My son loves the toy Legos—little plastic pieces that snap together—like fish love water! One of his most interesting creations was called the “minute machine.” He explained that his contraption could drive around and find all the extra minutes, sweep them up, and save them for later. After hearing this description, I wished I had a “minute machine” of my own. What if I could redeem all the underutilized minutes, hours, and weeks in my life and use that time to serve God?
Marcus Mumford wouldn’t call himself a Christian. At least he declined to do so during a Rolling Stone magazine interview. In that conversation, the award-winning songwriter and musician said that the word Christian is linked with religious images he doesn’t like. He compared himself to people who claim to love Christ and say that Jesus is awesome, but who are not Christians.
People frequently leave advertisements on my doorstep for services such as landscaping, gutter cleaning, and pest control. One day I found a different sort of pamphlet on my welcome mat—one full of Bible verses, all of which seemed to be correct. The leaflet also identified Jesus in its copy. But as I looked closer, however, I noticed that the words did not describe Him accurately. The publisher of the pamphlet denied that Jesus is truly God.
Glen, a longtime family friend, took a spill inside his home and fractured his neck. Fortunately, he didn’t need surgery. His doctor fitted him with a neck brace and instructed him not to bend, lift, or turn until his neck had healed. This meant that he had to move his entire body to see anything outside his direct line of sight. He could focus only on what was directly in front of him.
My vitamins come in three fruity flavors. Fortunately, someone designed them to look and taste more like candy than health aids. The contents include stuff like vitamin B-6, niacin, and folic acid. Each serving contains enough supplements to last for one day. Every morning I have to consume another dose because my body has been busy using up yesterday’s vitamin supply.
My daughter’s preschool teacher asked me to speak to the children about being a writer. Visiting parents were being presented to the class as “experts” in their professions. I agreed to talk to the children, although being an “expert” unnerved me a bit. I didn’t feel like an expert. That week, I’d been frustrated by a lack of good ideas and wondered if I would ever write anything of value again! I thought, You’re no expert. You’re not qualified to speak.
When I was hiking in a park with my grandfather, our trail lassoed a lake at the bottom of a valley. As we walked, several smaller paths broke away from the main trail. Each time we came to a fork in the road, my grandfather let me choose which way to go. I always picked the steepest, rockiest, most difficult choice. My grandfather sighed a few times, but he took on the most challenging path for my sake.
Attempting a quadruple toe loop, Olympic skater Jeremy Abbott swiveled into the air and fell. He careened into the rink’s wall and lay clutching his side. Amazingly, Jeremy then stood up and resumed skating. The rest of his routine included two extremely difficult, yet well-executed maneuvers. In the end, his perseverance after a serious mistake won the crowd’s heart.
Author and speaker Mary Lou Quinlan claims that her mother “inhaled a worry and exhaled a prayer.” She says this because her mother had a habit of writing down prayer requests and keeping them in a special place—her “God Box.” There was one rule related to these petitions. According to Mary, “If [anyone] ever worried about the request, Mom would say, ‘If you think you can handle it better than God, it’s coming out [of the box].’ ” This helped Mary and her family to let go of their concerns.
When I see the moon at its thinnest stage, I sometimes think of a passage I read in Flannery O’Connor’s A Prayer Journal. The writer composed these poetic words for God: “You are the slim crescent of a moon . . . and my self is the earth’s shadow that keeps me from seeing all the moon . . . I do not know you God, because I am in the way. Please help me to push myself aside.”
Ashley Munroe penned the message “You’re beautiful” on nearly 2,000 notes and then placed one on each locker in her high school. Via surveillance cameras, school authorities saw Ashley distributing the notes. The principal assumed she was causing trouble and suspended her. Several hundred students, however, signed a petition to help Ashley avoid punishment. Perhaps her best reward was hearing from a girl who had planned to commit suicide that day but did not because of Ashley’s message.
When the temperature dipped to -27 degrees Celsius in my city, newscasters cautioned the public against going outside. An authority in a neighboring state declared, “In 10 minutes you could be dead without the proper clothes.” After hearing warnings such as these, my husband said what I was thinking: “I think I want to go outside . . . just to feel what it’s like.”
During a visit to an art institute, I observed a German suit of armor made in 1521. None of the other defensive ensembles seemed as complete as this one. It featured vented metal to cover the face; a curved breastplate to deflect blows; metal that continued down the arms, hands, and covered each finger; leg shields that were seamlessly fitted to metal shoes. The craftsman had imagined every possible offensive strike and addressed each in his design.
During October, the trees come alive with color in my region. One year, a particular tree caught my attention. Like Joseph, it wore a “coat” of many colors. Its top leaves were plum-colored. A little lower, the purple morphed into crimson foliage. The red gave way to robin’s-chest orange, and finally, neon yellow leaves peeked out at the bottom like a petticoat. Although the leaves had radically different colors, they all had sprouted from the same maple tree.