Cellmates

John Serna was arrested in North Carolina for driving while intoxicated a couple of years back. He should have gone to jail. But there was a problem.

Serna had served four combat tours in Afghanistan, nearly died at the hands of roadside and suicide bombers, and once his armored vehicle flipped over into a canal. As you might expect, Serna suffers from severe PTSD and has trauma-induced claustrophobia. Even a single night in a tiny concrete jail cell would have been a living nightmare.

So, Judge Lou Olivera came up with a solution. Serna would join a veteran’s treatment program, appear in court every two weeks, undergo rehab, and be subject to regular alcohol testing.

Serna did everything he was supposed to for the better part of a year. But at his 26th court appearance, Serna confessed that he’d cheated on his urinalysis test.

Olivera had no choice. Serna had violated his probation and the law required that he spend twenty-four hours in the county jail.

The moment Serna entered the cell he started to panic. The memory of being trapped in an armored vehicle came welling up.

But then he heard a now familiar voice and felt a pair of arms gently wrap him in a hug.

Olivera – a former Green Beret – had decided to join Serna for his sentence.

Serna later told Olivera that that night changed everything for him. It was the first time since returning to civilian life that he felt like he could open up. It was the first time he was with someone he felt he could really trust.

He returned to court two weeks later for his mandatory appearance and promised he wouldn’t violate his probation again, saying to Olivera, “I don’t want to let you down, ever.”

Olivera couldn’t get Serna out of his jail sentence – but he could join him in it. He could sit by his side. He could listen. He could be a friend.

There have been so many times I wish I could get someone I loved out of a hard situation, but I just can’t. But I can join them in it. I can sit by their side. I can listen. I can be a friend.

You can be, too.

Who needs you to sit with them in their jail cell? Who needs you by their side through a difficult situation? Who just needs you to listen to them and pray for them?

Who needs your friendship? I hope you’ll give it. You don’t know what your friendship could change.

The Day After Easter

Repost from 2020 - because even the day after Easter we should still celebrate that our Savior is alive.

The Sabbath was drawing near.

Jesus’ friends had to bury Him in a hurry so as not to be working past sundown. There was no time to wash and anoint Jesus’ body as was customary in a Jewish burial.

So, a group of women who had followed Jesus throughout His ministry planned to come back to finish the burial process after the Sabbath was over.

One of those women, Mary Magdalene, arrived at the tomb early Sunday morning only to find that the stone had been rolled away and Jesus was gone.

A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind. Of all the explanations she must have considered, resurrection wasn’t one of them. It seemed far more likely that the body had been stolen. She began to weep.

She turned to leave and saw someone standing there. It was Jesus, but she didn’t recognize him. “Dear woman, why are you crying?” Jesus asked her. “Who are you looking for?” She thought he was the gardener. (John 20:14-15, NLT)

What a beautiful mistake.

Listen to what the book of Genesis says.

Then the Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground. He breathed the breath of life into the man’s nostrils, and the man became a living person. Then the Lord God planted a garden in Eden in the east, and there he placed the man he had made. (Genesis 2:7-8, NLT)

After God breathed life into Adam, the first man, He placed him in a garden. But Adam rebelled against God and, through his sin, brought death and decay not only to mankind, but to all of creation.

On Easter, God again breathed the breath of life into a man’s nostrils. On Easter, the crucified Jesus again became a living person. He stepped out of the tomb and into another garden.

N.T. Wright said, “Easter functions as the beginning of the new creation. The Word through whom all things were made is now the Word through whom all things are remade” (Surprised by Hope, 238).

God has not given up on His creation. What was lost in the garden of Eden was redeemed here in the garden of the resurrection.

This is the good news of Easter! This is both the present reality and the future hope of every follower of Jesus.

Anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun! (2 Corinthians 5:17, NLT)

The old is gone. The new has come. This is the promise – the good news – of the resurrection.

Surrounded

I went on a safari in the Masai Mara a couple years back.

It was incredible. We saw a pride of lions, a herd of wildebeests, the most graceful giraffes and, honestly, the ugliest warthogs (Disney really misled me with Pumbaa – warthogs are not even a little bit cute).

But I was most captivated by the elephants.

We came across a herd and could see a baby elephant as we drew near. She was sleeping.

As we go closer, seven or eight adult elephants took their place around her and glared at us until we’d moved on.

Our guide explained that elephants are a protective species. They care for the most vulnerable among their herd. They surround the youngest so that if a predator attacks, the strongest of the herd can defend the weakest.

Jesus did the same. He cared for the most vulnerable. He defended the weak.

Actually, if you pay attention to the whole story of the Bible, you’ll notice that God cares deeply for the poor, widows, orphans, and outcasts.

He has called us to surround the weak and the vulnerable. He has called us to love and protect the weakest among us.

That includes, of course, the poor, the widows, the orphans, and the outcasts.

It also includes our friends and family members struggling in their marriage or with an addiction or through a devastating diagnosis or dealing with doubts and questions.

We’re called to surround one another. To protect one another. To defend one another.

If you’ve ever been surrounded, protected, defended by those that love you, you know how it matters.

So, do that – be that – for others.

Single-Handed Delusion

Alexander Lukashenko is the self-described “last and only dictator in Europe.”

He has had a strong 27-year run as the authoritarian President of Belarus. Though the nation does, technically, have an election every five years, Lukashenko has remarkably never lost.

When he was re-elected in 2010 (under suspicious voting conditions), thousands took to the streets of Minsk in protest. More than 700 people were arrested and many were sentenced to fifteen-years in prison.

So, the protesters changed tact. They would appear in the streets every Wednesday. They held no signs. They didn’t chant. In fact, they didn’t say a word.

They clapped.

Surely, no one could be arrested for clapping, right?

Wrong.

Lukashenko sent his law enforcement cronies to arrest those guilty of applause.

One such “criminal” was Konstantin Kaplin.

He asserted his innocence – as had many others – claiming he was only there to take pictures of the protest. The difference, though, was that Kaplin had proof of his innocence.

He only has one arm.

He literally can’t clap.

The police, though, were in a difficult position. Lukashenko didn’t take kindly to insubordination, so they arrested Kaplin anyways and testified in court that Kaplin was, indeed, clapping – despite lacking a second hand (an indisputable requirement for clapping).

To further the irony of the situation, Kaplin’s fine was more than double what he received from the government each month for being unable to work due to his disability.

Lukashenko (and his subordinates) weren’t driven by truth – they were driven by an ideology.

And when the truth inconveniently conflicted with their ideology, they chose their ideology. They convicted a one-armed man for clapping because it served their cause.

I know this is a crazy story.

But I’m not sure we don’t do this.

We have our biases, our pre-commitments, our ideologies, and we get uncomfortable when we encounter a truth that doesn’t align with or support what we’ve already decided we believe.

We often conveniently ignore what’s right in front of us if it doesn’t serve our cause.

Where is your ideology bumping up against reality? What truth are you ignoring?

We all do it. But when we hold fast to our biases, pre-commitments, and ideologies at the expense of the truth we will inevitably hurt ourselves and others.

Be There

Al Nixon spends almost every morning in Vinoy Park overlooking Tampa Bay. He sits on the same bench and watches the sunrise before going to work at the city’s water department.

Al noticed that he wasn’t alone in his morning routine. He’d see the same folks out for a walk or a run or a bike ride. He’d smile and nod at the regulars. Over time the smiles and nods turned into “hellos” and then into conversations.

Al is a constant. You can count on him to be on his bench most mornings.

That’s probably why so many people seek him out. He’s always there.

It’s not uncommon to find a line of people waiting to spend a few moments with Al. They just want to talk – to vent, to share, to be honest.

Al doesn’t claim to have anything to offer but his presence. He just wants to listen.

He was interviewed by the CBS Evening News a couple years back and said, “listening is the number one skill all mankind needs to know really well.”

Al has a line of people waiting to talk to him because so many are starved for a listening ear.

Al – as far as I know – has zero “credentials.” He’s just a guy that cares about people. He’s just a guy who is reliably there.

You don’t need any letters behind your name to be reliably there.

Al made a difference because he was a friend. He showed up. He was available. He listened. And he has changed lives (as reported by a number of people that spend time talking with Al).

Don’t make making a difference harder than it has to be.

Show up. Be available. Listen.

The IKEA Effect

I have a complicated relationship with IKEA.

I love how affordable their products are and they’re maddening to assemble. I’m fairly handy and not particularly prone to anger, but I have more than once yelled at the instruction manual for being unnecessarily convoluted. If you’ve ever purchased an IKEA product, you can probably relate.

Psychological research has actually demonstrated a cognitive bias that has been coined “The IKEA Effect” based on this complex relationship consumers have with IKEA products.

According to a Harvard-based study, the IKEA effect basically says that we tend to place a higher value on that which we create (be it assembling a piece of IKEA furniture, folding origami, or completing a Lego set – all examples of which were studied in this research).

This makes sense to me.

I feel a sense of ownership when I create or make or even just assemble something.

The problem, though, is that I so often feel ownership over things I need to let go. I think that because I gave it time or attention or energy I need to care about and invest in it forever.

The truth is that I’ve spent a lot of time on things that ran their course and needed to be handed over to another. I’m no longer the right person to “own” it. It was the right investment for a season but it’s not the right investment now.

I’ve also spent a lot of time on things that were never worth my time, attention, or energy, and just needed to die.

Here’s the point.

Just because you labored on something doesn’t mean it’s worth loving.

It might be.

But it might not be.

Don’t succumb to the IKEA effect. Don’t convince yourself that a relatively cheap piece of furniture is more value because you dedicated a disproportionate amount of time to assembling it.

Don’t hold onto something just because you’ve given it your time, attention, and energy. It may be time to let go.

Better with Age

I don’t really drink bourbon.

It’s not that I dislike it – I just don’t know a lot about it and can’t appreciate what I’m tasting. So, I’ll sip at whatever I’m offered and occasionally enjoy a Manhattan or an Old Fashioned (mostly if my brother makes one for me).

A couple weeks ago, though, I went to Kentucky with my dad to experience the Bourbon Trail.

We went on a tour of the Maker’s Mark distillery, and it was incredible. If Disney put on a distillery tour, they’d do it like Maker’s Mark. The grounds are beautiful, the buildings pristine, and guides as friendly and knowledgeable as you’ll find anywhere.

Again, I know nothing about bourbon – so I had a lot of questions and our tour guide patiently answered them all.

He mentioned that Maker’s Mark bourbon ages for five or six years – to get it just right.

That got me curious.

I don’t have a particularly refined palette. So, I wondered if I’d be able to tell the difference between a bourbon aged, say, four years, versus five or six when it’s fully matured.

“Oh yes,” he said. “A year makes an extraordinary difference in the quality of the bourbon. Tasting it at four years compared to five years would be an entirely different experience.”

Bourbon has no free will – no power of agency. Yet it manages to get better over time.

I do have free will – I have the power of agency. But I’m not sure I’m getting better over time.

I can’t help but wonder if I’m living the same year over and over again.

I don’t want that.

I want your experience of me today to be different than your experience of me a year from now. I want you to detect stronger notes of grace, to sense more humility, to taste more love and joy and kindness.

I hope you want the same.

Let’s resolve – together – that we’ll be better a year from now than we are today.

Confidence

Mike Rowe is, I think, one of the most fascinating people in America. He hosted “Dirty Jobs” and produced a podcast called “The Way I Heard It.”

I was recently listening to an episode of his podcast where he referenced his role as a narrator on a television series called “How the Universe Works.”

The script said that there were 100 billion galaxies in the known universe. So, that’s what Rowe said in his recording.

The next week, scientists established that there are more than 2 trillion galaxies.

To be fair, Rowe was communicating the best information he had at the time.

But he made and interesting statement after the fact.

“I sound no less certain when I’m right than I do when I’m wrong.”

I am so guilty of sounding certain when I’m wrong. It’s usually an honest mistake.

But I don’t like to admit that I don’t know something – especially when I feel like I should.

I want to be the expert. I want to have the answers.

The truth, though, is that I sound no less certain when I’m right than I do when I’m wrong.

I’m usually not the smartest person in the room. I’m not being self-degrading – just honest. I’m smart on a couple of subjects. But I’m a novice at best on just about everything else.

So are you.

You’re knowledgeable on certain subjects but you’re a novice on just about everything else. That’s not a slight. It’s just what it is. We can’t know everything about everything.

Here’s the point.

We get things wrong. We just do. Let’s be slow to take a stand when we don’t have all of the information and quick to retract when our stand turns out to be wrong.

Let’s also be discerning in which stands are worth taking. Not every hill is worth dying on.

Breathing

Travis Meadows has long been a beloved singer and songwriter in our family. If you’re not familiar with his music I would highly recommend it.

We were fortunate enough to get him to do a house concert a couple of years back.

He put on an incredible performance – but the most memorable part of the evening for me was talking with Travis in my parents’ kitchen later that night.

Travis has been through a lot of heartache. He’s open about mistakes he’s made and the consequences he’s experienced.

I don’t know if I’ve met a more humble or grateful person. He counts every single day as a grace.

"A good day for me is waking up breathing,” he told me. “There's a lot of people that didn't wake up today."

I don’t remember the last time I thanked God that I woke up breathing. I don’t remember the last time I thought about all of the people that didn’t wake up today.

I should, though. I should thank God for every breath I get to breathe.

I can’t keep my lungs pumping. I can’t keep my heart beating. I can’t number my own days.

I could give you a list of complaints and grievances. I could tell you all the ways that things are hard or unfair. I could offer up all of my problems.

But I woke up breathing today. I woke up with a heart that’s still beating.

So did you.

I don’t know what you’re going through.

You might be in a really sweet season. You might be going through the darkest time you’ve ever known.

But you woke up breathing.

It might be a hard day – but it’s a good day.

Blind

I love snow.

It’s beautiful.

It just invites me to slow down and curl up next to a fire with a cup of coffee and a book.

But there’s a downside to snow. It kind of gets in the way of everyday life.

A couple of years ago we got a massive amount of snow (at least for St. Louis). The meteorologists called it a “polar vortex.” I’m still not entirely sure what that means. I do know that we got a lot of snow.

Crews were sent out to clear the streets and parking lots so that people could get out.

The challenge of clearing a parking lot, though, is that there aren’t a lot of places to put the accumulated snow.

So, at the grocery store I frequent, they simply shoveled it all to the end of an aisle. They freed up parking spaces but effectively created a “no outlet” situation.

I pulled into a row of parking spaces only to find that there were none available, and the plowed snow was blocking my way. I had to do a twenty-point turn to get back out the way I came.

Another car had followed me. She couldn’t see that the road was blocked and that there was nothing to do but turn around. She was livid at how long I was taking to get out. The whole time I was trying to correct course she was flipping me off and even rolled down her window to hurl curses at me.

I rolled my window down, too, and tried to explain that there were no parking spaces and that the snow was blocking the way but to no avail. She kept yelling about how I was wasting her time and needed to learn how to drive.

But she didn’t know what I knew. She didn’t know there was a roadblock ahead.

As I pulled forward, I saw her doing the same twenty-point turn in my rearview mirror.

I wonder how often I do that. I wonder how often I criticize others simply because I can’t see what they see. I wonder how often I’m blind to what lies ahead. I wonder how often I’ve failed to pay attention to those that have gone before me and heeded their wisdom.

Let’s make sure we have all the information before we get impatient or angry.

It may be that we don’t have the whole story.

More Practical

I am a big fan of the sitcom Modern Family.

Phil Dunphy is a fun-loving father that cares about his family more than anything. He loves them and sacrifices for them at every turn.

Then, one day, he goes with his friend Andre to a car dealership. The two admire a sleek black sports car.

Phil is just pining after this car. He wants it so badly. But he knows it’s not practical. He has three children. It doesn’t make sense.

Andre says to him, “You never hear a person on their deathbed saying, ‘I wish I’d been more practical.’”

It probably wasn’t wise for Phil to buy a sports car when he still had children at home.

But I think Andre has a point.

I’m all for being practical. I’m all for being productive. I’m all for striving to be and do more.

But the things that matter most – the things that bring color and variety to life – aren’t always practical.

I’m learning to play the mandolin. It’s not even a little bit practical. I have no intention of joining a bluegrass band. But it’s something I’ve always wanted to learn, so I am – and I’m thoroughly enjoying it.

I am rereading the Chronicles of Narnia for the seventh time. I read a couple of chapters every night before I go to bed. I know how every story ends but I still love reading them as much as I did the first time.

I cut my workday short every couple of weeks to get an early dinner with my parents. I talk to my brothers on the phone regularly. I spend a lot of time doing puzzles and coloring and playing Legos with my nieces and nephews. There’s nothing obviously practical about our time together. We’re not producing anything. But I wouldn’t trade those moments with any of them for the world.

I’m not peddling a “just do what makes you happy” bill of goods.

I’m just saying that practicality is a good servant but a terrible god.

Practicality should serve us in becoming more of who God created us to be.

But if we prize it above all else it will almost certainly make us less of who we were created to be.

The Illusion of Independence

I spent a lot of time in Chicago growing up. It was just a four-hour drive from our suburban home in St. Louis, so it made for an easy weekend getaway.

By the time I was about ten years old I knew the streets of Chicago better than any other city – including the city in which I grew up.

My two younger brothers and I started asking our parents to let us venture out on our own. I’m not sure where we planned to go but I’m guessing we wanted to get Garrett’s Popcorn or hang out at the Oak Street beach.

To our shock and delight, they let us go.

We felt so old, so mature, to be walking the streets of Chicago without adult supervision.

I didn’t find out until years later that we were absolutely under adult supervision.

My dad wanted us to learn to navigate the world. But we were ten, eight, and five. We weren’t exactly ready to fend for ourselves.

So, he followed us around the city. We were never out of his sight. We spent an entire afternoon believing ourselves to be independent.

But we were never more than about twenty feet from a loving father who was ready to protect and provide for us at a moment’s notice.

That was twenty-five years ago. I’ve walked a lot of city streets alone since then – without adult supervision.

But I’ve never once been independent.

Independence is an illusion.

We are never out of God’s sight. We are always entirely dependent upon Him. We have a loving Father that is there - ready to protect and provide for us. We may not always be aware of His presence in our lives, but He is always present.

I don’t know who you are or where you are. I do know that you’re not alone.

You never have been and you never will be.

Think First

Val St. John and Scott Fish used to co-host a morning radio show in Florida.

The two decided to pull an April Fool’s Day prank during their airtime in 2013.

They warned the masses that local water sources had been contaminated with dihydrogen monoxide – a compound found in insecticides, jet fuel, acid rain, and chemical weapons.

They weren’t lying. The water supply did contain dihydrogen monoxide.

It’s just that if you break it down, dihydrogen monoxide equates to two hydrogen molecules and one oxygen molecule.

In other words, it’s H2O. Water.

Fortunately, most people got the joke. Unfortunately, a small but loud minority did not.

They flooded (pun absolutely intended) the county water board phonelines demanding to know how such a lethal substance could have been allowed to pollute their water supply.

St. John and Fish were temporarily taken off the air, but their suspension was revoked, and they resumed their regularly scheduled programming.

It was, admittedly, an unwise prank.

But I imagine that the folks who called the county water board were more than a little embarrassed when they realized their mistake.

I wonder how often we make a similar mistake, though. I wonder how often we accept what we hear without considering the source or the merit of the claim itself. I wonder how often we respond emotionally before we respond thoughtfully.

Let’s be a little more discerning. Let’s resist the pull of urgency. Let’s refuse to be taken in by unwarranted fear.

Let’s think before we act.

Stuck

I have a niece named Kennedy.

Kennedy is pure joy and constant motion. She loves to run and jump and dance – all the while pumping her little arms with all her might.

She also hates to be contained. When she was little, we’d have to strap her into her booster seat at dinnertime or she’d throw herself out of her chair.

When she was tired of being strapped in, she’d shout, “Stuck!”

My brother and sister-in-law would smile, shake their heads, and say, “You’re not stuck. We put you there.”

I’ve felt stuck before.

I’ve felt like I couldn’t get out of a difficult situation. I’ve felt trapped in discouragement or disappointment. I’ve felt contained and confined.

I’ve shouted, “Stuck!” to God more than once.

And more than once God has smiled and said, “You’re not stuck. I put you there.”

The times I’ve felt stuck have often turned out to be the times I’ve learned the most about trusting and depending upon Him.

If you feel stuck, look around. The way out might simply be better or different choices.

But it may be that God put you there on purpose. It may be that He wants you to learn to trust and depend upon Him.

I promise you this. God is working in and through you – wherever you are.

Keeping Score

I love bowling. I really do.

I think it’s mostly nostalgia. I learned to bowl from my grandmother and great-aunt (both of whom I loved – and both of which passed away in the last handful of years). I have a lot of sweet memories of bowling with them.

Then, when I was in high school, my brothers and I picked up bowling again. I’m the oldest. Michael is a little more two years younger and Matt is three years – almost to the day – younger than Michael. I don’t know why but bowling bonded us. It’s what we did together – just the three of us.

So, when my mama called me to say that she was taking Annie – my oldest niece and my little brother’s daughter – bowling and asked if I wanted to come, I dropped what I was doing to be there.

Moments before I arrived Annie smashed her finger between two bowling balls on the rack. She finished out the last two frames but had no desire to play another game. She asked if I would play the second game for her.

So, I did.

I bowled my own game – and I bowled hers.

I honestly don’t remember what I scored for Annie.

I do know that a handful of frames in I had bowled a hundred points in Annie’s name.

And she was delighted.

“Chrissy!” she shouted to my mama. “I have a hundred points!”

Let’s be honest. Annie didn’t have a hundred points. I had a hundred points.

But she got that I was bowling for her. She got the credit for the score I bowled. It wasn’t my score – it was hers.

Here’s the thing.

I’ve gotten credit for a game I didn’t bowl.

Jesus played the perfect game. He bowled 300 (the highest score you can get in bowling, in case you didn’t know).

And He did it on my behalf. He bowled, if you will, in my name.

I did nothing. I bowled only gutter balls. I didn’t knock down a single pin.

But Jesus credited His perfect game – His perfect life – to me.

He’ll do the same for you.

All you need to do is stop trying to bowl your own game and let Him give you His score.

Resolutions

There is an old Jewish story about a rabbi named Zusia.

One day Zusia came to his disciples. His eyes were red and swollen from crying and his face was pale.

“Rabbi,” one of his disciples exclaimed. “What is the matter?”

“I was thinking about death,” said Zusia. “I was thinking about what it would be like to stand before Almighty God. I realized that if God asks me, ‘Zusia, why weren’t you a leader like Moses?’ I would say, ‘Lord, you did not give me the leadership of Moses.’ If God asks me, ‘Zusia, why weren’t you a poet like David?’ I would say, ‘Lord, you did not give me the eloquence of David.’ But, if God asks me, ‘Zusia, why weren’t you Zusia? Why weren’t you all that I created you to be?’ I will have no answer for Him.”

Resolutions are so often about creating ourselves. They're about creating a stronger body or a slimmer waist, a larger bank account or a smaller debt to pay off, to stop smoking or to start reading.

There's nothing wrong with those sort of resolutions.

But, what if, this year, instead of resolving to create ourselves we resolved to discover what God created us to be?

What if you took the first step towards Him and began considering what a relationship with Him could mean for your life?

What if you asked Him to show you where your character needs developing that you might better represent and reflect Him?

What if you began exploring how He could use your unique personality and gifts and passions to impact the world?

Let's resolve that a year from now we will be more of what God created us to be.

I can think of no better resolution.

When Christmas is Over

Christmas is over.

 The gifts have all been opened and the wrapping paper discarded.

The lights and decorations have been taken down and relegated to the attic.

The Christmas cookies have all been eaten.

The Christmas movies have been shelved and the Christmas songs have been silenced - save for the few holding onto the holiday season.

But, Christmas is about Christ and, today and tomorrow, Christ will still be Christ.

Let’s not forget that, for the Christian, every day should be Christmas.

Every day should be a celebration that, in Christ, God dwelt among us. Every day should be a celebration that, in Christ, God came to rescue us. Every day should be a celebration that, in Christ, we are free from our sin.

If you don’t know Jesus, I pray that you would come to know Him. There is no other name by which we are saved. There is no other means by which we can experience a relationship with God. There is no other truth. There is no other road. Forgiveness is offered to all, but given only to those who will accept it. I pray that you accept it.

If you do know Him, I pray that the spirit of Christmas would reign in your hearts all year long.

Merry (belated) Christmas, friends.

Elmo

I came across a Christmas list I wrote when I was seven years old.

At the top of a list was a little sister and “more time” (I was an odd seven-year-old).

I don’t remember if I got anything on that list. I know for sure that I did not get a little sister and I believe time has marched forward at the same rate ever since.

But I do remember one Christmas when I got exactly what I wanted.

I was four and there was nothing I wanted more than a stuffed Elmo.

I thought about nothing else. I asked for nothing else. I talked about nothing else.

I woke up hours before my parents (who wisely put a chair in front of their door, barring me from getting them up at 5a). I went back to my room and waited for them to wake up so I could open presents.

I tore through every gift searching for the one I’d been waiting for all year.

Then, there he was. Elmo. I thought my little heart would burst with joy.

I know, I know. Children often dream of the perfect gift only to relegate it to a closet shelf a couple days later.

Not I.

I loved that Elmo. He was my constant companion. He went with me everywhere. He went to school with me. He joined us at dinner. I snuggled him every night.

That was more than thirty years ago.

I still have him.

His red fur is matted and worn and he's missing an eye.

Here’s the point.

Gifts are meant to be enjoyed. They’re not meant to be put up on a shelf unused and unhandled.

But we do that, don’t we?

We recognize – and even appreciate – a precious gift. But we don’t want to break it. We don’t want to ruin it. We want to preserve its pristine condition.

That Elmo is more precious to me today than it was the Christmas morning I got him – not despite his wear and tear but because of it. He carries the marks of a little girl that loved him.

I don’t know the gifts you’ve received. I don’t know the relationships God has provided you. I don’t know the talents and abilities He has given you. I know don’t the resources, the opportunities, the dreams you have.

I do know they don’t belong on a shelf.

Don’t waste a single gift. Love every one. Enjoy every one. Use every one until the fur is matted down and it’s missing an eye.

Muscles

A friend of mine has a three-year-old son named Nate.

He’s adorable and sweet and funny. He’s also busy and mischievous and, well, a three-year-old boy.

So, my friend has been teaching him about how to use his muscles.

Muscles, she tells him, aren’t meant for hurting and breaking. They’re meant for serving and protecting.

I love that.

I also can’t stop thinking about how often her guidance applies in other ways.

Words, for example, aren’t meant for hurting and breaking. They’re meant for serving and protecting.

Power and influence aren’t meant for hurting and breaking. They’re meant for serving and protecting.

Knowledge, even, isn’t meant for hurting and breaking. It’s meant for serving and protecting.

I don’t know what “muscles” you have.

I do know that you can flex those muscles towards one end or another.

Either to hurt and break.

Or to serve and protect.

How are you using your muscles?

Grow On

Ingeborg Syllm-Rapoport was born to Protestant parents in 1912 and grew up in Hamburg, Germany.

Her upbringing was relatively typical of the time and place – except that she broke gender norms by attending college and then medical school at the University of Hamburg.

She focused her studies on diphtheria and was in pursuit of a Ph.D.

Then Nazi Germany happened.

Though her parents were both devout Christians, her maternal grandparents were Jewish and that, according to the Nazi regime, made Syllm-Rapoport of mixed race and not truly Aryan.

Professor Rudolf Degkwitz of the University of Hamburg conceded, in 1938, that Syllm-Rapoport’s doctoral thesis would have been accepted and approved had it not been for the Nazis’ race laws which prohibited anyone of Jewish decent to receive a doctoral degree.

Syllm-Rapoport fled to America where she married. She received an M.D. and practiced medicine until she and her husband returned in Germany in 1952.

Nearly seventy-five years after she first submitted her research, the dean of the University of Hamburg, Dr. Uwe Koch-Gromus, gave Syllm-Rapoport a chance to defend her thesis.

In 2015, at the age of 102, she did. 

Her mind was still sharp, and she had not wavered in passion for her subject. She passed with flying colors and became the world’s oldest recipient of a Ph.D.

There is so much I want to do. There is so much I want to accomplish. I have dreams – lots of them.

But – more importantly – I think I have God-given dreams. I believe He has a purpose for me.

I believe He has a purpose for you, too.

I don’t know how long it will take to do all that God created you to do. But if you still have a beating heart you’re not quite done.

Keep going. Keep learning. Keep discovering more of what God created you to be and do.

Grow on.