My Inbox of Daily Inspirations: Daily Heartlight -- February 4, 2008

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February 4, 2008

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=========================== TODAY'S ARTICLE ==========================

Conviction, by Phil Ware

Today* was one of those incredibly busy and wild days. I spent much of
the afternoon trying to track down folks who were in and out of the
hospital and whose rooms and floors had been switched. I enjoy this
part of ministry. So much of what I do is Internet or big church stuff,
that getting personal, touch-time hospital ministry with people is
restorative. However, I hadn't allowed for enough time for all the
moving around and tracking folks down, so I was running nearly an hour
late on my tight schedule.

To save time, I ran by the post office to pick up the Heartlight snail
mail while I was in the area. When I opened the box, there were two
yellow claim forms for packages among the envelopes. I had no idea what
was in the packages, but there was no line at the window — a miracle of
sorts in the world of public post office boxes. So I turned in my two
claim forms, picked up my packages, and hopped in the ol' Tahoe.

Now sensibility nudged me to leave the packages unopened until I took
them to the office. But, I'm a curious type and I couldn't resist the
urge to discover what these two unexpected packages might bring!
Shortly after opening them, I immediately pulled into the car wash
across the street to gather my composure -- I hadn't planned to get my
car washed, but it would help kill time. I was in no shape to return
the office. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked at these two
packages.

The contents of the first envelope tugged at my heart as soon as I
opened it. Five Compassion sponsor packets for kids in Uganda. The
pictures were precious. I knew they had probably shared their clothes
and shoes with others getting their pictures made the same day. They
were dressed, pressed, and tidy hoping against hope that someone,
anyone, might be their sponsor. It didn't matter to them if the clothes
didn't quite fit or the shoes belonged to someone much older and
bigger. My eyes moistened as a I thought about the upcoming trip I
would take with 15 other bloggers with Compassion to Uganda. I was
cheered yesterday by the news that I would get to meet Doreen, the
little girl we sponsor. Now my heart ached with the hope that we could
find the 500 sponsors we have as a goal for our trip, and especially
find five sponsors for these children whose faces captured my heart.

Then I opened the second envelope. I read the first part of the
Mother's note attached to the book that was sent for me to preview for
Heartlight. Then I noticed the cheery, inviting face of a college
student on the cover. The title was simple: Melissa's Prayer Journal.
The second part of the title was incongruous and a bit jarring: "The
Power of Prayer in the Face of Cancer." As I thumbed through this book,
I discovered copies of Melissa's own handwriting and pictures of her
life as a young woman full of joy and life. This college student was
about the age as my own daughter. I was intrigued to follow a young
woman's faith as she struggled and overcame cancer at such a young age.
I was not prepared for the reality: Melissa died after facing her
battle with cancer after a little less than two years. I was stunned
and shaken.

Emotions engulfed me. I had to get a grip. Too much flowing through my
heart at once and not enough of whatever it is that carries emotions to
release them appropriately. I scoured and devoured the book. Melissa's
journal entries were suddenly electrified with a different intensity. I
was laughing, crying, and flipping pages at the same time. I gathered
in the images of Melissa's mom and sister and wondered how their hearts
could not have burst with grief.

Then the tidal wave hit. In my world that values pretty people and
heroic efforts, Melissa's story is a gripper. Powerful and moving and
faith-inspiring, Melissa's words of faith would challenge any of us of
any age facing such a hard battle. But underneath it all, I could hear
this tiny voice beckoning me to put the book down and look at again at
those little children from Uganda.

In my world, Melissa's story has a tragic power touched with grace. I
am thankful for it and I will recommend this book again and again. But
to most in my culture, the other pictures are just a bunch more sad and
unfortunate kids from Africa. You listen to the talk shows and you
realize that the general public is tired of what they see as the same
ol' story. Hungry for a new angle, the media-drenched perception about
the needs of Africa are quickly becoming old news. We are quickly
becoming desensitized and finding ways to rationalize away our
responsibility to be involved.

But what is the greater tragedy? To die young, fighting to be
courageous, sustained by faith, but lost to family and friends who
deeply love you? Or, to die a different kind of death -- denied the
basic necessities of life and denied the opportunity to know Jesus,
experience His grace, and never know the love of His people?

If I were Melissa's mom, I know what my answer to that question would
be: my daughter's death would be a near-inconsolable tragedy. But, I
also remember the powerful words of an old Phil Collins song about the
suffering in Africa. The song is entitled "Colours," and the line
refers to seeing the pictures of those who are suffering and realizing
that "Like a mirror, you see yourself, these people, each have a name."
So I look at those little faces and read their names: Tumukunde, Apio,
Daniel, Mukiibi, and Nakijoba. None of them have both mom and dad
living with them -- I'm not even sure they are still living at all. But
their aunt, grandmothers, and friends who are raising them, would tell
you what the greater tragedy is to them: losing another person they
love.

So today, as I read the awful yet glorious words ofLuke 23 again, and
re-live the trials, crucifixion, death, and burial of Jesus, I am
reminded why God came to our mortal mess. Without Jesus, without our
hope, and our family of faith, we would be in a place where tears would
have no reason to cease. Our trust, however, is that He remedied the
stalking power of death and brought hope to families like those of
Melissa, Tumukunde, Apio, Daniel, Mukiibi, and Nakijoba -- and to me
and my family. You see, when these people have a name and you know
them, they aren't statistics or issues to be debated. In that moment,
tragedy is more than a word, it is life -- lost.

The emotions of earlier today still bubble up in my heart.

//Inspiration:Luke 23:46
Jesus called out in a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commit my
spirit." When he had said this, he breathed his last."

//Incarnation:

How can I not share the love of God demonstrated in Jesus? How can I
not want every one to know about this love — and not just know in
words, but experience it in deeds? They have to know the Father -- and
His love -- and know with confidence that they can commit their life,
their spirit, into His hands and breath their last, with great
assurance of tomorrow's greater grace.

//Invitation:

O Father, forgive me for being jaded and cold to the need, the real and
ultimate need, of all people to know and experience your love in Jesus,
in whose name I pray. Amen

This was originally an entry in my blog, but seemed very appropriate to
share with our wider Heartlight audience. I hope you are blessed by
these thoughts and would love for you to be a part of the prayer team:

http://blogs.heartlight.org/phil/?p=194

Or if you would be interested in commenting on these ideas, please
share them on the blog response page:

http://blogs.heartlight.org/phil/?p=213

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Daily Heartlight -- February 4, 2008