Imagine for a moment that you are driving through the desert in Southern California and you see the magnificent Golden Gate Bridge spanning the dried-up bed of “Three Frogs Creek” on the outskirts of “Turtle Soup Junction.” What a ridiculous sight that would be!
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What good is faith when all seems lost? I’ve asked that penetrating question in my life, and not long ago I received a letter from a mom who has asked it as well.
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Back in 1911, a stuntman named Bobby Leach went over Niagara Falls in a specially designed steel drum—and lived to tell about it. Although he suffered minor injuries, he survived because he recognized the tremendous dangers involved in the feat, and he had done everything he could to protect himself from harm.
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We often take God’s blessings for granted until they are taken from us. Then we recognize how important even the most common gifts of God really are.
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A New York City man who sold books and magazines on the street was freed after being trapped for 2 days under a mountain of paper in his apartment. The man’s collection of printed materials, which he had stacked wall to wall and floor to ceiling, collapsed and buried him alive. Emergency workers filled 50 garbage bags as they dug through the debris just to reach him.
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An honest and kind man drove the streets of San Francisco for more than an hour to find the woman who had left her purse with $1,792 in cash on the back seat of his cab. I like what he said when some of his fellow drivers ridiculed him for not pocketing the money. He responded, “I am a card-carrying member of the Christian faith, and what good is it to go to church if you don’t practice what you preach?”
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Old age is the season when we can give ourselves to “soul-making,” as the Quakers say. We can concentrate on getting to know God better and cultivating character traits that make us more like Him. Age breaks down our strength and energy and strips us of our busyness. It’s God’s way of getting us to slow down so we’ll take more time for Him. We can think more deeply about life, about ourselves, and about others.
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It was once my privilege to preach in a church where love and warmth were especially evident. I was impressed by the members’ willingness to pitch in and work. On the Sunday I spoke, three services were scheduled. The women of the church had provided a bountiful meal to be served between the meetings for visitors who had traveled a long distance.
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I once read a newspaper story about an old carnival headliner nicknamed “Cannonball.” In his younger days, he was blasted out of a cannon 1,200 times, pulled a 90-pound weight across a table with his eyelids, and performed many other bizarre stunts. When asked why he did such things, he replied, “Do you know what it’s like to feel the applause of 60,000 people? That’s why I did it over and over.”
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When seemingly needless suffering invades our lives, we often ask ourselves, “Who needs all this grief?” But consider, for a moment, the origin of pearls.
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