Ghorbandordi’s story

Ghorbandordi Tourani was born in 1952 to a Turkmen family in the city of Gonbade Kavous in Iran (a town east of the Caspian Sea). He was one of eight children; he had six brothers and one sister.
His father was a very fanatic Moslem who belonged to an Islamic group called Sunni Hanafi. He did everything he could to bring up his children according to Islamic ways and principles.
Ghorban was eager to study Islamic theology in Egypt, once he finished high school. His ambition was to become a religious Sunni Islamic leader. But his father was not able to support him financially to go to Egypt. Despite that apparent failure, Ghorban would always read Islamic books and was searching for God in those books. But he was never able to get to find God through his readings. As a result in frustration and anger he got involved in some criminal activities and fighting with others. Because of his failure to find God, he was almost persuaded that there was no God and subsequently was drawn into communist philosophy.
He eventually got married and had 3 daughters and one son (4 to 25 years old). In 1983, while his wife was pregnant with their third child, he decided to go to Turkmenistan in order to get a better job. At that time Turkmenistan was under the reign of Communists. Sometime after he arrived in Turkmenistan, because of the aggressive character he had developed, he entered into an argument and a fight with someone. In self defense Ghorban killed that person with a knife. As the result of he was arrested and was sentenced to 15 years of imprisonment. He went through difficult times in prison. He became known as the most evil prisoner. Even while he was in prison, he was several times punished by prison authorities because of aggression towards other inmates, but nothing would change his character.
In 1988, Ghorban attempted to commit suicide in the prison. He was taken to the hospital straight away. The doctors did not have any hope that he would survive. But he miraculously pulled through; surely God had another plan for his life.
Whilst he was still in prison, a group of evangelists went to the prison where he was kept, and shared the message of the gospel with the prisoners. Ghorban rejected their message vehemently.
Sometime after that a prisoner was transferred to his cell. It happened that this person was a Russian Christian who was put into prison because of his Christian faith. His name was Constantine. He became a friend to Ghorban and started to share the message of the Gospel with him with a Christian love. He asked Ghorban:
“Do you know that Jesus is the son of God and the savior of this world?”
In response Ghorban told him: “There is no God at all. Now you say Jesus is the son of God?”
For a long time he opposed his message, but the more he got to know Constantine, the more he was impressed by the love and peace he had.
Constantine asked the evangelists who would visit the prison sometimes, to bring a New Testament for him so that he could give it to Ghorban. When he got hold of the New Testament, he gave it to Ghorban and told him:
“Read this book to get to know the Jesus I share with you about. Then you will realize whether it is worth fighting against him or not?”
Ghorban accepted to read this book. While he was reading the story of Jesus, he was so much impacted by his life. There was an amazing thirst and love in his heart to read all through the New Testament. He managed to finish reading the whole book within two weeks. This book had so much touched his heart. He then went to Constantine and shared his willingness to become a Christian. His friend then prayed for Ghorban and he gave his life to Jesus and accepted him as his personal savior and Lord.
After he became a Christian, Ghorban went to the head of the prison and asked him if he could have evangelistic meetings in a cell in the prison. The head of the prison was so much amazed by all the changes that had taken place in his life that he told him:
“Because the God you worship has changed your life in such a dramatic way, I will give you permission to have meetings in the prison.”
Constantine was surprised by the permission that was given to Ghorban and told him:
“All these years that I have been in this prison I and other Christians have never been given such an opportunity to have Christian meetings in the prison as you have been given. You are a new believer but God has started using you in such a mighty way. He then had a prophecy for Ghorban as follows:
“After you are released from the prison go back to Iran , to your nation Turkemens , and God will use you amongst the Turkmens and in house church ministry”
In 1998, when Ghorban was released from the prison, after 15 years, he went back to Iran, to his city, Gonbade Kavous. He saw a 15 year old girl in his home who was his daughter (when he left Iran to go to Turkmenistan, his wife was pregnant with this girl and he had not seen her at all for 15 years.)
Ghorban shared the message of salvation with his family and friends and relatives. He also shared with them all the Christian truths he had learnt from his friend, Constantine about Christianity and all that the Holy Spirit had revealed to him as a result of reading the word of God in prison.
As a result of his evangelism, 12 Turkmen gave their lives to Jesus within the first couple of years. He then moved to the capital city in Iran, as he needed to receive help from a church to learn how to disciple and teach the new converts. He eventually got to know a key pastor in one of the churches who was willing to help Ghorban in his ministry amongst his nation.
This pastor visited Ghorban and the house church in their city several times and was a great help and encouragement both to Ghorban and all the belivers. This leader was so amazed by the way God had started working amongst the Turkmen people and remembered that one of the martyrs of the church in Iran, Bishop Haik Hovsepian, during his life had such a great burden for this nation and had prayed a lot for the salvation of the Turkmens. He himself had even been to Gonbad-e-Kavos several times. Now his prayers were answered.
Ghorban was then asked to attend a Bible training program for further Biblical education to be more equipped for pastoral and teaching ministries. Over the last 7 years, God’s work amongst the Turkmen people have grown and many Turkmens became Christians as a result of Ghorbans’ ministry in his city.
Ghorban was a very brave and fearless Christian. He would boldly share about Jesus in different places, in the streets, shops and bazaars….. he was convinced that he should not keep his faith to himself but should share it with others everywhere.
Several times, he was threatened by the religious people amongst his community. Even once his own brother slashed his face with a knife because of his Christian faith. But despite all these oppositions he always wanted to share about Jesus no matter what the cost. He had a great passion in his heart for the salvation of the Turkmen Nation.
This precious brother paid the ultimate price on the 22nd November 2005. He was arrested by an unknown group who beat him up and tortured him with a knife until he was dead. They did this because they were against his Christian faith. And then they threw his bleeding dead body in front of the door of his house. The message is obvious, loud and clear, there is a heavy cost for all Moslems who want to follow Jesus Christ. There is danger facing all those who like Ghorban are followers of Christ.
After he was killed, the secret police went to his home and searched through all his belongings and took the Christian materials he had. After that they also interrogated other Christians from his group. The suffering and persecution continues.
We believe he has been the first Turkmen Christian martyr amongst his people in Iran.
There is a hand written text from Ghorban that describes his Love for Jesus and his willingness to give his life for him. You will find attached the Farsi text with his own hand writing.
Following is the translation of the text:
Dear Lord, Jesus, let me come to your presence,
So that I can touch your nailed feet.

Dear Lord Jesus, let me worship you in humility
And to kiss your nailed and wounded hands and feet,
You were hung on the cross in Golgotha and nailed with 4 nails, whilst your blood was pouring out,
In this desperate situation, how could you still love your created beings?

You were willing to even embrace those who crucified you.
You were tortured because of me, yes because of me. Not only me, but also for my father and mother…..
Because of me you suffered the most severe pains on the cross for 6 hours
I wish, I was not sinful so that you would not suffer because of me,

How much I was willing to be there and to pull the nails out of your beautiful hands when you were on the cross,
How desperate are my thoughts when I think I might have been able to help you not to suffer a lot.
Lord Jesus, please let me glorify your holy name in every moment of my life on this earth. I am willing to give my life that belongs to you, for the sake of you and your church.
Maranata, Praise God, Halleluyah.

source unknown

The Life Saving Station

Theodore Wedel told the story of A Crude Lifesaving Station
On a dangerous seacoast where shipwrecks often occur there was once a crude little lifesaving station. The building was just a hut, and there was only one boat, but the few devoted members kept a constant watch over the sea, and with no thought for themselves, they went out day or night tirelessly searching for the lost.
Many lives were saved by this wonderful little station, so that it became famous. Some of those who were saved, and various others in the surrounding areas, wanted to become associated with the station and give of their time and money and effort for the support of its work. New boats were bought and new crews were trained. The little lifesaving station grew.
Some of the new members of the lifesaving station were unhappy that the building was so crude and so poorly equipped. They felt that a more comfortable place should be provided as the first refuge of those saved from the sea.
And so they replaced the emergency cots with beds and put better furniture in an enlarged building. Now the lifesaving station became a popular gathering place for its members, and they redecorated it beautifully and furnished it as a sort of club.
Fewer members were now interested in going to sea on lifesaving missions, so they hired life boat crews to do this work, on their behalf.
The mission of lifesaving was still given lip-service but most were too busy or lacked the necessary commitment to take part in the lifesaving activities personally.
About this time a large ship was wrecked off the coast, and the hired crews brought in boat loads of cold, wet and half-drowned people.
They were dirty and sick, some had skin of a different colour, some spoke a strange language, and the beautiful new club was considerably messed up. So the property committee immediately had a shower house built outside the club where victims of shipwreck could be cleaned up before coming inside.
At the next meeting, there was a split in the club membership. Most of the members wanted to stop the club's lifesaving activities as being unpleasant and a hindrance to the normal pattern of the club.
But some members insisted that lifesaving was their primary purpose and pointed out that they were still called a lifesaving station. But they were finally voted down and told that if they wanted to save the life of all various kinds of people who were shipwrecked in those waters, they could begin their own lifesaving station down the coast. They did.
As the years went by, the new station experienced the same changes that had occurred in the old. They evolved into a club and yet another lifesaving station was founded. If you visit the seacoast today you will find a number of exclusive clubs along that shore. Shipwrecks are still frequent in those waters, but now most of the people drown!

source unknown

Rosa Park’s Words

The time had just come when I had been pushed as far as I could stand to be pushed, I suppose. They placed me under arrest. And I wasn't afraid. I don't know why I wasn't, but I didn't feel afraid. I had decided that I would have to know once and for all what rights I had as a human being and a citizen, even in Montgomery, Alabama.

- Rosa Parks, 1913-2005 -

NASCAR Crew Chief Makes Important Decision

It was a small adjustment that could make a big difference. Sure, it was against NASCAR rules, but almost everyone else was doing it. So crew chief Tim Shutt crawled under the No. 20 car of Mike McLaughlin, who races on the NASCAR Busch circuit.
"Joe [Gibbs, team owner] is adamant that we don't cheat," says Shutt, a relatively new believer who encountered Christ at a Christian retreat for participants in the racing industry. "Most teams figure that as long as you get away with it, it's not cheating."
"I said to Mike that morning in practice, 'If we're no good in practice, I'll put this piece—the illegal piece—on. Probably 30 other teams are doing it." I was justifying it.
"I got up under the car, I got halfway through putting it on, and that verse, 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God,' came flashing in red in front of me, and whoa, that was it. I said, 'I'm leaving this up to you, God.'" Shutt didn't put the piece on the car.
McLaughlin won the race. It was Talladega, one of the biggest races of 2001.
"When we won, the first thing that came to my mind was that verse," Tim says. "God wanted to show himself to me."

Victor Lee, Sports Spectrum; reprinted in Men of Integrity (May/June 2002)

The Imp and the Crust

A poor peasant set out early one morning to plow, taking with him for his breakfast a crust of bread. He got his plough ready, wrapped the bread in his coat, put it under a bush, and set to work. After a while when his horse was tired and he was hungry, the peasant fixed the plow, let the horse loose to graze and went to get his coat and his breakfast.
He lifted the coat, but the bread was gone! He looked and looked, turned the coat over, shook it out – but the bread was gone. The peasant could not make this out at all.
“That’s strange,” thought he; “I saw no one, but all the same some one has been here and has taken the bread!”
It was an imp who had stolen the bread while the peasant was ploughing, and at that moment he was sitting behind the bush, waiting to hear the peasant swear and call on the Devil.
The peasant was sorry to lose his breakfast, but “It can’t be helped,” said he. “After all, I shan’t die of hunger! No doubt whoever took the bread needed it. May it do him good!”
And he went to the well, had a drink of water, and rested a bit. Then he caught his horse, harnessed it, and began ploughing again.
The imp was crestfallen at not having made the peasant sin, and he went to report what had happened to the Devil, his master.
He came to the Devil and told how he had taken the peasant’s bread, and how the peasant instead of cursing had said, “May it do him good!”
The Devil was angry, and replied: “If the man got the better of you, it was your own fault – you don’t understand your business! If the peasants, and their wives after them, take to that sort of thing, it will be all up with us. The matter can’t be left like that! Go back at once,” said he, “and put things right. If in three years you don’t get the better of that peasant, I’ll have you ducked in holy water!”
The imp was frightened. He scampered back to earth, thinking how he could redeem his fault. He thought and thought, and at last hit upon a good plan.
He turned himself into a laboring man, and went and took service with the poor peasant. The first year he advised the peasant to sow corn in a marshy place. The peasant took his advice, and sowed in the marsh. The year turned out a very dry one, and the crops of the other peasants were all scorched by the sun, but the poor peasant’s corn grew thick and tall and full-eared. Not only had he grain enough to last him for the whole year, but he had much left over besides.
The next year the imp advised the peasant to sow on the hill; and it turned out a wet summer. Other people’s corn was beaten down and rotted and the ears did not fill; but the peasant’s crop, up on the hill, was a fine one. He had more grain left over than before, so that he did not know what to do with it all.
Then the imp showed the peasant how he could mash the grain and distill spirit from it; and the peasant made strong drink, and began to drink it himself and to give it to his friends.
So the imp went to the Devil, his master, and boasted that he had made up for his failure. The Devil said that he would come and see for himself how the case stood.
He came to the peasant’s house, and saw that the peasant had invited his well-to-do neighbors and was treating them to drink. His wife was offering the drink to the guests, and as she handed it round she tumbled against the table and spilt a glassful.
The peasant was angry, and scolded his wife: “What do you mean, you slut? Do you think it’s ditchwater, you cripple, that you must go pouring good stuff like that over the floor?”
The imp nudged the Devil, his master, with his elbow: “See,” said he, “that’s the man who did not grudge his last crust!”
The peasant, still railing at his wife, began to carry the drink round himself. Just then a poor peasant returning from work came in uninvited. He greeted the company, sat down, and saw that they were drinking. Tired with his day’s work he felt that he too would like a drop. He sat and sat, and his mouth kept watering, but the host instead of offering him any only muttered: “I can’t find drink for every one who comes along.”
This pleased the Devil; but the imp chuckled and said, “Wait a bit, there’s more to come yet!”
The rich peasants drank, and their host drank too. And they began to make false, oily speeches to one another.
The Devil listened and listened, and praised the imp.
“If,” said he, “the drink makes them so foxy that they begin to cheat each other, they will soon all be in our hands.”
“Wait for what’s coming,” said the imp. “Let them have another glass all round. Now they are like foxes, wagging their tails and trying to get round one another; but presently you will see them like savage wolves.”
The peasants had another glass each, and their talk became wilder and rougher. Instead of oily speeches they began to abuse and snarl at one another. Soon they took to fighting, and punched one another’s noses. And the host joined in the fight, and he too got well beaten.
The Devil looked on and was much pleased at all this.
“This is first-rate!” said he.
But the imp replied: “Wait a bit – the best is yet to come. Wait till they have had a third glass. Now they are raging like wolves, but let them have one more glass, and they will be like swine.”
The peasants had their third glass, and became quite like brutes. They muttered and shouted, not knowing why, and not listening to one another.
Then the party began to break up. Some went alone, some in twos, and some in threes, all staggering down the street. The host went out to speed his guests, but he fell on his nose into a puddle, smeared himself from top to toe, and lay there grunting like a hog.
This pleased the Devil still more.
“Well,” said he, “you have hit on a first-rate drink, and have quite made up for your blunder about the bread. But now tell me how this drink is made. You must first have put in fox’s blood: that was what made the peasants sly as foxes. Then, I suppose, you added wolf’s blood: that is what made them fierce like wolves. And you must have finished off with swine’s blood, to make them behave like swine.”
“No,” said the imp, “that was not the way I did it. All I did was to see that the peasant had more corn than he needed. The blood of the beasts is always in man; but as long as he has only enough corn for his needs, it is kept in bounds. While that was the case, the peasant did not grudge his last crust. But when he had corn left over, he looked for ways of getting pleasure out of it. And I showed him a pleasure – drinking! And when he began to turn God’s good gifts into spirits for his own pleasure – the fox’s, wolf’s and swine’s blood in him all came out. If only he goes on drinking, he will always be a beast!” The Devil praised the imp, forgave him for his former blunder, and advanced him to a post of high honour.

– Leo Tolstoy (a folk tale retold)

The Pendulum

In college I was asked to prepare a lesson to teach my speech class. We were to be graded on our creativity and ability to drive home a point in a memorable way. The title of my talk was, "The Law of the Pendulum." I spent 20 minutes carefully teaching the physical principle that governs a swinging pendulum. The law of the pendulum is: A pendulum can never return to a point higher than the point from which it was released. Because of friction and gravity, when the pendulum returns, it will fall short of its original release point. Each time it swings it makes less and less of an arc, until finally it is at rest. This point of rest is called the state of equilibrium, where all forces acting on the pendulum are equal.
I attached a 3-foot string to a child's toy top and secured it to the top of the blackboard with a thumbtack. I pulled the top to one side and made a mark on the blackboard where I let it go. Each time it swung back I made a new mark. It took less than a minute for the top to complete its swinging and come to rest. When I finished the demonstration, the markings on the blackboard proved my thesis.
I then asked how many people in the room BELIEVED the law of the pendulum was true. All of my classmates raised their hands, so did the teacher. He started to walk to the front of the room thinking the class was over. In reality it had just begun. Hanging from the steel ceiling beams in the middle of the room was a large, crude but functional pendulum (250 pounds of metal weights tied to four strands of 500-pound test parachute cord.). I invited the instructor to climb up on a table and sit in a chair with the back of his head against a cement wall. Then I brought the 250 pounds of metal up to his nose. Holding the huge pendulum just a fraction of an inch from his face, I once again explained the law of the pendulum he had applauded only moments before, "If the law of the pendulum is true, then when I release this mass of metal, it will swing across the room and return short of the release point. Your nose will be in no danger." After that final restatement of this law, I looked him in the eye and asked, "Sir, do you believe this law is true?" There was a long pause. Huge beads of sweat formed on his upper lip and then weakly he nodded and whispered, "Yes." I released the pendulum. It made a swishing sound as it arced across the room. At the far end of its swing, it paused momentarily and started back. I never saw a man move so fast in my life. He literally dived from the table. Deftly stepping around the still-swinging pendulum, I asked the class, "Does he believe in the law of the pendulum?" The students unanimously answered, "NO!"
Faith is about what response we make - to many situations. Are we relying on our own skills, our own ability to read the future, our own willingness to negotiate the difficulties? Ultimately it is the response that we make to God. When trouble strikes, who do we turn to for help? As we plan the future, who do we allow to guide us? The biggest response we make is ignorance.

source unknown

Baseball Pitcher Schilling Sustained by God

In the first game of the best-of-seven, 2004 American League Championship Series between baseball's New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox, Boston's ace pitcher Curt Schilling was in pain. An ankle injury kept him from being able to plant his foot and throw the ball with his usual skill. Schilling was removed from the game after allowing six runs in just three innings. Teammates feared Schilling's injury would end his season and their hopes to get to the World Series.
But in the sixth game against the Yankees, Schilling surprisingly took the mound again. Facing elimination if they lost, the Red Sox watched Schilling throw an amazing seven innings in which he only gave up four hits and one run. Every time the TV camera focused on Schilling's ankle, viewers could see blood seep through his sock. Doctors had stitched his ankle tendon into place to allow him to pitch. The Red Sox won the game, and afterwards a FOX Sports reporter asked him about his performance.
Schilling answered, "Seven years ago I became a Christian, and tonight God did something amazing for me. I tried to be as tough as I could, and do it my way Game 1, and I think we all saw how that turned out. Tonight it was all God. I knew that I wasn't going to be able to do this alone. And I prayed as hard as I could. I didn't pray to get a win or to make great pitches. I just prayed for the strength to go out there tonight and compete, and he gave me that. I can't explain to you what a feeling it was to be out there and to feel what I felt."

FOX Sports coverage of the 2004 ALCS (19 Oct 2004)

Messages from the Grave

Inventor Robert Barrows of Burlingame, California filed an application for a patent on a remote-controlled, video-equipped tombstone, which can relay a message left by the grave's inhabitant. Stories can be told and computer equipment linked up in the tombstone to the Internet.
Making everlasting Memories (MeM) of Cincinnati, Ohio, features a biography of the deceased, along with writings, images, and a slide show as well as tributes. All of these features are included on a website called LastWishes.com.
The result is that e-mail messages, audio clips, and video clips (made before death) can still be "sent" by the deceased.

Rekha Shetty, "Tomb With a View" AARP Magazine (Nov/Dec 2004)

Francis and the Sultan

In 1219, Francis of Assisi traveled to the Holy Land to bring the gospel to the Muslims. Given a pass through enemy lines, he met with Sultan Melek Al-Kamil. A sickle-shaped sword presented to Francis by the sultan as a memento of their encounter can still be seen in Assisi...
Francis of Assisi was sorely troubled. A great army of his Christian countrymen had come to Egypt to fight the Mohammedans. They were on a crusade to win the Holy Land from the Turks. They were killing many people. Francis saw people starving; he saw little children dying. It was not right. What could he do to stop the terrible massacre?
Francis decided to go to Cardinal Pelagius, the Christian commander of the army.
“Please, Lord Cardinal,” he said, “stop the fighting. People are starving. People are dying without even having heard that Jesus loves them. And they are dying because of us Christians.”
But Cardinal Pelagius would not listen. “We are killing these people for a good reason,” he said. “We must conquer them so the church will be powerful. When the church is strong it will be able to conquer evil.”
“The Lord Jesus did not ask us to strive for worldly power,” replied Francis. “God uses the weak, not the powerful.”
“Ridiculous!” cried Cardinal Pelagius angrily. He dismissed the poor man from Assisi without a further word.
Since the Christian commander would not listen to him, Francis decided to go to the enemy commander, the great Muslim Sultan Al-Kamil, to plead for peace. The Sultan was a cruel man. He had vowed that no Christian would ever leave his presence alive. But Francis was not afraid of him. Death would of course only bring him into the presence of his Lord.
Calmly Francis started out one morning walking toward the enemy camp.
The Sultan’s soldiers did not take Francis seriously. He looked so small and so poor and unimportant in his threadbare cloak that they let him pass. When Francis smiled at them and asked, “Cairo? Al-Kamil? Soldan?” they just laughed and showed him the way to the Sultan’s palace.
Just as Francis neared the gates of the palace, the Sultan, bedecked with jewels and followed by his retinue and crowds of people, came galloping down the road.
“Soldan! Soldan!” shouted Francis to attract his attention.
The foreign pronunciation of the word Sultan caught Al-Kamil’s attention. As a ruler he had learned to speak Latin. He pulled his horse to an abrupt halt and looked at Francis with his piercing black eyes.
“Did you come from the Christian camp?” asked Al-Kamil.
“Yes, yes, I did,” said Francis, smiling happily.
“I knew it!” cried the Sultan. He turned to his guards. “This fellow is a Christian!”
The guards, with daggers between their teeth, leaped upon Francis.
“Stop!” said the Sultan. “Don’t kill him just yet. Bring him into the palace. I want to find out first what brought him here.”
Soon Francis sat on the floor in front of the great Sultan.
“So!” exclaimed Al-Kamil, “did they send you over here to kill me?”
“Oh, no,” said Francis. “No one sent me. I just came myself to ask you to end the war. Our commander won’t listen to me, so I came to you.”
The Sultan couldn’t believe his ears. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before.
“What is your name, and where do you come from?” he asked.
“My name is Francis, and I came from the town of Assisi in Italy,” answered Francis.
“Well, Francis of Assisi, what do you want me to do?” asked the Sultan, amused. “Should I hand Egypt over to the enemy and let my people starve?”
“No,” said Francis earnestly. “Egypt belongs to you. But you must do something else that would put an end to the war.”
“What is that?” asked the Sultan.
“You must become a Christian,” said Francis simply.
The Sultan broke into a gale of laughter. “Become a Christian!” he howled. “You know I will torture you, don’t you? Aren’t you afraid to suffer?”
“Our Lord suffered for us. Why should I not suffer for him?” said Francis.
“Your God suffered?” asked the Sultan, surprised.
“Yes, he suffered more than we can understand. He laid down his life for us. That is why we love him so much.”
“Fair enough,” said the Sultan, “but why should I love him when he did nothing for me?”
“Oh, but he did it for you, too,” cried Francis. “He loves you. He knows you. You are his beloved child.”
Francis spoke with such conviction that the Sultan became thoughtful. “What does your God require you to do?” he asked.
“Nothing, except that we love him,” said Francis. “He wants us also to love everyone and share what we have with others.”
“Ah,” said the Sultan. “A long time ago we had a teacher in our midst who spoke about your faith as you do. But we have never found Christians to be like that. Christians are untruthful and cruel. They fight among themselves like wild animals. The stories about your faith are not true.”
“Unfortunately there are evil Christians,” said Francis. “Human nature is weak. But God’s mercy has no limits. Through him the most wicked can become holy. That is not possible anywhere except in Christianity.”
The Sultan sighed. “You may go now,” he said. “I will not kill you. Indeed, I will even reward you for the interesting conversation I have had with you. Take all the gold you can carry.”
“Gold!” exclaimed Francis, horrified. “I don’t need gold.”
“Well,” said the Sultan, “that is the first time I have ever seen a Christian who does not want gold! What do you want then?”
“I would very much like to visit the Holy Land where our Lord lived when he was here on earth,” said Francis. “Would you allow me to do so?”
A crafty look came into the Sultan’s eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I will even send a slave with you to take you as far as our borders. Remember, however, the slave belongs to me and you must send him back.”
Francis nodded. “I will send him back,” he said.
The Sultan turned to one of his guards. “Have one of the Christian slaves brought,” he said. “He shall accompany this man to our border.”
“But the slave will escape!” gasped the guard.
“Do as I tell you,” shouted the Sultan. “We will see,” he said to himself, “whether this Christian can be trusted. We will see whether he will send the slave back.”
Francis and the Christian left the palace of the Sultan together.
On many days the great Sultan Al-Kamil, with a wistful look in his eyes, asked his servants, “Has the slave that I sent with the Christian Francis of Assisi returned?”
“No, not yet, O great Ruler.”
The Sultan stared out of the window. “I thought this man was different from the rest. I thought he was a real Christian. But I was wrong. They are all alike. All are false. All are untruthful. There is no such a person as a true Christian.”
Just then a guard came in, bowing low. “Oh, great Ruler, I just want to report to you that the slave has returned,” he said.
“Ah,” said the Sultan. “So Francis of Assisi kept his word after all. Good! You may go.”
Some time later, the Christian army was defeated. The commander, Cardinal Pelagius, who had hoped to make the church powerful, now stood in bitter humiliation before the Sultan, Al-Kamil. “Let our twelve thousand men go home,” he begged.
“Listen to me,” said the Sultan. “I vowed that not one of you Christians should remain alive. I would kill you all. Nothing you could say would have changed my mind. But some time ago a man by the name of Francis of Assisi came to me from your camp. I think highly of him.”
Cardinal Pelagius looked up, startled. He vaguely remembered that foolish little man.
“He is the one and only man whose deeds showed me that the words about your faith are true,” continued the Sultan. “For his sake, and for his sake alone, mind you, I will spare your lives. You may all go—you, as well as all my Christian slaves. I want Francis of Assisi to remember me well.”

from “Blessed Are The Meek” by Zofia Kossak, transl. Rulka Langer (New York: Roy, 1944)

True Friendship

If the church is to be restored to its rightful place of relevance to and preeminence in supporting the care and cure of souls, we must equip and encourage people to offer themselves to others in relationships of spiritual friendships and companionship. Friends who enjoy spiritual intimacy never settle for gossip or simple information exchange. Instead they use the data of events as springboards for the sharing of perceptions, feelings, values, ideas and opinions of the spiritual life

- David Benner Sacred Companions…the gift of Spiritual Friendship -

Work

A man may be very industrious, and yet not spend his time well. There is no more fatal blunderer than he who consumes the greater part of life getting his living

- Henry David Thoreau -

Morality

Moral certainty is always a sign of cultural inferiority. The more uncivilized the man, the surer he is that he knows precisely what is right and what is wrong. All human progress, even in morals, has been the work of men who have doubted the current moral values, not of men who have whooped them up and tried to enforce them. The truly civilized man is always skeptical and tolerant, in this field as in all others. His culture is based on "I am not too sure."

- H.L. Mencken -

Humour

At least one way of measuring the freedom of any society is the amount of comedy that is permitted, and clearly a healthy society permits more satirical comment than a repressive, so that if comedy is to function in some way as a safety release then it must obviously deal with these taboo areas. This is part of the responsibility we accord our licensed jesters, that nothing be excused the searching light of comedy. If anything can survive the probe of humour it is clearly of value, and conversely all groups who claim immunity from laughter are claiming special privileges which should not be granted

- Eric Idle -

Evil and Anger

The knowledge of evil is something which the first man acquired; it was not something that the prophets had to discover. Their great contribution to humanity was the discovery of the evil of indifference. One may be decent and sinister, pious and sinful. I am my brother's keeper. One of the meanings of the anger of God: the end of indifference!

- Abraham Joshua Heschel -

Evil

If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?

- Alexander Solzhenitsyn -

Parting with Tradition

Bayer Corporation has stopped putting the cotton wads in their Genuine Bayer bottles. The company realised the aspirin would hold up fine without the maddening white clumps, which it had included since about 1914.
"We concluded there really wasn't any reason to keep the cotton except tradition," said Chris Allen, Bayer's vice president of technical operations. "Besides, it's hard to get out."
Longstanding traditions in the church may well create more hardship than help.

Vegetarians Who Like Sausage

Are you interested in being a vegetarian, but concerned that you might not be able to adjust? Not to worry… you can become a flexitarian.
As vegetarianism gains in popularity and increases its market niche, a variation has developed. The flexitarian is a person who eats primarily vegetables, but also indulges occasionally with meat.
The designation fits people like 28-year-old Christy Pugh, who says, "I usually eat vegetarian. But I really like sausage." Christy says, "Sometimes I feel like I'm a bad vegetarian, that I'm not strict enough or good enough. I really like vegetarian food, but I'm just not 100 percent committed."

source unknown

Stewardship and the Swiss Watchmaker Slogan

Known for their luxury watches, Swiss watchmaker Patek Philippe has also become well-known for its clever advertising slogan: "You never actually own a Patek Philippe; you merely take care of it for the next generation."
So it is with what we "own": money, gifts, ministries, time, and our very lives.

source unknown

A Greater Power

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around

- Leo Buscaglia -

Olympian Hits Wrong Target

Matt Emmons had the gold medal in sight. He was one shot away from claiming victory in the 2004 Olympics 50-metre three-position rifle event. He didn't even need a bull's-eye to win. His final shot merely needed to be on target.
Normally, the shot he made would have received a score of 8.1, more than enough for a gold medal. But in what was described as "an extremely rare mistake in elite competition," Emmons fired at the wrong target. Standing in lane two, he fired at the target in lane three. His score for a good shot at the wrong target? Zero. Instead of a medal, Emmons ended up in eighth place. It doesn't matter how accurate you are if you are aiming at the wrong goal.

source unknown

Need for fathers

Famed rapper Tupac Shakur is profiled in a raw documentary detailing his short, tragic life. Raised in a New York City ghetto, Shakur personified the violent lifestyle depicted in his music. In 1996, Tupac was gunned down in a drive-by shooting.
What was the reason for the drugs, shootings, and prison time? Shakur said, "I blame my father, 'cuz he left me.
"My real father was a Black Panther. But when I was growing up, I never knew who my real father was, for sure. My stepfather was a gangster, a straight-up street hustler. My mom got a kid, but he didn't even care: 'Oh that's my son.' He took care of me, gave me money. But he was a criminal too out there doing his own thing. And he came and brought me money and left. I know for a fact if I had a father, I'd have some discipline. I'd have more confidence. Your mother can't calm you down the way a man can. Your mother can't reassure you the way a man can. Your mother can't show you where your manhood was. You need a man to teach you how to be a man."

source unknown

The Count of Monte Cristo

Set-up: The Count of Monte Cristo tells the story of Dantes, who is unjustly accused and sentenced to life in France's most dreaded prison. After 13 years he escapes, becomes wealthy, and then seeks revenge on those who ruined his life. Throughout the movie Dantes struggles deeply with his belief in God, moving from a simple faith to a loss of faith, and finally to a mature faith.
During his years in prison, Dantes makes friends with a priest whose godly influence has great impact on Dantes' spiritual understanding. Together they dig a tunnel to escape, but just before it's completed, a cave-in injures the priest.
As he lies dying on the stone floor of his cell, the priest gives Dantes a treasure map that he'd hidden all his years in prison, which later makes Dantes wealthy. But it's the priest's final words that stick with Dantes forever.
Scene (show or tell): "When they asked me about the treasure of Sparta, I lied," the priest confesses.
"You lied?" Dantes asks.
"I'm a priest, not a saint." [Then the priest tells Dantes how to use the map to find the hidden treasure.]
"When you escape," the priest continues, "use the treasure for good. Only for good."
"No," Dantes says angrily. "I will surely use it for my revenge."
"This is your final lesson. Do not commit the crime [the priest struggles for a breath] do not commit the crime for which you now serve the sentence. God said, 'Vengeance is mine.'"
"But I don't believe in God," Dantes says.
"It doesn't matter," the priest responds with a smile. "He believes in you."
Conclusion: Moments later the priest dies and Dantes escapes. Not only do the priest's words help Dantes discover the treasure, they help Dantes rediscover the God who is faithful even when we are faithless. As Romans 8:31 says, "God is for us."

source unknown

Husband Uses Air Raid Siren to Silence Wife

A man from Berlin, Germany, took an unusual approach in trying to bring peace to his marriage. CNN reported that the man was using an old air raid siren to stun his wife into submission.
"My wife never lets me get a word in edgeways," the man identified as Vladimir R. told the police. "So I crank up the siren and let it rip for a few minutes. It works every time. Afterwards, it's real quiet again."
The 73-year-old man's 220-volt rooftop siren was confiscated by police after neighbours filed complaints.
 As for his wife of 32 years, she said "My husband is a stubborn mule, so I have to get loud."

"Man Uses Air Raid Siren to Quiet Wife", CNN.com (April 19, 2003)

Super Bowl Ads Warn Against Snap Judgments

Two of the best commercials shown during Super Bowl XXXIX were sponsored by Ameriquest Mortgage Company. Both had the same message: "Don't judge too quickly."
In one ad, a convenience store shopper is standing at the counter and talking on his cell phone. He says to the person on the other end, "You're getting robbed."; The two clerks hear those words and react by squirting the man with pepper spray, slugging him with a baseball bat, and then zapping him with an electric cattle prod.
In the second commercial, a man is preparing a romantic dinner. He chops vegetables with a large knife, while tomato sauce simmers on the stove. A white cat knocks the pan of sauce onto the floor and then falls into the mess. Just as the man picks up his tomato-splattered cat, his wife opens the door. She sees him holding a cat dripping with red sauce in one hand and a large knife in the other. The scene appears to be unmistakably horrific. As these ads show, things aren't always as they first appear.

source unknown

Thai Tribe Saved from Killer Tsunami by Elders

The Morgan sea gypsies are a small tribe of 181 fishermen who spend much of the year on their boats fishing in the Andaman Sea from India to Indonesia and back to Thailand. In December, though, they live in shelters on the beaches of Thailand. In December 2004, in the hours before the killer Tsunami crashed ashore, the Morgan sea gypsies were living on those beaches. They were in harm's way and would have likely all perished—had they not listened to their elders.
For generations, the elders of the tribe had passed along one piece of wisdom. The tribe's 65-year-old village chief Sarmao Kathalay says, "The elders told us that if the water recedes fast it will reappear in the same quantity in which it disappeared."
And that is exactly what happened. The sea drained quickly from the beach, leaving stranded fish flopping on the shore. How easy it would have been for those who live off of the sea to run down where the water had been minutes ago and fill every basket available with fish. Some people did just that in other areas of South Thailand. Not the Morgan sea gypsies. When the water receded from the beach, the tribal chief ordered every one of the 181 tribal members to run to a temple in the mountains of South Surin Island. When the waters crashed ashore, the 181 sea gypsies were safe on high ground.

"How 'Sea Gypsies' Survived the Tsunami."

Associated Press, December 31, 2004, http://cbs2chicago.com/topstories/topstories_story_001002424.html

Joni Eareckson Tada's Wedding Day

Joni Eareckson Tada, who was paralysed in a diving accident as a teenager, draws parallels between her wedding day, the Christ's love for his church.
I felt awkward as my girlfriends strained to shift my paralysed body into a cumbersome wedding gown. No amount of corseting and binding my body gave me a perfect shape. The dress just didn't fit well. Then, as I was wheeling into the church, I glanced down and noticed that I'd accidentally run over the hem of my dress, leaving a greasy tire mark. My paralysed hands couldn't hold the bouquet of daisies that lay off-center on my lap. And my chair, though decorated for the wedding, was still a big, clunky gray machine with belts, gears, and ball bearings. I certainly didn't feel like the picture-perfect bride in a bridal magazine.
I inched my chair closer to the last pew to catch a glimpse of Ken in front. There he was, standing tall and stately in his formal attire. I saw him looking for me, craning his neck to look up the aisle. My face flushed, and I suddenly couldn't wait to be with him. I had seen my beloved. The love in Ken's face had washed away all my feelings of unworthiness. I was his pure and perfect bride.
How easy it is for us to think that we're utterly unlovely—especially to someone as lovely as Christ. But he loves us with the bright eyes of a Bridegroom's love and cannot wait for the day we are united with him forever.

This We Believe: The Good News of Jesus Christ for the World, (Zondervan) p. 222

Pickler Finds Satisfaction in the Process

Rick Field is a 41-year-old bachelor, with degrees from Andover and Yale, who has decided to spend his life making pickles. The career change came after losing his job producing a National Public Radio program.
When Field announces his occupation at parties, the responses are interesting. "People will come up to me and say, 'So what do you do?' and I'll say, 'I'm a pickler,' and they'll say, 'But I mean, like, what do you do?'"
 His foray into pickling began as a hobby, "immersing cucumbers, cauliflower, string beans and other vegetables in experimental brines infused with ingredients like rosemary, wasabi or curry. One of the inventions now in his line is a sliced bread-and-butter pickle called Bee 'n' Beez that derives its sweetness not from sugar but from coconut, dried cherries and ginger."
At the International Pickle Festival, Field has won best in show 10 times, the first was for his Windy City Wasabean, a string bean incubated in a brine flavored with soy and wasabi. One of his few failures came when he gave in to the demand for an especially fiery pickle. Field used hot peppers, including African bird's-eye chilies. "They were awful," he recalled, "and what I wound up with were two cases of paperweights."
Field's method of pickle creation involves heating the brine to 190 degrees. The brine is poured into a Mason jar with the vegetable. The jar is then put in a bath of hot water, sealed, and stored. The pickles are ready for consumption in a few weeks.
Giving his perspective on pickles, Field said, "The world is incredibly crazy and complicated, and at some point I started to feel as if there was something very satisfying about putting something in a jar, looking at it, closing it, tucking it away, watching it, giving it to someone and moving on." This is not unlike what God calls us to do with our burdens, failures, and anxieties. Gather them up, give them to him, and move on.

source unknown

Coma Patient Miraculously Recovers

Lindsey O'Connor was in the midst of a two-month coma, brought on by complications from childbirth. Her family was told to expect brain damage and believed her death was only a matter of time.
Her husband Tim faced the possibility of a brain-damaged wife, and caring single-handedly for five children, including a newborn. Meanwhile, Lindsey lived in a shadowland of nightmares, awareness and utter frustration. She writes:
I remember Tim holding one of my hands, a neurologist the other, and telling me to squeeze their hands. Unable to do so or to speak, I felt my brain screaming, "Why can't I do this? Maybe I'm dying." Later, my inability to use the call button left me banging a spoon on the bedside table for an hour and a half. No one came. They thought it was the repetitive motor response of a brain-damaged woman.
Two weeks after the initial dance on the edge came a death vigil. As I lay dying, the respirator whirred, pumping air into my lifeless-looking body and then sucking it out. … My limbs were blue and as cold as refrigerated meat. It did not look like I had any upper-level brain function. I was expected to die before morning.
I later learned that 40 or more friends and relatives stood vigil in the waiting room. … Susan, one of my best friends, looked at my gray, barely recognizable body and said, "Death is ugly, isn't it?" … My dad touched my feet and said, "I taught these feet how to walk." He agreed with Tim as he made end-of-life decisions.
Tim anguished over what to do, issuing conditional Do Not Resuscitate orders and rescinding them repeatedly. Then one day, Lindsey woke up. It was weeks before she could speak, but she was going to live.
I went into the hospital on August 30, 2002, and came home just before Christmas, still unable to walk or breathe on my own. In spite of daily physical effects of the trauma, I've learned that radical obedience (in my case, having a baby at 40) is worth any cost, that prayer is inconceivably important, that miracles still happen, and that I have a faith worth dying for. 

Lindsey O'Connor, "While I Was Sleeping," Christianity Today (February 2004), p. 44

Blind Faith Takes a Back Pew in Wellbeing List

by Linda Morris, Religious Affairs Reporter; Age December 11, 2004

Churchgoers who carefully wrestle with their faith have a greater sense of wellbeing than those who uncritically hold to their beliefs, groundbreaking research has found.
The first comprehensive Australian study to investigate the relationship between community wellbeing and religious and spiritual orientation supports a growing body of overseas evidence that a spiritual framework is good for your personal health and that of the community.
But the benefits might be more marginal for those who have blindly inherited their faith from parents or have adopted them from another culture.
The study, a project of the National Church Life Survey, Edith Cowan University, Deakin University and Anglicare Sydney, surveyed 1514 people across Australia to map the relationship between spirituality and wellbeing.
It concluded that those with a spiritual outlook were more positive, more generous with their money and time, and exhibited a greater sense of purpose in life than those with a "here and now" mindset.
Peter Kaldor, the principal author, says the exploration of spirituality appears important to a healthy society. But the more eclectic nature of alternative religions might not provide as clear a framework for living as mainstream faiths.
"Of all the groups across the spiritual spectrum, it is those who are reflectively religious who have the highest purpose in life. They are also the ones that are going to give voluntary service and give to charities," Dr Kaldor said. "They also register higher than average levels of personal growth."
But how a person arrived at their beliefs appeared important to their likely levels of growth, sense of purpose and contribution to others in the community, he said.
"There is a caveat, and the caveat is that those who are non-reflectively religious have much lower levels of personal growth, lower levels of purpose in life than the reflectively religious and are nowhere near as involved in giving to community life.
"While a smaller group than the reflectively religious, and still with a greater sense of purpose and contribution than those with a here and now mindset, this group shows how different the various approaches to spirituality may be."
Increasingly, Australians were "looking around the spiritual supermarket" for things that made sense and gave them an anchor, he said.
"We are trying to go on a journey that in times past may have been inherited, we may have been born Presbyterian or we came from a certain culture."
Some people "go on a journey carefully and reflectively like sitting beside a placid lake and some of us might go on a spiritual adventure more like bungee jumping; 'let's journey to the edges for the experience of what we might find out there'."
Most Australians (74 per cent) believe in God or a spirit, higher power or life force, two-thirds say a spiritual life is important to them and a third pray or meditate at least weekly.
However, the churches argue that the decline in active religious life has coincided with rising rates of divorce, greater isolation, less involvement in community organisations, declining levels of trust in organisations and a widespread sense of insecurity.
The national president of the Uniting Church, the Reverend Dean Drayton, said the survey served as a telling reminder to the church that getting people to engage in the journey was as important as the journey itself. "We know that today people still search for that something extra in their lives," Dr Drayton said. "Despite the growth in material wealth and consumerism, people still sense the emptiness and lack of fulfilment they did 2000 years ago."

Trade-offs?

How would you describe the difference between modern war and modern industry - between, say, bombing and strip mining, or between chemical warfare and chemical manufacturing? The difference seems to be only that in war the victimisation of humans is directly intentional and in industry it is "accepted" as a "trade-off"

- Wendell Berry -

Missing King Kong

Why do some people see opportunities others miss? In the book Did You Spot the Gorilla? psychologist Richard Wiseman describes an experiment that provides a clue: Volunteers watched a 30-second video of two teams playing basketball. They were asked to count the number of times one of the teams passed the ball. What they weren't told was that halfway through the video, a man dressed in a gorilla suit would run onto the court, stand in front of the camera, and beat his chest. Amazingly, only a few of the volunteers spotted the man in the gorilla suit. Most were so intent on counting passes that they completely missed the gorilla.
Wiseman concluded that most people go through life so focused on the task at hand they completely miss "gorilla" opportunities.
He gives the example of a team of 3M researchers who were trying to develop a high-strength adhesive. One of their attempts produced a product that was actually the opposite - a very low-strength adhesive. Most of the team thought the result was a failure, but one saw it as an opportunity. That failure became the glue on 3M Post-It Notes.
If we aren't careful, we can be so fixated on the mundane, that we miss God-given opportunities of significance.

source unknown

Call Him Superman

If your name was Superman would you expect to get picked on? Swedish tax authorities thought so and declined a request by Sara Leisten to name her newborn son after the superhero. The officials were following legislation giving them veto power over names. They nixed Staalman (Superman) citing its potential to attract ridicule later in life.
The decision prompted complaints of inconsistency in applying the law. Previously, names such as Batman, Tarzan, and Bebben (after a soccer star) have been permitted. Other names refused were Bajen (a soccer team) and Asterix.
The boy's parents wanted this name for their son because he was born with one arm pointing skyward, posed in the way Superman flies. Leisten plans to re-apply, this time with the name Staalmannen (The Superman). If it is approved, one thing is clear, little Superman would have a name he can never live up to.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/3701802.stm (September 29, 2004)

Disabled Surfer Stays Joyful Amidst Adversity

Bethany Hamilton, once ranked as the best amateur teen surfer in Hawaii, lost an arm to a tiger shark in October 2003. Both her compassion and competitiveness, however, have reached a new level.
Soon after the attack she began to raise money to restore a man's eyesight. While visiting New York City, she gave her ski coat to homeless girl. When asked about the gift, she said she had more than she needed in life.
Referring to her competitiveness, the story in USA Today states: "As always, Hamilton remains undaunted. She has told her father that if having only one arm proved detrimental to reaching the top in competitive surfing, then she'd see about playing soccer."
Her pastor, Steve Thompson, said, "She's looking forward to the future. She's asking herself, 'How can I show the world I still have a life, that I enjoy my life, and that my life is filled with joy?' She has an underlying trust that God is taking care of her."

Jill Lieber, "Teen Surfer Riding Wave of Amazing Grace" USA Today (March 19, 2004)

Destiny

I don't know what your destiny will be, but one thing I do know: the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and found how to serve

- Albert Schweitzer -

Billy Graham's Prayer Changed Flight Patterns

I remember the first time my older son Jim and I worked as counselors with the Billy Graham Crusade. It was at Shea Stadium in New York. The airplanes from La Guardia Airport flew over the stadium, dozens by the hour.
On the opening night of training, the Reverend Billy Graham started talking with us from the podium as the engines roared overhead. He paused, glanced up and quietly said, "We'll have to do something about this noise. This just won't do." He bowed his head and said a simple prayer to the effect: "Lord, we ask you to shift the wind and send these planes in another direction. Thank You. Amen."
Well, we were believers, but this was a tall order. We weren't sure what, if anything, to expect. But God did it—he answered our prayers in a wondrous way! The morning newspaper reported that the winds had changed during the night, and the airplanes over Shea Stadium had to be routed another way. For several days thereafter, thousands of people came to Christ under this anointed leader's preaching. At the conclusion of the crusade, the winds reverted to their normal flow, and the airplanes returned to their normal flight patterns.

Bobbye Byerly, Miracles Happen When Women Pray (Regal, 2002, p. 20)

Words at Home

The words a father speaks to his children in the privacy of the home are not overheard at the time, but, as in whispering galleries, they will be clearly heard at the end and by posterity.

- Jean Paul Richter

Just one...

I am only one,

But still I am one.

I cannot do everything,

But still I can do something;

And because I cannot do everything,

I will not refuse to do the something that I can do

- Edward Everett Hale

Error

We do not err because truth is difficult to see. It is visible at a glance. We err because this is more comfortable

- Alexander Solzhenitsyn -

Cure

The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea

- Isak Dinesen -

Loyalty

To be sure, the dog is loyal. But why, on that account, should we take him as an example? He is loyal to man, not to other dogs

- Karl Kraus -

Where Did My Mind Go?

How one pastor faced the loss of … well … ah …
by Chris Maxwell
He spoke with honesty. Confessing what he can no longer do, describing how his gifts have departed, admitting new fears and weaknesses, his testimony did not proclaim peace. It told of pain, of pressure, of depression.
"Why do I have to take this medicine?" he asked. "I've prayed for many others to be healed, then watched God miraculously change them. He healed them. Not me."
His name is known. His accomplishments have amazed people. Now he struggles to perform tasks that felt so simple before. Doubt and defeat appear housed nearby.
I listened. We cried.
I encouraged him to release those hurts. I have him keeping a journal to avoid denial or despair. He meets with friends who accept the new man as he is.
And he talks to me. Why? Because of my counseling degree or my gift of encouragement? No. My talents or title didn't open his heart. My sickness did. When he heard me speak about a life-changing experience, he felt I would relate.
My new unwanted identity That's the way it is now. People call me because I've lost my mind, or a least an important part of it. TV and radio hosts interview me and promote my book, Beggars Can Be Chosen. But what do they really want to know? About my brain damage, about how it feels to have seizures, about my MRI results, about my forgetfulness.
I'm not asked to speak about how I've maintained good relationships with my three sons or how I communicate consistently with my wife. Reporters and editors, pastors and congregations want to ask: Does it embarrass your sons to regularly remind you of their names? How does your wife feel when you pause in a conversation because you can't pronounce a simple, common phrase? What do people in the congregation think when they call and hear, "No, the pastor isn't available now; he is resting"?
Several years ago an illness changed me. I had viral encephalitis. Ten days in the hospital, months of therapy, a lifetime of tests and medicine. Now, under the category of epilepsy, the "new me" is a man I would not have chosen to be.
Now I know about aphasia: because of injuries or disease, weakness mentally to grasp or gather.
The former me had no trouble spelling. The new me thanks God for spell check. This brain once had no trouble remembering names or memorizing Scripture. Now? Our members remind me of their names; my three sons repeat what their father forgets; my wife works to accept her new husband who goes by the same name but isn't the man she married.
Know more by knowing less? What a learning experience. New words. Illustrations. I play games to track numbers, rules, or order. The poster at my clinic gave this prophetic utterance: "An impairment of the power to use or comprehend words, usually acquired as a result of a stroke, and sometimes from head injury or brain tumor." They needed my picture beside it.
V.S. Ramachandran's words in "Phantoms in the Brain" mirrored my thoughts: "Parts …. had forever vanished, lost in patches of permanently atrophied brain tissue."
Therapists evaluated, tested, tricked, trained, and drilled my removal of skills. They reached conclusions: "Mr. Maxwell demonstrated mild anomic aphasia marked by word retrieval difficulty, reduced spelling ability, and difficulty taking on new information. Mr. Maxwell needs speech and language treatment to target these deficit areas."
Viral encephalitis affected my left temporal lobe, causing deterioration of nerves within the brain. My new weak points included language, learning, and memory. A friend said, "He is more real, more sincere."
How can brain infection, abnormal electrical discharge of neurons, and flaws in perception and memory make a man more real? Good question.
New obstacles, new limits I have many of those and other questions.
Will I remember to order chicken soup when the waitress calls my name? Do they giggle at my rhythmic reminder as I order a six-inch-turkey-sub-on-wheat with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, oil, and oregano?
How many times will I walk around a baseball stadium, an airport, or a business center searching for my car?
During my sermons do I admit that I can't remember what to say next, or do I pretend the Spirit inspired my stall? Do people realize my PowerPoint presentations help me, the speaker, more than them, the listeners?
Are my three sons holding anger because their dad gives them a look, expecting them to tell him someone's name?
My wife, Debbie, described my illness to those who never knew the prior me. I was pleased she talked with honesty. I thanked her as I typed and cried.
"This is my second marriage," she said. "God switched husbands on me in the fifteenth year of our marriage." I later wanted, or thought I wanted, to know more. I asked Deb, "Describe your second marriage."
"You have a totally different sense of humor," she said. "You go to bed early instead of watching movies at night. We go to meetings in separate vehicles because I want to stay longer than you can. I need to fill in the blank and depend on my memory more because you forget so often. You have the most trouble remembering peoples' names. You are more emotional, crying more often than you ever did. It is difficult communicating."
Okay. I asked, "Is that all?"
"No," she answered. "You are not flexible at all about schedules."
Since men need a little ego boost, and since I was desperate for at least one positive point, I pleaded for a more balanced synopsis.
"Yes, in some ways you are better. You're less inhibited; you are willing to say anything you feel you should say, but you say it carefully. You are more aware of what you eat."
Dr. Hal Pineless, my neurologist, described my new situation and some of the intangible factors: "Faith in God gave you the realization he would get you through. You were motivated. Stubbornness helped. You set goals, letting nothing get in your way. You also have a supportive wife, family, and church."
He said, "You now have epilepsy. You need to use memory devices like your Palm Pilot. Remember what Clint Eastwood says in the Dirty Harry movies, 'man's got to know his limitations.'"
My first reaction is that the word limitations is a curse. How can I view it as a blessing? A divine calling, a sincere desire to do good, and an inner longing to succeed all inform me that limitations must be overcome. I can't accept it. This "limitation" is sheer disability. To accept it feels like giving up hope, giving up my calling as a pastor and leader. So at first, I want to act as though I'm not what I am.
In time, however, I realized that each of us, in our own areas of sickness and weakness and doubt, relate to the apostle Paul as he correctly faced his own limitations. I noticed that he had serious setbacks while still remaining true to his Director. Though I struggled to read, Paul's confession (2 Cor. 11:24-30) hit the headlines of my new mind: lashes five times, rods, stones, shipwrecks, swimming in the sea at night, on the move, in danger, needing sleep, starving, naked? Elsewhere he describes a "thorn in the flesh" that God did not remove, despite his repeated prayers.
So now I work to join Paul, boasting of weaknesses, acknowledging the sufficiency of God's grace, and trusting the God who "chose the weak things of the world to confound the strong."
What I want to do, I do not When blood flow, neural activity, and mental modification seem to labor in vain, what is occurring? Brain cells arrive at birth in a lifetime supply. Portions of mine remain permanently on pause. A word I expect to say transforms into an unrelated word before my mouth tosses it through the air. A name I said four sentences before sits, hides, and refuses to allow me to locate it until I ask for help, feel embarrassed, and wonder why others think it is no big deal. Previously memorized Scripture keeps its distance.
I'm a different, unique me. But what are the real positives?
I previously taught a congregation to care, to use gifts, to serve. Then, during a season not planned or directed by our strategic visionary management, they got their chance. And many of our people applied those principles as I stuttered, struggled, and wondered why.
A speech therapist reworked my thinking on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Doctors rescued me and became my friends.
Garrett had attended college with me and then served as a leader in our church. When I returned home from the hospital, he watched me weekly, like a babysitter. Maybe he just enjoyed the food our friends brought. Or maybe he knew Debbie needed time away from her new husband.
People cared. Mowing grass, writing letters, cutting hair, serving food, driving this new Chris who wasn't allowed to drive for five months. None cheered when I drove three months too soon. Their rebukes revealed their love.
How do vanished parts of a pastor change a church?
My congregation knew me. At least, the old me. Suddenly, without election or debate, they had a new pastor. Same name, same wife, same sons. Similar, but unlike their former Chris. This one cried daily, paused often, and struggled to remember. This teacher needed to be taught. PowerPoint outlines, Palm Pilot dependence, no calls at certain times: my college professors never informed me we would one day make radical changes for mere survival.
Mary, a writer and counselor and friend, described her new pastor: "It is the strangest thing I have ever seen in my life. Chris can't remember names or words. It's like the 'name file' on the computer of his brain has been deleted. He would know you if he saw you. He just wouldn't be able to remember your name."
The church staff watched me weep, listened to me ramble, helped me spell, and reminded me of names, words, plans. Our secretaries didn't just type and answer calls and copy. They tried to discern how to help. Ministers, leaders, parishioners, prayer warriors, and those who rushed away when their pastor lost his mind all facilitated by reminding me of reality. Sadness and confusion blended with acceptance. Rejection stood beside agape love.
New opportunities God, though, had more medicine I needed. I still need it. I've finally learned to use this emotional madness in the river of gladness. Laughter really does do good like a medicine.
Relatives sent a t-shirt. It announced the new me: "Insufficient Memory at This Time." It should have included my picture. We laughed.
Others mean well when telling me, "Oh, I forget all the time," or "I never could remember names," or "It's not your illness; you are just getting old." My face smiles. My heart doesn't. I think, Age didn't do this; it happened to a man in his thirties; it dove in quickly, altering everything.
But instead of pouting, I joke. Often I'll tell the true story of me walking out during the night of my "near-death experience," carrying tubes and preaching sermons no one understood. I wasn't, let's say, dressed for the occasion.
When I visited that hospital before my illness, the hospital staff called me "Reverend." After that midnight madness, they called me "the preacher with the cute butt." They still laugh. So do I. I forget for a moment about my forgetting.
Naps? People from many countries let America's work-all-day philosophy rob them of their traditional, midday Sabbath. I have no choice. I fade. I shake. I know. Those around me know: naptime. An honor? A privilege? When a person tells me they wish they had such an excuse, I want to shout, "You do not want what I have." But they mean well. I laugh. And fall asleep for twenty-two minutes.
For many in my Charismatic tradition, illnesses like mine cause countless problems. Some hold to the naming-and-claiming doctrine that blames pains on doubt, but others have an unwavering faith that even mess-ups might cause mass revival.
So while speaking at a convention, I said, "If I pass out while speaking, I hope the not-so-spiritually-inspired have the courage to call 911 while revivalists assume I'm slain in the Spirit. My twitches and mumblings might not be an outpouring either. Those seizures always keep us guessing. Medication, instead of an interpretation or revival, should follow." It got their attention. It reminded the new me to laugh.
Dr A. D. Beacham, Jr., a leader in the International Pentecostal Holiness Church, wrote a note answering many of my questions, "I rejoice that God has spared your life. You may, like Jacob, speak and think with a limp, but I suspect that God will use that in a special way."
I believe him. I also seek to achieve continued improvement. Now, though, I must know the new me is the me I am. To remember, I paste it in my Palm Pilot: "Face it! Let God grace it!"
Last month I thought it through again when I was asked to speak at a hospital leadership conference. Maybe my writing informed them. Maybe my speaking inspired them. Maybe my leadership interested them.
No. I knew better. My illness and recovery intrigued them. They could glance at my MRI results and wonder what I might say. They wanted a brain-damaged preacher to stand and speak while they watched, listened, observed.
I chose to say yes, even though I knew. I wasn't saying yes only to them. I said it to my Sovereign Doctor who instructs me to face the fact that my cheese has moved, to face my own disappointment with God, to face my table in the presence of enemies, to face my sinking in the water, to face the new me and still tell the old, old story.
I pray that, like Jacob, I will be blessed in this ongoing midnight wrestling match. And I hope I share it with a world of people whose names I can't recall.

Chris Maxwell is pastor of Evangel Assembly in Orlando, Florida

High School Football Player Scores Touchdown of the Year

Sports Illustrated columnist Rick Reilly called it the "Play of the Year." A local newspaper called it "the touchdown heard around the world." Sports shows everywhere told the story.

Jake Porter, 17, a member of the Northwest High football team in McDermott, Ohio, was born with chromosomal fragile X syndrome, a common cause of mental retardation. He couldn't read. He could barely write his name. But he loved football, and he faithfully attended every practice.

Northwest coach Dave Frantz wanted to do something special for Jake. So before a game against Waverly High in the fall of 2002, Frantz called his friend Derek Dewitt, the head coach at Waverly. Frantz suggested that both teams allow Jake to run one play at the end of the game, assuming the game wasn't on the line. Jake would get the ball and take a knee, and the game would end.

So, with Waverly leading 42-0 and five seconds left in the game, Frantz called a timeout. Jake trotted out to the huddle, and the two coaches met at midfield. Sports Illustrated's Reilly picks up the story:

Fans could see there was a disagreement. Dewitt was shaking his head and waving his arms.

After a ref stepped in, play resumed and Jake got the ball. He started to genuflect, as he'd practiced all week. Teammates stopped him and told him to run, but Jake started going in the wrong direction. The back judge rerouted him toward the line of scrimmage.

Suddenly, the Waverly defense parted like peasants for the king and urged him to go on his grinning sprint to the end zone. Imagine having 21 teammates on the field. In the stands mothers cried and fathers roared. Players on both sidelines held their helmets to the sky and whooped.

Apparently when the coaches met before the big play, Frantz had reminded Dewitt of the plan, that Jake would simply take a knee. But Dewitt wasn't satisfied. He said, "No, I want him to score." Frantz objected, but Dewitt insisted.

Dewitt called his defense over and said, "They're going to give the ball to number 45. Do not touch him! Open up a hole and let him score! Understand?"

Jake had the run of his life, scoring the touchdown heard round the world, on the Play of the Year. All because of Dewitt's unselfish decision: "I want him to score."

Like coach Dewitt, God has high purposes for each of us. God wants us not just to get the ball and touch a knee to the ground. He wants us to score a touchdown.

Sports Illustrated (Nov 18, 2002)

How Do You Live Your Dash?

I read of a man who stood to speak

At the funeral of a friend.

He referred to the dates on her tombstone

From the beginning...to the end.

He noted that first came her date of birth

And spoke the following date with tears,

But he said what mattered most of all

Was the dash between those years. (1934 -1998)

For that dash represents all the time

That she spent alive on earth...

And now only those who loved her

Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own;

The cars...the house...the cash,

What matters is how we live and love

And how we live our dash.

So think about this long and hard...

Are there things you'd like to change?

For you never know how much time is left,

That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough

To consider what's true and real,

And always try to understand

The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,

And show appreciation more

And love the people in our lives

Like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,

And more often wear a smile...

Remembering that this special dash

Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy's being read

With your life's actions to rehash...

Would you be proud of the things they say

About how you lived your dash?

- Author Unknown