Writers In The Storm

I remember the first time that I really understood that God talked to Moses. Until I read the bible first-hand *, I thought the burning bush–so nicely depicted by Cecil B. deMille–was the extent of God’s conversation with Moses. I expected the subsequent messages to be more like an unspoken whisper, or a tug of conscience.

But God spoke with Moses. Directly. Routinely. As He would to a friend.

When the Hebrews wandered the desert for forty years, due to their sin, God led them in the daytime by a pillar of cloud and at night by a pillar of fire. That was God in His glorious image, as least what we could handle of it. When they settled for a while, Moses went to the Tent of Meeting to fellowship with God. They spoke about national matters, tribal matters, personal matters.

Prayer is like that. We get to commune with God. I don’t claim that he talks to me directly. Though I have heard him whisper. Twice quite clearly. But his unseen hand has guided my path on many occasion. I see the results in my rear-view mirror.

No pillars for me.

I’m not quick to ascribe something as God’s will for my life. I’ve seen it used to manipulate others, excuse sin, and rationalize doing exactly what someone was going to do anyway. I’ve got enough trouble without using God’s name in vain.

One of my wonderful nephew’s graduated from High School this spring. Way to go, Jimmy! We were asked by his parents to send along some words of theoretical wisdom for him as he heads off to college. I’ll share one of my cultured pearls here:

       Don’t be afraid to make a decision, but don’t be in a hurry either.

       Give the decision over to God.

       Get all the facts you can–notice I said facts, not opinions.

       Ask for His direction.

       Decide.

       Then don’t bother second guessing it.

God always shows up. He won’t reach us each the same way. For one it’s a whisper, for another it’s a shout. Rarely have I been clearly on God’s path while I walked it. That’s why I keep a keen eye on my rear-view mirror.

* Read the book. Don’t wait for the movie.

Last week, the calligraphy addressed invitations arrived in everyone’s mailboxes. Yesterday, she purchased shoes that match her dress. They sit in her closet waiting for the big day. The young lady reserved a ranch for the reception and a whole suite of hotel rooms for out-of-town guests. On the girl’s finger a ring sparkles.

After months of preparation and planning, she walks the aisle in three more days.

When she extends her hand to receive her diploma, a chapter of her life will end while another unfolds. The paper certificate represents approximately 16,480 classroom hours; plus evenings studying, writing research papers, and attending extra-curricular activities.

Break out the fine china and warm up the band. An investment of this magnitude deserves celebrating.

But do we ever overlook day-to-day accomplishments that deserve recognition? When did you last celebrate completing a task? Accomplishing a goal? Meeting an objective?

Celebrating big and small victories helps us to Live Above Neutral. Next time you finish cleaning the bathrooms, updating your children’s scrapbooks or e-filing your income taxes, celebrate:

Buy a bouquet of flowers. Bake a treat and enjoy with a glass of milk. Take a vanilla-cream bubble bath.

What can you celebrate today?

Another hero was in the newspaper today, if you’re a fan of the Kennedy family. For those alive during his brother’s presidency, Ted Kennedy promised another knight seated ’round the table at Camelot.

But John was assassinated, then Bobby. We watched both events on TV. The nation held a collective breath for Ted’s safety.

In spite of his subsequent run for the Democratic nomination, he ended his own bid for the presidency in 1969, the night he ran his mother’s Olds Delmont 88 off a bridge into Poucha Pond near Chappaquiddick Island. The car overturned and Mary Jo Kopechne drowned.

Many speculate as to whether or not Ted Kennedy could have saved her. Many wonder why he didn’t report the accident, allowing the dead young woman’s body to remain trapped underwater until others found her the next day. Many wonder why the married senator and his buddies were out partying with Mary Jo and her girl friends. Many felt the two-month jail sentence for leaving the scene of an accident — which was suspended — was an inadequate penalty.

But he was a U.S. senator. He was a Kennedy.

I often wonder what life was really like for him in 1969.

At the age of nine, his 23 year old sister Rosemary, considered somewhat mentally deficient and too unruly for the nuns to handle at the convent, underwent a lobotomy at their father’s request. The procedure rendered her personality-neutral and completely incapable of caring for herself.

When Ted was 12, the oldest brother, Joe, died in a plane explosion in England during WWII.

And at 16, big sister Kathleen died in a plane crash. By 1969, of nine siblings, only Ted and four of his sisters, including Rosemary, remained.

I wonder what events he would say have shaped him. Since 1969, there have been many more incidents and tragedies that etched his spirit. Tragedies bear their mark in a person’s character. You carry them in your soul. No doubt he’s lost a few of his own heroes.

Fast forward to today: Ted Kennedy suffered a seizure due to a malignant tumor on his brain. He has brain cancer.

Ted Kennedy is not a man with whom I have much in common. We are both the youngest child of a large rowdy family. I’m still blessed by the love, companionship, and occasional menace of all my siblings. Throughout his life Ted Kennedy enjoyed the privileges of few. Yet, even without this final chapter, I wouldn’t trade my life for his.

A letter written by Albert Einstein * to philosopher Eric Gutkind in 1954 is currently for sale in London. Einstein witnessed the re-birth of the nation of Israel 60 years ago on 15 May 1948, as predicted in the book of Amos 9:14-15, and others. As a prominent Jew in the world, he declined an opportunity to serve as the second President of Israel.

The letter, now widely quoted, reveals Einstein’s thoughts on God, the Hebrews, and religion in general. In his own words:

       “The word God is for me nothing more than the expression and product of human weaknesses, the Bible a collection of honourable, but still primitive legends which are nevertheless pretty childish.”

       “And the Jewish people to whom I gladly belong and with whose mentality I have a deep affinity have no different quality for me than all other people.”

       “As far as my experience goes, they are no better than other human groups, although they are protected from the worst cancers by a lack of power. Otherwise I cannot see anything ‘chosen’ about them.”

His words illustrate the crucial dilemma of religious belief: God is not a verifiable fact. Those of us who have experienced God, through no personal merit, know that He is. But without that tangible touch from Him, any serious consideration remains skeptical.

My husband had no belief in God when we met. He liked me and wanted me to get my thinking right. So he went to Christian bookstores to gather evidence of my foolishness. But God met him in the bookstore. Took him to Josh McDowell’s book: Evidence That Demands a Verdict. My oh-so-better half made a verdict to lay down his heart before our Creator. Go figure.

As for Al, and the Jews not being “better”, well, that is the point. They didn’t earn a place in God’s honor. Certainly their history make you wonder why God bothered. Gratitude didn’t always come readily. They weren’t better, they were “chosen”. They were to serve as a model to the rest of us. When they rejected their Creator, He gave us Gentiles a shot at eternity with Him.

Thanks.

       1 Corinthians 1:23 –. . . but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles . . .

       1 Corinthians 3:19 — For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God’s sight. As it is written: “He catches the wise in their craftiness”

       1 Corinthians 2:1 — The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually discerned.

I guess Al wanted a God he can understand. If I had come up with the Theory of Relativity and the Special Theory of Relativity, I might think God more of an intellectual neighbor.

But I didn’t, so I don’t. Nor do I want Him to be. If I can discern Him, then He is not nearly enough.

Maybe Al was too smart for his own good.

* Affectionately known as Albert One-Mug,

What makes a person heroic?

In today’s world, Americans idolize actors, athletes and industry moguls. Anyone with brains, brawn or bucks can rise to superhero status.

In order to understand God’s measuring stick for determining who’s worthy of admiration, I turned to the Bible.

One story stood out from the rest. I found my attention captured by a man “highly esteemed by God.”

The word esteemed comes from the Latin for “one who cuts copper.” The concept refers to a person who mints money. The individual creating the coin assigns its value. So, esteem involves estimating value or appraising worth.

In so many words, God told this man, “I assign great value to your life. You’re gold bouillon, a signed-blank check from the IRS, ground floor stock in Microsoft.”

Quick, before I tell you the name of the man God admires, jot down characteristics you think God values.

What wins God’s esteem?

Visit www.sonjiabradshaw.com tomorrow to learn the name of the man God esteemed. Meanwhile, consider characteristics you expect to find in his life story.

Life was good. I had a mom and a dad, two okay brothers, and a pet beagle. Frizzy hair in a spaghetti-straight world was bearable as long as my family and friends didn’t make a big deal of it. Then, Mom’s and Dad’s marriage broke up before my twentieth birthday.

“Mom, I’m home!” The screen door slammed behind me.

No response.

I walked into the kitchen, dropping my schoolbooks on the table beside Mom’s trademark–a chocolate coconut cake surrounded by three presents. Eyeing the carefully wrapped gifts, I knew one was the latest Amy Grant album I wanted. Shaking the others, I discovered the rectangular box held clothes. The other gift, I couldn’t figure out; it would remain a mystery a while longer.

My younger brother Jason soon entered the room, also coming in from school. My oldest brother was at work.

A little later, Mom quietly shut the screen door. The familiar footsteps on the hard wood floor announced her arrival. She sat in the closest chair, barely looking up as Jason and I entered the room.

“Come, sit down. I have something I need to tell you,” Mom began. “I’ve been to the doctor.”

Jason hung his head. We both instinctively knew what was coming next.

“I have a lump in my breast. The doctor is certain that I have cancer.”

The rest of the day was a blur. We probably ate the cake and sang “Happy Birthday,” but I don’t remember any festivity. The next night, Mom labeled three boxes with our full names. Only a mother would do that. She then began to go through the house gathering items to place in the boxes–stuffed animals, newspaper clippings, faded ribbons–long-forgotten memories of our childhood.

The next day, my 43-year-old mother entered the hospital for a biopsy.

She died three weeks later.

I still have the Amy Grant album. The clothes are long gone. The mystery gift has been forgotten. But I received a gift that day I’ll never forget: The certainty that life in this world is short, and relationships are the most important part of that short life. I knew then that I wanted a forever family.

Mom’s death was my call to a life-long commitment to family–where relationships are celebrated as true treasures worthy of my life investment. Her death transported me to the place where personal fulfillment and career achievements rank much lower than the call to hear God’s whisper, “Well done.” Mom’s life and death gave me a longing for lasting relationships, families that beckon us home, and eyes to see the significance of The Forever Mom.

Heroes constantly risk our disappointment.

Society has a way of ratcheting their pedestals skyward. Some started as evil phonies; others fell from the precarious height by believing their own press. Names that once bore the mark of sterling now cause our tongues to stick.

Personally, I want only the fortune. Fame you can keep. I enjoy going to the grocery store in tattered sweats and a ratty shirt long before my daily ablutions. No one careens after my van in pursuit of a valuable snap. Any photos I grace will be at my sole discretion and with the full armor of my cosmetics bag.

But I have my heroes. My husband merits the title. I tell him so often, I hope. It’s important that he know.

The bible is rife with heroes. But my personal hero rarely has his story heralded in Sunday school:

The thief on the cross.

He squandered his life on evil. At his miserable end he was spared by the mercy and grace of Jesus. The thief knew he deserved his punishment, and he knew that Jesus did not. He asked Jesus to remember him, and Jesus told him that on that very day, they would be together in paradise.

Years ago a bible study group I was in studied these very verses. Two of the women had been Christians all their lives and resented the thief. They felt they had given up much throughout their lives and didn’t think it fair he could sneak through before the heavenly gate slammed.

Given up what? Years of sin and pain and regret? Had they no idea what they’d been spared?

They were the embodiment of my constant prayer for my son: that he would never remember a day without Christ in his life. But they owned no empathy for the drowning. I had swirled in an eddy admittedly of my own making. Desperate hands reached out for years to pull me into the boat. I think my next comments scared them.

At what age are we no longer viable recruits?

After how many acts of evil?

After what particular sins?

I tried to say it in love, I pleaded, actually, because the thief was my God given proof that it is never too late. By denying the thief entry, they were trying to deny me. People prayed for me many years before I answered the godly knock at my door. May He bless them forever for their loving gift to me.

I hear stories that the infamous Pol Pot of Cambodia renounced his sin on his deathbed and claimed Jesus as his savior. Pol Pot is directly responsible for the death of millions. I don’t know if it’s true. That question remains between him and God.

But, I know for a fact that it is possible, thanks to my other hero on the cross.

Hiro’s cell phone rings…

Ando: Who is it?

Hiro: Destiny!

Ando: I wish Destiny would lose our number.

From the TV series, Heroes.

Today, I wandered through cyberspace researching various ideas about heroes. I came across three distinct perspectives:

· Heroes are famous, wealthy or notorious people including: actors, athletes, and debutantes.

· Heroes are everyday people doing everyday things: opening a door for an elderly woman, helping a stranded motorist, or teaching children with special needs.

· Heroes are people who accomplish extraordinary acts of service in extraordinary situations: Soldiers on the battlefield, firemen in a blaze, or a policeman in a shootout.

A famous person may be a hero. I have always admired Tom Landry, head coach of the Dallas Cowboys from 1960 through 1988, because of his integrity. However, fame alone doesn’t equate heroism…

An everyday person may be a hero. Mrs. Terry Billups (my fourth grade math teacher) believed in me, inspired me and exemplified godly character for me. However, everydayness typified by mediocrity does not equate heroism…

A person caught in extraordinary circumstances may be a hero. This person answers the call when it comes just like Hiro in the television show. When Brian Clark heard cries for help on the eighty-first floor of the World Trade Center South Tower, he followed the sound until he found Stanley Praimnath trapped by debris. Clark spent several crucial minutes freeing Praimnath from his prison and together, the two men escaped only moments before the tower imploded. However, extraordinary circumstances alone doesn’t equate heroism…

A hero may perform in obscurity or on the five o’clock news. But either way, he lives above neutral.

As we celebrate Cinco de Mayo when a tiny band of Mexican soldiers defended their homeland against an overwhelming French army, let me ask:

Who are your heroes? Why do you admire them? Please take a moment to reply in the comments section.