The Love Letter

“Honor your father and your mother!" ~ Exodus 20:12

By the time she was 18, Lacey had weathered a series of crises including a cancer scare, bullying at school, and now a breakup with her longtime boyfriend.  Long time for teens anyway: 31 months.

She’d shown a wide variety of powerful and destructive emotions: sadness, anger, humiliation, fear, confusion, jealousy, and regret.  Lacey recalled those feelings when she’d hit bottom: "I didn’t care what happened to me and couldn't care less what happened to the people around me.  I’d lost all hope!”

Eventually, about six weeks after the break-up, a feeling of relief emerged.  She’d survived … with the help of her church, friends, and especially her parents.  As her thoughts turned from inward out, she realized just how kind, loving, and reassuring her parents had been during that time and in fact, her entire life.

Lacey was too self-conscious to tell them how much she loved and appreciated them F2F, so one night she poured her heart into a letter and placed it where she knew they’d find it before going to bed.

“Dear Mom and Dad, these past couple of months have not been easy … for any of us!  But I, for one, would never have made it out of my miserable funk without your love and support.  Thank you for all the times you told me it was going to be okay.  Thank you for making me laugh when I was sad.  And thank you for nudging me to look forward with renewed hope.  If I learned anything in this journey, it’s that you two are the most important people in my life, and I love you more than anything.  When I have children, I want to be just like you.  Love Lacey   xxooxo”

Hours later they burst into her room, shook Lacey awake, and hugged her.  Eyelids flickered to the unlit room.  She didn’t know what was going on until Lacey saw the letter in her Mom’s hand.

Then perhaps more fully awake than she’d ever been, Lacey recalled seeing tears in her Dad’s eyes for the first time in her life.  She didn’t speak; soaking in the pure joy in their faces.  Her simple note had touched them in incomprehensible ways.  It had made them happy and that was enough.

Oh the power of a single act of love.  A kind word can heal a heart and change a life.  The most beautiful thing in this world is to see your parents smiling, and knowing that you’re the reason.

For all that our parents do for us, there’s no way of repaying them.  Though they do not expect anything but love from us, an occasional thank you or an acknowledgment to appreciate them, might just make them happy.

O God, thank you for my parents who have loved me and cared for me.  Help me to show how much I appreciate them.  Forgive me for the times I've made them sad.  Keep them close to one another in this life and in the next.  Amen

He Picks You

"You didn’t choose me, but I chose you.”  ~ John 15:16

Malik recognized that look.  His shoulders were slumped; eyes cast in a mournful gaze.  Isaiah’s mouth framed a semi-pout.  He kicked a stone along the sidewalk, trying to make some sense of it as he replayed the most humiliating moment of the day.

They’d moved here three weeks ago but his son had not made any meaningful friends yet.  And he’d apparently been deemed hopelessly unathletic by a jury of elementary schoolers.

“I didn’t get picked …today at recess,” Isaiah began.  “In kickball … when they picked teams, nobody … wanted me on … their team,” he continued as moisture formed on his eyelashes.

Malik could tell from the broken flow in his voice that this information came straight from the boy’s heart.  The only thing more difficult than being alone, he thought, was watching your six year old son consumed by a loneliness that seems to rob him of all hope.

Malik felt a sharp pain in his own chest.  He’d been there with his other kids too.  Dad, I didn’t make the team.  I didn’t get invited.  I didn’t get the part.  And he didn’t have to travel too far down memory lane to recall similar events in his own life - wasn’t asked to attend; wasn’t asked to help; didn’t make the invitation list.

He stepped in front of his son, bending down to get eye-level with Isaiah.  There on the sidewalk, a hint of fall in the breeze that blew across his dejected cheeks, Malik remembered something that was shared regularly in a church they attended since moving here.

They stand after Communion, hold hands and spoke these precious words: “I am totally accepted, deeply loved, completely forgiven, and empowered to live a new life in Christ because of the resurrection of Jesus.”  The truth aroused him through the whispers of autumn leaves.

“Zay,” he said.  “God always picks you.  So much that He sent Jesus.  He loves you completely.  And He always picks Isaiah.”  Malik tilted Isaiah’s head so he could see his eyes.  “He always picks you!”

The little boy cracked a slight grin.  Malik caressed his cheek and kissed his forehead.  He took his Dad’s enormous hand into his.  “OK,” he said, “race you home?”

And as he watched the boy charge ahead, skipping like a stone bouncing across a glossy lake, his giggles created ripples of mirth for a brighter day tomorrow.  Malik knew that was enough.

Feeling rejected is universal; something common to everyone who breathes.  Since that first bite of the forbidden fruit, we live in a fallen world and feeling left out is become a part of life.  We can’t always protect our kids from life’s bumps and bruises.  But we can remind them that they are totally accepted, deeply loved … and always chosen.

Almighty Father, thank you for choosing me and redeeming me.  Help me turn my back on worry and crush fear under my feet.  Thank you for loving, caring and always believing in me.   Amen

Coming Home

“A heart at peace gives life to the body.” ~ Proverbs 14:30

He arrived at the Lincoln No-Kill Shelter (LiNKS) a picture of health, groomed, shining and a tail that moved faster than a nail gun; clearly not your average stray.  He looked like a guy who could run all day and still be eager to go again.  He probably began life as a farm or hunting dog.  The staff figured he was a recent runaway or castoff.

Nameless at first, they began calling him Affinity.  He seemed to have a natural ability to read the emotions of other dogs.  New arrivals dealing with fear and anxiety appeared comforted by the handsome hound.  He knew just how to handle them.

Thus, placing Affinity in a new home was a cinch.  Keeping him there would prove infinitely more difficult.

His first adoption lasted just 5 days; the next only 2.

The third adopter was genuinely dedicated to making things work.  But the precocious hound had other plans.  Affinity, returned to LiNKS four times – dropped off once by a good Samaritan, twice by animal control, and finally by his adopter.

Although it broke his heart, the man feared the dog would become lost for good, injured, or even killed during one of his disappearances.  So he returned the dog to LiNKS permanently.

There are many reasons why an otherwise happy dog may run away.  Each new family interested in Affinity was warned of his Houdini-like escape skills.

Adoptions 5 through 9 ended similarly.  By now Affinity had turned escaping into an art form.  There was simply no fence too high and no screen door too strong to tame his wanderlust.  The staff wondered if he was lonely, bored or suffering from separation anxiety.  Maybe he’d fled in response to fear stimuli like storms, fireworks or construction in the home.

Regardless, the folks at LiNKS were done placing him for adoption.

Over time they realized Affinity was desperately trying to tell them something.  As far as he was concerned, LiNKS was home.

He’d returned to where he belonged.  At the dog shelter, he played with dozens of other dogs every day and got lots of good food and extra love from staff members.

Later the staff discovered that the serum from Affinity’s blood had healing properties.  He donates blood every two weeks for kittens with eye infections!

There’s a perfect place for every dog in this world.  For Affinity, it wasn’t a traditional home, but a No-Kill shelter helping rescue dogs and amusing rescue workers!  A troublesome pooch like him may not have received so many chances at another facility.  Had they given up on him, they never would’ve discovered his incredible gift for helping other dogs.

Lord, bless Affinity and all the animals on earth.  May they carry out the purpose that they’ve been given and may each of them help to remind us that they’re Your creation.  Help us to see all animals as gifts from You and to treat them with respect.  Amen

The Runaway Miracle

“God’s love is God’s love is perfect - unconditional, forgiving, and everlasting.” ~ John 3:16

No matter how many layers of cardboard she arranged for a mattress, her bones still ached; let alone the rodents that preyed on her young flesh.  Bianka, her mother, and thousands of others lived crammed into shacks made from packing crates and corrugated tin.

The largest slum in Central America, La Carpio is an isolated section of San José bordered by two polluted rivers, a sewage plant and the city’s landfill.  It’s where refugees settled following Nicaragua’s bloody civil war in the 1980’s.

Massive overcrowding spawned appalling levels of poverty, crime, disease and sexual abuse.

Bianka left a brief note on the table:  “I’m running away – please don’t look for me.”  She left her barrio of 14 years not knowing where she was headed, how she’d survive or who she’d meet; but didn’t care.  She was free … that’s all that mattered.

Bianka longed to see the world.  Tired of a home having only a dirt floor, abysmal water quality, and a bare food pantry, she dreamed of a better life.  She hated La Carpio and the desperate sounds of hungry children.

Knowing what life on the streets would be like for her naïve daughter, Bianka’s mother Livia hurriedly packed to go find her.  Before leaving, however, she stopped for one last thing.  She sat in the photo booth, closed the curtain, and spent all she could on pictures of herself.  With a purse full of photos, she boarded the first bus to San José.

Livia knew Bianka had no way of earning money.  But her daughter was too stubborn to quit.  When hunger meets ego, people will do the unthinkable to survive.

She searched bars, hotels, nightclubs, any place with the reputation for prostitutes.  She left her picture taped on bathroom mirrors, bulletin boards and utility poles.  On the back of each photo she wrote a note.

Soon both the money and pictures ran out.  Livia wept as she boarded the bus back to La Carpio.

Weeks later, her shoulders slumped as Bianka descended the flophouse stairs.  Once brilliant eyes cast a mournful gaze of pain and fear.  She looked exhausted; her dream had become a nightmare.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes detected a familiar face.  There on the lobby mirror was a picture of her mother.  She raced across the room, removed the small photo, and read its gripping invitation:  "Whatever you’ve done - it doesn't matter.  Please come home!"

Bianka caught the next bus home.

She still didn’t know how she’d survive or where they’d live, but didn’t care.  Bianka felt her Mom’s unconditional love … home was all that mattered.  They’d figure something out – together.

Lord, thank You for Your unconditional love.  Whereas others may or may not decide to love us only after we have entered their lives, You love us, flaws and all.  Thank You, for welcoming us into Your divine family as your sons and daughters.  Amen

The Thingamagig Store

“Be a loving and kind example for your children." ~ Proverbs 22:6

Some fathers try to appeal to their children by showering them with gifts rather than giving of themselves.  Others play ball, take them camping, or build tree houses.  Joe let his son tag along with him – to his office, while mowing the lawn or to the store.  Funny how some kids actually get great joy from doing things that adults consider work.

Hardware stores were Joe’s idea of heaven.  He’d open the door, inhale the signature odor of lawn fertilizer, sawdust and house paint, and sink in.  He admired tools he'd never buy and think up projects he’d never start.  To him, the hardware store was a dusty temple of useful stuff.

Homer’s Hardware was his favorite: old fashioned, cash only, not a computer in the place.  They’d walk across an old wood floor – worn smooth and devoid of stain or varnish; complete with squeaks and uneven joints.  It was the kind of place you went when you needed a whatchamacallit or a thingamajig.  You could simply say “I need a little thing about this big and that color; they knew exactly what it was and where to find it.  Try that at Lowes.

The store had narrow aisles and tall shelves filled with an vast array of items for just about anything: vacuum bags, propane tanks, rakes, hoses, watering cans, charcoal grills, tape, glue, smoke alarms, door hinges and saw blades.  You could even buy a single bolt or screw without purchasing the whole package.  Try that at Home Depot.

Saturday mornings were an educational experience for Jack as his Dad wandered about, stopping to point out things he thought might impress his son.  Like the store was a kind of museum and Joe was its docent.

Joe was conversant in sink parts, belt sanders, conduit, Elmer's Glue and every kind of garden tool. Honestly, Jack wasn't paying much attention, because his own love of hardware stores was based on things like how much dryer vent hoses resembled the arms of the robot on "Lost in Space."  But it was time their time together – Joe sharing a small corner of his world with a son he cherished.

Joe knew he only had one chance to be with his son before Jack grew up.  And that if he wanted his son to respect him in later years, he had to build that relationship before it was too late; while Jack was still young.

Parents - your children will grow up too soon.

As they reach later and later developmental stages, you’ll look back wistfully at how quickly it went, how quickly their innocence and childlike dependence on you evaporated.  Your child also presents you with an opportunity to grow.  Seize that opening.

Lord, thank you for my dear parents.  Help me to show how much I appreciate them.  Forgive me for the times I've made them sad.  Bless them with good health and happiness.   Keep them close to one another in this life and in the next.  Amen

No Seconds

“The Lord will never leave you nor forsake you." ~ Deuteronomy 31:8

Wayne Ford will die soon!

He sat cross-legged, a thin blanket across his lap, atop the concrete bench that served as his bed on San Quentin’s East Block.

Stale air filtered out from his dark cell.  He’d been relieved of all possessions except a well-worn Bible and a guitar missing the ‘D’ string; solitary punishment for crimes 19 years ago and too heinous to mention.

Death row was off-limits to most of the activities and volunteers that flooded the rest of San Quentin with theatrical, educational, and music programs.  There was simply no space in East Block.  Even the chapel’s Easter service had been held in a converted shower bay.

Joshua, his assigned guard, entered the cell with breakfast: chopped something on week-old toast.  Wayne had gotten used to it – after all, it wasn’t like his body needed much nutrition anymore.

As had become a daily custom, Joshua and Wayne prayed together.  Joshua had made certain that Wayne (and every other death row inmate) had the opportunity to know the transforming power of the Gospel before they died.

Today Wayne prayed, not for a stay of execution, but for God’s forgiveness.  He’d accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior a dozen years ago and become a devoted Christian ever since.

When they finished the devotional, Joshua asked, “Wayne, what do you want for your final meal?”

And there it was!  He knew from other inmates that last-meal planning marked the start of “The Death March” which began 14 days before the execution.  Time was running out.

The room began spinning.  Wayne sank to the floor, trying to make time slow down.  He felt sick.  Taking a deep, calming breath, he asked, “Can I have a little time to think about it?”

Joshua left him alone.

Barring last-minute legal action Wayne knew the last meal was his last chance to control anything that happened in those final hours.  Memories of favorite foods immediately flooded his thoughts.

Grandma Mae’s fried chicken, made with sweet potatoes, deep fried in olive oil.  A side of chili cheese fries with honey-glazed smoked bacon bits or fried jalapenos.  Classic iced mint lemonade with a slice of lime.  And for desert, his mother’s chocolate caramel date pudding.  Oh, the many choices to consider!

Joshua returned to Wayne’s cell before shift change.  “Have you decided on something delicious?” he queried.

Wayne’s voice caught as he meekly uttered, “I think I’d like a small piece of bread and some grape juice please.  If it’s good enough for my Lord on His last earthly day, it’s more than enough for a sinner like me.  It is (nearly) finished.”

“In my cell so dark and dreary, the touch of God's hand I can feel.  Asking Him to please forgive me, before Him pleading I will kneel.  I know someday beyond the sunset, He'll call my name to make amends.  Till that day I'll keep on prayin' and ask that He forgive my sins.”  ~ Hank Snow, “Prisoner’s Prayer”

Jesus and the Easter Bunny

“I am the resurrection and the life; those who believe in Me will live forever.” ~ John 11:25

According to a recent study, curious children ask a staggering 73 questions every day ... half of which parents struggle to answer.  Riley’s question this morning clearly caught his Mom off guard.

“What does the Easter Bunny have to do with Jesus?” ask the unusually bright 4-year old.

“That’s great question,” Donna stammered, trying to buy a little time.  Faced with two choices, (making something up or admitting she had no idea), she said “Let me have a little time to think about that one.”  Then quickly turned to Google.

Later that day she offered Riley this explanation.

“There's no story in the Bible, “she began, “about the cotton-tailed creature known as the Easter Bunny.  Nor is there a verse about children painting eggs or hunting for baskets filled with tasty Easter goodies.”

“Sometimes,” Mom continued, “people made up stories for things they couldn’t understand.  Many years ago, bunnies, eggs, and fluffy, yellow chicks became part of the celebration of Easter honoring the day Jesus died but came alive again. It’s never happened again.  That’s what makes Easter so special.”

Way back then, people in Germany enjoyed a festival to honor Eostra, the fairy-tale goddess of Spring and Fertility.  When it came to finding a symbol for Eostra, rabbits hopped to mind because rabbits are really good at making more rabbits.  Like Jesus, they’re also gentle, kind hearted and forgiving.

One day a little girl found an injured bird and prayed to Eostra for help.  Magically, the goddess turned the bird into a rabbit, promising that, for her good deed, she would return at the end of Lent to bring the child rainbow colored eggs.  (Back then, people couldn’t eat eggs during Lent.)  Eggs were an ancient symbol for rebirth, like Jesus emerging from His grave and rising to heaven.

Both rabbits and eggs around Easter soon meshed into a single tradition with stories of Easter bunnies hiding colorful eggs in gardens for children to find.  The tradition of making nests for the rabbits to lay its eggs soon followed.  Eventually, nests became decorated baskets and colorful eggs were swapped for candy, treats and other small gifts.  It wasn't long before chocolate found its way into the modern form of Easter.”

“Riley, the TRUE story of Easter is a little confusing,” Mom said, “but you’ll understand it more as you get older.  I love that the Easter story uses eggs, baskets, and a bunny to honor Jesus.  He was a friendly man who taught us about love and heaven.  Jesus died and it was sad, but then He came back to prove that He was God's son and show us that there could be life after death.

“Black is for the wrong things we have done, Red’s the blood He shed for every one. Green’s for growing His Word in your heart, put your trust in Jesus for a brand-new start.” Amen  ~ A Jellybean Prayer

Hopeful Grip

"In God’s eyes, all human life is sacred." ~ Genesis 9:6

They’d been trying frantically for a baby.  Julie, an obstetrics nurse, had suffered two miscarriages before she became pregnant.

Then, at 14 weeks, she started having painful cramps.  An ultrasound painted a grim picture that every parent-to-be dreads - spina bifida. Their unborn son’s spine had failed to close properly during the first month of pregnancy.

If a baby survives, spina bifida often leaves debilitating defects including hydrocephaly and a host of devastating secondary conditions.  Abortion was encouraged as an option.

But after years of trying to conceive, the couple believed that God had chosen this baby for them.  Scripture is clear on the sanctity of life in the womb; ending the pregnancy was never an option.

Based on her medical training, Julie discovered a pioneering program of in-utero surgery at a hospital in Nashville.  The theory behind the surgery is that repairing spine disorder before the baby is born prevents or limits brain damage, and gives a better chance of healing.

After intensive discussions with the medical staff, they not only gave surgical approval for their  21-week-old Samuel, they also agreed to let a photographer capture the surgery on film to increase awareness of this innovative procedure.

Tension mounted as the surgery began.  The procedure would take place within the uterus; no part of the child was to breach the surgical opening.

The procedure took less than 90 minutes and seemed to go well.  As the photographer stepped forward to get a final shot, the uterus shook violently from within.

Suddenly, an entire arm thrust out of the surgical opening, then pulled back until just a little hand was showing.  The doctor reached over and lifted the tiny hand that reacted by squeezing his finger as if to say “Thank You!”  Testing for strength, the doctor shook the tiny fist.  Samuel held firm as the photographer shot.

The image captured the amazing event with perfect clarity.  The “Hand of Hope” photo instantly went viral and has been used extensively by pro-life and Christian organizations to illustrate life inside the womb.

Samuel’s surgery delivered the results his parents had prayed for.  The hydrocephalus began shrinking immediately.  By the time their young son was born 15 weeks later, his brain damage had also reversed.

Now an active teenager, Samuel Armas has become a pro-life advocate.  "When I see that picture, he said, “the first thing I think of is how special and lucky I am to have God use me that way.  There is no debate about whether a child in utero is alive; the debate is over whether or not they are worthy of protection.  By witnessing such divine miracles, scientific research within the womb is challenging many to reconsider that question.”

Father God, all life is in Your care.  You’ve entrusted us to one another, that we may show everyone the same love You have for us.  We pray, then, for the least among us, the children in the womb.   Protect them from the violence of abortion.  Amen

Take Up Your Cross

“Jesus said, “If you to follow me, deny yourself, carry your cross and follow me." ~ Matt 16:24

The dawn came with musical silence; Raelyn’s soul heard the melody that her ears could not.  A new day had come, new possibilities, a fresh page yet to be written.

To her friends, she appeared strong.  But deep down, she felt the kind of sadness that leached into your bones rather than exploded in a cascade of tears.

Her friend invited the family to visit their cottage in Michigan, but they couldn’t go.

Heather, their 23-year-old daughter had been suffering from anorexia for more than a decade.  Her weight was that of a small child.  They’d nearly run out of options until a chance Facebook posting last fall brought Heather the first breath of hope in years.

Treating anorexia, which is characterized by self-starvation and an inability to maintain adequate body weight, seems absurdly simple on the surface: just eat and gain weight.  It’s something Heather and the millions of others afflicted by eating disorders have heard many times.  But it’s never that simple.

Raelyn had long since lost track of the number of times Heather had been admitted to a treatment program with electrolyte imbalances caused by starvation or self-induced vomiting, or thoughts of suicide.  She’d gain weight during the program, then return to her old ways when discharged.

So for more than 20 years, she remained miserably, incurably, trapped.

Up to one in five people with chronic anorexia will die as a result of their illness, either from the effects of starvation or to suicide.  It’s the deadliest of all psychiatric disorders.

Scientists have made tremendous progress in treating teenage anorexia before the disorder becomes chronic.  But this hasn’t translated into effective treatments for adults.

In Ohio, an experimental five-day intensive program requires patients and up to four support people to join them for treatment.  So Raelyn’s family vacation will be spent in Ohio this summer with Heather and their last hope before hospice for successful treatment.  She felt the weight of the sadness in her heart; making no effort to chase it away.

“It's okay to be sad . . . especially about sad things," thought Raelyn.  There's a single word for a burden we bear for the good of others: CROSS.

She thought about Jesus and "Take up your cross and follow me."  There's a difference between taking up a cross begrudgingly and accepting it as a heavy gift for someone else.  Jesus wasn't happy about His situation; He pleaded three times to have that cup taken from Him.  Yet He didn't resent having to die for the sake of the world.  He was sad, but did what He had to.

Jesus or the comforts of this life?  It’s a tough call, but the reward is incomparable.

“Here I am Lord.  It is I Lord.  I have heard You calling in the night.  I will go Lord, if You lead me.  I will hold Your people in my heart.”  Amen

Silent Grief

"He comforts us so that we’re able to help others when needed." ~ 2 Corinthians 1:4

It was her last of several visits today.  She rapped softly on the oak door, tucking her personal worries and problems to the back of her mind.  It’s time for comforting words and compassionate presence.  She’d been doing this for two decades and knew scripture by heart, yet clamped to her chest she carried a leather bound Bible.   Pastor Carrie knew that just the sight of it brought comfort in times of pain.

The door opens and she’s mindful to project warmth and genuine caring.  This is why she came to this profession, this calling - to bring God’s Word to those in need.

Her visit brought needed relief to a woman grieving the death of a stillborn child.   Mission accomplished.   Her Savior’s grace brought temporary joy to a personal life (Carrie’s) laden with a sadness forever etched just below her consciousness.

Not until her young daughter died in a horrifying car accident, one that could have avoided had she not been in such a hurry, did she truly understand grief’s intensity - piercing, crushing, and enduring.

The sudden death of a child disrupts the natural order of life.   She’d forever remember that day as the one in which her life froze.  Her death marked the loss of innocence, the future, of hopes and dreams.

Life wouldn’t be the same … ever!  Insomnia haunted her nights; fatigue ruled her days.  She was inescapably gripped by a whirlpool of pain – swift, relentless, dark.

Exhausted and emotionally shattered, Carrie tumbled into bed and surrendered to sleep this night.  As her brain slowly let go, she entered the surreal universe where dreams soothed and balanced one’s soul.

At first a lazy fog hung in the air, obscuring her view of a ghostly figure.  As the mist cleared, a small girl emerged.  Chestnut brown hair lay on her shoulders like a flowing waterfall, emerald eyes as bright as a sunrise.  Her smile was warm with a hint of humility.

She stumbled forward, struggling with the weight of two large water buckets - way too heavy for her small frame.

Something vaguely familiar about this child peaked Carrie’s interest.  She asked: “Sweetheart, what are you carrying that’s so very heavy?”

The angelic figure replied in a soft, sweet voice: “Your tears Mommy!”

Only after that dream did her heart begin to heal.

The spiritual battles and pressure your pastor faces are unprecedented.  We tend to believe their theology prepared them to see the God’s glorious purposes and are thus immune from the frailties of grief.

Untrue!  Pastors grieve just like every other human being and often, given the intensity of their profession, more deeply.  Strengthen and encourage your pastor through prayer and thanksgiving.

Lord Jesus, Thank you for all pastors/priests and the burden they carry for us.  Grant them the rest they need.  Help me to remember that I can help by volunteering my time and talents so that my pastor doesn’t have to take on that task.  Amen