Patience is a Virtue

A young woman was shopping at the grocery store with her precious 2-year-old daughter. Predictably, the moment they turned down the cereal aisle, the little girl started clamoring for the sugary cereals that were located right at cart-eye level. “No, no,” her mother said. “We’re not buying those today.” Naturally, the little girl began to plead and whine. The mother took a deep breath and said, “Now, Monica, don’t get upset. We only have ten more items on our list and then you can go home and take a nice nap.” 

As any of you who have ever been shopping with a small child knows, once a child gets settled into a good temper tantrum, particularly when that child is strapped into a shopping cart where everything she passes is attractive but out of reach, well...things tend to go from bad to worse. A few minutes later, the small child lunged out of the cart and managed to snag a bag of Chip’s Ahoy cookies. Her mother deftly removed them from her hands, and the shrieking began. The mother took another deep breath: “Monica, calm down. We’re almost done with the shopping list, and you can go home and have a nice long nap.”

Finally, the woman brought her cart to the check-out line. The little girl’s lungs were going full strength, and her face was a deep shade of red. And as her mother put her items on the checkout counter, the little girl saw the candy bars that are so thoughtfully placed right where a child can reach them. After wrestling a bag of Skittles out of the hand of her distraught daughter, the woman repeated her mantra: “Monica, settle down. There’s no need to get upset. We’re all done shopping now, and you can go home and have a nice, long nap.”

As the woman pushed her cart toward her car, a man came up to her. “Excuse me,” he said. “I know we haven’t met; but I heard you and your daughter in the store, and I just have to commend you on your patience with young Monica.” The woman looked blankly at the man, then smiled. She held out her hand: “I’m sorry, there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding. My daughter’s name is Julia. My name is Monica, and it’s nice to meet you.”

Cutting Through the Chaos

We conducted a three-phase experiment at Rockford College, and used over 100 college graduates who were preparing for youth ministry.

In the first phase, we took a young volunteer from the room and blindfolded him. We simply told him that when he returned, he could do anything he wished. He remained outside the room while we instructed each audience member to think of a simple task for the volunteer to do. When the volunteer returned, they were to shout their individual instructions at him from where they sat. Prior to this, we privately instructed another person to shout a very specific task at the blindfolded volunteer as though it were a matter of life and death. This person was to attempt to persuade the blindfolded volunteer to climb the steps at the back of the auditorium and embrace an instructor who was standing at the door; he had to shout this vital message from where he sat in the audience. The volunteer was oblivious to all instructions and previous arrangements. The volunteer represented our young people, the audience represented the world of voices screaming for their attention, and the person with the vital message represented those of us who bring the message of the Gospel to youth. The blindfolded student was led back into the room. The lecture room exploded in a din of shouting. Each person tried to get the volunteer to follow his or her unique instructions. In the midst of the crowd, the voice of the person with the vital message was lost; no single message stood out. The blindfolded student stood paralyzed by confusion and indecision. He moved randomly and without purpose as he sought to discern a clear and unmistakable voice in the crowd.

The second phase: we told the audience about the person attempting to get the volunteer to accomplish the vital task. At this point we chose another person from the audience to add a new dimension. This person’s goal was to, at all costs, keep the volunteer from doing the vital task. While the rest of the audience was to remain in their seats, these two people were allowed to stand next to the volunteer and shout their opposing messages. They could get as close as they wished; however, they were not allowed to touch the volunteer. As the blindfolded volunteer was led back into the room, the shouting began again. This time, because the two messengers were standing so close, the volunteer could hear both messages; but because the messages were opposed to each other, he vacillated. He followed one for a bit, then was convinced by the other to go the opposite direction. In order for young people to hear our message we must get close to them. Even then, there are others with opposing messages who also are close enough to make their messages clear. Sometimes they are peers, relatives .The main lesson: only the close voices could be heard. Even though the volunteer took no decisive action, at least he heard the message.

The response to the third phase was startling. In this phase everything remained the same except the one with the vital message was allowed to touch the volunteer. He could not pull, push or in any way force the volunteer to do his bidding; but he could touch him, and in that way encourage him to follow. The blindfolded volunteer was led into the room. When he appeared, the silence erupted into an earsplitting roar. The two messengers stood close, shouting their opposing words. Then, the one with the vital message put his arm gently around the volunteer’s shoulder and leaned very close to speak directly into his ear. Almost without hesitation, the volunteer began to yield to his instruction. Occasionally he paused to listen as the opposition frantically tried to convince him to turn around. But then, by the gentle guidance of touch, the one with the vital message led him on. A moment of frightening realism occurred spontaneously as the one with the vital message drew close to the goal. All those in the audience, who up to this point had been shouting their own individual instruction, suddenly joined in unison to keep the volunteer from taking those final steps.

Goose bumps appeared all over my body as students began to chant together, “Don’t go!” “Don’t go!” “Don’t go!” So many times I’ve seen the forces that pull our youth in different directions join together to dissuade them from a serious commitment to Christ. The chant grew to a pulsing crescendo, “Don’t go!” “Don’t go!” But the guiding arm of the one with the vital message never left the volunteer’s shoulder. At the top of the stairs in the back of the lecture hall, the one with the vital message leaned one last time to whisper in the ear of the volunteer. There was a moment of hesitation, then the volunteer threw his arms around the instructor and the auditorium erupted in cheers and applause.

When the volunteer revealed how he felt as he went through each phase, it became apparent that if our message is to be heard, we cannot shout it from the cavernous confines of our church buildings. We must venture out and draw close to those with whom we wish to communicate. If we really seek a life-changing commitment from our young people, we also must reach out where they are and in love, gently touch them and lead them to that commitment. We asked the volunteer why he followed the one with the vital message, the one who touched him. After a few moments he said, “Because it felt like he was the only one who really cared.”

[from Ken Davis, How To Speak To Youth, pp. 19-23]

The Great Cake Deception

It was time for the annual cake sale at a Presbyterian church. Mrs. Billings always made 

the most beautiful cakes and she was expected to make another one this year. However, 

Ms. Billings was a very busy woman with the time she spent with her family and the time 

she gave to her community. She put off making the cake this year, thinking she could 

put it all together at the last minute.

When the cake came out of the oven, Mrs. Billings was horrified to see that the cake had 

fallen. She didn’t have the time or the ingredients to make another one and she panicked. 

Frantically, she devised an ingenious plan. She would find a way to "fix" the 

cake...then she would be the first one to the sale and buy her own cake back. 

Mrs. Billings looked around the room, trying to find something that she could use to 

"prop" the cake back up, and then she found it. A roll of toilet paper was the perfect 

size. So, she put it under the center of the cake and the cake looked perfect. She decorated 

it bright yellow and took it to the bake sale. Then she stuck around until the bake sale 

started. 

She was the first in line when the doors opened.   She smiled to herself about how clever 

she was. But then there was a terrifying horror crawling up from within her. She looked 

at every single table there was no yellow cake! Someone had snuck in before the sale and 

purchased it. The helpers couldn’t remember who had purchased it either because there 

was so much going on. 

She went home and felt absolutely horrible. That was it.   They would find the toilet 

paper in the cake, trace it back to her, and ban her from ever cooking ever again. 

Mrs. Billings didn’t have a whole lot of time to dwell on her problem. She was going to a 

reception that the Mayor’s wife was holding, and she was already a little late. 

When she got there, Mrs. Billings almost died right where she stood, because there, at the 

center of a brilliantly decorated table, was her bright, yellow cake. She debated all of her 

options: grab the cake and run, change her name and move to Tahiti, call in a bomb 

threat, or tell the hostess. It was a dead tie between calling in a bomb threat and telling 

the hostess, when she decided to muster up the courage to tell the Mayor’s wife of the 

horrors that awaited her inside the yellow cake. 

As Mrs. Billings got up to tell the hostess about the cake, she overheard someone 

complimenting the mayor’s wife. "That is simply the most beautiful cake I have ever 

seen!" To which the Mayor’s wife replied, "Thank you, I made it myself." Mrs. 

Billings then sat down and enjoyed her fruit salad. 

Am I Awake Yet?

Last night when I was reading my grandson to sleep, he couldn't bear to part with his big jeep. I promised that as soon as he was awake again, he would get to play with it. I was there when he woke up this mornng, and he scrambled joyfully to a sitting position, as he does most mornings. He said, "I get to play with my jeep when I wake up?" I said yeah. He looked around and said, "Did I wake up yet?" and it struck me that this is the most important question we need to ask ourselves every day.


-Anne Lamott

Back to Basics

Arguably, Bill Russell of Boston was the greatest basketball player of all time. Certainly, leading his Celtics to eleven world championships in thirteen seasons is a record that will never be equaled.
Once in the deciding game of the NBA Championship Series, the Boston big man stepped to the line for a pair of crucial free throws. The crowd hushed. If Russell made the two shots, the Celtics would again be on their way to another championship.

As he was about to shoot, one of his teammates came over and whispered something to the giant center. Russell grinned, then sank both free throws, and again the Boston Celtics were champions of the world. After the game, a reporter asked Larry Siegfried what he had said to Russell at the free throw line. The Celtic guard replied, "Well, sometimes Russ forgets to bend his knees. I just reminded him that he needed to do that." Forgets to bend his knees!

There is nothing more basic to shooting free throws than the bending of one's knees. The greatest basketball player who ever lived had to be reminded of one of the elementary basics of his game?
Amazing! Back to basics! Not a bad strategy!
 
[Gary L. Carver - http://www.sermonsuite.com/free.php?i=788016270&key=Tuxs3xzacxv2eYqs]

Humility

My friend Rebecca has a young daughter named Olivia. When Olivia was four, they were sharing a nice mother-daughter moment watching a documentary about dinosaurs on television. The show was produced by a local university, and it focused on dinosaurs who inhabited the area of North Texas where we live.

At the end of the documentary, Olivia turned to Rebecca and asked, "Mommy, did dinosaurs actually live right here, where we live now?" Rebecca mentally patted herself on the back for encouraging scientific interest in her preschooler. "Yes, Olivia, it's true. Dinosaurs lived here."

Olivia's eyes grew wide. "Oh Mommy...were you scared?"

Ichabod

A while back I heard a story from a church in the deep South. Every Sunday morning they gathered to give God thanks for the grace that accomplished their salvation. Every Sunday morning they prayed that God would help them be a witness of holiness in their community. But when one of their board members got word that the pastor had witnessed to an African-American couple, and invited them to worship the next Sunday . . . Well, the board member pulled the pastor aside and said:

"Don’t expect me to be back if you invite them. If they show up in this church you might just as well write ICHABOD above the door—God’s Spirit has departed from this place."

I heard that story and thought, “Oh no, you don’t need to worry about writing ‘Ichabod’ above the door. It has already been written.”

None of the folks in that church were planning an execution on their way to church the next Sunday. It wasn’t that direct. But when you assassinate the purposes of God one day, and show up to hand out bulletins and help take the offering the next day, you might just as well crucify Christ again. Week after week Christ is crucified all over again by sincere religious folks who assassinate the purposes of God and still manage to make it to worship on time without a drop of blood on them.

[from Preacher's Magazine:

http://www.nph.com/nphweb/html/pmol/pastissues/Lent%202006/webmar12.htm]