I’m worried that we have started to lose our civility.  A lot of people will brush words like Mr. O’Rourke’s off and they will say that they are only words. You know, “sticks and stones” and all. Whoever coined that phrase was so wrong. Words hurt. Words damage. Words last a lifetime.

When I was a little girl and I was in trouble, I always preferred a spanking. After all, a spanking was over and done with and I could move on, but the words did the most damage to me. In fact, I can still recall verbal insults from years ago. They last a whole lifetime, and they do the real damage.

Words are behind every war, every bad philosophy, and every kind of hatred that exists. Words can divide us or bring us together and it’s our decision how we choose to use them. Words are what come before actions. Still, we are getting more and more at ease with using our words to hate others. We hate others because of race, religion, political affiliation, and whatever else we can come up with.

Some of you will probably read this post today and will want to respond that I shouldn’t be so thin-skinned or that I should toughen up, but I don’t want to toughen up. Toughening up means that I won’t notice the next time someone hurts someone else with words. It means that I won’t feel as much as I did before or that I won’t be aware when I hurt someone with my words or when my ideas going out into the world cause hatred rather than goodness.

There are some words in my life that I wish I hadn’t said. There are some words that I wish I hadn’t heard. For the ones that I heard, I wish I could stand across from the person who said them and open my soul so that they could see the bleeding, so that they could know the way it damaged me. That’s why I often say, “I’m sorry” more often than I have to. I say it to make up for all the times I said something stupid and can’t take it back. I wish more people could say “I’m sorry.”

I read the other day about a group of Christians who attended a gay pride parade and carried a banner that said, “I’m sorry for the way Christians have treated you.” The picture of a gay man hugging one of men in the Christian group gave me hope that love might just make a difference in the world. Crazy me, those are just the right-thinking, high-minded, progressive elite ideas that got Jesus put up on a cross.

From a somewhat anonymous person who sent their story to us via the website. Looks like he does street ministry with the homeless, and seems to bring new socks with him when he can. New socks seems pretty doable to me. Enjoy.

Today while in street ministry I came into a campsite. A note was left for me by one of the guys.

It read:

brbruce,
I want to thank you for the socks this Christmas.
I was not honest when I said I needed a pair for a friend.
I kept them for my self. I know how you always run out so I lied.
I have a chance to go to Florida so I will be leaving Sunday
I wanted to tell you thank you for the love you show to us.
Not many people come into the camp and you never pass anyone and not
say a prayer.

Please forgive me for lying. One day I hope we will meet again.
I promise that when I can I will buy an extra pair of socks
and give them to some one and pray for them just like you did for me.
Happy trails to you. friend.

 

 

 

Last Christmas, I gave a Karoake machine to my brother’s family. He has eight children, each unique to his/herself, but one of the eight is especially quiet, preferring to be off by himself drawing pictures. Most days, we are lucky to get a single word out of this young man, but just look in his eyes and you can see something at work inside there. My brother reports that this is the one of the eight that has enjoyed the Karoake machine the most. Some might say that this makes no sense considering the shyness of this one, but I wasn’t surprised because I know that he’s got the heart of an artist.

Artists, by nature, are observers. They watch the world around them and seem always to be trying to make sense out of their surroundings. They are the ones who are looking for meaning in everything, God included. It’s no mystery to me that King David was also an artist long before Israel’s crown was placed on his head.

At a recent funeral for one of our seniors, the pastor’s message was about the Marthas and the Marys. We like to think that some of us are Marthas, busy rolling up our sleeves and taking on the next task, and some of us are Marys, sitting at Jesus’ feet listening for the beauty in the message. Of course, the truth really is, that most of us are both Marys and Marthas to a certain extent.  Whether we are more a Martha or more a Mary, being able to see others through the lens of an artist is a valuable and important virtue.  The artist’s heart often looks for the reason and purpose behind other people‘s actions and intentions. They are listeners and they approach their friends and acquaintances, not intending to change them, but rather to know how they work. It isn’t that artists always see only the beauty in others and in life, either. Often they are ultra aware of the darkness in some people and experiences, but they don’t let the darkness keep them from the experience or the person.  They reach toward understanding, often despite how painful it sometimes can be. 

I like to think that God works through artists a lot because they are aware of their surroundings. I think God can use the person who can look at the turning of the leaves in the fall and find poetry in it. Likewise, he can definitely use someone who can see the poetry in a dirt-covered homeless person as well as the sunshine in the smile of a baby.  The person who is too busy to see those things is of no use to God.  For me, that is the value of striving for the artist each of us carries within.  To see, good or bad, and not blind ourselves by not seeing the world that is going on around us.

Like the pastor said, there is an artist in all of us. We just have to take the time and make the effort to find our own inner artist and start making sense out the things that matter. Otherwise, the Martha will take over and we will find ourselves trying to straighten a hanging picture instead of appreciating content in the picture itself.

I was sitting in the waiting room of my dentist’s office when I got a call from my mother. Her voice shook a little as she shared with me the sad news that my Uncle Darrell had just passed away. Uncle Darrell and Aunt Louie had been good me when I was a young nineteen year old woman living alone in a big city. Being my closest relatives, they invited me for dinner on occasion and treated me with tender loving care as only family can. I couldn’t help the tears that formed as I tried to console my mom and finished my conversation and as I felt the tears start to choke me, the nurse opened the door and called my name. What timing! I tried to calm myself, but I looked up at the girl with tears. Then, she did the unthinkable. She asked me if I was alright. That started the flood and I gulped back the tears trying to explain that I had just learned of my uncle’s death.

She asked me if I still wanted to go in, and I assured her I was fine, that it was just the timing. They left me waiting a bit longer than usual, I think, probably because they wanted to give me a little time. Time helped and the examination went forward with the young dentist, as gently as possible, telling me that I would need a root canal. The poor guy must’ve been bracing himself for another breakdown, but he was likely relieved to know that I had gotten myself together by that time. The next day, another dentist, another chair, and I was pain-free with a root canal under my belt. Then, I booked a flight for the day after Christmas to attend my uncle’s funeral.

When I returned, it was mid-day and I dropped my bag on the floor of our entry with tired relief. Then, my husband picked up the mail and there was a card from the dentist’s office. So, I sat down on the couch and opened it, to find a beautiful sympathy card signed by every person in my dentist’s office. Tears sprang to my eyes again as I read each person’s special note and I realized how truly thoughtful they had been. My long-time dental hygienist, Lois, signed it, too. She had been the same hygienist for both my parents when they lived here, and she knew our family well. She knew me well enough to say that she would be praying for me. How wonderful! That card was one of the most thoughtful things that anyone has done for me in a long time.

Last week, I had to return to my dentist’s office again to have the temporary filling removed and replaced with a permanent. I felt a little embarrassment, but I wanted to thank the dentist and everyone in the office for their thoughtfulness. I kept trying to summon the courage, and finally after I was out of the chair, I caught the dentist and thanked him for the card. I told him how thoughtful it was and that I knew that they didn’t have to do that, and I asked him to thank everyone in his office for their kindness.

It felt strange being on the receiving end of what we call an Ordinary Attempt (OA) here in DE land, but it was nice to be reminded how it feels. I felt cared for, valued. It’s almost as if it transformed my dentist’s office into an extended family. It changed something for me there and it was all because they took that extra step, a step that they didn’t have to take, to show me a kindness. Maybe that’s why I can now look at it as the sweetest root canal I’ve ever had.

Over lunch, a friend and I talked about the first time I gave Miles a ride.  I wrote about it here at DE over a year ago.  My husband was worried and told me not to do it again, but I didn’t listen. 

Miles wore this special leather jacket that had the NBC peacock emblem on the back of it.  After the first few times I gave him a ride, I had this niggling sense that there was a purpose behind it.  I told my friend that at the time, too, and she agreed.  It felt like a story was unfolding, but I didn’t try to press him to know Jesus.  I didn’t have time to do that on the five minute drive and that’s not really how I work, but I learned his name and a few details.  I was just friendly with him, but I think Miles taught me a few things, too.

My husband gave him a ride later on and I remember how he had the same feeling of goodness that comes from doing a right thing.  Some may call it pride, but I think it’s more of a knowing that you’ve done what God wants you to do.   Miles had been hitching to and from his home several blocks down from the shopping center that we live near.  It’s where he got breakfast every morning and he was an early bird.

Another friend, my rideshare partner, saw him once while riding with me and she joked, “No way you’re getting a ride here, mister,” and then I told her that I had already given him a ride several times and I told her his name and what little I knew about him.  She shared with me a time that a man had tried to attack her and how it had made her afraid to trust strangers.  I could understand that.   It seemed like once Miles had a name, he wasn’t as scary after that, but I didn’t give Miles rides when she was in the car with me.  She commented once that it would probably be okay now that she knew the story.

We noticed when we stopped seeing him.  It was like the spot where he stood was empty. 

On the 23^rd of December, our ministry was invited to sing at a local assisted living senior facility, and so we lined up in the cafeteria hall and started to sing, but it wasn’t until two songs in that I noticed the distinct peacock emblem on the back of a familiar leather jacket and there he was.  He was smiling and tapping his toes, exuberantly clapping at the end of each song, and well, just being himself.  I knew when I saw him that I wanted to speak to him, just to tell him hello and ask him how he was, knowing that he wouldn’t remember me.  So, I caught him just as we were walking out.

I called out his name and he turned, and I took his hand.  “You probably don’t remember me, but I gave you a ride a few times.  My name is April.”

“Back when I was hitching?” he asked in what I think is a Jersey accent, and I nodded silently.  “Well, thank you very much!”  He asked me his old standby question, “Do you live around here?”

“Yeah,” I answered for the umpteenth time, “I live over closer to where your house was.”  Then I grimaced as I saw a dark shadow cross his face.  All my senior ministry experience and I was stupid enough to remind him of what he’s lost.  I touched his arm, and looked up into his eyes, “It’s going to be okay, Miles.  This is a real nice place.”  He thanked me and I wished him a Merry Christmas and told him I’d be praying for him. 

My friend and I agree that my story with Miles still isn’t over.  It’s as though there’s still more for me to learn here.  In a way, Miles has become a symbol of my efforts to move fearlessly out into the world, and the irony of Miles’ name hasn’t escaped me either as the words of Robert Frost keep whispering in my head over and over, “But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and Miles to go before I sleep.”

The 36-year-old Sparks man jailed on suspicion of an arson, shooting and vandalism spree — who says he targeted strip clubs, Sparks police, a Verdi post office and Reno Fourth Street motels — wants people to call him a “gangster,” an “assassin” and a “shadow.”

Justin Michael Bennett said he also thinks the labels of “vigilante” or religious “martyr” fits, too.

Bennett said during a Tuesday jailhouse interview with the Reno Gazette-Journal that he chose Christmas to act because it symbolized Jesus’ birthday and would incite the public to pay attention to his message of religious morality.

“People should be home with their families on Christmas and at church, not at the strip clubs,” he said, adding he also wanted to let Fourth Street motel managers know he did not approve of the drug and prostitution activities he believes occurs at their businesses.

Lt. Mohammad Rafaqat said Bennett will likely face federal criminal charges related to the destruction of the unoccupied Verdi post office, although no federal charges had yet been filed Tuesday. Rafaqat said Bennett told investigators he left anti-government graffiti on the post office to throw off police.

It was not known if Bennett was assigned an attorney yet, but authorities said he had a video arraignment Tuesday morning at Washoe County Jail. He is being held there in lieu of $50,000 cash bail and is charged with two counts of discharging a firearm into a building, first-degree arson and burglary. While he listed no employment with police, he claimed he is a land developer.

Bennett told the Reno Gazette-Journal that he is guilty of all the crimes alleged by police.

He said Tuesday that “Jesus” spoke to him through his heart and directed all of his violence, which caused no injuries. He said he intentionally picked unoccupied businesses or shot at unoccupied vehicles parked outside strip clubs.

However, Bennett also said he was angry at two of the strip clubs he targeted for incidents that allegedly occurred two years ago while he was a customer. He said that after one club stole $400 from him and another kicked him out after a woman punched him, his estranged wife left him and took their two children, now ages 2 and 12, out of the state.

“I’m sorry, I feel guilty … I have no regrets,” he said of his spree. “It had to be done. God has forgiven me already … If I caused sorrow or pain, I apologize for that. I did victimize innocent people. But I had to do it.”

He first fired gunshots at the Sparks Police Department minutes before Christmas morning, and then about five hours later ignited fireworks inside the Verdi post office, he said. Bennett said he then went to his home which he had earlier destroyed on Jesus’ command, he claimed.

“There’s only so much (expletive) you can do in one night,” Bennett said. “I went to bed, and slept really good that night (Sunday morning).” He then explained how he dressed in dark clothing, like he normally does when he does “stuff,” and waited until it was dark to continue his spree.

“In daylight, you get caught, it’s just common sense,” Bennett said. “I’m kinda gangsta like that.”

Bennett said he was able to attend Christmas Mass in the morning at his congregation and seemed almost surprised the newspaper would ask such an obvious question.

While he said that Jesus recently told him to set the arsons and fire his .45-caliber handgun at the businesses and vehicles, he said he’s been warning his family for years that he was going to commit crimes like these. Because his street preaching wasn’t working, Bennett said he was taking his gospel “to the streets” through his crime spree.

“I was pissed,” he said of the lack of interest in his preaching. “I’m trying to get people salvation.”

Rafaqat said after gunshots were fired by a motorist at the Sparks Police Department and the arson was set at the Verdi post office, local and federal law enforcement officials quickly met to try to develop a suspect, and begin proactive investigations like the surveillance of businesses mentioned in threatening notes left by the shooter.

Rafaqat said it was obvious the suspect had a resentment toward the government and the incidents were somehow connected.

Bennett also went into the Wild Orchid Gentleman’s Club and gave the hostess a threatening note, accompanied with a bullet. He then said he went to the Spice House, broke inside and “slaughtered” bottles of alcohol before setting rags on fire with a lighter. He said he also fired gunshots into the strip club.

Bennett said he then drove over to Fantasy Girls strip club, where he shot at about seven parked cars.

After smearing white paint on the windows of two downtown motels and firing gunshots at one of them, Bennett was arrested by Reno police during a traffic stop minutes later, Rafaqat said. Bennett said he had also left a bullet and threatening notes at the motels, adding that the white paint was supposed to symbolize blood.
Inside his white pickup were a Bible and a large-caliber handgun police said was used in the shootings.

“You could tell he had anger toward the businesses he targeted,” Rafaqat said. “He was impulsive with his anger. He told us he did not intend on harming anyone, and picked businesses where he knew they would be vacant.

“We are thankful he is in custody,” he said. “His acts of violence were concerning us, and were consistent with acts of domestic terrorism.”

April Terry is taking a few weeks off during the holidays so I’m offering up a few gifts to you while she’s gone. This first one is from a nearly life-long friend who was one of my very first Young Life kids at Willow Glen High in San Jose, CA. He’s done pretty well since then, so I don’t think I did too much damage. Enjoy…and Merry Christmas!  ~Randy Siever

And now…Bob Goff.

I took an early flight out of Chicago O’Hare this morning for the West Coast. We tried to pull over to the curb just as dawn was breaking. As we did, a traffic cop standing in the street with a big badge started yelling at us and waving her arms wildly.

I couldn’t hear what she was shouting, but she seemed really mad – like maybe we’d run over someone; maybe even her, I thought. After we got our tongue lashing, she started yelling at the next car, and the next. Like us, none of them seemed to be doing anything wrong either. I said my good byes at the curb and walked back to where the cop was standing in the street yelling at the next couple cars. I walked out into the street with all of my luggage, pushing back the thought that she might mace me.

“Hi, I’m Bob, what’s your name?”

“Vanessa” she barked, “Why are you standing in the street?”

“You just seem really upset and I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

Vanessa looked at me for a second kind of puzzled; like she was deciding whether to reach for her gun or not, but instead, she started belly laughing and slapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t be silly, honey. I just pretend to be mad to keep myself warm.  It’s freezing out here!”

I’m going to think about that for the next couple weeks when I meet someone who at first seems mean, or short, or distracted or uncaring. It’s probably not me; and it’s probably not you either; they’re probably just fighting back the cold that might be surrounding their lives.

You can meet Bob at his blogsite, or by reading Donald Miller’s book, “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years”, where he is a bit of rock star, and Don’s primary living example of what it means to write your life story well.

With the approach of the holiday season, we spend a lot of time thinking about how we are going to spend the holidays and with whom.  It’s a season of giving that causes us to reflect on the reasons why we celebrate the season.  Some of us want to fight to preserve our reason for the season, while others of us just want to survive the crowds and the bills.  Sometimes, along the way, the season of love loses its most precious commodity.

It was one year several years ago that I learned what it means to let go and let be during this time.  I had been consumed with the planning and execution of the most perfect Christmas dinner, but things didn’t go as planned.  Not everyone had returned for the meal when the prime rib was ready and just as we all sat down to eat, one of the little ones picked a glass ornament from my perfectly trimmed tree and threw it at the table.  It hit the back of a chair and shattered into hundreds of pieces on the floor.  I didn’t handle it well and all I remember is saying the “s-word” a whole lot.  A lot of family members were offended that fine year, but they are a forgiving bunch.  They still returned to my table and I was able to give them better meals in a better way in later years.

That was the year that I learned for the first time that it wasn’t about the food.  It was about the people at the table.  I learned that I would never enjoy a holiday meal if I didn’t learn how to execute the meal without making an effort to enjoy it myself.  I have enjoyed it since then and I think it has made a difference to my family members as well. 

Shopping and family gatherings are part of the joy of the holiday season for many of us.  They are an opportunity to find some token or event that will bring family members together and bring them joy.  Sometimes, in trying to find that joy, we think that it’s the gift or gathering that is important.  It’s an easy mistake to make, but we can’t afford to lose sight of the love that permeates this season and causes hearts to open like an orchid in bloom. 

Sometimes, we feel like it will all last forever.  We don’t think of our lives as if they were on a timer, but as I age and watch the number of seats at my table get fewer, I realize that life is fragile and so are the memories that we make with our loved ones.  In the end, the holiday season is only an excuse.  It’s an excuse to take some time to live out this season of love.  It’s an excuse to show each other what it really means to live out love through our faith, through our celebrations, and through our lives.  It’s as if we are on display during this time and how we live it is so very important.  If we don’t do this right, we surrender our season to shopping malls, packages, and candy canes, and it’s more than that, so much more.  We shouldn’t blame others if they don’t know the reason for the season, but rather, we should be living, breathing reasons that this season is going to be filled with tidings of comfort and joy.

We were listening to an oldies station when “One Tin Soldier” started to play.  As the familiar strands of the 70’s folk song passed through ears and directly into my memory, I remembered that it had been particularly meaningful to me as a young girl.  “This is one of those songs that really made me think about morality and the importance of living peacefully,” I remarked to my husband, and he nodded his head in agreement.   We talked about how songs can often edify us in unexpected ways, in spiritual ways. 

If songs can edify people, think how much more we can also edify people in conversation and actions.  Even though, I haven’t always managed it, I have tried to live, write, and act in a way that edifies others.  I have always felt a strong sense of what my part is in other’s stories.  I have always thought that I had really two choices—either I would edify others or I would do the opposite. 

Of course, the more life that I have lived, the more it seems that the lines of black and white (edify or not to edify) are often blurred.  In spite of this, I still find myself approaching each conversation with people I encounter in much the same way.  Will I be one who edifies or will I be one who tears down?  With that kind of question lingering in the back of my mind, maybe I am able to at least start with the intent of building up the other person, even if I don’t actually accomplish it in the end.

Planning to edify others with our words and actions is not a subconscious decision, but rather a conscious one.  We decide in each moment, at each crossroads, at the beginning of every day how we are going to approach those we encounter.  I sometimes start my day with all the best intentions, but sometimes wind up blowing it somewhere along the way.  Even so, it would be better than spending my day not being consciously aware of whether I am impacting others in a positive way.

If I look back to the people who impacted me the most, I remember people who lifted me up and gave me confidence to believe in myself.  Those people looked for the good in me and tried to encourage me to find the best in myself.  Those are the moments that mean the most to me, and those are the moments that lit the path that eventually led me to Christ as well. 

There will always be people who tell us what we can’t do, but the people who help us to see what we are capable of, the ones who help us to believe harder in our dreams, the people who love us in our moments of weakness, those are the ones who shape our lives in the most meaningful ways.  The people who tear us down don’t move us toward the path they are following, but those who have encouraged us are like bricks in the foundation of our spiritual building.

Whenever I get together with family, I start to think about all the little moments that, when strung together like a string of brilliant lights, decorate the Christmas tree of my life.  Yes, already I am thinking of Christmas and the holidays, but maybe not the in the way you might expect.  I am thinking about the moments of my life that have made up who I am and why I do what I am doing and why I am where I am.  All of those moments have come together like a perfectly orchestrated symphony to compose my purpose, a purpose that I am trying to live each day.

I have friends who think they don’t have a purpose, though, and even my Christian friends sometimes tell me that they don’t feel a purpose in their lives.  I sometimes think they are looking too hard.  I think they need to look a little more at the obvious.  We all have a purpose, but what if, in the end, it turns out that we all actually have the same purpose?  What if we learn that our purpose is so simple we nearly missed it completely?  What if our purpose is to love others as ourselves?

From the outside looking in, it seems like an easy thing to do.  It seems like we should have no trouble loving others as ourselves, right?  But wait!  Then someone asks something of us we don’t want to do and what if the choice we are making means that we have to choose between our pride and our friend?  Who do we choose?  Yes, unfortunately, it’s usually self. 

Loving others means changing our minds about holding onto grudges and hurts against us, giving up on holding onto things that others have done to us, but that means that we have to decide not to be right sometimes.  Loving others also means that we have to put ourselves second.  We have to give up our place in line, give way to someone else’s desires, walk an extra mile with a friend, or be willing to do more listening than talking.  Maybe these things don’t come all that easy to most of us.  Maybe they are hard choices to make.  Maybe we don’t really think about them while we’re making them, but we should.

What if each of these little choices that we are making every moment of every day determines just how committed each of us are to love?  I’ve thought a lot about how I approach each day, and I don’t always approach the day going into it with the right attitude.  When someone asks me for something and they are perfectly capable of getting it for themselves, I want to ask them if their legs are broken or if it’s their birthday.  It’s really just about my own pride getting in the way of my servant heart.  It’s about me forgetting my purpose just long enough to be annoyed by a small request.  What is it about me that makes me not want to get it for them?  I have to keep reminding myself what my purpose is.

My purpose is show love to others and sometimes that means that I am going to work harder than most.  In a way, I have to keep re-evangelizing myself to remind myself what my purpose is.  Sometimes it is day by day, sometimes moment by moment, but my purpose doesn’t get a day off.  I am trying to swim against the current of today’s culture by living for others rather than just for myself, but in doing so not only does it make me stronger, but maybe others will see me swimming upstream and recognize the beauty of my purpose as well.  Maybe God isn’t asking me to be someone other than myself, but just someone stronger than myself.