Showing posts from November, 2011


At the last church I served, there was some very dear friends of my wife and I that had a house fire.  They lost almost everything they had.  They were very involved members and in the community, and as I was there that night as the fire was being put out, many people came to offer support or help or whatever they needed.  Those people meant it, but the next morning as he returned to his house to survey damage, I was the only one there to help him sift out of the wreckage.   I learned a valuable lesson, namely that many people say they will help, and they mean it sincerely, but no one asks for help.  This man was not going to ask anyone to follow him around and take notes as he dealt with insurance.  Nor would he ask anyone to sift through water and soot and ash and other things to look for the gun from his grandpaw.  But he needed someone to do that. The people who offered help meant it, and many would and did show up later on when recruited by some other people.   I saw thi

Just another Sunday

I found this piece of short fiction I had composed a few years earlier.  I thought I would share it today.   It was a just a typical end of a Sunday morning service. One that was acted out thousands of times across the world that day, in churches of all size and color. I was done with speaking the words God gave me, and so I turned to step down the stairs to the floor in front of the stage. As I prayed, I turned to look at the piano player, who softly begins playing. Just like riding a bike. It almost always went down the same way. But today was different. We sang the first verse and were starting in on the last one, when a man rose to walk down the aisle. People had walked down our aisle for years, but this one was different. As soon as he got up, you could tell what was different about him. The way he walked and carried himself told you he was different. Then there was his outfit. Boy was that ever a dead give-away. I had been around enough people like