My Australian friend Graham wasn’t born blind. He was blinded by a freak accident at age 9. Yet he never felt sorry for himself. Wherever he went, he shared what Jesus Christ meant to him. His last trip was to Thailand as a practicing physiotherapist. Besides using his professional skills there, he wanted to share the gospel of Christ.
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During the Great Depression, many people in the US lived in shantytowns made up of plywood, tarps, and blankets. These decrepit dwellings, known as “Hoovervilles,” housed those who had been evicted from their homes. Many blamed President Herbert Hoover for the economic woes.
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Along the old Oregon Trail in Idaho there is a marker—a giant lava boulder known locally as Register Rock. It’s located in an area which was one of the favorite overnight camping areas for westbound immigrants who traveled the trail in the 19th century.
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When I was growing up, I often spent a week each summer with my grandparents. Many afternoons I would lie in the backyard hammock and read books I found in Grandpa’s bookcase. One was Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. It was heavy reading for a young girl, but I was absorbed by the detailed accounts of Christian martyrs, believers who were told to deny their faith in Christ but refused—thus suffering horrific deaths.
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Just the other day someone said of a friend, “This man is destined for a great ministry,” by which he meant he was headed for the big time—a high-profile church with a big budget.
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As a boy, I never shared my father’s enthusiasm for the soil. For several summers he had a little plot of ground in the country where he planted a garden. It provided physical therapy and relaxation for him, as well as a bountifully laden table for family and friends.
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A first-grader beamed with satisfaction as he handed me a spelling test on which his teacher had written a large “100%—Good work!” The boy said, “I showed this to Mom and Dad because I knew it would please them.” I could just see him riding home on the bus, hardly able to wait for the moment when his parents would express their excitement with how well he had done. His desire to make Mom and Dad happy was obviously a very important motivating factor in his life.
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A familiar saying goes something like this: “Old age is a matter of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter!”
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My grandnephew, his wife, and their daughter are serving as missionaries in New Guinea. He closes his newsletters with these words: “Having fun serving Him.”
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When it came time for Moses to strike the rock in the desert to get water for the thirsty Israelites, his part was very small-just strike the rock. Anyone in Israel could have done it. The main thing was what God was doing in the heart of the earth to provide a bountiful river of water.
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