Scars

Some years ago on a hot summer day in south Florida, a little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole behind his house.

In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went. He flew into the water, not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake, an alligator was swimming toward the shore.

His mother, in the house, was looking out the window, saw the two as they got closer and closer together. In utter fear, she ran toward the water, yelling to her son as loudly as she could. Hearing her voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his mother.

It was too late. Just as he reached her, the alligator reached him. From the dock, the mother grabbed her little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began an incredible tug-of-war between the two.

The alligator was much stronger than the mother, but the mother was much too passionate to let go.

A farmer happened to drive by, heard her screams, raced from his truck, took aim and shot the alligator.

Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived.

His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal. And, on his arms, were deep scratches where his mother’s fingernails dug into his flesh in her effort to hang on to the son she loved.

The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, “But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my mom wouldn’t let go.”

You and I can identify with that little boy. We have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, or anything quite so dramatic. But, the scars of a painful past. Some of those scars are unsightly and have caused us deep regret.

But, some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused to let go.

In the midst of your struggle, He’s been there holding on to you. The Scripture teaches that God loves you. If you have Christ in your life, you have become a child of God. He wants to protect you and provide for you in every way.

But sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous situations. The swimming hole of life is filled with peril – and we forget that the enemy is waiting to attack. That’s when the tug-o-war begins, and if you have the scars of His love on your arms be very, very grateful.

He did not – and will not – let you go. Time is a very precious gift of God; so precious that it’s only given to us moment by moment.

— Author Unknown

Meditation: When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, Nor shall the flame scorch you. – Isaiah 43:2

You will succeed in Jesus Name!

Pinewood Derby

The wisdom of a child

My son Gilbert was eight years old and had been in Cub Scouts only a short time. During one of his meetings, he was handed a sheet of paper, a block of wood and four tires and told to return home and give all to “dad”.

That was not an easy task for Gilbert to do. Dad was not receptive to doing things with his son. But Gilbert tried. Dad read the paper and scoffed at the idea of making a pinewood derby car with his young, eager son. The block of wood remained untouched as the weeks passed.

Finally, mom stepped in to see if I could figure this all out. The project began. Having no carpentry skills, I decided it would be best if I simply read the directions and let Gilbert do the work. And he did. I read aloud the measurements, the rules of what we could do and what we couldn’t do.

Within days his block of wood was turning into a pinewood derby car. A little lopsided, but looking great (at least through the eyes of mom). Gilbert had not seen any of the other kids’ cars and was feeling pretty proud of his “Blue Lightning”, the pride that comes with knowing you did something on your own.

Then the big night came. With his blue pinewood derby in his hand and pride in his heart, we headed to the big race. Once there my little one’s pride turned to humility. Gilbert’s car was obviously the only car made entirely on his own. All the other cars were a father-son partnership, with cool paint jobs and sleek body styles made for speed.

A few of the boys giggled as they looked at Gilbert’s lopsided, wobbly, unattractive vehicle. To add to the humility, Gilbert was the only boy without a man at his side. A couple of the boys who were from single parent homes at least had an uncle or grandfather by their side, Gilbert had “mom”.

As the race began it was done in elimination fashion. You kept racing as long as you were the winner. One by one the cars raced down the finely sanded ramp. Finally, it was between Gilbert and the sleekest, fastest looking car there. As the last race was about to begin, my wide-eyed, shy eight year old ask if they could stop the race for a minute, because he wanted to pray. The race stopped.

Gilbert went to his knees clutching his funny looking block of wood between his hands. With a wrinkled brow, he set to converse with his Father. He prayed in earnest for a very long minute and a half. Then he stood, smile on his face and announced, ‘Okay, I am ready.”

As the crowd cheered, a boy named Tommy stood with his father as their car sped down the ramp. Gilbert stood with his Father within his heart and watched his block of wood wobble down the ramp with surprisingly great speed and rushed over the finish line a fraction of a second before Tommy’s car.

Gilbert leapt into the air with a loud “Thank You” as the crowd roared in approval. The Scout Master came up to Gilbert with the microphone in hand and asked the obvious question, “So you prayed to win, huh, Gilbert?”

To which my young son answered, “Oh, no sir. That wouldn’t be fair to ask God to help you beat someone else. I just asked Him to make it so I wouldn’t cry when I lost.”

Children seem to have wisdom far beyond us. Gilbert didn’t ask God to win the race, he didn’t ask God to fix the outcome. Gilbert asked God to give him strength in the outcome.

When Gilbert first saw the other cars he didn’t cry out to God, “No fair, they had a father’s help!”. No, he went to his Father for strength. Perhaps we spend too much of our prayer time asking God to rig the race, to make us number one, or too much time asking God to remove us from the struggle, when we should be seeking God’s strength to get through the struggle. “I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13

Gilbert’s simple prayer spoke volumes to those present that night. He never doubted that God would indeed answer his request. He didn’t pray to win, thus hurt someone else, he prayed that God supply the grace to lose with dignity. Gilbert, by his stopping the race to speak to his Father also showed the crowd that he wasn’t there without a “dad”, but His Father was most definitely there with him. Yes, Gilbert walked away a winner that night, with his Father at his side.

May we all learn to pray this way.

— Author Unknown

Meditation: Therefore it is also contained in the Scripture, “Behold, I lay in Zion A chief cornerstone, elect, precious, And he who believes on Him will by no means be put to shame.” – 1 Peter 2:6

You will succeed in Jesus Name!

Pancakes and Love

Six-year-old Brandon decided one Saturday morning to fix his parents pancakes. He found a big bowl and spoon, pulled a chair to the counter, opened the cupboard and pulled out the heavy flour canister, spilling it on the floor. He scooped some of the flour into the bowl with his hands, mixed in most of a cup of milk and added some sugar, leaving a floury trail on the floor which by now had a few tracks left by his kitten.

Brandon was covered with flour and getting frustrated. He wanted this to be something very good for Mom and Dad, but it was getting very bad. He didn’t know what to do next, whether to put it all into the oven or on the stove, and he didn’t know how the stove worked!

Suddenly he saw his kitten licking from the bowl of mix and reached to push her away, knocking the egg carton to the floor. Frantically he tried to clean up this monumental mess but slipped on the eggs, getting his pajamas white and sticky. And just then he saw Dad standing at the door. Big crocodile tears welled up in Brandon’s eyes. All he’d wanted to do was make them proud. He was sure a scolding was coming, maybe even a spanking.

But his father just watched him. Then, walking through the mess, he picked up his crying son, hugged him and loved him, getting his own pajamas white and sticky in the process.

That’s how God deals with us. We try to do something good in life, but it turns into a mess. Our marriage gets all sticky or we insult a friend or we can’t stand our job or our health goes sour. Sometimes we just stand there in tears because we can’t think of anything else to do.

That’s when God picks us up and loves us and forgives us, even though some of our mess gets all over Him. But just because we might mess up, we can’t stop trying to “make pancakes” for God or for others. Sooner or later we’ll get it right, and then they’ll be glad we tried…

— Author Unknown

Meditation: Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; Wait, I say, on the Lord! – Psalm 27:14

You will succeed in Jesus Name!

One Act of Kindness

One act of kindness that befell British writer Bernard Hare in 1982 changed him profoundly. Then a student living just north of London, he tells the story to inspire troubled young people to help deal with their disrupted lives.

The police called at my student hovel early evening, but I didn’t answer as I thought they’d come to evict me. I hadn’t paid my rent in months. But then I got to thinking: my mum hadn’t been too good and what if it was something about her?

We had no phone in the hovel and mobiles hadn’t been invented yet, so I had to nip down the phone box.

I rang home to Leeds to find my mother was in hospital and not expected to survive the night. “Get home, son,” my dad said.

I got to the railway station to find I’d missed the last train. A train was going as far as Peterborough, but I would miss the connecting Leeds train by twenty minutes.

I bought a ticket home and got on anyway. I was a struggling student and didn’t have the money for a taxi the whole way, but I had a screwdriver in my pocket and my bunch of skeleton keys.

I was so desperate to get home that I planned to nick a car in Peterborough, hitchhike, steal some money, something, anything. I just knew from my dad’s tone of voice that my mother was going to die that night and I intended to get home if it killed me.

“Tickets, please,” I heard, as I stared blankly out of the window at the passing darkness. I fumbled for my ticket and gave it to the guard when he approached. He stamped it, but then just stood there looking at me. I’d been crying, had red eyes and must have looked a fright.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Course I’m okay,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I be? And what’s it got to do with you in any case?”

“You look awful,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You could get lost and mind your own business,” I said. “That’d be a big help.” I wasn’t in the mood for talking.

He was only a little bloke and he must have read the danger signals in my body language and tone of voice, but he sat down opposite me anyway and continued to engage me.

“If there’s a problem, I’m here to help. That’s what I’m paid for.”

I was a big bloke in my prime, so I thought for a second about physically sending him on his way, but somehow it didn’t seem appropriate. He wasn’t really doing much wrong. I was going through all the stages of grief at once: denial, anger, guilt, withdrawal, everything but acceptance. I was a bubbling cauldron of emotion and he had placed himself in my line of fire.

The only other thing I could think of to get rid of him was to tell him my story.

“Look, my mum’s in hospital, dying, she won’t survive the night, I’m going to miss the connection to Leeds at Peterborough, I’m not sure how I’m going to get home.

“It’s tonight or never, I won’t get another chance, I’m a bit upset, I don’t really feel like talking, I’d be grateful if you’d leave me alone. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, finally getting up. “Sorry to hear that, son. I’ll leave you alone then. Hope you make it home in time.” Then he wandered off down the carriage back the way he came.

I continued to look out of the window at the dark. Ten minutes later, he was back at the side of my table. Oh no, I thought, here we go again. This time I really am going to rag him down the train.

He touched my arm. “Listen, when we get to Peterborough, shoot straight over to Platform One as quick as you like. The Leeds train’ll be there.”

I looked at him dumbfounded. It wasn’t really registering. “Come again,” I said, stupidly. “What do you mean? Is it late, or something?”

“No, it isn’t late,” he said, defensively, as if he really cared whether trains were late or not. “No, I’ve just radioed Peterborough. They’re going to hold the train up for you. As soon as you get on, it goes.

“Everyone will be complaining about how late it is, but let’s not worry about that on this occasion. You’ll get home and that’s the main thing. Good luck and God bless.”

Then he was off down the train again. “Tickets, please. Any more tickets now?”

I suddenly realised what a top-class, fully-fledged ‘doilem’ I was and chased him down the train. I wanted to give him all the money from my wallet, my driver’s licence, my keys, but I knew he would be offended.

I caught him up and grabbed his arm. “Oh, er, I just wanted to…” I was suddenly speechless. “I, erm…”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Not a problem.” He had a warm smile on his face and true compassion in his eyes. He was a good man for its own sake and required nothing in return.

“I wish I had some way to thank you,” I said. “I appreciate what you’ve done.”

“Not a problem,” he said again. “If you feel the need to thank me, the next time you see someone in trouble, you help them out. That will pay me back amply.

“Tell them to pay you back the same way and soon the world will be a better place.”

I was at my mother’s side when she died in the early hours of the morning. Even now, I can’t think of her without remembering the good conductor on that late-night train to Peterborough and, to this day, I won’t hear a bad word said about British Rail.

My meeting with the good conductor changed me from a selfish, potentially violent hedonist into a decent human being, but it took time.

“I’ve paid him back a thousand times since then,” I tell the young people I work with, “and I’ll keep on doing so till the day I die. You don’t owe me nothing. Nothing at all.”

“And if you think you do, I’d give you the same advice the good conductor gave me. Pass it down the line.”

— Author Unknown

Meditation: “But if you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same.” – Luke 6:32-33

You will succeed in Jesus Name!

Jeffie And Grandpa

Jeffie was in his playpen and he was crying. Tears were rolling down his little cheeks; his face was red as it could be. He was crying, and he looked pitiful in his little baseball T-shirt and a diaper.

Then Jeffie’s Grandpa entered the room; Jeffie’s little face lit up when he saw his Grandpa! He immediately reached out his little arms in supplication and said: “Out Pa Pa out.”

What is a Grandpa to do? How can someone resist that?

So Grandpa went over to the playpen, he bent over. He reached down to lift his little buddy from captivity and distress…

Just then “Law and Order” walked into the room.

Momma said, “Jeffie, you stay right there! I’m punishing you because you have been naughty! Dad, leave Jeffie alone!”

What is a Grandpa to do?

Grandpa backs off and is thinking, “I can’t just pick up a book and read it with Jeffie here. He would think I was uncaring and distant. I can’t leave the room because he would feel like I have abandoned him.”

What is a Grandpa to do?

But you know what? Love always finds a way. Since Grandpa couldn’t take Jeffie out of the playpen, Grandpa climbed in with Jeffie!

Grandpa said “If you are in the playpen buddy, I’m in the playpen too. What are you in for? What is your sentence?”

Having Grandpa join him in his “prison cell” brought Jeffie great comfort and joy. In the midst of his captivity, Jeffie no longer felt so alone.

What Jeffie’s Grandpa did is also a picture of what Jesus Christ did for us when He came to Earth as a baby.

God the Father yearned to reach down into our “playpen of captivity” and pull us out. He could not… because of our disobedience… because of our sin. What did God do?

God climbed into our “playpen” with us!

When Jesus Christ entered into our “playpen of captivity,” He took the sin and disobedience that should have been ours alone; releasing us from our captivity… allowing us the opportunity to experience the fullness of life God has for us!

The message is simple, clear and personal: God with us… He loves you so much He sent His one and only Son, Jesus Christ!

— Author Unknown

Meditation: For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have Eternal Life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him. Whoever believes in Him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because he has not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son. – John 3:16-18

You will succeed in Jesus Name!

Bug Spray

Our wedding was on October 14, 1966. But our marriage began three weeks later. We were dressed up and on our way to the swankiest restaurant in town. We had saved all week for the big splurge.

One problem–my bride was wearing the most horrible perfume ever manufactured. Smelled like a mixture of mustard gas, black pepper, and vaporized maple syrup. I still get queasy thinking about it.

We had stopped at a railroad crossing. It was cold outside. The windows were up and the heater was on. My nose and lungs silently begged for mercy. But I didn’t want to upset my bride with a comment about her perfume.

I had decided the one perfect marriage in history would be ours. No conflicts…no harsh words…no hurt feelings…no tears…nothing negative. My wife had made a similar resolution. For three weeks we had walked on eggshells, protecting each other from the slightest unpleasantness.

Dare I break the spell? Dare I be honest and open? She had soaked in that blasted stuff every day of our marriage. I knew I couldn’t hold out forever. So I said in my sweetest, softest voice, “Honey, that perfume smells like bug spray.”

Silence! Like the silence that must have followed President Roosevelt’s announcement that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. I stared straight ahead trying to concentrate on the steady metallic rhythm of the train cars rolling by.

I glanced at my bride out of the corner of my eye. Her lower lip was quivering slightly. The way it still does when she’s fighting a good cry. We drove on.

After an eternity she mumbled softly, “I won’t use that brand again.” Any married person can finish the story. We choked down our gourmet dinner. Pouted. Went through the “It’s all my fault, Honey” routine. Shed tears. And were finally reconciled, promising never to be cross with each other again. The whole episode is now part of our family lore. Our repertory of delightful “young and dumb” stories.

But I still think our marriage began with my observation about the perfume. At that point, we began to grow. We discovered marriage is a union stronger than emotions. We began to drop the foolishness about unruffled bliss. We took our first steps toward learning that one all-important lesson, a lesson no one ever outgrows–love is a death-resurrection relationship.

As for the perfume…I sprayed the rest on roaches. It worked!

By Wes Seeliger

Meditation: Can two walk together, unless they are agreed? – Amos 3:3

You will succeed in Jesus Name!

An Irate Customer

One morning there was a message on the answering machine from an irate customer, complaining about her lack of service—service that had been suspended because her check had bounced. Her abusive message included a curse word.

As it is my job to handle payments received, it was my duty to collect the check. Everyone responsible for the “missed” service was happy to pass the situation off to me. They were glad there was a bad check involved, making dealing with this woman my job. They told me how difficult the task would be and offered to prepare me by playing the message. I refused saying, “No, I’m afraid it would prejudice me.”

As is often the case when a check bounces, I soon found that this woman’s phone number was no longer in service. A check of the caller I.D. told us the call had come from the manager’s office of the apartment building where our customer lived. We left a message with the manager and within the hour our call was returned.

I told our customer gently, sympathetically that a check she had written had been returned because of non-sufficient funds. I told her I always want to let people know about returned checks quickly because the huge fees the banks charge can cause more checks to be returned and more fees to be charged. (It is not unusual for one error to lead to a chain of returned checks and fees that can cost the consumer several hundred dollars.)

I told her I hoped she could contact the bank and get things straightened out before her problems got worse. I also told her, gently once more, that I hated to add to her problems but she would owe us a fee for the returned check because the bank charges us a fee when a check is returned.

She told me she had difficulties because of being on a fixed income and being in poor health. I commiserated with her. She told me she had no one, that she had no children but had raised several that belonged to her husband and after living with him thirty years he had left her for another woman. She told me she was facing open-heart surgery. I commiserated every step of the way and I was sincere in my sympathy.

Finally, after she had promised to pay, I told her that I was going to tell her something that was just from me, not speaking for the business I worked for, just for myself. I told her I would pray for her.

This was several weeks ago and I have prayed for her several times since. Not only do I care about her situation—and more particularly about the lonely state she lives in as a result—but she taught me something about cranky people, something that I will try not to forget.

When a person is cranky, there may be reasons you don’t know about. If you don’t react with anger, you may learn what the real problem is and may in some way be able to help, if only with a little sympathy.

— B. Killebrew

Meditation: “Therefore I say to you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much. But to whom little is forgiven, the same loves little.” – Luke 7:47

You will succeed in Jesus Name!