It was only a matter of time before they were overtaken.

A vast army, composed of the biggest and baddest from from three different countries, traveled a great distance with a lust for conquest.  Having joined forces, they made a formidable foe against the people of the Lord.  Thousands of marching feet kicked up an enormous cloud of dust, seen for miles and driving witnesses to King Jehoshaphat, breathless and white with fear.  Those who overheard the ominous news pulled children closer and contemplated ways of escape. 

"Alarmed, Jehoshaphat resolved to inquire of the LORD…’O LORD, God of our fathers, are you not the God who is in heaven?…We have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us.  We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon you.’" (2 Chronicles 20:3, 6, 12)

Men, women and children of all ages gathered to pray and figure out the best plan of attack.  There wasn’t much time, but there was time enough to pray.  Food was refused and knees were bent, until God spoke:

"Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army.  For the battle is not yours, but God’s…you will not have to fight this battle.  Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the LORD will give you."  (vs. 15, 17)

Face a massive army without a single weapon????  Is God serious?  Perhaps we misunderstood…  Every other time, God said when and where to fight, giving them victory on every side.  Now He was commanding them to stand and do nothing.  Internal doubt raged, and the urge to mount a powerful offense against their attackers must have been overwhelming.  When death threatens, impulse quickens.

Except for a few Levites.  While every other head was bowed and deep in contemplation, a handful of wild worshipers stood up and started to party like crazy over their God.  Some snickered, while the more reserved glanced with annoyance, but the effect was perfect.  By the next morning, King Jehoshaphat and every last Israelite set out to face their countless enemy.  However, instead of swordsmen and archers leading the way, a choir of men who were head-over-heels about their God paved the course.  Dancing and singing, Jehoshaphat made sure joy was the emotion of the day–not bloodlust, and certainly not fear. 

"’Give thanks to the LORD, for his love endures forever.’  As they began to sing and praise, the LORD set ambushes against the men of Ammon and Moab and  Mount Seir who were invading Judah, and they were defeated…they helped to destroy one another."  (vs. 21-23)

First they rejoiced.  THEN God delivered.  Not an enemy was left standing.  And God’s children never raised a finger.  Only voices.  And hearts.  And hands in joyful worship of a God who was more than able. 

I’m not sure which vast army you face.  Perhaps multiple forces are coming against you all at once.  Panic is tempting, and retaliation appealing.  What would happen, however, if we’d take a moment to find our knees and resolve to inquire of the Lord?  Prayer has a way of changing our perspective.  We might end up jumping up with a loud voice raised in a mighty ruckus toward a even mightier God.  

As Jehoshaphat discovered, when it comes to overwhelming odds, your best defense is joyful offense. 

   "That was the best birthday ever…"

You’ve got to be kidding me.  After the week we’d had, those were the last words I expected to hear out of the mouth of my young son. 

Though the week had a benign beginning, by Tuesday we were rushing him to Children’s Hospital with a case of acute appendicitis.  After a long stint in the ER and an extended visit to the surgery ward, we ended spending a couple sleepless overnights.  Originally the verdict was we wouldn’t be home until the weekend.  When my son learned the news, his disappointment was obvious.  Not only would he miss school activities, Valentines Day and his soccer game, he was also going to miss his birthday.  Resolved to defy the doctor’s prediction, he determined to do everything the doctor instructed in the hopes of being home on his birthday.  Around noon, his wish was granted.  As we drove home through snow and ice, I started to plan how we could salvage what remained of the day.  We made his favorite meal, baked cookies, wrapped gifts, hung banners, signed cards and rented his chosen movie.  Though we were all utterly exhausted (and my son was more than a little sore), we enjoyed a near perfect night of celebrating, even if we couldn’t move from the family room couch.

As I wearily helped my son up the stairs toward his bed, he turned toward me with a smile:  "Mom, that was the best birthday ever … I just feel so loved and cared for.  Thanks, Mom.  I love you so much."  Even though his pain was still acute and most of his birthday plans were canceled, he felt loved.  For that reason alone he believed it was unforgettable.  I shook my head, surprised "disappointment" wasn’t the thief of the day.  Instead, his face reflected absolute contentment.  Somehow, the love he experienced trumped the reality of his experiences.  His tummy still hurt and the events of the week remained unaltered.  Still, love in action made all the difference.   

As I consider my son’s surprising perspective, I feel more than a little pang of conviction.  How often do I speak of the word "love" and yet let it end at just that–words?  If a little bit of effort made our love for a little boy come alive, what kind of impact could I make if I demonstrated that kind of love every day?

"If I speak of the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal…"  I Corinthians 13:1

I don’t want to be a noise-maker.  I want to be a woman of demonstrative love:  Audacious, reckless, unrestrained, unexpected.  But wait a second … I DO love my family.  Profoundly.  Didn’t I just demonstrate it tangibly in my care for my son before and after surgery?  Didn’t I prove it when I cooked dinner tonight and folded 137 loads of laundry?  And certainly I would would do just about anything for my friends and those I care about… 

"If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you?  Even ‘sinners’ love those who love them.  And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you?  Even ‘sinners’ do that …"  Luke 6:32

Evidently my warm-and-fuzzy variety of "easy-to-give" love doesn’t go quite as far and deep as God intends.  For I rarely show love to those who are difficult to love:  whether because of the sheer inconvenience of offering it or the distastefulness of the recipient. 

"This is how we know what love is:  Jesus Christ laid down his life for us.  And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers.  If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?  Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth." 1 John 3:16-18

Love is more than a feeling, more than a happy ending to a story or a perfectly executed birthday party.  Love is a verb:  moving, acting, behaving, demonstrating.  Perhaps "love" is even more "love" when it is difficult to offer, inconvenient on the schedule, self-sacrificing in its extent, self-less in its motives.  Love–God’s kind of love–goes beyond words to be an actual physical response to an internal reality. 

I saw a whole slew of sick kiddos at Children’s Hospital this week.  I bet they could use a dose of love-in-action.  And what about the homeless at the Rescue Mission (www.denverrescuemission.org)?  You can tell them you love them with a check, but how about a hot meal or warm handshake?  Have some time to volunteer?  Check out Tennyson’s Center for Children (www.tennysoncenter.org), or Alternative’s Pregnancy Center (www.apcdenver.org).  They never lack for a heart in need of a little tangible love.

Live outside the box.  Let the reality of God’s love blow down the walls of predictability this week.  And next week for that matter. 

The possibilities are endless…the potential even greater. 

“The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit.”  Proverbs 18:19

It was the beginning of a perfect Colorado day.  Sun shining full in the clear blue sky, and a brisk breeze just cool enough to keep a runner from overheating.  My jogging buddy, a black lab named Nika, pranced and pulled, as anxious as I was to embrace the new day. 

Our enthusiasm was tangible for the first several blocks.  We were like Super Woman and Wonder Dog, ready to leap tall buildings and race speeding trains … until we hit “The Beast”, a massive, 1.7 mile long climb.  It’s funny how quickly I forget the burning pain in my legs and chest in between running days.  Only a few paces into the first hill and it all came back with sudden clarity.  I gasped for air, my vision narrowing to tiny pinpoints of light.  Clearly I was falling short of superhero status.  A vision of the newspaper and cup of coffee sitting on my kitchen table appeared as a glorious beacon, tempting me relinquish my cape and tights and drawing me toward home.

With a glance I noticed Wonder Dog wasn’t doing any better than I was.  Her tongue had somehow grown five or six inches.  It hung limp out the side of her mouth, leaving  a trail of drool for the paramedics to follow.  She continued to put one paw in front of the other, but without conviction.  Noting her weariness, I felt a spark of determination to press on.  I couldn’t allow The Beast to get the best of us.  In an attempt to boost both our spirits, I offered a quick, “Good girl, Nika!  Keep going … we can do it!”

I didn’t think about what I was saying.  It was automatic … a pep talk to help us scale an impossible peak.  Of course, I was talking to a DOG.  She didn’t have a clue as to what I was saying, Wonder Dog or not.  Still, at the sound of my voice her ears immediately perked and her shoulders pulled back.  Sluggish paws picked up their pace and and the wagging tongue found it’s way back into her mouth.  In a fraction of a second, she glanced my way and–I kid you not–her eyes sparkled and I think I caught the shadow of a smile.

I was cheerleading a dog, for heaven’s sake.  Perhaps the lack of O2 was causing some serious damage.  What struck me, however, was the power I had to change the course of that moment.  With a few simple, kindly spoken words, I impacted her ability to go further, go farther.  I imagine I could have accomplished just the opposite with a few ill-chosen comments delivered with a harsh tone.  Instead, The Mighty Beast was brought down one more time and we flew like heroes the rest of the way home. 

I bet if you took five minutes to think about it, you could come up with a dozen or so names of friends or family who are in the midst of scaling their own “Beast.”  Could be something as impossible as cancer or perhaps as common as parenting a toddler.  1.7 mile climbs comes in all shapes and sizes, common only in their ability to defeat and discourage.  Sometimes all that is needed is a few kindly spoken, well-timed words of encouragement from someone who sees the struggle and cares enough to respond.  An e-mail sent, a card mailed, a phone number dialed.  Doesn’t have to be fancy or well-planned.  Only needs to be from the heart. 

Before you “x” out of this screen, please–PLEASE–do something.  Chances are, God penned someone’s name across your heart.  Regardless of who it is, follow through on His prompting and take the time to be their cheerleader.  “Keep going!  You can do it.  You’re not alone–I believe in you!”

There’s nothing like a good, much needed, word.  And who knows?  You might end up being a Wonder Woman who helped tame The Beast and save the day.

“A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver.”  Proverbs 25:11

“But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today…”  Hebrews 3:13 

“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”  Psalm 91:4

Psalm 91 heralded the New Year for me.  It was shortly after midnight when I crawled between the sheets of my bed.  I reached for the light, wanting nothing more than to shut my eyes and mind and submit to the sleep which was pulling me.  As I turned, however, I saw my Bible sitting next to the lamp.  It is amazing the number and depth of thoughts that can course through your mind in a split second.  As I contemplated the passing of another year, it occurred to me how many unknowns lay ahead.

2007 brought both positive and negative surprises for many.  For some it was a job change, marriage, a new baby, or a move.  Others experienced death, cancer, financial challenges, divorce, or a child’s illness.  Regardless, 2007 came in innocent enough, but left its mark on all of us.  The chapter titled “2007″ is now closed and sealed, while “2008″ lies open and unexplored.  As I sat on the verge of entering into this next year of unknowns, I felt anticipation and more than a little anxiety.  What does 2008 hold for me and my family? 

Life is as predictable as changing weather patterns. Though we plot and plan for what may come, many days we dress for sunshine and end up doused by a heavy downpour of rain. So we learn to ask: What if?  Any momentary blessing is lost in the swirling uncertainty of what lies around the next bend.  Fear drives us to find shelter. We want an impenetrable place of safety, able to withstand the most vicious of storms.  We strain to hear a soothing voice to relieve our fear.  Too often, however, we take refuge in people and possessions that were never meant to hold ground.

With these thoughts churning, I opted to keep the light on a few more minutes.  Perhaps God had something to say…  

“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.”  (Psalm 91:1)  The first words I read in 2008.  The Psalmist must have understood firsthand my deep need for security.  Like the quiet calm after a storm, this verse offered me a blanket of peace.

God wants us to know him as our only source of safety. There is only one place where we are fully secure—under the arm of the Almighty. Not in our relationships or roles, and certainly not in any bank account or list of personal achievements. His rock-solid faithfulness is our true shelter:  He is stable in the midst of instability, unchanging in the midst of change, and reliable in the midst of the unreliable.  Nurturing trust in His unwavering presence is both our shield and rampart: a shield that covers head to toe as we stand in a violent storm; a rampart, or wall, enclosing us in a haven of trust away from the raging storm. Only under the faithful wings of our Father we can face each day dressed for any kind of weather.

2008 remains a mystery.  There are no guarantees save one:  “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.”   Lights out.  Time to rest.

“But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.  He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things–and the things that are not–to nullify the things that are…”  1 Corinthians 1:27-28

I didn’t expect anything the least bit amazing. 

It was a typical Sunday, except we were visiting my mother-in-law in Wyoming.  We got up early, dressed, ate breakfast and packed into the car for the one mile trek to the small country church Mom calls home.  The town where she lives boasts a population of 244, though I can’t possibly imagine where they all live.  Only a handful of houses dot the countryside.  Secretly I wonder if someone hasn’t padded the total on that little green sign to make this seemingly insignificant town show up on the map.  I anticipated our family’s presence at church would cause quite a stir, not to mention swell the weekly attendance to quite an impressive total. 

We unenthusiastically filed into the humble building quietly, a futile attempt to remain unnoticed.  Making our way toward the sanctuary, I slowed as we passed a wall of aging photos.  Former church members, now long gone, were captured in black-and-white, smiling at me as if they knew I’d come.  I moved from one to another, absorbing the glowing faces of young and old, evidence of the church’s once vibrant community.  As we proceeded down the center aisle, however, I saw we had multiple seating options.  There were perhaps only a half-dozen other people present when we arrived.  Our family took up one of the many vacant wooden pews.  I surveyed my simple surroundings:   classic wood beams lined the ceiling, matching the carved benches and polished platform.  A piano sat to the side in the front, across from four empty choir benches.  How long it had been since they had been filled with the voices of those in the heirloom photographs?  Looking at the too-empty pews around me, it seemed obvious the church was ineffectual and nearly abandoned.  I anticipated the service was going to be anything but riveting. 

The familiar music began and I searched for a hymnal.  It had been years since I last held a hymnal, but the words came back easily:

Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev’d;
How precious did that grace appear,
The hour I first believ’d!

Verse one of John Newton’s Amazing Grace (1772) flowed from my lips effortlessly.  I could sing it in my sleep.  Verse two required more thought, though still not a glance at the yellowing page in my hand.  The extra concentration caused me to consider the words more acutely.  Grace.  The one gift that finally laid my choking fears to rest.  The miracle that brought relief and made me to want to live again.  The hope that filled my vacant life with meaning.

Thro’ many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come;
‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.

I felt my throat begin to tighten unexpectedly.  The remembrance of my deliverance from very real toils and snares felt fresh, as if I my rescue had come only that morning.  The words of the next verse were unfamiliar.  I stumbled, then looked down at the ancient text, wondering why I had never noticed the poignant words before: 

The Lord has promis’d good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

My throat constricted in earnest now.  Yes, YES, Jesus.  YOU are my portion!  The regular dosage of grace I can’t live without!  His Word is my anchor, my hope in something secure, steadfast and unyielding.  He is my lifeline, and I could not make it one day without the hope he brings.  

When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise,
Than when we first begun!

I didn’t expect anything the least bit amazing that day.  What I experienced, however, left me breathless.  God showed up in the humble surroundings of a nearly forgotten church.  He spoke his continuing affections to my heart, like a warm and tender whisper in my ear.  I sat in a hardened pew and felt my heart melt again at the miracle of his indiscriminate love.  How very like Him, I smiled to myself.  Like this nameless church with little acclaim, he chooses the lowly, weak, long-since-dead shells of his children in which to dwell.  He fills any doors that are open to Him with an abundant measure of himself.  And with delight, He breathes new life into the sterile walls of any heart longing to live again.  

Amazing Grace.      

“…she began to wet his feet with her tears.”  Luke 7:38

She crawled across the floor on her hands and knees, tears pouring down her face.  Desperation hung thick in the room, one more detail to which her husband was oblivious.  He grabbed his car keys and hastily packed bags in a single motion.  “Please, please…don’t leave me!” she cried again and again, reaching for the hem of his well-tailored slacks.  Without a backwards glance, he was gone.  What was left of her dignity and self-worth dissolved instantly in the tears pooled on the family’s kitchen floor. 

When I heard this story, my heart broke.  A good friend of mine saw this reality portrayed on a well-known talk show just last week.  He contacted me, knowing my own story carried eery similarities.  Ironically, just a few days later I received word from another friend of mine who is likewise struggling to glue the shattered pieces of her true story back together again.  I try to forget the pain sometimes, but all too often it comes back again through the stories of others.  The ache is almost tangible.  Somewhere in the midst of her frantic pleas I hear the echo of the question we all want answered:  “Will someone please love me?”

This is not a glamorous question, and I feel somewhat exposed in admitting this is what I secretly desire.  Still, I don’t believe I am alone.  We all long to be worthy of love, to believe that others see us as intriguing and worthwhile.  There are too many moments, however, when I believe I am anything BUT worthy.  I know the ugliness of my thoughts, motives and actions better than anyone else.  Even in my pursuit of love and acceptance, there is a sinister voice trying to convince me that any love offered to me is only offered in pretense — they don’t know the real me.   

There was another woman who found herself on a kitchen floor (Luke 7).  It wasn’t her home, but was the floor of a righteous, church leader.  A rumor had drawn her there, a rumor that a man named Jesus - Yeshua! - was going to be eating at this man’s house.  His name meant “God is salvation,” and if ever someone was in need of salvation, it was her.  She crawled her way into the righteous man’s kitchen, and made her way to the feet of Yeshua.  Pairs of angry, irritated eyes glared down, making her sink further to the dirt floor with the weight of their disapproval.  She absorbed their condemnation fully, knowing they were correct in their judgment.  A woman like her had no business being in a righteous man’s home.  Desperation pushed her forward. 

With a brief, hesitant glance, she noticed Yeshua’s eyes carried no hint of their anger or disgust.  Instead, gentleness radiated from every inch of his being, coupled with a sense of anticipation.  His kindness surprised her, and touched a place deep within she thought long dead.  Tears came immediately–hot, profuse, cleansing.  She assumed her place at his feet, where the steamy drops of her last bit of hope poured out unhindered on his bare toes.  She could not speak, but he heard her plea just the same:  “Please, please … will you love me?”

We are no different than this woman.  We each want love and acceptance, no strings attached.  And when we fail–and we will–we want forgiveness that knows no limits.  Yes, we are the same, except for one striking contrast:  After years of searching, she finally found the right pair of feet. 

My days are filled with this drive to “be enough,” to prove my worth & earn the acceptance of those around me.  I exhaust myself, fully aware of my shortcomings and ever trying to overcome.  I have lost count of the number of “feet” I have clutched, begging for acceptance, love, and security.  My tears have dropped on many a false love, and I have found myself on the floor without of shred of dignity or self-worth.  I valued another’s acceptance of me too much, as if it was the air I needed to breath.  And the rejection which followed nearly destroyed me.  When I collapsed on the floor in despair, my heart cried out:  Will someone please love me?  Ah, and then I remember.  Perhaps I’m clinging to the wrong set of feet again. 

Before whose feet do you kneel?  Whose love, approval and acceptance do you secretly crave?  There is only One who is undeterred by our desperation (Psalm 91:1-4, Psalm 95:417-19, Matthew 9:36).  Only One who knows us fully (Psalm 139, Isaiah 43:1).  And only One who has promised, “I love you. Completely.  And I’m not going anywhere.”  (Joshua 1:9)

Finally…the feet we’re looking for.     

It was nearly dark, the sun quickly dropping behind the familiar mountainous landscape.  Truly, the result was picturesque, soft orange and pink hues painting the sky behind purple Rocky Mountain peaks.  Though breathtaking, I hardly noticed.  My vision was narrowed to the goal at hand … I just wanted to get home.  After a long, long day of work, errands and running kids to different activities, I was ready to put on my sweats and take a break.  It was not to be, however.  Though bedtime was only a hour or two away, dinner still had to be made, homework done, and endless other tasks that required my immediate attention.  The tension between what I wanted to do and what was yet required of me was draining the last of my positive attitude.  The glorious sunset had been hijacked by the exhaustion that blanketed my body, mind and spirit.  I was a woman on the edge.

Sitting in the backseat of our truck was one of my sons, whom I had just retrieved from soccer practice.  He was chattering on about who-knows-what, all while my irritation was escalating at an alarming pace.  I could not absorb any more information, and I longed for peace and quiet.  Though I knew I “should” listen and appear attentive, a part of me wanted to scream, “I don’t want to do anything for anyone else today!”  I was about to inform him that mommy needed some “quiet time” when he said, “What are your favorite things in life?”  I cringed.  I didn’t feel like answering any questions.  Thankfully, before I could come up with a semi-polite response, he started making a list of his own:

• Petting a happy dog
• Eating marshmallows in hot chocolate
• Soccer practice on at night
• Getting to a new level on XBOX
• Adding a new trophy to my trophy shelf 
• Lazy days
• Prayers before bedtime
• Daydreaming
• An unexpected play date with a friend
• Waiting for my mom to tuck me in at night
• Sleep-overs
• Eating the waffle cone after the ice cream is gone
• Short naps
• Reading in bed before going to sleep
• A brand new box of Legos
• Going to the library
• Taking a day off to go to the park
• Playing football with my brother
• Tickle fights in bed with Dad
• Getting a letter in the mail
• Time with grandma and grandpa 
• Laughing
• Summer vacations

I resisted at first, wondering how long this game was going to continue.  Still, something changed midpoint.  With each new favorite he listed, my annoyance began to dissipate.  Not only did I become more interested in what he had to say, but I started to think about the little things that I love:  Family movie nights.  The smell of pine trees.  Candles burning.  Quiet walks alone.  Painted toenails.  Finding the perfect Bible verse.  The sound of a child laughing.  My husband’s smile.  Thanksgiving Day.  These are MY favorite things, the little nuggets that buoy my heart and fill seemingly insignificant days with irresistible richness.  As I looked back over my day, I started to see the things I missed.  And slowly, my parched spirit began to be refreshed. 

Perhaps he is on to something.  Rather than investing my energy in reviewing the long list of unwanted duties and missed expectations, what if I willed myself to find joy?  What if I cultivated an attitude of thankfulness?  I considered keeping an ongoing mental list, or maybe even a real one.  It wouldn’t be hard to write down some of my own favorite things on a piece of paper or note card, and then keep them in my purse or in the center console of my car, a 911 resource for those emergency situations.  The rough days will come, certainly.  There is no doubt about that.  Still, I don’t have to let them be in charge of my mood.  Not a day goes by in which God is not active.  He is present at all times, in all ways.  The problem isn’t with him.  It is with me.  Too often, I just plain miss HIM.  My son’s innocent experiment, however, proved to me that five minutes of choosing to rehearse the joys can serve as a rudder to quickly redirect the course of my day. 

With my son’s list done for the moment, the drive home grew quiet.  The silence is what I had wanted all along, but now it seemed deafening.  I was humbled and tendered by a God who understood my exhaustion, but who didn’t want me to miss His presence.  Oh, thank you.  Thank you, sweet Jesus. 

Suddenly, without warning, the Colorado sunset came into full view, in breathtaking splendor.  Though the exhaustion remained, it no longer robbed me of the beauty painting the landscape around me.  Like a Monet hanging on the windshield of my car, I drove with it in front of me the entire way home, the last beams of the day’s light falling full on my face.  And behind me sat a boy, likewise beaming, who was determined to keep the joys of life always in front of him.  

Mental note:   Watching sunsets with my son.  One of my favorite things…

“Many are asking, ‘Who can show us any good?’  Let the light of your face shine upon us, O LORD.  You have filled my heart with greater joy than when their grain and new wine abound.  I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety.”  Psalm 4:6-8

By 7:15 a.m. it had already been a long morning. A really long morning. With determination, my alarm clock started it’s obnoxious call at quarter of five, and would not respect the fact I was beyond exhaustion. I had returned from one business trip little more than 24 hours before, and was heading to the airport for yet another. The commute had tested my alert driving skills, being I didn’t have time to pick up a much needed cup of steaming coffee. After parking my truck in the off-site airport parking lot (inadvertently leaving my half-eaten yogurt cup in the front seat), I proceeded to sit in a shuttle bus for thirty minutes, glancing at my watch every three, while we picked up any and every life form within a ten-mile radius. By the time I checked baggage and made my way through security lines, I had precious little time to make it to my terminal and gate. I rushed through crowds, making my way toward the front in a determined attempt to get on the next train to gate C36. With a sigh of relief, I boarded and then leaned against the window. What a day. And I still had many, many hours to go.

I opened my eyes and took a quick assessment of those in my immediate vicinity. There was a young couple, obviously married, probably going on a vacation or anniversary trip together. Several suited businessman were scattered among my fellow passengers, including a few well-dressed women who were most likely on work-related trips as well. There were others who I assumed were students, going home for the weekend. Some travelers I couldn’t peg, like the woman with a purse the size of my suitcase, and wearing a shirt patterned with giant Hawaiian flowers. Or the young man, not a day over 25, with his IPOD cranked up and thick jewelry hanging around his tattooed neck. He had snagged one of the prime bench seats at the back of the train. Where was he headed, I wondered?
At the next stop, the train picked up a few more weary travelers, further packing the train like a can of albacore tuna. Slowly, an elderly woman entered, glancing around for an open spot where she would not get trampled. She was obviously struggling a bit, age having taken its toll on her sense of balance and ability to stand for long periods of time. She looked briefly toward the bench seats, but all were already occupied. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned, though I knew it wouldn’t take much for this sweet woman to be thrown around when the train departed. It is amazing how many thoughts go through your head in such a short span of time. Before these and others could be resolved, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye, toward the right. When I turned, I was surprised – no, more like astounded – to discover that IPOD-boy was quickly making his way toward the elderly woman. With a gentle touch on her elbow and a barely audible voice, he relinquished his own seat while encouraging her to take his place on the bench. The gesture was made completely absent of fanfare, such that few others even noticed. He saw a need, recognized his ability to meet it, and did not hesitate. What humbled me, more than even his extended grace, was the fact that he was the last person I would have expected to take such initiative. Somehow his youthful, tattooed, bejeweled and black-clothed exterior led me to doubt his ability to show care and concern. And yet, it was his heart, hidden behind the rough façade, which was the first to respond.

This, then, propelled me toward two much needed conclusions. First, God’s grace can come in the most unusual and unexpected packages. The more expectant I am of being witness to God’s daily graces, the more likely I am to recognize it in the most unexpected places. And, second, I have much, much to learn from IPOD-boy. Somehow he had not allowed the events of his day to make him blind to the needs of those around him. He was still in touch and connected to the life of one nameless stranger on an airport train. And his awareness then led to her care, even if for only a moment.

At times, I’m afraid, I allow my day to become like a speeding train, during which all I really see is the vague blur of passing faces. No connections or investments are made. So, what’s it going to take for me to slow the train enough to connect? Am I willing to step out of my own life long enough to step into another’s who could use a touch of grace from me? I challenge you to look for the "elderly woman" in your day. She may not be elderly, nor may she even be a "she." Certainly, someone will cross your path with a need of grace – grace without fanfare, and without expectation of response. And when the moment comes, as I’m convinced it will, be ready to relinquish your seat for the sake of another.

"God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them."

Hebrews 6:10

One of today’s headlines on MSN.com read the following:

“Psst!  Gossip may be good for you.  Researchers are saying you shouldn’t be ashamed of this ‘social skill’…Don’t feel guilty – you’re not telling tales, your building relationships.”

Are you kidding me?  I am in shock.  It seems we are becoming masters at justifying even the most cruel and damaging behaviors.  And then, to validate our right to self-expression, we get researchers to back up our claims. 

I don’t know about you, but I know first hand the sting of gossip.  There is nothing “building” about it.  I have sat silently and watched a single person do irreparable damage to multiple relationships in the name of “speaking the truth” behind the innocent’s back.  If you have been on the receiving end of gossip’s fallout, you are probably nursing the same sick feeling in the pit of your stomach as I am.

There have also been times, however, when I have been the perpetrator of gossip’s sting.  Finding ways to justify my own actions, or just completely oblivious to the damaging words pouring out of my mouth in a moment of heated emotion, I told stories and spread information that didn’t need to be broadcast.  Truth-be-told, a greater purpose would have been served if I would have just kept my mouth shut (1 Peter 4:8).

Beyond the header, I didn’t find the remainder of MSN.com’s article the least bit compelling.  In fact, I can’t tell you how passionately I disagree with their expressed conclusions.  And I shudder to think that any of my friends (or unknown enemies) might read the article and feel the green light has been given to say what they want, when they want, with no respect to the value of restraint.

Read the article if you want, but don’t draw any conclusions until you compare it with what the Maker of each one of us has to say about the power of a little tale-telling.  Remember, those of whom you speak are creations of his very hands.  If you have the time, use these verses to spend some time connecting with God, and asking for his insight into the issue of Gossip.  If you’re feeling especially brave, invite him to shed some light on any hints of gossip you have been playing around with this week.

I read this quote just a few minutes ago, and have now read it several times since.  I’m curious to know if it has the same sticky effect with you.

“Many persons have the wrong idea about what constitutes true happiness.  It is not attained through self-gratification but through fidelity to a worthy purpose” – Helen Keller

My first thought it that much, much time is spent on self-gratification.  Only the barest fraction of time – if any at all – is spent in steadfastness toward a worthy purpose.  Could this be partly to blame for any dissatisfaction I feel as this day come to a close?  I can’t help but pause for a minute.  How much of today did I spend in satisfying my own temporary needs and wants?  Comparatively, how much of today did I spend on a purpose completely outside of myself, something that stands as a worthy purpose regardless of my presence in the midst of it?

As I said, I am curious to know what you think.  Post a comment, and let me know if you see any truth in Ms. Keller’s poignant words.

Good grief … it took me nearly 15 minutes just to come up with the title for this little bio section.  Originally, I thought of “The Skinny on Michele,” but I’ve never been very fond of the word “skinny.”  Causes a few pangs of guilt in my gut for indulging in that Oreo ice cream just a few minutes ago.  So, after much deliberation, I’ve opted for “The 411″, which at least implies you will get a little info.  Truth is, ”The 911″ would fit better, given that I always seem to be in one crisis or another. 

Where to begin … I am a thirty-something wife and mother of three boys.  At 10, 14 and 15, they eat more than Safeway grocery store can keep in stock.  I eat chocolate like it’s going out of style, and run about 20+ miles a week so I can keep eating the chocolate.  I enjoy reading a good book in a bubble bath, which of course helps to relieve the pain from all the running (especially with a little something chocolate to nibble on while soaking).  I love to travel, especially to warm sandy beaches, where my husband & I can scuba dive.  Oh, but how I love the feel of coming home again.  I treasure family time, those moments becoming fewer as I watch my babies becoming men.  We snow-ski and snowboard in the winter, and camp and spend time on our boat in the summer.  Something about being outside in God’s creation makes my world feel more right.  

In a word, I have most often been described as a woman of passion, which is not always a good thing.  God has filled this belly of mine with more emotion than I can often contain.  Coupled with a sense of personal drive that is always on “high” and more questions then answers about life, and I can easily self-destruct.  If God has rescued me once, He’s rescued me a thousand times!  Oh, but He is so patient … helping me see that it is really not so much about the “doing”, but about knowing HIM. 

Several years ago, during a particularly difficult crisis, the Lord met with me in a very tangible way and gave me story of Jehoshaphat in 2 Chronicles 20.     “This is what the LORD says to you: ‘ Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army.  For the battle is not yours, but God’s…”  Reminding me again that it is not about my strength, but His, He carried me through that crisis – and many more that followed – with a sure and steady hand. 

This is who I am today … though I make no guarantees about tomorrow.  I am a rough lump of clay in the hands of a marvelous potter.  It’s a good place to be.