On Time

Chelsea stared at the options in front of her. The vending machine made a dull humming noise that was distracting, but none of the colorful snacks looked appealing at all. She just kept standing there and looking at each row again and again anyway.

She slowly became aware of the background murmur of the hospital staff bustling around. It was a nice distraction from Stacy's room. The stab of guilt hit her immediately and she straightened up and took a deep breath, trying to make herself ready to go back in the room.

It had been two years of fighting her daughter's leukemia, and it had never felt more hopeless than today. "Fighting," she thought to herself. Everyone always talked about cancer like it's a fight. "Stacy and her parents are fighting leukemia" people would post on Facebook. But it never felt that way to her. It always felt like a robbery. A rape.

Chelsea and her husband Jared had done everything for Stacy over the last two years. Every treatment option had the same pattern - hopeful anticipation and then worsening dispair. Through this last round of stem cell transplants, Chelsea didn't even let her hopes get raised - they did it because it was the next thing to do, but all the while, she was bracing for the familiar answer.

Jared was talking to the doctor outside the room when Chelsea walked up. The doctor put her hand on Jared's shoulder and squeezed it before walking away, giving Stacy the look she had been bracing for since they started the latest treatment.

"What?" Chelsea said, needing to hear the answer, but knowing in her stomach what it was.

"You didn't want anything to eat?" Jared replied, with a quick glance.

"What did she say?"

"You really should eat something. It's..."

"Jared. What did the doctor say?"

He squatted down in the hallway and leaned his back against the wall. Chelsea did the same. Looking up at the fluorescent lights, he sighed a long and fragmented sigh.:

"Her vitals are crashing and with how weak she is, they can't risk any more treatment options. It's over Chels. Stacy has an hour left. Maybe two."

There was a long pause where neither spoke. Chelsea knew those words would come. It was a feeling she had from the first appointment and she had been running them through her mind for the last two years. "It's over."

So much of their story had been leading up to Stacy being here, and now she was being taken away. She was supposed to be their miracle child. They had tried and failed to conceive for years, each anticipation being met with disappointment. It began to fragment their marriage, but Jared said he had faith that it would happen at the right time. Finally, it did - and they were quickly thrown into a fight for their lives, only to lose again.

Somewhere along the way, Chelsea had realized that faith wasn't enough. Someone had to get up and actually do something.

"If that's the case, then let's spend that time with her, not out here. We can cry later, but right now, we have to be there for our daughter."

There was a coldness in how she spoke that she didn't intend, but Jared wasn't doing well, so she had to be the strong one again and get their family through it.

They both got up and went back into the room. Chelsea's sister had flown down from Minnesota the week before, and both sets of parents had made it, plus a few close family friends. The TV was on in the corner showing the local news station. The sound was off, but the subtitles showed along the bottom part of the screen. Chelsea shot a look at her father who was the most likely one to have turned it on, but his eyes were fixed on the TV and didn't see her come in. She looked at Jared, but his he was staring at it now too.

"Unbelievable," she thought to herself.

Chelsea went over to the bed and held Stacy's hand, but Jared and her dad stood watching the TV next to each other.

"Do you think it's all true?" Jared said quietly to his father in law, both still staring at the TV.

"Do you?" he replied with poorly veiled sarcasm.

"Yeah. I do" Jared said after a moment.

Jared quickly went over to the couch in the room and grabbed his keys out of the bag. He went to Stacy and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll be back. As fast as I can. I promise," he said to Chelsea and quickly went for the door.

"Where are you going?!" Chelsea said, almost yelling.

"I have to try. It's the only thing left." Jared said. His eyes showed the sleep he had lost over the many nights and he walked out the door.

"Did he just leave?" Chelsea's mother said in a low tone.

He knew that Stacy only had an hour or two left alive, and he just left. The attack on her daughter and now the retreat of her husband would have to be two separate fights. Even if he wouldn't be there for the family, she would.

---

Maggie sat in her wheelchair outside the hospital doors waiting for her sister to bring the car around. She was being sent back home again without any real progress being made. This most recent doctor did what all the rest had done - drew blood, asked questions, and gave no certain answers.

The thick August afternoon was heavy and damp. It had just rained, which made the smell of exhaust from the parking lot mix with the humidity and stick to her skin and hair.

"I need a shower," she thought to herself.

Over the last 12 years, she had answered far more questions for doctors than they had answered for her - and she just had one: Why won't I stop bleeding? Every new specialist came "very highly recommended" and had qualifiers around their titles and long resumes about where they were fellowship trained and what kind of certifications they had. But none of the specialists could answer it - they just drew blood, asked questions, and gave no answers.

Everything had been put on hold until this was answered. No serious relationship could possibly be started with this looming over her, threatening to put an end to it eventually. Something inside her had always told her that no one would want to date a girl who is always on her period.

"I need a better doctor," she muttered under her breath.

As she sat there, several people excitedly jogged by her into the hospital. Some had cameras, a few were excitedly talking on the phone and looking behind them. Then a few more. After a moment, what seemed to be a crowd of people were coming toward the hospital doors, loudly talking and all very close together.

Somewhere in the lead was a man whose face she recognized. That was Jesus. Maggie had been seeing videos of him in her newsfeed the past week or more. Even in just the last couple days, there had been cellphone footage circulating around of him curing someone who was entirely out of his mind - supposedly living in a graveyard and cutting himself for years. Other people had been posting and sharing photos and stories about how he had cured them just by touching them.

In that instant that Maggie sat there looking toward him, it was as if two realities were smashing into each other, and the reality of the last 12 years was about to crumble under the weight of what was about to happen.

He kept walking closer. She sat up straight and hoped he would see her and stop, but he wasn't looking at her. The crowd pressed in tightly to get through the automatic double doors of the hospital entrance, and she lost sight of him and he passed by.

She sat there in the haze of what just happened, her heart beating on her chest so loud she could hear it in her ears, her head, and in every extremity of her body.

"No," she said out loud.

She jumped out of her wheelchair and ran in after him. She pushed and shoved to get as close as she could, but the crowd was packed in so tightly in the waiting room it was hard to see or hear over the noise.

Suddenly, she realized he was only one row of people away. She reached over the sea of shoulders and stretched out her hand to touch him on the arm. "I just have to touch him and I know I'll be healed," she thought to herself.

As her hand touched his arm from behind, she felt something physically shift in her core and a tingling into the tips of her fingers and toes shot through her. She felt a rightness in her body - she knew that in one instant, the bleeding that had been with her for the last 12 years had stopped. She smiled wide, and looked around - no one around seemed to know what just happened. She wondered if even he knew...

"Hang on," a voice said. And the swell of the room came to a surging halt.

"Who just touched me?" Jesus said, looking around in the crowd.

Maggie's face went white and all the fullness and happiness she had just felt seemed balanced on the edge, about to fall over. She waited a moment to see if she would go unnoticed.

"What are you talking about?" one of the people nearby said. He seemed to be trying to pull Jesus forward. "Let's go! There's no time! There are tons of people here. It doesn't matter if someone bumped into you - we need to go!"

"No," he said. "Someone here touched me..."

Maggie saw his eyes scanning the crowd and knew he would find her. She pushed her way forward and raised her hand.

"It was me," she said, trembling. For some reason, she dropped down to her knees. Her head was down, staring at the floor. "I have had a condition for a long time, and when I saw you, I knew you could heal me if I could just touch you. I'm sorry, I had no other hope."

She sat there on the floor, her whole body shaking as she waited.

He knelt down and put his hands on her shoulders and helped her up back to her feet and smiled at her.

"Daughter," he said. The word caught her off guard. She kept her eyes locked on his. "It was your faith that healed you. You can go in peace now, and not suffer anymore."

"We have to go!" the man said again. He kept looking at his watch and trying to get the crowd to surge forward again, but everyone's eyes were on Maggie.

Someone pushed their way into the small circle that had formed around Jesus, and they went up to the man and spoke a low tone. Maggie was still close enough to Jesus and overheard them.

"Stacy is dead. You're too late. Just come upstairs and be with your family. Tell him he doesn't need to come anymore."

Jesus, with one hand still on Maggie, touched Jared's shoulder and smiled at him.

"Don't be afraid," he said to Jared, and smiling at Maggie, he said, "You just have to believe."

----

Chelsea sat in a chair by the bed, still holding Stacy's hand. It was cold. The last 10 minutes, she had felt beaten between the loss of her daughter and the loss of her husband - one with a body too weak to live and the other with a heart too weak to stay.

A nurse was removing Stacy's IV line from her other hand, but worked quietly. Her parents and sister were standing nearby crying. Jared's parents had left to go find him. She heard the door open and several people come inside. She heard her parents' cries get louder and knew Jared had returned - too late and with too little.

"Why are you all crying?" a voice said. She didn't recognize it, but the casualness of the tone was so out of place in this room - in Stacy's room - she got up and looked around. Jared stood there, his eyes wide and bright. A few people stood behind him that she also did not recognize. The man who spoke looked around the room, expecting an answer.

"She isn't dead. She's just asleep."

The nurse let out a small laugh at the absurdity of what he just said and shook her head as she left the room. Chelsea's parents and sister were ushered out of the room, too bewildered at what was happening to protest.

Jesus walked over to Stacy's bed and looked at her. There were tears in his eyes, but he was smiling a radiant smile as he looked at her.

"Sweetheart," he said softly. "It's time to wake up."

Stacy's eyes fluttered open and she looked up at Jesus and smiled.

"Hello!" she said in her bright, cheerful way.

"Hi," Jesus said, smiling back. "Are you hungry?"

Stacy nodded.

"Let's get you something to eat then."

He turned to Chelsea and said, "Isn't there a vending machine down the hall?"

Morning Prayers through Scripture

Monday Morning, June 25, 2018 5:23am
It's a week before the Awaken Prayer Initiative starts on June 1. I opened my Bible to Isaiah and went to 8:11 and started reading there.

8:11 "For the LORD spoke thus to me with his strong hand upon me, and warned me not to walk in the way of this people, saying:"

Father, thank you that you speak to us even still. That the one constant between Isaiah and me is that your voice has spoken to both of us and continues to speak. Thank you that we know your name and are allowed to call on it by the blood of Jesus. I am amazed that your voice is so present.  

I want to know when your voice is speaking to me and when your hand is resting on me to get my attention. Please don't be far from me today. Watch over Caroline and Sam and little Charlie - I ask that my sons learn to hear your voice at an early age and have obedient hearts that want to do what their father does.  

Warn me when I'm in danger and warn my family. Speak to me throughout the day and help me be present with you today. Set me apart so that I can be a blessing to those around me. Thank you for your never-stopping love. 

I love that God still speaks to us and that a voice that we can repeat. I think about the years and years he has chased me down with His voice and His love. I think of where He has brought me to and what he has guarded me from, and it's really amazing how patient he is.

8:12 "'Do not call conspiracy all that his people calls conspiracy, and do not fear what they fear, nor be in dread."

Father there are currents all around me pulling me in every direction. Political news and comedians fill my head when I'm in neutral and I laugh at chaos when I should pray and greive. Forgive me for using the names that those around me use and going along with their narrative. I never stop and ask 'Lord, how should I be praying about this? How do you see this situation? What is on your heart right now?" You have not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and a sound mind - please show me what that looks like as it relates to current events. 

I need to be careful what I let frame the story. Too often I let late-night talk-show hosts and journalists decide how I think about a certain story, and I need to take a pause and ask God what His thoughts are about it and how I should be praying.

It's so easy to think that the battle is remembering to pray throughout the day. It seems that the real battle in my heart is remembering that God is God.

8:13 "But the LORD of hosts, him you shall honor as holy. Let him be your fear and your dread."

Father, be my focus today. Don't let me forget that you are who you are. That you are. That YOU. In every situation today, help me return to the rememberance of YOU. Not it, not this, not me, not him or her - but keep me mindful of how much of YOU there is and how much I need you. I do not consider your awe and power nearly enough - there is more than enough there to worship for all of eternity, and that should be an ever-present realization. In contrast, there is nothing on earth that is worthy of the emotion of fear - in contrast, not being close to you should cause me dread - being out of your will should cause me fear. All the elements we naturally fear are built on being unsafe, insecure, exposed - and that is how I am when I am not near you Father. 

8:14 "And he will become a sanctuary and a stone of offense and a rock of stumbling to both houses of Israel, a trap and a snare to the inhabitants of Jerusalem."

Jesus, this is you. This is you written thoughout the history books of scripture. Thank you for the confidence I can have in you, knowing that you are not a last-minute thought or just a helpful bystander in salvation. You were part of the plan from the beginning, and all of history leads up to you and all of history reveals you. 

======

Tuesday Morning, June 26, 2018 5:12am

8:15 "Many of them will stumble; they will fall and be broken, they will be snared and captured."

Jesus, you bring justice everywhere you go - thank you. Any encounter with you brings down the prideful and raises up the low. Please help me deal with my pride first. You say that every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord - that will happen one way or the other, so help me delare it now and for the rest of my life. 

8:16 "Bind up this testimony of warning and seal up God's instruction among my disciples." 

Father, help me remember what you've taught me. That's all. Just don't let me forget what you've done and who you are. I confess that I forget so frequently and act like my life is mine to direct wherever I want on my own strength - and it's never been. You have been there from the start - you have sheperded me and fathered me through it all, and I forget the lessons you've taught me and keep imagining I am strong and talented and that is why I am here. I am here because of your goodness and mercy - that needs to be bound up and carried with me wherever I go as a testimony and warning. 

This is so good for my heart. Reflecting on God's goodness over the years and taking every single verse and asking myself "God, what are you saying to me right now - what should I be praying for?" I feel like I've been given a brand new tool that perfectly fits this need in my heart. It is helping me be still, read scripture, meditate, listen, and pray. What an invaluable gift. Writing it out helps me put words to feelings and articulate the prayer.

8:17 "I will wait for the LORD, who is hiding his face from the descendants of Jacob. I will put my trust in him."

Father, even when you are far away - even when I seem to be abandoned - I will wait for you. I don't know if that is an empty promise or not, but it is what I want. I want to have your faithfulness so bound and packed into my heart, that even when the entire world seems abandoned by you, I can feed on what you have done and your promises. My trust - help me to trust you at all times, regardless of what I feel. You have always been the center of this. Every ability I have to choose you is preceeded by your faithfulness and consistency in choosing me. I will put my trust in you because you have given me absolutely everything. 

8:18 "Here am I, and the children the LORD has given me. We are signs and symbols in Israel from the LORD Almighty, who dwells on Mount Zion."

Lord, even as I pray this, Sam wakes up and is standing in his crib. You have given me all the life I have - a rich story of your faithfulness that I can share with my children. I beg you that Sam would have a heart like yours and that Charlie would seek after you with all his strength. Be their God. Be the savior of my sons just like you have been my savior. Build a testimony for them that will bless everyone they meet and draw them closer to you. 

Recently, Sam has figured out how to pull himself up into a standing position, but he hasn't been very good at lowering himself down, so he pulls himself up and then starts crying until we help him down. In the last day or two, he has learned how to go down to his knees from a standing position, which is great, but it also means that that's all he wants to do. Stand, kneel, sit, and repeat. He loves repeating a new-found skill over and over again out of wonder (I imagine) in his ability to do it.

I feel like I am very similar. God teaches me a new lesson and I see it in every story, every situation, everywhere I look. He teaches me a new way to interact with Him, and I just want to do it over and over again with Him out of wonder.

======

Wednesday Morning, June 27, 2018 5:16am

8:19: "When someone tells you to consult mediums and spiritists, who whisper and mutter, should not a people inquire of their God? Why consult the dead on behalf of the living?"

Father, you are so patient. You lead your people through the same things, generation after generation. I keep trying to find help in all the wrong places and turn to you as a last resort, and that shouldn't be. I want you so present in my life, that when I need help or have joy, it is shared with you first. I want to see what your thoughts are first - even before my thoughts. You have all the answers, you know all the details - any other help or source of wisdom is fragments of you. Wisdom says to go to the source. 

8:20 "Consult God's instruction and the testimony of warning. If anyone does not speak according to this word, they have no light of dawn."

You are the source Lord. Anyone else who appears to have the answers only do in as much as they reflect you. You are like the sun every morning. 

8:21 "Distressed and hungry, they will roam through the land; when they are famished, they will become enraged and, looking upward, will curse their king and their God."  

The only source of life is you. You bring peace, you bring satisfaction, you bring a steadiness during difficult times. Without you, all distress and dissatisfaction brings despair and hopelessness. 

8:22 "Then they will look toward the earth and see only distress and darkness and fearful gloom, and they will be thrust into utter darkness."

 Without nearness to you, I am lost. When I look at current events and do not account for your hand, I get depressed and cynical. Help me stay close to you Father. Be present in my daily walk so no detail seems disconnected from your hand.  

Thursday Morning, June 28, 2018 8:18am

Isaiah 9:1 "Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress. In the past he humbled the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future he will honor Galilee of the nations, by the Way of the Sea, beyond the Jordan -" 

You make provision far in advance Father. From the very beginning of time, you set the plan in place for Jesus and announced it to every generation before and to every generation after. No matter how dark it is, you are the light - your light is coming and has come. 

I love that this is the passage I've stumbled on this week. Isaiah was all but a random choice - more an exercise in "well if I'm looking for things to pray about, it may not matter where I start." Someone once mentioned to me that Isaiah really starts getting good after chapter 40, and I've always kind of just accepted that and I think discounted the earlier parts as less compelling or applicable. But God wrote his story in every single place throughout scripture, and this is a really cool reminder of that.

Isaiah 9:2 "The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned."

Thank you that you come to get us. When we wonder really far from you, you always give us hope and a chance (and another and another). 

More than Enough

Amanda hung her head in the back of the truck and took a deep breath as the realization of what happened dropped in her stomach like a sandbag.

The truck was already running 4 hours behind, and when it finally did arrive, the ceremony was just finishing and the guests were making their way to the reception hall and to the bar. An hour ago, she sent one of the servers out with her credit card to buy every case of beer she could find within a 5-mile radius of the wedding venue, but she knew it would only buy her half an hour at the most.

The liquor store was scheduled to deliver 6 kegs of beer to the venue between 1:00pm and 3:00pm. Not only did pull into the parking lot 4 hours later than the latest estimate, all 6 kegs were empty when they arrived. 1,500 guests were now filing into the reception hall, and the wide variety of bottled beer she was able to gather together would be gone before the wedding party made their entrance.

"How did you not check to see if they were full?" she snapped at the driver.

"I just drive the truck," he said. "I don't load it. I just drive it."

He held both hands in the air, trying to signify his innocence, but Amanda thought it looked more like surrender.

"Get these things off the truck," she said as she climbed out. "I need to take pictures and find out who is responsible for this. There are 1,500 people walking into that reception and all I have is 6 empty kegs!"

As she walked back toward the door to the kitchen, she passed several of the wedding guests lingering uncomfortably close to where she had just yelled. Several of them were smoking, and the others were talking to each other in low tones. Her stomach dropped again, realizing that they overheard everything and were now whispering about it to themselves. It wouldn't be long before word spread to the bride or groom's family and there would be no covering it up.

"Excuse me," one of the women in the group said. "Did we hear right? Are you completely out of beer?"

Amanda put on a well-used smile and straightened her shoulders, trying to look as confident as she could pretend.

"Unfortunately, there seems to have been some kind of mixup with the truck delivering the kegs, so the bar may close earlier than we anticipated." She spoke calmly, trying to reassure the woman through her tone more than her words. She smiled again and turned toward the back door of the kitchen, hoping her answer wouldn't prompt additional questions.

"They're out of beer," she heard one of them say as she walked away.

She walked back through the kitchen and grabbed two of the bussers and told them to bring the kegs inside and store them somewhere. She spoke quickly as she walked, making her way to the bar to see how much time she had.

---

Mike and Jason both moved quickly toward the back door, exchanging glances of concern, but not saying anything until they got outside. They found the 6 kegs and a tap handle sitting in the parking lot. The truck's taillights were disappearing around the corner.

"Can you carry one by yourself?" Mike said.

"Yeah, I used to be a bartender - you just have to make sure you..." and Jason stopped before he could finish demonstrating how to move a keg by yourself. He had braced himself to pick up a full keg, but the lightness caught him off guard.

With one hand, he raised and lowered the first keg and looked at Mike with confusion and concern. Silently, they raised or rocked each one to confirm they were empty, and then stared at each other.

"What do we do?" Mike asked.

"I don't know. She said to take them inside - do you think she knew they were empty?"

"I have no idea," Mike said nervously.

Together, they were both realizing what this meant and what kind of position it put them in.

"There's no beer," a woman said from behind them. Both Mike and Jason turned and saw a woman walking up from behind them. It felt more like a command than a question, and they both stared at her, not sure what to do in this situation. "Okay," she said. "I've got a plan. Just do whatever he tells you to do," and she pointed to one of the men in the small group a few yards away.

---

Amanda walked through the reception hall to the bar. The bartenders were opening bottle after bottle of the limited supply, trying to keep up with the line of guests forming in front of the counter. They gave her a panicked look as she walked up and she shook her head.

"This is the last of it," one of the bartenders said, pointing to a small stack of bottles in an ice chest behind the bar. No more than two dozen bottles remained. For the next few minutes, Amanda stood and watched the last handful given to the guests.

"I'm sorry," she said to the group of guests in line after the last bottle was gone. "We've run out of beer - the bar is closed."

Exclamations of complaint immediately rose as the news spread further and further back into the line.

"How are you out?" one person said loudly. "Everyone hasn't even been served yet.

"The meals haven't even come out yet!" yelled another.

More and more, the general noise of complaint was stirring and rising in the group around the bar. She knew this would be the reaction, but hearing the noise of complaints growing made her sick to her stomach. The frustration of facing this crowd, knowing that even if she blamed it on the truck driver or her assistant or the liquor store, this crowd wouldn't care. It was her fault. There was no one else standing here.

She retreated and walked quickly through to the kitchen toward the back door. The food would go out and it would be perfect. Everything would be cleaned up and they would be out of the space right on time. But the only thing anyone would remember about her that evening was this failure.

She threw the door open and walked out into the quiet night. Reaching for the pack of cigarettes and lighter in her pocket, she lit a cigarette, her hand shaking as she inhaled deeply. She stood, eyes closed, taking deep breaths of the smoke, trying to calm her heartbeat.

In the quiet, she realized she was hearing running water. Opening her eyes, she looked around and saw one of the bussers she sent out to bring in the empty kegs hunched over one of the kegs with the stem of the keg in one hand and a garden hose in the other. He was filling the keg with hose water.

He was motionless, staring at her with wide eyes. There was water all over the ground and several of the kegs around him. One of the kegs had the pump already hooked up to it. He didn't say a word as she kept her eyes locked on his. Several moments passed as the sound of water filling the keg continued. Amanda tried to process what she was seeing, waiting for him to say some series of words that would explain the scene.

"Why..." she started, not sure how to continue a question she had never been forced to ask before. "What are you doing?"

"Um...I'm..." Jason stammered. "He said to...and we thought..."

"Who said to?" she demanded.

"The...he said to fill them here and tap the keg and bring it to the groom's parents. We thought..."

"Are you insane?!" Amanda snapped, feeling attacked by idiocy at every turn. "Okay, I can't believe I'm having to say this, but we do not serve hose water to guests!"

Amanda looked next to the keg that was tapped and noticed a washing rack full of bar glasses on the ground. Several of them were already missing.

"Please tell me..." she started, unable to finish an unspeakable idea and feeling like she was in a nightmare perfectly crafted to drive her insane.

"He said...we thought..." he stammered again.

Without another word, Amanda threw her cigarette down in the parking lot and ran to the door, throwing it open with such force that it slammed against the wall. The bright fluorescent of the kitchen seemed to fly by her as she dodged servers and cooks to make her way to the reception hall. Bursting through the door to the reception hall, she came face to face with the groom's father. He was a tall, lumbering man. His thick sausage fingers were wrapped around a bar glass, and the second busser was standing beside him.

"I heard from someone that the bar had run out of beer," he boomed. Amanda froze in her place, ready for the barrage of insults - all of which seemed justified right then. "But then this young man brought me this beer, and I cannot for the life of me place what it is. It's extraordinary! I've never tasted anything like it before! Is it a local brew?"

"Um...sort of..." she started, exchanging looks with the Mike, the busser. His eyes were wide as he realized that both of them knew where it came from. He still had another beer in his hand. She couldn't tell if the busser had switched the water with something else or if the groom's father was so drunk already he couldn't tell what it was.

"You like it?" she asked nervously, hoping he wouldn't ask for a name again.

"Like it?" he laughed. "It's the best beer I've ever had! They said you were the best, and now I see why! It's delightful surprises like this that make people loyal you know!"

He laughed and made his way back through the crowd, announcing to everyone that the bar had the most amazing beer he's ever tasted. People started lining up around the bar again with expectant eyes darting around.

Amanda grabbed the other beer out of Mike's hand and smelled it. The foam on top had a rich aroma of hops with a sweet caramel tone. It was beer. Good beer.

"Where did you get this?" she demanded.

"From the keg," Mike whispered, eyes wide and voice hissing as quietly as he could.

She grabbed his arm and they silently and quickly made their way to the back door again. Jason was just finishing the last keg and replacing the stem into the center and locking it in with a pair of pliers.

"Show me," Amanda snapped.

"Jason jumped and pumped the keg a few times and grabbed one of the bar glasses and the tap. He pushed the lever, holding the glass to the side, and out came a frosty, golden-brown liquid, topped with a thick layer of foam. Amanda grabbed the glass and smelled it again. Same smell. She tasted it. It was fresh, cold, delicious beer - not quite like any beer she had tasted before, but very pleasant and very strong.

"I have no idea what's happening," Amanda started. "But keep it happening. Get these kegs to the bar. Now!"

---

The kegs lasted the entire wedding, and there was more leftover at the end. Somehow, every guest at the party did not rave about the perfectly cooked salmon, or how timely and courteous the waitstaff was, or even how well-coordinated the event was. Every comment was about the mystery beer.

The evening was coming to a close, and Amanda was standing at the bar, watching a few stragglers come back for one last beer before their Ubers arrived. She had seen glass after glass be poured with that same rich golden brown color and foam, but each time it felt like it might be the last one, and the next would look like hose water. But it never did.

"It was a great party," someone said beside her.

Amanda turned and saw a young man in his late 20s or early 30s walking up, empty beer glass in hand. The white froth of the previous beer still clung to the sides of the glass from top to bottom. He smiled and put his glass on the bar.

"Thank you," Amanda said in response.

"You're welcome," he said simply and candidly.

The tables were being folded up and the decorations were coming down, so something in Amanda's heart felt like it was safe to call it a success.

"You know," she said. "I thought tonight was going to turn out a lot differently."

"Me too," he said.

"Oh yeah?" she replied.

"You see all these people here tonight? he started. "They had the best beer they've ever had, but they don't know where it came from. They tasted it and said it was unlike anything else they've ever had, and they were right. No one has ever tasted anything like this before because it never existed before. It was a new kind of thing."

Amanda was getting uneasy. She wasn't sure if he knew more than he seemed to know, or if he was drunk and just saying words. He didn't look drunk.

"Can I tell you what is even more beautiful than creating something new?" he asked. 

"Sure," Amanda responded.

"Transforming something old into something new," he said firmly. "Taking things that were broken and fixing them better than they were before they were broken. That's my favorite thing."

Amanda paused to see if he would continue.

"And so this is a great way to start it all," he said. "It's fitting that this is the first one. It's a blueprint for all the others."

"All the other whats? Amanda asked.

"Transformations," he said.

Satisfied

Jesus and his disciples had been in the car for over an hour. Peter's small car had every seat filled and a few of the guys had fallen asleep in the back seat as soon as they left Waycross, and they had been out ever since. Peter wished he weren't the one driving. They left in a hurry and didn't eat much of a dinner, so this late night drive was a mission in getting back to Jacksonville and getting some food as quickly as possible so everyone could go to bed.

It was almost 1:30am, so their options were getting fewer and fewer. McDonalds. Taco Bell. Maybe some other fast and cheap place with a drive-through that was still open. He just wanted to be asleep and not be thinking about food.

They passed through downtown. Union Street seemed to go for miles, but he knew they would be through this area pretty quickly. The streetlights lit up just enough of the sidewalk to show a few people walking around by themselves - some with bundles and bulky coats, despite the muggy night.

Peter glanced over at Jesus in the passenger seat. His eyes were wide and he was looking around attentively.

The light turned red at Main Street and Jesus unbuckled his seatbelt.

"You guys go find some food and come back to get me. There's something I need to do."

He opened the door and jogged across the street toward a gas station nearby, slowing to a meandering walk when he reached the edge of the parking lot. The light turned green, and Peter slowly pulled forward, keeping an eye on where Jesus was headed and noting the street names so he could find him again. After all the time Peter had spent with him, it still surprised him a little when he just took off by himself.

"Where did he go?" John said sleepily from the back seat.

"Who knows?" Peter replied. "Let's go get some food and we'll come back for him."

------

  

LaToya walked as slowly as she could. He was the laziest man she had ever known. She had to be up at 6:00 in the morning for work. Reggie could sleep all day and not be missed. So why was she the one walking 5 blocks in the middle of the night to go get his lazy ass more beer?

"He better watch himself," she said under her breath. "Don't he know I can do better than him?"

She walked through the empty gas station parking lot when she saw a man start to walk up toward her. "He better not ask me for money," she thought. "Everyone is always asking me for favors."

"Hey, would you grab me a bottle of water when you go inside?" he said to her.

"You seriously asking me for favors right now, cracker?" She snapped. "I don't know you."

She never broke stride, but as she passed by him, he said, "But if you did know me, you would have asked me to get you a drink, and I would have gotten you the best water you ever tasted."

She stopped and whipped around.

"You ain't got no money! That's why you're lurking around here askin' for favors. Some attitude you got. How you plan on buying anything when you don't have no money?!"

She realized she was overreacting and yelling at this bum for no reason, but she was already tired and irritated. Everyone keeps pushing her and demanding more from her.

"If you go in there," he said. "You'll buy a bottle of water and drink it tonight. But when you wake up tomorrow morning, you'll be thirsty again. You're always thirsty again no matter how much water you drink. But if you drink the water I have, then a river will start flowing from inside you so you'll never be thirsty again. You would live forever."

She laughed. This guy wasn't even worth her time to be mad at. As she turned around, she said over her shoulder, "Yeah, you go get me that magic water, big guy! Walking here is a pain in the ass so it would save me the trouble!"

"Go get your husband and come back," he said.

She stopped.

Something in her stomach turned and she felt sick. Some old bitter feeling made its way into her bones and her throat tightened.

"I ain't married," she said flatly.

"That's technically true," he said slowly. "In your entire life, you've had sex with 6 men, and the guy you're living with now isn't your husband either.

That number. She had never been honest about that number with anyone. There was one - the first one - she had tried impossibly to forget.

"Each man you're with, you think he's going to be the one to make you happy and satisfied. But every morning you wake up, and that old sadness and thirst are still there. You keep getting thirsty over and over again because the water you're drinking won't ever satisfy you, no matter how much of it you have."

"You talk like a preacher. I'm sick of hypocrites and liars tellin' me how I'm supposed to live and be good. If God is real, he sure ain't in no church."

"When you were in church, God was a stranger, so talking to him didn't make any sense to you. But God isn't interested in you being inside a church. He's interested in being inside that part of your chest where you keep your old sadness - that part of your heart where the thirst is. That's the only place where worship happens - not inside a church or on a mountaintop."

"If God wants that so badly, why doesn't he just come down here and introduce himself?" she said quietly.

"I just did," Jesus said.

-----

Peter turned the corner and saw the lights of the gas station ahead. They found a McDonalds a few blocks away and the guys in the back seat had already eaten most of their share.

Pulling into the parking lot, they saw Jesus standing near a dark corner of the parking lot, talking to a woman. The two were standing very close to each other and no one else was around. 

"What's he doing?" Philip said from the backseat. "This really doesn't look good." 

As they parked, the woman started backing up, still keeping her eyes on Jesus. Then she turned and ran in the opposite direction. The disciples got out of the car and Jesus walked up to them. Everyone waited to see if he would explain what he was doing, but he didn't say anything. He just leaned against the hood of the car and looked up at the night sky, smiling to himself. 

Peter and John exchanged looks, but neither of them would say anything. John grabbed the McDonalds bag and held the burger out to Jesus. Jesus didn't look away from the stars - he just hummed to himself and smiled. 

"We saved one for you," Peter said. "You should eat before it gets cold." 

"I already ate," Jesus said with a sly smile. 

John and Peter exchanged glances again, asking each other with their eyes if the other knew what he was talking about. Neither did. 

Jesus' eyes lit up as he looked at them both. "God gave me a job to do, and seeing it done fills me up! It's better than food to me!" He sprung forward and turned back to the disciples, teeming with energy. He seemed to be like a wild animal about to break out of a cage. 

"People say 'plant the seeds and wait for the right time.' But look around you!" He swung his arms and raised his voice. Peter and John looked around nervously. "The right time is right now! There are souls all around us ripe for the gospel, so why do we wait? Someone else planted the seed in their heart decades ago, and now it's ripe and we get to be the ones to bring in the harvest! Other people worked so hard to bring them this far - you and I are here right now to bring them home." 

As he was still talking, the woman returned and she had around her several confused, but eager and curious people. She pulled on the arm of a man and pointed at Jesus. 

"There he is! This guy told me everything I ever did! Everybody listen up!"

Jesus walked over to meet everyone, arms open. Peter smiled and shook his head. Turning to John, he said, "You know what this means, right?"

"I think it means we're going to be here a while," John replied. 

"Anywhere else you'd rather be?" Peter asked. 

"Not on your life," John answered. 

Writing Massive Checks

Imagine writing any check for any amount and knowing 100% that it’s going to cash every single time. Tell a child to think up the biggest number they can imagine, and then picture standing in the checkout line, seeing that number on the screen, and swiping your debit card, entering your pin, and knowing 100% that it’s going to go through because the funds are there.

It’s no surprise that there are people who emotionally fill us and people who emotionally drain us. Steven Covey talks about this in terms of relationship equity - that sometimes people make withdrawals and sometimes they make deposits into the relationship. He encourages you to make sure you have the relational equity with someone before making a withdrawal - that you’re not bankrupting those in your life.

Caroline and I were talking about grace this weekend and this topic came up. There are people you’ll interact with who will primarily make withdrawals - and not too many deposits. The obvious feeling around these people is to feel drained, spent, exhausted, and so on.

But here’s the thing: I’m a Christian, so I believe that I have been given grace by God and I’ve been asked to re-gift that grace to others. In a way, God gave me access to his checking account of grace and then told me to give as much away as I possibly could in my lifetime. When I write a check of grace to someone else, it always clears and it can’t make me feel drained because it’s not coming out of my account. If I feel drained, it’s because I’m trying to cover their withdrawal from the wrong account.

The next time someone slights you, cuts you off in traffic, insists on their way, doesn’t take your feelings into account, puts themselves first again and again, think about this. Imagine that action is them demanding grace - a lot of grace. Imagine taking out your checkbook, writing the entire sum they’ve asked for with no questions asked, and handing it to them, knowing that God has asked you to give away as much of this stuff as you possibly can in your lifetime, so this amount is fine.

Imagine that withdrawal is being taken out of oceans and oceans of grace that God has poured out for you, and that even if you tried every day of your life to giveaway as much grace as you could, his supply would still be brimming and overflowing off the edges of the world.

The withdrawal isn’t coming from your account. There is nothing to feel empty or drained about. He put you on his account and any check you write will clear. So give it freely and know that God has supplied far more than you will ever need - for you and for anyone you pass it on to.

Be an agent of grace, looking for any and every chance to write that check.

As You Can Imagine

I recently found out that I am someone else’s imaginary friend. As you can imagine, this was a bit of a shock to me.

For me, it all began one rainy afternoon, when Charles wasn’t allowed to play outside. This should have been the first sign I suppose. The only children who still want to play outside are the imagining types – the ones prone to thinking up people like me. Any other kid wouldn’t have even noticed it was raining unless it made the power go out. But Charles was a boy of an older kind of cut. He didn’t need much to be entertained, because he brought all the adventure with him wherever he went. Why, with him, I have seen an ordinary doctor’s office become the crow’s nest of the largest and most frightening pirate ship you have ever seen, only to transmogrify into the very desert island our ship had struck, complete with thousands of miles of thick, Caribbean jungle.

One of my fondest memories that we shared was digging for dinosaur bones in the Sahara desert. Past bottle caps and pieces of Solo cups, we dug and dug, bent on finding the bones of the mighty T-Rex. At one point, we stopped and wiped the sweat from our foreheads, parched from the heat and sand. It was just then that our assistant, Mom, came out to the dig site with a glass of ice cold water. Charles was thrilled, but immediately asked why she brought only one, when I had been working just as hard as he had, and was certainly just as thirsty. Mom was usually a meticulously careful person, and not prone to such oversights. But she made quick work, and soon enough, another glass of water (though not as cold as the first, I noticed) was procured.

We sat there, drinking in the rewards of our labor, when, with one last trowel turn, Charles uncovered the greatest find in our professional careers. Our assistant was quickly called to verify the find, which she classified as the bone of a “Stick-a-saurus.” Though neither of us were familiar with this particular classification, she assured us that it was a highly sought after artifact, and that she was sure there was a museum that would be interested in purchasing such a rare bone. In fact, after splitting the commission for the find, we each went home with a hefty twenty-five cents each – a sum that any professional archaeologist would have been proud to have, we were told.

But now, after all these years, it has become clear that I am nothing more than his imaginary friend. And you might think that this would disappoint or upset me. After all, I never existed. I am just the product of the imagination of a child. Some people might be upset if they realized that they don’t exist, but not for me at all.

You see, I was with him through every high seas adventure, every leap over the tallest building, and every fight with every henchman. I always had his back and came through when all hope seemed lost. I was thought of in his moments of greatest joy and greatest pain. There was no grounding severe enough to put us in separate rooms. When there were no other friends around, I was still there.

I was the cohort, the adventurer, and the best friend of someone in need, and this is something that is not true of many people, despite all their “realness.” At the end of the day, I have the greatest honor that can be bestowed on any creature – real or otherwise. I was seen as a hero in the mind of a child. And I wouldn’t trade that for all the Stick-a-sauraus bones in the world.

Excerpts from Sunlight & Shadows

Below are some excerpts from my recently released book, Sunlight & Shadows, now available on Amazon. It features pieces of short stories that are in the book and pieces of some of the poems that are there as well. I hope you enjoy, and as always, shares, comments, reviews, and purchases are always appreciated.


Pine Needle: 

"Somewhere in an office building in the heart of Chicago, there is a pine needle, laying along a narrow, carpeted hallway, occasionally being stepped on by the passersby. In the evening, a janitor named Phil will come along and vacuum it up, as he listens to an audiobook his sister’s husband gave him last Christmas. Phil doesn't know how the pine needle got there, and he will not lose any sleep by not knowing. It doesn't concern him any more than it concerns you.

But it does concern you. Or rather, it ought to. Because stories often have stories behind them – and it’s those quiet, unassuming, unnoticed stories that are always the most interesting, once they are actually known."

Stirring: 

My sadness is a winter animal,

hibernating through the summer heat.

Only stirring when the weather changes,

invigorated from extended sleep.

Only then, in late September,

do I suddenly remember

that a part of me is broken

and doesn't want to go back home.

Remarkable Man:
"Thomas swung his door open and stepped out, and I struggled with the handle again before getting it open and stepping out. Thomas had already grabbed the can and set it down by the pump on my side of the truck. I swiped my card, internally being grateful that they took credit cards at all. We both worked in silence – me filling up the two-gallon can on the ground, and Thomas effortlessly holding up the silent gravity he seemed to carry with him. 

I looked down at his boots, which were old and rugged and caked in dried mud. Then I looked at my brown dress shoes, spotless and clean, and wished I weren't wearing them. Thomas looked rooted into the ground wherever he stood, but I couldn't help but feel dried out and weightless."


Sunlight Intoxication:

"The sky is a great tumbler,

and God is the Bartender of the cosmos.

Each day, He crafts new recipes

to intoxicate the mind of His creation."

Forgotten: 

"Suddenly, the room, the people, and everything around him melted away in one quick instant, and he found he was standing outside, in an open field. Blinking, he looked around, wondering how and why he was suddenly standing here. Just moments before, he was – well – what was he doing? For some reason, he couldn’t quite remember where he had been just been, even though he was sure it was only seconds ago that he was there.  The harder he thought about it, the less he remembered.

Almost right away, he noticed that this field was not empty. Scattered around in no particular order, were large, white, words. They stood about chest high, and looked as though someone had dumped a bag full of charades words and had neglected to pick them up." 

The Beauty of Frost:

"A poet makes you breathe more deeply,

linger longer, speak more sweetly,

wonder wildly, love completely,

pause more often, live less neatly."