God See’s the Sparrow

They say he watches the sparrow, so maybe a sparrow never feels inadequate. Maybe the sparrow never feels defeated, as life consistently lands blow after blow leaving them bruised and hurt. As they soar high above, do they ever feel lost or do they have some kind of internal compass that keeps them from going in circles?

What is it about the Sparrow God sees?

There are days when we wake up ready to take on the day. We'll fight, we'll push, do whatever it takes to move forward, but when evening comes, we're exhausted. When we check our progress, we realize we've only moved inches, not yards, or feet, not miles. We're still in basically the same place.

What if we're doing it wrong?

We're trying to fight our battles alone. We're trying to swing our own punches when God is asking us to turn the other cheek. We're pushing forward so focused on the path we've set before our feet, We don’t see the door God already opened next to us.

Somehow, we've closed our eyes and our hearts to the scripture that says, “Seek Ye first the kingdom of God [Matt 6:33].” The goal shouldn’t be to press forward through the day, but instead to be like David. We should be still and know with confidence that He is God [Psalms 46:10]. We need to remember, if God doesn’t forget the sparrow [Luke 12:6], then he hasn't forgotten us. His word says he’s even numbered the hairs on our head [Luke 12:7].

Let’s press toward the mark for the high calling of God, but while doing so, let’s watch for the open door [Rev. 3:8] having enough courage to run through it [Joshua 1:9].

A sparrow may have an internal compass, they may not, but we need to let God be ours and trust he will direct our paths [Proverbs 3:6].

God knows exactly what he's doing.

Never Underestimate the Power of Twenty-Five Cents

To a Church Elder,

For you, it was a quarter, but to an eight-year-old child from the trailer park, you gave me an opportunity. One, I couldn't have otherwise afforded.

The offering plate passed me each week. Others dropped in change or a few dollars while I watched with empty pockets wishing I had something...anything to offer. I didn't. Until, one day, you slipped that first quarter into my small hand.

That morning, I remember counting stained-glass window panes from my usual groove in the second pew. Then, before the music started you brought me over a small coin and I knew in the instant I saw it what I'd do with it. Judging by your smile, you must have known as well.

Over the years you brought me multiple quarters, but it wasn't a quarter that made the biggest impact on my life. It was the opportunity it afforded me when I finally had something I could put in the offering plate.

It started with me giving those quarters, but a desire to do more began to cultivate itself. I gave more and more time to reading my Bible and studying the word. I fell in love with it. Around age twelve, I became a Jr. Bus captain to help other "bus kids" get to church, but I believed God had even bigger plans for my life.

Years have come and gone, but the desire to give remained. I've come a long ways from where I had been in that rickety old wooden pew on the second row. Now, in a new church, in a new state, at age thirty-five, somehow I've become a Children's Pastor. I still get the opportunity to ride along with my wife as a Jr. bus captain, a big kid doing all I can to get other "bus kids" to church. Each day, not just on Sunday, I'm given an opportunity to reach and teach future generations. They will become the church's next leaders, teachers, preachers, and Pastors, or whatever God has planned for them.

These opportunities to give started, with a quarter. I'll never underestimate what can be done with a seemingly small gesture of kindness.

---

Now let me ask you, what small impact can you do to reach the next generation? Can you show a child how to worship? What about prayer? Don't stop at praying for them, I'm asking you to ask yourself, can you pray with them?

Maybe all you can do to bridge the generational gap is offer a small coin. Do it. God has a way of multiplying our offering in ways we may never know or expect, but it can't happen if we don't first give. Small sparks can start wildfires and you might have that spark in your pocket right now.

Luk 6:38 KJV

Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.

Got Any Fives? A short story

“Seriously!” I shouted at the clock as if it could respond. A small wide-eyed child looked up at me holding a floppy white bunny in one hand and her dad’s finger in the other.

The man didn’t even flinch. He took a side glance at the same clock then proceeded deeper down the terminal dragging the little girl and her bunny behind him.

I’d missed my departure time by seven minutes. Seven. I had places to go, people to see, things to do. I needed to be anywhere but here. I hated airports. I couldn't stand the random people, the congested lines, fake smiles, and awkward eye contact with security personnel.

“Seven Minutes,” I muttered to myself as I marched up to the flight desk.

“How can I help you, sir?” A stewardess or whatever she was called said with her best high pitched customer service voice.

I explained how an old woman who should have never been allowed to fly alone and had obviously never flown before kept me from getting through security fast enough to get to my gate. In reality, I’d arrived at the airport with plenty of time, but made the mistake of getting out my phone out of my pocket. Before starting the check-in process, I began scrolling through the never-ending feed of “friends” I didn’t actually know or care about. I kept swiping hoping to see even one thing of interest that never came. Only ad, after ad, after ad. That one action had wasted far more than the seven minutes I needed.

After more than a few angry glares from my side of the counter, she explained they didn’t have any further flights until the next morning. She could get me out as early as 8:05am. “I’m really sorry sir, but that’s all we have.”

I huffed a final time before accepting the schedule change and taking my revised plane ticket from her hand.

I took a seat facing the outer wall, one gigantic steel window pane that allowed travelers or impatient non-travelers, like myself, to watch the planes come and go. The sun would soon set and I’d be stuck trying to find a way to turn my chair into a bed.

“First time flying?” A boy, maybe twelve, with dark brown hair and a small lime green duffel bag asked.

I hadn’t even seen him sit down next to me. I may have even sat next to him by mistake avoiding unnecessary eye contact. I ignored his question as if I hadn’t heard him. I didn’t know this kid and he sure didn’t know me.

A moment passed.

“You’ve probably flown a lot.” He started, “Not me, It’s my first time. Do you know what’s it like…you know up in the clouds?”

I thought about slipping in my earbuds and cranking some tunes. Then the kid might understand that I didn’t want to chat, but it was easier to do nothing, so I continued my charade of being deaf. There had to be a parent or guardian who’d run off to get a drink and drop some kids off at the pool. They’d be back at any moment. He could ask them all the questions he wanted when they got back from the bathroom. I wanted to sit and wait. I had fourteen hours between me and my new boarding time. I didn’t want to spend it talking to some kid at terminal C12.

The sound of a zipper caught my ear. From the corner of my eye, I watched as he pulled out a deck of cards. “Want to play a game?”

Relentless. He wasn’t going away. “Listen, kid, I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to play a game. I want to sit and wait.”

He slid the deck out of the box then started shuffling the cards one hand over the other. “You’re going to be waiting a while so I thought you might want to play a game.”

Intrigued, I asked, “How do you know I’m going to be waiting a while.”

“I heard you talking to the lady over there.’ He nodded toward the flight desk then as a smile formed on his lips he added, “We all did.”

I’d made a bigger scene than I thought. “Yea. I missed my flight. I got a little...frustrated”

“It happens.” He shrugged. “I’m going to be waiting a while too. That’s why I moved over here.”

Maybe the kid’s parents were going to be gone longer than anticipated. They could have been grabbing a bite to eat while he watched everyone’s bags. I chuckled thinking they could have really gotten stuck behind grandma Ethel in line. My stomach growled. It wouldn’t hurt to play a game for a little bit until they brought the kid his food and it would make the time go by quicker.

“Alright, deal me in.” I said, “What are we playing?”

“Already did.” He glanced down at the mini table cojoining our two seats to a small stack of cards. "Go fish”

“Aren’t you a little old for Go Fish?”

He pretended not to hear me. “Do you have any seven’s?”

The tiny act of defiance, of dishing out what I’d been dishing him, earned my respect. The kid was probably pretty smart. “Go fish.”

We went back and forth swapping cards, drawing others from the larger deck between us, and making matches. A couple matches in I said, “It’s loud up there.”

“What do you mean?” The kid asked.

“In the clouds. Flying, it’s loud. The wind and engines make for a loud rumble while the plane drifts through the air. You’ll feel your ears pop, but that’s normal.”

He nodded, absorbing the information.

“I didn’t expect it to be so loud the first time I flew. I actually thought something was wrong, but it’s nothing to worry about. Got any Jacks?”

He passed me the Jack of diamonds to match the Jack of hearts I already had. “Define normal.”

“You know. The expected outcome. Normal.”

“I don’t know much about normal.”

“What?”

“I’m far from normal.”

“You look pretty normal to me, bud.”

“Nope.” He studied his reflection in the window. “You’re looking at a unique catastrophe.”

What twelve-year-old kid uses the word catastrophe? The kid had to be smarter than average. “My turn to ask, ‘What are you talking about?’”

He stared at the cards a beat. “Let’s say I haven’t been dealt the best hand.”

I wanted to press further, get into his head, but I decided to wait a bit longer. “Yea… Me either. If I’m not careful I’m going to lose this game. “Got any fives?”

He smiled. “Actually, it’s my turn. Got any fives?”

I tossed the card at him. He caught it then put his final match on the table. He’d schooled me. “Good game, bud.”

The kid's grin reached half-way around his head. “Wanna play again. We could play a different game?”

“In a bit. I’m going to need a second to adjust to being decimated at Go Fish by a twelve-year-old kid.”

“Eleven actually.”

We both laughed.

“So what’s up bud. Where is your mom or dad? They ditch you at the airport while they went out and partied.” I meant the phrase as sarcasm, to keep the kid laughing or open him up, but his smile vanished the moment the words left my mouth.

The kid slumped in his chair, focusing his attention back on his reflection.

“Hey buddy, I didn’t mean anything by it. You ok?” Of course, I knew he wasn’t.

He wiped a tear from his eye, then stared back at the window. “I’m fine.”

One moment we were having fun, a dude and a kid playing a child’s card game in the airport. The next we were complete strangers with nothing but silence between us. I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t have kids. I didn’t even know if I wanted any. But this kid had something going on in his head that bothered him. “I’m Jake by the way.” I reached out my hand as a sign of peace.

He turned toward me. The emotions still clung to the corners of his eyes trying to find a way out, but the kid held them at bay. “Alex.” He said, shaking my hand with a firm grip.

Obviously, no one was coming back from a bathroom or food run. He only had one small duffel bag. My stomach growled again. “You hungry?”

He sat motionless, his hurt eyes staring into mine.

“I’m buying,” I said. “If you’ve got time before your flight leaves I could use the company. To be honest, I don’t like eating alone.”

“Sure.” He said, putting the deck of cards back into a small pocket of his bag and standing up. “What’s for dinner?”

“Anything but fish” I chuckled, hoping to pull a small giggle out of him. It worked.

We sat at a tiny burger joint cut into the side of the airport not far from our terminal. I’d ordered a blue cheeseburger with bar-b-que and waffle fries. He had a standard cheeseburger, no veggies, only ketchup with a side of curly fries.

“Jake,” he asked. “What do you do with the cards you don’t want?”

“What do you mean buddy...I mean...Alex?”

“You can call me buddy. I don’t mind.” He dipped a fry into his ketchup. “If life deals out a card you don’t like. What do you do?”

“You mean like if you miss your flight by seven minutes?”

He smiled again. I didn’t know much about the kid yet, but I knew enough to know that I liked his smile a lot more than seeing him hold back tears.

“Well, I can tell you that you shouldn’t make a scene yelling and screaming. It doesn’t help. As you can tell. I still missed my flight.”

He stared, waiting for more of an explanation.

“But, most of life is about how we react to our situation or our cards we’ve been dealt.”

Finishing the first fry, he quickly grabbed another. “But what if the cards are really bad? Like really, really bad.”

What happened to this kid? What had life dealt him to make him wonder such things? Did I want to find out? I took a bite of my burger to give me extra time to think. Somehow life had dealt this kid into my path. My turn to react. I had no business giving life lessons to an eleven-year-old. None-the-less I said, “You play the cards you’re given, to the best of your ability.”

“And if every card is a failure? What if I’m a failure. What if I can’t win!” his words bit through the air like a dog with sharp teeth. They weren’t the words of an eleven-year-old kid. They were words he’d heard time and time again from someone else. I knew it because I’d heard similar words growing up. Why is it our brains hold on to negative memories with such a tight grip? Words like that don’t help.

“Alex. You’re going to be given cards you don’t want. Cards you can’t do anything with, but when you get cards like that you gotta toss them out. Think of those things like the Joker cards. For most games, the Jokers aren’t worth keeping.”

“How?”

“If someone calls you a failure then react to that situation. Prove to them you’re not. If you try and you fail, then try again. Keep playing the game until you win. No matter how many times you’re knocked down you have the ability to get back up.”

He absorbed the advice by finally biting into his burger.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on? Lay all your cards on the table.”

He swallowed hard and I didn’t know if it was his burger or fear that dropped into the pit of his stomach.

“Why do you call yourself a catastrophe?”

“All my cards, huh.”

I swallowed, bracing for impact. “Yep. All of ‘em.”

“Most kids have parents that want them, I don’t.” Something in his eyes changed, turned dark. “I’m not normal. My dad took one look at me in the hospital then disappeared. My mom hasn’t seen him since. It’s not the card I wanted to be dealt.

“I’m sorry buddy.”

“Yea, me too." He squeezed the burger between it's buns. "But according to you I need to react better. Keep trying, keep playing the game. Right?”

I didn’t move. Not even a blink. What could I say? I couldn’t tell him that scumbag dad’s ditched their kids all the time. Even so, it didn’t make it right. It didn’t matter if other dad’s left. This was his dad, not a stranger.

He didn’t miss a beat. He sucked in a quick breath then he continued dropping cards into my lap, “And my mom… She’s strung out on drugs. She loves me, at least she says she does, but not enough to kick the powder. Not enough to keep me.”

My mouth hit the floor. I had zero words. No cards to play.

“You know why I call myself a catastrophe? Because that’s the last thing my caseworker called me before dropping me off at this stinking airport. She saw that I got through security then, poof. Gone, just as fast as my mom’s paycheck when the dealer drops by”

Silence.

A long stretch of silence.

He finished his plate while my food on mine went cold. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t speak. Life dealt this kid a junk hand. The only thing he has going for him was his age. There would be many years ahead to adjust, and overcome, but how did I tell him that. How did I make him believe? How did I make myself believe it?

Play one card at a time.

A flash of a Sunday School lesson lit up my memory. My teacher told a story about Joseph from the old testament. He’d given each of us in the class a hand of 5 random cards. He said life dealt Joseph had what looked like a bad hand, trials of betrayal, lies, slavery, and even prison. With each trial, he played the cards he had but never lost his faith. As he described the different phases of Joseph’s life we all discarded the low cards we didn’t want. Eventually, a few of us only held one card. A king. In the end, God used the low cards Joseph had been dealt to get him to a place where he became like royalty in the king’s court. He never would have gotten there if he hadn’t played the low cards he had first.

“You’re eleven huh? It sounds like you have a lot of life ahead of you. You have a lot more cards to play. So, how do you want to use them?”

“I don’t even know.” He’d lost his smile and his will to play the game, but the game wasn’t over.

“Buddy...Can I still call you buddy?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he wiped his lips. I might have been the kids only friend.

“Buddy, I won’t lie. You’ve been dealt what looks like a bad hand. But the game isn’t over. You’re still playing. I’m still playing. I don’t know the future and neither do you. Maybe life is telling you to go fish and the next card you draw will be the one you need to win the game. You’ll never know unless you draw the next card. Or maybe I have a card you need, but you’ll never get that matching five if you don’t ask for it.”

We both absorbed that nugget of advice. How many times had I failed? How many times had I wanted to quit when all I needed to do was go fish, draw the next card.

“Do you think I can still win?” Alex’s eyes searched mine. He wanted reassurance.

“Buddy...we both can, but only if we keep playing the game. What do you say...do you still have those cards?”

- - -

Fifteen years have passed since I missed my flight. Alex got on a plane at terminal C13 headed to an aunt’s house in New Hampshire. The stewardess assured me she’d keep an eye on him. Alex assured me he’d keep playing the game, but not before giving me the deck of cards.

"Keep it. I have another deck in my bag."

I’d wrapped a tiny ribbon around the card box. It felt worn in my hand after so many years, but I knew it would be the perfect gift. The door to the home opened and I recognized the boy, now a man I’d met in the airport years earlier.

“You came,” Alex said pulling me in for a tight hug.

“Of course I did.”

“How was your flight?”

“Luckily it had been delayed by ten minutes or I would have missed it. But, that's not always a bad thing.”

His smile wrapped half-way around his head.

“Looks like you’ve been playing your cards right. Your house is beautiful.”

He pulled me in the doorway. “Wait until you see the inside.”

The kid had done well. He played his cards, kept fishing, and never quit. I couldn’t have been more proud. At least that’s what I thought until I saw him…sleeping in his mother's arms was the face of a little baby.

“Come here, honey.” Alex motioned for his beautiful wife to join us in the foyer. “I want you to meet Jake.”

She turned toward us holding a tiny newborn in her arms. She stepped closer as the baby’s eyes peeked open.

Alex walked us the rest of the way over to where she stood in the living room. “Jake, I’d like you to meet the newest member of our family.”

Holding the cards out to Alex, I said, “Here, these are his...once he’s ready to start playing.”

Alex gently took the deck from my hand. He rubbed this finger along the edge of the box and a tear washed down his cheek. “He’s going to love them.”

“Hey buddy,” I turned to the newborn. “Are we going to be good friends?”

“You can call him buddy if you want. I don’t mind, but in case you were wondering…” He glanced at this wife then back at me, “We named him Jake, after you.”

---

If you like the above short story, you might want to checkout the novella, "The Joseph Perspective." Available on Amazon.

As his father's favorite son, Joseph enjoys a charmed life. However, the extra attention drives his older brothers to unite in a conspiracy that thrusts Joseph down a dark path where he's left for dead, then sold into slavery. Alone in a new country, the young dreamer must decide if he can continue to trust the God of his father while surrounded by false idols, temptations, betrayal, and other struggles.

His journey leads him further from his father and his brothers. Will they ever be reunited, and if so, can Joseph forgive them for what they've done?