The Wall

In honor of Memorial Day, I thought I would share an amazing personal experience I had while visiting the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington D.C.

In 1999 my husband, James, and I traveled to Baltimore for a medical meeting.  While there, we visited Washington, D.C.  One thing I’ve always wanted to see was the Vietnam Veterans Memorial or “The Wall” as it is sometimes referred to.  I had no idea the effect that visit would have on my life and how God would use it.

The very first day we visited The Wall, it was overwhelming.  I didn’t realize how big it was or how many names were on it.  There were 58,169 names carved in that granite wall.  My mind just couldn’t take it all in.  There were letters and flowers and teddy bears propped up against it; expressions of love and gratitude everywhere.  People were taking pieces of paper and raking a pencil across the engravings;  a sketch of the names would appear on their paper; they call it “name rubbing”.  Everyone seemed to want a piece of it.  The whole thing was just an enormous emotional experience for me.

We went back to the hotel and I said to James, “I wish I had thought to tell my brother we were coming here.  I could’ve gotten a name from him and brought him back a “rubbing”.  But then I said, “That’s okay, I’ll just pray and ask God to give me a name.  Maybe He’ll want me to pray for someone who’s still missing in action or family members of someone who died.”  I somehow believed God would be faithful to do that for me.  As I began to pray about this, the name “Tom” kept coming to my mind.   “Tom.  Tom.”  Later I said to James, “I think his name is Tom.”  James said, “Who?”  I said, “The name God gave me, it’s Tom.”  “Hmm,” he mumbled, “Thomas.”  I said “No, it’s not Thomas, it’s Tom.”  Again James said, “Thomas.”  Well by now, I’m starting to get a little upset because this name had come to me from God and He was very specific; the name was Tom – NOT Thomas!  I said, “Tomorrow, when we go back, I’m gonna find Tom’s name and get a name rubbing of it.”  James said, “Now there are over 58,000 names on that wall, how many Tom’s do you think there are?”  I said, “I’m going to open one of those books and the “Tom” God wants me to have is just gonna jump off that page; you’ll see!”

So, the next day we went back to The Wall and I started on page one of the “big book".  They have these big books on site that includes every name that has been carved on the wall and exactly where on the wall each name can be found.  In a few minutes James comes over to me and his face was almost as white as a sheet.  He looks at me with tears in his eyes and he hands me a piece of paper.  Written on the paper was:

Tom Thomas     Rank – CPL     Service – AR     DOB 12/19/45     DOD 8/28/68

New Philadelphia, Ohio     Panel 46W     Line 54

I just began to sob.  I picked up my sketch pad and followed James as he began to look for Tom’s name on The Wall:  Panel 46W, Line 54.  I handed James the sketch pad.  As he began rubbing the pencil across the engraving, the name Tom M. Thomas appeared.  We both just stood there.  I didn’t know whether to shout for joy or fall to my knees!  It was a true “God moment”.

About 3 ½  years later (6/3/03), an advertisement came on TV for a website that would allow you to communicate with the veteran’s loved ones.  I was so excited, I couldn’t wait to share what God had done with someone who knew and loved Tom.  I went into the website and left the following message:

“It was approximately 3 ½  years ago that I first visited The Wall; for some reason, Tom’s name has stayed with me – I have been praying for your family ever since.  I have a ‘name rubbing’ framed and hanging in my foyer for all to see – I ask others to pray for you, too.  I would love to have a photo of Tom to hang with his ‘name rubbing’.  Please contact me…”

Five months later (11/9/02), I received a response from a woman, named Marsha, who had been a friend to Tom’s mother.  Among other things, she wrote:

“I didn’t know Tom very well because he went into the Army shortly after I met him, but I knew his mother and family for 30 years.  His mother passed away a couple of years ago…I can tell you that I was with his mother the morning the Army Chaplain visited to tell her of Tom’s death…Tom’s sister-in-law was pregnant at the time and on the day he was put to rest she had a boy and they named him Tommy Michael Thomas – he looks just like him.”

Imagine how blessed I was!  So I responded immediately with my own story.  Marsha then sent me a copy of Tom’s memorial and an article that had appeared in the local newspaper.  Tom had only been in the Army for 7 months before he was killed; he was 22 years old.  His mother received the Bronze Star, a Purple Heart and 5 other medals in his honor.

But that’s not the end of this story…

On March 8, 2004, two years later, I received an email from an address I didn’t recognize.  The subject line read:  “Tom Michael Thomas”.  For a moment, I think my heart stopped beating.  It had been 16 months since I had received my first email regarding Tom.  I opened it and read, “…I don’t have a photograph of Tom, but I was with him to the end.  I was his medic…”

In that moment, I was so crushed, so blessed, so humbled all at once.  I imagined that one moment in time – Gary (the medic) cradling Tom in his arms like a baby; Tom asking Gary to tell his mother how much he loved her.  It was too much, too much…

All of a sudden my heart went out to Gary.  What a nightmare war must be!  Gary was a medic; men were dying in his arms almost daily.  How helpless he must have felt.  Did he know Jesus?  Did he feel His presence?

As I began to respond to his email I struggled with whether I should make references to God or not.  If he’s not a believer, I might loose him and I wanted to get to know him better.  I wanted an opportunity to minister to him.  But then I thought, this might be my only opportunity – go for it!

And so I did…I told my story.  But while I had Gary on the line, so to speak, I took another opportunity…I wrote:

“Thank you, Gary Stolp, for all you did for me in Vietnam.  Thank you for your courage.  Thank you for your sacrifice.  God bless you!  P.S.  Tell me more about yourself."

Gary and I corresponded a couple of times that week.  I want to share just a little bit of our conversations with you.

Gary writes:  “…Tom was an infantryman.  He was a good guy; always willing to share his rations.  He died defending his brothers in B Company out in the middle of nowhere on a hill overlooking a valley…”

My response:  “As I read your words, ‘He died…out in the middle of nowhere…’ a great sadness came over me.  Then I realized, he may have been ‘in the middle of nowhere’ but he wasn’t alone.  You were there, ‘…with him to the end’.  Thank you for being there for Tom, Gary.  Thank you for being there for all those men.  When they were hurting, when they were frightened, you were there.  What a comfort that must have been to them all.

One month later, April 28, 2004, William Thomas (Tom's brother) sent me a letter with 2 photos of Tom.  In the letter, William was grateful that Tom’s memory lives on; he worries that Tom will be forgotten. 

I imagine that is the fear of everyone who has lost someone to war.  The sad truth is, we do forget. 

At church yesterday, all those who have ever served our country were asked to stand before the congregation.  As the 8 men from 3 generations stood humbly before us, we were asked to go forward and personally thank them for their service and sacrifice.  There were hugs.  There were tears.

In the name of the freedoms we enjoy – and take for granted – I ask you to do the same.  Thank a veteran.  Thank an active duty soldier.  Thank a police officer, a firefighter, a member of the Coast Guard, etc. - anyone who has served and sacrificed for you to live and worship freely; anyone who is charged with keeping our homes and our children safe.  It will cost you nothing but it will mean everything to them.

The medic who was with Tom Thomas when he died sent me something he wrote for a reunion of the boys of B Company in May of 1999.  I sent him an email last night asking him for permission to share it with you.  His reply:  “I hope it communicates some of the feelings medics have.”

Ode to a Fallen Grunt

by Gary Stolp

The grief I feel for you my friends, I never can fully let go.

You were there one day: and then you were gone, and no one can really explain the why of it.

I loved you as a brother and more – oh so much more.

You shared my loads; and I gave you the affection I could.

But you,  you gave your all for me and for the other brothers there and here;

And for others who will never know nor really appreciate the kind of brother willing to risk all –

To ultimately give all.

I feel so empty.

The times, the places, the faces, and names are all being eroded by the sands of time.

I wish I were more so I could honor you more.

You all deserve so much more than I can ever give you. 

If only I could remember better the kindnesses you gave.

The times you switched rations, ‘cause you knew I couldn’t eat ham and lima beans.

The times you carried part of my load ‘cause you saw I was ready to fall.

The time you told me:  “Doc, you remind me of my Mom; she’s the only one that cared for me like you do.”

You warmed my heart, when it was cold.

You made me feel like I was an intimate part of your family, if only for a little while.

I withheld part of me while I knew you.

I was so afraid that I could not do my job if I became too close.

And by being more distant, I now have this big hole in my heart for you

Because I don’t know how to tell you what the time we spent together means to me.

I can only tell you that I would never trade it for the safety of staying home.

My Brothers, Fallen Brothers,

I carry a little bit of you with me every day.

How can I ever let you go?

You would never let me go.

You watched my every step along the way.

"Follow me! "

"Don’t step there Doc, it’s booby trapped!"

"Walk in my steps, it’s safe there."

You were so courageous my Brothers.

And I was always afraid that you would find out the fears I carried around inside.

Fear that I could not do the things that needed to be done.

Fear that I would let you down.

Fear that I would lose you,

More afraid of really living than dying.

There’s a wall,

A wall with your name on it.

If only I could remember all those things I should, I could meet you there.

But there’s another wall,

And behind that wall all brothers meet together

In another time and another place.

And in that time and place,

We shall get to know one another again.

There’s a Father over all brothers.

His memory does not fade with the changes of time

And He will heal all sorrows and wipe away all tears.

I love you, Brothers, like a brother

And I miss you.

Doc

Tom Thomas

I will remember. 

The Simple Life

Because we home school, what was once my “home office” is now the “classroom”.  Label it home office or classroom, I have found that I flourish and am most creative and relaxed when I am surrounded by the things I love.  Much like the rest of my house, it is filled with collectibles, photographs, old books, etc.   On my desk is a calendar/blotter from the Susan Branch collection.  I love, love, love her whimsy, her artwork, the colors she uses, etc.  Loosely woven into her month of May calendar page are lines like, “Time began in the garden”, “If you’re happy & you know it, clap your hands” and “Won’t you come into our garden?  We would like our flowers to see you.”  But there is one quote that I’m particularly drawn to every time I sit down at my desk, “’Earth’s crammed with heaven & every common bush.’  Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”   My translation of this would be, “God can be found in all living things.”  Amen?  Amen!

When we found the property we now call home, it was completely wooded.  I told my husband I wanted him to carve out a winding road and put our house smack dab in the middle of the woods; and that’s exactly what he did.  We are completely surrounded by trees and all kinds of wildlife.  I love living in the woods; it’s quiet and peaceful and easy to find God in this setting.  As I look out of the classroom window, I see Pine, assorted Oaks, Yaupon, and what we not-so-lovingly call “scrub trees”.  The trees are particularly beautiful right now because we had a little rain a few days ago.  I also see dirt where grass cannot grow because of the shade the trees provide.  I see the family dog rolling in a patch of grass, birds at the feeders, and the cat asleep in the birdbath.  The sky is blue today and there’s a gentle breeze.  If we don’t stop long enough to enjoy these things, I guess I can see how easy it would be to miss God in all of this.

For me, the trees are not just trees; when I look at them I am reminded of the Garden of Eden, the place where Adam walked with God.  The place where Adam not only shared his most private thoughts with God, but he did so face-to-face.  How I long for the day when I can do the same.

The dirt is not just dirt.  It is the “stuff” of which God formed Adam.  The same stuff my kids trample through the house, the stuff that accumulates so quickly on the top of the coffee table, the TV cabinet, and the dresser – this dust, this dirt was used to create man.  This dirt also reminds me that I am nothing without God.

As I watch the animals, I am reminded of the many discussions I have had with my children about why God created mosquitoes, or gnats, or love bugs and how Adam managed to come up with all those names.

The clear blue sky and the gentle breeze remind me of the story in 1Kings 19.  We expect to find God in the bigger things/the bigger events in our lives; in fact, we look for Him there.   We’re relieved when He shows up and angry when we think He hasn’t.  But God was not found in the powerful wind, or the earthquake, or the fire; God was found in “the gentle whisper”.  I love that picture.

If anyone reading this has never watched at least one episode of The Waltons, shame on you!  It was (and still is) one of the best family-based television shows produced.  If you have seen it, you know that the series was built around a family consisting of 7 children, a mother AND a father, and a grandmother and grandfather – all living under the same roof during The Great Depression which began in 1929.

It’s not The Waltons that I specifically want to talk about here, but the lifestyle of people during that period.  Life was simple then.  You may say, “There was nothing about living through the depression that was simple!”  Absolutely, I get that.  I guess what I mean is, when you don’t have “things” to clutter your life/your space, and to occupy your mind, all you’re left with is – family.   Today we are in bondage to our schedules, our conveniences, our toys, our debt.

John Walton, Sr., and men like him during that time, wasn’t obsessed with his career and making money so he could buy more things.  He worked hard at any job he could get just to put food on the table for his family.   He had to be creative; He bartered for food, livestock, and services.  He taught his children how to use their hands and their minds in the same way by his own example.  The children had chores that included far more than just feeding the family dog.  They were expected to learn skills pertaining to jobs inside the home and out.  They were taught not just to work hard but to do a good job.  They learned that if they wanted something outside the definition of their basic needs, they would have to work or barter for it themselves.  This upbringing afforded each one of them the opportunity to learn and establish a good work ethic. 

I remember my grandmother, who was raised with 2 brothers, telling me how she used to have to herd cows with the rest of the boys/men on my great-grandfather’s ranch.  She told of how she had to get up before dawn, help with breakfast, do her own household chores, then head for the stables where she would ready herself and her horse for herding, branding, or whatever was on the agenda for the day.  At the end of the day, she would head for the kitchen to help her mother prepare the evening meal.  She would then help with dishes, complete any unfinished chores, then off to bed only to rise the next morning and repeat the same.

I’m sure she complained.  I’m sure she was tired.   I’m sure she dreamt of a different kind of life, maybe even living in the city, without the smell of livestock.  But this was her life.  It was all she knew.  It was how her family made a living.  In many ways, she was happy to be able to do her share.  I remember her as being an extremely hard worker, afraid of nothing and no one; she was strong physically and emotionally. 

Back at the Walton’s, neighbors were there for each other.  If your barn burned down, they were there to help you put out the fire, clean up the mess, and raise it up again; you didn’t have to ask them, they would just show up.  Today, we not only don’t know our neighbors, we don’t want to know our neighbors.

The long and the short of it is this, when life was simpler it was all about family.  Everyone ate at the table together, everyone gathered around the radio together after supper, everyone went to church together and sat on the same pew.  It didn’t matter how much they had or didn’t have, they had each other.

No, I didn’t grow up during this time, but my grandmother did raise me so I suppose many of her “old ways” rubbed off on me.   Children these days are growing up in a society that espouses an “ALL ABOUT ME” mentality.  There is a sense of entitlement that is sickening on the part of adults and children alike.  There is no GOOD work ethic, especially among young men and boys.  Boys get everything they want so why should they get a summer job and unmarried men are still living at home with their parents.  Parents expect the church to teach their children and many share no spiritual relationship with their children at all.  That is so sad to me.  Some of the sweetest treasures God has given me have been through teaching and interacting with my children spiritually.  Families don’t sit together in church AND there’s no “church etiquette”.  We see food and drink in the sanctuary, people (adults and children) walk in front of the Pastor, as he’s speaking just to go to the bathroom, there is talking during the service instead of listening.  Fathers don’t know their role in the home; mothers don’t know their position in the family; children don’t know where they fit in and sometimes feel like they don’t fit in at all – SOMEBODY STOP ME!!

 We have always worshipped with our children.  My girls are grown and have families of their own now, but they are still in church with us.  My teenage son sits with us.  My grandchildren occasionally bless us by climbing into our laps during the worship service.  For us, church is a family affair and I think that’s the way God intended it.  There is a spiritual intimacy that binds you together when you worship as a family; a spiritual bond.

Oh, how I long for a simpler time, a simpler life!  A life where people are more important than things.  A life where families eat together and pray together and pull together.  A life where you not only know your neighbor’s name but you fellowship together, raise your children together. 

I heard James Dobson speak on women and depression once.   He said that years ago, women had fellowship together over coffee, over the clothesline, in the backyard with their kids; they saw each other daily, they were each other’s support system.  Today, women are isolated, so to speak, because of their jobs, their children’s activities, and their schedules.   Dobson said that women need other women in their everyday lives to grow, to nurture and be nurtured, to encourage, to strengthen.  I sooo believe this to be true.   I have needed it in my own life; especially when I was raising small children.   I have been blessed to disciple many women over the years and I can tell you that every one of them would have greatly benefitted from having another God-fearing woman to walk through life with. 

The simple life.  Will we ever see it again?

Only if God becomes the foundation of the home.  Only if moms are willing to trust God enough to stay at home with their children.   Only if dads will bow their knees and become the Priest in their homes.  Only if husbands pray with their wives and bathe them in the Word of the Lord.  Only if children respect their parents as the authority God has placed over them. 

Only if families come together under God, the Creator of all things.

Christians Weigh-In

 "Usama Bin Laden is dead."

As my husband and I were sitting in the living room watching television last night, our program was interrupted with this latest breaking news...

"the one responsible for so much tragedy in the world today..."

"the man the United States has been hunting since September 11, 2001..."

"the news we have all been waiting to hear since that fateful day..."

"Usama Bin Laden is dead."

I am going to be honest with you, as I always am - I really didn't know what to feel.  Even in this moment as I type these individual letters on my keyboard, I cannot put a name to what I am feeling.  After President Obama's speech, my husband and I quietly got up and began picking up the living room and getting ready for bed; neither of us said a word.  Finally I said to him, "As a Christian, I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this."

Here's my conflict: 

Is it wrong to rejoice when people die? 

Am I betraying the ones who lost their lives on 9/11 and all those who have lost their lives on the battlefield since if I don't rejoice?

If you know my husband, you know that he is a true Believer; he loves God with his whole heart.  I look to him as my Priest in our home and I find his spiritual wisdom and knowledge invaluable.  But, he's also a patriot.  He loves his country; he's served his country. He has felt very passionate, as most Americans, about what happened on 9/11.  He is very outspoken about his political views and I honesty expected him to be jumping up and down with the rest of the country over this particular development.  Instead, he looked up from what he was doing and said, "I know what you mean.  Are we supposed to be rejoicing when a man dies and goes to hell?" 

I would love to be able to continue this post with some great words of wisdom, with some profound theological discussion that might obsolve us (as Christians) of any confusion or guilt we might be feeling, but I really am not capable in this moment of going there. 

So...

I'm asking you to weigh-in.  I would love to know what my brothers and sisters are feeling about this right now.  I especially would like to hear from you if you find yourself conflicted as I am.  Please, let me hear from you.  The instructions for replying to this post are here to help you with your comments.

Getting Back to the Basics

I’m a people-watcher.  I love to watch what people do and I love trying to get inside their heads to figure out what they're thinking (particularly when they’re doing something cRaZy!). 

When I first meet someone, I must admit, I try to “read” them; not in the WoOoOo creepy sense of the word.  I just find myself trying to read between the lines; see who they REALLY are.  I have found that there are very few people out there who are genuinely REAL at that first meeting. 

Most of us keep a variety of masks on hand to be used in certain situations.  For example, we may have a specific mask we wear for the dinner with our spouse’s boss.  We may have a mask we use only for job interviews, a different one for speaking engagements, another for the in-laws, and another for church – yes, I said it, for church.  It’s only when we make that transition from acquaintance to friend that we take the mask off, with trepidation of course, because there’s still no assurance that we will be accepted.

My husband has a friend who is refreshingly delightful to me because he is soooo real.  He doesn’t always dress appropriately for the occasion, doesn’t have the proper table etiquette, doesn't always say the right things, etc.  I love this!  It puts me at ease, and makes me feel like I have a friend in the room.  It also makes me less self-conscious and causes me to be less pretentious myself.  I’m thinking there should be one person like this in every crowd to lighten things up.  Unfortunately, I’m afraid most people in the room would find it more appalling than refreshing.

I also love to watch people eat.  I don’t know if it’s because I have a thing about wanting everyone to enjoy their meal, wanting to make sure they get plenty to eat, or wanting to make sure they all come away from the table satisfied…I don’t know; I just think the way people eat can really tell you a lot.  It can tell you if they appreciate and enjoy food, if it’s more about the dinner conversation or the family being together in one place, or if it’s just something you have to do before you can move on to the next task.  I especially love watching children eat.   I watched a little boy in a Mexican food restaurant eating tortilla chips the other day, he was precious!  His little lips…but that’s another rabbit.   I’ve noticed that if a child is raised in a home where how you behave at the table is more important than the meal itself and the nutritional benefits, that child will have exemplary table manners for their age but will be a picky eater and not necessarily enjoy their food (and neither does anyone else).  The opposite appears to me to be true of the parents who are more relaxed and allow a kid to be a kid at the table; I didn’t say an animal, I said a kid.  These kids REALLY get into food!  They use their hands, they dig in, they have it all over their face, and they eat just about anything.  They enjoy the whole food experience.  They LOVE mealtime.  They LOVE food!

Whether my theory is right or wrong is not the point I’m trying to make here; the point still is that I love to watch people and my mind goes to all these places when I do.  I know.  It’s weird.

Anyway, I watched the You Tube video of Carrie Underwood and Vince Gill’s rendition of How Great Thou Art Easter weekend; it was truly powerful.   Carrie was so beautiful and it was evident to me that she wasn’t just “singing”, she was praising; it was truly a blessing to witness.   As the camera occasionally panned the audience, I noticed it seemed to be filled with musicians and performers; because I am a people watcher my mind immediately went to them.  Many I did not recognize, but the ones I did recognize are not known for singing gospel; quite the opposite, in fact.  I saw sweet smiles and tears rolling down their faces and I noticed that some of them appeared to be singing along.  When Carrie came to the chorus for one last time, the audience jumped to their feet, cheering, clapping, some even lifted their hands toward heaven!  It almost had the feel of revival; it was amazing!

Running through my mind were interviews I have seen in the past with some of these audience members.  I remembered that most of these artists got their start in church, singing gospel music; they grew up on the basic principles of the Gospel message.  Their music and their lifestyle tells me that some have gotten far away from their roots, far away from truth.  I wondered what was going through their hearts and minds in that one moment in time.  Did they even realize before that moment that they had left their first love?  Did they miss Him?  Did they walk away with a longing in their hearts to be back in that place; that place of simplicity, of peace, of joy – of rest?  As I watched them, I found myself praying for them; asking God to draw them to Himself, to restore those who needed restoration, to save those who needed salvation.   I asked Him to open doors for them to be able to get back to the basics, to go back to their first love. 

I’ve always heard, “God hasn’t left you, it’s you who have left God.”  I believe this is true.  Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.  When He says, “…I will never leave you nor forsake you”, He means it.  (Hebrews 13:8, Joshua 1:5)

If you’re a people-watcher, you’ve seen that look that says, “Something’s missing in my life…” or “I may look good on the outside, but inside I’m a mess…”  I think, as Christians, we’ve been called to address that look, to give hope where hope is needed, to be that sweet smell of Christ to those who are drowning in the stench of the world.   

I hope as you go about your day at work, or at the grocery store you’ll put on spiritual eyes, scan the room, make eye contact with someone, smile, even say “hello” or “how are you today?”  You never know how God can use you to change someone’s day; maybe even someone’s life.  You never know how God may use that someone to change your life.

Heavenly Scent

I have been wearing the same perfume for the past 25 years, Oscar de la Renta; it’s become known not as my “fragrance” but as my “smell”.  Now, I’m not sure that’s a compliment, but I do love the perfume.  Over the years I have tried to find other fragrances but I always end up going back to Oscar.

About a month ago, my oldest daughter and I were shopping at our local Sam’s Club and I got a whiff of something wonderful!  I wheeled around to locate the woman who might be wearing this heavenly scent, but there were just too many people there.  I wanted to find that woman so I could ask her where she got that wonderful smelling fragrance; my love affair with Oscar could have been seriously compromised if I had found her.

2 Corinthians 2:14-16 says, “…wherever we go He uses us to tell others about the Lord and to spread the Good News like a sweet perfume.  Our lives are a fragrance presented by Christ to God…to those who are being saved we are a life-giving perfume…”

For those of us who are saved the smell of Christ is all over us; that’s the “sweet savour”, the “sweet aroma” the Bible talks about.  I love this picture!  If we are covered by the blood of Christ, we will automatically take on His scent and that’s how we’re recognized, as a “sweet fragrance presented by Christ to God”.  However, there are some days when we smell better than others, wouldn’t you agree?  What about those days when our minds are filled with impure thoughts, when we get caught up in gossip, or make the conscience choice to rebel…how much does that take away from that “sweet aroma”?  Or does it?

As women, we know that perfume tends to wear off after a couple of hours, leaving only a hint of the original fragrance behind.  We have to continue to reapply it throughout the day; so I believe it is with the fragrance of Christ.  I submit to you that we must maintain the connection we have with Christ in order to keep the fragrance smelling as fresh and as sweet as it did in that very moment we received salvation.  That word, maintain, carries with it an implication of persistence and an aggressiveness in keeping something in good working order.  Because of some of the challenges we may have to face throughout our day, it would be wise for us to stay in a “spirit of prayer” all day long in order to keep that fragrance smelling fresh.  I’m suggesting that aggressively/persistently pursuing Christ in all we do would be the picture of reapplying that perfume throughout the day. 

“…wherever we go, God uses us to tell others about the Lord and to spread the Good News like a sweet perfume.” 

Like it or not, people are watching us “so-called Christians” to see how we are going to respond to conflict, to tragedy, to a challenge, even how we’re going to respond to them personally.  So wherever we go, whatever we do, we are to be clothed in the fragrance of Christ.  Studied-up, fessed-up, prayed-up, nothing separating us from God.  We should welcome people chasing us down to ask where they can get some of the joy and peace they see in us as Christians.  What a perfect opportunity to share the Good News of Jesus Christ.  When was the last time someone asked you a question that led you to share what God has done for you?  Could it be that your fragrance wasn’t strong enough to attract such questions? 

 “…to those who are being saved, we are a life-giving perfume…”

“…a life-giving perfume…”   Wouldn’t you be willing to pay whatever it takes to get some of that?!  Some people are willing to travel the globe for life-giving treatments, medicines, etc.   I was willing to stalk a woman I didn’t even know just to get the name of her perfume!  People are so hungry for love in this country; they are searching and searching yet finding nothing but more heartache because they find themselves constantly being drawn to the wrong things.  Can it be that the stench of ungodliness is more alluring than the sweet aroma of godliness?  And if that’s true, what does it say about us?  Are we hiding our light under a bushel, privately enjoying what God has given us; insulating ourselves from the world because we’re not willing to make the sacrifices and the commitment it requires to touch people?  We have the ability to see a life changed with this perfume we hold…what are we saving it for? 

I’ve just about given up on ever finding a replacement for Oscar.  By now, he’s probably on the list of “old lady perfumes”, and that’s okay because by now – I’m an old lady.  It’s also nice to be remembered for a specific scent like when I hear my youngest daughter say to her little ones, “Mmm…you smell like Mimi.”  How lovely to think that God says the same, “Mmm…you smell like my Son.”

How are you smellin’ today?

To Whom Much Is Given

The Secret Millionaire…this is the best show on television right now!  If you were to watch this with spiritual eyes, you would see that God is at work on primetime ABC!

A couple of weeks ago, there was an episode about a millionaire whose life was changed while doing volunteer work in Los Angeles’ Skid Row.   There were over 15,000 people living on the streets, in halfway houses, and in government sponsored apartments in what is called "Skid Row" at the time this episode was being filmed.  As the camera pans the streets, it lands briefly on a tall building sporting neon lights that say “Jesus Saves”.  Among other things I hear a homeless man say, “…anyone can become homeless.”  People who live off of government assistance are given $55.25 per week toward living expenses; the narrator says, “…that amount has not changed in the past 10 years.”  

While walking around Skid Row, the millionaire meets a handsome young man named Amin.  In his late teens, Amin’s girlfriend became pregnant.   Because he brought shame to his family, Amin’s father made him move out of the family home.  Amin had no choice but to live in his vehicle on the streets.  He said the thing he remembered most about that time was the cold.  After a time, Amin became a hat designer and was fortunate enough to have his own shop.  Every Wednesday Amin goes to Skid Row with clothes and hygiene kits to hand out to the homeless.  The clothes have been donated by others, but Amin spends $500.00 out of his own pocket to purchase the supplies to make the hygiene kits.   

One day the millionaire is helping Amin hand out clothes and hygiene kits.  A man with a walker feebly makes his way by them to check out the supply of clothing.  Amin notices that the man’s shoes are covered with excrement.  Without batting an eye, Amin takes off his own shoes and gives them to the man with the walker.  The millionaire is moved to tears; he doesn’t understand this unselfish act.  He questions Amin about it.  Amin simply says, “We all have too much.”  He says he remembers being very cold when he was on the streets and that if he hadn’t experienced that himself, he wouldn’t be helping people on Skid Row today.

For several years, our family did mission work in Mexico.  One of the many memories I have of that time was arriving home, pulling into the driveway and feeling so ashamed of having so much.  I would ask God to write the words of Luke 12:48 on my heart so that I would never forget them…

…much is required from those to whom much is given, and much more is required from those to whom much more is given. 

I have seen the kind of unselfish act Amin displayed many times before on the mission field.  I’ve seen kids give away their most prized possessions, adults giving away their own Bibles, coats, money, and yes their own shoes.  I am always humbled at the sight of it.  But where does an act of love so pure come from?  I wondered if Amin knew my Jesus.   I wanted to believe he did, for Romans 1:19-20 says, For the truth about God is known to them instinctively.  God has put this knowledge in their hearts.  From the time the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky and all that God made.  They can clearly see His invisible qualities – His eternal power and divine nature.  So they have no excuse whatsoever for not knowing God.

The millionaire, John Ferber, went to Skid Row to find out how he could help with the financial needs of the organizations who are trying to provide assistance for the homeless there; and he did.  If I remember right, he gave away about $100,000 in cash, and a van-load of toys, sleeping bags, tools, etc.  He also helped Amin establish a nonprofit organization that will allow him the opportunity to do even more.  I suspect, however, that Mr. Ferber took with him so much more than he gave to the people of Skid Row.  Obviously he was moved to compassion by the conditions he found himself in, by the people he met, and by the determination and dedication of those who are working against all odds to help the homeless, but I don’t think his heart was truly broken until he met a man who was willing to give the shoes off his own feet to one who had none.

I cannot say if Mr. Ferber is a Christian, he did not allude to that in this episode, but I do believe this…whether he knew it or not, God was revealing Himself through the poor, through the lame, through the hungry, and through a young man named Amin.

I was hungry, and you fed Me.  I was thirsty, and you gave Me a drink.  I was a stranger, and you invited Me into your home.  I was naked, and you gave Me clothing.  I was sick, and you cared for Me.  I was in prison, and you visited Me…when you did it to one of the least of these, you were doing it to Me.  Matthew 25:35-40

My Bible

When I teach others how to study their Bible, one of the first things I always stress is the importance of actually writing in it.  Always use blue ink because it stands out next to the black text.  Never use a highlighter because it always bleeds through to the other side.  Underline, circle, make notes in the margin, and feel free to draw happy/sad faces to express your feelings.  A little unorthodox?  Maybe.  Think about it this way, what happens to your notes when you get home?  Where are they when you need them?  I can tell you where mine are; I’ve used them many, many times to teach, minister, write…

My husband bought me a new Bible about 8 years ago for Mother’s Day; it’s the New Living Translation.  If you’re not familiar with the NLT, it’s a kind of in-your-face translation and I love it!  The only other Bible I have had in my journey with the Lord was one that came from the Liberty Bible Institute.  It came free with some books my husband ordered and it had his name engraved on the cover.  Even so, I claimed it as my own immediately and I carried it for years.  That Bible was a King James Version; the version I cut my teeth on as a Christian and the version I always go back to while studying.  I had written many, many notes in that Bible.  I underlined and circled all the key words, and turned down the corners of some of the pages to mark the passages that were most special to me.  So, with the gift of a new one, I found myself having to transfer all that information to my new Bible; what a job!

Well, here I am all these years later and my once new Bible is, quite literally, falling apart.  A total of 301 pages have come completely out of the binding and many more are threatening to.  Every time I open my Bible, the loose pages fall out onto the floor.  It is frustrating for sure, but I cannot bring myself to part with it.  Too many years of sermon notes, prayers and my own personal thoughts are written in that Bible.  It feels good in my hands; I am comforted when I hold it.  Most of my experiences with God are recorded within its pages.  I don’t have enough time left in this world to transfer all this information.  Even so, my sweet husband thinks it’s sad and he wants to buy me a new one, in fact I think there are some people at church who feel sorry enough for me  to take up a collection for one. J I just can’t do it.  My brains are in that Bible!  I can’t seem to find anything in any Bible other than my own.  It’s like that mess we all have on our desks; it may look like a mess, but we know exactly where everything is.

My Bible and I have been through a lot together.  It has been stained with my tears, colored on by my youngest son, dropped in the mud, stepped on, used as a pillow, lost (and found), but most of all cherished.  I have written the names of people I love by the promises God has given me for them and, for some, I am still waiting for those promises to be fulfilled.  I have nurtured four of my own children and a number of spiritual children with it and now I am using it to teach my grandchildren.  I have been told that I can have it rebound but somehow I feel it just wouldn’t be the same.  It has become an old, reliable friend.  It has…character.  As I see it, there is more work to be done.  There are more verses to be underlined, more sermon notes to add, more happy faces to be drawn…God is not finished with either of us.

When the time does come that I can no longer read the words written on its tattered pages, or no longer feel its weathered cover in my hands, I am hoping that my Bible will find its way into the hands and hearts of my children and grandchildren and take root.   

P.S.  I finished writing this post Sunday afternoon before our evening church service.  Our pastor talked about how people need to be noticed; they need to know that they are not invisible, that they are important.  Right in the middle of his message - “SPLAT!” – the 310 pages of my Bible fell to the floor!  My daughter started laughing, my friend next to me snickered and began helping me pick them up.  The lady in front of me turned around to see what the commotion was, and my son said, “Mom, spring for a new Bible, P-L-E-A-S-E!”  My answer – absolutely not. J