I set my two milk jugs down and waited in line at Safeway. It was a Sunday evening, and Mom sent me to the store for milk, since we were on our last gallon. A short lady, probably in her twenties, stood in line in front of me with a few items. She turned around and looked at me, smiling softly and mumbling something which I didn't understand.

It was soon her turn to pay and as she opened her check book she told the cashier lady, "Why don't you ring her milk up with my stuff."
My mouth probably hung open for a few minutes, until I finally found words. "You don't have to do that," I said.
"I know. I just want to bless a stranger."
"Wow, thank you."

Her simple act of kindness left me speechless. I wondered if it was the love of Jesus that compelled her to love others in this way. I felt overwhelmed at her generosity, but also somewhat guilty. Shouldn't I have been the one doing that?

I walked to the car still amazed at this woman. Thanking God for the tender heart He gave her, tears filled my eyes. Sadly, you just don't see that kind of selfless giving very often these days.

I wonder what kind of impact Christians could make in the world, if each one of us took advantage of all the little ways to show Christ's love to others. It could be paying for someone's milk at the grocery store, buying a Starbucks drink for the homeless man sitting out in the cold, or handing out candy to kids playing at the park. What we do doesn't matter...as long as we do something.

I want to love like that. Who's with me?

I want to live my life as if it were the last day of a week of camp.

After an intense week, the staff and counselors are always ready for a break. Voices are gone. Energy is spent. Sleep is craved. But if you were to watch the counselors on the last day of camp, when all they want to do is just sleep, you would see them do exactly the opposite. They sprint in the races and shout in the songs, giving everything they have left. Each one gives their all to make the last day of camp the best for the campers.

This kind of sacrifice and commitment is not just for the last day of camp but for every day of our lives. Christ commands us to take up our cross and follow Him and calls us to lose our lives to save them.

I want my life to be a continual pouring out of my time, my energy, my resources, so that Christ's name may be lifted high among the nations. I don't want to give only what is convenient to me, but to give until there is nothing more to give, until I've spent it all on Christ.

When I reach the throne room of the Living God, I want to be able to say that I gave Him everything I had.

God, use me. Break me. Ruin me. Take me. All I have and am is for You.
Waste me on You, My King.

I laid out my towel on the dry sand and sat down to watch the ocean. The sun beat down on my face, and I squinted behind my sunglasses so I could see the crashing waves in the distance. As I watched and smiled at the beauty before me, a white-bearded man with a baseball cap caught my attention. In one hand he held a gardening shovel and in the other a metal-detector. He slowly walked towards the water and then down the length of the beach, constantly waving his detector over the coarse sand. I laughed to myself at the sight. Whether or not he was picking up metal litter or looking for treasure, I don't know. But the sight of that old man in his persistent search came across as funny to me.

I continued to glance over at him occasionally as he made his way down the beach, but didn't pay close attention to him until he stopped and for several minutes waved his detector over a certain section of sand. He dropped his shovel and bent over, still waving. Had he found something? Before I knew it, he picked up his shovel again and continued on, walking and waving.

What had caused him to stop? Why didn't he start digging? I was disappointed. He was supposed to find a treasure! Moments before I had laughed at the seemingly meaningless task of walking up and down the beach searching for something that probably wasn't there. Now I was wishing he had found that mysterious object for which he searched.

I continued to think about this metal-detector man as I went back to watching the ocean and my family, who excitedly sculpted a sandcastle near the tide. Although I had considered him crazy at first, I thought twice about it now. What if he had found a treasure - a big one? I wouldn't have considered him crazy when his small shovel uncovered a treasure chest of gold. Here I was sitting, watching, and laughing at him as he persistently searched for what I figured was impossible to find. My family and others around me were building their treasures out of sand, into sculptures that would crumble as soon as the tide came in. But even though none went with him, people laughed at him, and others ignored him, this man continued on, searching for something that would last.

All this reminded me of what it means to be a Christian. It's searching and striving for a hidden treasure that is worth more to you than anything else you could possibly obtain. It's worth being laughed at by those standing by. It's worth far more than the man-made visible treasures of this earth which crumble before our eyes. It's crazy, but worth it.

I want to be like the metal-detector man and ignore the vain striving and mocking of the world, to pursue a far more valuable treasure in the end.

Matthew 13:44 "The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field."

We walked up to the door of the downtown mission, and homeless men and women crowded the sidewalk. I looked down at one man sitting on his mat, leaning against the brick wall. With a smile I said, "Hi." He looked surprised to hear me greet him but smiled and nodded back.

This summer I read a book called, "Under The Overpass." The book describes life as a homeless person, and one thing the author says is that even just a "hello" makes all the difference for a man or woman on the streets. So often people walk past them without even looking in their direction. Taking one moment to acknowledge their presence and make eye contact with them, turns their lonely world upside down. They are loved. They are important. They are human.

That inspired my goal for the evening at the mission. In the past it had been to speak Spanish or intentionally smile. But this time, it was simply to make much of these people.

We served dinner that night, and I walked up to one table, asking if there was anything they needed me to get for them. A little lady with short dark hair told me "thank you" for the food and that they were doing fine. And just as I turned to leave, I remembered my goal for the night. I was walking away from the perfect opportunity to make much of this little lady.

I quickly stepped back to face her again and asked her name. She had just taken a bite of her food, but quietly replied, "Dawn." Then as I introduced myself, she stood up and came over to me. Before I knew what she was doing, she had her arms wrapped tightly around me. This was far from what I was prepared for. She didn't smell clean. She probably hadn't had a shower in weeks. But, despite how comfort zone stretching it was for me, that hug probably meant the world to her. And it probably was the means that God had intended for me to love her. Only He knows the last time she was hugged.

My idea of making much of her was simply asking her her name, but God taught me that sometimes it's doing what you're not prepared to do - doing what's uncomfortable for you. For me, that was hugging a homeless woman.

Matthew 25:40 "'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for Me.'"

1 John 3:16 "This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers."

I went to bed that night crying, "I don't like God's decision!" My five-year-old heart had broken to pieces at the news of my baby sister's death...

On September 13, 1996, we welcomed Lindsey's empty frame into the world. Her spirit had already been welcomed into Heaven. Although I wasn't old enough to know all the details of those days, two things I remember - the tears and the funeral.

My memory of the hospital room is foggy. Like watching a film through a blurry lens. I vaguely remember standing next to my Aunt Molly, who knelt by my mom's hospital bed. I remember watching the tears roll down their cheeks. And I remember asking, "What's wrong?" I don't think it had hit me yet.

I remember the funeral, or at least parts of it. We sang "Jesus Loves Me", requested by Lauren, who was two at the time. The other songs, the message, the people, and the flowers decorating the stage escape me. But I remember clearly when the funeral ended. I looked over to my Aunt Molly once again, but asked this time, "Does Jesus really love me?" In my heart was a battle. The year before I had been certain of His love for me. I even asked Him to save me. But now that He took my baby sister from me, I couldn't be sure. My Aunt Molly graciously told me, "Yes, He loves you...very much." She must have known how I doubted His love by daily asking Jesus to save me, because she went on to assure me that I only had to ask Him to save me once. His love was forever. It never ceased. After that day, I never asked Him again.

Looking back 13 years later, I know for certain that in those moments when I thought Jesus had forsaken me, He was loving me more than I could know. His hands were holding me. His arms were sheltering me. His grace was sustaining me.

I thought then that God didn't love me, but now I'm confident His love was with me. I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for His love comforting me in that time. If to do it over again, I would change my heart's cry to "I trust God's decision." Why? Because what God was doing then caused me to fall more in love with Him, to trust Him more fully, and to look with greater hope to the glories of His presence in Heaven, where there will be no more death, no more crying, and no more pain. The love of Jesus is stronger than the grave. It was her death that showed me how boundless and how eternal His love really is.

If it means walking through the valley of the shadow of death, Lord, take me there.

This isn't profound. This isn't long. This is just a simple thought.

As I waited in line at the college to validate my photo ID, I watched a burly guy and blond girl reconnect after a busy summer, or so it appeared. I was trying not to listen to their conversation, but sometimes that is hard to do when there is nothing else to listen to. They shared about their summers and asked about each others families. Then he asked her, "So, are you married yet?" She smiled and said, "No. Probably not for a while." "Well...any babies yet?" Once again she replied, "No."

My heart dropped as I heard his question. No one should need to ask this when someone's unmarried. This question shouldn't even exist. Unfortunately, for our culture...it does.