In A Plain Brown Wrapper

The song service is finished. The sermon begins. During the first three sentences, expectant faces look toward the preacher.

A single mother sighs, praying her children will let her make it through the sermon, maybe even listen.

An older man in failing health turns up his hearing aid. Frustrated and angry with diminishing strength and energy, he searches to make sense of his losses.

A high school sophomore listens with an MTV-conditioned attention span - not trained to listen long.

A successful business person caught in the depths of depression hopes for an alternative to suicide.

A Bible class teacher dealing with major failure clings to faith by a fingernail.

A married couple, sitting together in the pew but hardly speaking at home, hopes for renewal of lost affection.

A frustrated parent of an angry teen looks for confidence.

A widow's eyes fill with tears as her hand touches the empty seat beside her.

A cancer patient needs a reason to suffer through another chemo session. The mate is desperate for strength to persevere.

A contractor, competing with kickbacks and cheats, wonders if his ethics are antiquated.

A nurse, exhausted from a twelve-hour-pressure-filled shift, hopes for renewal.

A lonely soul hopes for connection with others. New Christians listen to build faith.

Long-time members hope for revival from spiritual lethargy.

Debaters want a convincing argument. Condemners want a reason to feel superior. Tired church volunteers long for a boost. Frazzled church staffers need a shot in the arm. Elders need power to persevere through the pressure. Deacons need to be uplifted. The confused seek wisdom. The guilty seek forgiveness. The sad seek help. The mad seek release. The glad seek rejoicing.

The preachers stands. For three sentences everyone listens intently, wondering, "Is there a word from God for me today?

" Who dares to rise to preach in the face of such need? Who can meet such a multiplicity of expectations? God can. Only God can.

God speaks through the preacher's faltering words, stiff outlines, and overused illustrations. God speaks through his words, his tears, his personality, his humor, his gestures, his spirit. God uses unworthy vessels to anoint hearts, persuade minds, lift spirits, comfort pain, and enlighten understanding.

The power in preaching is not the preacher. It is God. God speaking through a man, gives a beautiful gift in a plain brown wrapper. God has a word for you. Shhhhh. Listen.

     (Rev. Jerry Belton, Daily Sonshine)

My Mother Just Smiled Faintly

Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their own actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached spectators in the lives of their children and shrug, "It's their life," and feel nothing?

When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors to put a few stitches in my son's head. I asked, "When do you stop worrying?" The nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read my mind , a teacher said, "Don't worry, they all go through this stage and then you can sit back, relax and enjoy them." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said,
"They're trying to find themselves. Don't worry, in a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll be adults." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

By the time I was 50, I was sick & tired of being vulnerable. I was still worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle. There was nothing I could do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing. I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in their disappointments.

My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother's warm smile and her occasional, "You look pale. Are you a all right? Call me the minute you get home. Are you depressed about something?"

Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the fears of the FAMILY:  Is concern a curse or is it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?

One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been calling for 3 days, and no one answered I was worried."

I smiled a warm smile.

The torch has been passed.

(author unknown)
 

Who's Your Daddy

There’s an old story of the boy who stood on a sidewalk, waiting on a bus. A man walking by spotted the boy, and gave him some gentle instruction. “Son,” he said, “if you’re waiting on the bus, you need to move to the street corner. That’s where the bus stops for passengers.” “It’s OK,” said the boy. “I’ll just wait right here, and the bus will stop for me.” The man repeated his argument, but the boy never moved. Just then, the bus appeared. Amazingly, the bus pulled over to where the boy stood, and the child hopped on. The man on the sidewalk stood speechless. The boy turned around in the doorway and said, “Mister, I knew the bus would stop here, because the bus driver is my dad!”

When you’ve got a family relationship with the bus driver, you don’t need a bus stop. If your mother is a US Senator, you won’t need an appointment to slip into her office. If you’ve given your heart to the King of Kings, you’re in a royal family of unspeakable proportions.