Behold the least of these.  Behold the beggar.  Behold the child.  Behold the widow.  Behold the broken.  Those who are the least of these will inherit the city of God.  How often do we look down upon the poor, thinking that it is up to us to help them?  How often do we tell the children that they will understand, only when they are older?  How often do we decide that the broken are lesser then us?  Can we really be such fools?  Jesus Christ said that "the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these" (Mt. 19:14).

            Today, I dreamt of a future.  I saw a kingdom beyond anything I had imagined.  There before me stood the most unlikely of leaders.  I had always predicted that someday the great giants of the faith would rule in high authority, but instead I saw a boy.  This young child, with unshakable faith, was a shining beacon of Christ.  How could a boy, no older that fifteen rule so much?  It was as I stood facing him with a look of astonishment that I heard a great voice say, "because you have been faithful in a very little thing, you are to be in authority over ten cities" (Lu 19:17).  I began to wonder even more at this boy.  What had he been so faithful in?

            A woman came beside me and began to request an audience with this boy.  It was when I saw her face that I knew it was his mother.  I have yet to see a stranger thing.  His mother approached him with immense reverence and he greeted her with the open arms and the greatest of kindness.  There was only humility in his eyes and love in his heart.  It was in that moment that I saw who he had been in life.

            His mother was a single mother.  He had severe Down's syndrome.  She took him to church week after week and it was through her dedication that he came to fall in love with Christ.  He could never quote scripture and he could never remember the words to any songs, but that never stifled his zeal.  She struggled day by day to take care of her son and all the while he would pray, talking to the One who had saved him.  He knew no theology, other than the fact that his savior had died for him.  He prayed for those he met, he prayed for those he saw in magazines, newspapers, even the television, he prayed and never ceased.  When he did speak, the only thing he could seem to say was how much he loved Jesus and how much Christ did for him.

            I stood in awe.  This boy wasn't handicapped.  I was handicapped!  He may have been disabled in our physical realm, but it was I who was disabled in the spiritual.  This boy, as he grew into a man, never 'grew up' and his faith forever stayed that of a child's.

            I began to realize that his 'condition' was a gift.  Maybe he couldn't function correctly by the standards of the world, but he lived by faith alone.  He didn't work, he didn't search for food, and he didn't do anything that I strive for everyday.  In his life he trusted God for everything.  He had faith; and with it he prayed.  He knew what he believed and he doubted nothing.  It was simple faith.  It was raw faith.  I didn't feel convicted, thinking that I should be a better Christian; instead I felt as though I stood in the presence of a king.  Though he didn't know it, he was far greater than I, for I could never have his faith.  His faith was a gift.  God had given this boy a gift that the rest of the world calls a curse. 

Can we really be such fools?

In Oklahoma, Joseph Ramsey broke into the home of the Marshall family and, with an axe in hand, bond and gagged all of them in the basement.  While there he dragged the father to the middle or the room and brutally murdered him in front of his family.  Next he took the 14 year old daughter (Gloria Marshall) and raped her before beheading her in front of her surviving mother and brother.  It was only as he had stripped the mother bare with the intention of raping her that the police arrived and Ramsey was apprehended.  Samantha Marshall and her son Eric survived the harrowing ordeal with only minor cuts and bruises.  It was later learned that Ramsey was responsible for the deaths of 16 others, 10 of whom where women (also raped before their deaths).  Within a week Ramsey was sentenced to death by the courts.

In some small way, justice was served.  Yet, Mrs. Marshall and her son will never see their loved ones again, nor will the ever recover from the damage done physiologically.  Death seemed an easy way out for Ramsey.

If you tell this story to nearly anyone on the street, or tell it to your family, they will most likely agree that Ramsey's punishment was deserved.  In fact, I don't think you'll find a single person on the earth that says the punishment wasn't deserved.  More than likely you'll hear people say that his punishment was simply not enough.

Now, image this scenario.  The judge turns to Mrs. Marshall prior to the sentencing of Ramsey and says, "Mrs. Marshall, as you can see, this man has been sentence to death, but I need to you press the charges first." 

Mrs. Marshall's response is calm and collected.  "No, your honor; I cannot press charges.  In.  fact, I want you to let him go."

"Let him GO!?"

"Yes, I want him to come live with me.  I intend to marry him."

There is a stunned look on the faces of the judge and the jury, "But what about justice?"

"About that.  My son Eric will take the death sentence for him."

Can you see where I'm going with this?  As human's we have a concept of justice, we know when man deserves to be punished.  But how could God ever plan for someone to go to Hell?  The truth is, it is simply justice.  To say that God wouldn't do such a thing is to first undermine our offense, and second it undermines his righteousness and his justice.  We say that Mrs. Marshall has every right to allow justice to be served, but when it comes to God, we can't stand that he is just?  God chooses to be just to those he chooses to be just to.  They will simply receive punishment fitting their crime, their offense.  God also chooses to have mercy on those he chooses mercy.  Those will be saved from punishment, and they do not receive justice in the slightest.

Who are we to say that God cannot do with his creation as he wishes?  Romans 9:20-21 "On the contrary, who are you, O man, who answers back to God?  The thing molded will not say to the molder, 'Why did you make me like this,' will it? Or does not the potter have a right over the clay, to make from the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for common use?"

            And what if God uses some to show his mercy and others simply to show his wrath?  Romans 9:21 "What if God, although willing to demonstrate His wrath and to make His power known, endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction?"  Is it not also written in Isaiah, "'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the LORD. 'As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.'"  This same thing is proclaimed throughout the last chapters of Job when God arrives on the scene.  Job had been challenging God's justice, saying what he was going through was undeserved.  Instead of God answering Job's "why" question, God basically says, "Who are you to even ask such a question." In reality, Job doesn't even have the right to ask such a thing.

In reference to Romans 9:21, it is sometimes explained as God's plan for groups.  Only a specific group is prepared for destruction.  It is true that Paul speaks of God's plan for Israel as a nation in the following verses.  If we say though that this only applies to a group of people, then we ignore the previous verses, which clearly show the individual nature of the content.  Romans 9:12-18 "it was said to her, 'THE OLDER WILL SERVE THE YOUNGER.' Just as it is written, 'JACOB I LOVED, BUT ESAU I HATED.' What shall we say then?  There is no injustice with God, is there?  May it never be!  For He says to Moses, 'I WILL HAVE MERCY ON WHOM I HAVE MERCY, AND I WILL HAVE COMPASSION ON WHOM I HAVE COMPASSION.' So then it does not depend on the man who wills or the man who runs, but on God who has mercy. For the Scripture says to Pharaoh, 'FOR THIS VERY PURPOSE I RAISED YOU UP, TO DEMONSTRATE MY POWER IN YOU, AND THAT MY NAME MIGHT BE PROCLAIMED THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE EARTH.' So then He has mercy on whom He desires, and He hardens whom He desires."  We have very personal examples of Jacob, Esau, and Pharaoh.  We can also refer back to Job as just another person God chose to use for His purpose.

My final point is to emphasize the true meaning behind what Paul says.  We often get caught up in the words like "destruction" and forget the words "mercy" and "love".  Mrs. Marshall's forgiveness, love, and mercy are the things that are revealed through her choice not to act justly.  If every criminal was sparred and given mercy, then her actions would be normal and insignificant.  God chooses some for destruction so that His true mercy will be revealed to us, those he chooses to show mercy to.  This passage in Romans is about how blessed and significantly special the believers in Christ are because God have chosen to show mercy to them.  The entire passage overflows with God's mercy to man because he has chosen to show mercy to some, even though none deserve it.    Are we not all like Ramsey?  We are in every way, but we often forget that our offense toward God is so much greater than his.  Just like the Judge with Mrs. Marshall, we should stand stunned and amazed that God even wishes to save any of us.  Far too often though, we sit judging God, stunned and shocked that he would allow any to be condemned.  It is not God that allows man to be condemned, it is man who stands condemned already (John 3:18).

*Joseph Ramsey is a fictitious character.  Any relation to an actual person is purely coincidental

Life here is a roller coaster ride, but as with most rides, totally worth the insanity.  God is good and I can't but keep thinking that.  You know, my dad called me the other day and asked for some thoughts on the story of Lazarus.  I began to dig into the scriptures and a lot of things came pouring out.  Sorry, I know this blurb sounds random, but it's not, it goes with "God is good".  Anyway, as I read I began to notice things I never noticed before.  I began to examine things in my own life that I'd never really paid much attention to.  Jesus doesn't heal Lazarus when he was asked to; even though we know he could have done so.  Christ had healed people from far away before, so why didn't he do it this time?  It's pretty obvious when he says in John 11:4 "This sickness is not to end in death, but for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified by it."  This really struck me as interesting.  Jesus' actions were, in the eyes of all who witnessed, not in the best interest of Lazarus, Mary, or Martha.  In fact, the only interest expressed by Christ is God's glory.  This was profound.  When we begin to deconstruct everything we know about the Bible we run into this same thing.  God is to be glorified in all things.  When God created, it was to glorify Him.  Man and woman were to glorify God, and when they failed by disobedience, God's promise of the coming savior was God's way of glorifying himself in this newly broken world.  When Job's life falls apart and all who see it feel it is nothing more than pointless suffering, God shows up and tells Job about Himself.  In doing this God brings glory to himself.  Though Amanda's parents suddenly split in the past month, God will, as always, be glorified in the end.  It then must be asked, "What does this mean for me?"  Every action we take must glorify God.  And that's really it.  It comes down to living a life dead to self.  When I make a film, does my work bring me fame, or does it glorify my Father?  These are the questions we must ask ourselves every moment of everyday.  It's funny, but even the clothes I wear fit in here.  Does this T-shirt glorify God?  For both guys and girls the question begs to be asked, "Does this shirt bring attention to me?"  If you're intent is to attract attention, then your focus has turned from glorifying God to glorifying self.  Satan's first mistake was pride.  He wanted glory.  God judged him accordingly.  For we know that our God is jealous, but we often forget is that our biggest idol can very often be ourselves.  The funny thing is, as I write this, I know I'm talking about myself.  I can't even begin to number the amount of times I have looked in the mirror and idolized the man staring back.  Other times, I wish I could be better looking.  With my film, I want to be made known.  I dress so that others will be impressed.  It's a life long struggle between glorifying self, and glorifying God.  More often than not I glorify myself.  Sorry about the randomness.  I was just really being convicted.  It's amazing what God is doing and how I'm beginning to see things in ways I've never seen them before.  I just figured I'd share it.

(On a final note: Amanda’s parents did reconcile and are back together, happier than ever!)

When I was younger, before high school and before my life launched into the cataclysmic, mind-blowing, physically embarrassing stage that is puberty, I was happy. In those days the smallest things – my dad coming home from work or playing football with me on a Saturday afternoon – could make me happy.  My mom baking me cookies or letting me stay out a few minutes past my bed time was the thrill of a lifetime.  Now I, a man whose life is lived one appointment to the next, seem so much harder to please.  This paradigm leaves me perplexed.  What happened?

            The world of my childhood seemed so big and the faces of those older than me were so ingrained with years of wisdom.  I was a child in the movie that is life, and the world was the Disney fairy tale.  I explored every cave, I vanquished every dragon, and I was always back in time to dine with the royal household.  I looked up in awe at the adults around me as though they were King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.  The wisest man on earth at the time was my father.  His words held all authority, and he would he never lie.  This wasn’t because he chose not to, but it was simply because he was entirely incapable of doing so.  He had the answer to every one of life’s riddle and the glue for every broken toy.   My mother on the other hand was the giver of love.  She had the band-aid for every cut and the grilled cheese sandwich for every hungry stomach.  Their round tables may have been less than round, but their poise was no less magnificent.  The caves may have just been a rusted old tool shed desperately trying to stand on its rickety four walls, and the dragon may have been nothing more than my neighbor’s weary old Labrador retriever with bloodshot, droopy eyes and a limp in its step, but this world was still my magical fairy tale.  I looked up and knew for a fact that I could never be like those legends.  I would stay young and the world would never change.  I would be happy forever. 

It only took a few years for me to out grow the glasses that had filtered my life into one of perfection.   I began to see everything for what it was.  No longer could I hide under the blanket of innocence, for it could not cover me.  Such a thing is meant to be folded neatly, put into a memory box, and hidden safely under the bed.  Maybe someday it could be taken out, but only to reminisce or to show future generations that I was truly their age once.  The crib of my youth could no longer hold me, so it too was stowed away in the attic of my fading memories, lost amongst the cobwebs of childhood fantasies.  Happiness was found so easily then, but now it is as elusive as Waldo on the pages of a Where’s Waldo children’s book.  Though I was naïve and innocent, my happiness never depended on that. Instead, my happiness was a result of how I viewed the world and how I viewed my life.

At present I am employed by one of the most prominent and most reputable catering companies in the city of Chicago.  I attend some of the biggest events and converse with some of the greatest men and women who walk this earth.  These are the people who live the fairy tale that I can only dream of.  They drive the cars that I have read about on the pages of magazines and longed for but a glimpse of with my own eyes.  They eat foods that I can’t pronounce, made out of things I never knew were edible.  They change their clothes three times a day, trying desperately to keep up with the coming fashion trends.  When they need something, it is promptly brought to them by a smiling butler in his tuxedo.  It is here that I get a glimpse into the life that comes straight out of a Good House Keeping catalogue.  Each of the bedrooms is perfectly decorated; the carpet and bedspreads both match the paint and patterns on the walls.  Everything is so neatly organized that if you even so much as brush up against something, you wonder if a security guard will drag you off the set and throw you into the street for messing up the photo shoot.  The people that live in the houses seem just as unreal as the houses they live in.  Their plastic smiles appear almost painful as they greet each other and you begin to wonder if you have accidently stumbled upon the World of Perfect in a Walgreens’ commercial.  I look on in amazement because once again I feel as though I am but a child, staring on in awe at the world unfolding on the movie screen that is my life.  These characters seem so glorious and graceful as they enter the room.  The other guests look on as though Cinderella and her Prince Charming were walking down the steps, and if there had been a soundtrack, the music would be soft and romantic.  An avid movie watcher might hug her pillow and smile at this part, wiping away a joyful tear at the good fortune of those on the screen and hoping against all odds that one day she too would know what that felt like.

Though many of us think happiness exists in this “perfect” world, it does not.  In a world where the meaning of life is often found only in the dreams we have and aspire to live for, it’s no wonder that lives so swiftly fall to shambles, and the rich and famous are so destitute.  It isn’t until the aforementioned Cinderella is completely plastered, lying on the floor, mumbling nearly incoherent words, that her true heart comes out.  The new dress she is wearing, the Porsche she drove to the party, and the new wing she added on to her estate aren’t enough to fix her life.  At the end of the day she is still searching for meaning in an ultimately meaningless life.  Another lady sits pressed up against the wall in tears because her life is falling apart.  Even though she has millions of dollars to spend on anything she wants, including plastic surgery to make herself more attractive, her husband is still having an affair with a poor young waitress at local diner, and her addiction to cocaine is still slowly killing her.  Another man stumbles by with his tie loose and his shirt un-tucked, thinking that one more vodka on the rocks will wipe his pain away.  In the morning, he’ll still have to face the same suicidal thoughts that have been plaguing him for years.  There’s so much fame, so much wealth, but in the end, so little happiness.  How is it that a young college student, working more hours that he can handle in order to pay off bills each month, going many sleepless nights in an attempt to finish homework before the ever approaching deadlines and forcefully determined, at the cost of grades, to maintain relationships in the few moments of spare time, can be far happier than those who lead pampered lives of luxury and wealth?  The answer has to do very much with my view of the world and the meaning behind the life I lead.  The rich and famous have achieved the ‘Dream’ that all strive for, but the ‘Dream’ was nothing more than a lie.  It took their lives, whispered promises in their ears, and then once they gave themselves over to it, tossed their broken lives into the cold night and laughed as it slammed the doors.  Now they sit on bleeding knees, crying out to be taken back.

Maybe a better way to describe the happiness that I’m talking about is by using the word contentment.  For emotional happiness can come in a flash but be gone in a second.  You can be happy with the new car you bought, but when you see the first bill or fill the gas tank for the first time, that happiness can be taken swiftly away.  When you first get married, the thrill of being a newly wed swiftly wears off as you discover the sacrifice required to really make a marriage work.  As a child, I found that happiness by living from one moment to the next and living to have fun.  Now, as an adult living in a world where moment-to-moment living doesn’t fit in with deadlines requiring detailed planning just to accomplish, my happiness must be found elsewhere.  Today, it is my relationship with God that ultimately brings meaning to my life.  When I engage in that relationship, I find fulfillment.  I’m no longer living my life for myself, but now I have given it up to live a life dedicated to serving my God by serving others.  The rich and famous search for happiness by fulfilling their selfish desires and by indulging in every fantasy, but in end they find no contentment.  Material things won’t bring that contentment, for when death finally beckons and calls you to itself, you alone will go without a single possession.  Happiness and meaning can only be found in the sacrifice of oneself for others.  For when you finally can put aside the self-centered goals of your life and serve others, then you will find the true happiness you are searching for.

I don't recall many times in my life where my knees have felt so weak I actually fell to the ground.  Trying to remember times as such is like trying to recall memories of being my mother's womb.  Can you relate?

When you see that emotional scene in a movie, you're okay because, while it is emotionally powerful, it doesn't happen in everyday life.  The main character falls to the ground in the midst of a crowd, calling out toward heaven while the emotionally moving music sucks out the tears you've been trying to hold in.  Extras walk all round as the rain pours down and the camera slowly backs away before fading to black.

To be completely honest, a scene very similar to that happened to me.  The difference is, it was night, it wasn't raining, and I was able to find a place where no extras could be present.  My knees gave way and I fell to the ground.  I remembered the passage I had read earlier that day about Jesus calming the storm and my heart cried out, "Lord, I don't have faith.  I need you to calm my storm.  I'm breaking and it hurts."  The rest of my words were mumbled between tears and sobs.  I'm not a person to cry, much less sob, but my heart was being torn in half.  My whole body shook as the pain of my heart breaking rocked my being.

If you know the passage to which I refer, you'll remember that Jesus rebukes the wind and the waves and they become still.  I believe that the reaction I had was the same as the disciples on that day, "What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!"  God is amazing; and often times it takes storm and real heartbreaking hardships to realize that God is awesome.  For only after He has calmed our storms that we will really be able to see His power and His wisdom.  After such a moment our reactions can only be of reverence, "Who are you God?  That even the greatest trials in life seem minuscule in your hands!"

All of the tears I cried were to bring me to my knees before him.  The tears of another were to break her heart so He could heal in His way.  Through it all, our lives were changed and we grew.  May God always remain the center and foundation of our lives.  Because when the storms of life come raging again, I want to call on no other than my Lord and Savor.  "Lord save me, for without you I cannot swim in such waters."

Matthew 8:23-27

The cold wind softly brushed back my hair.  It was soothing.  On summer nights the scalding heat of the day would dissipate and a cool, almost romantic, breeze would sweep through the black and lonesome valley.  The day’s rain brought clouds which had remained until late, drowning out any light that might have been cast by the stars.  It was okay though, for we had our own lights.

As I sat crouched, my left shoulder pressed against the side of the open sliding van door to support myself, I kept the barrel of my rifle pointed outward.  Dennis was standing next to me.  I couldn’t see his face, for he had propped the gun over top the van and was scanning the edge light on the other side as to make sure nothing escaped our entourage.  The headlights split the darkness in front while Matthew, in the passenger seat, used his flashlight to spotlight anything that could be a potential target.  This method was particularly effective.  We had already brought down two.

 “There’s one!”  The spotlight slid to the left of the car, Dennis’ side.  My head hit the back of Matthew’s seat as the van lurched to an abrupt halt.  Dust engulfed us, but it didn’t matter; I had jumped and was already a step behind Dennis, who had leapt even before the van had stopped.  The spot light had come to rest on a grey object not thirty yards away.  This was Dennis’ kill.  Matthew and I had already done our dirty work.

I waited.  Dennis brought the gun to bear, but the first trigger pull resulted in nothing more than a dejected click.  He didn’t even look down as he made swift work of reloading; he ejected the cartridge and slid a new shell in its place.  Again he shouldered his rifle.  He exhaled and gently pulled the trigger.  My anticipation went unquenched as another resounding click came.  He looked down in bewilderment, swiftly trying to identify the cause of the malfunction.

I couldn’t wait.  I crouched to the ground while raising the scope to my eye.  It was a simple deed.  I lined the crosshairs on the back of its head and pulled gently back on the trigger.

It was the most horrendous noise I had ever heard.  A scream, no a shriek that tore the silence of the night and imbedded itself in the back my of my mind so deep that even if all else was forgotten, it alone would remain.  It was this creature’s one way of ensuring that’s its own death was avenged.  I never heard the gun fire.  All reality had vanished for those five seconds.  To this day, trying to recall details from those few seconds is impossible.  It’s like this creature had removed me from time and space for just a moment to touch the deepest crevices of my being.

What had appeared to be quite a distance, my feet traversed in a matter of a few steps.  I looked down upon the creature I had so ruthlessly stolen life from.  This kill brought no satisfaction to me, only shame, for I had fired upon the wrong animal.  Had the light been brighter, maybe I’d have seen the difference.  Had I been closer, maybe then I’d have thought twice.  Instead, caught up in the adrenaline rush I had become a machine; a machine whose sole purpose was to kill, to kill without discrimination.

The cottontail rightly deserved its name.  A pale grey coat, soft as cotton, and a small white tail were the only distinguishing marks of this small adorable rabbit.  Many of the neighbors would find baby cottontails and raise them as pets.           

Here one lay at me feet.  No, I hadn’t killed it; it was still most defiantly alive.  I had missed.  I had intended to hit it in the back of the head, killing it instantly, but the bullet had entered mid back and exited via the stomach.   Its belly was torn, a near perfect incision, and its intestines lay strewn on the ground extending several inches away from its body.  It coughed, desperately trying to breathe, twitching because it couldn’t.

Humanity took over.  I had to kill it right away; I couldn’t let it die so slowly and so painfully.  Three steps back I crouched again and fired.  This time I was sure to hit its head.  The body jolted, its head whipped back and then it went still.

I approached its lifeless body once again.  It was a strange ritual.  I’ve never been sure why, but I had to see its body, to make sure it was dead.  Every kill it’s the same; I must be sure; I must have closure; I can’t walk away unless I know it’s over.

The aftermath was unbelievable.  It was dead this time.  The top of its head had been completely removed and the edges were now a jagged mess of splintered bone.  The fur surrounding the gapping hole was stained red, as well as the ground for several feet behind it.  The carnage was horrific, but I couldn’t look away.

The moment my eyes settled on the rabbit’s mouth, my stomach turned and my heart sank.  There it was; open as if to let out one final scream, to cry out once more, and to share with me its pain in those final moments of life.  In that last endeavor, it most assuredly succeeded.

In a way I will forever feel connected to that creature, sharing in its most intimate of moments, the moment of death.  Not only did I share in it, I was the cause.  I took a life. No, I stole a life!  To be in the presence of a life, a life passing to death, even though it was just a rabbit, has forever left a mark on my soul.  Life is so fragile, so precious, and so short.  It seems so insignificant; the death of a rabbit, but it was in that moment that I really felt the impact of death.  Death is a curse; it’s a result of sin, of the fall.  Face to face with the end of life I was aware that death is no simple matter; death without salvation is to be ushered into eternal separation, hopelessness, and unfathomable emptiness.  The pain of it all became real to me then, in a way it had never been.  I felt a true understanding in that moment of how all life is God breathed, and yet, how easily it can be taken away.

I will forever see its eyes gazing off after something unseen, its mouth open to let out its final words in death, and I will forever hear its cry as it echoes in my heart.  Never again will I be that killing machine, driving by primitive instinct.  In that few short moments, that small helpless creature taught me the value of life, a lesson I won’t forget.

It seems such a perfect metaphor, taken right out of Ecclesiastes 3:20, from dust to dust.  That night I simply walked away.  I did the only thing I could.  I returned to the cloud of dust from whence I came; I returned forever changed.

Since the beginning of time, man has known that love exists.  Enough songs, poems, letters and books have been written on the subject to fill a large library.  There are books exempting to define, explain and describe love, book telling us how to love, and even some saying that love doesn't exist, but that it's just a chemical reaction in the body that causes euphoria.  As to the thousands of different views of love, I will stay away from that debate.  Instead I will simply explain my perspective on the subject love.

Is love complex?  One might think it should be, but it's really not.  It's actually simple, it's only one thing, it has a cause, it has a purpose, it has meaning, it has a blessing, and most of all it is commanded of us as Christians that we have it.  It can bring great joy to all of life, yet it can tear up the roots that have for so long kept one grounded.  We laugh at jokes that we know aren't funny, but we're so ready to laugh that we laugh just because we can't keep it in.  There's a smile in the mirror that we know wasn't there before, but we wonder how we would ever live if it went away.  When it's lost the pain comes and we sit up against the wall crying with no end to the tears.  If we really think about it, love affects us more than just emotionally.  It affects every part of us including, our thoughts, our words, and most importantly, the way we act.

Did you know that the English dictionary has over thirty definitions for the word 'love'?  Despite the dictionary's best attempts, it falls short and can't even begin to define such a thing.  How is it that even though you can't define it, you know it when you see it?  As you go about life, think of how many different times you see love expressed.  The young couple, you see holding hands in the park, is so giddy and full of life it causes you smile as they pass you by.  You can see the love in their eyes; you can see it in the way they smile, in the way they laugh, and by the rings glistening on their fingers.  On the bus, the elderly couple gets on and the wife gently reminds her forgetful husband that he needs to swipe his card.  You smile while hidden in the back because as he swipes his card, he kisses her gently on the cheek.  Her face lights up, and she blushes as on the day when he first kissed her.  A boy falls to the sidewalk across the street, and as his tears come, his mother bends down and picks him up.  You smile because even though she's busy and carrying all her bags, her hands are never too full to hold her precious son.  A father looks down at his little girl tugging at his pant leg and grins as she shows him the picture she drew for him at school.   You smile because she could have drawn a thousand things, but she chose to draw her father.  Even though it doesn't look like him, he's still in front of you in line buying a frame for it just because she means so much to him.  You walk in the door and stop.  You smile because before you stands the only person in the world who can make you smile time and time again just by being there.  You smile because as your eyes connect, you know that you belong.

We can't define love because we can't define the origin of that love.  The dictionary is based on using known words to explain something that is unknown.  It does this by comparing words.  Let's suppose for a second that we have something so unique that we have nothing to compare it to.  We have no words to draw upon to define this thing because it is so matchless.  This thing that you are supposing is in fact God.  God is so unique, so different that we can't even begin to define Him.  It makes perfect sense that we can't define love because love is from God (1 John 4:7-8) and therefore, love is indefinable.    We know love exists; we can see how it affects life (1 Cor 13:4-8).  We can look to scripture and see how love is portrayed.  John 15:13 states, "Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends" (NASB).  Therefore John 3:16 shows us the ultimate sacrifice made because of love.

Even though some psychologists try to deny its existence, and even though it's so abstract that we can't get out minds around the entire concept, we all know down in the depths of our beings that love truly does exist.  We write poems, songs, and letters; we tell people that we love them; they tell us they love us.  For all its detail and extensive lists, the dictionary tells us very little about true love.  To see it, open your Bible and look no further.  Love is displayed on every page, from beginning to end.

Anyway, I was in Michigan, right on the border of Canada. I'm not from the north, I'm from Arizona, so you see, I didn't know much about those Canadians. From what I'd heard though, they were pretty vulgar people. I'd heard they sucked blood and only came out at night. Pretty weird because some even said they were half-breads; cross between French and British. Anyway, living up in the north was pretty hard, being that close to blood-sucking half-breeds. That's at least what I thought until one day I was driving my car down M-20 from Midland to Mt. Pleasant after Thanksgiving. That stretch of road has been nicknamed "Death Ally" because so many accidents happen on it or something like that.

It wasn't too bad at first, but as the trip wore on I grew bored and then a little tired. Driving in the car always makes me sleepy. Only for a second my eyes shut, but when they opened I was on the side of the road, thrown from my car lying in the grass. It was a pretty day, blue skies, calm breeze, and the grass was soft. It could have been a romantic moment except for the fact that I'm single, both my legs were broken, and I was apparently bleeding from the head. I passed out a few times and then came to minutes later. I would have called someone but I left my cell phone charger at home, so my battery was dead. You know, I probably wouldn't have had service to begin with.

Anyway, I remember vaguely waking up once with a man in a black suit standing over me. He looked like the pastor of the Baptist Church I had so conveniently landed close to (And when I say "close to" I mean within two feet from the parking lot). I was elated. All I can really remember about him was that he grumbled about being late for a prayer meeting and then something about being over his minutes so he couldn't call anyone. The next time I came to I noticed that I was still on the grass and, to my disappointment, there was no nurse attending to my every whim. Life is rough. But what could I expect, he was a busy man. I mean, he had more important things to attend to.

I passed out again, but this time when I came out of it I was excited to discover a wealthy politician hovering over my motionless body. I'm positive I'd seen her on some campaign add before, but, being from Arizona, I never paid much attention to Michigan campaign ads. I probably should have, at least then I would remember her name. The fact remains that she decided blood on her blouse wouldn't go over too well at her press conference and already being on her phone with some director of something meant calling for help was out of the question. This time when I passed out and woke up I wasn't at all surprised to see the same blue sky and feel the same soft grass. I was wearing a white shirt that day and I distinctly remember being terrified of it getting grass stained. Being in school was hard; I didn't have the cash to have a stain like that removed.

Passing out became a routine and I pretty much had it down to a science on to when and how long I would lose consciousness. The doctors say that I might have just been delusional from blood loss, but I'm pretty sure I had it down pat. The last time I came out of my comatose state I was staring up the nose of a man wearing a maple leaf hat and a T-shirt that read some random thing about Vancouver. Yup, my luck had run out. A Canadian had finally found me and he was here to finish me off. I didn't really panic at this point because I had pretty much lost all hope. I was a bit disappointed, but I had grown used to that by now. He bent down and put his hand on my throat; I could only guess that he was preparing to suck out whatever blood was left. A fitting end really. I should have seen it. My aunt warned me to be careful on "Death Alley". Well, I faded out again and everything else was a blur.

I woke up in a bed with white sheets and soft cushy pillows. I was in Heaven. The Canadian had done it. He had taking the last bit of life I had had. It was then I wiggled my nose, took a deep breath, and it hit me. Nope, I was certainly not in Heaven. I was in a hospital and it smelled like one. About a week later they released me and, as it turns out, the Canadian paid the entire bill in advance. He didn't even have medical insurance so that must have been a fortune. Not only that, but he had brought me to the Jackson Hospital. He must have seen the NTBI sticker on my car and wanted me to be close to home. The thing that got me the most was when I found out that he had left me two brand new white T-shirts and he had cleaned my old one and removed all the stains.

Now, beside that NTBI sticker on the dash of my car, I proudly display the red and white. It's that little red maple leaf that will forever remind me the day I met a friend I'd never see again. Maybe someday I'll be able to repay the debt, but until then, I'll be looking out for my chance to help someone in need and be their good Canadian.