A Boy Named Chris

His name was Chris. I don't remember his last name. He was about 8 years old and lived a few blocks from the Louisville church where I served as Associate Minister of Music. I only knew him a couple of months.

Chris had the husky build of a future football player. His eyes shone bright blue, and he had freckles sprinkled on his nose. Wild sprigs of cow-licked blond hair stuck out all over his head—the result of a bad haircut made even worse by classroom scissors.

Chris' friendly smile and pleasant temperament were charming, and he was unusually comfortable with engaging adults in casual conversation.

I don't think Chris was ever really clean. He always had more than the normal childhood smudges on his skin and ill-fitting clothes. He never seemed fresh, often looking seedy and smelling bad.

There was no doubt that Chris was neglected. What was unusual was the absence of some typical behavioral problems for a child in his situation.

I first met Chris when he wandered into the church parking lot one day, little brother in tow. He approached some adults, and they steered both boys towards our children's activities.

On his own, Chris began to attend older children's choir, which I directed. He seemed oblivious that the other children were openly reluctant to sit by him. I'm not sure he ever sang on pitch, but he would smile and participate intelligently, and just looked "happy to be here."

Ministering to his family was difficult, despite our repeated efforts. We never could figure out the situation. Our impression was that they moved frequently.

During choir one Wednesday evening, Chris asked us to pray for his family because his dad was in jail for trying to kill his mom. (I hoped he and his brother hadn't witnessed it.) Their house was vacant soon afterwards, and we lost track of them.

A few weeks earlier, I was introducing a new song to the choir. When I asked the children to think of reasons why we love God, their responses were typical, mostly having to do with creation and God loving us first.

Suddenly, Chris' face lit up as he waved excitedly, gushing, "I love God because God gives us second chances!"

I thought to myself that if there was ever a child who was going to need a million second chances just to survive, it was Chris. He already had so much to overcome.

My encounter with Chris was brief, but God often uses my memory of this special child to remind me of the many grace-filled "second chances" I've been given.

By now—assuming he's still alive—Chris is all grown up. Odds are, we will never meet again here on earth. But I will always remember him. I will always wonder how he's doing.

Most of all, I will always wonder if our brief ministry to him—sowing the seeds of God's love--ever took hold in his life.

I can only hope that Chris has already experienced enough of God's abundant love and grace to overcome his adverse circumstances and grow into the fine young man that God created him to be.

"Jesus loves the little children, ALL the children…"

See you in worship this Sunday - Naomi

Thanks Indeed

Seminary J-Terms (3-week courses in January, June or July) are always intense, but the one I took in July 1987 was especially memorable. Besides 3 hours of class daily, professor Don Hustad required us to visit 4 churches, read 4 books, make a class presentation, write 8 papers and complete a take-home final. Whew.

Unexpectedly, during the 3^rd week--when all assignments were due--the electricity went off for 4 days in Seminary Village where I lived. No lights. No alarm clock. No computer. No air conditioning. No hot water. No hair dryer…

I freaked.

Thankfully, the good folks at the church where I served as Associate Minister of Music had a soft spot in their hearts for poor, struggling seminary students. They graciously took me under their wing and helped me survive the week, offering an abundance of assistance and sympathy for my loud complaints of extreme hardship.

When the ordeal was finally over, I had a 3-week pile of dirty laundry to wash. As I sat drying towels in a nearby laundromat, I was startled by a harsh, loud voice.

Looking up, I saw two pitiful old ladies struggling to do their laundry. My eyes were riveted on their neediness.

Both were shabbily dressed with sweaty, unkempt hair. The younger one wore a tattered housedress and had bright, pasty rouge spackled on her cheeks. A dazed, vacant look on her shiny face, she took quick, tiny steps as she hobbled about, dragging her laundry bag to an empty washer.

The other--the one barking orders--was literally horizontal from her hips to her shoulders. She couldn't even straighten up enough to see if the washer lid was open.

If I were in her condition, I'm sure I would bark, too.

Obviously, just doing laundry was a major struggle for them. They seemed to cling to each other for survival.

The manager was busily making change, giving them his full attention. He seemed to have everything covered efficiently; they'd obviously been his customers before.

I continued flipping through my magazine, keeping an eye out for an opportunity to assist without intruding. Or getting barked at.

Finally, they got their machines started and sat down to wait. The manager took a couple of drags on a cigarette, then came over to talk to me.

Venting sarcastically, he spoke of "the good church people who always drop these old ladies off in the middle of the parking lot, then drive off to go tell everyone at their church what a good deed they've done for the week."

Sympathizing, I commented that instead of people going the second mile, some only go half a mile.

Easy for me to say. He was feeling dumped on, and the driver had at least provided transportation. I, on the other hand, hadn't done anything to help.

However, I was feeling really ashamed for complaining earlier about my so-called "extreme hardship."

As Thanksgiving approaches, I am reminded of how grateful I am for the many good church people who so often have gone way beyond the second mile to see that I am comfortable and well cared for.

And I am humbled and challenged as I remember how often I've been more like the good church people who have really good intentions, but ultimately go only a half-mile or less when it comes to taking care of others' needs--especially the downtrodden who have no resources to return the favor.

As Christians we strive to live humble lives of gratitude. God is pleased when we verbally offer heartfelt thanks for our many blessings. But there is more to being thankful. We are not done.

Our words of sincere thanks and praise to God are only the half-mile mark of what God desires from us. Our expressions of gratitude are not complete until we have also offered God tangible sacrifices of praise and thanksgiving.

What kinds of sacrifices? Generosity. Tithes and offerings. Good works. Going the second mile for those who are needy.

"Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God" (Hebrews 13: 16).

"For we are…created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life" (Ephesians 2: 10).

May God help us to remember that the depth of our gratitude is always revealed more by our actions than by our words alone.

"Because love has been lavished so upon me, Lord,

A wealth I know that was not meant for me to hoard,

I shall give love to those in need,

Shall show that love by word and deed:

Thus shall my thanks be thanks indeed."*

See you in worship this Sunday - Naomi

*"Because I Have Been Given Much," Grace Noll Crowell/Phillip Landgrave, Celebrating Grace Hymnal