Enkindling

Tonight I had the opportunity to spend time with other Christian singles. It was a time of socialization and mission. A friend of mine was given a vision to be the “hands” of Christ. He invites singles all over north Atlanta to spend time together on a friday night. And while we are socializing… we are making sack lunches to be handed out the next day to the homeless people living under the bridges of Atlanta. Great idea huh? We were split into two teams. One team prepared the sandwiches. The other wrote personal notes onto scripture cards to be placed into the lunch sack. We swapped half way through.

Often I find myself wondering if we really get it? I’m sure you have never thought that. It is all too easy to put together sandwiches and place yourself on a pedestal. It is a another thing to put together sandwiches and realize there but for God’s grace would I not have to eat that sandwich tomorrow. As I wrote my personal notes an overwhelming feeling of my own “neediness” settled in. Therefore, here is what I wrote on those cards:

“Every one who was involved in getting this lunch to you needs God as much as you do. As you enjoy this food please pray for us. Some of us are less aware of our own need.           — God Bless You.”

Sometimes God takes the broken, less fortunate, downtrodden people in our path to bring us closer to Him. Instead of showing the homeless people in Atlanta (or where ever you live) how much they need you; try showing them how much you need them. Which is more Holy? God needing you? Or you needing Him?

  Waiting for an oil change… Sounds like fun right? No matter your perception, it has to be done. It’s in those times God reminds me that it’s not all about me. The infamous auto-repair shop waiting room! A room I perceived to be bland, boring, and dull is something else to God. A room of hearts and souls.

Across the room sits an older man; a “good ole country boy” with a disfigured face. No one speaks to him. He has unmatched clothes, braided hair, and one eye covered by a patch. On his forearm is a tattoo that captures me. I know it all too well. It’s a tattoo of the 101st Airborne Division - U.S. ARMY

My late father had the very same tattoo on his forearm! Some time passes and he walks outside for a smoke. I followed and decided it was time for me to explain why I was staring at him in that room. I’m sure he assumed it was because of his disfigurement.

How ya doin’? (I say to him with my southern accent.)
I’m fine son. Sure can’t wait to get the hell outta here though.
I’m sorry for staring sir but… (Immediately his face turns downward assuming I am going to comment about his face.)
I noticed your tattoo. (His face lifts and a smile creeps out.)
Were you in the 101st son?
No sir. But my father was. (I hold back a tear. The last time I saw that tattoo was on my dad’s arm.)
It’s nice to know someone knows what this thing on my arm means. I was in Vietnam. That is how I got half my face blown off.
I’m sorry to hear that sir. My name is Mark. (Extending my hand.)
Nice to meet you. I’m Jack.

After more conversation, I learned he was a Georgia native! (That’s a rare thing these days.) But, he was moving to Las Vegas within a few days to make a fresh start. I wanted to know why. He shared with me how he recently attended the funeral of one of his Vietnam brothers. He is now one of only two in his company still living. I could tell he was extremely bothered by that. He told me how he wished he had already passed. He had nothing to live for. He could not stand seeing his brothers dying before him.

At this point I knew why God had me there. And I knew why He pushed me to get past myself and see the world outside that boring waiting room. Jack had seen so much death and pain. I acknowledged that. And then I asked him some questions he did not expect.

“How much LIFE have you seen sir? Don’t you think if you die you should die knowing you LIVED? Why did you risk your life for our country and your brothers in arms? Why did they risk their lives for you sir?”

You know the rest of what I told him… Jack did not make a commitment to Christ that day. I pray he does and experiences LIFE ever after. After all, he has a rendezvous with destiny.

“The 101^st Airborne Division has no history, but it has a rendezvous with destiny. Due to the nature of our armament, and the tactics in which we shall perfect ourselves, we shall be called upon to carry out operations of far-reaching military importance and we shall habitually go into action when the need is immediate and extreme.

Let me call your attention to the fact that our badge is the great American eagle. This is a fitting emblem for a division that will crush its enemies by falling upon them like a thunderbolt from the skies.” Major General William C. Lee

“Each week we live, 7x 24 hours = 168 hours. If we sleep 8 hours a night, 7×8 = 56 hours. Our time awake each week = 112 hours. The average Christian cannot possibly spend much more than 12 hours a week at church meetings, bible studies, etc. . . If you subtract those 12 hours from the remaining 112, it leaves 100 hours…

God is not looking for a small 12 hour slice of our lives…He wants to change our lives and change the world through our lives in that other one hundred hours…” — THE OTHER HUNDRED HOURS, by Wyn Fountain

When I was 12 I went to school with a guy named Tre. He was the smartest dude I knew. I remember trying to beat him at everything. Jealousy consumed me. Yet, I was drawn to Tre. He was unique. How many 12 year old boys do you know that are not bound by peer pressure? Later that year I was at a youth conference and felt God calling me to Him. I walked down front during the invitation to accept Christ. Tre’s mom, Mrs. Jackie was there to wipe the tears from my eyes and lead me to Him.

Shortly after that I went through a tough time with my family and needed a place to stay. Once again, Tre’s family was there for me. A lifetime relationship began at that point. I’m 35 now and still remember the times I had with Tre and his family. I remember Tre laughing as we blew up toy soldiers in his backyard with firecrackers. I remember riding in his go-cart. I remember his house being filled with friends who loved to come over and hang out. I remember hanging out in the coolest attic in the world!

Three years ago I met Tre and his family again at his home near London England. It was a numbing cold December. Tre graciously took time out and gave me a tour of London. Although 10 years had passed since we last hung out it was like nothing had changed. I remember a family of love. I have always felt at home in Tre’s house - UNCONDITIONALLY ACCEPTED.

How do you spend your other one hundred hours?

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Dear Tre and Family,