A Good Act Brings God's Attention

 

A Good Act Brings God’s Attention

A Good Act Brings God's Attention - Audio/Visual 

As each one has received a special gift, employ it in serving one another. (1 Peter 4:10)

The view from Colorado's Mount Chrysolite steals what little breath the climb doesn't. Snow rests on the peaks to the east, marking the Continental Divide. You'd swear that's Montana you see to the north, and circles of ice-cold, trout-packed, pristine ponds stretch through the valley beneath you like a string of pearls. Each Thursday during the summer, some four hundred kids make the 14,000-foot climb. They've traveled from all over the nation to spend a week at Frontier Ranch, a Young Life camp. Some come to escape parents, others to hang out with a boyfriend or girlfriend. But before the week culminates, they’ll all hear about Jesus. And all will witness his work from the top of Mount Chrysolite.

For that reason, several Young Life directors caboose the end of the pack to encourage the stragglers. They prod and applaud, making sure every camper crests the top. One young student, who showed great actuarial potential, actually counted the steps to the top – eight thousand. But somewhere around number four thousand, Matt from Minnesota decided to call it quits; said he was too tired to take another step. I can appreciate Matt. Most anyone probably would. Jovial, pleasant and, in this case, donkey-determined to not climb that mountain, he let everyone but a few pass him by and then announced, "I'm headed down." That’s when a Young Life staffer spelled out the consequences of his choice. "Can't send you down alone, Matt. If you turn back, we all turn back." So, the group had two options: everyone miss the mountaintop experience, or help Matt get to the top.

Choosing the latter, the group coaxed him, begged him and then negotiated a plan with Matt. Thirty steps of walking, then sixty seconds of resting. And the group inched their way at this pace for over an hour. Finally, they stood within a thousand feet of the peak, but the last stretch of trail rose up as straight as a fireman's ladder. The group had to get really serious, now. So, two guys grabbed an arm each, another took the rear, placed both hands on Matt's … well, you know, and shoved. They all but dragged him past the timberline. And that's when he heard the applause. Four hundred kids on the crest of Mount Chrysolite gave Matt from Minnesota a standing ovation. They whooped and hollered and slapped him on the back. They literally pushed him to the top. Sounds like something God might do.

After all, that’s what his Son did. Jesus' self-assigned purpose reads: "For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many." (Mark 10:45) That’s a strong dose of servanthood, and a timely reminder for each of us: don’t get so focused on what you want to do that you neglect what needs to be done. For instance, a 3:00 a.m. diaper change fits into very few plans. Most lives don’t feature the strength of garage sweeping. Visiting a sick neighbor might not come naturally to you. Still, the sick need to be encouraged, garages swept and diapers changed. The world needs servants – people like Jesus who "did not come to be served, but to serve."

He chose remote Nazareth over center-stage Jerusalem, his dad's carpentry shop over a marble-columned palace, and three decades of anonymity over a life of popularity. Jesus came to serve. He selected prayer over sleep, the wilderness over the Jordan and irascible apostles over obedient angels. I'd have gone with the angels, frankly.

Given the choice, I would have built my apostle team out of cherubim and seraphim, or Gabriel and Michael, eyewitnesses of Red Sea rescues and Mount Carmel falling fires. I'd choose the angels. But not Jesus. He picked the people: Peter, Andrew, John and Matthew. And when they feared the storm, he stilled it. When they had no coin for taxes, he supplied it. And when they had no wine for the wedding or food for the multitude, he made both. He came to serve.

He let a woman in Samaria interrupt his rest, a woman in adultery interrupt his sermon, a woman with a disease interrupt his plans, and one with remorse interrupt his meal. Though none of the apostles washed his feet, he washed theirs. Though none of the soldiers at the cross begged for mercy, he extended it. And though his followers scattered like rabbits on Thursday, he came searching for them on Easter Sunday. The resurrected King ascended to heaven only after he'd spent forty days with his friends teaching them, encouraging them and serving them. It's what he came to do. He came to serve.

Joseph Shulam, a Jerusalem pastor, tells a remarkable story of a man who simulated the actions of Jesus. The son of a rabbi battled severe emotional problems. One day the boy went into his backyard, removed all his clothing, assumed a crouched position and began to gobble like a turkey. He did this, not just for hours or days, but for weeks. No pleading would dissuade him. No psychotherapist could help him. A friend of the rabbi, having watched the boy and sharing the father's grief, offered to help. He went into the backyard and removed his clothes, too. He crouched beside the boy and began gobbling, turkey-like. For days, nothing changed. Finally, the friend spoke to the son. "Do you think it would be all right for turkeys to wear shirts?" After some thought and a few gobbles, the son agreed. So, they put on their shirts. Days later the friend asked the boy if it would be acceptable for turkeys to wear pants. The boy nodded. In time, the friend redressed the boy, and, in time, the boy returned to his self.

Incredible, right? But not nearly as incredible as the actions of Jesus. He stripped himself of heaven's robe, layered himself in skin and hair, hunched down in our world and spoke our language in the hope that he could lead this bunch of turkeys back home again. "He set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn't claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death – and the worst kind of death at that: a crucifixion." (Phil. 2:7-8)

Jesus entered the world to serve, and we can do the same. We can enter our jobs, our homes, our churches for the purposes of service. Servanthood requires no unique skill or seminary degree. Regardless of your strengths, training or church tenure, you can serve. For instance, you can love the overlooked – the Jesus that sits in your classroom, wearing the thick glasses, outdated clothing and a sad face. You've seen him. That’s Jesus. Or the Jesus who works in your office. Pregnant again, she shows up to work late and tired. No one knows the father of the baby. In fact, according to the water-cooler rumors, even she doesn't know who fathered her child. You've seen her. She's Jesus. When you talk to the lonely student, or befriend the weary mom, you love Jesus. He dresses in the garb of the overlooked and ignored. "Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me – you did it to me." (Matt. 25:40) And you can do that. Even if your strengths have nothing to do with encouraging others, you can love the overlooked and the ignored.

You can also wave the white flag of surrender, too. We fight so much these days. "Where do you think all these appalling wars and quarrels come from?" asks the brother of Jesus. "Do you think they just happen? Think again. They come about because you want your own way, and fight for it deep inside yourselves." (James 4:1) Servants resist stubbornness. Ulrich Zwingli manifested that kind of spirit. He promoted unity during Europe's great Reformation. But at one point, he found himself at odds with Martin Luther. Zwingli didn’t know exactly what to do to smooth the impasse but found his answer one morning on the side of a Swiss mountain. He watched two goats traversing a narrow path from opposite directions, one ascending and the other descending. At one point the narrow trail prevented them from passing each other. When they saw each other, they backed up and lowered their heads, as though ready to lunge. But then a wonderful thing happened. The ascending goat laid down on the path. The other stepped over his back. The first animal then arose and continued his climb to the top. Zwingli later observed that the goat made it higher because he was willing to bend lower.

Didn't the same thing happen to Jesus? "So, God raised him to the highest place. God made his name greater than every other name so that every knee will bow to the name of Jesus." (Phil. 2:9-10) So, serve someone by swallowing your pride. Regardless of your design, you can wave a white flag and serve. Paul speaks to that very issue when he wrote: "If you think you are too important to help someone in need, you are only fooling yourself.” (Gal. 6:3) So make it a point, every day, to do something you don't want to do. Pick up someone else's trash. Surrender your parking place. Call that long-winded relative. It doesn't have to be a big thing – well, maybe not that long-winded relative thing.

In fact, Helen Keller once told the Tennessee legislature that when she was young, she had longed to do great things and could not, so she decided to do small things in a great way. Don't be too big to do something small. "Throw yourselves into the work of the Master, confident that nothing you do for him is a waste of time or effort." (1 Cor. 15:58)

Eugene Delacroix once asked Baron de Rothschild if he could paint Rothschild’s portrait. Though a wealthy banker, Rothschild agreed and, at Delacroix’s request, posed as a beggar, wearing rags and holding a tin cup. During a day of painting, a pupil of the artist entered the room. Thinking Rothschild was really a beggar, he dropped a coin in his cup. Ten years later the pupil received a letter from Baron de Rothschild and a check for 10,000 francs – about $60,000.00 in today’s dollars. The message read, "You one day gave a coin to Baron de Rothschild in the studio of Eugene Delacroix. He has invested it and today sends you the capital which you entrusted to him, together with the compounded interest. A good action always brings good fortune."

A good action not only brings good fortune, but it brings God's attention. He notices the acts of his servants. He sent his Son to be one. And when you and I crest Mount Zion and hear the applause of the saints, we'll realize what Matt did: hands pushed us up the mountain, too – the pierced hands of Jesus Christ. The greatest servant who ever lived.

Grace,

Randy

Train Up a Child

 

Train Up a Child

Train Up a Child - Audio/Visual 

Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it. (Prov. 22:6)

A gardener gave a seedling to his friend, an orange grower. "Consider this a gift," he said. An orchestra conductor presented a package to her favorite cellist. "Just because I appreciate your work," she told her. An artist thanked a plumber for his neighborliness by giving him a present, too. And so, the orange grower, the cellist and the plumber unwrapped their gifts.

The orange grower planted the seedling, anticipating oranges. After all, that’s what he did – he grew oranges. So, this must be an orange-tree-to-be. But the seedling sprouted into bushy, clustered branches. The orange grower couldn't coax a single orange out of that plant. He gave it orange-tree fertilizer and sprayed it with orange-tree bug spray. He even poured orange juice on the soil to encourage the seedling’s growth, but no oranges. Tomatoes, yes. But oranges, no. He felt like such a failure. The cellist empathized. She’d expected a cello. And she was close. The large package contained a musical instrument, alright – an accordion. So, she treated the accordion like a cello, setting the base on the floor and running her bow across the keys bellowed on her lap. She made a noise, but it wasn’t music. She was less than enthused. As was the plumber. He expected a gift of wrenches and pipe tape, but he was given brushes and a palette, instead. Puzzled, he set out to repair a leaky pipe with his new tools. But a palette doesn’t open valves, and brushes don’t seal joints. So, he painted the plumbing and grumbled. The repair was pretty but ineffective.

The orange grower raised the tomatoes, but preferred oranges. The cellist made sounds, but not music. The plumber painted the pipe, but didn't fix it. Each assumed the gift would be what they knew rather than what the giver gave. Similarly, each year God gives millions of parents a gift, a brand-new baby. Parents tend to expect oranges, cellos and plumbing tools. Heaven tends to distribute tomatoes, accordions, and paint supplies. So, moms and dads arrive at a crossroad: making their children in their own image or releasing their children to follow their God-given identities.

As parents, we accelerate or stifle, release or repress our children's giftedness. They will spend much of their life either benefiting or recovering from our influence. And as parents, who has a greater chance of helping our children live their purpose than we do? But will we? Do we? God's Word urges us to. Listen closely to this maternity-ward reminder: "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." (Prov. 22:6) Be careful with this verse, though. Don't interpret it to mean, "If I put my kids on the right path, they'll never leave it.” Or “If I fill them full of Scripture and Bible lessons and sermons, they may rebel, but they'll eventually return."

The proverb makes no such promise. Salvation is a work of God. Godly parents can prepare the soil and sow the seed, but God gives the increase. (1 Cor. 3:6) Show them the path? Yes. Force them to take it? No. So what does this passage teach parents? Simply put: to learn to love growing tomatoes, to appreciate the sound of an accordion, and to take art supplies to canvas, not to the sink. Stated differently, to view each child as a book – not so much as one to be written, but as one to be read.

The phrase "train up" comes from a root word meaning to develop a thirst. Hebrew midwives awakened the thirst of a newborn by dipping a finger in a bowl of crushed dates and placing it in the baby's mouth. To "train up," then, meant to awaken a thirst. Parents awaken thirst "in the way [the child] should go." And the small word "in" means "in keeping with," or "in cooperation with," suggesting that babies come with pre-programmed hard drives. The American Standard Bible margins this verse with the phrase "according to his way," and in Hebrew the word "way" suggests "manner" or "mode." Look at the same word in Proverbs 30:18-19: “There are three things which are too wonderful for me, four which I do not understand: The way of an eagle in the sky; the way of a serpent on a rock; the way of a ship in the middle of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.” "Way" refers to a unique capacity or characteristic, whether it be an eagle, a serpent, a ship or a person. If you raise your child "in the way he should go," you attune yourself to your child's inherent characteristics and inborn distinctives.

The word "way" can also mean "bent." The psalmist used it to describe the bent, or bending of a bow: “[God] has bent his bow and made it ready.” (Ps. 7:12) “For, behold, the wicked bend the bow, they make ready their arrow upon the string to shoot in darkness at the upright in heart.” (Ps. 11:2) The archer arches the weapon, setting his aim on a target. And by the time your child is born, God has done the same. He has already "bent" your child in a certain direction. He hands you a preset bow that you secure until the day of your child’s release.

In other words, God prewired your infant. He scripted your toddler's strengths. He set your teen on a trajectory. God gave you an eighteen-year (sometimes longer) research project. So, ask yourself, your spouse, and your friends, “What sets this child apart?” Childhood tendencies often forecast adult abilities. So, read them; discern them; affirm them; cheerlead them. For instance, eight-year-old R. G. Collingwood sat wedged between his father's bookcase and a table, reading, of all things, Kant's Theory of Ethics. He later wrote: “As I began reading it, . . . I was attacked by a strange succession of emotions. . . . I felt that the contents of this book, although I could not understand it, were somehow my business; a matter personal to myself, or rather to some future self of my own. . . . I felt as if a veil had been lifted and my destiny revealed.” His hunch proved accurate. By the time of his death in 1943, Collingwood had established himself as a distinguished philosopher with works in metaphysics, religion and aesthetics. Immanuel Kant entrances few eight-year-olds. But every eight-year-old is entranced by something.

And that "something" says something about God's intended future for your child. Look at Joseph. At seventeen, he interpreted dreams and envisioned himself as a leader. (Gen. 37:2-10) As an adult he interpreted the dreams of Pharaoh and led the nation of Egypt. (Gen. 40-41) Young shepherd-boy David displayed two strengths: fighting and music. He killed a lion and a bear (1 Sam. 17:34-37) and played the harp with skill. (16:18) What two activities dominated his adult life? Fighting and music. He killed tens of thousands in battle (29:5), and we still sing his songs. Even Jesus displayed an early bent.

Where did Joseph and Mary locate their lost twelve-year-old? "Three days later they finally discovered him in the Temple, sitting among the religious teachers, listening to them and asking questions." (Luke 2:46) Joseph the carpenter didn't find his son chilling with other carpenters but engaged among teachers of faith and interpreters of the Torah. Did this early interest play out later in life? By all means. Even his enemies referred to him as "Rabbi." (Matt. 26:49)

Jesus, the son of a carpenter, displayed the heart of a rabbi. In fact, don’t you detect a mild rebuke in his response to his parents? "And he said to them, 'Why did you seek me? Did you not know that I must be about my Father's business?'" (Luke 2:49) He may have been saying, "You should have seen my bent. I've been living under your roof for twelve years now. Don't you know my heart?"

Don't see your child so much as a blank slate awaiting your pen, but a written book awaiting your study. What’s their story? What abilities come easily for them? At the age of two, Van Cliburn played a song on the piano as a result of listening to teaching in the adjacent room. His mother noticed this skill and began giving him daily piano lessons. Eventually, the little kid from Kilgore, Texas, won the First International Tchaikovsky Piano Competition in Moscow. Why? In part because a parent noticed an aptitude and helped a child develop it. Writer John Ruskin said, "Tell me what you like, and I'll tell you what you are." So, what do your children like? What projects capture their attention? In what topics are they delightfully lost? Numbers? Colors? Activities? Alert parents ask these questions.

They also ask about a child’s optimal learning conditions. Pine trees need different soil than oak trees. A cactus thrives in different conditions than a rosebush. What about the soil and the environment of your child? Some kids love to be noticed. Others prefer to hide in the crowd. Some relish deadlines. Others need ample preparation and help. Some do well taking tests. Others excel at a particular subject, but stumble through exams. The late Rush Limbaugh received a “D” in public speaking, but he relished speaking into a radio microphone that attracted millions. The West Point algebra entrance exam nearly excluded Omar Bradley from military life. He squeaked into the academy in the next-to-lowest group but went on to earn the rank of a five-star general and oversee thousands of troops and millions of dollars in World War II. We each have different optimal conditions. What are your child’s?

Finally, some kids are born to lead; others are born to follow. When it comes to relationships, what phrase best describes your child? "Follow me, everyone." Or "I'll let you know if I need some help." Maybe, "Can we do this together?" Or perhaps, "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it." Don't characterize loners as aloof, or crowd seekers as arrogant. They may just be living out their story. So, find out what gives your child that satisfaction. Do they love the journey or the goal? Do they like to keep things straight or straighten things out? What thrills one person bothers another. The apostle Peter liked to keep the boat steady while Paul was prone to rock it. Childhood tendencies forecast adult abilities, and you’ve been given a book with no title – so read it. You’ve been given a playlist with no description – so listen to it. Like an island with no owner – go explore it. Resist the urge to label before you study.

What story do you read in your children? Uncommon are the parents who attempt to learn – and blessed are their children. God doesn't give parents manuscripts to write, but personalities to decode. Study your kids while you can; it’s never too late. The greatest gift you can give your children is not your riches, but revealing to them their own.

Grace,

Randy

God Does Big Things with Small Deeds

 

God Does Big Things with Small Deeds

God Does Big Things with Small Deeds - Audio/Visual 

Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin. (Zechariah 4:10)

World War II had utterly destroyed Germany, and citizens were desperate for supplies. Russia had reduced Berlin's buildings to skeletons and sought to do the same to the German people. Russia blockaded food-bearing trucks, trains and boats, and without help the city would soon starve to death. The United States and British militaries responded with the 1948 Berlin airlift. For eleven months, these allies airdropped tons of food to the 2.5 million West Berliners who had been stranded by the Russion occupation. Gail Halvorsen piloted one of those planes for the United States.

After landing in Berlin one day, the twenty-seven-year-old Halvorsen talked with thirty or so German children through a barbed-wire fence. Though hungry and needy, they neither begged nor complained. Impressed, Halvorsen reached into his pocket, produced two sticks of gum, broke them in half and handed the pieces through the wire. "Those kids looked like they had just received a million bucks," he remembered. "They put that tiny piece of paper to their noses and smelled the aroma. They were on cloud nine. I stood there dumbfounded." Touched by their plight, Halvorsen promised to return the next day and drop more gum from his plane. But with supply flights landing every half hour or so, the children asked how they'd recognize him. "I'll wiggle my wings," he replied.

Halvorsen returned to Rhein-Main Air Force Base and bought gum and candy rations from his buddies. He tied the sweets to tiny handkerchief parachutes, loaded them on his C-54 transport and, true to his word, wiggled his wings over West Berlin. Kids in the city streets spotted their friend and ran to gather the falling candy. And with that, Operation Little Vittles began. Momentum mounted quickly. Within three weeks the Air Force had sanctioned the crusade, and during the following months U.S. planes dropped three tons of candy on the city. Halvorsen became known as Uncle Wiggly Wings.

Do small deeds make big differences? Halvorsen thinks so. Of greater importance, Jesus does, too. He says: "The Kingdom of Heaven is like a mustard seed planted in a field. It is the smallest of all seeds, but it becomes the largest of garden plants and grows into a tree where birds can come and find shelter in its branches." Jesus followed with this additional illustration: "The Kingdom of Heaven is like yeast used by a woman making bread. Even though she used a large amount [three measures] of flour, the yeast permeated every part of the dough." (Matt. 13:31-33)

Original listeners caught on quickly to the word pictures Jesus used in the parable because they knew about mustard seeds and leaven lumps. Both were small. For instance, a mustard seed is the size of a small freckle (it takes 750 of them to weigh the same as a paperclip), and the leaven Jesus was describing would have been no larger than the end of your thumb. Yet a tiny mustard seed can erupt and reach for the clouds, growing to three times an average person’s height, boasting bushy branches large enough to house a homeless flock of birds. And a pinch of fermented dough can feed forty people three meals a day for several days. What begins minutely ends massively.

Maybe the early church needed that reminder because what power does a tiny manger and a bloody cross carry in a forest of Jewish tradition and Greek philosophy? How can a backwoods movement headed up by a rural carpenter gain traction in a religious world dominated by Epicureans, Stoics and Gnostics? That’s like a Volkswagen trying to compete in the Daytona 500.

We, at times, fear the smallness of Jesus' story; that our puny efforts will only bear tiny results. And that fear can keep us from seed sowing. For instance, can the Sunday school account of Jesus hold its own in the Ivy League? Do terms like "sin," "salvation" and "redemption" stand a chance against today’s humanism and relativism? Apparently, they do because where are the Romans who crucified Christ, or the Epicureans who demeaned and debated Paul, or the Gnostics who mocked the early church? And the great temples of Corinth? They dwarfed the new church but do worshipers still sacrifice to Zeus? No, but believers still sing to Jesus. God does uncommon works through common deeds.

A survivor of Hurricane Katrina recounted that as the water rose around his house, this New Orleanian had to swim out of a window. With two children clinging to his back, the man eventually found safe refuge atop the tallest building in his neighborhood. Other people soon joined him on the roof. Eventually, a small circle of people huddled together on what would be their home for the next three days until they were rescued. After an hour on the building, the man realized he was perched on top of a church. He patted the rooftop and announced to the others, "We’re on holy ground, friends."

His news jogged the memory of another roof-dweller. She looked around at the area, crawled over to the steeple, hugged it and proclaimed, "My grandfather and grandmother helped build this church!" Now, do you think those grandparents ever imagined God would use their work to save their granddaughter from a flood? They surely prayed for God to use that building to save souls, but they couldn't have imagined he would use it to save their grandchild from a hurricane. Those grandparents had no idea how God would use the work of their hands. And neither do you.

What difference do small, selfless deeds make? Do you ever wonder if your work really makes a difference? At all? I'm envisioning a believer at the crossroads – one recently impacted by God somehow; maybe that’s you. The divine spark within is beginning to flame but do you douse it, or fan it? Dare you dream that you can actually make a difference? God's answer would be, "Just do something and see what happens." That's what he told the citizens of ancient Jerusalem.

For sixteen years the temple of God lay in ruins. They had abandoned the work. The reason? Opposition from enemies, and indifference from neighbors. But most of all, the job simply dwarfed them. To build the first temple, Solomon needed seventy thousand carriers, eighty thousand stonecutters, thirty-three hundred foremen, and seven years. A gargantuan task. The workers must have thought, “What difference will my work make?” God's answer: "Do not despise these small beginnings, for the LORD rejoices to see the work begin." (Zech. 4:10) Begin. See it? That’s it! Just begin. Just start. What may seem small to you might be huge for someone else. Just ask Bohn Fawkes.

Since we’re talking about World War II, Lt. Col. Fawkes piloted a B-17 during the war. On one of his missions, he sustained flak from Nazi anti-aircraft guns. Even though his gas tanks were hit, the plane didn’t explode, and Fawkes was able to land the plane safely.

On the morning following the raid, Fawkes asked his crew chief for the German shell. He wanted to keep a souvenir of his incredibly good fortune. The crew chief explained that not just one, but eleven 20-millimeter shells had been found in the gas tanks, none of which had exploded. Technicians later opened the shells and found them devoid of an explosive charge. They were harmless and, with one exception, empty. The exception contained a carefully rolled piece of paper in the shell. On it a message had been scrawled in Czech. The note read: "This is all we can do for you now." A courageous assembly-line worker was disarming the shells and had scribbled the note. He couldn't end the war, but he could save one plane. He couldn't do everything, but he could do something. So, he did what he could.

God does big things with small deeds. Against a towering giant, pebbles from a brook seem futile. But God used them to topple Goliath. Compared to the tithes of the wealthy, a widow's two coins seem puny – they were, combined, about ¼ of a penny by today’s standards. But Jesus used them to inspire us. And in contrast with sophisticated priests and powerful Roman rulers, a cross-suspended carpenter seemed nothing but a waste of a life, or wood. Few mourned his death, and only a handful of friends were around to bury his body. The people quickly turned their attention back to the temple. And why not? What power does a buried rabbi have? Well, we know the answer. Mustard-seed and leaven-lump power. Power to rise from the dead. Power to change history.

In the hands of God, small seeds grow into sheltering trees. Tiny leaven expands into nourishing loaves. Small deeds can, and do, change the world. So, sow the mustard seed. Bury the leaven lump. Make the call. Write the check. Organize the committee. Drop some gum from your airplane. Sixty years from now another soldier might follow your example. Chief Wiggles did. No, not Uncle Wiggly Wings of West Berlin fame, but Chief Wiggles of Iraq.

Like Halvorsen, his story begins with a child at a fence. And like the candy bomber, his work began by giving one gift. He noticed a little girl crying on the other side of a stretch of barbed wire in Baghdad. "She was obviously very poor, in her tattered old dress, totally worn-out plastic flip-flops, her hair matted against her head indicating she hadn't had a bath in a long time and her skin blistered from the dirt and weather." The soldier remembered some toys in his office, so he hurried and brought the girl a toothbrush, a whistle, and a toy monkey. As he gave the gifts, "her eyes lit up with such joy." He posted this experience on his Weblog and thousands of people responded asking where they could send gifts. Operation Give was born. And the soldier inherited Halvorsen's nick-name – “Chief Wiggles."

Moses had a staff. David had a sling. Samson had a jawbone. Rahab had a string. Mary had some ointment. Aaron had a rod. Dorcas had a needle. All were used by God. So, what do you have? God inhabits the tiny seed and empowers the tiny deed. John Wesley, the 18^th Century founder of the Methodist church said, "Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can." Never discount the smallness of your deeds. In God’s hands, who knows how big they’ll grow.

Grace,

Randy