The Power of One

It is Sunday morning, 9.30 am. I walk into my classroom, armed with my lesson, which I have spent quite a lot of time preparing. And I am met by one solitary child sitting on the couch. I can't help it. I am disappointed. Not by her, but by the empty chairs that surround us.

 

Has this been your experience too?

And yet as I take my place beside this faithful young girl, and her mom who teaches alongside me, I remember that some of Jesus' most powerful lessons were taught, not to the crowd, but to the individual.

I remember Nicodemus, who after his night time encounter with Jesus, would undoubtedly use his position to quietly, yet powerfully, witness to the Sanhedrin.

 

I remember the woman at the well, who after her conversation with Jesus is so excited that she has the attention of the entire town.

 

I remember Zacchaeus, who after his meal with Jesus, would astonish so many with his utterly transformed life.

 

Jesus knew the power of one.

And so next time I walk into my classroom and I am met by one solitary child, I will not be disappointed. Instead, I will thank God for the opportunity to teach...because today, I might just be teaching a Nicodemus, or a woman at the well, or a Zacchaeus.

And I will remember the power of one.

What is Your Explanation for the Resurrection?

Holy Land Visit, 2013

If Jesus' enemies had stolen his body, all they had to do to disprove the resurrection was to produce it.

If Jesus' friends had stolen his body, they would have been hunted down, arrested, and charged for the crime.

I am sitting in my last lecture at Bible Study Fellowship as my leader says these words. They make so much sense to me that I struggle to understand how anyone could disagree with them. No intelligent person with any knowledge of historical data could argue with the fact that Jesus Christ was a real, breathing, human being, who lived and walked the streets of Jerusalem 2,000 years ago.

And once we acknowledge that fact, how do we explain his resurrection? If this was a story made up by his disciples, why would they risk their lives to spread such an incredible, unbelievable, unimaginable lie? Why would Paul suffer beatings, and shipwreck, and imprisonment? Why would Peter ask to be crucified upside down? Why would Stephen choose to be stoned to death?

If I am one of the millions of Christians duped by an enormous lie, then so be it. But I am convinced, along with Paul, that the only plausible explanation of what happened on that Sunday morning so long ago was the impossible truth that Jesus Christ rose from the dead. No cave could contain him.

And if I believe this astonishing fact, then I must also believe that God has the power to do immeasurably more than all I could ask or imagine.

Imagination is a wonderful thing. What do you imagine for your children? When you close your eyes, what do you dream for them and their future? 

Be encouraged. God can do more.

The Lady Who Lived in Strawberry Cottage

She lived in Strawberry Cottage. And although that name sounds like it belongs on the pages of a Beatrix Potter book, Strawberry Cottage is a real place. And this is a true story.

Strawberry Cottage is a beautiful, old home, nestled among fields in the little village of UpHolland, in Northern England. I love UpHolland. I grew up there. At the back of Strawberry Cottage, I remember walking through the woods that she and her husband had bought, so that the tiny bluebells would be preserved. She never stepped on them. Because she was Linda.

Once a month, she would invite all of us Sunday school teachers to Strawberry Cottage. We would gather in her modest living room to plan our monthly lessons. And although she was the Sunday School Superintendent, she never frowned if we had not read through the material ahead of time. She would just smile; and laugh; and pour tea. She would offer us homemade treats; and understand that we had been too busy; and pray with us; and encourage us. Because she was Linda.

And when she first met my four rambunctious sons, who were usually bouncing off the Sunday school walls, and who generally put others off teaching for life, she just loved them. Because she was Linda.

Linda taught me more about how to appreciate and retain volunteers; how to teach; how to love children; and how to live a humble, gentle, grace filled life than any book, or seminar, or training event ever could. Not through words, but simply by who she was. Because she was Linda.

It is twelve years today since Linda smiled. Outside Strawberry Cottage hangs a sign that says 'For Sale.' But her legacy lives on. And if I can leave even half the legacy that she did, I will be happy.

A Glimpse Into Godly Play...

I am sitting in a circle of children listening to the storyteller. She tells the story slowly, her eyes downward, focused on twelve little wooden characters as she moves them up the mountain. There is a lot of silence. The children listen. They watch, and they wonder. Wondering is a very real part of this environment, where biblical stories are retold, but not explained, and little minds are at work, making meaning out of mystery.

And as the storyteller asks the questions, the children know they do not have to answer ....because these are just things to ponder. There are no prizes to be earned for the correct response, no popcorn to be won, no gimmicks to entice involvement. Only the wondering...

I wonder how the twelve disciples feel being called to be with Jesus?

I wonder what they said when they told the news of the Kingdom of God?

I wonder how the people felt when they heard it?

And into the space and silence, a little boy ventures a one word response...

Happy

Mmm.. I wonder why they would feel happy? asks the storyteller.

Maybe because it's good news, he says, smiling.

And now it is my turn to wonder....how does he know that? How does one so young know that the kingdom of God is good news?
Unless, of course, the kingdom belongs to him?

And just like the upside down teachings of Jesus-  we who plan, and prepare our lessons so diligently, we who hold our 'learning objectives' like a measuring rod in our minds.....
must remember that when we set out to teach our children, it's actually they who end up teaching us. It is they who understand kingdom concepts better than we, even if they cannot put it into words.

And as a teacher, surely this is what I must strive towards-  to nurture that spirituality already present within the child; to value the pondering, the wondering, the space created by silence, and trust that God is at work in ways that can never be measured.

This is a hard approach for me, because it requires that I change.

But I know that in the upside down kingdom, I must change and become like a little child, in order to let the child teach me.

Learn about Godly Play

Children as Worship Leaders

I did something in church this morning that I have never done before. I received communion from a fourth grader. It touched by heart. 

This is the body of Christ, broken for you,
he said shyly, as he carefully lifted the plate of bread towards me.

I watched as he served his mom and dad, his little brother, his grandma, his friends, and their parents. Occasionally he looked up to the pastor just to make sure he was doing everything right. He was.

This ten year old boy- who could just as well have been at home playing video games- had already led us in the opening prayer; given out certificates to new members; welcomed them with a hand shake; read the passage of scripture from the Bible he was presented with in third grade, and helped the pastor prepare the elements for communion.

And as he took his place at this altar, next to candles, and choirs, and bread, and wine, where sermons have been preached for years and years, and babies have been baptized, and people have knelt before Christ-  I couldn't help but wonder how experiences like this would help to shape this young man's life, and to kindle a sense of the sacred in his soul.

And I couldn't help but wonder, as he held his third grade Bible and read,
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God....
if he knew that he was talking about himself.

How does your church intentionally engage children in leading worship?


 

The Bear at the End of The Street...

I sometimes wonder why I live in Michigan. It is freezing cold. Several feet of snow cover the ground. And although there is nothing more lovely than sunshine sparkling on snow, our sunshine is in short supply. And winter days are long. But without the snow, I never would have seen the wonderful bear who took up residence one day at the end of our street....

Quietly, the snow bear sits in his front yard and smiles at passers by. Cars slow down, and windows open as children point their little fingers and marvel at him.

And I wonder at the ingenuity and creativity of the one or the ones who made him...
 
I do not know how many hands worked together to fashion and mold that bear. I do not know how long it took to smooth and reshape the snow until that bear looked just the way its creator intended. But what I do know is that every time I see it, it makes me smile. That bear brings a little bit of sunshine into my winter day.

And as silly as it seems, as I work in children's ministry, I want to be like that bear. I want to be fashioned, molded and shaped until I look just the way God intended.... so that when people see me, they will smile.

And maybe, like that bear that is so wonderfully made, I might be able to bring a little bit of sunshine into someone's winter day.

I will praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Psalm 139:14

What Do Your Children Take Away From Worship?

What is worship to you?
Why do you attend worship?

These were just two of the many questions that our pastor asked in church this morning as part of her challenging, thought provoking, and eloquent sermon. She had just finished explaining to our youngest children what frankincense was, as they gathered around the altar in the quietness, and smelled its sweetness, and watched as the smoke curled and climbed slowly up to the heavens.

Do we see the enormity of what we're doing here? She had asked the congregation later.

And I would guess that for most people, the answer to that would be no. After all, don't many of us come to worship because it is our weekly routine? For me, growing up as the daughter of a preacher, and then later being married to a pastor, attending worship every Sunday has been a weekly routine of mine all my life.

But while worship might sometimes be routine, it should never be mundane.
 
When we come to worship we choose to take our place in the ancient story that will reveal to us who we are, our pastor had said. Wow! You mean that I am part of God's ancient story? That I have a place at God's altar where incense rises like sweet perfume to God Almighty, the maker of the whole earth?

I do. You do. All of us have a place there. And so do each of our children. 

Let us never attend worship to be entertained. Let us never attend worship because it is our routine. Let's attend worship ready to meet with the omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent maker of the universe, who has a purpose for each one of us and whose earnest desire is to send us out into the world to be a light to those who walk in darkness.

And this is my prayer, for the little ones we bring to worship each week...that they might have a glimpse of the enormity of what we really do when we gather together as God's family, and know, deep within their being, as I suspect our children did this morning when they watched that sweet perfume rise, that, in the words of our pastor,
worship is a moment in time, a gift of God's grace shared by God's beloved....
that they are indeed part of God's ancient story that will slowly but surely reveal to them who they are.

Is this part of what your children take away from worship each week? And if not, how can we make that happen?

Do You Have a New Year's Resolution?

I am riding on a Portland bus when a sign above catches my eye. In bold letters, I read: See Something? Say Something. This is not the first time I have seen this sign. I last saw it in the airport when traveling. It reminds me to be watchful, to remain vigilant, to notice anything suspicious, or out of the ordinary.   

But what would it be like if I tried to apply this principle in a positive way? What difference would it make if instead of spying out the suspicious, I were to look out for the lovely? Suppose I made an effort to be watchful, to be vigilant, to see all the wonderful things in the world- the things that really are out of the ordinary, if only I have time to notice them?

Like a single ray of sunshine shining down on me when no one else notices...

Or a mama who is simply in love with her baby...

Or a teacher who quietly inspires you to be your best...

Or a child who teaches you more about Jesus than you could ever teach him...

And what would happpen if, when I see all these things, I say something, like:

Thank you God, or 
What a great mom you are, or 
It is such a privilege to work alongside you or
Do you know what a precious gift you are to me?

And imagine what an impact we could make in the world if we all were to See Something and Say Something. Imagine what a difference your words would make in the life of a child, or a Sunday school teacher, or your family. 

Take this little resolution into the new year. Be watchful. Be vigilant. Be an encourager. And see what happens.





   

What's Your Wallpaper?

I have the cutest photo ever of my new grandson. He is lying oh so still on his side, his forefinger curled under his little chin, his dark blue eyes focused intently on the camera. I promptly set this adorable photograph as the wallpaper on my smartphone. Now I can show it off proudly to anyone who enquires about him. So precious!

But there is one small problem. My grandson is somewhat hidden in the background. In the foreground are all the apps and icons that are so important to me...all the little buttons that I need to use every day. 

They are, after all, indispensable...one push of the globe gives me instant access to the worldwide web; an opened envelope with a number beside it is a signal that I have urgent mail; the icon of a file folder reminds me of all the important people in my life; the tiny green ear piece is the key to my phone; and of course the blue square with the letter F in the center is my link to the essential Facebook.

Then did I mention the camera icon, my Instagram app, the monthly calendar, my Pinterest link, the MapQuest button, or my highly addictive Scrabble app, just to name a few?
And the result of all this? When I want to see my precious grandson, I have to drag all those important apps out of the way, just so I can focus on what really matters.

What if God has become the wallpaper in my life?

What if I have placed God, my most precious possession, in the background, behind all those other important things that demand my time and attention? And if I am struggling with that, how can I help those tweens I teach every Sunday who are wrestling with it too?

I have learned the simple truth that on those mornings when I manage to lay my phone down, and put God first, my whole day seems brighter. And those tweens? Is there a way to help them experience that too? As a teacher, mentor, and spiritual guide, if I can be honest with them about my own daily struggles with the world, then maybe I can help them drag some of their distractions out of the way, so that they can see what truly matters too.

The Rottweiler

Irritation crept in as I pressed the handle down for hot water and heard a gurgle that told me the pot was empty. I was already disgruntled because I had to get up too early, and this did nothing to improve my mood. Can I help you? a bright and cheery voice said behind me. I turned to see the hotel breakfast attendant- a young man, all smiles, wearing his red Best Western apron with pride. There's no hot water for tea, I grumbled.
Oh, I'm so sorry about that. But here's another pot of hot water we use for oatmeal...can I pour some for you?
No thanks, I retorted quickly, you need boiling water for tea, and it won't be hot enough. I'll just wait. Still smiling, the young breakfast attendant poured some of the hot water into a dish and tested it with his fingers. Yep, he laughed, as he quickly withdrew them, it's hot!
But I am stubborn. No thanks, I said again. I'll just wait, and turned away. Less than twenty seconds later, the young man reappeared at my side holding a fresh cup of steaming water and a teabag. Here you go, he said cheerfully. Can I get you anything else?
For the next thirty minutes, I watched and listened as this young man greeted each and every hotel guest who came for breakfast, from the youngest to the oldest, conversing easily in Spanish and English. I watched him welcome, chat, laugh, run, fetch, lift, carry, clean, and serve, all the time wearing a big smile on his face. I was not the only guest to compliment him on his excellent service.
The young man's name is John. He is a senior in college studying Hotel Hospitality. And his philosophy when he comes to work each morning is 'to make everyone happy.' John succeeded.
I have no idea if John is a Christian. I have no idea if he knows just how Christ-like he is. But I cannot help compare him to a Christian man I once knew who stood like a guard dog at the entrance to our sanctuary, on the look-out for any 'undesirables.' I can still picture the scene as if it were yesterday, that Sunday morning when my son's friend decided to try out this 'religion thing' for the first time. And how the rottweiler growled as the teenager entered the church, and let out his most ferocious bark, Take that hat off! I distinctly remember how my son's friend turned crimson as he pulled his hat from his disheveled hair, in front of the entire choir, congregated in the entrance to the sanctuary, robed in their finest. Of course he never came back. Why would he?
And as I prepare to welcome children and families to our church this Sunday, I'm going to try my best to emulate John...because it's people like him who ensure that the Best Western hotel is full...while sadly, our churches are not.

The Turtle

Xander at the library

"You can make a turtle now," announced the lady at the library. She had just led a lively 'toddler time' for at least twenty energetic young children. We had listened to two stories, sung three songs, jumped around with teddy bears, and had fun with a turtle finger rhyme. Now it was time for crafts.
My two and a half year old grandson eagerly grabbed two glue sticks and a pair of scissors while I searched for the other essentials- but the only supplies were a paper plate and two sheets of green and brown paper. I looked around hopefully for pre-cut shapes of a turtle's head, or tail, or feet- but there were none. So as Xander cheerfully coated the paper plate with masses of glue, I set about trying to create what might resemble a turtle.
I carefully cut out two blobs for the head and tail, and four spikey feet, all the while talking to my grandson...this is the turtle's head, here's his tail, and so on. I don't think he was listening...he was far too preoccupied with his second glue stick.
Together, we somehow managed to stick the head, tail, and feet at somewhat appropriate points around the rim of the plate. Good! But just as it was beginning to resemble something like a living creature, Xander remembered the scissors, and decided to try his cutting skills on my creation. With one swift snip, the turtle's head was gone. Oh no! I cried. With the next snip, the tail was shredded, followed rapidly by four severed feet. Then Xander started snipping around the edge of the paper plate, and looked up at me to gauge my reaction. I laughed at my preconceived idea lying in shreds on the carpet while another grandma next to me commented, It's his project, not yours.

Every year faithful Methodists around the world dutifully recite the challenging words of
John Wesley's Covenant Prayer:

I am no longer my own, but yours.

Put me to what you will, rank me with whom you will.

Put me to doing, put me to suffering.

Let me be employed for you or laid aside for you,

exalted for you or brought low for you.

Let me be full, let me be empty.

Let me have all things, let me have nothing.

I freely and wholeheartedly yield all things to your pleasure and disposal...

Wow! Do I really repeat those words every year? Do I really mean them? Because if I do, then I must surrender my life to the snipping...because after all, it's His project, not mine.

Hungry?

It was 8 a.m. I sat at the table alone, looking out over the pond in front of me. I took out my breakfast bagel and before I had even sliced it, a bird flew down from a nearby tree and perched on the chair right next to mine. He cocked his head to one side and looked at me expectantly with his beady eye. This bold little fellow was less than two feet away, totally unafraid. I obviously had something he wanted. I laughed, broke off a small piece of my bagel and threw it on the ground. My feathered friend grabbed it eagerly and took off. Seconds later, he landed on the chair again and the scene was repeated. After he left, I grabbed my phone, ready to take a photo the next time he came. I waited and waited, patiently hoping he would return, but he never did. I guess that little bird just wasn't hungry any more.
And it made me think...how hungry am I for God, the true bread of life? God sits. Patiently. Waiting. Hoping. For me. All I need to do is approach that throne boldly, expecting to receive. 
And I will be given as much, (or as little), as I want.

Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated
as much as they wanted. John 6:11

My Prayer

Over 4,000 miles away there stands a huge wall, the stones of which are all that remains of what was once an impressive temple. About two thirds of the way along the wall, to the right, and about six feet up, is a little piece of paper, folded and tucked in a tiny crevice between the stones. This little note is surrounded by thousands of other pieces of paper, some wedged tightly, some fluttering in the wind, some so ancient that the paper is yellowed, and the words illegible. But the little piece of paper that is folded and tucked about two thirds of the way along, to the right, and about six feet up, is special. Because it is my prayer...words of blessing and hope for my children, my grandchildren, my great grandchildren, and the children who will come after them.
What a privilege to have been able to stand at the Western Wall in Jerusalem, to hear so many prayers whispered and sung, by men, and women, and children; to see so many fingers reach out to touch those holy stones; to witness so many hands tuck precious prayers into tiny crevices.
We cannot overestimate the importance of prayer, nor underestimate its effect.
How are you praying for your own children, or those you minister to? Walk through your ministry space, or your home. Pray in the doorways, for those who will enter in and go out. Touch the little chairs and pray for the children who will sit there. Pray for their futures, for their parents, for their fears, hopes, and dreams, for their relationship with God. Pray in your rooms, that God's Holy Spirit will so fill that space that all who enter will breathe that life-giving spirit in.
Pray, pray, pray, without ceasing. Because whether your prayer is whispered, or sung, or written and tucked between stones, all are heard, all are special, and all are precious to God.

Pray without ceasing. 1 Thessalonians 5:17

Waiting

Click on me to see
my newborn wispy feathers 

I had a surprise visitor this morning. A baby robin, bravely trying out her new wings, landed on my window sill...so close that I could see her wispy little newborn feathers and every dot on her chest. She balanced precariously on the edge of her narrow platform and turned her head anxiously from side to side. She was clearly in a predicament. Where was her mamma? The newborn had a difficult decision to make. Should she try to find her? Should she attempt to fly down to the garden below? Should she try to return to the nest?
The little robin did none of those things. She chose instead to wait, while I watched closely from behind the glass.
Several anxious minutes passed. The baby looked up and down, to the left and to the right. Finally, she opened her beak and gave her loudest baby cheep. And mamma came! Five minutes later, they were enjoying a tasty worm for breakfast. The little robin's patience had been rewarded, and I have a feeling that her mamma had been watching all along.
Waiting is hard. Trying to make difficult decisions, whether in our ministry or our personal lives, is hard. But sometimes, the best decision we can make is to wait on God. Because in the waiting, God is watching. And God will come.


The Real Enemy...

My brother's cups of tea tasted great, but he had one annoying habit. He used to fill that cup until it was absolutely overflowing. I couldn't carry it from counter to table because hot tea would spill from the edges and onto the floor. It was as if he had no concept of when to stop pouring. He must have learned that from God.
I think about God, standing in heaven's kitchen, holding a gigantic pitcher, from which pours a never ending supply of love, and forgiveness, and joy, and hope, to all those who are willing to bring their cups to the table. And therein lies the problem. In order for us to be filled with God's best, we must bring an empty cup. But mine is already full...of fear, or anxiety, or confusion, or busyness. And aren't they the real enemies at the table? When I am filled with those things, it leaves me no room for anything else.
And this is what I learn...we cannot teach our children how to come to the table emptied of the world's worries, and ready to be filled with God's greatness, if we do not know how to do that ourselves. But if we can learn that secret, then what a feast we will share! We will sit at a table where our enemies are conquered, and where the host is One who has no concept of when to stop pouring.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies
You anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows. Psalm 23: 5

Are Smartphones Really Smart?

For the longest time I resisted the temptation to own a smartphone. Despite the recommendations of my children, my colleagues, the television, and the billboards I passed every day, I was happy with my chunky little flip phone. I didn't understand the word 'app' or know the difference between a smartphone and an iPhone. But now that I carry a smartphone in my pocket, I don't know how I ever lived without one. Suddenly, the world is at my fingertips. I no longer have to wait until I get home to check my email. I don't need to carry a camera around my neck, a map book in my car, or a stack of coupons that I clipped from the newspaper. My smartphone does it all. That little gadget is my constant companion... I carry it wherever I go...and I am not the only one- the world is carrying smartphones too.
But as clever as the GPS on my smartphone is, it cannot guide me to heaven. As fast as I can get my questions answered by searching Google, it cannot give me the answers I crave by searching God. And so I have to find a way to carry God in my pocket too, to keep God as accessible as my smartphone, and to rely on God as much as I rely on that little gadget. And as technology advances, we have to find a way to encourage our children to do the same. Imagine how much difference it would make in the world if we pulled a Bible out of our pockets as often as we pull out our phones...or turned to God in prayer rather than turned to Google. Smartphones are only smart if we can sometimes turn them off, and turn to God instead.


The Triumphal Entry.

It was after 6pm. Most of the people on the bus were sleeping, dreaming of the unbelievable experiences we had shared during the past three days in beautiful Galilee. My own mind was flooded with images of plunging under the cold waters of the River Jordan as I remembered my baptism; of watching the waves on Lake Galilee and realizing that Jesus had walked on them; of quietly praying in the church at the Mount of Beatitudes; of seeing shepherds leading their sheep down green hillsides; of collecting pebbles on the shore of Lake Galilee where the resurrected Jesus cooked breakfast for his disciples. My overriding impression of Galilee was one of peace...a place where I could connect with the One who walked there.
And into these memories, these dreams, music began to play over the loudspeakers in the coach. I opened my eyes to see lights twinkling in the distance, and the impressive silhouette of a golden dome peeking above city walls. We were riding into Jerusalem, as the song played loud Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Lift Up Your Voice and Sing... and I couldn't help but think about Jesus, who rode into that same city, 2000 years before. We were leaving the peace and calm of Galilee behind, and were about to enter the hustle and bustle of this incredible city, with its many vendors, and peoples, and distractions, and noise.  No wonder Jesus wept over Jerusalem...a place where he would be betrayed and where he would breathe his last. And I wonder if Jesus cries over our cities too...and the hustle and bustle of the distracted lives we lead.
And so this is my challlenge...to myself, and all who read these words. Where is your Galilee? Where is that place where you can connect with the One who walked for you? Find it this week. Go there often. Reconnect deeply with the author of life. It will impact your ministry and truly make it a Holy Week.

Love Is The Mark

I look forward to Sundays. I love teaching the kids in my Sunday school class. I love spending time with my church family. I love being part of a flock, gathered together in our little pasture, sharing, smiling, hugging, caring, listening. We join together as one, and that is just how it should be. But today is Monday. I will not gather with my flock for several days. And as I wander from the fold, as I walk in pastures new, would anyone know that I belong to that flock?
The sheep that live in the Lake District in the north of England have no choice in the matter. They are already marked. On their back they carry a stamp of ownership, a distinguishing color that makes them easy to identify. No matter where they roam, their mark denotes the shepherd to whom they belong.
If you are a Christian, you are marked. But it is always our choice to let it show.  And so this is my challenge this week...no matter where I roam, no matter who I am with, I need to make sure that I am the same loving sheep on Monday that I was on Sunday. Because love is the mark that denotes the shepherd to whom I belong.
 If you love one another, everyone will know you are my disciples. John 13:35

Lucky Children?

One week before Christmas, four lucky children jumped excitedly into the back of my car. Our destination? A local bookstore where they would each be able to spend a whopping $20 on new books. The outing was just one of many, organized and led by our church's Community Ministries Program- a wonderful outreach that impacts the lives of impoverished children in our neighborhood. You might assume that the highlight of this evening, for children who do not own a book of their own, was being able to visit the bookstore, and make their very own selection. But you would be wrong. You might assume that the part they enjoyed most was the lovely drink of hot chocolate that they sipped in the cafe afterwards...after all, hot chocolate is probably not on their parents' shopping lists. But you would be wrong. The most wonderful and memorable part of this evening for those little children was simply being taken out of their world to drive past affluent homes that boasted spectacular Christmas light displays. Their eyes were agog as we passed glittering reindeers, laughing illuminated Santas, and lights of every color chasing around trees and rooftops. And with a sigh, the little boy in the back said: This must be where the rich people live. And of course he was right.
As I dropped them off at home that evening, outside darkened doors with no twinkling lights, and no Christmas trees waiting to greet them inside, I thanked God for the privilege of being able to help these children escape from their world...even if only for a short time.
And just think what a difference we could make if every single church had some sort of outreach ministry to children; if every rich person, including you and I, were to help impoverished children escape from their world - even if only for a short time. Just think.

Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me. Matthew 25:40

Eye Contact

I stood and watched my little grandson as he played with the train set alongside several other children. At 2 or 3 years old, they were doing a pretty good job of sharing, but their parents still kept a vigilant eye just in case they needed to step in to reinforce the lesson. A little boy snatched a train from another and I watched with interest as his young mom stepped in. She crouched down alongside him and spoke gently. Look at me. She said. The boy ignored her. But she persisted, this time using his name. Josh, I need you to at look at me. Josh ignored her. His focus was still on the train he wanted. The mom would not give up. Quietly, but deliberately, she tried a third time. Josh, she said, I need to see your eyes. Right here. She motioned towards her son's eyes and then pointed to her own. Now she had his attention. Josh finally paused and turned to face her. Only when she had established that eye contact could she teach him an important lesson.
Honey, the trains are for sharing. Josh shared.
It is almost Christmas. While we are busy, and focused on what we want, God stands at our side, yearning for us to turn and face Him. God crouches down, calls us by name, and gently persists until we respond. Only when we pause, and that eye contact is established, can we truly learn the lessons He has for us.