The Lost Child
A lady told of taking her grandsons, ages four and six, to spend the day at Disneyland. During the course of the day, she bought each of them a little flag. On several occasions, they stopped to watch the marching band of “toy” soldiers and each time the boys would be spellbound as the band marched by. All at once, the grandmother realized that the four-year-old was gone. She searched all about, calling his name, and making her way through the crowd. As she sat down to catch her breath and try to determine what to do, she looked up to see the marching band of toy soldiers. There, at the end of the line, smiling merrily and waving his flag, little Mikey, having the time of his life, completely unaware that he was lost! How like the world, going on its merry way, unaware of a loving Father’s concern for its lostness. But someday the band will stop playing. Then and only then will those unreached realize that they are lost.
A Stone in the Sun
We were hiking in the mountains out West when I saw the stone—a small one, about the size of a half-dollar, with smooth rounded edges. Ordinarily I would have passed it by, not being a rock hound. It would have remained there for another thousand years perhaps, a mere pebble among the larger stones on the trail. But this one instantly caught my eye. It was special. Glinting in the sunlight, it seemed to reflect all the surrounding colors, as though trying to mirror nature. Into my pocket went the rare find. All the way home to the East Coast, I thought about where I should display it so its beauty could be most enjoyed. I finally placed it in a curio cabinet, next to some jade and carved ivory. I forgot it for a while. Then one day, while dusting, I was surprised to see that the stone had completely lost its luster. It sat on the shelf among the other lovely objects, a hard, gray chunk of nothing, downright ugly. I was shocked. What had happened to the prize I had so carefully brought back with me across the continent? Where was the sparkle and the colors that had attracted me so much? Disgusted, I snatched it up and and started for the trash can in the backyard. Then, just as I opened the kitchen door, a beam of light struck the stone. As though by magic, it began to shimmer, to glow again. In an instant the beautiful jewel tones shone brilliantly. Had they returned? Or had they always been there, dormant, waiting to be released? Wondering, I glanced up at the sky. Sunlight? That was the answer. The rays from the sun were all my stone needed to come alive. How much like each of us! Of ourselves our lives are empty, colorless, without meaning. Only when we are touched by the glory of God is our inner beauty revealed.
Inclusive Love
During the war a man died and his two friends desperately wanted to give him a decent burial. They found a cemetery in a nearby village. It happened to be a Roman Catholic cemetery and the dead man had been a Protestant. When the two friends found the priest in charge of the burial grounds, they requested permission to bury their friend, but the priest refused because the man had not been a Catholic. When the priest saw their disappointment, he explained that they could bury their friend outside the fence. This was done. Later, they returned to visit the grave but couldn’t find it. Their search led them back to the priest and, of course, they asked him what had happened to the grave. The priest told them that during the night, he was unable to sleep and moved the fence to include the dead soldier. In Christ, God has “moved the fence” to include the undeserving.
The Child on the Freeway
It was just a couple of weeks before Christmas in southern California a number of years back. A friend of mine, then assistant pastor in a large local church, shared with me this true story that happened in his own family. His wife and her sister had been Christmas shopping and were speeding along the freeway on their way home. It was a cold, blustery night, dark and rainy. His wife and her sister were busily chatting in the front seat of the car. My friend’s three-year-old daughter was in the backseat by herself.
Suddenly the two adults were aware of a strange, unnatural, and horrifying set of sounds as they heard the back door of the car open, the whistle of wind, and a sickening muffled sound. Quickly they turned and saw the child had fallen out of the car and was tumbling along the freeway.
Panic! The mother slammed on the brakes and pulled the car to a wrenching stop, jumped out and ran full speed back toward the child. When they arrived at her motionless body, they noticed something strange. All of the traffic was stopped, lined up like a parking lot just behind her body. The child had not been hit by a car. In fact, the car that would have hit her was stopped just a few feet short of her prone form. Wonder number one.
A truck driver jumped out of his cab and was bending over the girl as they arrived at the scene. He said, “She’s still alive. Let’s get her to a hospital quickly. There’s one nearby.” He picked up the child, they all got into his large truck, and sped off to a nearby hospital. The child was unconscious but still breathing. Wonder number two.
When they arrived at the hospital, they rushed into the emergency room and the doctors immediately began to check her vital signs. The room was hushed. Finally, the doctor spoke. “Well, other than the fact that she is unconscious and scraped, she appears to be in good shape. I don’t see any broken bones. Her blood pressure is good. Her heart is fine. So far, so good.” No apparent gross damage. She was only bruised and skinned from her vicious tumble along the freeway. Wonder number three.
The mother bent over her child. Her eyes were full of tears and her heart was filled with gratitude for such a miracle. Suddenly, without warning, the child’s eyes opened, she looked up at her mother and said, “Mommy, you know, I wasn’t afraid.” Startled, the mother asked, “What do you mean?”
“Well, while I was lying on the road waiting for you to get back to me—I wasn’t afraid, because I looked up, and right there I saw Jesus holding back the traffic with His arms outstretched.”
Wonder after wonder—and every wonder true.
God’s Children
Our Sunday school superintendent had two new boys in Sunday school. In order to register them, she had to ask their ages and birthdays. The bolder of the two said, “We’re both seven. My birthday is April 8, 1976, and my brother’s is April 20, 1976.” “But that’s impossible!” answered the superintendent. “No, it’s not,” answered the quieter brother. “One of us is adopted.” “Which one?” asked the superintendent before she could curb her tongue. The boys looked at each other and smiled, and the bolder one said to the superintendent, “We asked Dad awhile ago, but he just said he loved us both, and he couldn’t remember any more which one was adopted.”
In Romans 8:17, Paul writes: “Now if we are [God’s] children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ.” Paul’s comparison is to adoption. By our faith in Christ, we become His adopted brothers and sisters—adopted sons and daughters of God. As fully adopted and accepted children, we share the same inheritance as the begotten Son, Jesus. No wonder all creation waits eagerly for the full revealing and adoption to happen!
Only One Child to Love
A young woman had been seeing a psychiatrist. The doctor had established that she was a wife and mother of three children, and he asked, “Which of your three children do you love the most?” She answered instantly, “I love all three of my children the same.” He paused. The answer was almost too quick, too glib. He decided to probe a bit. “Come, now, you love all three of your children the same?” “Yes, that’s right,” she said. “I love all of them the same.” He said, “Come off it now! It is psychologically impossible for anyone to regard any three human beings exactly the same. If you’re not willing to level with me, we’ll have to terminate this session.” With this the young woman broke down, cried a bit, and said, “All right, I do not love all three of my children the same. When one of my three children is sick, I love that child more. When one of them is confused, I love that child more. And when one of them is bad—I don’t mean naughty, I mean really bad—I love that child more.” Then she added, “Except for those exceptions I do love all three of my children about the same.” The Christian faith represents a God Who knows and loves you just as He knows and loves all other human being on this planet—but with this addition: when you are sick or hurting or lost or confused or in pain or depraved—He loves you even more. So, we personalize the message that “God loves each one of us as if there were only one of us to love.”
The Unique Child of God
Nearly a year ago, Peg and I had a very hard week. Wednesday night—Mike slept downstairs in his room—where children belong—and we slept upstairs in ours where moms and dads belong. Thursday night—we were 350 miles away and he was in Ramada 325 and we were in 323—connecting rooms and we left the door open and talked and laughed together. Friday night—700 miles from home and he was in 247 and we were in 239, but it was just down the balcony and somehow we seemed together. Saturday night—he was in the freshman dorm, and we were back in 239. Monday night—we were home and he was 700 miles away in Chapman 309.
Now we had been through this before. Bob, Jr had gone away to college and we had gathered ourselves together until we had gotten over it—mainly because he’s married now and he only lives ten miles away and comes to visit often with Deb and Robert III. So we thought we knew how to handle separation pretty well, but we came away lonely and blue.
Oh, our hearts were filled with pride for our fine young man, and out minds were filled with memories from tricycles to commencements, but deep down inside somewhere we just ached with loneliness and pain.
Somebody said you still have three at home—three fine kids and there is still plenty of noise, plenty of ball games to go to, plenty of responsibilities, plenty of laughter, plenty of everything, except Mike. And in parental math, five minus one just doesn’t equal plenty.
And I was thinking about God. He sure has plenty of children—plenty of artists, plenty of singers, and carpenters, and candlestick makers, and preachers, plenty of everybody, except you, and all of them together can never take your place. And there will always be an empty spot in His heart—and a vacant chair at His table when you’re not home.
And if once in a while it seems He’s crowding you a bit—try to forgive Him. It may be one of those nights when He misses you so much He can hardly stand it. –Bob Benson
Providential Care or Fluke?
Two books that offer a number of excellent stories that can be used as illustrations are those by Paul Aurandt: Paul Harvey’s the Rest of the Story and More of Paul Harvey’s The Rest of the Story. Compiled originally for Harvey’s nationally syndicated radio series, the stories are build around the surprise ending format.
One of my favorites is the one about West Side Baptist Church in Beatrice, Nebraska. Normally all of the good choir people came to church on Wednesday night to practice, and they tended to be early, well before the 7:30 starting time. But one night, March 1, 1950, one by one, two by two, they all had excuses for being late.
Marilyn, the church pianist overslept on her after-dinner nap, so she and her mother were late. One girl, a high school sophomore, was having trouble with her homework. That delayed her, so she was late. One couple couldn’t get their car started. They, and those they were to pick up, were subsequently late. All eighteen choir members, including the pastor and his wife, were late. All had good excuses. At 7:30, the time the choir rehearsal was to begin, not one soul was in the choir loft. This had never happened before.
But that night, the only night in the history of the church that the choir wasn’t starting to practice at 7:30, was the night that there was a gas leak in the basement of the West Side Baptist Church. At precisely the time a which the choir would have been singing, the gas leak was ignited by the church furnace and the whole church blew up. The furnace room was right below the choir loft!
The Named and the Nameless
God has a name. The misery on the earth is nameless, the evil among men is nameless, for the powers of darkness love to be without a name. Nameless, anonymous letters, letters without signatures are usually vulgar. But God is not writer of anonymous letters; God puts His name on everything that He does, affects, and says: God has no need to fear the light of day.
Discovering God in the Pacific
During World War II, the famous American pilot, Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, was flying on a special mission to the Pacific Islands. The plane crashed, and Rickenbacker and his crew were lost at sea for twenty-one days. Rickenbacker wrote of that experience: “In the beginning many of the men were atheists or agnostics, but at the end of the terrible ordeal, each in his own way, discovered God. Each man found God in the vast, empty loneliness of the ocean. Each man found salvation and strength in prayer, and a community of feeling developed which created a liveliness of human fellowship and worship, and a sense of gentle peace.”
Quick Study
A young soldier who was fighting in Italy during World War II jumped into a foxhole just ahead of some bullets. He immediately tried to deepen the hole for more protection and was frantically scraping away the dirt with his hands. He unearthed something metal and brought up a silver crucifix, left by a former resident of the foxhole. A moment later another leaping figure landed beside him as the shells screamed overhead. When the soldier got a chance to look, he saw that his new companion was an army chaplain. Holding out the crucifix, the soldier gasped, “Am I glad to see you! How do you work this thing?”
The Deeper Meaning of Poison Ivy
At a summer religious camp for children, one of the counselors was leading a discussion on the purpose God had for everything He created. They began to find good reasons for clouds and trees and rocks and rivers and animals and just about everything else in nature. Finally, one of the children said, “If God had a good purpose for everything, then why did He create poison ivy?” The discussion leader gulped and, as he struggled with the question, one of the other children came to his rescue, saying, “The reason God made poison ivy is because He wanted us to know there are certain things we should keep our cotton-pickin’ hands off.”
Related to the Captain
A young boy happened upon an old man who was fishing in the mighty Mississippi River. Immediately the lad began to ply the aged fisherman with a myriad of questions as only young boys can do. With the patience of the ages, the old man answered each query.
Suddenly their conversation was interrupted by the shrill whistle of the majestic River Queen paddling relentlessly down river. The sight of the ship gleaming and splashing spray in the sunlight caused the surprised spectators to stare in awe and appreciation.
Then above the noise of the paddle wheel was heard a small boy’s voice calling across the water: “Let me ride! Let me ride!”
The old man turned to the boy and tried to calm him down, explaining that the River Queen was too important a ship to stop and give rides to little boys.
The young child cried all the more: “Let me ride!”
Old eyes bulged in disbelief as that great ship pulled for shore and a gangplank was lowered. In a flash two young feet scampered up and onto the deck. The ship with its new cargo safely on board began to pull back into the main stream. The old man continued to stare after the ship.
Then a shock of yellow hair appeared above the rail. It was quickly followed by two blue eyes, button nose, and cherub lips. “Mister, I knew this ship would stop for me. The captain is my father!”
God’s Mystery
I have observed the power of watermelon seen. It has the power of drawing from the ground and through itself two hundred thousand times its weight. When you can tell me how it takes this material and out of it colors an outside surface beyond the imagination of art, and then forms inside of it a white rind and within that again a red heart, thickly inlaid with black seed, each one of which is capable of drawing through itself two hundred thousand times it weight—when you can explain to me the mystery of a watermelon, you can ask me to explain the mystery of God.
Good Intentions
It’s always easy the night before to get up early the next morning.