Old Boots

Standing before the doctor, the man described his chronic back pain. Listening carefully, the doctor tried to determine the problem. The patient’s back seemed normal and healthy, then the doctor noticed a weathered pair of boots clumped together in the corner.

“Tell me about those,” the doctor instructed.

“Oh, those are my work boots. They belonged to my father, and I’ve worn them every day since he died. They’re the most comfortable boots you can imagine, completely broken in.”

Picking one up, the doctor saw that the sole was worn completely down on one side. The other boot was also unevenly worn.

“The problem isn’t your back. It’s these boots. They may fit and feel comfortable, but they’re worn and uneven. They’re the source of your pain.”

The man left the office with a heavy heart. He loved the boots. He loved the connection they brought to his father. He loved all that he and the boots had been through, but the doctor ordered him to change boots.

If only it were as easy to change our spiritual boots. 

Special Needs.

(Dedicated to the Portman Family)

I grew up with a learning disability. Now, people have “special needs.” However you put it, we live in a day where parents and schools are keenly aware of learning issues and have multiple ways of addressing, or meeting, those needs. For those who struggle with reading, they have methods of reaching the student, still. For those who are auditory learners, they have another approach. The list is ever-growing, and how blessed we all are to have ways of meeting students where they are. It has the ability to transform lives.

In a recent meeting, I watched as a committed faculty met with a student and his parents and could feel the love and care filling the room. The teachers really knew the student, his strengths and liabilities. What’s more, they really cared. The student smiled as they pointed out his strengths and left the room with a spring in his step, as he believed in himself as a student, as if for the first time.

As I thought about that moment, I was reminded of when Jesus went and ate with “sinners and tax collectors.” There was an uproar about his socializing with such folk, but he went anyway. In one way or another, each person gathered at the table had “special needs.” Some of those needs came at birth, others through choices, but the people were set apart from others because of their special needs. Jesus met with them and, like the conference of committed teachers, knew them inside and out. More important, he cared for them deeply. His attention, his knowing and caring, transformed their lives.

Whether we want to admit it or not, we all have special needs. Some of us were born with them, others made choices that led to them, but the needs are there regardless of their origin. The wonder to be celebrated is the presence that knows our needs and cares for us in a special way because, not despite, of them.  It can cause a smile on a face and spring in a step.

I guess that’s why they call it the Gospel.

Make a joyful noise . . .

Make a joyful noise . . .

Their friend’s mother was dying. Hospice had been called in, and now it was just a matter of time. Wanting to reach out to their friend and his mother, to show they cared, the two members of the choir decided to express their love and support in their own particular way. Standing at the door, they announced: “We’re here to sing for your mother.” Stunned, the friend invited them into the house and brought them to his mother’s bedroom. They greeted her warmly, then broke into familiar hymns. The two sang for about ten minutes, and then politely excused themselves. Long after their exit, the friend and his mom were humming the hymns, basking in the unusual gift of song. 

Make a joyful noise . . .

His father never showed affection. Although he says his father “had a good heart somewhere inside,” he never showed it to his son. All he was given as a child was scrutiny and judgement. Such an eneven emotional foundation caused him to stumble throughout his childhood. Now a man, that son understandably struggles with self-worth and feeling "good enough." Like so many, years of hitting his head against the wall of others' approval caused enormous pain. After four months in rehab, the man sat in chapel as people were recognized for their recent accomplishments. "And the employee of the month goes too . . ." The announcement took a moment to sink in, then his eyes awakened and glistened in undescribable, but unmistakable, ways. It was the smallest recognition. It was the largest gift.

Make a joyful noise . . .

“I hate the phone,” the man grumbled as he made his way over to answer it. Much to his surprise, on the other end was the voice of his sister, with whom he had not spoken in over twenty years. They were close as children, but then the inheritance changed all that. Suddenly an iron wall was irrected and neither ever expected to communicate again. That is, until she took the initiative that Spring morning. "I don't know why I'm calling. I just am. I don't really know what to say. I just felt like wishing you a happy Easter . . .  and maybe to say I miss you."

Make a joyful noise . . .