I thought of you when I read this ..

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore.

We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out patients at the clinic. One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man.

"Why, he's hardly taller than my 8-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body.

But the appalling thing was his face, lopsided from swelling, red and raw. Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."

He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face ... I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments ..."

For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."

I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. "No, thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.

When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body.

He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her 5 children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury. He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was preface with thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.

At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair."

He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind."I told him he was welcome to come again.
And, on his next trip, he arrived a little after 7 in the morning.

As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen! He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. And I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.

In the years he came to stay overnight with us, there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed.

Knowing that he must walk 3 miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious. When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning."Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"

Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But, oh!, if only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear. I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.

Recently I was visiting a friend, who has a greenhouse, as she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!"

My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."

She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven.

"Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."

All this happened long ago - and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.The LORD does not look at the things man looks at.

Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7b)

Friends are very special.

They make you smile and encourage you to succeed.

They lend an ear and they share a word of praise.

Show your friends how much you care.


I love you guys. I thought of you when I read this.

Lucado swinging for the FENCES!

The Beggar and the Bread
by Max Lucado

A beggar came and sat before me. “I want bread,” he said.

“How wise you are,” I assured him. “Bread is what you need. And you have come to the right bakery.” So I pulled my cookbook down from my shelf and began to tell him all I knew about bread.

I spoke of flour and wheat, of grain and barley. My knowledge impressed even me as I cited the measurements and recipe. When I looked up, I was surprised to see he wasn’t smiling. “I just want bread,” he said.

“How wise you are.” I applauded his choice. “Follow me, and I’ll show you our bakery.” Down the hallowed halls I guided him, pausing to point out the rooms where the dough is prepared and the ovens where the bread is baked.

“No one has such facilities. We have bread for every need. But here is the best part,” I proclaimed as I pushed open two swinging doors. “This is our room of inspiration.” I knew he was moved as we stepped into the auditorium full of stained-glass windows.

The beggar didn’t speak. I understood his silence. With my arm around his shoulder, I whispered, “It overwhelms me as well.” I then leaped to the podium and struck my favorite pose behind the lectern. “People come from miles to hear me speak. Once a week my workers gather, and I read to them the recipe from the cookbook of life.”

By now the beggar had taken a seat on the front row. I knew what he wanted. “Would you like to hear me?”

“No,” he said, “but I would like some bread.”

“How wise you are,” I replied. And I led him to the front door of the bakery. “What I have to say next is very important,” I told him as we stood outside. “Up and down this street you will find many bakeries. But take heed; they don’t serve the true bread. I know of one who adds two spoons of salt rather than one. I know of another whose oven is three degrees too hot. They may call it bread,” I warned, “but it’s not according to the book.”

The beggar turned and began walking away. “Don’t you want bread?” I asked him.
He stopped, looked back at me, and shrugged, “I guess I lost my appetite.”

I shook my head and returned to my office. “What a shame,” I said to myself. “The world just isn’t hungry for true bread anymore.”

I don’t know what is more incredible: that God packages the bread of life in the wrapper of a country carpenter or that he gives us the keys to the delivery truck. Both moves seem pretty risky. The carpenter did his part, however. And who knows—we may just learn to do ours.


Dang, Max ain't pulling any punches ..

Men's Retreat

Went to the Men's retreat at Camp Cazadero over the weekend.

Excellent time, able to bond with friends old and new. Had great worship, great times talking and laughing, Pastor Lawler did a fabulous job with the theme for the weekend – SEEDS – which stands for:

Seek
Engage
Equip
Deploy
Serve

It was based on the idea that we need to seek men to bring to God, make sure we engage them correctly, equip them with the Word, deploy them to do the same, and serve them throughout their life.

At the end, we all separated into groups to pick out which ministry we were going to be a part of.

I am actually heading up the Construction Ministry. I’m hoping to build it up in such a way that we can work together with other churches eventually to film a Bless Your House – http://www.blessyourhouse.com/ – in the community.

We’ll start small, kind of get our feet wet with some small rehabs, and then crank it up as time and God’s will goes on.

So that’s exciting!

I’ll keep everyone posted.

Dale

PS. Diane told me a funny story today, so I thought I would share. Aaric is my four year old youngest son. A couple of days ago, his soccer teacher asked him, “When are you going to be 5, Aaric?”

He said, “On my birthday.”

I hope there was some sort of toddler sarcasm in that. :)

Rush to Judgment

I have a friend who is having back problems. He’s had three surgeries over the past 5 years and nothing seems to help.

He needs your prayers, definitely, although that is not the point of this post. His name is Rob.

I pray for him all the time. I try to share with him the realization I’ve had recently in my spiritual life.

He told me, “Listen, just because I don’t believe what you believe doesn’t make me amoral. That’s the problem I have with you religious types – your rush to judgment. Frankly I expected more support from a friend than to kick me while I’m down.”

Is it kicking a friend while he’s down to urge him to acknowledge his spiritual nature?

Is it rushing to judgment to tell a friend that his body will be healed if he gets in line with God -- if he gets his spiritual life in order? That we are spiritual beings, not “this crude matter” to quote Yoda? That God has promises for us if we open up to them?

Is it rushing to judgment to suggest that there might be another option besides nihilism and gloom?

Are we followers of Christ seen as wielding a cudgel of truth, ready to bash open the brains of anyone who dare oppose us?

Are we unrelenting? Are we inflexible? Are we closed minded? Are we interpreting our lives and the world around us through a filter of tradition, myth, superstition and supposition?

I feel that I have an open mind. We need faith to live, because with our limited earthly view, we can’t even see around the next “corner”, chronologically speaking.

So I’m open to look at any view that may explain the nature of our existence.

In my study, I’ve found that Jesus is the answer that takes the least amount of faith. There are lots of answers, sure, but the one that makes most sense is Jesus.

Is that short-sighted? Is that politically incorrect? Is that not loving your friend because he doesn’t believe it when he asks for “support”? Is that being judgmental? Is that rushing to conclusions? Is that being pious?

Is that being “religious”?