The Third Little Girl

Maybe it’s because I wasn’t able to play football in high school, having to help out in the family business. Or maybe I just had more skeletal fortitude, but in my 53+ years I have never had a broken bone. Oh, I’ve had my bumps and bruises… but no breaks.

But let me to tell you about a little girl who wasn’t so fortunate. And what may be the most amazing thing I ever saw with my own two eyes!

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I saw three… and then there were two, in almost the twinkling of an eye. But what happened to the third little girl?

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The year was 1982 and I was the youth pastor of a mid-size church in Oklahoma City. The kids jokingly referred to themselves as “Reece’s Pieces”. One of my responsibilities – and indeed a great pleasure – was to take a couple dozen of “my kids” to youth camp that summer.

One of the greatest things about summer camp is the new friends you meet. We were sister churches with a church in Tulsa, a much larger church with more kids, and they invited us to come along with them to camp. They also invited a church from Little Rock. And not only did the campers and counselors from three churches congregate in the mountains of SE Oklahoma… God came along for the fun! And as it turns out, He’s had previous experience with tabernacles in the wilderness!

One particular afternoon most of the campers had taken the busses from the main camp area to the swimming hole down the road. But, for various reasons a few of the kids stayed behind, and they needed supervision, so I too stayed behind. And that’s when it happened. Within a five minute span I witnessed what may have been the most horrific event I’ve ever seen… and then one of the most amazing!

There were three little girls from the Little Rock church sitting on top of a large propane tank, like the ones you see at farm houses. They were probably 12 or 13 years old and just as silly as could be. I saw them there and walked over to see how they were doing, and to engage in a moment of silliness myself. I had been talking with them for a short while when I turned and looked away for a brief moment. When I turned back there were only two little girls sitting on that tank.

My mind was confused. It saw three… and then there were two, in almost the twinkling of an eye. I liken it to what folks will experience when the believers are caught away before their very eyes. But what happened to the third little girl?

Then one of the two, looking down at the ground behind the tank, screamed out, “Oh, my God… look at her arm!” I hurried around the tank to see this little girl lying on the ground with her arm broken. Sometimes when someone hurts their arm they go to the doctor to find out if it’s broken. But half way between her wrist and elbow there was an extra elbow. And the lower half of her arm was sticking straight out.

Any other time my instinct would have been to turn away from such a repugnant sight, but I was the adult, and the counselor… and all this little girl had! I scooped her up in my arms and headed up to the main building, praying all the way. And she was praying too… through her tears!

Standing on the porch of the main building was one of the leaders from her home church, so I headed toward him, with her still in my arms. And when he realized what was going on he immediately joined in the prayer. Then we heard it… a loud “SNAP”! And right there on the porch of that building at that state park in southeast Oklahoma, I saw God supernaturally set a broken arm! That extra elbow disappeared and her arm was made straight.

Please understand that nobody tried to straighten or “set” her arm. It wasn’t anything I did, or anything she did. It was something God did! And I’m not just repeating to you some story I heard some preacher tell. I was there. I had that little girl cradled in my arms when God set that broken bone.

They took her on to town for a doctor to have a look at it, and his x-ray confirmed that it had been broken. Then he asked, “Who set the break? He did an excellent job.” No doubt!

That night in tabernacle many arms were raised in praise to All Mighty God! And one of them had the cutest little pink cast on it!

Photo Cross by Josée Holland Eclipse. Used by permission.

An Idiotic Idiom

An Idiom is a phrase that has a meaning different from the dictionary definitions of the individual words themselves. Idioms are pretty common in the day to day language of we Americans. But imagine being in America from a foreign country – say France, and trying to figure out with a French-to-English Dictionary how to interpret an idiom.

Consider the phrase - “Keep your shirt on”. The poor Frenchman is standing there looking up the words – “Let’s see, ‘keep’ translates Écouter… meaning to continue”. And while he’s trying to determine what it is he needs to continue, an American would have already given the appropriate response, “Oh yeah? Well, blow it out your ear, buddy!”

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You may think I got up on the wrong side of the bed, or that I’m not playing with a full deck, but I have an ax to grind...

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Another good example of an idiom would be “fire a shot across his bow”. It comes from naval warfare, when they want to fire a warning shot without doing damage to the other ship. You don’t actually get a gun and shoot across somebody’s bow. I’m not even sure what somebody’s bow would refer to (although I’m quite sure what somebody’s stern refers to!) Nowadays such a warning shot would probably be performed with a letter or a phone call… a stern phone call.

A really bad example of an idiom would be “wrap my head around that”. I heard one of the singers on American Idol say that the other night, and I thought “that’s been used to death”. It apparently means someone is having a difficult time understanding something, or perhaps accepting something.

Country singer Lucinda Williams has a song titled “Wrap My Head Around That”. I’d never heard of it – or her either for that matter - so I went and listened to it on the internet. Well, in truth I only listened to about half of it. It was so bad it made me want to wrap my head - into a wall. Hey, that makes more sense anyway, doesn’t it! Maybe I should write a song.

Now, I’m not pulling your leg, and I don’t mean to get in your face, but lend me an ear. You may be on the fence about this, or we may be on the same page. See, the overuse of idioms just drives me up the wall. You may think I got up on the wrong side of the bed, or that I’m not playing with a full deck, but I have an ax to grind. So, at the risk of going out on a limb, let me cut to the chase.

I may be barking up the wrong tree, I may have bitten off more than I can chew, but, come hell or high water, I’m ready to get down to brass tacks. Maybe I should just let sleeping dogs lie, but I’m not going to pass the buck... in fact, the buck stops here! I’m ready to pull the plug. The past is water under the bridge, but now I’m going to use everything but the kitchen sink to put a stop to the use of annoying idioms. And I’m not quittin’ ‘til the cows come home! You can bet your bottom dollar on it.

That hits the nail on the head!

Photo Columbia Figurehead by Andrew Schmidt

You Are What You Are

Awhile back a store cashier accidentally gave me too much change. I realized it and returned the overage. While thankful, she was astonished that somebody would reject free money. My answer to her was, “My honesty comes at a higher price than a couple of bucks!”

Did you know that if a stamp is used to mail a letter, and then the machine at the post office fails to cancel that stamp, it is still considered by federal law to be a used stamp? Would you peel it off and reuse it? Nobody would ever know. But forty-four cents? Surely you’re integrity is worth more than that! If you’re going to be a thief, you may as well steal a car or something else of real value!

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How many people would you have to kill to be a murderer? The obvious answer is one. But I disagree...

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I’ve cleaned up an off-color joke to make a point. If you’re concerned you may be offended, please turn away. But in all fairness, it’s wasn’t that off-color in the first place... and besides, you’ve heard it before.

A man at a party had been noticing a beautiful woman all evening. Finally he approached her. “Miss, would you spend time with me for a million dollars?” he asked. She was taken aback by the proposition, and actually found herself overwhelmed at the prospect of becoming an instant millionaire. “Yes, I believe I would.” she answered.

He immediately responded, “How about for twenty bucks?” Quite offended, she sharply replied, “What do you think I am… an escort?” His answer … “Miss, that fact has already been established. Now we’re just negotiating the price!”

How many people would you have to kill to be a murderer? The obvious answer is one. But I disagree. I say zero. See, The 1970s TV detective Baretta said, “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.” But the bible puts it another way, “As a man thinks in his heart, so is he.”

I believe that what you harbor in your heart defines you. Oh sure, we all joke about wanting to “kill” someone from time to time. But in your heart of hearts, if the only thing keeping you from strangling somebody is the thought of lethal injection, gas chamber, electric chair or firing squad… well, you are what you are. And if you don’t steal because you might get caught… well, you are what you are.

And that’s where Grace comes in. Man could not save himself from himself. And all the law can say is, “Don’t do it”, and then dictate the punishment when he does act on the evil in his heart. It takes Grace to save a man from himself. And then you no longer are what you were! Thank God for Grace. And Grace is only available in one place.

If you don’t know where that is, ask.

Photo courtesy of http://www.freeimages.co.uk/

An Unexpected Windfall

My first thought was, “I’ve been poisoned!” Then I got to thinking, “Maybe I have a lawsuit here.” But I can hear the defense attorney now… “Mr. Kepler, do you usually put food in your mouth without making sure it’s dead first?” I’m in trouble on that one. I better not sue…

When we were kids there was this really cool amusement park in town. We got to go once or twice, but mom and dad couldn’t afford to take us very often, so instead mom would take us with her to the market for groceries. Granted there weren’t roller coasters or arcade games at the market, but there were shopping carts to ride, and fruits and vegetables to throw at each other.

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...after about my third spoon full, I realized something unusual. My cereal was moving!

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One of the things we looked forward to was picking which breakfast cereal we wanted. We would each get to pick one box. I remember standing on the cereal aisle for what seemed like hours trying to decide. Actually though, the only criteria for my choice was the toy in the box. Mom probably had to pay an extra buck for me to get a little trinket worth a penny.

I’m all grown up now, but that tradition is still intact – I still stand for hours on the cereal aisle comparing the boxes. But now I select my cereal according to my adult taste buds, and seldom get a toy. However, occasionally you get something in your cereal you didn’t bargain for.

I grabbed the box of Mueslix from the pantry and filled my bowl - poured on the milk and dug in. Then, after about my third spoon full, I realized something unusual. My cereal was moving! At first I noticed one little feller doing the backstroke. But, like a movie where the camera pans out slowly, revealing a whole screen full of action, I realized the entire bowl was bustling with activity.

What was really bad about it was that I was on a diet at the time; ©Weight Watchers to be specific. And if you’ve ever done ©Weight Watchers you know how important it is to count the points for every bite. But I couldn’t find little white worms in the book. It really wouldn’t have helped because I didn’t know how many of them I’d eaten anyway. As it turned out that wasn’t a problem though - I wasn’t in an eating mood for the rest of the day so I had plenty of points so spare.

I called Kellogg’s customer service line and was informed by this really calm sounding lady that I had ingested Indian Meal Worms. She chuckled, and assured me that I was in no danger, and that actually they were a great source of protein. She didn’t come right out and say they eat them as snacks at the Kellogg’s corporate office, but she kind of left that impression. Wow, should I send in extra money for this unexpected windfall?

The grocery store refunded my money and replaced the product, and Kellogg’s sent me a batch of coupons for more boxes of cereal. OH BOY! Just what I wanted – more boxes of cereal! They should have sent me a box of those little toys instead!

But I guess we all get over the gross things we’ve eaten – or we’d never go back to McDonalds, huh!

Photo courtesy of http://www.freeimages.co.uk/

A Religious Guy

Jack was tall and slim, with black hair and a full beard, albeit somewhat scraggly. But what made Jack so noticeable were the scars on his forearms. At some point in his life, and not too terribly long ago, Jack had taken a knife and torn open his arms from the wrist to the inside of his elbow – on both sides! Jack joked about it, about how he'd "botched the job". But it was obvious by the depth and width of the scars that his attempt was real and he’d given it his best shot.

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...the guy that gets to pray with someone and lead them to Christ gets to see the result of all that labor. With Jack, I wanted to be that guy!

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“You’re a religious guy, aren’t you?” Jack asked me as he passed by, pushing a load to be dumped down the chute. I’d just met Jack about an hour before, and all I’d done was assign to him a sledge hammer and wheelbarrow, and point him to the area I needed him to work. “I guess you could call me religious”, I answered. He dumped the busted up concrete and went back for another load.

It was 1980 and I was working for a guy that had the contract to gut the interior of an old office building slated for remodel. Needing some help I called a temp agency and they sent over two guys, one of which was Jack. I gave these two workmen their assignments, and turned back to my own sledgehammer.

The highest goal for an Evangelical Christian is to be a ‘soul-winner’. That is, somebody who will share his faith in Jesus Christ with others who do not have such a relationship, and persuade them, convince them… convert them – if you will, to their own, new-found faith in Christ. There are people who have daily goals for how many souls they can win. But, sadly, they are the exception rather than the rule. The ‘average’ Christian may have led a handful of people to Christ, if that many.

Don’t misunderstand me - no man is alone in his labors for the Lord. The Apostle Paul wrote that one man plants a seed, another man waters that seed, and God gets the increase thereof. But the guy that gets to pray with someone and lead them to Christ gets to see the result of all that labor. With Jack, I wanted to be that guy!

As he rolled by with his next wheelbarrow load I asked him, “Are you a religious guy?” He replied, “I’m what you’d call a lost soul!” And back he went to fetch another load. On his next pass I simply asked him “…Wanna talk about it?” We took an early lunch.

Jack and I sat down right there at that construction site and I shared with him about who Jesus Christ is and what he means to me… and what he could mean to him. I can’t recall the exact words I said, but then again they really weren’t my words. This was one of those times the Holy Spirit just kind of takes over and uses your voice – like the alien in “Independence Day” did with that freaky scientist guy. OK… maybe not quite like that, but you know what I mean.

Finally I talked myself out, and so I cleared my throat… and summoned my courage… and looked Jack straight in the eye and asked, “Would you like to invite Jesus into your heart?” Jack gave me an honest answer, “I could say the words, but I don’t know if I’d really believe it or not.”

“Fair enough”, I said, as disappointed as a hunter who just missed a shot at a trophy buck. So I asked him if I could pray for him. I figured I’d say a quick prayer and we’d get back to work. He consented, and so I bowed my head and prayed.

All I did was ask God to show Jack how much He loved him and to answer the questions Jack had in his heart, and I said Amen. Then Jack looked up at me with these big, wide silver dollar eyes. “What did you do?” he asked. “I felt something happen inside me!” Not knowing what else to say I immediately asked him, “Can you believe it now?” “YES”, he said. So - right then and there - I led him in what we call the sinner’s prayer. And Jack became a Believer!

I don’t know what it was about me that caused Jack to ask me that opening question. But I know enough about how the Kingdom of God works to know that I wasn’t the first religious guy to cross his path. I’m just thankful I was the one that got to “close the deal”.

I took Jack and bought him a good leather-bound bible that day, and made sure he was in church the next Sunday. But Jack was a transient, sleeping in flop houses and cheap hotels. He’d just blown into town and didn't stay too long. He worked with me for a few days, and we talked about the things of God. And then I never saw him again.

But I will!

The Distinguished Gentleman

Personally I blame the affordability of air conditioning for herding people off their front porches and into their living rooms… well, that and television. Before those two “modern miracles” folks used to stroll the avenues, waiving and ‘howdy-do’ing’, and everybody knew everybody. Now we can live in the same place for years and never learn the first names of our neighbors, or where they work, or what they do to unwind.

A couple of years ago Stephanie and I moved into a new home in a new subdivision, and frankly, coming from an area of more humble incomes, I wondered what kind of folks we’d be living among, and how well received we would find ourselves. I didn’t have to wonder for long. On the afternoon of our first day, two… count ‘em, two sets of our new neighbors introduced themselves. Kim and Mary Beth even presented us with a home-baked apple pie!

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I started addressing Patrick as sir and referring to him as The Distinguished Gentleman. Then it dawned on me where that term comes from...

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Having similar interests with our new neighbors Patrick and Angela, we became fast friends, and even met up on vacation in Vegas. They flew, we drove. Oh, we had our separate agendas. We didn’t do everything together. Stephanie and I had a dress-up evening where just the two of us went to dinner in our Sunday best. And we marveled at how we were treated - the respect shown us because of our attire. People actually scurried to clear a path for us.

It’s amazing the respect shown a well dressed person in Vegas... as you will soon see!

Patrick had a business conference one day, and so he dressed up… way up – suit and tie. Patrick is a handsome man anyway; a black man with the popular shaved head look, a little on the tall side and with an athletic build, and a personality that could sell… well pretty much anything to anybody. After his meeting he gave me a call and I swung by and picked him up.

Now, if you fly into Vegas you probably never get off the strip, except maybe for that one memorable night downtown. But because we drive out, I know many of those out-of-the-way places where the locals go to play. The girls had scheduled a day of shopping, so Patrick and I drove out to a casino I knew that had dollar craps (on the strip you can’t shoot craps for less that 5 bucks a play). We carved out our positions at the craps table.

I’m not sure where the thought originated - I would think it’s because of how sharp he looked - I started addressing Patrick as sir and referring to him as The Distinguished Gentleman. Then it dawned on me where that term comes from. That’s how U.S. Senators address one another.

About that time Patrick tossed a chip down and declared, “This is for the boys”, a term that indicates he is placing a bet for the dealers – that is, if it wins, the bet and its winnings go to them as a tip. Of course, if it loses, it loses. The stickman didn’t see where the bet came from, so he asked. I immediately pointed to Patrick and said, “The Senator placed that bet for the team”.

Thenceforth, and for the remainder of the session not only I, but everyone at the table referred to Patrick as “The Senator”. I tried to work into the conversation how I was a bodyguard or a driver, but I had my tourist costume on, you know – shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, so I’m sure they concluded that I was the Senator’s brother-in-law or some other social appendage whose company he was forced to endure.

Stephanie and I had a great time that year. And I’m sure Patrick and Angela had a wonderful time too. But just think of all those locals at that craps table… the old geezer with the oxygen tank, the off duty cocktail waitress, the construction worker from Phoenix that had chased the building boom to Sin City. They ALL have the story of their life – I shot craps with a U.S. Senator! And they have us to thank for it.

How much you wanna bet they’re all at home right now watching C-SPAN to catch a glimpse of Patrick? I know a place that will give you great odds!

The Swiss Army Knife

I saw this cool Swiss Army Knife you can buy for your dad next Father’s Day – or if your father has passed on as mine has, you can buy it for me. This knife costs 180 bucks, and I counted no less than 20 functions for which it has a unique tool. What’s more, it comes with band-aids, a pressure pencil (whatever that is), writing paper, safety pens, matches and sewing thread. Of course these accessories aren’t built in, so you’ll lose them pretty quickly. But it’s still cool that they come with the knife.

This got me wondering – if GOD had a Swiss Army Knife, what would it look like?

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He’s not just that church’s Swiss Army Knife… He’s GOD’S Swiss Army Knife...

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There’s this guy I know that works at a church. Now, in respect to him I shouldn’t use his real name so I’ll use an alias. Let’s just call him Randy. That’s a good, strong yet generic name, don’t you think? Randy is the “go-to” guy for whatever’s going on in this church he works at. If the rainy season finds cracks in the roof, call Randy. If the snowstorm of the century leaves the parking lot impassable, call Randy. Air conditioner broke? Water line busted? Toilet paper too coarse? Call Randy!

In all fairness, I’m sure most churches have their Swiss Army Knife. But this guy I’m calling Randy for purposes of this story… he’s not just that church’s Swiss Army Knife … He’s GOD’S Swiss Army Knife. See, his usefulness is not just limited to the mechanical, electrical or structural functions of the facility. If they need somebody to make the announcements on Sunday morning, or be a prayer partner or head up the men’s ministries or teach in the bible school, they call Randy.

And that’s all in addition to him being a husband, a father, a grandfather and a son (and probably a cousin and a nephew and an uncle), as well as being a pretty cool guy in his own right. He even finds the time to play a round of golf occasionally, should the sun cooperate.

This guy goes overseas to minister to the needs of others, both spiritual and physical. And he even shares his wit, wisdom and humor in a blog on the internet. I’d give you a link to it, but I’ve decided to keep this guy’s real identity a secret.

Oh, I’m sure if this guy I’m calling Randy chose to leave this church he’s serving, someone would step in to take his place… or more realistically, about 11 someones! Hey, that would make Randy God’s one-man football team!

So if your church has one of these Swiss Army Knives, even if his name isn’t Randy, make sure he knows how much he is loved – how much he is appreciated – how incredibly special he is to God and to everyone in the church… and to you! And you might even think about rolling up your sleeves and helping him out with the church’s next catastrophe.

And by the way, I was just kidding about giving me that Swiss Army Knife for Father’s Day. Give it to Randy! He’d actually use it!