“My Friends,
An old friend of mine looked me dead in the eye and said, “You know, kiddo, we can only expect to live a good life to 88 or so; beyond that Life is just uncomfortable, and not really very pleasant to live.” Walt went on to explain to me how, after all these years, he finally understood the Passion of the Christ (from Palm Sunday through Easter) being a “pageant” for mankind.
The back seat windows were covered in a film of fog as the teenage daughter mindlessly scribbled a game of tic-tac-toe on the glass. Holiday music could be heard throughout the car reminding everyone it was Christmas Day, 1967. This family of seven, ranging in age from six months to 37 years, was embarking on a journey that would change their lives forever. They decided to do something a little different this year which is why, after opening gifts that morning, they tumbled into the car for their first Christmas dinner at a fancy restaurant thirty miles away. Unbeknownst to them, Life would never be the same again. Minutes before they reached their destination, they were struck head-on by a drunk driver who blew through a stop sign at high speed. Both cars slammed together creating a tailspin that released them in opposite directions. Witnesses from a nearby motel came pouring out to the wreckage dragging the injured bodies of five crying children onto the ground where they were covered in warming blankets until help arrived. Both parents, in critical condition, were rushed by ambulance to the local hospital in a race against time. The unharmed middle-aged drunk driver paced back and forth muttering, “What have I done? In God’s name, what have I done?”
Dairy Queen, also known as the DQ, is one of those Midwest favorites that carries with it childhood memories throughout Life’s journey. It’s not only for the young, it’s for the child in all of us. Picture this, a triple high tower of creamy vanilla soft serve puffs atop a crunchy-checkered bakery cone. I mean, who could resist that enticing signature curlicue? Ah yes, the “right-of-passage” that Summer is upon us—-even if it’s only a sunny day in late March with a Northern wind still nipping at your heels. It practically makes your eyes roll back as you savor each delicious nibble. Yum! It was here, at the local DQ, that Jesus suddenly appeared to our grandson in a lesson he would never forget. Having received a treat from my husband (a.k.a. Grandpa), I was already sitting on a bench outside enjoying my favorite ice cream cone and basking in the afternoon sunshine. Landen, being 7 years old with eyes as big as saucers, ordered the extra-large icy blue raspberry slushy drink…..mostly because he knew Grandpa would indulge him, too. After all, that’s what grandparents do: fill ’em up with sugar and then send them home, right?
Landen was so excited holding a cup he could barely wrap his hands around, waiting patiently for Grandpa to remove the protective covering from the plastic straw. In the next moment, with the straw unwrapped, Grandpa leaned over Landen and poked the straw through the slot in the lid. As it slid into place, the force of the action caused the gigantic cup to slip through Landen’s hands and it fell to the ground in what appeared to be slow motion. We were all aghast as we stared at the bright blue gooey mess spreading over the concrete sidewalk! Landen’s lower lip began to quiver when he realized what had just happened. Moments later, before a tear was shed, the DQ server appeared with a refill, a long-handled broom and a bucket of water. She smiled as she handed him the drink and said, “It’s okay. Accidents happen. All is forgiven.” She then proceeded to sweep away the stain and wash it out of sight.
That sequence of events gave Grandpa the opportunity to remind Landen that our God is a forgiving God. As it is written in Acts 3:19 he explained, “So then, let your hearts be changed and be turned to God, so that your sins may be completely taken away, and times of blessing may come from The Lord.” He went on to further explain that Jesus died on the cross to erase all our sins, even the ones we don’t mean to commit. Something as simple as a spill on the sidewalk gave him the opportunity to share a message about Jesus Christ. I can tell you, afterwards the sky looked a brighter blue…..you might say as bright as a blue raspberry slushy drink.
“Jesus Loves You”. I saw my husband mouth the words without making a sound. Before turning around in the restaurant booth to see the recipient behind me, I knew it had to be a small child. Our commitment in spreading the love of Christ is to touch the heart of a child. Jesus’ Little Lamb, so to speak. It’s often done in such a hushed manner that the parents are quite oblivious to the spiritual message. Yet, when a connection is made with the little one, we know without a doubt, it rings loud and clear. The proof is visibly evident in their bright eyes and wide smiles. “Jesus Loves You, Jesus Loves You.” Truer words have never been spoken. Three soothing words that carry the message of Eternity. Each trustful gaze is as mesmerizing as the children who gathered at the knees of our Savior in Christian artwork. This is our reward; to see the glory of God in the face of a child, a toddler, a baby. Perhaps we need to be reminded of that inspiring song of our youth, “Jesus Loves the Little Children”. Can we all say “AMEN”?
It was 5:45 a.m. The kind of morning where sleep departs in the early dawn and the alarm clock resting on the night stand still remains silent. Lying supine, the soft linen sheets enveloped me under a warm cotton blanket. Without warning, a high pitch ringing in my ears turned into a deafening roar of rushing waters inside my head. It made me believe I was going to faint. “This can’t happen”, I panicked, “I’m all alone.” Immediately the overflowing sensation of a fountainhead bursting with heavy floodwaters coursed through my body. The intensity maximized as it rushed within my head past my chest, pulled down my arms, swept over my abdomen, and streamed through my legs before exiting out the tips of my toes. Upon fulfillment, my entire being shivered with piercing goosebumps. In panic, I thought to myself, “Oh, no, I’m having a stroke!” At that moment of powerlessness, I heard the Still Small Voice of God speak, “It’s a washing of the Holy Spirit.”
Maybe you had a best friend who turned into a fair-weather one at the moment you needed her most; at the break-up of a long term relationship when your world was spinning out of control. She boldly chose the “ex” over your need for emotional support. The friendship was severed beyond repair. Words were never spoken again. Forgive her anyway. It’s easier to absolve than you think. Often it takes more energy to hold on to inner pain than it does to let it go. Slide your mind all the way back to the “Thelma and Louise” season in time when the two of you confessed insecurities, whispered disappointments, shared hopes, and imagined dreams together over a glass of wine. Or two. Remember the laughter? And the way her eyes teared up to the point of hysteria? The feeling of audacious brassiness? And don’t forget the sincere trust and uninhibited honesty. This sisterly love connection is the perfect vantage point for forgiveness. Go ahead. Open the nostalgic floodgates to the Memory Box of your mind. Release the waters of sentimental longing. Experience a taste of wistful yearning for the joy and happiness felt during the good times. And never, EVER, make your forgiveness conditional. “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” ~ Ephesians 4:32.
“What’s going to happen to me?”, asked the 84 year-old woman upon hearing sad news. Her oldest child, who had been a pillar of strength since her stroke five years ago, was moving away. “Who’s going to take care of me?”, she worried. Marian was living in a nursing home ever since she survived a debilitating stroke to her entire left side during the holiday season of 2009. Because she was living alone at the time and had just hung up the phone from a conversation with her grandson, no one became alarmed when they hadn’t heard from her for awhile. They were accustomed to her self-sufficiency between trips to the market, feeding the birds, and exercising walks. Oh sure, everyone tried to convince her she needed an answering machine, but she refused. When the stroke hit her, she crumbled to the floor in fear and laid there for hours before being discovered. As darkness turned to light, and returned again to dusk, all Marian could do was pray.
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