Some of you are running screaming for the door, whilst others are still chained to your own version of the grist mill, and still others are seeing the weakening, however temporary, of the fetters which keep our families fed. There are those all around us in desperate need of prayer—I think God gave me such a good report Monday from the doctors so I could at least try to offer some hope to those who haven’t yet been so blessed. Please lift Carol Albano; Carla Strickland’s son; Kelly Robeson’s dad; Rocky Bollinger; David Wilkerson and Hope House Cebu; my dear sister in Christ Deborah and her family; Brandon Renfro and Mary Jean Whitney; and all those who need comfort, reassurance, healing and protection. Whether your day is counted by hours, widgets produced, or clients kept happy, the day should soon be ending for most of us. I hope you’ll take the time this weekend to do a few purely unselfish things that will surprise you at the return you’ll get from such a small investment. Hug your momma. Tell your daddy you love him. Talk to your grandparents. Hug your siblings. Hold your kids so close that they squirm. Roll in the grass with your dog. Make faces at a cat. Gossip with a goose. Howl at a coyote. Tell a goat a joke. Share peppermints with a horse. Make friends with a cow. Talk philosophy with a donkey. Mock a mockingbird. Read to a little kid—the Bible is always good, but there are other good books, too. Far too many children have no one who will read to them, courtesy of television and time and too many worries in the world. Play a game by his or her rules. Teach a child how to do something cool, like whistle, fly a kite, skip a stone on a pond, or follow an animal’s tracks. Take a walk down a dirt road, and find something to talk about. Ask what he or she thinks about something, and listen. We can learn a lot from little kids before they grow up and the world breaks their hearts as it has ours. Walk through the woods, and listen. Crush a handful of pine straw and leaves, and smell. Eat a persimmon, a wild pear, an apple from a forgotten tree. Sit by a river. Watch the sun rise, and the same sun set. Try to count the craters in the moon. Take one little portion of the sky, and try to number the stars in that little corner. Run a handful of dirt through your fingers. Remember that the One who made all these things knows your every breath, your every failure and success, and every step you make, and he loves you anyway. He even sent his son to die for your sins, so you could spend eternity in a place so pretty words cannot describe it. If that isn’t humbling, we need to have a serious talk. Read your Bible, and go to church Sunday. Listen to the words the man in the pulpit brings, and pray for him. He’s a human just like you; his family has needs and wants and hopes and dreams, just like yours. Never forget that your pastor and his family are people, too. If your preacher ain’t part of your family, one of you is doing something wrong. Share his grief, and share his joy. We are ALL called to the master’s service; it’s just some of us are under-shepherds, some of us are sheep dogs, and some of us are leader-sheep. Say a prayer for our veterans, as well as those who are in the line of fire right now. Remember what Monday’s observances really mean. Were it not for those brave folks, we would have an entirely different world. Pray for those facing the storms of life, whether it’s the folks in the Philippines, or a storm in their own home. Pray for the leaders of your church, your community, our state and nation. Pray for those who can help others, but don’t. Pray for our protectors and defenders, and their families. Don’t judge the person at the other end of the pew, or the person who isn’t there—pray for them, instead. Pray for those who are sick, hurting, lost, confused, and frightened. Pray for those fighting for the rights we take for granted. Pray for someone you don’t like, and someone who doesn’t like you. If you run out—ask God who needs prayer. He’ll be happy to provide. He loves a servant He can call by name who simply responds, “Yes, Lord?” Do something nice this weekend, with no expectation of reward. Leave your change behind at the counter, or better still, pay someone’s bill. Give a caregiver a break. Put a newspaper on someone’s porch. Rake their yard. Send someone a note or a card. Pick up the phone and call them—don’t text, call. Give them a hug. Just be the friend they need when they need someone to sit close by and listen, even if they have nothing to say. Don’t judge, don’t advise, don’t joke—just be a friend like you’d want in similar circumstances. Hold hands with the one you love, in public and without shame. Never, ever miss the chance to make sure that person knows how you treasure them, and don’t ignore them if they tell you the same. Don’t sweat the small stuff. And resist the human instinct to think of yourself first. Take nothing for granted, my dear friends—I never thought of the possibility of cancer in Quasimodo until the folks at Wilmington Surgical Associates said there wasn’t any. The relief is inexpressible, and at the same time, it made my heart hurt for those whose news isn’t so good. Please continue to lift David Wilkerson and Co. as they begin rebuilding from the typhoon. God called him late in life to a ministry he didn’t understand, one which has been frustrating in the best of times, and now they face even more challenges. How many of us could follow in his footsteps? The afternoon shadows grow long, the hounds are stirring, the possums are restless, and I have miles to drive before I can hug a horse, set some steel, watch the space station, and make up for a day’s lost time with my wife. I hope you, too, look at just a few hours away from your spouse as time wasted. As always, if you need me, holler, and if there’s any way possible, the Wildman will come a’running. Y’all be good.
Posted on: Fri, 08 Nov 2013 21:40:35 +0000
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