Weekend Kindness
Reaching Others Through Kindness

What can a story called The Pearl Necklace teach us?  That while we hold onto things that we think are the best, we may be missing something even better.

One of the chapel sermons that I heard at Bob Jones University that stuck with me the most was the one preached by Dr. Greg Mazak1.  In it, he said that if God was going to offer us a BMW, and we had a beat up VW Beetle, why would we refuse the BMW?  And yet that’s what many Christians do because they miss the fact that God has our best in mind, even when we do not see it.

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1. He was also the teacher for Counseling Techniques and General Psychology and had his doctorate in New Testament Theology.

We’ve all done it– given a gift that we thought at the time was perfect only to find out that we were dead wrong.

The classical blunders are the husband giving the wife a toaster or some other appliance for the kitchen and ending up in the dog house.  In my family, we were assigning things to different siblings to get for other siblings and someone gave another one (I can’t really remember how it started) a decorative bottle filled with sand or jelly stuff.  That thing kept getting re-gifted every year!

What kinds of things have you gifted (or re-gifted!) that haven’t gone over that well and how did you overcome it?

“I love you.”

Three simple syllables, yet three of the most precious words in the English language.

Those were the words my sister whispered in my ear moments before I went down the aisle to stand in her wedding. Those were the words I read in a letter from a friend when I was hurting. Those were the words my brother told me when he called me from hundreds of miles away in Ft. Benning, GA.. Those were the words scrawled on a note and left where I would find it. Those were the words my parents ended every telephone conversation with. Those were the last words my gramma ever told me.

“I love you.”

There are not three words more efficacious. They are words that minister a balm to the hurt, lend tender comfort to the sorrowful, bring sweet repose to the troubled soul, softens the hardest-of-hearts, wipes clean a slate marked with distrust and bitterness…

“I love you.”

Don’t underestimate the power behind those 8 letters. They can not be overused or uttered too often, if they are spoken in truth and authenticity. They are words that are necessary to be spoken, and they have the power to rectify relationships, heal broken trusts and release the hold of bitterness.

“I love you.”

It’s like a fragrant candle whose aroma clings to the hearer, bringing peace and hope. The flame of it warming the heart and bringing light to a relationship.

As the perfume of the rose clings to the hand that gives it, so does the ardor of the words, “I love you,” warm the heart that gave it.

Through the strength of your Savior, let His love shine through you as a beacon within the lighthouse, a hope flickering in the darkness, with a wisp of His holiness penetrating some soul, lighting the obscurity of their heart.

Source Unknown

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes.

I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes, but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas.

I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.

Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.

“Hello Barry, how are you today?”

“H’lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus’ admirin’ them peas. They sure look good.”

“They are good, Barry.

How’s your Ma?”

“Fine. Gittin’ stronger alla’ time.”

“Good. Anything I can help you with?”

“No, Sir. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.”

“Would you like take some home?” asked Mr. Miller.

“No, Sir. Got nuthin’ to pay for ‘em with.”

“Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?”

“All I got’s my prize marble here.”

“Is that right? Let me see it” said Miller.

“Here ’tis. She’s a dandy.”

“I can see that.”

Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red.

Do you have a red one like this at home?” the store owner asked.

“Not zackley but almost.”

“Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble”, Mr. Miller told the boy.

“Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.”

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.

With a smile said, “There are two other boys like him in our community; all three are in very poor circumstances.  Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.  When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green mar ble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.”

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man.  A short time later I moved to Colorado, but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles. Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one.

Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. 

Ahead of us in line were three young men.  One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts…all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband’s casket.

Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.  Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket.

Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.  Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller.  I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many  years ago and what she had told me about her husband’s bartering for marbles.

With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket. “Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim “traded” them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size….they came to pay their debt.”

“We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,” she confided, “but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho “  With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.  Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

What do you do if your only pastor’s ill and the service is about to begin?

This past Sunday I had to find a quick answer to that question.  You see, my pastor has been battling an intestinal problem for just about a year, and this week he had surgery to try to fix the problem.

I had a bit of warning– he did not show up for Sunday School and he usually teaches Sunday School.  His wife told me that he was going to try to make the service– and that’s when I started to try to think of what sermon topic I should choose.  He has been doing a series on Elijah– so I couldn’t go there.  I then started to try to think about some of the things that I’d been researching and writing about on my blogs.  Somehow, I didn’t think that a sermon on modesty would exactly fit.

So I started to think about a Bible character and I came across Samson.  I had done a sermon on him before, and I knew there was a lot of material– though I didn’t have an outline with me.

Fortunately, the Lord gave me the words to say and I was able to talk to the people about God’s mercy and grace– and our potential to serve God if we purposed in our hearts to serve Him.

How about you?  How have you stood in the gap, or stood up when someone was needed and how were you able to bless and be blessed?

During the 17th century, Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of England, sentenced a soldier to be shot for his crimes. The execution was to take place at the ringing of the evening curfew bell. However, the bell did not sound. The soldier’s fiancé had climbed into the belfry and clung to the great clapper of the bell to prevent it from striking. When she was summoned by Cromwell to account for her actions, she wept as she showed him her bruised and bleeding hands. Cromwell’s heart was touched and he said, “Your lover shall live because of your sacrifice. Curfew shall not ring tonight!” 

Our Daily Bread.

Sacrificial love has transforming power. Genuine love is volitional rather than emotional. The person who truly loves does so because of a decision to love. This person has made a commitment to be loving whether or not the loving feeling is present. It if is, so much the better; but if it isn’t, the commitment to love, the will to love, still stands and is still exercised. Conversely, it is not only possible but necessary for a loving person to avoid acting on feelings of love. I may meet a woman who strongly attracts me, whom I feel like loving, but because it would be destructive to my marriage to have an affair, I will say vocally or in the silence of my heart, “I feel like loving you, but I am not going to.” My feelings of love may be unbounded, but my capacity to be loving is limited. I therefore must choose the person on whom to focus my capacity to love, toward whom to direct my will to love. True love is not a feeling by which we are overwhelmed. It is a committed, thoughtful decision. 

Dr. M. Scott Peck