Honorable

Read stories to your kids when they are young and when you grow old your grandchildren will thank you for it.

 

The following is a story I wrote for my daughter, Sianna, when she was about seven years old, based on a character named Ninja Girl.

                                                           

                                                                

HONORABLE

It happened one night after bath time. 

Out of nowhere, she appeared in her unsuspecting brother’s bedroom.  “I am NINJA GIRL, she exclaimed, with her bathrobe flowing in the breeze and holding her sidekick, a teddy bear named Soft.  Her brother nearly jumped out of his skin as she struck a pose, like any good self-respecting ninja would do. Then he smiled, laughed, and finally hugged her. Ninja girl scowled.  “Ninja girls should bring terror, not happiness to their victims.” So, off she ran down the hall to pursue her next unsuspecting victim.

Then, it happened again.

Coming down the hallway she came upon Rex, the family dog.  "I am NINJA GIRL!" she exclaimed at the top of her lungs, as her bathrobe twirled in the breeze. Then Rex panted, barked, and licked her on the face; the dog version of laughing, smiling, and hugging. “Ninja girls should bring sheer terror to unsuspecting victims, not joy,” she said disgustedly. So, off she ran down the hall stomping her feet, while clutching Soft, in search of another victim. 

A few minutes later, it happened again.

She snuck into the living room where mom was snuggled up in her warm, fuzzy blanket checking her e-mail. Seizing the moment, she sprang into action as struck a pose and said, “I am NINJA GIRL!”  This time her bathrobe twirled a little less, while still clutching her sidekick, causing mom to turn with a start.  Mom smiled, then laughed and hugged her little girl. "You’re too cute," Mom replied.  “Ninja girls are not meant to be cute, they’re supposed to strike fear into your heart.” So, she ran out of the living room with her head down, with one last hope.

In the end, she discovered what she had been looking for all along.

Her last opportunity was in the kitchen. She held her breath and moved quiet as a mouse. That is where her dad was scooping ice cream into a cup making a homemade chocolate shake. Then she snuck up behind him, while holding her teddy bear, Soft, struck a pose and announced at the top of her lungs, “I am NINJA GIRL!”  Dad was so startled by all the noise that in mid-scoop, he flung some chocolate ice cream on the floor, and knocked Soft out of Ninja girl’s grasp. With one hand over his heart and a paper towel in the other, he took a deep breath. Then he smiled, then laughed and then he hugged his little girl. “Daddy, I am so mad, I want to be scary, not cute,” sobbed the disappointed little girl.

 

Pulling up a chair, dad motioned for his little Ninja girl to sit down. “Sweetie, let me tell you a not so ancient Chinese secret.” Pausing for a moment, he picked up her sidekick, Soft.“ If Soft could talk, he would tell you this: it is most honorable to leave a trail of happiness behind you not fear, laughter not tears, smiles not frowns, and hugs rather that emptiness.” Then Ninja girl smiled, then laughed and she bent over and picked up Soft and gave him a big hug. “Daddy, if Soft could talk I think he would ask you to make me a Ninja-sized chocolate shake.” With that, dad smiled and began to stir the ice cream. 

Now, go out and be honorable or Ninja girl will give you a karate chop!   Hi-Ya!!!!!

Swavel

Time Well Spent

Give everyday like it might be your last; one day it will be.

 

Author’s note: The following letter is written for my two youngest daughters, in honor of my eldest daughter, Alisha, who would be twenty today. 

Dear Sianna and Lia,

Once upon a time there was a girl who loved to give.

Since you will never get to meet your big sister here on Earth, I thought I would fill you in a little on her life.  If you recall nothing else from this letter, remember your sister as the girl who loved to give. 

We all will be remembered for something, good or bad, and in my opinion she lived seven years better than some live seventy seven.

Her name was Alisha Erin.

It was nearly thirteen years ago when Alisha Erin and I last talked on April 28^th, 2000.  She had just celebrated her seventh birthday the week before and was anxious to go to the local pharmacy with me while I ran some errands.  During our last true moment together I became her personal chauffeur and watched firsthand as she did what she loved to do most- GIVE.

She was a tornado in a dress.

She waited as best she could for me to finish my business, but the birthday money Alisha had just received was burning a hole in her pocket.  The main reason she had come was to buy some snacks for the evening.  Her smile let me know she was pleased with her purchase of chips and crackers, so we began our march toward the register.  I can still see Alisha with her pink purse belt strapped around the waist of her dress, as she skipped and danced her way to the checkout counter, like she was dancing with a tornado.

Alisha had brown hair and blue eyes.

After Alisha paid for the items something wonderful happened in her seven year old world; she received some quarters back in change.  With a big smile she asked me, “Daddy can we play the crane game?”  How could I say no to the girl with brown hair and blue eyes whose spirit and appearance was similar to my own?  We left the pharmacy and ventured to the neighboring department store lobby.  The crane game is a simple piece of equipment.  You insert a quarter, direct the arrows, push a button to make the crane drop and hopefully you end up with a load of candy.  “Play till you win”, the slogan read.  If only life were that simple.  As normal, Alisha took her time putting the quarter in to the game.

She had a deep, raspy voice.

After several near misses the crane hit pay dirt and she captured a piece of toffee.  It was a flavor I did not care for and secretly hoped she would eat it herself.  Then in the parking lot she asked me if I wanted the candy in her deep, raspy voice which I had to strain to hear.  At first I refused, but after noticing her frown I quickly changed my mind.  When I popped the horrid piece of toffee into my mouth I turned away so she wouldn’t see me grimace.  This would have a bitter after taste that would last for quite a while, but my heart was smiling.

She had an infectious giggle.  

Putting you kids to bed is a responsibility I cherish.  With that being said Alisha and I had a special bedtime tradition.   It was during these special times at bedtime that she had fallen in love with a particular story about a squirrel named Jimmy Joe Bob.   Jimmy was a little squirrel about Alisha’s age that had a problem; he never listened to his mommy and always paid the price.  These were silly stories at best, but in Alisha’s little world a good night was one story, a great night was two.  The premise of the story was quite simple as I used the stories to teach her the importance of obedience. Then, I would tuck her into bed and she would wrap her arms around me and tell me she was never going to let me go and she would let out this infectious giggle, while I tried to wiggle free.  

Alisha could be a little stinker at times. 

During our final moment together, after she had fallen into a deep sleep called a coma, it was only natural for me to share with her a Jimmy Joe Bob story.  Her heart and mine were soaring for one last magnificent time.  Her final bedtime story went a lot like this:  There was once a little girl who knew a squirrel named Jimmy Joe Bob.  They were best of friends and had a lot of great times together, but the time had come for the little girl to leave.   It was time for her to go and live with Jesus.”  Nothing happened.  So, I told her with tears welling up in my eyes,” Alisha, Jimmy thinks it is time for you to go.  It’s OK you can go now,” giving her my permission.  Yet, she stayed.  As she had done so many times before, I believe the little stinker was holding out for a second story, she wasn’t ready to say goodnight or in this instance, goodbye.

She loved the tooth fairy, hated the pain.

Then there is the story about the tooth, the last gift she personally gave to me. You are both now at the age when you can’t wait to hit up the tooth fairy for some loose change. Alisha was no different, except she hated the pain. In the weeks before Alisha died, she and I struggled to remove her last remaining front tooth. I would wiggle the tooth, she would scream, I would stop. This painful dance would happen over and over again, yet I couldn’t free the tooth.

Alisha had the best wrap around hugs.

A funny thing happened moments after I told Alisha her final bedtime story. One of the nurses approached me with a gift from Alisha, with her head down and her hand closed. As she opened her hand, there was that pesky tooth. To me it was like a wraparound hug, a big thank you from Alisha for letting her go.  Mind you, I would have much rather paid her the buck, the going rate in our house for a front tooth, but it was what I so sorely needed at that moment.

She loved to dance with her daddy. 

Alisha and I had another special thing we liked to do. Every time the credits rolled for the Disney movie, Tarzan, we danced while Phil Collins sang “You’ll Be in My Heart.”  The credits are that brief moment where you take a deep breath and replay all the highlights of the movie before you must re-enter life.  A funny thing about that song is that those are the last words I ever spoke to Alisha before she died. So, anytime I hear that song, You’ll Be in My Heart” on the radio or wherever  I am it reminds me that one day I will dance with her again, someday. However, this time I look forward to us all dancing in Heaven with Alisha, when we are altogether. 

Alisha’s life was time well spent.

This story is my gift to you from Alisha, so if you ever forget you now have a reminder.  Remember, like Alisha, make your life time well spent.

Love, your Dad

(Swavel)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lift and Move

Better to say little and do a lot, then say a lot and do little.

Before we turn the page on winter allow me to relay one last cold weather story. 

One bitterly cold winter morning, when I was about eighteen and attending a Bible School located in the Adirondacks of New York; my whole dorm was awakened by a hysterical roommate. Unbeknownst to me, I was about to learn a very valuable lesson.

As fate would have it, this roommate was the sound man for our meeting hall and when he went to open the back door of the hall he couldn’t get in. To his absolute horror, he had just discovered that all the entries were blocked from the inside by heavy, stackable wooden benches. Panic began to set in because in a few hours the entire campus would need to get in to participate in classes. 

Quite frankly it was a well-designed prank for the ages. The manner in which the unknown culprits kept us out was ingenious as they piled all the benches on top of one another creating a virtual wall. Then somehow, one of them, with the size and agility of a monkey, crawled up over the last bench and closed the door.

Faced with a major dilemma one of our dorm supervisors concocted a brilliant plan. If we pulled together, putting our anger and frustration to work, we could put the meeting hall back together in less than an hour. That way we could still make breakfast and no one would be any the wiser.  His thought was that if we acted quickly setting things right the other students would never find out about it and the pranksters would lose. The lack of a reaction would be our victory.

Fortunately, we had a few monkeys in our dorm as well and they were able to get up over the wall of benches and eventually remove some layers so the rest of us could climb up and over.  Once inside, the plan worked flawlessly as we all seemed to work together not complaining, hustling, lifting and moving. In about half hour the meeting hall was restored back to normalcy, like nothing had ever happened.

To the best of my knowledge no one ever found out who pranked our school. However, there was quiet satisfaction among those of us who knew the truth in knowing tragedy had been averted.  In essence, we turned the tables, aka the benches, on the pranksters.

Since I led with a cold weather story, now I would like to share a spring related one, more befitting of the weather. While at that same school later that same year, Steve, a fellow student who hailed from the Bronx, told me an interesting lesson he had learned thanks in part to a tree stump.

As the story goes Steve was clearing some brush for a friend, which required that he push a heavily loaded wheel barrow uphill on a narrow path. However, much to his chagrin, he was running into an unavoidable problem, which was a pesky tree stump, that was smack dab in the middle of the path. Every time he would make his trek he inevitably would hit the stump which would make his load capsize causing him to get furious. Try as he might the path always lead him to the same point where he would meet disaster.

If memory serves, eventually he bit the bullet and just applied the principle of lift and move and tore the stump out.  He was done talking about the problem and the situation needed to be resolved.  Further stated, no amount of talk would fix it, only delay the process.

To close things out, here is one last story. It comes from the Bible about Jesus. In the book of Luke there is a great story about a man who is paralyzed and what his friends did to help him.

Jesus, who was known for his healing many people who had been blind, deaf, mute, demon possessed or just beyond human help for their ailment, was in town.  He was teaching inside someone’s home and people from all over the country side crowded in to hear what he had to say. Since the paralyzed man could not walk it was impossible to get their friend though the mass of people in his condition. However, these men were going to stop at nothing till they got their friend to the only one who could truly give him the help he so badly needed.

I can only imagine how many times people had tried to comfort the paralytic man by telling him how sorry they felt for him. They may have even wished they could help, but then did nothing.  His friends on the other hand were men of action. They were not going to let a crowd, a full house and a roof stop them. So, without a moment to lose, they tore off the roof and attached ropes to his mat and lowered him down through the ceiling.

Seeemingly Jesus was so taken by this act of faith and persistence that these men displayed that he promptly healed the paralyzed man. The Bible says immediately the once paralyzed man got up, picked up his mat and walked home. When the man’s friends applied the principle of lift and move Jesus obliged and granted their request of a miracle.

In life, just like in the stories above, hard work and persistence tend to pay off more times than not.  So, when it comes time to take action, you better be lifting and moving.

You get what you pay for.in life, for example: talk is cheap and hard work is its own reward.

Swavel

 

What solely matters

 

Contrary to popular belief, to look cool on the outside does nothing to enhance who you are on the inside.

Here are a few examples of incorrect thinking concerning what solely matters:

During my high school years I had plenty of issues.   However, one of the biggest was the fact that I was a nerd and didn’t like that my shoes were not the latest fashion.  I had this false hope that if, somehow, I could get the sneakers that were in style, suddenly all my troubles would go away.

So, a few days before tenth grade, I went to the local shoe barn in search of that elusive resolution to being cool.  With my dad in tow, we walked in and worked our way toward the back, ducking under several pairs of fishing boots hanging in the aisle over head, till we found the sneaker section.  It was there that I discovered a pair of Nike canvas sneakers, with a beige swoosh and a rubber front and thought I just had to have them.   Accordingly, I debated with my dad making every logical argument I could because he was dead set against them since he felt they were too much and just not his style.  Who knows why, but eventually he changed his mind and got them for me.

To this day, I can still remember sitting in the den the night before school was to begin watching TV holding my new sneakers and just feeling cooler.  Unfortunately, the next day when I got to school no one seemed to treat me any better because now I wore a pair of sneakers with a swoosh on them.  The fact remained I may have been wearing cool shoes, but I was still a nerd, just wearing cool shoes.  Who I really was had not changed, I may have felt better, but that’s about it.

Another example of thinking something you can purchase can make you better is the Michael Jordan commercial from the 1980’s.  It’s the one where a young Spike Lee, aka Mars, is constantly questioning Michael Jordan throughout the thirty minute commercial trying to uncover what makes him the best player in the universe.  He asks if it’s his socks or his baggy shorts or haircut, etc.  Constantly coming back with the line, “it’s got to be the shoes,” to which Michael says, “no Mars.”  Ironically the commercial is suggesting that if you want to be like Mike, you need these shoes.   In essence Michael was right it’s not the shoes, but there were a lot of young men back in the day, who just had to have them anyway.

 Here are a few examples of correct thinking concerning what solely matters:

A more accurate account of what solely matters in life was set by another athlete, Michael Chang, one time French open winner.  Years ago, I heard a story about him when he chose to think of another over himself.  It was during a tennis tournament when he gave a pair of his own shoes to fellow athlete who was in need of them.  To me, Chang had a depth about him that defines cool; he chose to give of himself.  Rather than just trying to look good, he was seeking to do good for others.  If memory serves it was an deed that long out lived his career.

On a more serious note, just the other day I went to the viewing of a seventeen year old boy who had just months before been healthy.  He suddenly had contracted a mysterious disease, which later turned out to be a form of a severe immunodeficiency disorder and he went to be with Jesus last week.  However, when I was at his viewing I was encouraged that his parents, whom I had grown up with, had laid a shirt in his casket which read: This body is just a rental.  This young man and his family knew what solely matters in life and death.

Just the other day this same thought was reinforced as I was listening online to a pastor by the name of Francis Chan.  As he was speaking Francis made mention of a story on a similar vein about soul matters.  He said that he had a friend, Frank Pastore, an ex major league baseball pitcher for the Reds and now a national radio host, that was speaking about how our body is not as important as our soul. To get the full effect of his friend’s words he played the live audio.

Here is what he said in paraphrased form.  Frank was talking about how that his body was temporary and that his soul is the real him.  Then, out of the blue, he made a statement that if he were to drive his motorcycle home and get hit by a car and die that his real body would not be the one dead on the highway.  Hours later what he said, in jest, literally happened when he was hit by a car on his motorcycle and weeks later died from the pending injuries. Yet, Frank Pastore spoke the truth: that was just his body, his soul was with God.

Fashion aside, in the end, what solely matters is whether your soul is right with God or not. 

Swavel

 

Everything's Cool

To discover the true character of a man, meet his son first.

On Saturday, March 16th, my wife and I along with our two daughters found ourselves just below the Mason Dixon line in a church lobby in Maryland. The event was a Casting Crowns concert.  Our purpose for being there was to represent two organizations that are associated with adoption and assist people who are interested in helping the least of these.  To put it lightly, I was out of my element and hoped to defer any tough questions to my wife who is much better at explaining when it comes to adoption details.  In the midst of my uncertainty, I met a young man named John Michael who went a long way toward easing my anxiety.

While my family and I were waiting for the doors to open John Michael introduced himself as the guy who would be overseeing us that evening.  He asked if we needed anything and mentioned he would be checking in periodically throughout the event.  Then, off the cuff, he mentioned that this dad was in the band.   However, he never clarified that his dad is Mark Hall, lead singer of the Grammy award winning band, Casting Crowns. In hindsight, he didn’t need to because his resemblance to his dad gave him away.

So, here is a young teenage guy, as tall as me with rosy red cheeks, great hair, a big smile and a walkie-talkie strapped to him like he was about to call in an air strike, taking care of business. When it comes to leading, I always felt it is best to show people what to do, rather than just tell them.  And this seemed to be the theory that John Michael subscribed to as well.  He had the booth already set up and stocked well before we got there and then afterwards helped us break it down in less than ten minutes.

Needless to say, the thing I remember most about him was the catchphrase he used when he would walk by me during the concert.  He would glance over at me and put one of his thumbs up in the air and say, everything cool?  To which I would put my thumb up and say, everything’s cool.

I am a firm believer that how children learn is more caught than taught.  Consequently when Mark Hall sent his son to represent him and the band I believe I caught a little glimpse of what God the Father did when He sent His Son, Jesus to represent Him on this earth.  Especially at Easter time it is great reminder that only through Christ and His death can we really, truly know God the Father.  Although I never did get to meet the lead singer of the band I did meet him indirectly, he sent a better example, his son.

Therefore, it is somewhat ironic that I will be sending my son, Jordan, indirectly to represent me on April 4^th at another Casting Crowns concert to do the same thing I just did a weekend or so ago. I have no qualms that he will do just fine discussing with people and sharing adoption stories about his sisters who were adopted from China. My son, and I’m bragging here, is a fine, young man.

Jordan is a young man who just turned twenty two last week and who God has taught some life lessons not all of us have entrusted to our care. You see, about thirteen years ago my son nearly died in a car accident and at the very least should have been paralyzed, but by God’s grace is neither.  He currently attends a college in Texas in his fourth year and still beats his dad every year like a drum in our March Madness bracket.

But, at this special time of the year, I am reminded so fondly of how so many years ago when I held his precious life in my hands on March 21^st, 1991.  It was a truly awesome gift that God had given to me.  To this day, I still remember how unworthy I felt as I realized that this little boy would carry my name and how I would have the privilege of spending every day with him till he was grown.  Hopefully, throughout the process, my wife and I have taught Jordan more good than bad.

Although I cannot speak for Mark Hall, as far as I’m concerned, if you really what to know me get to meet my son first.  With the embarrassing stories aside, which I’m sure Jordan has plenty of, odds are I’ll look better than I truly am

Easter is the perfect example of how to get to know the Father you must first meet Him through his Son.

Swavel

 

Nice To See

If you want to make a difference in someone’s life start by being kind over being mean.

Just the other day I saw something that was so refreshing, so nice to see, I just felt I had to share it with you. My wife was in a different room of the house when she saw a video on YouTube and told me I should watch it as well. So, when I was done brailing in the kitchen, I sauntered over to the laptop in the living room and was pleasantly surprised by something that made me smile. I think it will make you smile too.

So, before I go any further, here it is…… (instructions for video link: right click on the colored http link below, then click on open hyperlink, then click on play, sit through commercial and then click play again and enjoy)

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/02/26/mitchell-marcus-special-needs-teen-basketball-game_n_2766354.html

Allow me to summarize, just in case the YouTube clip didn’t function properly.

In a world where we are constantly surrounded by negative role models this basketball video is a like a breath of fresh air. This story had it all:  a.) underdog  b.) caring coach  c.) compassionate teammates  d.) crying mom  e.) the unexpected. Alone it was a nice story, the way it ended - WOW.

When I first started watching it I began thinking “I’ve seen this kind of thing before,” and wasn’t expecting much. Man, was I wrong.

Hollywood could not have written a better script. The underdog, Mitchell Marcus, is a special needs teenager with a developmental disability, who is a senior at Coronado High School in El Paso, Texas. He happens to be the team manager, with a deep love for the game of basketball, but had never suited up to play in a game.

Then the caring coach surprises Mitchell in the last game of the season by allowing his manager to suit up. The coach, Peter Morales, was even willing to sacrifice the outcome and put Mitchell in regardless of the score. So,with about a minute and half to go, with Coronado up by ten points, coach Morales put Mitchell in and gave him his chance to score, his moment.

Despite the efforts of his compassionate teammates, going out of their way to get him the ball, each time Mitchell shot the ball it would not go into the hoop. The game seemed destined to end without Mitchell making a basket. To top it off, with less than ten seconds to go he booted the ball out of bounds. It looked like he would never get his name in the box score.

With disappointment hanging in the air, then came the crying mom moment. There seemed to be no fairytale ending in sight as Mitchell’s mom made a cameo. I thought she was going to say how much she loved her son and that it didn’t matter if he scored or not, that he was still a winner for trying his best. However, she was speaking of it as a moment she will never forget.

Then it, the unexpected, happened. Jonathan Montanez, a senior forward for rival Franklin high school, took fate into his own hands. In an unbelievable gesture of pure kindness, he called Mitchell’s name and passed him the ball. The rest is history as Mitchell finally sunk the shot and the fans rushed the court.

With one simple pass, a young man showed a whole nation that, “kindness is treating others how you want to be treated.”  And in my book that is always nice to see.

Swavel

 

My favortie cup (2nd serving)

My favorite cup (second serving)

Forgiveness, like a cup of coffee, has the unique ability to transfom what was once weary and worn into something fresh and vibrant once more.

 

   

 

 

When it comes to the subject of forgiveness, Immaculee Ilibagiza, a Tutsi (pronounced tootsie) from Rwanda,  has a story you won’t soon forget. 

Her  unbelievable story bgins on April 7^th, 1994, at the time Imamaculle was in her early twenties and  home from college on Easter break.  It was  during this day that the pesident of her native country, Rwanda,  was shot down in his plane and killed.  Consequently, the Hutu (pronounced who-two)  tribe, which is rival of Imacculee’s Tutsi tribe,  went on a torrid killing spree which is now commonly refered to as the Rwandan genocide.  The Hutus blamed the death of the president on the Tutsis’and  claimed they would kill every tribe member in order to take revenge. 

On that terrible spring day she was rushed immediately to a friendly Hutu neighbor’s house, who was a Protestant minister.  Once inside she was taken immediately to a seldom used bathroom in a remote part of the house and locked inside with seven other Tutsi women. It was their only hope to remain safe from the  Hutus who had declared war on her people calling them cockroaches, going from house to house killing everyone from her tribe that they could find. 

For ninety days, she and seven other women stayed trapped in this secret three foot by four foot bathroom, as death lurked right outside the bathroom window.   On one such occasion for two hours, her enemies came looking for her and other Tutsis inside the minister's house, even calling her by name in attempt to frighten her out.  As the Hutus looked thoughout  the house, in desperation Imacculee prayed  this, “ God if you are real don’t let them find the door of the bathroom.”  That moment her faith in God was renewed when her assailants, who once had their hand on the doorknob, never entered the bathroom and then left.

Imacullee and her seven friends would survive the holocaust, however, in those three terrifying months  a staggering one million people died.   The equivalent of three out of four of the entire Tutsi population was wiped out.  Sadly, included in the dead were all of  Immaculee’s family: her father, her mother, grandparents, and two brothers, leaving only her one brother, who was out of the country at the time of the masacare.

Needless to say, you would think that Imaculee would have every reason be bitter and full of rage at this outpouring of evil leveled on her, her family, and her people. This however is not the case .  She claims that her truning point of leaving the hate behind and seeking forgiveness instead happened during those desperate days in that little room.  Imaculee prayed the Lord’s prayer every day for ninety days.

While she was praying the Lord’s prayer over and over again she happened upon  a part she could not pray,  “forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.”  The reason she could not pray it was because she didn’t want to pray a lie.  She realized after much thought, that the Lord’s prayer originally was a prayer that God Himself our Lord gave us.  So, she turned to the author of that great passage to help her out. 

It was then  in that tiny little bathroom that Imaculee had another epiphany. In her own words, she realized this .... "you being mad at them, you getting angry wanting to do what they are doing doesn’t change a thing."  Something just became clear in that moment, that told her , “everyone has a chance.. to …see the truth.”  In essence what Immaculle did was what Jesus said as He hung on  the cross, " Father forgive them for they know not what they do."  

If  it were not enough, Immaculee felt she needed to forgive the people who were trying to kill her.  What she choose to offer her enemies was forgiveness, not hatred.  For this expressed reason she went to prision to meet the leader of one of the gangs who had sought to take her life. After an awkward pause, they both began to cry as their eyes met and she touched his hand as she said these healing words, “I forgive you.”  Imaculee’s heart eased immediately as she saw the tension release in the man’s shoulders, who once sought to obliterate her and her people.

She concludes her book, Left to Tell…. with these words: “ the love of a single heart can make a world of difference.  I believe that we can heal Rwanda – and our world – by healing on heart at a time.”

The following are truly acts of God: earthquakes, floods, hurricanes, and  forgiving those who wrong you.

Swavel

 

My favorite cup (first serving)

 

Forgiveness, like a hot cup of coffee, has the unique ability to transform what was once weary and worn into something fresh and vibrant once more.

What I would like to share with you in two separate blogs, are two beautiful examples of forgiveness both centering on how we need to forgive.   If we can’t forgive, like Jesus said in the Bible, how can we expect God to forgive us?

When I think about how sometimes we must forgive regardless of the trespass, a story about Corrie ten Boom, a holocaust survivor during World War II, comes to mind. She, her sister, Betsie and her family had been imprisoned during the Nazi invasion of Holland for hiding Jews.

As the story goes Corrie was speaking on forgiveness in a church in Munich, Germany in 1947. She spoke of forgiveness as this, “When we confess our sins, God casts them into the deepest ocean, gone forever.”

After she had finished speaking it was then that a man whose face she could not forget approached her. He was one of the guards from Ravensbruck, the despicable concentration camp, where both Corrie and Betsie had been taken after their arrest. It was there that he and the other guards treated the sisters and many other countless Jews like animals. Many like Betsie and countless others would die there due to the harsh conditions.

Since his time as a Nazi guard, he had become a Christian and now was in search of this forgiveness that Corrie had so freely offered just moments before.  Although, he did not remember her, she remembered him. He went on to say that he knew God had forgiven him for the cruel things he did in the prison camp, but he wanted to hear from her lips that he was forgiven. Then, he put his hand out.

The following is what happened next in Corrie ten Boom’s own words….

And I stood there—I whose sins had again and again to be forgiven—and could not forgive. Betsie had died in that place—could he erase her slow terrible death simply for the asking?

It could not have been many seconds that he stood there—hand held out—but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.

“For I had to do it—I knew that. The message that God forgives has a prior condition: that we forgive those who have injured us. “If you do not forgive men their trespasses,” Jesus says, “neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses.”

I knew it not only as a commandment of God, but as a daily experience. Since the end of the war I had had a home in Holland for victims of Nazi brutality. Those who were able to forgive their former enemies were able also to return to the outside world and rebuild their lives, no matter what the physical scars. Those who nursed their bitterness remained invalids. It was as simple and as horrible as that.

And still I stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness is not an emotion—I knew that too. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart. … “Help!” I prayed silently. “I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling.”

And so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.

“I forgive you, brother!” I cried, “With all my heart!”

For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely, as I did then.

Remember, you can’t drive forward in life, if you’re still looking backward in your rearview mirror.

Swavel