Every Survivor Dies

By Peter Lundell –

On February 4, the world’s last surviving veteran of World War I died.  Florence Green signed up for the Women’s Royal Air Force 98 years ago at age 17. Ironically, she was afraid of flying. She worked as an Officer’s Mess steward.

Before passing away at age 110, she had been in a nursing home for fewer than three months. Previously, she lived at home with her daughter, who is 90! By every account, Mrs. Green was a wonderful lady.

My Great Uncle Carl also fought in World War I. When I was a boy I visited him and felt as if I were touching history in the flesh. This man who held my hand had been in the trenches and fired a gun. Until he died, his physical presence connected me to an otherwise faded past.

Now there is no one left from that war, or any war before it. Every last survivor eventually died. And every war from now on will have its last survivor die.

I think of the unspeakable horrors World War I unleashed. And now, all of those involved are gone. Every last person. It no longer matters what side they were on in that senseless conflict. Nor does it matter whether they died on the battlefield or years later in a nursing home. They are all in eternity, for better or worse.

How they spend eternity has nothing to do with which uniform they wore, but with the condition of their hearts. So many things seemed important back then, just as so many things seem important right now. But eventually, even the survivors eventually surrender to death.

If we can truly grasp this, what would it do to us and the way we face conflicts, whether as a nation or in our own lives?

“You spoke by the Holy Spirit through the mouth of your servant, our father David:
‘”Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain?’” (Acts 4:25 (NIV).

PRAYER:

“Lord, You see beyond every world conflict to that which is of your purpose and plan. Open my eyes to see beyond conflicts in my own life to that which is of Your purpose and plan.”

Beneath the Brush

By Hally Franz –

Parents love their children at each of the developmental stages they experience, but I think it is natural for us to have our favorites along the way. Many love infancy, because it makes for some wonderfully warm cuddle sessions. Others like to observe the wonder in the eyes of preschoolers as they explore and learn new things. I enjoy my children as they have gotten older. Mine aren’t much for snuggling these days, and they are sometimes hard to impress. However, they now express and impress me with their interests, hopes and dreams.

And, then there is the yard work. Perhaps that gives me extra incentive to enjoy this phase of their lives.

My fourteen-year-old son says he wants to be a landscaper. He is also my capitalist. While our daughter may never manage money well, her brother is always ready to earn some. So, on a recent warm day, I proposed some chores to him. Some stepping stones needed to be replaced. Bird feeders to be filled, and a repair to a wind-damaged piece of porch trim. I also wanted dead foliage cut, raked and removed from flower beds.

As I demonstrated the final task for my son, I was once again pleased to see that underneath the waste of winter, there were short green sprouts making their appearance. Hiding below the weathered remains of last year were the starts of new growth—hyacinths and hostas ready to usher in the season. How reassuring that perennial gift of spring is to us!

God’s Word is full of wonderful symmetry, and this is just another example of the poetic truth we find in Him. I knew what I would see beneath the brown brush when I coached my son on his assignment. I’d have been shocked not to see those beautiful, emerald signs of life. I know with confidence they’ll come this time each year, just as surely as I know God’s promise of salvation is real, and He can be counted on to fulfill His promises to us.

When we remove the worn and ragged parts of our being to become Christians, we are made new. That is something we can rely on, too. And, when we awake each day, God has blessed us with another opportunity to serve him better than we did the day before. How blessed we are that God uses stages and seasons, promises and opportunities to show His love and His plans for us.

PRAYER: Most Gracious Father, thank You for the promises provided in Your word, as well as the infinite and beautiful ways that You communicate to us through Your awesome creations. May we receive Your promises and messages, and be made anew each day.

“We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life” (Romans 6:4 NIV).

A Lesson in Coffee

By Kim Stokely –

I am not a morning person. Never have been and barring an act of God, I probably never will be.

Oh, I can get up, I can technically function, but please don’t ask me to hold a lucid conversation or think about anything difficult. Difficult means anything requiring more than two steps in the thought process. Putting on my slippers, that I can do. Shuffling into the kitchen to let the dogs out, that’s pretty taxing, but I can usually handle it. Fortunately for me, my husband and children know that I improve vastly if I’m left alone until I’ve had a cup of coffee to spark the synapses in my brain.

The other morning, I woke up foggy and exhausted after an unusually busy week. I got my slippers on and let the dogs out. I smiled to myself, glad to have accomplished so much already on a Saturday morning. Things had gone so well, I decided to attempt more. I puttered around the kitchen and got a pot of coffee brewing. Finding the house still quiet I sat down to do something I hadn’t done in awhile—read my Bible.

A few minutes later, my nose tingled as the distinct aroma of fresh coffee wafted into the living room. I dragged myself back to the kitchen and grabbed the carafe. After pouring the coffee, I emptied a packet of sweetener and searched the fridge for the creamer. A dollop later and I was ready to let the beverage revive me.

One sip told me I had made a big mistake. I spit the disgusting mouthful into the sink and grabbed the carton of creamer from the counter. I groaned as I took a good look at it− egg substitute. I dumped the rest of my mug away, placed the offending product back in the refrigerator, double checked to make sure the next carton I picked up was half-and-half, and made up a new cup of coffee.

I thought about what happened as I returned to my Bible. If we’re not paying attention we can easily allow the wrong things to slip into our minds and hearts. Being a disciple of Christ doesn’t mean we can go through the motions of Christianity, it means being vigilant in all areas of life so we don’t find ourselves in compromising situations. But if we do stumble, we can pour our mistakes out to God. He is always willing to let us try again.

And note to self: Have my husband make the coffee when I’m tired.

Halls of Jericho

By Jane Thornton –

Warning: Joking during the sermon may have unexpected repercussions.

Recently, as our preacher, Russell, circled the audience, speculating over the Israelites’ reaction to God’s command to march around Jericho, I whispered to Wes, “Maybe I should march around the school seven times.” Ha, ha – sarcasm duly noted.

Backstory: I have found this school year particularly stressful. My longsuffering family would testify to a rise in work load, complaint level, and tears. Under this pressure, I began to seriously consider blowing the dust off the accounting degree which I set aside many years ago to pursue education—for a kind of instant gratification of the desire to feel worthwhile. In recent months, that worth has been buried under paperwork, testing, and student apathy.

Thus, the joke, emphasis on lack of serious intent. I never intended to walk around the school.

But the idea didn’t fade; it kept popping into my thoughts. I echoed Russell’s imaginary Israelite, “Really, God? Why? What good will walking around the school do?” I will admit that a teensy, evil portion of my soul was tantalized by a vision of crumbling bricks in clouds of dust. Still, the scheme nagged until I decided it was a prompting from the Spirit.

Monday morning, when I had to don my rain boots and ward off drizzle with an umbrella to trudge through the lack of dawn’s early light, doubts mocked me. What was I trying to prove? Was the weather a test of my resolve? Was I just an over-imaginative Jesus freak?

I didn’t know, but I carried on. Praying over each portion of the building and my own future for a fifteen minute romp certainly couldn’t hurt although my frizzy hair might argue the point.

Each of the following six work days, I tramped in a loop around campus, wavering back and forth from prayer to misgiving. I met an occasional colleague on my wanderings. My quest was unclear in my own mind, so I was leery of sharing it. Most assumed I was exercising, and I allowed the mistaken credit, feeling a little deceitful at my caginess.

On the seventh day, I rose earlier than normal and started my trek in full dark. I managed six rounds of prayer and questions before school. I’d make my final march in the afternoon. I laughed at alternating dreams of suddenly cooperative students versus a profitable business career.

The sun shone as I started my final trip past the gym. Students lingered in the courtyard. One called out, “Hi, Mrs. Thornton!” Then another flagged me down for a simple question about an assignment. Nothing earth-shattering. I shared no deep insight about life’s purpose—but I connected, and the link resonated.

As I rounded a corner, my shadow stretched several yards before me. I chuckled at my own grasping for symbolism. Yet, a peace descended along with a new confidence in my purpose here. God sent an epiphany: for now, I am to teach, and, by the way, try not to complain about it so much. For the last ten minutes of my pilgrimage, I probed my subconscious for forced meaning. The conviction remained firm.

Climbing into my car to head home, I sheepishly gave a semi-shout of “Amen” and tooted the car horn to cement the deal. “See, I have delivered Jericho into your hands…” (Joshua 6:2b).

Comment Prompt: What Jericho has the Lord conquered for you?

Counterfeit Cheeseburgers

By Robin J. Steinweg –

I served uncooked cheeseburgers to my students. Don’t panic—the bun was two vanilla wafers brushed with light corn syrup and sprinkled with sesame seeds. The meat was a chocolate mint cookie. Red and yellow frosting looked like ketchup and cheese. I added lettuce: green-colored coconut flakes. The burgers turned out a little smaller (and rounder!) than White Castle burgers. If I’d photographed one on a doll’s tea plate, it would’ve looked just like the real thing. But if I were to write up a nutrition chart for it, it would be sadly lacking in the minimum daily requirements for anything at all.

Sure, it would taste good and give me a sugar high, but in the end it would let me down. Hard.

This world offers advice that looks appealing, feels good or has an appearance of truth—but the truth is, it can be as empty as sugar calories. But it looks so real; how can we tell the difference?

If you’ve ever eaten a real cheeseburger, you’d know the moment you saw my candy version that there’s no meat. That’s the trick: get to know the genuine article, and immediately you’ll recognize the fake. And if you’re inexperienced, you’d know it as soon as you tasted it.

Study the Bible and when an untruth pops up, you’ll see it for what it is.

PRAYER: Lord, I ask You to help me to become so familiar with Your voice and Your ways that I recognize instantly anything that is not from You. Thank You.

“Dear friends, do not believe everyone who claims to speak by the Spirit. You must test them to see if the spirit they have comes from God. For there are many false prophets in the world” (1 John 4:1 NLT).

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