Body, Mind and Soul

Treat your body like a temple, not a woodshed. The mind and body work together. Your body needs to be a good support system for the mind and spirit. If you take good care of it, your body can take you wherever you want to go, with the power and strength and energy and vitality you will need to get there.

Creativity

Creativity is so delicate a flower that praise tends to make it bloom, while discouragement often nips it in the bud. Any of us will put out more and better ideas if our efforts are appreciated

- Alexander F. Osborn

Young Boy Underestimates His Father's Generosity

One time, my dad wanted to congratulate me on something I had accomplished in the sixth grade. He took me to K-Mart and made a wide sweeping gesture with his hand toward the whole store from the entrance. He said, "To congratulate you, I'll buy you anything in this whole store tonight." My eyes widened as I thought of the possibilities.
At the time, I didn't have a full grasp on how money worked or how much money Dad had. So I sort of limited things in my mind. I didn't even look at the huge stereo systems, expensive bikes, or anything that cost more than one hundred dollars. Instead, I chose a cassette tape case that was less than fifty dollars. I was content with just that case. It was more than I could afford myself, for sure, so I chose that one. It was nice. Only many years later did I find out from Dad that he had one thousand dollars cash in his pocket that night. What's more, he brought his cheque book just in case that wasn't enough. In my selection, I limited his blessing in my life.
Imagine how much God has in his pocket for you. You don't ask God for all the spiritual power you could because you forget that you are his child. Like me and my earthly father, you don't realize all he could do for you, in you, and through you.

Steve DeNeff and David Drury, Soul Shift (Wesleyan Publishing House, 2011), p. 55

Neighbour Helps Rescue an Uncooperative Cat

A year or two ago my friend Linda's cat escaped. It was cold and rainy, and that cat would not come home. Not for three days! The cat wasn't exactly lost; Linda knew where it was—a good 20 feet up a tree right outside the back of the house. But that little critter would not come down. So another friend named Jim took a long extension ladder over to help, and he called me for my unique expertise—ladder-holding in the rain. That cat probably hadn't eaten in three days. It was cold and scared, but when Jim finally got up there, that cat was not glad to see him. It was downright hostile. In fact, the only way Jim got the cat down was to put a towel over its head and pry its claws out of the tree. Jim did all the rescuing. All the cat did was finally let go of the tree.
Salvation is often a lot like that—it is when we finally let go. None of us can look to Jesus, remembering our rescue, and say, "We made a good team, didn't we!"

source unknown

Atheist Flabbergasted by a Church's Love

Patrick Greene of San Antonio, Texas, has had a long history of disliking and combating Christians. At one point Greene, an outspoken local atheist, threatened to sue Henderson County about the yearly manger display at the courthouse. "My wife and I had never had a Christian do anything nice for us," Greene said in a local newspaper interview.
But all of that changed in March of 2012 when the 63-year-old Greene learned that he needed surgery for a detached retina. Greene didn't have money to pay for the surgery, and he had to give up his cab driving job. When Jessica Crye, a member of Sand Springs Baptist Church, heard about Greene's situation, she told her pastor, Eric Graham, who then called Greene. Greene said, "If you really want to contribute something, we need groceries."
Greene thought that if anything, he'd see $50, or at most $100. But a few days later, the church sent a check for $400. More checks soon followed. The flabbergasted Greene said, "I thought I was in the Twilight Zone. These people are acting like what the Bible says a Christian does."
Now, rather than try to remove the manger display, Greene said he would like to add his contribution—a star for the top of the Nativity scene. However, Greene added, "You people can figure out how to plug it in."

Rich Flowers, "Atheist 'flabbergasted' by Christians' assistance," Athens Review 20 March 2012

Father Takes a Needle for His Fearful Son

Recently I was sitting in a doctor's office with one of my young sons, and the nurse wanted to draw blood from him for a test. As you can imagine, he did not want to have blood taken from him. Who does? So he told me, "Dad, I can't do it. I just can't do it."
The nurse said, "Here's the deal, buddy. We've got this numbing spray. We'll spray the numbing spray on you, and then we'll stick the needle in you, and you won't even feel it."
But my son kept saying, "I can't do it. I can't do it."
Finally I said to the nurse, "Ma'am, I know what I'm about to ask you may be out of bounds, but can you stick me first? Can you do it without the numbing spray? I just need to show my son."
She said, "Yes, I'll do it. We'll keep this between us."
So I put my son on my lap, and I said, "Watch Daddy." I rolled up my sleeve and stuck my arm out. Then the nurse stuck me and drew blood. A smile came over my son's face. Yes, he was still a little nervous, but when he saw that Daddy already went through what he was about to go through, with no numbing spray, he stuck his arm out. It gave him courage.
In the same way, when you find yourself in the midst of hard times, look to the place where they drew Jesus' blood. Look to the cross, and there you will find rest for your souls.

Bryan Loritts, from a sermon entitled, "The Great Exchange"

Visually Impaired Woman Ignores Her Guide Dog

In his book Resolving Everyday Conflict, Ken Sande tells about observing a visually impaired woman who resisted the repeated warnings of her loyal and protective guide dog:

One day during my morning run I noticed a blind woman walking on the other side of the street with her Seeing Eye dog, a beautiful golden retriever. As I was about to pass them, I noticed a car blocking a driveway a few paces ahead of them. At that moment the dog paused and gently pressed his shoulder against the woman's leg, signalling her to turn aside so they could get around the car.

I'm sure she normally followed his lead, but that day she didn't seem to trust him. She had probably walked this route many times before and knew this was not the normal place to make a turn. Whatever the cause, she wouldn't move to the side and instead gave him the signal to move ahead. He again pressed his shoulder against her leg, trying to guide her on a safe path. She angrily ordered [the dog] to go forward. When he again declined, her temper flared.

I was about to speak up … when the dog once more put his shoulder gently against her leg. Sure enough, she kicked him …. And then she impulsively stepped forward—and bumped square into a car. Reaching out to feel the shape in front of her, she immediately realised what had happened. Dropping to her knees, she threw her arms around the dog, and spoke sobbing words into his ear.

Ken Sande, Resolving Everyday Conflict (Baker Books, 2011), pp. 99-100

A Father's Risk and a Mother's Love

In a short devotional for Christian Standard magazine, Paul Williams writes about an unusually bumpy flight he once had from Philadelphia to Long Island. Being a frequent flyer, Williams wasn't all that concerned as the plane was batted around in the sky. Others, however, were grabbing onto their armrests or steadying themselves on the seat back in front of them. While observing the reactions of his fellow passengers, Williams took notice of one young mother caring for her baby. He watched as she "wrapped her arms around her infant and pulled the child very close to her breast. Then she dropped her chin, rested it on the back of the child's head, and began to sing ever so quietly, 'Hush, Little Baby.'" The moment caused him to reflect on Christmas, of all things. He writes:
Helpless fragility is the lot of the infant. Those early days leave a lasting impression on the human psyche we never really resolve. That vulnerability stays with us all of our days, reminding us of the seemingly capricious nature of things—a bitter world that does not care if we exist.
But then God came—as an infant, unable to reach out and steady himself on the seat back in front of him, fully trusting a human, fallible mother to pull him close to her breast through the pitching, shaking nature of things.
What an extraordinary risk, to trust the infant of God to a frightened young girl.
But then again—watching that new mother sing to her child all the way through the turbulent skies to the welcoming runway—I realized God knew good and well what he was doing. The power of love trumps fear, rewards risk, and brings meaning and life to an otherwise frightening world. Over and over again.
For a God who would become powerless for love, and to a mother who sings softly in her infant's ear, I give my heart for Christmas, wholly amazed at the wonder of it all.

Man Gives to Beggar for Wrong Reason

Author Ed Dobson wrote a book titled The Year of Living Like Jesus, in which he tells the story in diary form of how he tried to live as Jesus lived and as Jesus taught for a year. On day thirteen of month one, he records this story:

My wife and I drove to Key West. I decided to take a day off from reading. As we walked past a restaurant on Duvall Street, a man, who'd obviously been drinking, called from the steps: "Hey, could spare some change so I can get something to eat?"

I've heard that line a lot, and I know a number of responses. First, you can simply ignore such people. After all, he will most likely use whatever money you give him to buy more alcohol, and, therefore, you'd be enabling his habit. Second, you can offer to take him to a restaurant to buy him something to eat. In most cases the person will not go because he mainly wants the money to buy alcohol. Third, you can point him to an organisation that provides meals for the homeless. Many such organisations exist in most cities.

What did my wife and I do? We walked past the man without doing anything, as we have done with so many other people over the years. After all, it's not our fault that he is where he is.

But after we'd walked on a little farther, he called after us, "Can you help a Vietnam vet?" My youngest son is a veteran, and I deeply respect those who have served their country in that way. So I stopped, walked back to him, and gave him a dollar. At that moment I remembered the words of Jesus: "Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you." It's as simple as that—give to the one who asks. He asked. I had an obligation to give.

As I walked down the street, a wonderful peace came over me because I felt I'd actually obeyed one of Jesus' teachings. I knew he'd probably use it to buy more alcohol and that I probably hadn't made the wisest choice. And I also knew that a dollar wasn't really going to help him. But I had no other choice. He asked and I was obligated.

Still, what caused me to give him the money was not really my responsibility to follow Jesus, but the fact that he was a veteran. So after my initial euphoria, I realised I had done the Jesus thing for the wrong reasons.

Ed Dobson, The Year of Living Like Jesus (Zondervan, 2010), pp. 24-25

Visit to Homeless Shelter Teaches Woman a Lesson in Thanks

Spending an evening at a shelter for homeless women was not my idea, but when a friend asked, I was perfectly willing to tag along.
Although the winter was still young, the cold was harsh. I nearly ran from the comfort of our car to the warmth of the church annex that had, for years, opened its doors as a refuge from the night.
The director, Christy, efficiently assigned tasks—to set the floor with foam mats and blankets as one would set a table, to lay out on a buffet table plastic forks, paper plates, and the donated leftovers that filled the refrigerator. When the women arrived, we would help serve the food.
Christy assured me that most of the women, the "regulars," had spent the day inside at one of several centers, but there were always the few who just appeared—seeming to have no history more concrete than their names.
My three hours at the shelter were not filled with dramatic scenes. From a corner of the large sleeping area, I helped serve dinner to 30 women who ate their substantial but bland meal, sitting cross-legged on their sleeping mats. Except for two boisterously irrational women, they talked little. By nine o'clock, many were bedding down for the night.
"Homeless." As I did the dishes, still within sight of the women, the word took on a personal meaning. These women slept here, but every morning when they left, they had to carry their possessions with them.
Suddenly I was overwhelmed with gratitude for my nightgowns, for my very own pillow, for my hand-picked dining room chairs. "Lord," I silently prayed as I walked to Christy's office to say good night, "thank you. Thank you—that I'm not one of them."
Christy met me in the hallway and interrupted my pharisaical thoughts with her own gratitude for my help. I asked her about certain women who had caught my attention.
Routy Rachel, Christy explained, had a Ph.D. in art history. Gradually her mind had slipped out of her own grasp. Ester, who had talked to herself all evening, was the mother of five children. She was a midwestern farmer's wife—until her life crumbled around her. Christy didn't know much about Carol, who had lain on her back for more than an hour, reading her King James Bible. Marla, who had seemed sullen, was a trained soprano who occasionally enjoyed serenading the rest of the group.
Only after I walked back out into the night air did the women's stories unsettle me. Their paths had too much in common with mine. In a sense, I was one of them: A mother's daughter. Vulnerable. A sinner in need of grace. …
Since then I have been more aware of the uprooted Vietnamese, Cambodian, and Latin American refugees who live in my neighborhood, who ride my bus. War, political change, economic collapse—conditions over which they had no control—destroyed their lifestyle and stole their ability to communicate easily and thus to work efficiently. My thoughts have frightened me. My comfortable world, my secure home, is not guaranteed.
At the sight of the outstretched hand of a city beggar, I have always grown uncomfortable. Until recently, I have thought it was because of Jesus' warning in Matthew 25:45: "Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these [the hungry, thirsty, unclothed, homeless], you did not do for me."
But since I spent an evening at the women's shelter, I see that Matthew 25 is only the partial cause of my discomfort. I am uncomfortable because I see the beggar as myself—or my very own brother or mother or father. And I cannot think of a homeless or hungry woman in such personal terms without a reversal in the way I give my thanks.
The difference between "Thank you that I'm not one of them" and "Thank you for the grace you have shown to me, and help me to mirror your grace to others" may, at first, seem slight. But the second is for me a wholly new mindset that makes me want to reach out, that reduces my discomfort around those who have less than I, and, surprisingly, that reduces my fear of a future that is unknown. Why? Because even though I know I have no insurance policy against war and famine or sickness, I know I have a God who does not forget his own. And for that I thank him also.

Evelyn Bence, "Two Kinds of Thanks," Christianity Today magazine (November, 1999)

The God Bearer

What Iraq taught me about living the Presence

by Lieutenant Commander Bruce Crouterfield

Serving a one-year tour in Iraq as a Navy chaplain, I was assigned to the II Marine Expeditionary Force. My task: to provide ministry coverage to a battalion special task force located in the western desert of the Al Anbar province, an area bordering Syria and Jordan.

The region is arid, isolated, and harsh. The task force of marines providing security to the area was spread out in small groups occupying command outposts and forward operating bases throughout the region.

Providing ministry coverage required long convoys to the outposts from a base camp known as Camp Korean Village, a small village once built and occupied by North Koreans who were contracted by Saddam Hussein to build the highway that connects Jordan and Syria with Central Iraq.

In the summer, the temperature reaches 140 degrees. Doing ministry in this environment means long hours of boredom mixed with conducting field services for sometimes as few as two or three and at other times as many as 40.

I wasn't there long before I began to wonder if the personnel I was serving valued what I was doing. The military culture is not highly expressive, so it's sometimes hard to gauge how you're being received.

I wondered, Do these people value what I'm doing, even in a general sense? Does it make sense to get the education required, then go through the military training and the family sacrifices that are inherent with military chaplaincy? Can a person make an impact for God doing this?

After five months at Korean Village, I returned to Fallujah and rediscovered the refreshment that comes from the companionship of other chaplains. I quickly learned that other chaplains were having the same thoughts and questions.

I asked one chaplain friend how things were going. A reservist who had been activated to serve a year in Iraq with a unit he really didn't know, his eyes dropped to the floor and he lowered his voice as if making a confession.

He talked about how he had been visiting marines and sailors in their work spaces and doing "deck-plate ministry," but he said he couldn't tell if he was making any difference in their lives.

Like others in pastorates and other forms of ministry, we question our real value. We can live with a haunting feeling that our ministry could end at any minute without any significance. We long to see lives transformed, but sometimes we don't sense much of that happening. Just doing the tasks and functions of ministry isn't enough.

The Real Job amid Multi-Tasks

Don't get me wrong, there is a place for tasks and functions in ministry. We need to keep our to-do list to stay organized. We need to set goals. We need to do real work and establish measurable objectives.

In my office I have shelves full of canned programs, and programs I've created, and even a file entitled "Good Ideas I've Stolen from Other Chaplains." I have programs for marriage enrichment, troop retreats, and character development. I conduct worship services on bases and at remote outposts.

These are some of the tasks of "doing ministry." But most of us long to be something more than just a "doer of tasks."

In a task-driven ministry, our day is planned and carried out according to the to-do list and daily planner. But task-driven ministry sometimes gets in the way of opportunities to do God's will.

Amid the to-do lists, we can miss the Spirit-led ministry, the divine appointments God provides for us to do his will. This is the evangelism that is guided by God; it's spontaneous, serendipitous, divinely appointed.

My Real Identity

A bigger problem with task-driven ministry is that it often places a professional identity upon the minister or chaplain. I'm not sure I want to be "a ministry professional." That's not to say I don't want to conduct myself professionally, but I don't want to be identified as a professional marriage counselor, a professional social worker, or a professional recreation coordinator.

I'm okay with doing some of those things, but that's not who I am. When I become the skilled expert, I can become so associated with those skills that the real identity I yearn for becomes lost. This can become a stumbling block for us in ministry; out of a need to feel relevant, we can find ourselves assuming our identity is that of an expert.

How we define ourselves, how we view our self-identity will guide us in how we do ministry. I want my sense of relevance to come from something other than running programs.

This finally became clear to me, believe it or not, as a result of talking with the marines and sailors in remote western Iraq.

Calling in the Marines

Sensing that I was missing something, I started talking individually to marines and sailors and asking them about chaplains. I talked about the programs we oversee as well as the more general "ministry of presence" that we provide. I asked them what, if anything, they considered valuable.

Their responses blew me away!

One marine told me, "When the chaplain is on convoy with us, we feel safer." (We were in combat.)

"When the chaplain is around, the Gunnery Sergeant is nicer," another said.

A corporal told me, "Sir, when the Commanding Officer comes in the room, he gets respect, but when the chaplain comes in the room, he gets reverence."

I talked to 100 marines and sailors serving in a combat zone, collecting their thoughts about chaplains. No two answers were exactly alike, but I began to see a trend. For some, the presence of the chaplain offered a sense of comfort. For others, a sense of safety. For still others, the chaplain's presence caused a change in the behavior of people.

None talked about the programs, as necessary as they are to make our presence possible.

It occurred to me that the presence of the chaplain had, in some ways, the same effect as the presence of God, which brings a sense of comfort, a sense of safety, and causes people to change their behavior.

In other words, perhaps the most important role of the chaplain is reminding our personnel of the presence of God. When I asked directly, "Does the chaplain remind people of the presence of God?" overwhelmingly, the answer was Yes!

Where's God in the mirror?

When I look in the mirror in the morning, I don't immediately see the presence of God. I see a sinner saved by grace, grateful for God's love and Christ's atoning sacrifice on the cross. I see a person who struggles and is often conflicted. I see someone who wants to be loved, accepted, and valued. I see someone who is often uncertain about the matters and issues of life; I see someone who has fears and worries. I don't see the presence of God.

The conclusion? Others see me and other chaplains, pastors, and ministers differently than we see ourselves.

That was an eye-opener. That is what has been missing!

In 2 Corinthians 1:3-7, we see that comfort comes from God through the agency of human beings. God uses people like you and me to deliver comfort to others. In this text, the English word "comfort" is used to translate the Greek word paraklēsis, which is related to the familiar word paraclete, "one who comes alongside to help," another name for the Holy Spirit.

When we come alongside someone else and share the same comfort we have received from God, doesn't God come with us? Yes! Doesn't that make each of us bearers of the presence of God?

The Emanuel factor

To bring such comfort, and thus, to bring God's presence into a situation, is the most basic form of ministry. When we comfort those troubled, stressed, or in crisis, we bring unto others what we are not: God.

As ministers, pastors, or chaplains, our presence becomes the "God With Us Factor." My most important role: "The Emanuel Factor."

When we come alongside another after God has come alongside us, God is there. That makes the Christian who has received the comfort of God a bearer of the presence of God.

A person's life is truly relevant when it becomes a bearer of God's presence. Living the presence well might not allow me to be an "expert" in anything, but it does allow me to fulfill the calling of God on my life and to share his presence with others. As Henri Nouwen put it: "God wants you to live for others and to live that presence well."

Lieutenant Commander Bruce Crouterfield currently serves at the Naval Chaplaincy School and Center in Ft. Jackson, South Carolina, training new chaplains.

source unknown

Atheist Flabbergasted by a Church's Love

Patrick Greene of San Antonio, Texas, has had a long history of disliking and combating Christians. At one point Greene, an outspoken local atheist, threatened to sue Henderson County about the yearly manger display at the courthouse. "My wife and I had never had a Christian do anything nice for us," Greene said in a local newspaper interview.
But all of that changed in March of 2012 when the 63-year-old Greene learned that he needed surgery for a detached retina. Greene didn't have money to pay for the surgery, and he had to give up his cab driving job. When Jessica Crye, a member of Sand Springs Baptist Church, heard about Greene's situation, she told her pastor, Eric Graham, who then called Greene. Greene said, "If you really want to contribute something, we need groceries."
Greene thought that if anything, he'd see $50, or at most $100. But a few days later, the church sent a check for $400. More checks soon followed. The flabbergasted Greene said, "I thought I was in the Twilight Zone. These people are acting like what the Bible says a Christian does."
Now, rather than try to remove the manger display, Greene said he would like to add his contribution—a star for the top of the Nativity scene. However, Greene added, "You people can figure out how to plug it in."

Rich Flowers, "Atheist 'flabbergasted' by Christians' assistance," Athens Review (20 March, 2012)

The Variety of Food Points to God's Goodness

Think of your favourite food. Steak perhaps. Or Thai green curry. Or ice cream. Or homemade apple pie. God could have just made fuel. He could have made us to be sustained by some kind of savoury biscuit. Instead he gave a vast and wonderful array of foods.
Food is a central experience of God's goodness …. The world is more delicious than it needs to be. We have a superabundance of divine goodness and generosity. God went over the top. We don't need the variety we enjoy, but he gave it to us out of sheer exuberant joy and grace.

Tim Chester, A Meal with Jesus (Crossway, 2011), pp. 67-68

A Moral Test

Mankind's true moral test, its fundamental test (which lies deeply buried from view), consists of its attitude towards those who are at its mercy: animals. And in this respect mankind has suffered a fundamental debacle, a debacle so fundamental that all others stem from it

- Milan Kundera -

We Want Our Mechanic and Our Doctor to Speak the Truth

Imagine picking your car up from the shop after a routine tune-up, and the technician says, "This car is in great shape. Clearly you have an automotive genius to take great care of your car." Later that day, your brakes don't work. You find out you were out of brake fluid. You could have died.

You go back to the shop, and you say, "Why didn't you tell me?" The technician replies, "Well, I didn't want you to feel bad. Plus, to be honest, I was afraid you might get upset with me. I want this to be a safe place where you feel loved and accepted." You'd be furious! You'd say, "I didn't come here for a little fantasy-based ego boost! When it comes to my car, I want the truth."

Or imagine going to the doctor's office for a check-up. The doctor says to you, "You are a magnificent physical specimen. You have the body of an Olympian. You are to be congratulated." Later that day while climbing the stairs, your heart gives out. You find out later your arteries were so clogged that you were, like, one jelly doughnut away from the grim reaper.

You go back to the doctor and say, "Why didn't you tell me?" The doctor says, "Well, I knew your body is in worse shape than the Pillsbury doughboy, but if I tell people stuff like that, they get offended. It's bad for business. They don't come back. I want this to be a safe place where you feel loved and accepted." You'd be furious! You'd say to the doctor, "When it comes to my body, I want the truth!"

Obviously, when something matters to us, we do not want illusory comfort based on pain avoidance. We want truth.

John Ortberg, "Loving Enough to Speak the Truth," PreachingToday.com

Fighting for a Troubled Veteran

Here's a positive story about a troubled veteran who was offered compassion and a taste of redemption. After returning from Iraq in 2006, Brad Eifert, a highly-decorated staff sergeant descended into emotional and personal turmoil—divorce, rage, and alcohol abuse. "I just felt totally hopeless in every situation in my life," he said. Eifert's personal disintegration led to a standoff with police, in which Eifert held a pistol to his head and threatened to kill himself and a police officer. Surprisingly, the people involved in his case (including a wise and compassionate judge), banded together to help Eifert rather than just lock him up. Although they did charge him with a lesser felony, they also assigned him a mentor, enforced treatment, and even put a monitor on his ankle that records alcohol consumption. It's a beautiful example of how a community can help change lives through forgiveness, compassion, tough love, mentoring, and accountability.

Visually Impaired Woman Ignores Her Guide Dog

In his book Resolving Everyday Conflict, Ken Sande tells about observing a visually impaired woman who resisted the repeated warnings of her loyal and protective guide dog:
One day during my morning run I noticed a blind woman walking on the other side of the street with her Seeing Eye dog, a beautiful golden retriever. As I was about to pass them, I noticed a car blocking a driveway a few paces ahead of them. At that moment the dog paused and gently pressed his shoulder against the woman's leg, signalling her to turn aside so they could get around the car.
I'm sure she normally followed his lead, but that day she didn't seem to trust him. She had probably walked this route many times before and knew this was not the normal place to make a turn. Whatever the cause, she wouldn't move to the side and instead gave him the signal to move ahead. He again pressed his shoulder against her leg, trying to guide her on a safe path. She angrily ordered [the dog] to go forward. When he again declined, her temper flared.
I was about to speak up … when the dog once more put his shoulder gently against her leg. Sure enough, she kicked him …. And then she impulsively stepped forward—and bumped square into a car. Reaching out to feel the shape in front of her, she immediately realized what had happened. Dropping to her knees, she threw her arms around the dog, and spoke sobbing words into his ear.

Ken Sande, Resolving Everyday Conflict (Baker Books, 2011), pp. 99-100

Christian Scientist Francis Collins Befriends Atheist Christopher Hitchens

The Telegraph, a newspaper based in Great Britain, reported on an unlikely bond of friendship and trust between two very different people: Francis Collins, a Christian scientist, and Christopher Hitchens, perhaps the world's most famous atheist. Their popular book titles reveal their profound differences: Collins wrote The Language of God: A Scientist Presents Evidence for Belief; Hitchens wrote God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything.
Even so, a March 2011 newspaper headline announced, "Atheist Christopher Hitchens could be 'saved' by evangelical Christian." The article went on to report, "The two had often met in the past as adversaries in the debate about whether God exists. Against the odds they [have] become friends." This improbable friendship started because Hitchens, a cancer patient, became part of an experimental treatment program that involves genome sequencing. Doctors plan to map Hitchens' genetic makeup so they can target and treat his damaged DNA. It just so happens that this experimental treatment is being pioneered by Dr. Francis Collins.
Hitchens has spent years blasting religious faith and religious believers. In his book There Is No God, he argues that "Organised religion is violent, irrational, intolerant, allied to racism, tribalism, and bigotry …." But when asked about his friendship with Dr. Collins, Hitchens spoke with only respect and admiration. "It's a rather wonderful relationship," he said, "I won't say he doesn't pray for me, because I think he probably does; but he doesn't discuss it with me."

Richard Alleyne, "Atheist Christopher Hitchens could be 'saved' by evangelical Christian," The Telegraph (March 26, 2011)

An Unlikely Friendship Opens a Door to Share Christ

Kary Oberbrunner, author of Your Secret name, shared a story about his encounter with an older man named Bob. While Kary was at the local gym, trying to stay focused on his exercise routine, he noticed an elderly man fumbling with an MP3 player and headphones. At first, Kary tried to ignore the man, but as the man was becoming more frustrated with the technology, Kary reluctantly introduced himself and asked if he could help.
The man dejectedly explained, "Hi, I'm Bob, and I love jazz, but I can't get it on this dumb player."
When Kary asked Bob if he had heard of iTunes, Bob shot back, "'I' what?"
It slowly dawned on Kary that God had placed Bob in his path for a reason. So they set a date when they could spend some more time unraveling Bob's MP3 troubles.
Kary continues the story:
Against his initial wishes, I visited him at his apartment. Turns out his wife had died a couple years before, and all his earthly possessions were crammed into a small apartment. She had been their main breadwinner, so the bank repossessed his house when he was unable to make payments.
Bob and I made a makeshift space in his back room near his desktop computer. One at a time I imported his jazz CD collection onto his hard drive, intending to transfer the MP3s eventually to his player. While importing his music, Bob and I talked about life, his wife, and God.
The weeks following I checked in on Bob often. Kind of funny how two guys who are complete opposites can become the best of friends, all because of an MP3 player.
Bob is 71. I am 32. Bob is black. I am white. Bob doesn't have much money. I have more than I need. Bob is an ex-convict. I've never been to jail. Bob is a widower. I'm married. [In short], we're opposites.
A short time later I invited Bob to church, deeply desiring for him to meet Jesus. After a few invitations, he eventually accepted and sat with my wife and me last spring. If he felt awkward sitting in our mostly white church, he didn't let on.
After the service … [we] knelt near the altar, and Bob told Jesus that he wanted to follow him. Bob confessed that he wanted to stop trying to control his life and invited Jesus to take over …. Bob wept and when I looked into his eyes I noticed the distinct peace that now defined his face.
Bob changed my life and the life of my church. I get more joy from him than he'll ever understand. Whenever I say goodbye to him at the YMCA or hang up the phone after talking with him, he always tells me to "give his love to my family." He wants me to baptize him this June at our next baptism.
I'm saddened by the reality that I almost missed Bob simply because I was too engrossed in my own little world.

Kary Oberbrunner, "'What About Bob?' How That Question Changed My Life," New Man eMagazine (April 14, 2009)

Farm Workers Treat Their Manager and Fellow-employee to a Feast

For the past few years my friend Chris has worked for a nursery farm on Long Island. During the height of the growing season, about 28 other employees, mostly seasonal workers from Central America, also report to Chris. As a follower of Jesus he tries to share Christ's love and treat each of his fellow-workers with respect and dignity. In Chris's words,
In my broken Spanish, throughout the day I'll do my best to show genuine interest in their lives, getting to know them, and asking about their lives. Most of the guys send a lot of their earnings back to their families, so I also ask them about their wives and children. Sometimes I'll try to share Christ's love in practical ways by giving them a ride home or picking them up a fast-food sandwich. But we always end each day by looking each other in the eye as we say, "Gracias Dios por un dia más," or "Thank God for another day."
One day two of the men, Gonzalo and Daniel, wanted to show their appreciation for me, so they decided to splurge on a special gift. They pooled their resources and took me out for a special dinner—a $7 Value Meal at the local Burger King. By spending $3.50 a piece, Daniel and Gonzalo were giving me a sacrificial gift. The week before they gave me this gift, a storm had cut their work hours and their income in half. But that didn't deter their generosity.
Honestly, throughout my life I've been treated to some special meals and I've received some expensive presents, but that was one gift that I'll treasure forever. During the meal in Burger King, Gonzalo and Daniel treated me like a king. I never knew fast-food burger and fries could taste like a foretaste of the heavenly feast.

source unknown