Call Him Daddy

 

Call Him Daddy

Call Him Daddy - Audio/Visual 

And when you come before God, don’t turn that into a theatrical production either. All these people are making a regular show out of their prayers, hoping for stardom! Do you think God sits in a box seat? Here’s what I want you to do: find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace. The world is full of so-called prayer warriors who are prayer ignorant. They’re full of formulas, programs, and advice, peddling techniques for getting what you want from God. Don’t fall for that nonsense. This is your Father you’re dealing with, and he knows better than you what you need. With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply. (Matt. 6:5-8; MSG)

When my oldest daughter was eight, she flubbed a wide-open goal on the pitch. She went on to become a terrific high school soccer player and was even offered a scholarship to play at a Southern California university. But everyone has an off day – she just happened to have hers in front of family, friends and onlookers at an international soccer tournament. Her performance started well; she dribbled and deked up the field like Mia Hamm. But just prior to taking her shot on goal, her efforts took a header, and she missed wide right at what was, essentially, a wide-open goal. I can still see her staring straight ahead, eyes betrayed by what a right foot that had trained countless hours knew how to do.

The silence in the stadium was broken only by the pounding of my heart. “That’s alright, Punkin;’ it can happen to anyone,” I said to myself. But the damage had been done. She looked at her coach, chin quivering and eyes tearing. The audience offered compassionate applause. She stayed in the game, but her heart just wasn’t in it. By the end of the game, I’d left my seat and met her on the sidelines. She threw her arms around me and buried her face in my shirt. "Oh, Dad." I picked her up and bear-hugged her with affection. If a hug could have extracted embarrassment, that one would have. At that moment I would have given her the moon and all she said was, "Oh, Dad." Prayer starts there.

Prayer begins with an honest, heartfelt "Oh, Daddy." Jesus taught us to begin our prayers by saying, "Our Father in heaven." (Matt. 6:9) More specifically, to begin with “Our Abba in heaven." Abba is an intimate, tender, folksy term and is the warmest of Aramaic words for "father." It is formality stripped away, and proximity promised. Jesus invites us to approach God the way a child approaches his or her daddy. And how do children approach their daddies? Well, I went to a local school playground a few years back to find out. Upon arrival, I found a spot on the bench under a tree and took a few notes.

Most of the kids were picked up by their moms that day, but there were enough dads who had carpool duty for me to complete my research. When a five-year-old boy with a Superman backpack spotted his father in the parking lot, he shouted "Yippee!" "Ice creeeeaaaam!" said another, apparently referring to a promise made by the dad to his red-headed daughter. "Pops! Over here! Push me!" yelled a boy wearing a Padres hat. I heard requests, like "Daddy, can Tommy come home with me? His mom is on a trip, and he doesn't want to hang out with his big sister because she won't let him watch TV and makes him eat . . . ." His mouth was like a broken fire hydrant – the words just didn’t stop. I also heard questions like, "Are we going home?" And I heard excitement, too, "Dad! Look at what I did!"

Here's what I didn't hear: "Father, it is most gracious of thee to drive thy car to my place of education and provide me with domestic transportation. Please accept my deepest gratitude for your benevolence. For thou art splendid in thy attentive care and diligent in thy dedication." I didn’t hear that. I didn't hear formality or impressive vocabulary. I heard kids who were happy to see their dads and eager to talk. God invites us to approach him in the same way. And that’s a big relief because I think a lot of us fear “mis-praying.”

For instance, what is the expected etiquette and dress code of prayer? What if I kneel instead of stand? What if I say the wrong words, or use the wrong tone? Am I apostate if I say "prostate" instead of "prostrate"? Jesus' answer? "Unless you are converted and become like little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven." (Matt. 18:3) We are to become like little children – carefree; joy-filled; playful; trusting; curious, and excited. Forget greatness; seek littleness. Trust more, and strut less. Make lots of requests and accept all the gifts. Come to God the way a child comes to his or her dad.

Daddy. The very word takes aim at our pride. Other salutations permit an air of sophistication. You know, deepen the tone of voice, and pause for dramatic effect. "O holy Lord . . . ." I allow the words to reverberate throughout the universe as I, the pontiff of petition, pontificate my prayer. "God, you are my King, and I am your prince." “You are the Maestro, and I am your minstrel." "You are the President, and I am your ambassador." But God prefers this greeting: "God, you’re my Daddy, and I’m your child." And here's why: it's hard to call God “Daddy” and show off all at the same time. In fact, it’s impossible.

And maybe that’s the point. Elsewhere, Jesus gives this instruction: "And when you come before God, don’t turn that into a theatrical production either. All these people are making a regular show out of their prayers, hoping for stardom! Do you think God sits in a box seat?" (Matt. 6:5) Religious leaders of Jesus’ day loved (and still love) to make theater out of their prayers. They perched themselves at intersections and practiced public piety. Their show nauseated Jesus. "Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace." (Matt. 6:6)

These words probably stunned Jesus' audience. Prayer, they likely assumed, was reserved for special people in a special place. God met with the priest in the temple, behind the curtain in the Holy of Holies. The people, on the other hand, were simple farmers and craftsmen – folks of the land and the earth. They couldn't enter the temple, but they could enter their closets: “But you, when you pray, enter your closet, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in secret.” (Id.)

In the Palestinian culture of Jesus’ time, the room most likely to have a door was the storage closet. It held tools, seed and farming supplies. A chicken might even wander in occasionally. There was nothing holy about the closet. It was the day-to-day workroom of its time. For instance, my closet doesn’t have any fancy fixtures or impressive furniture. It has a cubby for my shoes (used on a hit-or-miss basis), a dirty-clothes hamper (more hit than miss), and shirts, pants, suits and ties. But I don't entertain guests in my closet. You'll never hear me tell visitors after dinner, "Hey, why don't we step into my closet for a chat?" I prefer the living room or family room, instead; even my study. But God apparently likes to chat in the closet. Why? Because he's low on fancy, and high on accessibility.

To pray at the Vatican can be very meaningful, but prayers offered at home carry just as much weight as prayers offered in Rome. Or you could travel to the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem if you wanted to, but a prayer at your backyard fence is just as effective. The One who hears your prayers is your Daddy. You don’t have to woo him with your location, or wow him with your eloquence. But Jesus wasn’t finished there. "The world is full of so-called prayer warriors who are prayer ignorant. They’re full of formulas, programs, and advice, peddling techniques for getting what you want from God. Don’t fall for that nonsense. This is your Father you’re dealing with, and he knows better than you what you need. With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply." (Matt. 6:7-8)

Jesus downplayed the importance of words in prayers. Unfortunately, we tend to do the opposite. The more words, the better. The better the words the better, for that matter. For instance, Muslim prayers, however impressive, must be properly recited at each of the five appointed times during the day. Hindu and Buddhist prayers, however profound, depend upon the repetition of mantras, words and syllables. Even branches of the Christian faith emphasize the appropriate prayer language, the latest prayer trend, and the holiest prayer terminology. Against all this emphasis on syllables and rituals, Jesus says, "Don't fall for that nonsense." (Matt. 6:7) Vocabulary and geography might impress people, but it doesn’t impress God.

The truth is that there’s no panel of angelic judges with numbered cards saying, "Wow, that prayer was a ten. God will definitely hear that one!" Or "Ugh, that was pretty bad. Couldn’t you have done just a little bit better? You only scored a two on that one this morning; you’d better go home and practice." Prayers aren't given style points, and prayer isn’t a competition. Just as a happy child cannot mis-hug a parent, the sincere heart cannot mis-pray. Heaven knows, life has enough burdens without the burden of having to pray correctly. Frankly, if prayer depended on how I pray, then I'm sunk. But if the power of prayer depends on the One who hears it, and if the One who hears the prayer is my Daddy, then I have hope. And so do you.

Prayer really is that simple. So, resist the urge to complicate it. Don't take undue pride in well-crafted prayers, and don't apologize for incoherent ones, either. No games. No cover-ups. Just be honest – honest to God. Climb into his lap. Tell him everything that’s on your heart, or tell him nothing at all. Just lift your heart to heaven and declare, “Daddy,” because sometimes "Daddy" is all we can muster. Stress. Fear. Guilt. Grief. Demands on all sides. Sometimes all we can summon is a plaintive, "Oh, Dad." If so, that's enough.

It was for my daughter; she uttered only two words, and I wrapped her in my arms because I hurt for her breaking heart. And your heavenly Father will do the same; all you have to do is call His name and he simply asks you to call him Daddy.

Grace,

Randy

Hip Pocket Prayer

 

Hip Pocket Prayer

Hip Pocket Prayer - Audio/Visual 

Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need and thank him for all he’s done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus. (Phil. 4:6-7)

I'm a recovering prayer wimp. I doze off when I pray. My thoughts zig, then zag, then zig-zag back again. Distractions swarm like moths drawn to a summer flame. If attention deficit disorder applies to prayer, then I’m afflicted. When I pray, I think of a thousand things I need to do, and I forget the one thing I actually wanted to do: pray. Some excel in prayer – they inhale heaven and exhale God. They’re the Seal Team Six of intercession; they’d rather pray than sleep. Me? Prayer is a sleep-inducement aid.

It's not that we don't pray at all. We all pray some. On tear-stained pillows we pray. In grand liturgies we pray. At the sight of geese in flight, or a sunrise or an eclipse? We pray. In fact, this week alone, more of us will pray than will exercise or go to work. Surveys indicate that even one in five unbelievers pray daily. Why? Just in case? We pray to stay sober, centered or solvent. We pray when the lump is deemed malignant; when the money runs out before the month does; when the unborn baby hasn't kicked in a while. We all pray . . . some. But wouldn't we all like to pray more? Deeper? Stronger? With more fire, faith or fervency? Probably.

But we have kids to feed, bills to pay and deadlines to meet. The calendar pounces on our good intentions like a starving coyote on a skittering Ramona cottontail. We want to pray, but when? We want to pray, but why? We might as well admit it. Prayer is just a little odd; it’s … well … it’s weird.

Speaking into space. Lifting words into the sky. We can't even get the cable company to answer us, but God will? The doctor is too busy, but God isn't? We have our doubts about prayer. And we have our checkered history with the whole experience: unmet expectations and unanswered requests. We can barely genuflect because of the scar tissue on our knees. God, to some, is the ultimate heartbreaker. Why keep tossing the coins of our longings into a silent fountain? He jilted me once, but not again.

The good news is that we aren't the first to struggle with this subject. The sign-up sheet for Prayer 101 contains some pretty familiar names like the apostles John, James, Andrew and Peter. When one of Jesus' disciples requested, "Lord, teach us to pray" (Luke 11:1), none of the others apparently objected. No one walked away saying, "Naw, I’ve got that prayer thing figured out." It’s because the first followers of Jesus needed some prayer guidance, too.

In fact, the only tutorial they ever requested was on prayer. They could have asked for instructions on a lot of topics like bread multiplying, speech making or storm stilling. Jesus raised people from the dead so why not a "How to Empty the Cemetery" seminar? His followers never asked for one of those. But they did want him to do this: "Lord, teach us to pray." Could their interest have had anything to do with the jaw-dropping, eye-popping promises Jesus attached to prayer? "Ask and it will be given to you." (Matt. 7:7) "If you believe, you will get anything you ask for in prayer." (Matt. 21:22)

Jesus never attached that kind of power to other endeavors. "Plan and it will be given to you." Or "You will get anything you work for." Those words aren’t in the Bible. But these are – “If you remain in me and follow my teachings, you can ask anything you want, and it will be given to you." (John 15:7) Jesus gave some pretty stunning prayer promises.

And he set a compelling prayer example. Jesus prayed before he ate. He prayed for children. He prayed for the sick. He prayed with thanks. He prayed with tears. He made the planets and shaped the stars, yet he prayed. He’s the Lord of angels and the Commander of heavenly hosts, yet he prayed. He’s the exact representation of the Holy One, but he devoted himself to prayer. He prayed in the desert, in the cemetery and in the garden. "He went out and departed to a solitary place; and there he prayed." (Mark 1:35) In fact, it may have been a pretty common conversation among his friends when they said, "Hey, has anyone seen Jesus?" "Yeah. He's doing that again." "Doing what? Praying?” "Yep, he’s been gone since sunrise." In fact, Jesus would even disappear for an entire night of prayer. Remember that?

He'd just experienced one of the most stressful days of his ministry. The day began with the news of the murder of his cousin, John the Baptist. Jesus sought to get away with his disciples, but a crowd of thousands followed him. Though grief-stricken, he spent the entire day teaching and healing people. And when they discovered that the people had no food to eat, Jesus multiplied bread out of a basket and fed the entire multitude. So, in the span of just a few hours, Jesus battled sorrow, stress, demands and needs. He deserved a good night's rest. Yet when evening finally came, he told the crowd to leave and the disciples to board their boat so that he could go “up into the hills by himself to pray." (Mark 6:46)

Apparently, it was the right choice. A storm exploded over the Sea of Galilee that night, leaving the disciples "in trouble far away from land, for a strong wind had risen, and they were fighting heavy waves. About three o'clock in the morning Jesus came toward them, walking on the water." (Matt. 14:24-25) Jesus ascended the mountain depleted, and he reappeared at 3:00 a.m. invigorated because when he reached the water, he never broke stride. I can barely keep my eyes open at 3:00 a.m. You'd have thought the water was a park lawn and the storm a spring breeze. Is that when the disciples made the prayer-power connection? "Lord, teach us to pray like that. Teach us to find strength in prayer; banish fear in prayer; defy storms in prayer; come off a mountain of prayer with the authority of a king."

Then, the disciples faced angry waves and a watery grave. Now, you face angry clients, a turbulent electorate, and raging seas of stress and sorrow. "Lord," we still ask, "teach us to pray." And when the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray, he gave them a prayer. Not a lecture on prayer. Not the doctrine of prayer. He gave them a quotable, repeatable, portable prayer. (Luke 11:1-4)

It seems to me that the prayers of the Bible can be distilled into one. The result is a simple, easy-to-remember (at least for me), hip pocket-sized prayer: “Father, you are good. I need help. Please help me and forgive me. They need help; please help them, too. Thank you, God. In Jesus' name. Amen.” When applied, for instance, as you begin your morning, it’s like, “Father, you are good.” And as you commute to work, or walk the hallways at school, it’s “I need help.” And as you wait in the grocery line, you note that “They need help; help them, too.” A prayer in your hip pocket as you pass the day.

Prayer, for most of us, is not a matter of a month-long retreat, or even an hour of meditation. Prayer is a conversation with God while driving to work or waiting for an appointment or before interacting with a client. It doesn’t have to be lengthy. It could be like Peter’s prayer, “Lord, save me,” when he found himself sinking after water-walking at Jesus’ invitation to “come.” (Matt. 14:30) Nehemiah’s prayer couldn’t have lasted more than a nanosecond when the King, seeing Nehemiah’s despondency, asked him what he could do to help his cupbearer in distress. (Neh. 2:4)

This much is sure, however: God will teach you to pray. Don't think for a minute that he’s glaring at you from a distance with arms crossed and a scowl, waiting for you to get your prayer life together. It’s just the opposite. "Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in and eat with you, and you will eat with me." (Rev. 3:20) Jesus is waiting on the porch. He’s standing at your threshold. He’s tapping on your door. He’s whispering your name. He’s waiting for you to pick up the phone.

Prayer is answering that ringtone. It’s opening that door. Prayer is the hand of faith on the door handle of your heart. That willing pull. That happy welcome to Jesus: "The kitchen’s a little messy, Lord, but come on in." Or "I didn't clean up much, but here I am, Jesus." Even, "I'm not much of a conversationalist, but let’s talk."

I may be a prayer wimp, but I’m a recovering prayer wimp. Not where I want to be, but not where I was. My time in prayer has become my time of power. My simple prayer has become a cherished friend. Its phrases linger in my thoughts like a favorite song. Father, you are good. I need help. Please help me and forgive me. They need help; please help them, too. Thank you. In Jesus' name. Amen.

When we invite God into our world, he walks in and he brings a host of gifts with him, too. Gifts like joy, patience, resilience. Anxieties come, but they don't stay. Fears surface and then depart. Regrets land on the windshield, but then comes the wiper of prayer. The devil still hands me rocks of guilt, but I turn and give them to Jesus. Struggles come, for sure, but so does God. We speak. He listens. He speaks. We listen. That’s prayer in its purest form. God changes his people through moments like these.

Prayer is not a privilege for the pious, or an art form of the chosen few. Prayer is simply a heartfelt conversation between God and his child. He wants to talk with you. Even now, as you read these words, he’s knocking on your door. So, why don’t you open it? Welcome him in. Let the conversation begin. You’ll never know where the conversation will lead, but he does because he knows the way. Or as former Prime Minister Ben Chifley told the House of Commons in 1947 during a tax debate, the hip pocket nerve is the most sensitive nerve in the entire body. If true, then maybe that’s the perfect place for a hip pocket prayer.

Grace,

Randy

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