Make a Difference

Make a difference in someone life.

http://www.makeadifferencemovie.com/

Pray it Forward?

The following message was recently posted to the branch:

"What would happen if each family prayed and fasted for another family? What would happen if each student prayed and fasted for another student? What about Mothers for Mothers and Fathers for Fathers, or husbands for husbands and wives for wives? Think what could happen should men start lifting up men and women start lifting up other women to God? Then what about children bringing other children before the throne of God? What if Regent Village prayed and fasted for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit on each home? What if we did this for a day, then regularly? Whatever is in your mind right now is what would happen, and more. Yes we would see a revival! I just felt impressed to put this out there." -- Philmore James

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This is a nice image—people lifting each other up to God in an unselfish desire to see others feel the power of God in their lives. Embracing the idea that we could start a revolution, previously dubbed "revival," for everyone to experience an outpouring of the Holy Spirit is wonderful. I have wondered these things as well. I think the reminders of the sinful nature of our humanity are so pervasive we may sometimes forget the power of corporate worship and prayer. Jesus proclaimed, "For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them." I wonder how much proximity matters? It probably doesn’t.

This image of people praying for each other "naturally" brings wonderful thoughts to mind. I can imagine the transformation that would take place in everyday life. The exponential nature of one person praying for a few others ad infinitum is astounding. I am reminded of one of my favorite dramas, Pay It Forward, where Trevor McKinney (Haley Joel Osment) incites a movement in which one person picks three people for which to do one big unsolicited favor, and then instruct them to "pay it forward" to three others, rather than pay the favor back. Honestly, each time I watch the movie my eyes well up with tears as I think of how things could be. This movie, as well as the notion of revival, taps into my idealistic tendencies and altruistic desires.

So, who is going to start? Who will stand up and take the lead? Maybe it should be you. Maybe it will be? But in case it is not, here is a prayer for you—the one reading this post (of course, this assumes that someone will read my post).

Heavenly Father, we more than just welcome your presence into our lives—we need it. Lord, I humbly ask that you touch the person reading this right now. I pray that you reach into his or her heart and make your presence and love known. If it is in your will, let the power of your love convict this person to spread your love to others. Father God, please protect us, love us, and move us in your will. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

The ball is in now in your court. Let us pray that this does not become one of those things that only happen in the creative minds of Hollywood. Better yet, let us do something about it right now. Pick three people right now for whom you will commit to pray—and then just pray it forward.

Keep Your Fork

There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things "in order," she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.

Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.

"There's one more thing," she said excitedly.

"What's that?" came the pastor's reply.

"This is very important," the young woman continued.
"I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."

The pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.

"That surprises you, doesn't it?" the young woman asked.

"Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the pastor.

The young woman explained. "My grandmother once told me this story, and from there on out, I have always done so. I have also, always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement.

'In all my years of attending church socials and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance!' So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder "What's with the fork?" Then I want you to tell them: "Keep your fork ... the best is yet to come." The pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman goodbye.

He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the pastor heard the question.

"What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled. During his message, the pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her.

The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.

He was right.

So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you ever so gently, that the best is yet to come.

And remember to keep your fork.

The Room

The following is from an email that was circulating last year. It is a little long, but well worth the read. Read this for yourself, then read it for others. Whenever I read it, multiple feelings overwhelm me. I hope this touches you in some way... Kyle

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Procrastinating as usual, 17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for the Fellowship of Christian Athletes meeting. It was his turn to lead the discussion so he sat down and wrote. He showed the essay, titled "The Room" to his mother, Beth, before he headed out the door. "I wowed 'em." he later told his father, Bruce. "It's a killer, It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote." It also was the last.

Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary Valley High School. Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his life near them - the crepe paper that had adorned his locker during his senior football season, notes from classmates and teachers, and his homework. Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's life. But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that their son had described his view of heaven. "It makes such an impact that people want to share it. You feel like you are there," Mr. Moore said.

Brian Moore died May 27, 1997 - the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.

Brian seemed to excel at everything he did. He was an honor student. He told his parents he loved them "a hundred times a day", Mrs. Moore said. He was a star wide receiver for the Teary's Valley Football team and had earned a four-year scholarship to Capital University in Columbus because of his athletic and academic abilities. He took it upon himself to learn how to help a fellow student who used a wheelchair at school. During one homecoming ceremony, Brian walked on his tiptoes so that the girl he was escorting wouldn't be embarrassed about being taller than him. He adored his kid brother, Bruce, now 14. He often escorted his grand-mother, Evelyn Moore, who lives in Columbus, to church. "I always called him the "deep thinker", Evelyn said of her eldest grandson.

Two years after his death, his family still struggles to understand why Brian was taken from them. They find comfort at the cemetery where Brian is buried, just a few blocks from their home. They visit daily. A candle and dozens of silk and real flowers keep vigil over the gravesite. The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room.

"I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs. Moore said of the essay.

She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death. I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see him again someday." Mrs. Moore said. "It just hurts so badly now."

Here's the essay:

The Room...

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.

There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings.

As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content.

Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird.

"Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: Things I've yelled at my brothers". Others I couldn't laugh at: Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I have listened to," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind:

"No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep; sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes.

No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.

I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, and so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room.

There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

This story is the best e-mail story I have ever read. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life."

My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how about yours?

Fishy Illusionist?

So... how does he do it?

(You may have to click the play button twice to play the video)

Random Acts of Kindness

Regent University’s motto and essence is “Christian Leadership to Change the World.” The curriculum touted by the School of Undergraduate Studies challenge students to change the world through the influence of leadership. Jim Kouzes and Barry Posner, authors of The Leadership Challenge, offer us an often quoted definition of leadership: “A relationship between those who aspire to lead and those who choose to follow” (1). While this is fine for describing and analyzing the many facets of leadership in the typical leader-follower dyad; however, there exists another, more simplistic, yet just as powerful type of behavior—random acts of kindness.

According to wikipedia.com, a random act of kindness is “a purportedly selfless act performed by someone to either help or cheer up a stranger, for no reason other than to make people happier. Either spontaneous or planned in advance, random acts of kindness are encouraged by various communities” (2). Random acts of kindness come in many various forms, including monetary gifts, food, clothes, unsolicited favors, and gestures of service. Random acts of kindness are so pervasive, there is even several organizations dedicated to them, one of which is The Random Acts of Kindness Foundation, whose mission is to inspire people to practice kindness and to “provide educational and community ideas, guidance, and other resources to kindness participants” (3).

One great aspect of random acts of kindness is that anyone can do them. Anyone young, old, or in between can be kind. Kindess is not a too used by the rich, nor is it a gift reserved only for the poor. Another characteristic is that random acts of kindness can be delivered in almost any situation. Whether you spend your time in an office, in your home, on the beach, or anywhere in between. Even further, random acts of kindness can be done at any time. You don’t have to wait for someone’s birthday, an anniversary, or Christmas. Random acts of kindness can be done by anybody, any where, and at any time.

I did not decide to write this post out of the blue; very recently, I was the recipient of a random act of kindness. A kindred spirit recognized the value of initiating a random act of kindness. While the act was a monetary gift, her blessing and wish was simply to enjoy a meal with my wife. As many of you know, working full-time and taking classes full-time is not an easy balance. Sometimes the people in our lives can feel unappreciated or even neglected. The timing of this gift along with the specific blessing is nothing short of God-inspired.

An interesting thing happened with this random act of kindness. While at first I felt a little funny and unworthy of this person’s generosity, I began to realize that God blesses people in many ways. She was blessed with the joy of the random act, and I will be blessed to spend a nice evening with my wife. Moreover, however, I have a deeper understanding of God’s blessings, and a renewed spirit of my own giving to others. Random acts of kindness are a simple way to share God’s love.

So, have you ever initiated a random act of kindness? If so, how long has it been since you have? If not, why not? Consider initiating a random act of kindness today. Do it for someone you only casually know, or do it for a complete stranger. It does not matter. Help a neighbor mow their lawn, go out of your way to assist a co-worker, or bless a complete stranger with a random act of kindness. If you do, you will not only be a blessing to someone else, but you will assuredly be blessed.

References:
(1) Kouzes, J. M., & Posner, B. Z. (2002). The leadership challenge. San Francisco, Jossey-Bass.
(2) Wikipedia definition: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Random_act_of_kindness

(3) Random Acts of Kindness Foundation: http://www.actsofkindness.org/

Image: Weinholds.org; http://weinholds.org/images/kindness.gif