Touching a life is one of the most special things we, as humans, can ever do. In the first book I wrote, “Authentic Ministry” (now in the process of being re-written because I tried to write it like my favorite author Max Lucado, and God whispered to me one day, “I already have a Max Lucado, write in your voice.”), so it is not out yet, but I wrote a whole chapter about touching lives, one of my favorite subjects.
There are so many ways to touch another’s life. Through spoken words, through written words, through a song you share, sometimes the right photo, or simply reaching over and holding a hand. The nice thing is you don’t have to be gifted, or have a doctorates’ degree in Theology. If you are a human, you are qualified. Just do what seems right…for that moment.
The one thing that you do need is practice to see the moments. Many times we go too fast in life to see them, hear them, or sense them. And they aren’t there very long, that’s why they are called “moments”. Or worse yet we are so obsessed with our own lives to even notice someone else’s.
The other day I was talking to a coworker through our instant messaging tool. All of sudden I sensed it. I was in the middle of “a moment”. This person needed to hear an encouraging word. I shared one. They thought God had told me to share that word with them. I told them it came from me, but the more I thought about it I had this realization; when one spends time with God, reads his word, talks with him through prayer you begin to really know him. You learn his character, and you begin to take on his character. I told my coworker this, and then went on to say, “I think if God was physically the one typing the message that is what he would have said to you.”
Don’t miss the moments. Look hard for them. Search them out, and then don’t be afraid to convey a message in whatever form comes natural to you. Today, being Mother’s Day, is the perfect “moment” to share in a way God himself would.
I’m writing this week’s blog from the hospital. It’s okay, because I’m not the one admitted, although some would argue that I should be, or is that, “committed”? Anyway, I am a proud grandpa of my first grandchild. Eleanor (Ellie) was born Thursday evening, but her birth was a journey in itself.
I was part of a group of people once that was setting out to accomplish a certain task. We had several meetings before we left so we could get to know each other and to have a clear understanding of what our goal was and what it was not. Everything went great, with no hints of a future issue until we got to our destination. We no more hit the ground when one individual became someone they didn’t reveal beforehand. The next thing we started realizing is this one individual had their own agenda and goals. Worse yet, as they went about to achieve their goals they hurt others on the team by being rude, condescending, and hurtful. I wanted to ask them, “Just who do you think you are?”
I just spent a week in Ndola, Zambia. If one just drives through some of the poorer communities, as we did, you are filled with guilt, compassion, and sorrow. We in America think we know how fortunate we are, but until you see firsthand how others on the same planet live you really don’t know the depth of our fortune.
By the end of our week some tears were shed as we c
elebrated God together and said our goodbyes. A lot had been accomplished as we visited each church of the seven in Fubuku. As we led a bible study in spiritual gifts, as we “tried” to stucco a mill house, and as we moved most of the 3000 concrete blocks into positions so those who did know what they were doing could put them in place. As we did some home visits to those who were HIV positive, or the widow who was raising 10 orphans on her own. This group of God believing, God fearing Zambians find ways to survive, not just
We feel our goal of building relationships was accomplished. We even gave them a 
picture of a person from my church section with their name, so they could pray for them. Then likewise we took their pictures holding up the photo of the one they selected. The response to this was overwhelming. They stood in a line, some for 30 minutes waiting for their turn to be photographed.
I just watched the movie, “The Martian”. Well written movies usually inspire me to write, so here I go. I am on my way to Zambia. Right now I am somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. 41,000 feet up in the air. The outside temperature is -85.0F. At least that is what flight status is telling me. Just watching the movie makes me aware there is a lot that could go wrong, but I have hope that we will arrive at our final destination.
The story of Jesus’ death is not a new story to most of us. We’ve heard it so many times in so many ways. Whether you first heard it at a church, or saw a version of it at the movies, or heard someone tell you the story through your television. Perhaps you just heard it again this week as Christians, Disciples of Christ, celebrated Easter. I’m not going to retell it here, but I would like to share the part of His story that means the most to me.
This past week, during a team meeting for my trip to Zambia, one of the members shared that she keeps a journal, but not just any journal. She went on to share how at the end of every day she writes down in this journal where and how God showed up. The name of this journal is, “Only God”.
I have mentioned this philosophy in a couple of blogs of “helping without hurting”. I wanted to share a little more about it.
When I travel somewhere, seldom will you ever hear the words come out of my mouth, “Oh gees, I forgot something.” I was never in the Boy Scouts, but my parents taught me well how to be prepared, how to be resourceful, and how to improvise. On one camping trip the truck’s fuel pump went out. Dad poured gas from the boat into a can and climbed above the truck’s engine so he could pour gas manually into the carburetor. He told my mother, “If it runs, step on it and keep it moving.” Something he said later he regretted as it was the scariest ride of his life.
brady, mark a. 