The Most Powerful Warrior -- Pat Patterson

"Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." James 5:16

It’s my routine. Leave the house, drive north 2.5 miles, and then hang a left. The highway is long and straight, and for fifteen miles I’m alone with my thoughts. I use that time to think. And to pray. “Help me to be a good paramedic. Please don’t let me hurt anyone tonight. And, Lord, please help me to be a gentleman.”

I clocked in at 7:00 p.m. and right away the calls began. Tough calls. The kind that make me wonder why I still do this job? One patient lied to me, another one spit. A belligerent female cursed at me, blamed me for her plight in life and then outright accused me of racism. And the calls rolled on. I became exhausted, weary from the workload, frustrated by the onslaught of personal insults. But I handled myself well. Remained a gentleman.

Until 4:00 a.m…

I found the vehicle atop a grove of broken pines. Prickly vines tore at my skin as I climbed down the embankment and into her car. “Hello,” I said scanning her for major injuries. “My name’s Pat. What’s yours?”

She sat in the front seat screaming, “Get me out of here.”

“We will,” I said. “But tell me, are you breathing okay? Are you hurt?”

“Get me out!”

I ignored the verbal stabs and continued my assessment—trauma victims sometimes speak irrationally, say things they don’t mean—but I found no major injuries, no reason for her to be so rude.

I explained the situation to her as the firefighters approached the car. She continued to fuss as they pulled open her door, continued to gripe as we immobilized her and carried her up the hill.
Uncooperative and difficult she abused me the whole way to the hospital, pulling at her bindings and yelling for me to cut her loose. I tried to remain patient, continued trying to help. I even stabilized her on a particularly rough section of road—grabbed her belt and held on tight to keep her from rolling as the truck rocked side to side—but she turned it into something else.

“Don’t you do it,” she said her voice cold and threatening. “Don’t you do it!”

“Do it? Do what?” I said suddenly realizing her implication. “Are you serious? Are you accusing me of—”

I was shocked.

She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but I cut her off this time. I’d had enough!“Shut up!”
“What?”

“I said, SHUT UP!”

And she did. She remained as passive as a lamb for the rest of the ride. But me? I marched into the ER angry as a hornet and left just as mad, a trail of verbal destruction in my wake. I got in trouble of course—the ER doc is still fuming.

***
Where did I go wrong? I prayed, didn’t I? I was only trying to help. What am I supposed to do when the whole world turns against me? Attacks me from every side? Well this morning something occurred to me—I need more than routine prayer. I need other Christians praying for me, true warriors who will lift me up every time I go to work.

So here’s a challenge: Call a friend. Ask them to pray for you. Promise to pray for them and do it. And always remember—the prayer of a righteous man is a powerful, effective weapon.

And do me a personal favor—please pray for me. Pray for my partner too. Tonight we go back out and face it all again. Ask God to help me to be a gentleman this time…regardless of what the night brings.




Pat Patterson is a novelist, a paramedic, and an instructor of Emergency Medical Science. His stories are true, based on real experiences from the streets of Durham, North Carolina where he has served as a paramedic since 1992.

Spreads Like Butter on Hot Bread - A Tribute to a Friend

" In this way the word of the Lord spread widely and grew in power. - Acts 19:20

Listen to "Spreads Like Butter on Hot Bread by - Cindy Sproles We have a saying in the mountains that goes like this-"It spreads like butter on hot bread." Let's take gossip. An unkind word travels faster than email, but what about the good things? When our kids were in school there was one parent who had nothing better to do than walk the halls of the school. If something happened during the day, she'd rush home and start the phone line. Before the kids climbed off the bus, I knew what happened earlier. Some folks thrive on spreading negative things. When this email ministry began four years ago, and when God moved it into a partnered ministry with my friend Eddie this past year, the intent was to spread the Word of God. Pure and simple. We'd write the devotions that God placed on our hearts, email them, post them and then pray God would use them. Today I attended a funeral and I attended because of the influx of email I'd received, and one in particular. A fine man named Mike sent me an email to inform me one of our readers had passed away. He wrote the most beautiful tribute to her. But what impressed me about his note was his remark that, "Barbara loved the email devotions and she meant for me to love them as well. She forwarded them to me every day. And if she was sick and missed work, when she'd get back to work, she dumped eight or ten on me. She meant for me to love them, too." I smiled, because this is what the ministry was about. I never met Barbara Brown face to face. But I talked with her via mail frequently-had her on our prayer list and through her battle with cancer her positive attitude and love of life never allowed her to wallow in self-pity. "There's always someone worse off than me," she's say. And when I learned of her loss, I sat at my computer and sobbed. We'd lost this battle which we'd prayed so hard to be repaired. Not so. You see, Barbara Brown punched the forward button on her daily devotions EVERY day, and to tons of individuals just like Mike, whom she loved and wanted them to have the Word of God at their fingertips. This is not about the devotions it's about a woman who spread the Word like butter on hot bread. She oozed the flavor of Christ, and when the butter dripped down her arms, she licked it clean. That, my friends, is what it means to be a servant. Without hesitation this woman spread the love of Christ every day she took in a breath. And when her last breath was drawn, then those emails began to filter back to me. There is no more fitting tribute to a life than to have someone's first words be, "She wanted me to know Christ." We rarely know the impact we have on others, but we can rest assured we have one. The question is, what is that impression? What have we done to further the kingdom? And when we stand before the Father, look Him face to face, will He smile and say "Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the gates." I never had the privilege of meeting this woman of God whose emails bubbled with the joy of the Lord-at least not on this side of eternity. But I met her friend Mike who touched my heart with his tears. And I met her sister, and her daughters who's smiles were harbored in the peace and comfort of knowing Barbara is safe in the arms of God. Spread like butter on hot bread-that was Barbara. Is it you?

I met Mike. Barbara Brown introduced us from heaven! Do you spread like butter on hot bread?

Guest Devotionalist -- Aaron Gansky

Namesake By: Aaron Gansky Josiah was eight years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem thirty-one years. His mother's name was Jedidah daughter of Adaiah; she was from Bozkath. He did what was right in the eyes of the LORD and walked in all the ways of his father David, not turning aside to the right or to the left. -- 2 Kings 22:1-2 AND He pulled down the altars the kings of Judah had erected on the roof near the upper room of Ahaz, and the altars Manasseh had built in the two courts of the temple of the Lord. He removed them from there, smashed them to pieces and threw the rubble into the Kidron Valley. -- 2 Kings 23:12

Even as a teenager, I was impressed. I was in what amounted to a cerulean felt dress (the costume designer insisted it was a royal robe) in front of an audience of just over 100 people (including my mother and father). I should have been embarrassed. I should have felt self-conscious about my stringy white legs hanging like two rogue threads from my "royal robe." Instead, I was thinking about the play I was in-"Good Kings Come in Small Packages." It was a church production of a piece that centered on the life of Josiah, the boy who would be king. Eight years old and ruling the nation. Not just ruling it, but doing it well. Where does an eight year old with a wicked (sadistic, twisted, and about a dozen other adjectives also work well here) father get the guts to rule with such confidence, such righteousness. How does he give an order in such a way that his charges don't crack up laughing? How does he command respect? I remember as an eight year old, I marched into a toy store with a crisp twenty. I was going to buy a video game and my folks were waiting for me in the next store over in the mall. I stood at the counter, shy, timid, waiting patiently (as my parents taught me) to be acknowledged so I could tell the employee which game I wanted (what was it-The Karate Kid? That must have been it). I must have waited for fifteen minutes. The whole time I was staring at the employee and she (what, a sixteen year old high school student-the ultimate ignoring machine) would look at me quizzically, then help an adult. Then, another adult would cut in front of me and she'd help them. Each time, though I was smoldering inside, I waited. Finally, when I was the only breathing thing left in the store, she finally asked if she could help me. I asked politely for the game and flummoxed her. Surely I didn't have the money to buy a video game by myself. But here's an eight year old commanding his subjects and they unquestionably follow his word. His demands, mind you, were not for a kingly peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. They were to tear down popular idols and places of worship. Granted, they were used for pagan practices, but they were popular nonetheless. Unflinchingly, without wasting time, Josiah gave uncompromising orders to utterly destroy anything that defiled the name of God. He was unquestionably, unflinchingly, uncompromisingly righteous. Playing the part of Hilkiah, the high priest who helped advise Josiah during his reign, feeling oddly confident in my womanly attire, I decided on the spot that my first son would be named Josiah. Now-all I have to do is pray that I'm a better father than Amon. Aaron Gansky is a writer and teacher living in California.

I Will Bring You to Me

Then he sent out a dove to see if the water had receded from the surface of the ground. But the dove could find nowhere to perch because there was water over all the surface of the earth; so it returned to Noah in the ark. He reached out his hand and took the dove and brought it back to himself in the ark. – Genesis 8:8 & 9

My head hurts. In fact, it throbs. My eyes are blurred. I had deadlines to meet yesterday –big deadlines. What I had written needed to be rewritten. Not once, but numerous times. The computer has a clock the size of quarter ticking down the time in the upper left corner of the screen and with each sweep of the second hand I felt the pressure increase.

When I hit send at 11:49 p.m. I leaned against my chair and took in a deep breath. Funny how God cares for us. As I reached to flip off the computer screen, an email popped into the mailbox.

“Just rolled in. What’s up? Course you’re probably in bed now.”

Silly as it sounds, I started to cry. The tears were a combination of a headache, stress and exhaustion, but more so, they were tears of joy. You see, I’d sent an email, the day before to Aaron seeking his help on this deadline. I knew he was out of town, he’d told me he’d be gone for the weekend, but I sent him a note hoping, he might return before I had to send my work. He didn’t make it. However, what he did was respond. He wrote as soon as he saw my email. Most would have deleted the email assuming it was too late to bother. Knowing the time difference, he still responded.

I thought how frustrating it must have been for the dove Noah assigned the task of searching out land. Flying for hours, becoming exhausted, hoping for an up draft to get it back to the ark. Its task was completed, as tired as it must have been, Noah extended his hand for the dove. He could have just opened the window, but he didn’t. He held out his hand.

When we’ve faced trials and frustrations, met deadlines, finished the project – when our head throbs –all we have to do is look toward the Father. Christ stands, hand extended, waiting to bring us into him. I was tempted to pull an old devotion. I’d earned a rest, I felt sure. But I didn’t --to much to be grateful for and Aaron’s simple email reminded me that it’s not always the content, it’s fact that someone was there. God has never left my side.

So I looked over my desk chair seeing the Father, shoulder leaned against the wall, leg crossed, toe touching the floor. I shrugged. He smiled and pointed at the note from Aaron.

“See. Someone is there. You’re never alone. I promised. And I keep my promises.” He ruffled my hair as He passed. “Now rest.”

Oddly enough, I felt the frustration and stress drain. As I laid my head on my pillow, the Father whispered. “I will bring you to me. Rest.”

Throw A Rock!

Reaching into his bag and taking out a stone, he slung it and struck the Philistine on the forehead. The stone sank into his forehead, and he fell facedown on the ground. So David triumphed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone; without a sword in his hand he struck down the Philistine and killed him. – 1 Samuel 17: 49 & 50

I needed to take a walk. It had been a rough week and my frustration level was well above boiling. Slipping on my shoes, I trailed off, hands in my pockets, head down and gritting my teeth. A long walk would help clear the thoughts, work out some of the irritation. At the end of the driveway, I made a left and headed toward the bluff along the river. The quiet and serenity of the woods would offer me respite.

Behind me I heard the lumbering walk of my son. His disability forces him to slightly drag on foot. Turning to face him, I pointed to the house and said, “Son, go home.”

“But mom, I need to give you something.”

“Give it to me when I get back.”

His persistence caught up to me as touched my shoulder. Taking my hand, he opened my fingers and placed three small smooth stones in my palm.

“What are these for?” I asked.

“Well, I was just thinkin’ about that little boy that threw a rock. He killed that big giant. He took that rock and threw it.”

I was not in the frame of mind to sort through his thoughts. “What are you getting at son?’

“Well, if that boy believed that God would help him hit the giant, then why can’t you throw a rock? It would be like throwing Jesus at the target.” He closed my fingers on the rocks, turned and started home.

Dumbfounded, I opened my fingers and stared at the stones. He had a point. Why couldn’t I just throw Jesus at the frustration that plagued me? I took a few steps then stopped. Grasping one of the stones, I drew back and flung the rock, all the while thinking, “I’m throwing Jesus at the problem.” As simple as it sounds, it helped.

You see, God simply wants us to hand our problems and frustrations over to him. Submit. He is our rock – literally speaking. He will take the things that gnaw at us and ease the pain. Our problem is letting go. We tend to cling to the hardships rather than lobbing them across the field. So, as I walked this morning, I reminded the Father of that day.

He smiled, “Took you long enough.”

“I know, I guess I’m slow sometimes. “

“You’re not slow,” the Father remarked, “You’re stubborn. You want to hang on to the things that cause you pain. All I want, is for you to trust me.”

I hung my head. “You’re right. But it’s hard. I feel like I should be able to handle things.”

The Father placed his arm around me and pulled me close. “I understand it’s hard. That’s why I’m giving you these.” He kissed my forehead and walked into the mist. I lifted my hand and opened my fingers to find rocks. When all else fails. Throw a rock.

What is Man -- Guest Author, Aaron Gansky

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him....—Psalm 8:3-4

(Photo - David Ryan)

I’m 23 years old and finally going camping—my friends have pressured me into it—and as we wind up the washboard dirt road, which, one lane wide, winds up a craggy mountain, unforgiving rock faces to our right and a voracious chasm to our left, I’m sitting in the back seat learning what car sickness really is, and I’m convinced: Camping is not for me. Never was.

And hour and three miles later, I collapse out of the car clutching my stomach with two fears—one, that I’ll die very soon, and two, that I won’t. Eventually, after I detox in the brisk August air, I start to feel well enough to help set up camp. I’ve not noticed the monumental mountain pines or the still cerulean lake just south of our campsite. As the sun slips behind the mountains, in the waning sunlight, we hike to a pond to the north about a quarter mile. We listen to the song of the frogs and the hum of the mosquitoes until the last light follows the sun under the horizon. In the dark, we hike, guitars in hand, to a rock which drops down to the lake. I stretch out, hands behind my head, look into the midnight sky under the scattered stars.

Here, under the stars, the mountains to my back, the lake beneath my feet, I understand, maybe for the first time, what it is to be small.

Someone is playing the guitar softly and I wonder how God could even know we’re there. More so, why would he care where we were? I am the least of all his creation.

My children are small and glorious. They are completely dependent on us for their well-being. They trust us and love us unconditionally.

I’m thirty years old now. In a few hours, the final bell will ring at the school where I work. I’ll pack up my laptop, my coffee, my stack of innumerable essays, and I’ll drive home. My son, Josiah (three years old going on twenty) will rush up to me and jump into my arms, a smile splitting his face. Elijah, my other son (one year old racing like a train to two) will spit out his pacifier, shout “Daddy,” wrap both arms around my knee, and insist I walk him to the kitchen for a snack. I’ll look at the picture of my wife’s latest ultrasound and marvel at the wonder that is the child growing within her.

And I will understand God a little more.

Psalm 20 - Paraphrased

Upon occasion, God speaks fluently to my heart through the Psalms. When we read Psalms we can find the darkest parts of the heart, to the most joyful of places. These scripture hold the depths of every emotion and for me, reading them and then writing them in my own words drives home the meaning. Psalm 20 is a wish, a prayer, a hope for us or for our friends and family. The words could easily have been a letter written to our dearest friend. Take the words of Psalm 20 and read them revisited through my eyes.

These are the things I wish for you, the things I pray fervently for you. I lift you in prayer that God will hear you and answer you when your heart wears heavy. I pray that He will protect you. You see, I know full well He send help from His kingdom. He will come beneath you and support you, never letting you fall. He will remember you are a faithful and obedient servant and how you have fallen before Him in times past, lifting praise and glory to His name.
I pray that he will bless you with the desires of your heart and when you offer your works to Him in His name, that He would bless them, giving you a taste of success. And when He does, I will be cheering for you as you cross the finish line, thrilled you have made an amazing run. Then together we will praise His name for the blessings He has given to you. I pray God will grant your requests.

I believe fully that the Lord saves those he has taken as His own, those who have come to Him and when they hit hard times or suffer He provides His saving power to heal in ways we cannot imagine.

There are those who put their trust in worldly things, but me.....you.....we put our trust in the Father, the Almighty, the Sovereign God. Those whose hearts are given to the world are brought down when despair hits, but us, those of us who believe in the Father, stand firm. Rock solid.

Oh God, you are our king. Hear us and answer us when we call!

….who despises a vile man but honors those who fear the Lord, who keeps his oath even when it hurts. – Psalm 15:4

My parents raised me with integrity. That included a wide spectrum of things such as work ethic, persistence, and honoring my word. These qualities are all things I take very seriously. When it comes down to how people perceive me, this is what they adhere to. It’s important I honor those aspects of myself – they may be the ones that make a difference in someone else’s life.

Maintaining a standard of integrity doesn’t mean things will run smoothly, nor does it mean we’ll never be hurt or disappointed. In fact, we’re probably hurt more, suffer more disappointment , and feel more sadness than those who could care less. We tend to be “used,” and “taken advantage of” simply because we desire to step above the pettiness and walk away from certain conflicts.

I recently offered to assist a woman who was bogged down with work, life and family. The offer was made because I cared about her and hated to see her in constant turmoil, overrun with daily muck. She would give me tasks, and I happily worked to accomplish the small things she’d needed. It was a pleasure to help her, to see that she was digging from beneath the mess life had dropped on top of her. That is, until the jobs were complete. I walked past her at a meeting and over heard her bragging to her friend how she could just throw the trash jobs to the woman who offered to help her and she reaped the benefits. Her friend’s face turned crimson, as she pointed to me.

The woman, turned and eyed me then said, “I was just telling her how….er….uh…you helped me.”

My heart sank. This was just cruddy. All the things I’d done were done because I cared for her. I expected nothing in return other than the joy of having served. Smiling I remarked, “it was my pleasure” then I turned and walked away to complete the things I’d started. I’d said I’d assist her and I would honor my commitment – even when it hurt.

The truth is, she was using me. I could have stood eye to eye with this lady and let her have it for taking advantage of genuine love and compassion, but it would have been fruitless. Suddenly, the life of Christ became immensely clear. He’d come into this world, gave me His word, served me humbly and then died for me. In my mind, a vivid picture of the Savior came into view. How hurt and brokenhearted He must have felt as He died on the cross for me, knowing that many times I would’ve simply used Him and then bragged on how He did the dirty work.

Once again, I bundled up and took a short walk. I asked the Father, “Why does it hurt so badly? I was trying to do the right thing.”

He eased into step with me as I climbed the hill in the back. “It hurts because you freely gave and were taken advantage of.”

“It doesn’t seem fair – to hurt over this, that is. Why do people use us?” I asked.

“Greed and selfishness are everywhere. Integrity is not what it used to be. But then are you in this for the praise?”

“Heavens no! I did those things because I wanted to help.”

“Then your heart was in the right place. You did as I have commanded. You served.”

“I just felt….well…..used.”

“And rightfully so. But you gave your word, you joyfully worked, and your treasures are in heaven. It doesn’t matter what’s here.”

“I guess. I didn’t expect any treasures. I just wanted to help.”

The Father stepped in front of me and brushing my hair away from my face, He reminded me, “You did, child. You did.”

I felt a little comforted knowing God was pleased.

“Hey, God. Before you go. A friend gave me this little tid-bit.”

The Father stopped and placing His hand on His hip said, “Shoot.”

“He sent me this email that said, ‘Faith sees the invisible, believes the incredible and receives the impossible.”

“Smart friend. And what does that teach you?”

“To have faith in the heart of what I do. Believe that what I do is amazing in Your eyes, and You will make the impossible happen.”

“Integrity means a lot. Your word means a lot. But My word means everything.”

Failure.....

Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another -and all the more as you see the Day approaching. - Hebrews 10:25

In our house, we're all failures. Sounds harsh, I know, but it's the truth. Every one in my family has failed at something. We've had failed jobs, failed marriages, failed friendships. You name it and we've probably had a shot at it at some point in our family's history. However, having these disappointments and accepting them are two different things.

We learned early on, in raising a child with mental retardation, that true failure was not an option. The road was hard - still is bumpy. But we've grown deeper as a family. In this child, we found out the world would prefer we miss a step and fall - it gave them something to talk about, something to drill into us. In my eyes, failure was not an option. We learned quickly, that if our child was going to grow up with any abilities at all, it would be because we encouraged him to be above the disability.

Our family had the three-try rule. Not only did it apply to our special needs child but it applied to the other three boys as well. You tried everything at least three times. If you were still unsuccessful, you could rest but then try again. We learned to be cheerleaders. Honest cheerleaders and our encouragement of each other struck a chord that made us want to press ahead.

Encouragement and failure seem to go hand in hand. I say that because there are few individuals who come into this world successful. They each had to fail and be encouraged to try again. That's how it is with Christ and His love for us. He knows we aren't going to be successful everytime, still He is the encourager who continually says, "Get up, try again. If you fail, it's okay. Just try again."

So today, I made my way out to the pond. Bundled in a heavy coat, scarf wrapped tightly around my face and nose, I thought it would be nice to listen to water running over the rocks. As I stood there staring into the water, I heard the Father sigh. He rested His arm against the poplar tree, legs crossed, gloves on.

"What's on Your mind today?" I asked "I believe that was a sigh I heard."

"The question is not what's on my mind, it's what's on yours?"

"Nothing important."

"Lying isn't becoming."

"I'm not lying......well, I don't think I am."

So the Father walks a bit closer and puts His arm around me. "What happened today?"

"Oh, that."

"Huh hu, that."

"I worked really hard, a lot of hours trying to get it right. But it wasn't. I'm just a bit disappointed."

"Disappointment stinks doesn't it?" He gave me a squeeze.

"Yep."

"So, what's ya going do?"

"Try again. Try until I get it right. Though I'm not sure I will. Or I'm not thinking I will. I feel so dumb sometimes."

"I don't make dumb, sweetheart. I make unique."

"You think I'm unique?" I asked.

"I do. And when you make the effort and it's unsuccessful, you try again because that tells the world you're not a quitter. And if you try and fail again, that tells you that you're not a quitter. Then if you try and fail yet again, it tells me you are a worthy servant because you are faithful to the task."

"Wow, that says a lot. Thanks for the encouragement."

"When all else fails - when you fail -I am always with you, encouraging you to try again, and helping you find success. Remain faithful for I am faithful."

So, I smile as my teeth chatter in the cold morning air, turn and walk back into the house. Only to try again.

In His Story Is Hers --- She Said (He Said - She Said Series)

(Visit Christian Devotions for the He Said - She Said Series by Eddie Jones and Cindy Sproles)



The angel went to her and said, "Greetings, you are highly favored! The Lord is with you." Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, "Do not be afraid. Mary, you have found favor with God. "You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.....But why am I so favored that the mother of my Lord should come to me? - Luke 1:28-33, 43

There are times when we are dealt a task that can only be performed by us. Regardless of what we do, who we talk to, the ultimate completion of the assignment falls solely in our hands. The burden is great - sometimes heavier than anyone can imagine. Sometimes so heavy that we fall to our knees and crawl until we find something we can grasp hold of and pull ourselves upright once again.

Can you imagine what it must have been like to be Mary, the mother of Jesus? Can you imagine the burden - the weight that was tied to her heart, pulling her to her knees? Simply as a mother, knowing the facts of His life before He was born and being aware everyday she rocked Him what His ultimate demise would be - was enough to bring a life of suffering for her. Still she faithfully stood by His side. All through the ministry of Jesus, we see one-liners of scripture that tell us Mary was there. She was not only His mother she was a follower and a believer. She followed him to different cities from time to time. She walked along the crowd, mourning as He lugged the cross to Calvary, and she sat at His feet as His life's blood trickled down the cross and puddled at her knees. She had to ask the question, "And God calls this favor?"

Though the honor of being chosen as the mother of Jesus was amazing, one given on the merits of her heart, Mary only asked one question of the angel who brought her the news. "How can this be?" She never once questioned the task she was given. As women, it's our nature to question. We like to know the details of things. Men are happy with a brief outline but women - women take the details of an issue and wrap around it, making sure that every aspect of it is covered. It's just how God made us. Mary fought that urge to question. She took the overwhelming news into her heart and pondered it. Later her own humility before the Father led her ask, "But why am I so favored that the mother of my Lord should come to me?" Humble, obedient, determined, and faithful - favored by God.

Mary had to wonder why she couldn't enjoy the life of Jesus, as she would enjoy the lives of her other children, but she realized each memory of Him would be her only tie to Him once His task on earth was complete. So, she was there. She was there being the faithful and loving mother - there being the faithful and loving servant. Even as He died on the cross while part of her died as well.

The true qualities of such a woman will only be known to our Father in heaven who knew her heart and found favor with her. Hers was a task only she could fulfill and hers was the burden she carried without hesitation. Some say a gift, while others say a curse, a life of suffering and torment as she watched her child grow into His ministry. She'd found favor with God and as undeserving as she felt, she stepped forward and performed the job with grace and determination.

I asked the Father, "What is favor?"

He knelt down and tinkered with a blade of grass. "Favor is my choice. Knowing the strength of the heart, the broadness of the shoulders, the willingness to continue on when things get hard."

"It doesn't mean you like one more than another?"

"No, not necessarily. It means I know them better than any other. And I know whether they will press forward or slow to stop beneath the details of the plan."

"So Mary was favored?"

"Indeed. A woman of great favor for reasons man will never grasp. Unique and obedient, faithful and humble."

"Oh." I said kneeling next to Him. "So do You love me like You loved Mary?"

"Without a doubt. I find favor in all My children. They are each different." That warmed my heart. God loves us all, finds favor in us all - each one unique in His eyes.

Suffering Loss...

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son,] that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. - John 3:16

A local Christian station played a call-in message from a 13-year-old boy who lived on a ranch. The boy told the DJ he needed to share what God told him that morning. Surprised at the child's obvious wisdom, the DJ encouraged his story. The child had become attached to a calf from its birth. It had broken its back and the boy opted to put the animal down on his own. Tearfully, he related his loss to the Father saying, "Why does it hurt so bad when we loose someone?" His next remark brought the listening community to their knees. "God spoke to me and said, 'I know your loss. I know how it feels. I gave my only son to die for you.'"

Having worked for a veterinarian for 15 years, I have not only experienced the joys of individuals with new pets, but I have suffered their loss as well. I have sat in the floor of vet's office, while she put to rest the pain and suffering of my own animal - one that meant the world to me. I snuggled the sweet head of my Dalmatian and watched as his eyes pleaded for relief, yet at the same time they poured masses of forgiveness - something he sensed I would need. I suffered loss - painful, distressing loss, the kind that felt as though my heart would shred. All I could do was caress him, grasping to hold on to the unconditional love he'd faithfully given me for 13 years. Sobs -heart wrenching sobs, was all that offered me any relief.

There are times when we become so engrossed in our own loss, whether it's the loss of a friend, family member, a pet, or even a job that we cannot imagine that our Father in heaven suffered loss as well. More so, the loss He felt was an intentional loss - a sacrifice made purely for our benefit. He stood from the heavens and watched as His one and only Son was beaten and battered, broken and torn. Our natural instinct is to reach to provide protection for our children when they are hurting, and so it was for God. Still He had to step back and endure the agony of watching His Son die, and not being able to help. Imagine having the power of creation in one fingertip and resisting the insurmountable desire to save His child the pain.

The Father knows the experience of loss. His heart felt the effects as His Son bled and died. What an unconditional love. What an amazing sacrifice. The next time that loss hits home, mourn and grieve, but remember that God grieves having made the ultimate sacrifice for us. He is a glorious and almighty Father, isn't He?

When I walked with God this morning I said to Him, "Wow. You love me that much, heh?"

"More that you can imagine. More than you can conceive. More, more, more."

"That's a lot, Father."

"Thank you for noticing. It's because you are everything to me." He bumped my shoulder with His and I stumbled slightly. Amazingly enough, being who God is, His hand steadied me -- never letting me fall.

His Workmanship

For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. − Ephesians 2:10

Opening the door from my office, I stepped into the hallway. The house was shrouded in darkness. I glanced at my watch, 8:30 p.m.-- much too early for my son to be in bed. Since it was just the two of us home, I wondered why the house was black.

“Where are you son?” I shuffled my way toward the stairway. Nothing could have surprised me any more than a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. I stood at the top of the stairs, tears filling my eyes. The Christmas tree stood centered in front of the picture window, leaning slightly to the left. It’s branches hung a bit heavier on one side with glass ornaments, while strands of ribbon tightly wrapped the top right of the limbs.

The lights in the house were out, so I could enjoy the warmth of the Christmas tradition my son had worked so hard to provide.

His disability prevents him from doing a stellar job – straightening the limbs, sorting the decorations evenly around the tree, but none of that mattered because the greatest gift I could have received was him, standing in his famous Peter Pan stance, grinning from ear to ear. The work he’d done was done especially for me, no strings attached. He didn’t ask for a compliment nor did he ask if I liked the tree. What he said was enough.

“Just for you mom. All for you.” And I cried

There are times I cry because of his mental retardation – times I feel so badly for him, wish and want that he’d not be faced with the challenges he wades through daily. After all, no parent wants their child to suffer. But his heart is so genuine, his intention so pure, that I see how God uses him daily to make me a better person.

He is not a perfect child by the standards of the world. In fact, some would say God’s workmanship was a bit off the day He created him. However, I would disagree. God had things prepared, ready for my son’s entry into the world. He knew the challenges he would face, knew the strength he’d have, understood the compassion and genuine knack he’d possess to view the world from a simplistically wise standpoint. God knew Chase would affect many. God knew he would affect me.

There was no fishing for a compliment in the work he’d done, only the thought that he was doing it for me – free of charge, completely unexpected, and filled with love. The Father stood on the other side of the tree, hands on his hips, in the same Peter Pan stance, nodding with pride. His shoulder pressed against the tree holding it steady until I got to His side to straighten it in it’s stand.

“Isn’t this nice?” God asked as He walked around beside Chase and rested His arm on my son’s shoulder. Chase flinched for a second, almost as though he felt God touch him.

“Indeed it is,” I said, “The most beautiful workmanship I’ve ever seen.”

Chase smiled a satisfactory grin, pleased that I was impressed. I walked around the tree eyeing the three ornaments on one limb and never once considering that they be separated, rather leaving the work of a loving servant to be a lasing reminder that God is almighty in His plan. Understanding that if one of the Christmas balls should slip from the limb, that it would land on the carpet and not the hardwood floor, protecting it from shattering. His workmanship is perfect – flawless and complete, for He is God.

Prayer: Lord, I am blessed You have given me such wonderful rewards.

Rooted Deep

Some (of the seed) fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. – Matthew 13: 5,6

I stepped out my door this morning into fog. Not just any fog, but the kind that you can't see your feet when you look down. The door latched behind me and I felt as though some misty monster had engulfed me. I could feel the dampness of the air grasp hold of my skin. A chill inched through my soul and for a brief moment, I was frightened.

As I lifted my foot to step from the porch, there was a feeling of uncertainty. I knew where I was but nothing looked familiar. The way to the sidewalk was unrecognizable, yet I stepped forward. One, two, three steps into the fog and I hesitated, looking back to toward the porch. Nothing. Suddenly I lost my bearings. The way I had walked so many times became so skewed I couldn't be sure.

I wished for a moment I had a rope attached to my waist so I could find my way back. That insecurity of having nothing to hold to – nothing to grasp for that would offer me reassurance, overwhelmed me.

Turning in a circle, I shrugged and said, "God, are you there? I have nothing to ground me – nothing to hold to?" There was silence. "Father? I'm lost."

He moved close to me and spoke, "You aren't lost. You're firmly rooted. Hang on."

I had to wonder what roots had to do with the fact I was lost in the deep dark, dampness of the fog. It didn't make sense. I was struggling to find my way – afraid of the things I couldn't bring into view.

God walks along side me daily so when he speaks I have to wonder what puzzle He will offer me. This particular day He reminded me I was grounded in His arms. In my endeavors to be the person I need to be, I've placed myself in the midst of good soil, and bad. Because I'm human, I make mistakes. However, today, in the depths of the blinding fog, God reminded me that the number of seeds I'd planted in good soil, far outweighed the ones I'd sunk into the bad dirt. He's given me solid roots that bury deep into the heart and soul. Even when I can't see my way through the dense mist, I don't have to worry. When I reach to take hold of my foundation, it will not falter.

I've certainly made my share of poor choices through the years, planting seeds in shallow spots – sprouting roots in uncertain places which cannot support my weight when I grab hold. But those deeply seeded efforts to cast seeds in the good soil, never go unnoticed – untended. For when I find myself lost in the fog, God reminds me I have solid roots. Roots which will not fail me.

God, Almighty and Awesome, hold me securely.

Loneliness

Jesus replied, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” – Matthew 8:22

Loneliness is an awful thing. As humans, we carry an instinctive desire to have others around us. This is part of who we are. Many times we are forced into loneliness through circumstances which we have no control. Perhaps a spouse dies or a maybe we have had a disagreement where others push us to the side. Sometimes our beliefs set us aside. Regardless of how the separation occurs, no one likes to be completely alone.

When we spend too much time alone, the consequence takes its toll. We lose our social skills – our communication lacks, we become awkward and uncomfortable in a group. Worse yet, we tend to stop leaning on others for any type of companionship – not a place we want or need to be.

When I think of someone who was truly lonely, I think of Howard Hughes. Most would call him eccentric, and though that was true to a great extent, one could not deny his eccentricities forced him into a very lonely lifestyle. To have wealth and power, but to still have no one to share life’s quiet moments with must have been a terrible thing.

Jesus told his followers that He had no place to lay his head. Even surrounded by His disciples and the thousands who followed His teaching, He never felt as though He had a place He could call His own. There was a sense of loneliness that encircled Him. Perhaps because He knew what lay ahead for Him or maybe it was a form of protection until His time came. One way or the other Jesus felt loneliness.

The amazing thing was Christ never allowed that feeling to overwhelm Him or get in the way of His service. He continued forward, preaching and teaching. He had moments of joy, and times He felt successful in His mission, but still in the background loomed that sense of being alone. Only Jesus could have died on the cross and saved us from our sins. In that respect, He was alone. Only the Son of Man could have risen from the dead in victory. One thing is for sure, Christ never took His eyes off the Father. When He hung, abandoned on the cross, He still looked to heaven and called to His Father. He was an unfaltering example of love, strength, and forgiveness.

When we feel alone the quickest way to find peace is to look to the Father. There is a fulfilling essence about God that erases the sadness of being alone – one that takes us to a place of peacefulness. Reach out to the Father and embrace all that He is to us. Allow Him to fill the emptiness of your spirit to a point of overflowing joy. This is the great advantage of knowing Christ. Within Him, there is peace.

Prayer: Father, Help us to remember that Your grace is sufficient for us. Fill us with Your grace and love.