They Knew

“Open your hearts and minds to the possibilities that exist within an infinite universe."  ~ Philippians 4:7

Francoise stared aimlessly at the rolling hills of her African paradise.  It wasn’t often that she found herself alone . . .  such was the case today.  She sat quietly, remembering her husband Lawrence and reminiscing about the life they had shared with herds of pachyderms on the Thula Game Preserve in South Africa.

Lawrence had abandoned a career in real estate to play Noah to the world’s endangered species.  When coalition forces invaded Iraq, Lawrence led the effort to restore Baghdad’s Zoo and instantly became an international hero.  His exploits to save rhinos from Congolese poachers bore testament to his passion for all God’s creatures.

But when asked to accept a herd of ‘rogue’ elephants at Thula (meaning place of peace), his common sense told him to refuse.  Dangerously unpredictable, they were notorious escape artists and their owners wanted to get rid of them fast. 

Sensing their certain death if not rescued, Lawrence accepted the ‘call.’ 

The elephants began arriving and immediately broke though the electric fences.  They hated humans.  Lawrence quickly found himself waging a battle for their survival . . . and their trust.

Despite their terrifying behavior, he decided to stay close to the giant ‘delinquents’ for as long as it took to gain their acceptance.  Seven days a week, 24 hours a day, he shared their enclosure, constantly patrolling the perimeter, talking and singing while they trumpeted, stomped, flapped their ears, and showed all the signs of elephantine discontent.

Exhausted from an atmosphere of anger and resentment, he took a break and went home.  Upon his return, a noticeable calm had taken its place.  Over time, a deep bond of affection developed between these unruly giants and the man who saved them.  Eventually they were released to the wild, grazing miles away in distant parts of the preserve.

Reality leaked back in.  Though he’d been deceased only three days, Francoise missed him terribly and wondered if they did too.

Then something extraordinary happened.  Two herds of African elephants slowly made their way single-file through the bush land in a solemn, almost ‘funeral-like' procession.  Francoise couldn’t remember when these giant beasts had last been near their house.

They knew!  They came today to pay their respects, honoring the human friend who'd worked tirelessly to save their lives years before.  Elephants have long been known to mourn their dead, proving once again that they never forget.

The elephants of Thula, who formed the funeral march to the Anthony’s house, stayed for two days and nights without food.  They silently left without fanfare, reminding us how to honor those who matter most to us.  Hamba kahle, Ndovu Mkhulu! (Be well, Great Elephant!)

If there ever were a time, when we can truly sense the amazing interconnectedness of all beings, it’s when we reflect on the elephants of Thula.  A man’s heart stops and hundreds of elephants grieve.  My God . . . Our God.

One Way Out

“Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved." ~ Romans 10:13

Gary wondered how his life had ever gotten this crazy.  He laid on the couch thinking through a list of possibilities, fighting off nausea while his heart pounded as if trying to destroy itself.

His first thought was to drive his rusted SUV off a bridge and drown himself.  The thought of not being able to breathe terrified him, which pretty much ruled out smothering too, using a plastic bag for example.

Jumping in front of a moving train might work.  But it’s messy, probably painful and a dreadful task for the people whose job it was to remove the carnage.

He couldn’t stomach the thought of twisting and thrashing after kicking a chair out from under himself.  He even considered sitting in a bathtub and slashing his throat, but with the first spurt of blood from his carotid artery, he’d want to change his mind and it would be too late.

As for carbon monoxide poisoning – too much time to reconsider.  Pills or poison?  Same thing!  If he chickened out and called 911, word would get around and he’d lose respect from everyone who knew him not to mention the liver damage he’d face.  He didn’t dare jump off a building.  With his luck, he’d survive and be mutilated beyond recognition.  Years of psychiatric counseling – no way!

Last on his list was his trusty Colt 45.  It would have to be a precise shot because the worst scenario was to end up paralyzed and brain damaged.  That’d really suck!  A bad job of shooting himself would leave him just enough awareness of why he wanted to off himself in the first place but helpless to do anything about it.

He loaded his gun and placed the cold steel in his mouth, careful to aim up at a 45 degree angle.  A soft point bullet through the cerebellum was his best chance at fatality.

His cell phone rang . . . and rang, in fact the damn thing wouldn’t stop ringing.  The caller-ID read 'Almighty God'.  Gary was afraid to answer – but even more afraid to pull the trigger.  He put his weapon down and returned the call.

A female voice answered: “Pastor Carrie, may I help you?”

“Uh, well, I . . .,” Gary’s confused, suicidal voice stammered.  “I believe you called me.  Did you say you were a Pastor?”

“Oh dear,” responded the kindly voice.  “My name is Carrie Dodd, and I’m the Pastor at “Almighty God Tabernacle.  As the kids say, I must have ‘butt-dialed’ you by mistake!  Please forgive me.”

“Actually,” Gary said, “it was NO mistake – you just saved my life!”

Friends, think of it this way: suicide only hurts the people who care about you.  Talk to a friend – wait for the next sunrise.

Lord Jesus, let nothing ever separate us from Your love.  Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow.  Shine Your light even in my darkest hour.  Amen

Chemo Warrior

“Those who love God are the ones chosen for His purpose." ~ Romans 8:28

I hate this!  There I said it; I just want my old life back.

Chemotherapy is not a word people want to hear; certainly never something they want to experience.  But, for those of us with stage IV breast cancer, we often don't have a choice. 

Today I’m getting my first chemo treatment.  I’m terrified.  How will the chemicals affect me?  Will I get sick?  How will I handle the pain in my joints?  Will I lose my beautiful curls?

My journey started when a routine exam revealed a lump on my right breast.  The cyst ended up being benign, but underneath the cyst was a malignant tumor.  Ugh!

Before cancer reared its ugly head in my life, I was an energetic woman.  At 57, I’m a trauma nurse in a very busy ER.  When my adult children finished college and moved out, my husband of 34 years and I moved to south Florida to enjoy kayaking, cycling, surfing and scuba diving.  I’ve always been active.

Now I'm lucky if I’ll have enough energy to go to the grocery store.  “Why me?”  “Why can’t I ever catch a break?” “Why is the universe still punishing me for giving Janie those chocolate-covered beetles bugs back in Kindergarten?”

I suppose it’s natural to get upset, frustrated, even angry.  I keep looking for someone to blame (the genes of my parents, a God who’s apparently forgotten me, the incompetent cab driver, the abysmal weather, anything!).  Despite the absurdity, I feel myself getting more agitated.  Perversely, I even start hoping things go horribly wrong, so I can justify this feeling of utter futility.

Then I remember all the women I’ve known who lost their battle with the big ‘C.”  But I’m still alive; I should be ashamed to even THINK this way . . . but I can't help it.  “Please God,” I pray,” Come closer now with Your comfort and peace.  I need You!  I need Your care and attention. Please be with me in the journey and where it’s Your will, bring healing to my body.”  

Just as Rachel was about to encase herself within a cocoon dripping with self-pity, a little bald headed girl no older than 6, snuck up behind her.  With a warm embrace she handed Rachel a Hershey’s Kiss.  She said with a friendly grin, “My Mom says we have to keep smiling.  Don’t forget, God loves you.”

Out of the mouth of babes!

He heard her prayer and answered by placing an angel in her path at precisely the right time.  It was a feel-sorry-for-herself kind of moment; Rachel just venting and being difficult.  So she turned her frown upside down by making a list of all the things that don’t suck about stupid cancer.

Lord Jesus, even when we seem to have nothing but regrets; horrible recollections of our poor choices, sins, mistakes, and failures, we're grateful for a God who repairs things, makes things better, transforms them.  Thank you.  Amen

 

 

Get Up and Prance

“You’ve been saved, not by your own doing, but by the grace of God."  ~ Ephesians 2:8-9

Unlike humans, horses sleep by many short rest periods, often while standing.  In fact, if a horse lies down for too long at one time, it can cause serious health problems, even death.  That’s why when Dusty laid down on the soft ground for a period much longer than a short nap, his friend Wilbur got worried.   

“Dusty!” the pig coaxed.  “You gotta get up!”  The Vet’s on her way with medicine.  If that doesn’t work, she’ll have to put you down.  Be strong, my friend!”

The Vet arrived with a bucket of pills just like Wilbur predicted.  “Your horse is very ill,” she told the owner.  “I brought some drugs to try, but if he’s not up by morning . . . well, unfortunately, you know the routine.”

Such a kind woman, thought Wilbur.  What a terrible job - to have to end such a magnificent animal’s life.  But clinically, with death knocking on the barn’s door, he reasoned that decisions were made in the horse’s best interest – to end the pain, the agony, the loss of freedom.

Wilbur returned to his side.  “Come on buddy, get up or else you're going to die!  I'll help you!” 

Dusty remained immobile.

Wilbur’s mood darkened.  He’d failed to notice the gradual time ticking while his friend had aged: his hollowed facial appearance, the graying around his eyes and ears, the “swaying” of his back.  He pushed the thought of death quickly aside as if by avoiding it, it simply wouldn’t happen.

All night he begged and pleaded for Dusty to get up, to show the vitality so much a part of his equine character.  If need be, he wanted to bury his comrade by the tree where they used to stand in the afternoon sun and spring rains.

The sun rose, but before he’d accept the inevitable, he prayed one last time. “Listen ol’ pal, it's now or never!  Get up, be brave!” 

Slowly the beast stirred.  “Come on buddy, that’s it,” encouraged Wilbur.  “Don’t stop now.” 

On all four legs now, Dusty took a few wobbly steps, then a slow trot and finally a powerful gallop. 

“You did it!” squealed Wilbur.  You’re a champion!!!

The owner rushed to the pasture, saw Dusty prancing playfully and shouted “It’s a miracle!  My horse is cured.  This deserves a party.  Let's roast the pig!”

And so it goes.  Sometimes, we really don’t know who’s actually responsible for our success; who deserves the credit, or who actually contributes the necessary support to make things happen. God does!  He values small tasks as if they were great and noble . . . when done in His name.

Father, no matter what I achieve, I owe my success to God-given talents, opportunities and people outside me.  Remind me that the minute I allow success to build a feeling of arrogance, I become vulnerable to making bad choices.  Amen

Reunited

“Those who are alone when they fall have no one to help them." ~ Ecclesiastes 4:10

Jordan cautiously opened the letter handwritten by an old friend’s mother.  She wrote that her daughter was dying of a terminal illness and wondered if Jordan might want to come visit her.

Years ago a nasty teen-aged fight ended their childhood friendship.  It was stupid; they were immature, but neither had made any attempt to patch things up.  It might be time.

Jordan boarded a plane the very next day.

As the aircraft soared above the clouds, youthful memories flooded back.  Chloe had left a footprint on Jordan’s heart.  “Would you like to come over and play with my new puppy?” was all it took to cement a bond that would last almost to high school graduation.

For a dozen years, the two were nearly inseparable.  They shared hopes, dreams, and fears without judging.  Chloe knew her every smile, laugh and cry for what it really meant.

It wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies though; they had their disagreements.  They’d bicker and use the silent treatment occasionally, but it never lasted very long.  Even then, their fights were infrequent.

Then came their senior year, and what amounted to nothing more than a misunderstanding.  Chloe asked for permission to date Jordan’s ex-boyfriend.  Jordan was furious; she still hurt from something he’d done.  “Chloe should’ve have had my back,” she thought.  That included the #1 BFF Rule: “Never Date Your Friend’s Ex.”

An argument ensued, feelings were injured, a bond was broken.

Jordan cried for much of the flight’s remainder and well into the taxi ride to the hospital.

She entered Chloe’s room in the ICU but wasn’t prepared for what confronted her – so many tubes and monitors.  She rushed to her old friend and apologized profusely.  Chloe interrupted her.  “It's all right my dear friend.  It was my fault.  You’re here – that’s all that counts now."

They spent the whole day together, reminiscing about childhood pranks, days of crying over boys, and zany memories from the beach house.  Jordan stayed with Chloe until she whispered her last words: "I love you so much Jordan!  I couldn't have asked for a better way to spend my last day on earth.  I thank God for You!"  

Jordan had almost waited too long to forgive her friend.  Have you been there?  If you’re human, you probably have. 

Among the other mistakes we make when we stuff ourselves inside a self-made god, is the assumption that forgiveness is ours to give.  But forgiveness, like life itself, doesn’t have our name inscribed on it.  It’s not our property, much less our tool or weapon.  It flows from the one true God through us by the Holy Spirit to others.

Lord, we have hearts like mules.  Sometimes, the very thing that we think will preserve us, destroys us.  Let your forgiveness wash over us and into others, so that, together, we discover what a joy it is to ‘bury the hatchet’ in an unmarked grave.  Amen

Subway Savior

“You please God by offering each other a helping hand." ~ Galatians 6:2

Twice each day for nine years, Sandy’s subway excursion presented a migraine ‘opportunity.’   She closed her eyes imagining the most peaceful place she could think of.  In her ‘zone’ now, she started writing a card to a friend; all to block out obnoxious music and the thunderous rampage of steel wheels amplified off tunnel walls.  She wouldn’t be caught dead with a computer.  Handwritten text just felt better . . . more personal, more genuine.

Sandy hadn’t heard from Kim in a while.  Her note was meant to show she cared and would stay by her friend as long as it took; that she hadn't forgotten her.  Someone had been there for Sandy once, now she wanted to be that someone for Kim too. 

She’d almost finished her note, when a drunken man staggered clumsily down the aisle toward her.  He reeked of cheap wine and stale cigarettes.  Swallowing hard, she prayed he’d find an empty seat before reaching her.  No luck!  "Anyone s-sittin' there," he slurred.

Sandy forced an honest, though wary reply, "No. It's open."

He plopped down, jarring her with a shoulder before settling.  She flinched and put the unfinished card away for now; her mellow mood interrupted.

"Naame’s Baaar-ney.  How'reya doin' this wonnerful mor'nin?" he asked, head bobbing sideways.

Inhaling a cruel mixture of sweat and booze, she replied kindly, "Just . . . fine, thanks."  Sandy paused, grasping for some connection, "And how are you?"

"Yaknow, you looks lots li' my ex-wife.  Butcher perti-er."

Sandy blinked uneasily before responding, "Thank you!" then forging ahead she asked, "Where is she now?"

He listed forward as the train decelerated.  Squinting, he sucked air and enunciated two words: "Sheee . . . left."   After which he mumbled, "Don' blame-er."

The train stopped.  "S'my stop," he announced, pulling himself up.  As he turned, Sandy grabbed for his hand.  "It was . . . nice talking to you."  Maybe it was his drunkenness, but she felt him squeeze her hand.  Watching him stumble forward; she brought her hand to her face, smelling the remnants of his touch. 

She pulled out the unfinished card and quickly scratched out Kim’s name, replacing the salutation with Barney’s instead.   Sandy scribbled “Call me anytime,” to complete the card, then signed it with her full name and phone number.

“Barney!  Wait!” she shouted.  “This card’s for you.”

We all get so caught up in our own lives that we sometimes forget why we’re here.  Even strangers need somebody who will listen to their secrets, share their loneliness, and connect compassionately.  The smallest, unexpected gesture can make a difference.  Maybe Barney will call, maybe he’ll stop drinking . . . or maybe he won’t.  But when the alarm goes off for volunteer angels – will you answer His call?

Dear Lord, put someone in my path today, someone who needs a smile, some encouragement, maybe a hug.  Then don’t let me blow the opportunity to answer their prayer by serving You.  Amen

Fear of Flying

“Your Word is a guiding light for my life’s path.”  ~ Psalm 119:105

It’d been a long week, an even longer flight.  Frequent airsickness, insomnia, and a twinge of claustrophobia made travel for her, highly unpleasant.  Cramped seats, lousy food and cranky service completed her disdain for flying.  

That’s why when the Captain announced that they were expecting a ‘little’ turbulence, her anxiety soared.  And as she glanced around the aircraft, it became obvious that she wasn’t alone - others too were becoming uneasy at the approaching weather conditions.  Then all hell broke loose!

The ominous thunder cracks were audible even above the jet engine roar.  Lightening lit up the darkening skies and immediately the jetliner began bobbing like a cork on a celestial ocean.  One moment the airplane rose on enormous air currents; the next, it dropped as if it were about to crash, wingtips pitching like flyswatters.  Reality sunk in.

Life’s too short!  Its tenure flies by with such dizzying speed that all but a few exhaust it just before starting to live.  “What if I die right here - right now?” she wondered. 

She reasoned it’d be quick and painless.   “Had she been a good mother?  What about David, her husband?  The last memory he’ll have is the pointless quarrel they’d had the night 5 days ago.  They were the only thoughts that crossed her mind in those few intense seconds.

Scanning the cabin, the future seemed unforgiving; nearly all the passengers were alarmed.  Some were praying.  A few wept softly.  One small girl, perfectly calm, read a book: the storm meant nothing to her.

Everything within her world seemed trouble-free.  As the merciless storm pounded the plane, when it lurched this way and that, as it rose and fell with frightening brutality, when all the adults were scared to death, that amazing child sat poised and completely unafraid.

Cynthia couldn’t believe her eyes. 

Eventually the storm subsided.  As her adrenaline started to burn off, she gazed out the window at nothing but the blue waters of the Pacific Ocean and an even bluer sky.  Cynthia approached the little girl whose courage she’d admired and asked why she hadn’t been scared. 

The sweet child replied simply, “My Daddy’s the pilot and he’s taking me home.” 

Her father was in charge, controlling the trajectory, making sure she was homeward bound.  Is God at the ‘stick’ in your life or is He merely the co-pilot?  Is life about you, or is it about Him?  Are you a member of your church, or a Disciple of His?  Are you preparing for a heavenly destination? 

The answers lie within the still, small voice of God . . . awakening our souls to a spiritual journey, and yes, letting God be the Pilot-In-Command.

Precious Lord, I wanna live in Your peace, even when the storm winds blow.  If you have a plan for my life, You must’ve given me the tools, the passion and the life experiences to make it happen.  So God, what do You call me to do? 

This Old Barn

“The virtues you teach your children will be your most important legacy." ~ Deuteronomy 6:7

It didn’t put up much of a fight; it must have felt resigned to cessation.  I stood among a small crowd of onlookers who gathered to watch an excavator pull down the towering structure.

It stood majestic in its day – but icy winds and the scorching sun assaulted the old barn until the paint’s all gone and the wood turned silver grey.  The structure itself has far less value today, but what it stood for remains more important than ever. 

Despite missing windows and a rusted roof, it’s memories will forever radiate a cozy presence warmed by the nostalgia of horses chewing hay, kids discovering new adventures, and five 100W bulbs strung along its beams.

Our pioneer ancestors often put more immediacy in getting a barn built than a house.  As the old saying went, there were a lot of barns that paid for a house . . . but few houses ever paid for a barn.

If you know how to listen, a barn is happy to tell you its story.  It will gladly reveal its approximate age and the ethnicity of those who built it.  It can tell you what it was used for and how the barn’s owners adapted to economic challenges over time.  If you’re really good, it can tell you whether the person who carved the beams was left or right-handed.   

I dabbed a thick tear from the corner of my eye.  Even though it’s gone now, I’ll always find comfort in the legacy it left for me – solid, protective, self-sufficient - a beacon of significance.

Old barns are like people in many ways.  They’re strong and sturdy at first but, as they weather time, they begin to fall apart.  We age into rustic grey, and lean a lot more than we used to.  And someday, we too will be nothing more than distant memories.

Life brings many changes our way, some good and some not.  It’s how we react and accept these changes that make us or break us.  God uses the hard winters of our lives, the dry spells, and the stormy seasons, to test our faith and inspire those we will eventually leave behind.     

What kind of legacy will you leave?  Will it be enduring?  Or will you leave behind only tangible things – money and/or possessions?

You have probably heard the saying, “more is caught than taught.”  If you want your children to be truthful, then you need to be honest.  If you want them to serve others, let them see you serving.  If you want them to have an authentic relationship with Jesus, show them what that looks like in your life.

Heavenly Father, like an old barn, You called me to leave a legacy by building Your truth into the next generation.  Help me invest all You’ve graciously given me in the lives of others so that I will live humbly and wisely; not foolishly and selfishly.  Amen

His Speech

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." ~ MLK

This speech had to be different.  While the young man was well on his way to becoming a national political figure, relatively few outside the human rights movement had heard him speak.  He’d given plenty of speeches but none had been regarded as notable. 

He had to nail this one.  With all three major TV networks covering it live, this would be his rhetorical introduction to the nation.  It had to be relevant to millions of people – to calm, assure and inspire a nation. 

After a wide range of conflicting suggestions from trusted colleagues, the young man needed some privacy.  “Thank you for your advice,” he said modesty, “I’m going back to my room now to consult with my Lord.”  With that he left the room.

He finished the final outline about midnight; then spent the next few hours committing his thoughts to longhand.  The final draft was almost unreadable; words had been crossed out and overwritten three or four times.  It was as if he were crafting a poem; searching for the perfect cadence.

He fell asleep about 4am, giving the text to his aides to print and distribute.  His most famous lines were not in it. 

Speech Day was unusually hot and muggy.  Weary from long travels, the crowd’s mood began to wane as the young man (the program’s 16^th speaker) stepped to the microphone-crammed podium.  There were no high definition jumbotrons back in 1963.   All people could see was a speck crowded by dignitaries and their entourages.

Wearing a black suit, black tie and white shirt, the young man started slowly and stuck to a prepared text filled with newly crossed-out phrases and scribbles.  It was a decent speech, but rather boring.  Portions of the crowd started walking away; seeking respite from the heat under the trees on the Mall.

The young man sensed it too; he was falling way short.  So his set his text aside, paused and stared intensely into the crowd.  From that moment, he transformed himself from a lecturer to a Baptist Preacher.

For all of his careful preparation, the part of his “I Have A Dream” speech that went on to enter history books was added extemporaneously while he was standing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.  Aides had warned him not to use the lines about ‘I have a dream.’  It was considered trite, cliché, and King had used it too many times already.

But the Spirit moved him that day.  He turned aside his prepared remarks and didn’t return to them.  On August 28, 1963, the Reverend Martin Luther King stepped up to the podium, and stepped down on the other side of history.

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today!”  ~ MLK

The Body Trap

"Don’t worry about anything, but pray about everything." ~ Philippians 4:6

It’s behind the cherry wood kitchen cabinets where calories abound that my story begins.

While fixing dinner last night, our 8 year old daughter Chloe pranced into the kitchen, pulled up her shirt and asked “Am I fat?”  “Of course not,” I responded.  “You’re just right!”  Then I asked what prompted the question.

She said her tummy felt full after eating.  Relief washed over me like a cool breeze. “That’s the way our bodies tell us we’ve had enough to eat - like the gas gauge in our car.  When the gauge reads full, the car doesn’t need any more fuel.  It won't do any good to keep filling it; the gas will just be wasted.” 

That seemed to satisfy her curiosity, or so I thought.  Until today when I got a call from Chloe’s teacher asking why I hadn’t sent lunch for her the past few days.

Her question hung in the air in exactly the way a brick doesn't.  I can’t remember how, or even if, I replied.  Shock quickly turned to fear, recalling the articles I’d read about how anorexia was spreading among elementary children.  Slumping lifelessly onto the couch I wept.  Then sobbed even harder, consumed by feelings of guilt, panic and helplessness.

Before today, I thought eating disorders happened to other people’s kids.  Not to my daughter, who was savvy and wise, strong and funny.

Before today I thought kids with anorexia wanted attention; that they were perfectionists, bored or self-destructive.  But my daughter was none of those things. 

We’ve always been a close family, open to discuss things, not judgmental, not punitive.  We needed to save our daughter, but we had no tools.  Nothing in our bag of parenting tricks was remotely useful in this situation.  We couldn’t reason with her; anorexia overpowers rational thought.  We needed professional help.

Just then Chloe walked in, noticed I’d been crying and snuggled up next to me.

“Honey,” I began, “The school called and said that you’ve not been eating the lunches I send each day.  Are you dieting to lose weight?  Are you OK?”

Confused, Chloe looked up.  Her expression lacked the maturity it takes to understand the sinister dangers of this world.  She said, "Katie’s Mom is in the hospital and hasn’t been able to make any meals for the last week, so I gave her a few of my lunches.” 

Praise God!

God calls us to something greater than a life of balancing scales; He calls us to place the full weight of our struggles on Scripture’s promises.  To Him, we’re more than any number - neither our weight nor our grade-point averages can define.

Lord, let me accept each day as a gift.  Help me to be thankful for what You give me and trust You’ll take care of all my needs.  Remind me that my role is to love those around me and focus on those who need my help.  Amen