The Last Word

Who has the final say in our lives? Two brothers were playing in the back yard on a beautiful Sunday morning. All of a sudden their dog, Matt, bounded into the bushes and came out shaking a black and white lop-eared rabbit. The two brothers were aghast because the rabbit belonged to their neighbor, Mrs. Clausen. How could they tell their neighbor their dog had killed her pet rabbit? They decided to take their problem to their father since he always seemed to know just what to do. His suggestion, however, wasn’t very wise. He told the boys to hose the little fellow off real well so he would look nice and clean. Then they should dry him off with a towel and stick him back in the cage. Mrs. Clausen was at church while all this took place. When she returned home, they thought she would discover her pet rabbit, but would determine that it died a natural death. The boys did as their father had advised, then hid in the bushes to get a good vantage point to observe Mrs. Clausen when she discovered her dead rabbit. Sure enough, when she came home from church, Mrs. Clausen came out of the back door and headed for the rabbit cage. All of a sudden, the boys heard the worst screaming anyone has ever heard. Mrs. Clausen went on and on crying, shrieking, yelling, and asking God all kinds of questions. It was then that the mother and father of the boys came outside and approached their neighbor in her back yard, pleading with her to stop and tell them what had happened. When they finally calmed Mrs. Clausen down a little, they asked her once again what was wrong. In between sniffs and sobs she finally got it out: “I buried that rabbit three days ago.” We do the best we can to mask the reality of death, but to no avail. Death is not our friend, no matter what the circumstances. The Word of God makes plain that physical death is the last enemy of God to be destroyed (1 Corinthians 15:20-26) and will be completed defeated when Jesus returns. In the meantime, however, we must live with death staring us in the face. This does not mean that we should be afraid of death. Jesus’ resurrection has sealed the fate of death. Death will be swallowed up in victory and so its most powerful sting has been removed through the victory of Jesus who insures that our lives will not be lived in vain. (1 Corinthians 15:54-55) Since Jesus holds the keys of Death and Hades (Revelation 1:18) and I belong to Him, then death will not have the last say in my life. So the question we must all ask is this: “Do I belong to Him?” About the author: Joe Bagby has been preaching for thirty years. He and his wife Paula were missionaries to Thailand in the 80’s for eight years where they adopted twin girls, Hope and Joy. Joe receive his masters degree in Congregational Ministry from Abilene Christian University with a BS in Education from University of North Texas. He is now serving as Pulpit Minister for the 4th and Elm Church of Christ in Sweetwater, Texas.

Compliment Guys

Now aren’t you nice!? Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. If you speak, you should do so as one who speaks the very words of God (1 Peter 4:10-11). They were tired of it. Tired of people being grumpy, depressed, and worried. Tired of always worrying about the current economic climate. So Cameron Brown and Brett Westcott decided to do something to bring a little light and joy to their corner of the world – which happens to be Purdue University. They became The Compliment Guys. That’s what everyone calls them, anyway. Every Wednesday afternoon from 12:30 to 2:30, Cameron and Brett set up their “Free Compliments” sign near a main walkway outside the chemistry building. Rain, snow, sleet, cold – whatever the weather, The Compliment Guys are “In.” For those two hours on Wednesday, they live up to their name. Every person who walks by gets a compliment. To a guy in Purdue sweats they say, “Love your school spirit.” To a woman carrying a trendy black bag: “Very nice purse.” “It’s very large.” To the student who ran past them in knee-high leather boots: “I like your hustle.” “I like your boots, too.” The guys try to be very personal and specific in their compliments, too. “I like your red coat,” Westcott says to a woman listening to her iPod. She turned and laughed, which prompted Brown to say, “Very nice smile.” Three women leaving biology lab purposely walked by them. “I like your curly hair. Great smile. I like your glasses,” the guys said, pointing to each of the women. One Wednesday, they told a professor to enjoy his coffee, thanked the groundskeepers for their hard work and encouraged someone eating an apple to “stay nutritious.” While most people react positively, the guys sometimes get ignored, or get nasty looks, or the occasional obscene gesture. They get accused of being there only to pick up girls. (They both have girlfriends.) Some think it’s a psychology experiment. But Brett Westcott says their reasons for being The Compliment Guys are pretty straightforward, if not too sophisticated: “Just overall, making people’s day is really satisfying. Not enough people do nice things anymore.” I don’t know about you, but I think The Compliment Guys might be on to something. We’re a culture that doesn’t take seriously the power of words. Strange, when you think about how many words we speak, process, e-mail, and text every day. Everywhere we look, there are words: on signs, on screens, on forms and petitions, in documents and books, on labels and menus, billboards and bumper stickers. Everywhere we go, people are speaking: cell phones clamped to ears as they walk, Bluetooths (Blueteeth?) clipped to ears while they drive, in meetings and at coffee shops, in schools and churches and offices and bars and restaurants, over dinner with family and over conference calls with the home office. So many words. So little thought. How else to explain the careless ways that husbands and wives, parents and children, students and teachers, friends, colleagues, and fellow church members speak to each other? How else to explain the torrents of profanity yelled out of car windows when a driver feels cheated out of a spot in traffic that he thinks should have been his? How else to explain how we trivialize things like sex or family or even God with too many meaningless, thoughtless, graceless words? How else to explain all the ways in which we use words to hurt, manipulate, belittle, and control? So many words. So little thought. No wonder members of some religious orders take vows of silence. When you discipline yourself not to speak at all, you gain a better understanding of the value of words, in much the same way as a person who’s fasting understands the value of food. Maybe we Christians should give more thought to the vow of silence. I can certainly think of situations that would have worked out much better if I had taken one. Or maybe better, let’s discipline ourselves to use words more carefully. That’s where I think The Compliment Guys have it right. They’re making a choice to use words to “make peoples’ day.” They’re disciplining themselves, at least for two hours on Wednesday afternoons, to speak in ways that are positive, affirming, and encouraging. I suspect, too, that those two hours on Wednesday carry over, at least to some extent, in the ways that they speak when they’re “off duty.” “If you speak,” wrote Peter, “you should do so as one who speaks the very words of God.” I love that it’s Peter, of all people, who wrote that. Peter, the guy who was so well-acquainted with the taste of foot. The guy who swore he’d never desert Jesus, and then swore just as vehemently that he didn’t know him. He learned, somewhere along the line, and by the time he was an elder statesman of the church he had learned how much words mattered. He had begun to regard words, and the opportunity to use them, as gifts from God. He understood that the faithful words of God’s people are one of the many ways in which God’s grace takes form in this world. So he wanted the church to take words seriously. He charged them to give careful thought to what they said, to consider whether or not the words coming from their mouths or pens were suitable vehicles for the grace of God to travel in. “If you say something, make sure it’s something that wouldn’t seem out of place coming from the mouth of God himself.” Well, we can try to do better at least, can’t we? It might not work for you to set up your own “Free Compliment” stand at your own work or school. But then, there are other ways to bless people with your words than firing compliments at

Beautiful Feet

How pretty are your woofing dogs? The only feet I have ever admired are those that belong to babies or very young children. For the most part, I think adult feet are ugly. They have a right to be. Most of us, especially women, abuse them with shoes that don’t fit correctly or have inadequate arch support. Many years ago, my husband worked in a shoe store and he says it always amazed him when some women would shove their feet into shoes that were obviously too small. Not me. You won’t catch me in uncomfortable shoes. Once, my mother bought me a pair of shoes to wear to a cousin’s wedding. For some reason I don’t remember now, I didn’t try them on until the day of the wedding. They were too small and so painful that now, almost 20 years later, the only thing I can remember about the day my cousin said, “I do!” was how much my feet hurt. Ugly feet are hereditary in my family. Once, when all the women on my father’s side were together, we took off our shoes to show those who married into our family what their children’s feet might look like. I could tell by the looks on their faces that they thought we were kidding. However, when we took off our shoes, there was no denying the similarity. “How do they get that way?” they asked. “Genetics,” we all replied in unison. “Admire your children’s feet when they are babies because one day they may look like this,” my aunt advised. I remember my grandmother saying, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” But when it comes to feet, I didn’t believe that anyone could possibly find my feet attractive. I am so self conscious about them that I never wear sandals, flip flops, or open-toed shoes. No sirreee. I want those ugly puppies covered up as much as possible. Last week, I was reading my Bible and I came upon a verse that I didn’t remember. Paul quotes the Old Testament when he says, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news” (Romans 10:15 NLT). My mouth dropped open in amazement. The message was loud and clear. If I am a Christian and I am bringing the good news to others, I have beautiful feet! I slipped my shoes off and looked at the same twisted toes and huge bunions that I’ve looked at for the last several years. They definitely didn’t look beautiful to me, but if God thinks they are beautiful … I know they are. When my brother was a little boy my mother looked at his hands one day and told him he had beautiful hands. “No they’re not,” he argued. “Oh yes they are,” she replied gently. “The things they can do are beautiful.” And that’s the way it is with feet. No matter what they look like, when they help us carry the message that Jesus Christ came to this earth and died for our sins, that He arose victorious from the grave, and that He’s coming back for us one day, then our feet our beautiful indeed. About the author: Teresa is an accomplished author, speaker, mother, and grandmother. Teresa has been married to Bill for a lifetime of family, faith, and love. They are members of Pleasant Hill Church of Christ in Kentucky. They have 5 children and 4 grandchildren. Teresa is also the author of the popular women’s blog called “NanaHood”!

The Fourth Quarter

So are you ready for the buzzer to sound? I was raised in a home that loved Jesus, church, family and basketball. My dad was a University of Kentucky fan and if the Cats were playing, the whole family watched – thus the graphic at the top of the article celebrating the “Battle for Kentucky” tonight in this year’s “Sweet Sixteen.” When I grew up I married a “Yankee” who thought basketball was a sissy sport, I made him promise not to say that to my dad. Over the years, my husband realized that he was wrong. Now he loves basketball as much as I do. The years passed and we were blessed with four boys and a daughter. Three of our five children played basketball. We went to little league games, middle school games, high school games, and a zillion tournaments. My back ached from spending so much time on bleachers. At one point in my life, I would lay down at night to go to sleep and I could hear basketballs bouncing and tennis shoes squeaking! Even though I have never played basketball myself (they didn’t have a girl’s team when I was in high school) I have been around the sport so much that I often think in basketball terminology. The other day I was talking to my friend about something and I said something about being in the fourth quarter of life – they still play basketball in quarters in middle school, high school, and pros while colleges play in halves. She looked at me strangely. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Well, we are into our 50s. Assuming we live about as long as our parents… I think it’s safe to say this is the fourth quarter of life.” She thought about it a minute, “We might get an over-time,” she said with a grin. We might, but regardless of how long we live, eventually we reach the fourth quarter. Then it’s not long before “game over” – the buzzer sounds and everyone goes home. When I was younger, I was too busy living life to think much about the fourth quarter! Now that I’m older, I realize that one of the reasons I didn’t want to think about it was I knew I wasn’t ready for the final buzzer. I wasn’t ready to face the coach and give my answer for how I had played the game. Ready or not, this life – your life and my life – will end. Ready or not, we will all answer to God for the life we have lived. No matter how old or young we are, let’s live with commitment so that when the final buzzer sounds, or when the coach takes us out of the game, we are ready to face our final score with confidence! The apostle Paul loved athletic metaphors, too. Notice what he says about finishing with confidence: I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful. And now the prize awaits me – the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on the day of his return. And the prize is not just for me but for all who eagerly look forward to his appearing (2 Timothy 4:6-8 NIV). About the author: Teresa is an accomplished author, speaker, mother, and grandmother. Teresa has been married to Bill for a lifetime of family, faith, and love. They are members of Pleasant Hill Church of Christ in Kentucky. They have 5 children and 4 grandchildren. Teresa is also the author of the popular women’s blog called “NanaHood”!

How You Can Minister to Christ

How can we minister to Jesus? When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them … (Matthew 9:36) On my first visit to a prison in northern Portugal, in the mid-1970’s, I was taken by the way the inmates welcomed us … There were hugs and big smiles and it seemed like they jumped up and down with joy every time we came. At first, I thought that the warm welcome the inmates gave to my companions and me was because I was the voice of a Bible study radio broadcast, and they wanted to meet the man behind the voice. Later, I found out that once those men were locked up, they were abandoned. Neither their relatives nor their friends came to see them. Let’s face it: who would want to have a convict for a friend, or for a cousin, or even for a brother? During one of my first visits to the French Robertson Unit here in Abilene, one inmate’s first words to me were: “Welcome to the Cemetery of the Living.” Later on, that same man confided to me I was his only visitor in ten years. He had not had a single person come to visit him in an entire decade. Another inmate there – a man from Matanzas, Cuba – gave me his home address in his country. The first chance I had to visit Cuba, I went to see his family. There I learned that they had had no communication with him for the past twenty years. The man’s mother had died, and he was unaware of it. When Paul admonished the Colossians about being supportive, (Colossians 3:13) he did not say that the Christian should bear with his or her brothers and sisters only when the circumstances were right! No, we are told to be supportive all of the time, even when it is uncomfortable or risky to do so. To shoot a wounded comrade would be bizarre behavior for a solider. Yet this is what we do every time we turn our back to a hurting brother. And when we visit the sick and the prisoners, they are not the only ones who receive a blessing. It blesses us just as well. These people are very close to the heart of God. According to Matthew 25:45, as we minister to them, so we are ministering to Jesus Christ himself. What a thought! We can minister to Christ. About the author: Lou Seckler works with Harvest Ministries in Abilene, Texas

I Will Cling to the Old Rugged Cross

Like him, and because of him, we live and die to live again. First Thoughts: If I could turn the calendar back about 21 centuries and relive a week from the life of Jesus, I think this – the most awful and the most wonderful week of his young life – is the one I would choose. In this week, he would be the guest of his Bethany friends, be anointed by Mary and another Mary, make his heroic entry into Jerusalem, teach from the Mount of Olives, share the Last Supper with his apostles, experience betrayal, denial, endure one mock trial after another, then finish his mission on earth on a cross. This week would be endured because of the victory to be celebrated on a single day of the week to follow. On the first day of that week – Sunday, what we call Easter Sunday or Resurrection Sunday – would come the joyous news that He is not here; He is risen; He is risen indeed! Like him, and because of him, we live and die to live again. Remembering and Reliving: It was a quite ordinary church service until… until a college student rose to announce that he and some friends had been asked to help create a mood for communion, the Lord’s Supper. Our part was to sit quietly, with heads bowed and eyes closed, no matter what we might hear or sense. Suddenly, the silence was broken by WHAM! It was the sound of a heavy hammer blow followed by cries of pain. And, from different parts of the room, cries of “Crucify him! Crucify him!” were heard. Muted, but still heard in the background, was the noise of hammer blows and the anguished cries of unbearable pain. Some thought that communion devotional 30 years ago had profaned something sacred. I thought it had made real the raw emotions we usually gloss over with a bit of bread and a sip of wine. For me, it was a communion like no other, and every Sunday I still hear those screams and hammer blows all over again. In 1957, a journalist and author named Jim Bishop created a stir in the religious world with his best-selling The Day Christ Died. More recently, no less a media personality than Bill O’Reilly has included in a series of books one titled Killing Jesus. Countless others, beginning with all four gospel writers, have tried to make the passion of Christ so real that we really do feel like we were “there when they crucified my Lord.” Telling Jesus’ Story: Twenty-one centuries later, we still struggle to tell the story so effectively that our questions are all answered and our emotions so involved that the story just won’t let go. It’s a story that takes place in less than a day – about 22 hours ending shortly before the beginning of Shabbat, the Sabbath. Jesus and the apostles gathered in an upper room for the Passover meal, which we know as The Last Supper. From there they made their way to the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus prayed, was betrayed, and arrested. If you’re keeping score, there were seven trials or hearings in less than 24 hours. Preachers tell the story over and over, trying to capture its essence. Lawyers discuss the legality of the various trials. And doctors describe in all the gory detail what death by crucifixion was like. Whether the Romans invented crucifixion or copied the practice from the Persians, they were interested in swift, public, painful punishment, convinced that it would serve as a deterrent for would-be criminals. Only Luke describes the agony of Christ beginning in the Garden of Gethsemane, where, “being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground” (Luke 22:44). A physician, Luke recorded that medical phenomenon and left us to decide whether the sweat was only similar to blood or a rare condition called hematidrosis, where tiny capillaries in sweat glands burst from stress actually causing a mixture of blood and sweat. The blood of Gethsemane was only a portent of the blood Jesus would shed that same night. It’s tempting to just read about the scourging that took place and pass quickly over a word we don’t use any more. But, it takes on new meaning when we visualize the flagrum or flagellum, a handle with leather thongs and lead balls near the ends. Applied vigorously to the prisoner’s back, the scourge would initially inflict surface cuts, and then deeper ones, until muscle tissue was torn to shreds, and arteries spurted until prisoners would eventually bleed out if the executioners were willing to wait. Because of Jesus: But, they were not paid to wait. And Luke, as if he couldn’t bear the details he was writing, summed them up in a short sentence: “And they crucified him” (Luke 23:33). That sentence doesn’t capture the pain of nails through hands and feet, or the blood streaming down from thorns puncturing Jesus’ scalp, or the excruciating thirst, or the pain in hands and shoulders as his body sags, or the pain in feet and legs as he struggles to rise and exchange one pain for another, or the pain of breathing in, and the greater pain of breathing out. Somehow, he manages to gasp out his words, his sayings from the cross, finally summoning the strength to cry with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Because of Jesus, “I will cling to the old rugged cross, and exchange it some day for a crown!” Special thanks for the use of images related to Jesus’ ministry from The Lumo Project and Free Bible Images for use on Phil’s blog, “The Jesus Window”! About the author: These Encouraging Words from Phillip Morrison are drawn from more than 60 years of ministry and life as a husband, father, grandfather, editor, and writer. A devoted follower of Jesus, Phillip has

No Good Deed Left Unpunished

Why can’t we see the good in kindness? Last summer, a couple of teen-aged girls in rural Durango, Colorado, chose to stay home from a dance and use the night to bake cookies for their neighbors. Taylor Ostergaard and Lindsey Zellitti ran the idea past Taylor’s dad – whose approval was contingent on getting a few cookies for himself – and began baking around 9 p.m. They prepared nine plates of cookies, made heart-shaped cards with the message, “Have a great night. From the T and L Club.” They then put them on people’s front porches anonymously. They rang or knocked – and disappeared. Since it was after 10, Taylor and Lindsey determined not to stop by houses that were dark. They’d only go where the people were still up and had lights shining. Their chocolate chip and sugar cookies could be bedtime treats. Talk about your random acts of kindness. Or just old-fashioned good neighborliness. But there’s more to the story. One of the recipients was a 49-year-old woman at home with her own 18-year-old daughter and her mother. She heard the knock at her door. She called out, “Who’s there?” Getting no answer, she called the sheriff’s office. Officers came, found the cookies, and determined that no crime had been committed. The unnerved cookie recipient couldn’t get over it. She went to her sister’s house for the rest of the night. Next morning, she went to a hospital emergency room with an upset stomach. She was diagnosed as having suffered a panic attack. What a terrible backlash from something with such good intentions. The two girls learned what had happened and wrote letters of apology. “I didn’t realize this would cause trouble for you,” said Taylor’s note. “I just wanted you to know that someone cared about you and your family.” The girls’ parents offered to pay the woman’s expenses from the hospital visit. She wouldn’t accept! She said the apologies didn’t ring true and weren’t delivered in person. So she sued the girls! Her lawsuit claimed about $900 in medical fees and raised the issue of punitive damages for “pain and suffering.” A Durango judge awarded the $900, but no punitive damages. Only in America! “I just hope the girls learned a lesson,” said the woman who sued them. Oh, I’ll bet they did! We can only hope it’s not the cynical lesson that kindness is only so much wasted energy or that courts are capricious places these days. Final Editor’s Note: As we close this week, we all remember another act of graciousness – far greater than cookies and a card – that went unappreciated. God sent his Son to serve and to bless the lost, broken, forgotten, and powerless. We also remember another capricious court decision that surrendered the Son of God to be crucified before a jeering mob. Most of the world still does not know – or does not care – about such a divine sacrifice. We rejoice that God did not give up on doing kind things for us because of the ungratefulness of some. We hope that Taylor and Lindsey don’t give up on their kind deeds, either. About the author: Rubel Shelly preached for decades and served as a professor of medical ethics, Bible, and philosophy at multiple universities. He was a former president of Rochester College and Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Lipscomb University. He was the author of more than 30 books and hundreds of inspirational articles. His commitment to a non-sectarian presentation of the gospel touched countless lives.

Of Natural Causes

How long would you have to be gone before someone noticed? So accept each other just as Christ has accepted you; then God will be glorified (Romans 15:7 NLT). Larry died of natural causes the coroner suggested. I balked at the suggestion, because Larry was only 51 years old. Now for some of you, that may seem old, but I’m 52 – dying of natural causes at 51 didn’t seem quite right. But the longer I read the article about Larry’s passing, I realized the “natural causes” were not what we usually mean when someone “dies of natural causes.” Larry’s remains were recently found in his house in a skeletal, mummified condition. No one had seen him since Hurricane Rita that had devastated Beaumont, Texas, nearly 18 months ago. The body was found on top of the bed, just like he had gone in to take a nap and never awakened. They are not sure if Larry expired shortly before the hurricane’s arrival or shortly afterward. His house had not been severely damaged, so no one had actually gone inside to check on him and most folks just felt he had left before the approaching hurricane and never returned. A prospective buyer for the house found Larry’s body. The house was put up for auction because of unpaid taxes. Sadly, no one had really missed Larry. Although he had family in the city, he didn’t want to see them. His neighbors made assumptions about his absence. Who knows, if someone had been more aware of his status, he might have been found before he died! Unfortunately we live in a time when we hardly know any of our neighbors anymore. This is true whether we are talking about the neighborhood where we live or the “neighborhood” where we usually sit when we attend church. While we face an epidemic of loneliness in the many developed countries in the world – and the U.S. seems to be the worst – most folks are waiting for someone else to reach out and include them. Rather than risking rejection, or interfering, or involvement, most of us go about our routines and remain relatively anonymous to the folks around us. While Larry’s death is an extreme example, his death should shock us into a realization that there are lonely people all around us – maybe even within us – who need someone to reach out and simply include them. So why don’t we? I’m going to challenge you to do just that. Look around your neighborhood and your church, and find people who seem a bit lonely or isolated. Intentionally include them. Encourage folks at your church or within your group of friends to begin to call on one elderly person per week to just check on that person and see how he or she is doing. Change the neighborhood where you sit at church at least once per month and sit by someone who seems to be alone and find out about that person. Offer to help carry the boxes or assist someone older who needs help with groceries, the garbage can, or other tasks. What holds you back from reaching out to someone else? What makes it hard to help touch the heart of someone who seems to be alone that you regularly see each week? Why have we become such an isolate culture, as we grow more supposedly “civilized and high tech”? I’d love to hear your take on this and what we can do to make it better. Let me know on my blog, I’d love to hear from you. You can find today’s discussion at this address: About the author: Phil Ware has authored 11 years of daily devotionals, including VerseoftheDay.com, read by 500,000 people a day. He works with churches in transition with Interim Ministry Partners and for the past 21+ years, he has been editor and president of HEARTLIGHT Magazine, author of VerseoftheDay.com, God’s Holy Fire (on the Holy Spirit), and aYearwithJesus.com. Phil has also authored four books, daily devotionals on each of the four gospels.

Giving without Regret

How do you feel when the gift you gave is not appreciated? The following story is told in The Best of Bits and Pieces: Robert De Vincenzo, the great Argentine golfer, once won a tournament and, after receiving the check and smiling for the cameras, he went to the clubhouse and prepared to leave. Some time later, he walked alone to his car in the parking lot and was approached by a young woman. She congratulated him on his victory and then told him that her child was seriously ill and near death. She did not know how she could pay the doctor’s bills and hospital expenses. De Vincenzo was touched by her story, and he took out a pen and endorsed his winning check for payment to the woman. “Make some good days for the baby,” he said as he pressed the check into her hand. The next week he was having lunch in a country club when a Professional Golf Association official came to his table. “Some of the boys in the parking lot last week told me you met a young woman there after you won that tournament.” De Vincenzo nodded. “Well,” said the official, “I have news for you. She’s a phony. She has no sick baby. She’s not even married. She fleeced you, my friend.” “You mean there is no baby who is dying?” said De Vincenzo. “That’s right,” said the official. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week,” De Vincenzo said. Wow! What a beautiful spirit! I wish I could say that I would have reacted the same way, but I know that I probably would not have. I would have struggled with feelings of resentment. I would have said, “See if I try to help anyone else again!” De Vincenzo’s attitude is reminiscent of the spirit that God has shown toward us. Despite mankind taking God’s goodness for granted, despite our repeated failures, God was willing to give not just a token amount, but the ultimate sacrifice of His Son. He did so, not reluctantly or with resentment, but willingly and gladly, knowing that while most would only show disdain for his gift, some would respond in obedience motivated by faith and love. For when we were still without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet perhaps for a good man someone would even dare to die. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:6-8) May the realization of what God has given motivate you to respond to him and to reach out to others with the same kind of love. About the author: Alan Smith ministers with the Church of Christ in White House, Tennessee and publishes the email devotional “Thought for the Day.”

How Great the Father’s Love!

Does any of the Father’s love splash over and touch the people in your family? I overheard a young mother recounting her nighttime ritual of laying her head on her pillow and asking herself, “Did I love my family enough today? If something happens to me tonight will they know exactly how much I loved them?” As an “older and wiser” woman – and more skeptical and a bit jaded, I suppose – my first instinct was to laugh: “Well, of course you didn’t love them enough! How silly!” Jesus conceded that though we are imperfect parents (He literally called us “evil”!) we still do the best we know how! (Luke 6:11-13) Chances are, I did NOT love my family enough today or on any day. Her question, however, haunted me. I continued to turn it over again and again in my mind. The question seemed a bit less daunting and a lot less accusing if I rephrased it: “Could I love my children more, could I love my children better, tomorrow?” Well, Lord willing, I will be given tomorrow with my family. And yes, I will try to love them more completely tomorrow. However, none of us is promised tomorrow for our families or ourselves. I have wept with mothers who have kissed tiny foreheads for the last time to send them to “The Land Where There Is No Tomorrow.” I have prayed and pleaded with mothers whose children have been precariously close to the edge of “The Land Where There Is No Tomorrow.” Those women know what it is to lay their heads down at night and ask, “Did I love them enough …?” My husband and I have tangoed around the line of calling it quits on “happily ever after.” With our new resolve for our marriage, I am painfully aware of how fragile a marriage can be. I am fully aware of his choice to be here. I am intentional about daily letting him know that I appreciate his choice and all that he is to our family. Thankfully, I have not faced the horrific loss of one of my children. But, I think I have failed to be intentional about letting them know how thankful I am for them, as well. The old apostle John, near the end of his life, reminded us, “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (1 John 3:1) My loving Father has LAVISHED His love on me. Surely, that lavished love should run over and splash on my family. One small thing I am realizing more and more is that as my children grow, the frequent opportunity to touch or hug them is diminishing. I don’t lift them in and out of car seats or high chairs any more. I don’t help them in and out of the bathtub, wipe their faces, or even brush their hair for them any more. They are no longer at an arm’s distance or underfoot all day, so I must be intentional about meaningful touch for my children. I know that my arms ache when my husband is not in town to hug and touch me. My children need touch and love even more! I also realize that sometimes I really have to try to listen carefully to what my children say. I am frequently guilty of multi-tasking which, I’ve come to realize, means doing several things poorly at the same time. It really doesn’t take very long to sit, look into their eyes, and really hear what they are saying – and sometimes, if I am really listening, I can even hear what they aren’t saying. I think about how much it means to me when someone has obviously heard what I said and then later asks me about it. I want my children to know they are valuable enough to get my full attention! Another thing that I’ve realized that means a lot to my kids is to simply sit together and hang around together. Of course, the TV should be off for this – although it’s also a good idea to know what they’re watching and talk to them about it. My kids like for me to talk to them about my day, as well as listen to them about theirs. We dream and scheme, hope and plan. Meaningful touch, intentional listening, and being together are not huge undertakings. They take a very little amount of time – my kids really like to limit how much time they hang out with me anyway– and they require no money at all! I just have to be intentional about doing those things. And tonight I will wonder, “Could I love them more tomorrow?” About the author: Sarah (Riley) Stirman graduated from Abilene Christian University with a degree in Elementary/ Special Education. A freelance writer, she currently lives in Abilene, Texas with her husband, Troy, their 2 children: Ashley, and Riley, as well as Duchess the chocolate lab and Stickers the hedgehog.