Fallen Soldier: Highest Honor, Immeasurable Grief

A while back I gathered with some fellow Red Cross volunteers to "turn out" for a returning soldier killed in Afghanistan.  Like other civic groups, we are occasionally asked to be present at funeral processions and burials in order to show the grieving family the support of the community. 

This was the first such event I had attended.  I had just returned from a long day of teaching and a rigorous workout at the gym.  As I pulled together some semblance of dinner, I pushed the button on the answering machine and listened to a message from a Red Cross office worker asking if I could attend.  My first thought was:  "I'm too tired."

As I ate dinner and then started grading some tests, I felt a big more invigorated by the food.  My mind wandered back to the invitation ... the request.  It was still relatively early with there being about an hour and half before I had to leave if I were to attend.  My mind started pondering the request ...

"I'm too tired ..." sounded pretty shallow in light of the young man's sacrifice.


"You always say you support the troops ... is it just lip service?" I figured it was a simple enough of a request.  If a whole lot of individuals, who most likely had also just gotten home from work, took a brief moment to truly show support for the young soldier and his grieving family, what a showing that would be!

"Are you really that tired?"  Too tired to care?  The need and reward will be so much greater.


I called two other Red Cross volunteers to see if they happened to be going.  Luckily, both were.  So, we met up at a nearby location to carpool over to the funeral home and cemetery. 


The young man would be transported with special escort directly from the airport.  We wore our Red Cross attire.  We were amazed as we pulled up to the location ...


The fire district had two engines at the entrance to the cemetery, each facing the other with their ladders extended into the air.  A huge American flag was suspended from the engines' ladders.  Police cars encircled the engines with lights going.  The road was lined up and down with all kinds of people and groups: Boy Scouts and "regular folks" holding flags.


We Red Cross volunteers met at the funeral home.  We each received an American flag to hold and were deeply thanked by office managers for being there.  I saw men dressed in Scottish kilts, many VFW members, and Marines in their sharp dress uniforms. 


Our tiny group wound up standing right where all the action would be.  First, the young man was escorted to the funeral home in an old, classic pick-up truck, his flag-draped coffin highly visible from the rear.  It must have been an impressive and moving sight as it travelled along the highway escorted by motorcycle cops and limousines.


Before the family arrived, in the distance we heard an odd rumble.  Then, the cemetery grounds were flooded with at least 100 Patriot Guard Riders!  (Yeah -- I counted.)  We all breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that their presence would ward off any whackos that would dare protest the young man's funeral.


And, then, the family arrived.  Each member slowly climbed out of the limousine looking bewildered and distressed.  The family gathered together at the edge of the carport where the pick-up waited.  They were joined by a Scottish Honour Guard, the VFW, and the Marines.  In the precision only the military can muster, the Marines reverently pulled the casket from the pick-up's bed and marched it into the funeral home.  My eyes filled with tears as I thought: "What an awful thing this must be for a parent to experience!"  My heart ached for the mother and father.  Their young son's life snatched away so cruelly, so quickly, so violently ... far too soon.  "Lord, have mercy!" I prayed.

The respect that was displayed by all that night was heartfelt and, hopefully, healing.  As I looked around, I saw police officers standing at attention.  A young soldier dressed in fatigues stood alone at attention, seemingly to have appeared out of nowhere.  Some individuals dressed in civilian clothes stood at attention and saluted.  The Patriot Guard Riders stood along the road in respectful silence, their bikes' flags waving gently in the cool evening.


The coming days, weeks and months will be unspeakably hard for the family and friends.  "Lord, have mercy!" 

They will vaguely recall faces and pieces of conversations, but much will be a blurry dream ... a blurry nightmare. 

I do pray, however, that they will remember the words that lifted them up the most, the presence of dear friends and relatives who in vain tried to comfort them ... and maybe even the presence of strangers who, in rag-tag fashion, gathered to pay their respects to our community's soldier.


May God pour out His healing and peace, like a salve, upon these dear people.  "Lord, have mercy!"

Chilean Miners: Their T-Shirts Gave Thanks to God

If you were like me earlier this week, you were glued to the TV watching live coverage of the miraculous rescue of the 33 Chilean miners trapped by a cave in back in early August.  I noticed many of the miners sported interesting t-shirts, the front emblazoned with "Gracias, Señor!" -- 'Thanks, Lord!"  I wondered about the t-shirts, and today found this at The Christian Post (emphasis added):

Miners Clad in Jesus Shirts Give Glory to God

Lillian Kwon
Christian Post Reporter

Fri, Oct. 15, 2010 Posted: 01:13 PM EDT

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When the 33 trapped miners in Chile emerged from underground, at least two dozen of them were wearing T-shirts that proclaimed "Gracias Senor," or "Thank you Lord."

Christian Maureira, national director of Campus Crusade for Christ in Chile, who helped provide the shirts, said the miners wanted to recognize and thank God publicly as the world watched the anticipated rescue this week.

The miners were rescued on Tuesday and Wednesday after being trapped in the San Jose mine in Chile since the Aug. 5 cave-in.

During the 10-week stint some 2,000 feet underground, Jose Henriquez, 55, stepped up as a spiritual leader in the group, leading prayer services at noon and 6 p.m. each day.

He wrote a letter to Maureira after MP3s of the "JESUS" film and the New Testament were delivered to the miners through a 4-inch-wide tube.

"Thank you for this tremendous blessing for me and my coworkers. It will be good for our spiritual edification. I am fine because Christ lives in me," Henriquez, who is part of a Pentecostal church, wrote.

He also quoted the Old Testament passage Psalms 95:4 – "In His hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to Him."

That passage was printed on the back of the T-shirts that a majority of the miners wore as they were pulled out to safety this week.

Berry Fiess, director of Field Information Services of The JESUS Film Project, made it clear that the miners decided on their own to ask for shirts that essentially give glory to God. The shirts also have the JESUS Film Project logo on the sleeve.

"They requested – after we sent the MP3s – that we get these shirts for them. They told us what they wanted on the front and back sides," Fiess explained. "There appears to be this strong desire to honor God and I think that this situation must have brought them close to their Maker."

Maureira worked with a designer to produce the shirts and they were delivered to the miners on Monday, just a day before they began hopping into the "Phoenix" escape capsule to reach the surface.

According to Maureira, who had initiated delivering audio Scripture to the miners, several of the men gave testimonies about meeting God while trapped.

Responding to those who wonder where God was during other cave-ins where miners died, the CCC Chile director commented, "I believe that God is sovereign and all miners – either those that have survived or those who have died – accomplish the will of God."

Another collapse could have happened during the rescue process in Chile, or the instruments might not have worked, Fiess noted.

"And like the shirt said on the back, 'In His hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to Him,'" he said.

Fiess also noted that there have been many Christians who were saved miraculously and those who suffered and died. But he cited three biblical figures, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in the Old Testament book of Daniel, who were prepared to give glory to God whether they were delivered from a blazing furnace or not.

In the case of the miners in Chile, Fiess said, "I think it's valid to give God the honor and the glory here because God is the one who can provide His grace and mercy at any time that He wants."

I'm sure the radical atheists and the PC-minded audience members weren't happy to see the t-shirts.  But, as they say, 'there are no atheists in a foxhole.'

Abortion: New Movie to Expose the Business of Abortions

From Stephanie Samuel of The Christian Post (emphasis added):

New Film 'Blood Money' Reveals the Business Behind Abortion

Fri, Oct. 08, 2010 Posted: 06:17 PM EDT

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WASHINGTON – In a new documentary that looks to blow the lid off the pro-choice movement, a former independent abortion clinic owner reveals the abortion industry as one of sales, scripts and marketing.

“The abortion clinic is a constant cycle of making money,” says Carol Everett, who managed three different abortion clinics in Dallas County before becoming a pro-life author and speaker.

“Blood Money,” which screened Wednesday night at the Catholic Information Center in Washington, features the testimony of lawyers, scientists, priests, abortion patients and clinic insiders to expose abortion more as a money-maker than a medical service.

Everett is especially crucial to the film’s premise. The former abortion provider gives chilling accounts of how she ran her business. According to Everett, counselors answering the phones were actually trained saleswomen reading from scripts. Doctors performing the abortions packed their schedules to perform 20 to 30 abortions an hour. Newly diagnosed moms were encouraged to make on-the-spot decisions for an abortion for a discounted price.

“Nobody knows what goes on in an abortion clinic,” Everett says in the film. “I realize I have been involved in the deaths of 35,000 babies.”

In “Blood Money," as she’s done in a number of speaking engagements, Everett tells the tales of some of those abortions. In one particular story, Everett tells the story of a woman who came in to have an abortion and ended up with a perforated uterus.

“Her uterus was perforated [and] her bowel was sticking out of her vagina,” she recalls.

In another story, Everett tells of a woman’s procedure going horribly wrong.

“I’ve never seen so much blood,” she recalls thinking upon opening the door to the operating room. The patient was eventually sent home, where she bled to death later that night.

“We killed that woman,” says Everett, who was actively involved in the abortion rights movement for over six years.

For “Blood Money,” filmmakers gathered a number of testimonials from advocates in several pro-life groups, including Priests for Life and Pro-Life Unity.

“We asked a number of people in the pro-life community to make a list of those they thought should be in the film,” says executive producer David Kyle.

As for the post-abortive women, Kyle says, “It was providence that we just happened across them.”
In the movie, abortion patients share their stories of being coerced into abortion, and their unforgettable procedures.

They also talk about experiencing depression and suicidal tendencies afterward.

“I took a bunch of drugs and slit my wrist,” one woman says.

Regarding the testimonies, film narrator Alveda King, daughter of civil rights leader Martin Luther King, blames the U.S. Supreme Court for having “opened up the floodgates for abortion clinics to make money off the pain and suffering of women.”

In the infamous Roe v. Wade case, the 1973 Supreme Court held in a 7-2 ruling that the constitutional right to privacy extends to a woman's decision to have an abortion. Abortion, therefore, was deemed a fundamental right under the U.S. Constitution.

In addition to testimonies, the film also explores the origins of the landmark Roe v. Wade case, Planned Parenthood founder Margaret Sanger, and statistics that some pro-lifers say prove that abortion is wiping out the African-American minority.

Kyle says he is currently trying to drum up enough interest to get the film in theaters.

“If we could find a distributor willing to [show the movie nationally], we would. Unfortunately, to date none have shown an interest,” he reports.

The movie was featured in Chicago last month. A DVD of the film has also been made available for purchase on the website www.bloodmoneyfilm.com.

“Friends of the Film” currently include Priests for Life, King for America, Pro-Life Unity, and Living Hope for Life. The movie also has over 9,000 Facebook members.

How brave of Carol Everett to come forward and testify to the tactics of the abortion industry.  May God bless her efforts at curtailing the abortionists' agenda and assuage her guilt.  She truly is a courageous woman!

Stem Cell Research: New Breakthroughs Diminish Controversy

Several states have recently been caught in the crosshairs of the moral / ethical debate surrounding stem cell research, with many opponents fearing the "harvesting" and wide-scale use of embryonic stem cells.  At the time that Missourians, for example, were considering permitting a research facility within its borders (of course, the campaign heavily funded by the research company), my thoughts were if people were even considering the newly emerging stem cell sources that did not involved human embryos.

Fortunately, scientists are brillianty circumventing the controversy, steering stem cell therapies away from the controversial use of embryonic cells to other, non-polemical sources.  Here's the most recent example as reported by Eric Young of The Christian Post Reporter (emphasis added):

Christian Physicians Hail New Breakthrough in Stem Cell Research

Tue, Oct. 05, 2010 Posted: 05:21 PM EDT

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Christian medical professionals are hailing the latest breakthrough in stem cell research, claiming that it further proves that the destruction of embryos is unnecessary to find cures for disease.

"This breakthrough validates many other significant proofs of the therapeutic promise of induced pluripotent stem cells (iPS cells) and adult stem cells,” declared Dr. David Stevens, CEO of the 16,000-member Christian Medical Association (CMA), on Monday.

"Compared to the speculative, controversial and dangerous embryonic stem cell research that the [Obama] administration insists on funding illegally, iPS cell and adult stem cell research is a cheaper, faster, safer, more efficient and quicker path to the cures we need,” he added.

On Thursday, a team of researchers led by Derrick J. Rossi of the Children's Hospital Boston revealed its development of a new technique that can quickly and more efficiently create safe alternatives to human embryonic stem cells.

The new method, which is featured in the October issue of Cell Stem Cell, uses synthetic RNA to drive the expression of stem cell-inducing proteins without irreversibly altering the cells' genetic material.

The resulting stem cells then are able to recapitulate the functional and molecular properties of human embryonic stem cells, and therefore can be transformed into specialized cells to treat disease.

Furthermore, unlike current methods that use viruses to deliver the genes that “reprogram” a cell into a stem cell, the new method poses little (if any) risk for cancer as RNA doesn’t become part of the cell’s genome. The resulting stem cells are also generated at much higher efficiencies than standard virus-based techniques and in half the time.

If that's not reason enough to celebrate, Rossi - whose team spent more than a year developing the synthetic, chemically-modified RNA - said the new technology also has potential reaching far beyond the stem-cell field.

“In terms of therapeutics, any genetic disease that involves a mutation of a gene that doesn’t make a certain protein, we can now approach that with this technology to reintroduce that protein into those cells and reestablish proper function to those cells,” he reported. “So we think that this is going to be really important for many therapeutic avenues in addition to basic questions of biology.”

After news spread of the latest development, CMA’s Stevens questioned how anyone could continue insisting that the government, “in a time of financial crisis, should continue to shovel hundreds of millions of tax dollars down the black hole of speculative embryo-destroying research.”

"These new iPS cells are safer; there is no evidence of a risk of causing cancer by using viruses to insert genes into cells. The new cells are produced more efficiently, taking just 17 days to create. The new iPS cells are cheaper to develop, can easily tissue match the patient that the therapy are given too and are morally acceptable to all,” Stevens noted. “The fact that these iPS cells strategy can then turn those cells into ones that could be used for transplants is a huge step forward as well."

Notably, despite the highly touted potential of embryonic stem cells, research on embryo-derived cells has yet to treat a single disease. Adult stem cell research, meanwhile, has produced treatments for heart muscle rehabilitation, muscle growth, diabetes and Parkinson’s disease, among others. Altogether, more than 80 diseases are already being treated with non-controversial adult stem cells and 1,970 clinical trials with adult stem cells are underway. With embryonic stem cells, there is only one human clinical trial.

“With patients desperately waiting for cures and ethical alternatives showing such great promise, it is increasingly ludicrous to spend and speculate our tax dollars instead on unethical, illegal and cancer-producing embryonic stem cell research,” Stevens remarked.

CMA, which claims a membership of around 16,000 physicians, medical students and allied health professionals, was an original party to a lawsuit that on Aug. 23 won a temporary halting of all federal funding of human embryonic stem cell research.

A federal appeals court in Washington has since made permanent a stay requested by the Obama administration on the district court judge's order to halt federal funding of the controversial research.

The U.S. government’s funding of embryonic stem cell research, therefore, is allowed to continue as the case against it makes way through the court system.

Supporters of the controversial research emphasize that embryonic stem cells can differentiate into almost any tissue and therefore have the potential to treat a wide range of diseases.

Now THAT is innovation!!   Where one technology poses several problems, someone comes up with a solution ... one that is better, cheaper, and faster to boot!

Addiction: It's Not Just About Chemistry

The other morning, I was doing some reading in 2 Peter.  This letter was penned by Peter in response to false teachings that had infiltrated the early Church.  While referring to these false prophets and teachers, one line in particular struck me:

"They promise them freedom, while they themselves are slaves of depravity—for a man is a slave to whatever has mastered him." (2 Peter 2:19, NIV)

Naturally, the first thought is to think of addiction ... the "typical" type ... alcohol and drugs, sex, gambling, etc.  My immediate thought was of how addiction was the cause of my marriage ending in divorce, as is sadly the case in so many relationships.  When my ex-husband's "harmless" marijuana addiction morphed into one of sex, for the sake of my own mental and physical health, I had to draw the line.

But, I also began to reflect on other, more non-traditional forms of "addiction" that seem so prevalent today, especially found in my profession of education and the interaction with children and their families that is endemic.  Perhaps my mind was quick to consider other types of addiction due to several current sad cases in bad parenting I am dealing with as a teacher.  These parents seem "addicted" to a victimology that excuses their children's behavior and, in their mind, removes them from parental obligations.  I see parents using a flimsy medical "condition" to get their kids out of academic requirements ... one case in particular is so odd that I can't help but wonder if the mother doesn't have some form of Münchausen syndrome by proxy.  She seems to obsessively wrap herself in her son's medical problem, piling upon the district a list of doctors and medical diagnoses, and unreasonably demanding that special concessions be made for her child.  She spins like the Tazmanian Devil during a meeting while her husband sits idly by, occasionally adding to the conversation.  (I hope the district pushes back and insists on a clear, authenticated medical diagnosis that connects all the loose strands.)

I have worked with some persons that seem to be addicted to attention, being very dramatic individuals that pounce on any opportunity to relay their current crisis (or "crises"), whipping themselves into a frenzied performance of pity, martyrdom, and a shout of "Look at me!  Look at me!"  (My friend calls such people "LAMs.")   Work problems, generic health issues, "life is unfair", etc. are the typical ingredients in their Soup O' Sorrow.  These are the people I wish to remind that "How are you?" is usually meant solely as a greeting and does not imply that I am extending an invitation for a complete medical history before the doctor comes in the room for the examination.  I have found over the years that the people who truly suffer from debilitating and serious illnesses rarely complain about their discomfort, pain, or predicament.  These are the ones I extend the special invitation of "No.  I really want to know how you are doing."  Only then do those who truly suffer oblige me with details ... and I am honored that they do.

Other people are addicted to shirking responsibility, whether it be for their health, child rearing, how much they themselves contribute to marital strife, and so on.  This is the cliché "Peter Pan Syndrome."  They seem to always find someone or some circumstance that is responsible for their plight.  Addicts take this to the extreme, but even fairly even-keel folks can get wrapped up in this.  "Gee, maybe your speeding through a construction zone and getting a big ol' ticket was not the cop's fault.  Yes, I know they make those pesky traffic signs and cones are small and hard to see.  They must do that on purpose to bring in more revenue for the county."  This reminds me of years back when I worked in a gym.  A woman was buying a membership and, when filling out the credit application, she explained that she did not have a driver's license -- she only had a receipt for it.  Her license had been taken by the police when she got pulled over for a DUI.  She had the nerve to complain about the inconvenience of not having her license.

I had a colleague who seemed to enjoy being her own worst enemy.  She frequently put herself down, deriding herself for just about everything -- weight, appearance, health habits, various "inabilities", etc.  Her posture was one of shame and "don't look at me," with a dreary wardrobe that reflected what she felt inside.  Addicted to self-loathing, perhaps?  Life is pretty tough as it is.  Why be your own worst enemy?  I remember going through a phase of this .... I believe it's called "adolescence."  But, when I started college I knew that, outside of my family, no one would be in my corner but me.  I had better learn to be good to myself.  I'm all I've got.  Yes, improvements can always be made, but why knock yourself out before even stepping into the ring?

Then, there are those that are so competitive ... something I would call addicted to "One-Upmanship."  These are the folks that brag about themselves, having to always better someone else when the other person is perhaps relaying a success or failure, for that matter. 

None of us can escape addiction.  We all have some behavior that we exhibit for various reasons.  I am hardly innocent.  I have my own, which after I've indulged in them, I am forever embarrassed.  "Ooooh!  Why did I have to make that conversation way too much about me!"  "Why am I shoving all this food in my face?  What's got me so upset?" 

And, of course, I know full well that my impatience with and judging of "addicts" is wrong ... another addiction of mine.  Oooops!

I thirst after .... what?  We all thirst .... after many different pursuits and distractions.

"but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life."  (John 4:14)

Lord, quench my thirsts.  May you well from within me, bubbling your Spirit through to the top.  And help me to be a drink of cool water to those I meet in this hot, parched desert of Life.

Grandma's Hands

[Thanks, R!]



Grandma, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. She didn't move, just sat with her head down staring at her hands.

When I sat down beside her she didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if she was OK

Finally, not really wanting to disturb her but wanting to check on her at the same time, I asked her if she was OK. She raised her head and looked at me and smiled. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking," she said in a clear voice strong.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, grandma, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK," I explained to her.

"Have you ever looked at your hands," she asked.. "I mean really looked at your hands?"

I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point she was making.

Grandma smiled and related this story:

"Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life.

"They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor.

They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They held my husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war.

"They have been dirty, scraped and raw , swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special.

They wrote my letters to him and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse.

"They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand.

They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer.

"These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of life.

But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Christ."

I will never look at my hands the same again. But I remember God reached out and took my grandma's hands and led her home.

When my hands are hurt or sore or when I stroke the face of my children and husband I think of grandma. I know she has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God.

I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face. 

Daniel's Gloves: God Works In Mysterious Ways

[Thanks, J, for this little gem!  I checked it out ... it is a true story.  See info at end from Snopes.]


GOD WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS

It was an unusually cold day for the month of May. Spring had arrived and everything was alive with color. But a cold front from the North had brought winter's chill back to Indiana. I sat, with two friends, in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the towns-square. The food and the company were both especially good that day.

As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read, "I will work for food." My heart sank. I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways.

I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor.I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car. Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: "Don't go back to the office until you've at least driven once more around the square." And so, with some hesitancy, I headed back into town.

As I turned the square's third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the storefront church, going through his sack. I stopped and looked, feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town's newest visitor.

"Looking for the pastor?" I asked.

"Not really," he replied, "just resting."

"Have you eaten today?"

"Oh, I ate something early this morning."

"Would you like to have lunch with me?"

"Do you have some work I could do for you?"

"No work," I replied. "I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch."

"Sure," he replied with a smile.

As he began to gather his things. I asked some surface questions. "Where you headed?"

"St. Louis."

"Where you from?"

"Oh, all over; mostly Florida."

"How long you been walking?"

"Fourteen years," came the reply. I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said, "Jesus is The Never Ending Story."

Then Daniel's story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life. He'd made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences. Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought. He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God. "Nothing's been the same since," he said, "I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now."

"Ever think of stopping?" I asked.

"Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me. But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That's what's in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads."

I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then I asked: "What's it like?"

"What?"

"To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign?"

"Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments. Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people's concepts of other folks like me."

My concept was changing, too. We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door, he paused. He turned to me and said, "Come Ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I've prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger and you took me in."

I felt as if we were on holy ground. "Could you use another Bible?" I asked. He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite. "I've read through it 14 times," he said. "I'm not sure we've got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see." I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful.

"Where you headed from here?"

"Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon."

"Are you hoping to hire on there for a while?"

"No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star right there needs a Bible, so that's where I'm going next." He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission.

I drove him back to the town-square where we'd met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things.

"Would you sign my autograph book?" he asked. "I like to keep messages from folks I meet."

I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture from Jeremiah, "I know the plans I have for you," declared the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a future and a hope."

"Thanks, man," he said. "I know we just met and we're really just strangers, but I love you."

"I know," I said, "I love you, too."

"The Lord is good."

"Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone hugged you?" I asked.

"A long time," he replied. And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed.

He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile and said, "See you in the New Jerusalem."

"I'll be there!" was my reply.

He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bedroll. When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"

"You bet," I shouted back, "God bless."

"God bless." And that was the last I saw of him. Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them, a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them. I remembered his words: "If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"

Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for his ministry. "See you in the New Jerusalem," he said.

Yes, Daniel, I know I will...

If this story touched you, forward it to a friend!

"I shall pass this way but once. Therefore, any good that I can do or any kindness that I can show, let me do it now, for I shall not pass this way again."

My instructions were to send this to four people that I wanted God to bless and I picked you. Please pass this to four people you want to be blessed as well as the person who sent it to you. This prayer is powerful and there is nothing attached, please do not break this pattern, prayer is one of the best gifts we receive. There is no cost but a lot of rewards, let's continue to pray for one another.

God bless and have a nice day! "Father, I ask you to bless my friends, relatives and e-mail buddies reading this right now. Show them a new revelation of your love and power. Holy spirit, I ask you to minister to their spirit at this very moment. Where there is pain, give them your peace and mercy. Where there is self-doubt, release a renewed confidence through your grace, In Jesus' precious Name. Amen."

Here's the background on the story from Snopes:

Origins:   We first saw this story circulated on the Internet in 2001. Although many copies omit mention of its author, the essay is the work of Richard Ryan, the assistant pastor of the Old Capitol United Methodist Church in Corydon, Indiana. It first appeared in the July/August 1995 issue The Corydon Democrat magazine and has since been reprinted in a few inspirational collections, including A Third Serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul.

Pastor Ryan wrote the account of his meeting with Daniel the day after the event, when the encounter was still fresh in his mind. Indeed, the memory of that day in 1993 has not much faded through the intervening years, as I discovered when I spoke to him. Daniel's gloves are "still sitting in my office today," said the pastor, who is bemused by the number of folks who have dropped by to see the discarded hand coverings, which he describes as "an ordinary pair of work gloves." Daniel was a real person, a weather-beaten traveller the pastor brought back to his church and introduced to others. As for this modern-day Johnny Appleseed who spreads the gospel as he treks through the countryside, though we've yet to locate news stories about a fellow walking from town to town handing out bibles, we can't help but believe Pastor Ryan's claim of having handled the autograph book Daniel carried and having seen the many notations other well-wishers had added to it over the years. The version which has come to be part of the ongoing lore of the Internet is almost word-for-word the first draft the pastor produced. Apart from the end section that begins "If this story touched you, forward it to a friend!" (which was added by some anonymous forwarder during its journey from inbox to inbox), the only difference is the elision of the original ending line: "God bless you, Daniel, wherever your feet take you."

Heaven: Will Pets Be There?

The ongoing debate ... "Do our pets go to heaven?

In my family, that has always been a "for sure thing."  Our logic: How can such a loving creature not have a soul and not be deserving of a place in heaven?"

Maybe you saw the recent "debate" via signs between a Catholic and a Presbyterian Church.  It was a popular item that got passed around the Internet.  Here are two from the series:

The "heated" debate ended with Beulah Presbyterian asserting: "Dogs are animals.  There aren't any rocks in heaven either."  The Catholic church fired back with "All rocks go to heaven."

This question ... well, "settled fact" for me ... comes to mind in the wake of my mother having to put her dog down yesterday.  Sadly, it was just 3 months ago that she had to put another dog down.  She has lost two beloved dogs in such short time.  The first dog was quite old and had been ailing for some time.  It was expected.  But yesterday was a shock.  Toby, a 95-lb "American All-Breed" had blown out a knee about a week ago.  He had torn a ligament in one knee chasing after a squirrel.  Mom had him scheduled for a $2,000 knee operation this coming Friday, both of them facing 16 weeks of recovery and rehab.  But, then on Friday he blew out the other knee.  There would be no way Toby could make a come back from that.  So, sadly my mother had to make the grim decision to put down an otherwise healthy 6 year old dog -- still so full of life and love. So unexpected.  So painful.  Now my mom struggles with a silent home with no cold-nosed, tail-wagging greetings.

Last night, against my better judgment, I did some surfing around on the Internet looking for those tear-jerking, mushy thoughts about dogs.  I'd had a crying-induced headache all day, but still I looked around.  While doing so, I am still able to look down at my chocolate-covered, fur-faced "love bug."  I experienced a few tinges of guilt, wanting to kill her the other day I had gotten so angry.  Now, my heart was melting as I focused on how loving she is and how quick to anger I am.

But, I digress ...

So, I searched around the Internet looking for Scripture as well as sentimental anecdotes.  Most theology-based sites gave a nod towards animals entering heaven.  One heartlessly said "no."  One particularly negative site said basically that, if a pet goes to heaven, its human must be going, too, but that they're aren't that many people going to heaven in the first place.  OUCH!

Naturally, I preferred the "yays" to the "nays."  Here's a nice one I found at Christianity Today.  A parent had written saying: "Our beloved dog died recently.  Should I correct my kids when they say they can't wait to play with Rocky again in heaven?"  Randy Alcorn gave a tender-hearted reply.  Here is an excerpt:

We know animals will be on the New Earth, which is a redeemed and restored old Earth, in which animals had a prominent role. People will be resurrected to inhabit this world. Romans 8:21–23 assumes animals as part of a suffering creation eagerly awaiting deliverance through humanity's resurrection. This seems to require that some animals who lived, suffered, and died on the old Earth must be made whole on the New Earth. Wouldn't some of those likely be our pets?

In her excellent book, Holiness in Hidden Places, Joni Eareckson Tada says, "If God brings our pets back to life, it wouldn't surprise me. It would be just like him. It would be totally in keeping with his generous character … Exorbitant. Excessive. Extravagant in grace after grace. Of all the dazzling discoveries and ecstatic pleasures heaven will hold for us, the potential of seeing Scrappy would be pure whimsy—utterly, joyfully, surprisingly superfluous. … Heaven is going to be a place that will refract and reflect in as many ways as possible the goodness of joy of our great God, who delights in lavishing love on his children."

In a poem about the world to come, theologian John Piper writes:

And as I knelt beside the brook
To drink eternal life, I took
A glance across the golden grass,
And saw my dog, old Blackie, fast
As she could come. She leaped the stream—
Almost—and what a happy gleam
Was in her eye. I knelt to drink
And knew that I was on the brink
Of endless joy. And everywhere
I turned I saw a wonder there.

We needn't be embararassed either to grieve the loss of our pets or to want to see them again. If we believe God is their creator, that he loves us and them, that he intends to restore his creatures from the bondage they experienced because of our sin, then we have biblical grounds for not only wanting but also expecting that we may be with them again on the New Earth.

Dogs are the one animal, I believe, that are truly velcroed to humans, feeling and sharing their humans' needs.  There have been times when I've experienced a dog detecting my feelings.  When I was separated and going through the agony of deciding whether to continue with the marriage or to divorce, one afternoon I was sitting in the living room and started to silently cry.  My dog, who was asleep in the bedroom, suddenly appeared before me with the saddest expression.  She laid her head in my lap and stayed with me.  It is a true friend who sits with you and grieves.  I always refer to that dog as my "psychologist" dog.  She was so tender-hearted ... my 80-lb. "killer dog" Dobermann was actually a "sheep in wolf's clothing."

A few years ago I had two major operations six months apart.  My current dog was my "physical therapist" during that time.  She is a 70 pound crazy dog.  As I was preparing for surgery, I was worried she might hurt me with her powerful, over-the-top exuberance.  But, with the first surgery, she instantly knew I was "hurt" and became docile and tender.  Six months later when I had hip surgery, I still clearly recall the look on her face as she watched me stand up from my chair with crutches -- it was one of surprise and shock, a kind of Piglet "Oh, dear!  Such a big world for such a small animal!" reaction.

During the first week as I teeter-tottered down the hall on crutches one day, I heard her come scrambling behind me.  I feared she would knock me down, there having been many times pre-surgery when she would knock into me as she bounded past me down the hall.  But this time, as she reached me and I cringed, she instantly stopped and heeled in perfect position at my knee (something she had always defiantly refused to do) -- head submissively down and walking slowly at my pace.  I was absolutely shocked!  I thought: "OK, someone stole my dog and replaced her with a super obedient one."  I still marvel at how adeptly and obediently she learned new routines to accommodate my temporary incapacities -- routines that still have pay-offs today.

I have decided that dogs are "zedek": a Hebrew word meaning "righteous" and "as God intended."   All of nature is "zedek", except for us humans due to out sinful, rebellious nature.  I can get so furious with Wild Dog, but I have to remember she is "zedek" -- she's just being what she's designed to be.  It's my ideals I'm molding her to.  The noble "zedek" dog willingly molds itself to the human's will.  Many times when I head to church, I will tell Wild Dog: "Mommy's gotta go to church.  I'm not 'zedek' like you are."

Dogs are amazing.  Think of them in all their capacities and roles: herding, guarding, police work, bomb sniffing, drug detection, companions for the handicapped, therapy dogs for ailing seniors and wounded soldiers ... We have all heard and marveled at their amazing stories of devotion and heroism.

How can an animal so in tune with and so devoted to humans not have a soul?

Healing in His Wings

If I could only touch Him, I will be healed.  My lifelong prayer has been like that of the father of the spirit-possessed son in Mark 9:24: "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"  

It was another Sunday when I started thinking up reasons not to go to church ... too much school work to get done, the yard needed mowing, other chores that needed to be taken care of before the start of another work week.  But, as always, I was so grateful I went.  There was a powerful lesson for me -- that of the woman who suffered for twelve years from bleeding.

Mark 5:24-34 (New International Version)

A large crowd followed and pressed around him. And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years. She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse. When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, because she thought, "If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed."  Immediately her bleeding stopped and she felt in her body that she was freed from her suffering.

At once Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and asked, "Who touched my clothes?"

 "You see the people crowding against you," his disciples answered, "and yet you can ask, 'Who touched me?' "

But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it. Then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth. He said to her, "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering."

In those days, a woman with such a bleeding disorder, probably caused by a hormonal imbalance or a common uterine disorder that nowadays is easily cured, would have been unclean -- an "untouchable" who was a cast-off from society.  People would not be allowed to touch her.  Imagine: a life with no human physical contact.  Unclean.

But, let us be clear about the meaning of "unclean" -- translated from the Hebrew "tumAH."   It does not mean evil.  Here's how The Jerusalem Perspective explains it:

The Hebrew expressions tohoRAH (cleanness, purity) and tumAH (uncleanness, impurity) are technical terms that have no positive or negative connotations. Scripturally, one is either in a state of purity, or not in a state of purity. Uncleanness is a human phenomenon, almost commonplace, and one must view the contrast between clean and unclean as a contrast between that which is holy and that which is not (Lev. 11:47), between that which is divine and that which is human. Ritual cleanness and uncleanness should not be thought of as a contrast between good and evil.

So, imagine being this poor woman, unclean for twelve years -- i.e. no physical contact.  No hugs.  No kisses.  No holding of your hand.  No pats on the shoulder.  For fear the person would be made unclean by the woman's disorder.

"If I touch his clothes, I will be healed", thought the woman.  Undoubtedly, the common verse from the Hebrew scriptures must have propelled her forward: "But for you who fear my name, the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings. You shall go out leaping like calves from the stall." (Malachi 4:2)  Here's where the Old Testament interweaves so beautifully with the New when one looks at the original Hebrew in the text.  From www.followtherabbi.com:

As a Jewish rabbi, Jesus probably wore tassels on the corners of his garment. The Jewish practice of wearing these tassels developed from God's command in Numbers 15: "You are to make tassels on the corners of your garments?so you will remember all the commands of the LORD" (v. 38-39).

Later in Jewish history, the tassels were incorporated into the Jewish prayer shawl, called the tallit, which is worn by many Jews today. On each corner of the prayer shawl are long tassels, or tzitzit, knotted five times to remind Jews of the five books of Moses. The four spaces between these knots represent the letters of God's name, YHWH. And the knots along the prayer shawl edges use exactly 613 knotted strings, representing the 613 laws of the Torah.

Ezekiel prophesied that the Messiah would come with healing in his "wings." But the Hebrew word for "wings" could also be used to identify the tassels that Jewish men wore on the corners of their robe. Based on this prophecy, the Jews expected the Messiah to have healing in his tassels.

During his ministry, one woman demonstrated her faith in Jesus by seeking healing in his tassels. Matthew 9 tells us that a sick woman, whose disease had probably left her untouched for twelve years, thought to herself, "If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed" (v. 21).
When she touched the Messiah's tassels, the woman was healed. And Jesus commended her for her faith.

Healing in His tzitzit ... Healing in His wings ...  Healing in His tassels.  The Messiah would have healing in His wings ... tassels.  The ill woman knew in her very soul that she needed to reach out and grasp the tassels of Jesus' prayer shawl.  "If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed."

Imagine being the woman ... an outcast, yet daring enough to push through the crowd to grasp the tassels that dangled from his prayer shawl ... to instantly feel healing within your body ... the old, familiar flow of blood stopping ... maybe, too, any accompanying pains and anemic exhaustion dissipating into nothingness.  You are restored -- physically, spiritually, and communally.  

Then, to hear Jesus question His companions and the crowds: "Who touched me?"  

"Yikes!  He knows!  How does He know?  Will He know it's me?  Of course He will!  Yikes!  What do I do?!?  Do I run?  Will I be punished for being unclean and daring to touch the robe of a rabbi?  What will they do to me for my brashness?"

Jesus looks at the faces of those in the crowd ... surely reading the very hearts, souls and minds of each person.  Your eyes lock.  There is an instantaneous connection ... "You're the one" He speaks to your being.  

But, rather than derision, you receive love ... praise ... acceptance ... inclusion ... such foreign and forgotten things in your lonely twelve years of isolation.  His words permeate your entire existence: "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering."

What is your suffering?  What do you need to be healed from?  What isolation are you existing in?   Will you be so bold, as that woman was, to push through the crowd ... through the derision ... through the emotional and spiritual blockade ... will you push through and grasp the tassels of the Rabbi's prayer shawl?  

"Go in peace and be freed from your suffering."

Ducks Quack, Eagles Soar

I received this insightful piece from a friend today ... Enjoy!

Ducks Quack - Eagles Soar
No one can make you serve customers well....that's because great service is a choice.

Harvey Mackay, tells a wonderful story about a cab driver that proved this point.

He was waiting in line for a ride at the airport. When a cab pulled up, the first thing Harvey noticed was that the taxi was polished to a bright shin.. Smartly dressed in a white shirt, black tie, and freshly pressed black slacks, the cab driver jumped out and rounded the car to open the back passenger door for Harvey .

He  handed my friend a laminated card and said: 'I'm Wally, your driver. While I'm loading your bags in the trunk I'd like you to read my mission statement.'

Taken aback, Harvey read the card.. It said: Wally's  Mission Statement: To get my customers to their destination in the  quickest, safest and cheapest way possible in a friendly environment....

This blew Harvey away. Especially when he noticed  that the inside of the cab matched the outside. Spotlessly clean!

As he slid behind the wheel, Wally said, 'Would you like a  cup of coffee? I have a thermos of regular and one of decaf.' My friend  said jokingly, 'No, I'd prefer a soft drink.' Wally smiled and said, 'No  problem. I have a cooler up front with regular and Diet Coke, water and orange juice..'  Almost stuttering, Harvey said, 'I'll take a Diet Coke.'

Handing him his drink, Wally said, 'If you'd like something  to read, I have The Wall Street Journal, Time, Sports Illustrated and USA  Today..'

As they were pulling away, Wally handed my friend another  laminated card, 'These are the stations I get and the music they play, if  you'd like to listen to the radio.'

And as if that weren't enough,  Wally told Harvey that he had the air conditioning on and asked if the  temperature was comfortable for him. Then he advised Harvey of the best  route to his destination for that time of day. He also let him know that  he'd be happy to chat and tell him about some of the sights or, if Harvey  preferred, to leave him with his own thoughts...

'Tell me, Wally,'  my amazed friend asked the driver, 'have you always served customers like this?'

Wally smiled into the rear view mirror. 'No, not always. In  fact, it's only been in the last two years. My first five years driving, I  spent most of my time complaining like all the rest of the cabbies do.  Then I heard the personal growth guru, Wayne Dyer, on the radio one day.

He had just written a book called You'll See It When You  Believe It. Dyer said that if you get up in the morning expecting to have  a bad day, you'll rarely disappoint yourself.. He said, 'Stop complaining! Differentiate yourself from your competition. Don't be a duck. Be an  eagle. Ducks quack and complain. Eagles soar above the crowd.'

'That hit me right between the eyes,' said Wally. 'Dyer was  really talking about me. I was always quacking and complaining, so I  decided to change my attitude and become an eagle. I looked around at the  other cabs and their drivers.. The cabs were dirty, the drivers were  unfriendly, and the customers were unhappy. So I decided to make some  changes. I put in a few at a time. When my customers responded well, I did more.'

'I take it that has paid off for you,' Harvey said.

'It sure has,' Wally replied. 'My first year as an eagle, I  doubled my income from the previous year. This year I'll probably  quadruple it. You were lucky to get me today. I don't sit at cabstands  anymore. My customers call me for appointments on my cell phone or leave a  message on my answering machine. If I can't pick them up myself, I get a reliable cabbie friend to do it and I take a piece of the action.'

Wally was phenomenal. He was running a limo service out of  a Yellow Cab. I've probably told that story to more than fifty cab drivers  over the years, and only two took the idea and ran with it. Whenever I go to their cities, I give them a call. The rest of the drivers quacked like ducks and told me all the reasons they couldn't do any of what I was suggesting.

Wally the Cab Driver made a different choice. He decided to stop quacking like ducks and start soaring like eagles.

How about us?   Smile, and the whole world smiles with you .... The ball is in our hands!

A man reaps what he sows. Let us not become weary  in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not  give up... let us do good to all people.

Ducks Quack, Eagles  Soar.

Have a nice day, unless you already have other plans.

SORROW looks back, WORRY looks around, and FAITH looks UP...  BECAUSE OF THE FATHER'S LOVE, I AM CHANGED!!!

"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain." 

Be A Missionary Wherever God Places You

On occasion, I've had some Christian friends say that they feel bad for not going abroad to do mission work.  They give reasons of job and family obligations -- huge barriers, indeed, to overseas evangelism.  However, we should not lose sight of the mission field that is right outside our homes.  I was greatly inspired to have learned recently that Saint Paul, in his final years as a prisoner of Rome chained to a Roman soldier, continued his work of sharing the Gospel with the world -- and successfully so.

As I started checking into this bit of history, I had to smile at some of the results I got while using Google.  I believe I tried googling "Paul under house arrest", and one of the results was for a company: “Do you need to be on house arrest?  Inexpensive and No Ankle bracelets …”  Wow!  I didn't know such services were available!

But, as I ferreted through the different search results, I came up with a bit of background on Paul's situation in Rome:

- From Wikipedia: "He arrived in Rome c 60 and spent two years under house arrest.^{[9][Acts 28:16]} All told, during his ministry the Apostle Paul spent roughly 5 1/2 to 6 years as a prisoner or in prison."

- From Christianinconnect:

What Paul wrote in prison in Rome: Colossians, Philemon, Ephesians, Philippians

Paul finally arrived in Rome around A.D. 59 to 60. There he was held under house arrest and guard for the next two years. His Roman imprisonment, or captivity, has been dated as A.D. 59-61, and even as A.D. 61-63.

- What was Paul's house arrest like?  This from Yahoo Answers:

The bulk of the information available comes from Acts 28...

16 When we got to Rome, Paul was allowed to live by himself, with a soldier to guard him.

17 Three days later he called together the local Jewish leaders. When they had assembled, Paul said to them: “My brothers, although I have done nothing against our people or against the customs of our ancestors, I was arrested in Jerusalem and handed over to the Romans.
...
23 They arranged to meet Paul on a certain day, and came in even larger numbers to the place where he was staying. He witnessed to them from morning till evening, explaining about the kingdom of God, and from the Law of Moses and from the Prophets he tried to persuade them about Jesus. 24 Some were convinced by what he said, but others would not believe.
...
30 For two whole years Paul stayed there in his own rented house and welcomed all who came to see him. 31 He proclaimed the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ—with all boldness and without hindrance! (TNIV)

He was renting a house.
He was under military guard.
He was allowed to meet with and teach anyone who wanted to come.
This went on for two years.

 - More about Paul's house arrest from Adventist Archives:

Paul was a prisoner under house arrest in the capital of the Roman Empire.  During this, his first imprisonment, he was not in a dungeon, but was permitted to live in his own rented quarters with a Roman soldier as guard.  Perhaps he was chained some of the time, but he was permitted to entertain guests and to preach the gospel.

Paul took advantage of this opportunity and used his time profitably.  He had assistants who ran errands for him and invited the people.  First of all, he invited his own people, the Jews, that he might explain to them why he was a prisoner, and present to them the great theme of his life, Jesus Christ and Him crucified.  As a result he won some of them, as well as some from Caesar’s household, a runaway slave, and others. 

"And I want you to know, dear brothers and sisters, that everything that has happened to me here has helped to spread the Good News. For everyone here, including all the soldiers in the palace guard, knows that I am in chains because of Christ. And because of my imprisonment, many of the Christians here have gained confidence and become more bold in telling others about Christ." (Philippians 1:12-14)

Luke concludes his account with:
"Boldly and without hindrance he preached the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ." (Acts 28:31)

Just think about it: Paul was chained to a Roman soldier.  It is logical to assume that these guards, who were rotated every couple of hours, would have been witness to Paul's entertaining of guests and preaching of the Gospel.  How many of them would have been converts?  What impact did these Roman converts have on spreading God's Word even farther?

The praetorian guard can mean the barracks of the soldiers or the soldiers themselves – ten thousand elite, hand picked heroes of Rome. How did they know? Paul told them.

Every day, for eight hour shifts, day and night, Paul had two soldiers, six a day, chained to his wrist.

He had a captive audience.

What did Paul see in these men? Brutality? Bonds? No. He saw each one as a person that Christ died for.

How many times did they tell him to shut up? How many times did they slap his face? How many times did they laugh at him?

Don’t be chained by your chains!  [source]

Or, as George Cladis of Christianity Today put the question: "Pardon me, but who is chained to whom?" 

Perhaps he prayed furiously, "Lord, unchain me from this guard; set me free to do your work."

"Paul," God must have said to him. "Look! You've got it all wrong. You're not chained to that guard. He's chained to you! And I gave you the gift of preaching. Preach, Paul! Preach!" Paul literally had a captured audience in the persons of these imperial guards who arrived every eight hours for their shift. Some of them became believers and in turn spread the gospel throughout the imperial guard—a special force of men from Rome's elite families. God used Paul's "imprisonment" to influence Rome's high society with the gospel!

Paul's perseverance in prison, shrewd evangelistic tactic, and courage to preach to the very guards who held him down, encouraged other Christians to be bold as well.

Questions for discussion:

• Now, what are you chained to that is actually chained to you?
• How can you turn around a difficult situation to advance the Kingdom of God?

Great ideas to consider!  Who are you chained to?  Who is chained to you?  In your sharing of the Gospel, how far will those messengers carry God's Word?

Don't forget that our immediate world is a tremendous mission field, and there is much work to be done.

Christianity and Its Role in the Revolution

Happy 4th of July, everybody!

I just finished posting over at my political blog Hummers & Cigarettes a piece by Peter Lillback of Townhall "This Fourth of July Remember the Role of Christianity."  Lillback addresses the common myth that George Washington was a Deist and, instead, dismisses this common revisionist fallacy and offers proof of Washington's Christian faith.

At the time that I found this article on Townhall, I also spied some interesting reading about George Whitefield, the famous evangelist preacher involved in The Great Awakening, spreading the Gospel throughout England and North America.

Here's David Stokes' piece (emphasis added):

The Forgotten Old SOUTH Church of the American Revolution

In September of 1775, five months after the battles of Lexington and Concord, and while the shot heard ‘round the world later immortalized by Ralph Waldo Emerson still echoed, some Continental Army volunteers gathered at a church in the small coastal Massachusetts town of Newburyport, located almost 30 miles northeast of Boston. They were about to go to battle—an initiative led by, of all people, Benedict Arnold. The men decided that a little prayer accompanied by an extemporaneous sermon might be a good idea.

The town’s Old South Church had found a bit of recent fame as people proudly pointed out that the bell in its clock tower had been cast by a fellow named Paul Revere, who had just months before made a name for himself on horseback. Revere, of course, is better known for his connection to a certain Old North Church. But some of the citizen-soldiers listening to Chaplain Samuel Spring’s challenge that day knew that they were also in the presence of another important bit of history—something they saw as very relevant to the emerging War of Independence.

As they listened to the sermon that day, many of them couldn’t help but be preoccupied with the pulpit itself. On the Sunday immediately following the battles of Lexington and Concord, the local minister, Dr. Jonathan Parsons, spoke fervently about liberty. His passion prompted a man named Ezra Hunt to step into the church’s aisle to form a company of 60 fighting men on the spot—said to be the first such group to attach itself to the fledgling Continental Army.

But as if those two connections to the greater cause weren’t enough, there was a third even more compelling reason many of the men found the venue so fascinating.

It was what was under the pulpit that inspired them.

Five years earlier, during another Bay State September, someone who had actually founded the Old South Church back in yet another September—in 1740—had been scheduled to preach a sermon. He was America’s most famous clergyman, although his preferred appellation was—“revivalist.”

George Whitefield was back in town and a great crowd was anticipated at church in Newburyport that day. But it was a sermon, one of his more than 18,000, he would never preach. Reverend Whitefield died that morning in the church parsonage. The great voice that had cried out in the wilderness of colonial America fell silent. A few days later, with much grief and ceremony, the revivalist was buried in a crypt directly beneath that pulpit at Old South Church—where his grave remains to this day.

Many of the men sitting in the church on September 16, 1775, preparing to go to war, were restless. No disrespect was intended for the chaplain, they just wanted him to be done with his remarks so they could see Whitefield’s tomb. They wanted to make a connection—not only with history and fame: but with what we might now refer to as the DNA of faith.

Lost to many Americans today via the whitewash of history that has led to a bit of a cultural brainwash when it comes to the founding era, is the story of Whitefield and the Great Awakening he helped spark. The common revisionist narrative today places faith and matters of religion on the periphery of history—an enduring lunatic fringe encompassing past and present. This better fits the secularist worldview espoused by those who want us to see government, statism, and struggles for social justice as not only the way to move boldly into the future, but also as consistent with our past.

Sadly, such a future may, in fact, be ours if enough people don’t wake up, but no amount of tinkering with textbooks can actually change what really happened way back when. The enlightenment and passion that burned so bright during the epochal moments of our national gestation nearly two and a half centuries ago on these shores were fueled by something quite spiritual and profound.

There will be reenactments this weekend illustrating Revere’s ride, volleys fired, and a declaration proclaimed, but what will be missing as America rounds up its usual respects this 4th of July will be a cultural revisit to the seeds planted in the hearts and minds of men and women in the decades before 1775-1776.

If America was born 234 years ago this weekend, the case can be made that she was conceived 35 years earlier. Long before men named Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Hancock, and Franklin became notable and influential, there were a few clergymen—preachers—who meteorically blazed across the colonial sky.

Chief among these preacher-cultural celebrities was George Whitefield.

Ordained in the Church of England at the tender age of 22 in 1736, he quickly became well known for his voice—it was loud and commanding, but never shrill and off-putting. It was said that he could speak to 30,000 people (Benjamin Franklin counted them once) and that all could hear him, even in the open air. His diction and flair for dramatics had audiences hanging on every word. Historian George Marsden suggests that Whitefield’s communication gifts were so remarkable that even uttering the word “Mesopotamia” could bring people to tears. The preacher spoke with “Much Flame, Clearness, and Power.”

Whitefield emphasized personal conversion with his powerful messages on the new birth from Jesus’ words in the Gospel of John. The converted formed new churches—hundreds of them—and revived existing churches that had long been spiritually moribund.

Interestingly, George Whitefield was not without his critics. Much of his opposition came from clergymen. The preacher was adept at using the media of his day (e.g., among the first to understand the power of newspapers) and he was certainly a showman. Biographers have regularly referred to him as “Divine Dramatist” and “Pedlar (variant of “peddler”) in Divinity.” One Boston cleric of the day complained that Whitefield “used his utmost craft and cunning to stoke the passions and engage the affections of the people.” But Whitefield not only took it all in stride, he saw the criticism as, in fact, drawing attention to his work and helping his cause. He was the first modern preacher to bring innovation, marketing savvy, and advertising to ministry.

The chronological locus for the Great Awakening was the period of 1740-1742, but the residual and enduring effects lasted into the revolutionary period. And this is where the history being taught in schools today—and that most of us grew up hearing—misses the boat.

In their book, God Is Back: How The Global Revival Of Faith Is Changing The World, John Micklethwait (editor in chief of The Economist) and Adrian Woolridge (Washington bureau chief of The Economist)—both men Oxford-trained secular journalists—argue for the obvious connection between the Great Awakening and the American Revolution. They see our struggle back then, in contrast to the French Revolution, as “a unique event in modern history—a revolution against an earthly regime that was not also an exercise in anti-clericalism.”

While revolutionary France “defined itself by its hostility to religion,” they contend “Americans saw no contradiction between embracing the values of the Enlightenment and republicanism while at the same time clinging to their religious principles.”

And we have the Reverend George Whitefield, among many others, to thank for this.

When the sermon was finally done at Old South Church that September day in 1775, some of the citizen-soldiers sought out the church’s sexton and asked to see where Whitefield was buried. The sexton actually opened the coffin and a few of the officers obtained tiny bits of material from the dead preacher’s collar and wristband, carrying them into battle as good luck charms.

Of course, I am not all that into amulets and such, but I find myself cutting these men some slack. Their simple excision of fabric was really an exercise in remembrance and connection. They knew that what they were going to do soon in battle was somehow, someway tied to what Whitefield and others had been part of years before.

Some years ago, a member of my congregation visited that church in Newburyport and brought me back some pictures of the scene. The crypt was still there, but it was surrounded by half-empty paint cans, buckets, and other typical church basement stuff (I am sure it’s been cleaned up since). It was almost like some had forgotten the significance of what they had down in that basement.

Then again, reading much of the history written about the 18th century these days, it’s pretty clear that America, for the most part, has long-since forgotten the spiritual roots of the revolution we’ll all sort of remember this weekend.

Oh—and here’s a Newburyport footnote. The town was back then associated with great preaching and in 1805 another future visionary and liberator was born to grow up there—William Lloyd Garrison, the famous abolitionist. There may, in fact, be something to faith DNA.

The "Whitefield" always grabs my attention, because my grandfather, a Methodist minister, was given the middle name of "Whitefield" (pronounced 'whit-field').  Reading about George Whitefield is fascinating ... check his story out at Wikipedia.

I endeavor to learn more about our nation's "faith DNA" -- something being whitewashed out of American history these days by the revisionists.