go to the zoo and see the new penguin chicks.  Or would you rather go to the movie?”

A suddenly animated Max responded quickly.  “If you mean it Mom, it wouldn’t matter where we go as long as we go together.”

“It’s a date then!’ Sandra replied making an illegal u-turn and driving away from all today’s obligations. 

That orb reminds us how small we are, and how vividly gorgeous the world is.  You have to pay attention or you’ll miss some of His more stunning moments tucked into each day.  God is dependable and consistent.  He designed our world to reflect those qualities and wants us to know by observing the consistency of sunrises that we can trust Him unconditionally.

Lord, there’s no such thing as just another sunrise, just another breath, just another maple leaf, just another wisp of cloud, just another snowflake.  Our world’s a miracle, every glorious inch of it, because You are not “just” another God.  Thank You!

Patriots and Adversaries

“Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD." ~ Psalm 33:12

Travel back in time over nearly 250 years to the first Continental Congress.  Thomas Jefferson, the youngest member of Congress and gifted writer, had been chosen to draft the Declaration of Independence.  John Adams edited the text.  During the process, Jefferson and Adams became fast friends and later, political competitors.  Both sought the Presidency in 1797.

Jefferson finished a close second to Adams in the Electoral College, which, by the rules of the time, made him the new vice president.  Their ideas about policy-making became as distinct as their personalities.  Jefferson was a bit of a libertarian radical for his time, believing the federal government should defer to individual states’ rights.  Adams, a buttoned-down conservative was a firm believer in a strong centralized government.

Jefferson plotted how to bring his political faction back into power in the next presidential election.  Things got ugly fast.

Adams called his rival a “weakling, a lecher, an atheist and a coward.”  Jefferson labelled Adams “a fool, a hypocrite, a criminal and a tyrant.”  Jefferson even hired a “hatchet man” who later served time for his slanderous attacks on Adams.

After an exceptionally bitter campaign, Jefferson emerged victorious, becoming the county’s third President in 1800.  It appeared the former friends would be eternal enemies.

And just a truth persists, so does friendship.  Twelve years after their malicious election, a mutual friend engineered a reconciliation.  The two statesmen began writing letters to each other.  Their correspondence touched on many topics, from reminiscences about their contributions to the young nation's history, to opinions on current political issues, to matters of philosophy and religion, to issues of aging.  Their letters were lighthearted and filled with affection.

As two of the few surviving signers of the Declaration of Independence, they were finally able to see that they had far more in common than any differences they’d once perceived.

After fifteen years of resumed friendship, on July 4, 1826, Jefferson and Adams both died within hours of each other.  Their deaths occurred -- perhaps appropriately -- on the 50^th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

Unaware that his friend had died hours earlier, Adams' family later recalled his last spoken words, "Thomas Jefferson survives."

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Jefferson awoke for the last time to ask his aide: “Is it the Fourth, today?”

“Indeed it is,” Mr. Jefferson.  “Today is the Fourth of July.  We owe you and Mr. Adams tremendous thanks.”

There’s a lesson here for our present-day politicians.  There can be strong and completely opposite points of view, hard fought in public and privately, but public benefit can be maintained through disciplined and respectful discourse.

Happy Independence Day!  And please God, bless America!

Almighty God, America needs Your healing touch.  On this day that we celebrate our independence, our politics are torn by uncompromising bitterness.  We ask You for the blessing of hope and forgiveness, that our liberty will thrive for generations.  Amen

Smokejumper

“These trials test your faith for purity and strength." ~1 Peter 1:7

Bobby had the guts and bluster of men twice his age.  Barely 17, he joined a gruff, reticent breed of firefighters called Smokejumpers.

Smokejumpers spend their careers going to the wrong place at the wrong time.  They slam into rugged wilderness; then fight massive wildfires with little more than hand tools.  Known for their stamina and agility, they quickly learn how to clutch tangled strands of adrenaline and drudgery without losing their grip on life-and-death decisions.

On August 5^th, 1949, the hottest day ever recorded in Montana’s mountains, 15 cocky jumpers walked into the sky and floated daringly into a fire they regarded as routine.

They landed at Mann Gulch about 800 yards from the blaze.  As the team began fighting the blaze, unexpected high winds caused it to suddenly “blowup,” cutting off their escape route and forcing them to sprint uphill.

It was never a fair race.  Despite a 100-yard head start, the slope was so steep the men had to crawl as the firestorm chased them at the speed of a tornado.

Terrified, young Bobby abandoned his heavy gear and scrambled for his life.  The firestorm not only blotted his vision with sheets of flame and torrents of smoke, but its savagery approached with a roar like that of a train barreling out of a tunnel.  In the confusion, the team failed to heed their Captain’s plea to enter a makeshift safe zone, and continued frantically up the hillside.

With fire pounding their backs, Bobby and his roommate squeezed through a crevice as the inferno swept over the mountain and around them.  They waited, trying to breathe what little oxygen remained on the fiery ridge.

He prayed.

Suddenly a calming peace surrounding Bobby; warmth radiated through him.  He later recalled God telling him to be still and wait.

Eventually they outflanked the fire to the top of the mountain and stumbled luckily into a rockslide on the other side.  Through the silence, they heard weak cries below as member of their team struggled for life.

In all, 12 veteran smokejumpers died that day – only the two rookies and their Captain survived.  A watch belonging to one of the dead was later recovered, its hands frozen at 5:56, just 16 minutes after the “blowup.”

After identifying his fallen comrades, young Bobby would jump again.  He’d use his experiences as a motivational speaker to encourage others facing life-threatening situations.

“May we all be as brave as those young men and women as we face our own trials by fire.” (Tom May)  Trials and troubles are a necessary part of the Christian life.  They reveal our character and the genuineness of our faith.  Pressure shows us where our weak spots are.  Be joyful; live with eternity in mind.

Lord Jesus, when all is darkest and we feel weak and helpless, give us the sense of Your presence, Your love, and Your strength.  Help us to have perfect trust in Your protecting love and strengthening power, Amen

A Lesson in Modesty

“Sound judgment and good sense will protect you." ~ Proverbs 2:11

Dad’s Perspective :  If you have a teenage daughter, or work with teenage girls, then you know just how hard it is to reach them during those defiant, boundary-pushing years.  Fed up with my daughter’s wardrobe choices, I took the offensive.

Before heading out for family-night, I took scissors to an old pair of jeans.  My "cut-offs" left little to the imagination.

After enduring hours of painful embarrassment, we decided to cap the night off with dessert at a local ice cream joint.  Kristin pleaded for us to drive-through.  I declined – she refused and waited in the car.

I’m not sure if my lesson on modesty sunk in, but I’m glad I took a risk and parented "outside the box."  I love her and care enough to make a fool out of myself.

Daughter’s Perspective:  Some kids lose their cell phones if they're naughty, some get their allowance cut, some just get yelled at.  My Dad was far more creative.  Imagine your beefy, middle-aged dad playing mini-golf dressed like a geek, exposing legs meant to be covered.

How could he do that to me?  Tonight’s memory will be seared into my brain forever.  “People will be reminding me of this as I eat mush in the nursing home.”  #traumatizedandhumiliated

God’s Perspective:  Children, diamonds are mined from deep in the earth, covered and protected.  You’ll find pearls at the bottom of the ocean, encased in beautiful shells.  You’ll find gold shielded by layers of rock, and tough to retrieve.

Your body is sacred and unique - far more precious than gold, diamonds and pearls!

Your dress sets the tone for how others see you and your faith.  Short shorts and low-cut tops draw unnecessary attention.  Being modest in your appearance allows others to see your inner faith rather than your outer appearance.

One Final Perspective:  Dads - your approval is extremely significant in your daughter’s life, so be careful in how you relate to them.  Both words and tone matter greatly.  Even though she may act like she resents your intrusion at times, she really does care about what you think of her.

Let her know that she’s beautiful – that she is unique in your eyes and God’s.  Point out the positive, “I really like the color of that shirt – It brings out your eyes.  A little affirmation before launching into: “It’s too tight/short/see-through ...” will help her be more open to your opinion.

And don’t forget to talk to your sons too.   Teach them not to objectify women based on how they’re dressed; how what a girl wears doesn’t determine who she is as a person.  Remind them that dressing a certain way doesn’t give them a free pass in how they treat women.

Lord, help me weave a pattern of modesty into the lives of my children; habits that will become so much a part of their moral fiber that they’ll freely and fully enjoy being the adult You designed them to be.  Amen

The Knothole Section

“It pleases God when children honor their parents." ~ Colossians 3:20

When empty, the old stadium was just steel and concrete.  But on game day, the place came alive.  Thousands of fans filled wooden seats that disappeared into the shadows at the very top.  An impeccably manicured field, outlined in lime, defined the battle lines.

Back then they may not have had luxury suites or multi-story LED scoreboards.  Nor did they have swimming pools or amusement rides or white-tablecloth restaurants and brew pubs.  But they did have a distinctive charm and character.

“Knot-Holers” got their name from those days when kids who couldn’t afford the price of admission would look through knotholes in the fence until someone caught them and chased them off.

Over time, management decided it was in baseball’s best interest to provide cheap seats inside the stadiums rather than let them go unused.  After all, kids who watched their heroes from the Knot-Hole Section helped shape the game’s future.

Seats were ground level; the view was less than ideal.  Officials separated the Knot-Hole section from the regular full-priced seats by chain link barriers.  Unless the game was sold out, admission for kids was four bits ($0.50).  But seats for adults in the Knot-Hole section were normal admission price.

Some dads used the Knot-Hole ‘bullpen’ as an inexpensive 3-hour babysitter while they watched the game from far better vantage points.  Not Bud however.

On home games, Bud would drive his two boys across town to Memorial Stadium.  He’d ask for two children's and one adult ticket to the Knot-Hole Section.

The person in the ticket booth would look curiously at him and say, "There’s plenty of good seats in the stadium."  Bud would respond, "I want to sit in the Knot-Hole section."  The person would say, "But you’ll have to pay full price and it gets kinda rowdy in there."  Bud would reply kindly, "I know," buy the tickets, and go sit between his boys.

Bud was more interested in time with his sons than he was the action between the two teams on the field.  As much as he loved baseball, he loved being with them more.

There were many godly qualities about Bud that others admired.  But none were more God-like than his love for and interest in his children.

As much Bud loved his kids and wanted to be intimately involved in their lives, our heavenly Father loves us more.  I thank God I have both of them in my life.  Above all else as we approach a day where we honor our fathers, I honor mine for leading me to Christ.  Not just by word, but by example.  And I pray that someday my children will look back and say the same about me.

Father, thank You for my parents; keep them well in body and spirit.  Bless them generously for their loving care for me.  Grant that, through Your grace, I may     always support and comfort them.  After our life earthly together, we long to experience the joy of praising You forever.  Amen

Unlikely Forgiveness

"Forgive one another and so that you will be healed." ~ James 5:16

They took just 28 minutes - less time than it took the prosecutor to deliver his closing argument, to notify the Judge that they’d reached a verdict.  Six women and six men delivered their decision after just two days of testimony that included a single defense witness.

The jury forewoman stood clearing her throat nervously.  She spoke in a somber tone, not a criticism of the accused who shriveled like a burnt match on the courtroom chair.

“We the jury,” she began, “find the defendant Chante Jawan Mallard, GUILTY in the charge of murder and GUILTY of tampering with evidence.

After entering the verdict in the court’s records, the Judge excused the jury with his compliments and suggested a recess to consider a suitable sentence.  The local prosecutor wanted a life sentence, the maximum possible due to the horrific and callous nature of the crime.  The defense argued for leniency, albeit lacking much enthusiasm due to the circumstances.

Greg Biggs, 37, a self-employed bricklayer who took medication for mild schizophrenia lost his life in a bizarre and cruel way at the hands of an intoxicated Mallard who’d been drinking and smoking marijuana the night of the accident.  It gets worse.

The accident left Biggs lodged in the windshield of Mallard’s car.  Its impact broke Biggs' thigh bone, shin bones and arm on his right side, nearly amputated his left leg, and gouged his torso.

With Biggs embedded in her windshield, Mallard drove to her house, parked the car in the garage, and left the man to die slowly.  For several hours, Biggs lay bleeding but conscious in the broken windshield of a car that hit him.  He probably would have survived if the driver had called for help, a medical examiner testified at the trial.  She later testified to sitting in the car, crying and apologizing to the moaning casualty.

Biggs was dumped in a park the day after the incident.  Mallard was arrested four months later after a tip led authorities to her.

Mallard appeared drained as she returned to the courtroom anticipating a harsh sentence.  But first, she’d have to hear the angry words of a distraught son who asked for a word before sentencing.  Brandon Biggs, the victim’s son, addressed the court.

"To the Mallard family, I’m sorry for your loss as well," he said.  "To Chante, no matter how great the crime was or how great the sin was, God still forgives us.  I personally accept your apology and, in return, I hope that you will accept my forgiveness and the forgiveness of Jesus Christ."

Moments later, Mallard was escorted out of the courtroom in custody as her mother sobbed.  Under Texas law, she would serve no less than 25 years in prison.

Jesus, bless me with the power of forgiveness, give me the strength to let go of all ill-will, to forgive myself of my own failings and sins, knowing that you have already forgiven me.  Amen

Rejecting God

“He wants you to enjoy the happiness that He has." ~ John 15:11

Evan was raised in a Christian home, had wonderful parents, memorized hundreds of bible verses and actively participated in his church’s Youth Group.  But by the time he got to high school he’d grown bored with everything that had to do with God and religion.  He knew all the stories - Christ was born in human form and died for our sins.  Blah, blah, blah.

Facing punishment for missing curfew one night, he reacted by ‘officially’ shutting the door on God – defiantly stating that he didn’t believe ‘all that stuff.’  Words flew from his mouth that he never thought he'd even think, let alone say out loud.

Evan knew instantly from his parent’s look that he’d hit the mark.  In that instant their relationship shattered into glassy shards.  Nothing would ever be the same again.

College brought endless nights of partying, clubbing, boozing, girl chasing and drug abuse.  He was having the time of his life.

He even met special young lady and fell in love.  With that relationship came a tight-knit group of her caring friends.  He had it all – someone who loved him and a loyal network to boot.

Deep down however, Evan had become a greedy, self-absorbed SOB.  Neglect for his girlfriend led to a nightmarish, downward spiral.  She eventually left as did many of her friends.  Shattered and broken, he’d waged this battle against himself.  Life on his terms had NOT worked; by trying to create his own definition and meaning, he’d cut off the only Anchor who gave real meaning and definition to life itself.

So he cried out to God and, for the first time, he heard God answer and rescued Evan from the rubble of his self-destruction.  From that moment on he promised to praise God as his Lord and Savior.  Next he’d work on repairing the relationship he’d destroyed with his parents.

Parents, no matter how hard your teens may fight against God – the key to them possibly coming back to church one day is your unwavering love for them.  Parents who lovingly lead by example; are patient with their child’s growth as individuals; and are not ashamed to hold on to the one and only, absolute Truth – will always be seen in their children’s eyes as a strong, admirable example.

When teens fight you about Church, it usually has little to do with their beliefs about God.  More likely, your teen’s apparent rejection of their faith has to do with one of two things; 1) personal experience with suffering they can’t understand or 2) a breakdown of their relationship with you.

Eventually, they’ll realize the emptiness of worldly promises and discover that only Christ can deliver the peace and lasting joy they seek.

Holy Father, we pray that You work in the hearts of Young people all over the world.  Bring peace to all parents by encouraging them in their faith and by serving as profound examples of unconditional love.  Amen