Friends to Die For

The greatest sweetener of human life is friendship. To raise this to the highest pitch of enjoyment is a secret which but few discover.
-Joseph Addison


I never would have imagined that a thirty-year friendship could begin in a church nursery between two toddlers. But it did. I was crawl­ing in and out of Mrs. Kolskey’s lap and playing around her feet when a mysterious new girl appeared in the doorway. From old photos I know that her hair was pulled back into two ponytails falling in ringlets to her shoulders. But in that first encounter, all I noticed was her luminous pair of magenta Mary Janes—the perfect shoes—exactly like mine. My shoes, you must understand, were an all-time favorite birthday present.

So here we were, two girls in deep pink shoes squealing in delight at our commonality. I had found a kindred spirit. Laura was indeed to become the best friend of my childhood, my bunk partner at summer camp, my college roommate, and the maid-of-honor at my wedding. Today, though she lives in Chicago and I’m in Seattle, not a week goes by without a conversation, and not a significant life experience with­out her support. Laura is truly a friend to die for.

I couldn’t have known at age five, of course, how precious this kind of friendship is and how rarely I would find it in my life. But most people do, in fact, find a kindred spirit or two. In fact, only seven percent of people say they don’t have someone in their circle of friends who, at any given time, they can rely on as a best friend.’

Actually, what most people call their “circle of friends” more closely resembles a triangle. Many people have contact with between 500 and 2,500 acquaintances each year, representing the base of the tri­angle. Then there are the 20 to 100 “core friends” in the middle. These we know by first name, and we see them somewhat regularly. At the top of the triangle are one to seven intimate friends. These people are closely involved in our lives, and their names are likely engraved on our hearts.

This chapter stands as a tribute to friendship and is dedicated to helping you raise your current relationships to their highest pitch of enjoyment and to building a firm foundation for prospective friends in your future. If a friendship is not built on healthy principles, after all, it will not weather the inevitable storms of life—the times you really need a friend. We begin, then, with laying out just what friends are for and how we can cultivate the kinds of friendships that matter most. Next, we explore the ins and outs of how good friendships are made, and then we point to a half dozen qual­ities you’ll need to consider if your friendships are to survive and thrive.

WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR

Short of torture, society’s worst punishment is solitary confine­ment. In the biblical creation story the Creator, having formed the first person, immediately declared our social character: “It is not good that man should be alone.” Most of us, most of the time, would rather be with anyone than be alone. And when we compare being with any­one to being with a good friend, there is no comparison. The reasons are endless. Seventeenth-century philosopher Francis Bacon noted two tremendously positive effects of friendship: “It redoubleth joys, and cut­teth griefs in half.” How true. Friends make the ordinary—running errands or eating lunch, for example—extraordinarily fun. And good friends ease our pain and lighten our heavy load. Bacon had it right, they double our joy and cut our grief. They also strengthen us, nurture us, and help us grow. And without our knowing, they can even save our lives. Literally.

There’s exciting news about having a kindred spirit these days. Not only are friends good for the soul but for the body as well.3 Friends help us ward off depression, boost our immune system, lower our cholesterol, increase the odds of surviving with coronary disease, and keep stress hor­mones in check. A half-dozen top medical studies now bear this out. Their findings didn’t seem to be influenced by other conditions or habits such as obesity, smoking, drinking, or exercise. The thing that mattered most was friends. What’s more, research is showing that you can extend your life expectancy by having the right kinds of friends.

Which brings us to a cen­tral issue. What are the “right kinds” of friends? What makes a friend “good”? We all know fair-weather friends are no good. These are the people who walk with us in the sunshine, but they are gone when darkness falls. “Wealth brings many friends,” noted one wise observer of life, “but a poor man’s friends desert him.” Overly engaged and emotionally needy friends who don’t know the meaning of reciprocity are also a downer. They take and take while we give and give, but we never see a return on our investment. On the other end of the friendship continuum is the know-it-all friend who mothers and smothers with unwanted advice but never asks for our input. In short, friends cannot be your family, they can’t be your project, they can’t be your psychiatrist. But they can be your friends, which is plenty.

Aristotle distinguished three types of friendship: “friendship based on utility,” such as eager, upbeat people in business cultivating each other to improve their bottom line; “friendship based on pleasure,” like young people interested in partying; and “perfect friendship.” The first two categories Aristotle calls “qualified and superficial” be­cause they are founded on flimsy circumstances. The last —which is based on admira­tion for another’s good character—is much more fulfilling, but also rare. After all, good friends “are few.”

The few good friends we enjoy generally come in one of two forms, both desirable and equally delightful. They are friends of the road and friends of the heart.

Friends of the Road

Dale was crazy. That’s why I liked him. He could always, I mean always make me laugh. Whether we were hanging out at the mall, play­ing pick-up basketball in a park, sitting in Sunday school, or giving seri­ous speeches in Mr. Olson’s civics class, a mere glance from Dale could slay me. On more than one occasion I was sent out of the room because I couldn’t regain my composure. Dale and I had more in common than hij inks and humor, however. We had countless conversations at all hours of the day and night about everything from pop music to cur­rent events to the meaning of life. We also had soul-searching talks about our fears, our futures, our relationships. This was no lightweight relationship. We saw each other through the Sturm und Drang of ado­lescence. Like two war veterans, we helped each other survive. At jour­ney’s end, however, the friendship faded. I haven’t seen Dale, my high­school confidant, since the day we graduated.

How does a once-bosom buddy wind up a distant memory? And is a friendship that fades away necessarily a bad thing? I don’t think so. There is a line in James Michener’s novel, Centennial, that speaks to how even good friendships can be fleeting: “He wished he could ride forever with these men ... hut it could not be. Trails end, and com­panies of men fall apart.”

Some friendships are meant to be transitory. Like cowboys who ride herd together for miles, sharing both dusty perils and round-the-campfire coffee, we all have friendships that come to their natural end. Not because of discontent or lack of interest. Simply because the road has run out. We’ve hit the end of the trail together and it’s time to move on to other things, other com­panies of men.

Understand, these are not failed friendships. Not at all. They are friendships of the road, equally intense, equally necessary, equally worth culti­vating and treasuring as the
long-lasting versions. We couldn’t survive without them. They get us through a particular stretch of road, and for that we can be grateful. Sure, I regret not staying in touch with Dale (photos of him still crack me up) and other friends who have shared a portion of my path. I even fantasize about reviving or repairing some bygone relationships. But with most long-lost friends I know I’d have little in common now. Our bond lies in the past, irretrievable except for the memories.

The friends we meet along life’s road make the journey joyful. And they are just as fulfilling as friendships of the heart. Well, almost.

Friends of the Heart

Greg. Jim. Monty. Kevin. Mark. Rich. These names sketch out my life, some since childhood. Together, they could tell you more about me than both my brothers. They are my best friends. They are the pals who know my mood swings and my family history. They’ve watched me soar and seen me fail. Unlike friends of the road, these guys have stayed with me beyond trail’s end. No matter how many months or miles intervene, the friendships endure. Our cumulative years of shared biography pre­serve our connection, propelling us together on the same path. After years of tireless talks we now speak in shorthand.

None of these friends lives near me now, but we rendezvous at weddings and while passing through each other’s towns on business. We plan reunions on occasion, and a few of us have recently shared vacations. Sporadic phone calls, as well as e-mail and a few cards or letters here and there, bridge the connection between tong lapses. We don’t keep up on daily details, but these friends know my headlines and I know theirs. We count on each other and we share an irresistible impulse to keep going, together.

There’s nothing like a friend of the heart, long-lasting pals who know us sometimes better than we know ourselves. They bring such comfort to our lives. It’s nearly inexpressible. Dinah Mutock, however, describes it pretty well: “Oh the comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are—chaff and grain together—certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.

Of course, we don’t usually determine that a specific relationship will outlast the road. Some do, some don’t. That’s all, right? Not hardly. In ancient times, friends vowed to be friends forever, no matter what. Maybe you remember the biblical story of Jonathan and David and how they took an oath to be friends forever. “Jonathan made a covenant with David because he loved him.” From then on, when times turned treacherous and their relationship was tested in blood, they banked on one another.

Maybe it would help contemporary friendships stay together if we swore an oath at the beginning, but that’s not how most of us become friends. We are more likely to stumble into it by accident. We meet, look each other over, discover that we talk the same language, that we have common interests, and then ... fate takes over? Not if we gen­uinely care about the relationship. If we care, we commit. We don’t arrange a ceremony or make solemn vows. Most likely, the commit­ment gradually grows. We commit ourselves to each other, sometimes without even knowing it, in snippets over the long haul, until we find ourselves as committed friends. Looking back, we see we’ve made a thousand commitments, little ones, again and again, as we had occa­sion to make them. We never spoke a vow. We just grew into our com­mitment without thinking much about it. That’s the story of friend­ships of the heart.

With most friendships, new concerns and new faces gradually crowd out the old as we start a new journey. But not with committed friends. They don’t flicker and fade; they keep the light on. They are there for the duration and are as elemental to our being as blood to our heart.
Are friendships of the heart more important than our fleeting friends of the road? Not really. We need both. What matters is how a relationship sustains you right now. An achieved friendship—of any brand or bond—is among the best experiences life has to offer.


HOW WE FIND TRUE FRIENDS

Friendship is a long conversation. Indeed, the ability to generate good talk by the hour is the most promising indication, during the uncertain early stages, that a possible friendship will take hold.

The pressure to achieve “quality” communication, however, some­times induces a sort of inauthentic epiphany for overeager friends-to-be (not unlike what sometimes happens with an eager-to-please patient in the last ten minutes of a psychotherapy session). In the first few con­versations there may be an exaggeration of agreement, for example, as both parties attempt to connect (“You like sardines on your pizza?! Me too!”). And if authenticity does not enter in soon, the two parties form an uneasy kind of pseudo-friendship that creates more pretense than pleasure. Fortunately, even eager friends do not need to be caught and snagged by this subtle snare. With the proper techniques, they can break free of the pseudo-friendship and achieve true companionship.

The first important technique is to master the art of good talk. This requires just two simple tools. The first is a listening ear. Some people are especially skilled at opening others up. They readily elicit intimacy because they listen well. The late psychologist Carl Rogers called such people “growth-promoting” listeners: His years of research revealed that good listeners genuinely convey interest in understanding the other per­son, they accept the person’s feelings without interruption, and they empathize by trying to see the world from that person’s per­spective. These are the skills ofa good listener: genuineness, acceptance, and empathy.
Just the other night, a wo­man charmed me (Leslie) at a dinner party when she wanted to know all about my work at Seattle Pacific University. At first I thought she was simply offering the standard issue question, “So, what do you do?” required upon first meet­ings. But she wasn’t. With her follow-up comments and questions, it became apparent that she wasn’t interested in uneasy small talk, she was interested in me (“Sounds like you really enjoy working with students. How’d you catch a vision for that?”). She genuinely wanted to enter my world and understand my feelings; first-rate listeners have a way of doing that. I could have talked to her all night. In fact, I did.

The second tool for creating friendly conversation is self-disclo­sure. Weighed and measured in appropriate amounts, self-disclosure is the primary ingredient for potential friendship. In fact, no decent friend­ship can be made without it. Here’s how self-disclosure works. You spill something a hit private and chances are something intimate will get spilled hack on you. Vulnerability begets vulnerability. Social scientists call it the “disclosure reciprocity effect.”’ Whatever you call it, however, beware: It’s risky. If I reveal a part of me, my excitement, my insecu­rity, whatever, I open myself up to potential rejection. You may not accept what I disclose. You may belittle it or brush it off. If you do) noth­ing less than reciprocate my vulnerability, I feel slighted. But if you do share my secret, if you identify with me, we’ve struck the cord of friend­ship and are no longer alone.

C. S. Lewis wrote about the process of self-disclosure and friend­ship in his classic hook The Four Loves: “The typical _expression of open­ing Friendship would be something like, ‘What? You too? I thought I was the only one’—it is then that Friendship is born.”

Knowing when and how to talk about yourself is as important a skill as listening. No one really gets close to the kind of person who’s so careful about her image she never reveals anything intimate. You’ve got to) open up, but not too wide. In other words, if you reveal too much you’ll overwhelm the other person. Nobody appreciates a babbler mouth who unloads unedited memories that could interest only a mother. And one more caution about self-disclosing: don’t replace it with gossip and think you’ll accomplish the same thing. Everyone warms to the person who) tells tales on him or herself. But there’s noth­ing more repellent than the person who’s constantly telling you some horrible secret about someone else.


HOW WE KEEP TRUE FRIENDS

It’s one thing to start a friendship, it’s quite another to maintain it, to stay on what Lewis called “the same secret path.” Even strong friendships require watering or they shrivel up and blow away. That’s why George Bernard Shaw touched an exposed nerve in both of us when we read the words he scribbled to his friend Archibald Hender­son: “I have neglected you shockingly of late. This is because I have had to neglect everything that could be neglected without immediate ruin, and partly because you have passed into the circle of intimate friends whose feelings one never dreams of considering.”

It’s so easy to take good friends for granted. And in a sense, we should. Like a comfortable pair of gloves, old friends wear well. But friendships that suffer from busyness and over familiarity can’t afford to) be neglected too long. They need renewal. And to suggest that there are techniques for maintaining authentic relationships would be to devalue the dignity friendship deserves. Such a meaningful relationship cannot be reduced to “easy steps.” Research has revealed, however, the qualities that keep true friendship alive and well. So we offer a list of the most important qualities for your contemplation. Like Shaw, you may neglect your intimate friends from time to time, but if you fail to cultivate these qualities—loyalty, forgiveness, honesty, and dedica­tion—you can’t expect to keep true friends.

Loyalty

The quality that tops the list in survey after survey of what people appreciate most about their friends is loyalty. It seems nothing, but noth­ing, matters more than being true. Good friends keep their promises. They don’t tell your secrets to other people. And they don’t desert you, even when you are in trouble.

Harry Truman’s secretary of state, Dean Acheson, caused quite a stir when he visited his friend Alger Hiss in prison. Hiss was a convicted traitor, and it was bad politics to have any association with him. But when prudent politicians condemned Acheson publicly, Acheson sim­ply said, “A friend does not forsake a friend just because he is in jail.” That’s loyalty.

The famous maxim that “a friend in need is a friend indeed” is not the entire story of loyalty, however, A friend in triumph may be even harder to find. Isn’t it easier to be a savior than a cheerleader for our friends? It takes twenty-four-karat loyalty for a friend to soar along­side us when we are flying high rather than to bring us down to earth. Loyal friends not only lend a hand when you’re in need; they applaud your successes and cheer you on without envy when you prosper.

Forgiveness

As important as loyalty is, our friendships don’t always have it. Enter forgiveness. Every friend you’ll ever have will eventually disap­point you. Count on it. That doesn’t mean that every offense of a friend requires forgiveness; some slights need only be overlooked and forgot­ten. Winston Churchill’s mother, Jennie, understood this when she said, “Treat your friends as you do your pictures, and place them in their best light.”

Too many good relationships fade because some slight—real or imagined—cancels it out. Some people pout, brood, or blow tip if their friend is not speedy enough in returning a phone call or if they are not included in a social event. They set such high standards for the relationship that they’re constantly being disappointed. They can’t let little things go; every minor lapse becomes a betrayal.

Real betrayal, the kind that leaves you hanging out to dry, is another matter altogether, and we’ll get to that in the next chapter. At issue here is the idea of overlooking and, yes, sometimes forgiving the occasional pain that comes with friendship.

By the way, forgiveness is a two-way street. Unless you are a saint, you are bound to offend—intentionally or unintentionally—every friend deeply at least once in the course of time, and if the relation­ship survives it will be because your friend forgives. The friends we keep the longest are the friends who forgave us the most. And the essence of true friendship is knowing what to overlook.

Honesty

“Les, you can be so focused on achieving a goal,” a friend of mine recently told me, “that you sometimes lose sight of other people’s opin­ions and feelings in the process.” Ouch. That stung. But Steve was right. We were having lunch at our favorite coffee shop when he lowered the boom. Actually, Steve was looking out for my best interest. He cares about me and didn’t want me to get into a sticky situation with the members of a committee I was chairing. And it’s a good thing. His hon­esty saved my neck.

True friends are like that. Honesty is a prerequisite to their relationship. “Genuine friendship cannot exist where one of the parties is unwilling to hear the truth,” says Cicero, “and the other is equally indisposed to speak it.” Does this require brutal honesty? Not exactly. It requires honesty that is carefully dealt in the context of respect. In the absence of respect, you see, honesty is a lethal weapon. Perhaps that’s what caused Cicero to add, “Remove respect from friendship and you have taken away the most splendid ornament it possesses.

Honesty is not only expressed in words; it means being authen­tic. I have known people who become fast friends because they have so much in common. Their work, their wardrobes, their tastes, their background are all in sync. They become like twins who can finish each other’s thoughts, not to mention sentences. But the relationship is not real. One or both of them is so eager to have a kindred spirit that they become someone they aren’t just to get along. And the relationship becomes what Emerson called “a mush of concession.”

True friends aren’t afraid to be honest and they aren’t afraid to be themselves. True friends follow Emerson’s advice: “Better be a net­tle in the side of your friend than his echo.” Translation: If you are afraid of making enemies, you’ll never have true friends.

Dedication

It was 12:30 in the morning. We had just returned to our room after speaking to a group of students at a retreat center in the backwoods of Kentucky. A loud knocking broke the silence.

“Who could that he?” I wondered.

Leslie opened the door. “Monty Lobb!” she exclaimed. We couldn’t believe it. Our good college buddy living in Cincinnati had driven four hours—one way—and tracked us down without directions or an address.

“I knew I could find you,” he said with a big hear hug. “I heard you were near Wilmore, and I just had to see you.” He brought a boxed chocolate cake and a couple of plastic forks he’d picked up on his long drive. So we ate cake while we talked and laughed for about an hour and a half, Monty then had to leave. He was teaching Sunday school chit morning at his church hack in Cincinnati—another four hours on the road.

Few acts of friendship have spoken more loudly about personal dedication to us than what Monty did for our relationship. The bottom line? He made time. No, he sacrificed time to be with us. That’s the meaning dedication. It refers to the ability of two people to influence each other’s plans, thoughts, actions, and emotions.

Think about it. Back when you were a kid, the hours spent with friends were too numerous to count. Contem­porary life, with its tight schedules and crowded ap­pointment books, however, has forced most friendships into something requiring a good deal of intentionality and pursuit just to keep them going. Post­college friendships require setting aside an evening during which to squeeze in all your news and advice, confession and opinion. This inti­mate compress of information occurs only through dedication.

Of course, dedication becomes most salient in times of crisis. When a friend’s emotional bottoming out, for example, means canceling a date to provide a shoulder of support. That’s what friends are for, So don’t complain about having fair-weather friends if you are unwilling to be inconvenienced.

Personal sacrifice. Selfless devotion. Commitment. These are the noble qualities dedication requires.

PUSH for Life

A man was sleeping at night in his cabin when suddenly his room filled with light, and God appeared. The Lord told the man he had work for him to do, and showed him a large rock in front of his cabin.

The Lord explained that the man was to push against the rock with all his might. So, this the man did, day after day.

For many years he toiled from sun up to sun down, his shoulders set squarely against the cold, massive surface of the unmoving rock, pushing with all of his might. Each night the man returned to his cabin sore and worn out, feeling that his whole day had been spent in vain.


Since the man was showing discouragement, the Adversary (Satan) decided to enter the picture by placing thoughts into the weary mind: "You have been pushing against that rock for a long time, and it hasn't moved."
Thus, he gave the man the impression that the task was impossible and that he was a failure.
These thoughts discouraged and disheartened the man.

Satan said, "Why kill yourself over this? Just put in your time, giving just the minimum effort; and that will be good enough."


That's what the weary man planned to do, but decided to make it a matter of prayer and to take his troubled thoughts to the Lord.


"Lord," he said, “I have laboured long and hard in your service, putting all my strength to do that which you have asked. Yet, after all this time, I have not even budged that rock by half a millimetre. What is wrong? Why am I failing?”



The Lord responded compassionately, "My friend, when I asked you to serve Me and you accepted, I told you that your task was to push against the rock with all of your strength, which you have done.”



“Never once did I mention to you that I expected you to move it. Your task was to push. And now you come to Me with your strength spent, thinking that you have failed. But, is that really so?”


“Look at yourself. Your arms are strong and muscled, your back sinewy and brown; your hands are callused from constant pressure, your legs have become massive and hard.

Through opposition you have grown much, and your abilities now surpass that which you used to have .”


“True, you haven't moved the rock. But your calling was to be obedient and to push and to exercise your faith and trust in My wisdom. That you have done. Now I, my friend, will move the rock.”


At times, when we hear a word from God, we tend to use our own intellect to decipher what He wants, when usually what God wants is just a simple obedience and faith in Him.



By all means, exercise the faith that moves mountains, but know that it is still God who moves mountains.


When everything seems to go wrong ...
just P.U.S.H.!



When the job gets you down ...
just P.U.S.H.!


When people don't react the way you think they should ...
just P.U.S.H!


When your money is "gone" and the bills are due ...
just P.U.S.H!


When people just don't understand you ....
just P.U.S.H.

P = Pray
U = Until
S = Something
H = Happens

A Mother’s Love - A Friend’s Empathy

Theresa briones is a tender, loving mother. She also has a stout left hook that she used to punch a lady in a coin laundry. Why’d she do it?

Some kids were making fun of Theresa’s daughter, Alicia.

Alicia is bald. Her knees are arthritic. Her nose is pinched. Her hips are creaky. Her hearing is bad. She has the stamina of a seventy-year-old. And she is only ten.

“Mom,” the kids taunted, “come and look at the monster!”

Alicia weighs only twenty-two pounds and is shorter than most preschoolers. She suffers from progeria—a genetic aging disease that strikes one child in eight million. The life expectancy of progeria victims is twenty years. There are only fifteen known cases of this disease in the world.
“She is not an alien. She is not a monster,” Theresa defended. “She is just like you and me.”
Mentally, Alicia is a bubbly, fun-loving third grader. She has a long list of friends. She watches television in a toddler-sized rocking chair. She plays with Barbie dolls and teases her younger brother.

Theresa has grown accustomed to the glances and questions. She is patient with the constant curiosity. Genuine inquiries she accepts. Insensitive slanders she does not.

The mother of the finger-pointing children came to investigate. “I see ‘it,’” she told the kids.

“My child is not an ‘it,’” Theresa stated. Then she decked the woman.

Who could blame her? Such is the nature of parental love. Mothers and fathers have a God-given ability to love their children regardless of imperfections. Not because the parents are blind. Just the opposite. They see vividly.

Theresa sees Alicia’s inability as clearly as anyone. But she also sees Alicia’s value.

So does God.

God sees us with the eyes of a Father. He sees our defects, errors, and blemishes. But he also sees our value.

Two chapters ago, I closed with this question: What did Jesus know that enabled him to do what he did?

Here’s part of the answer. He knew the value of people. He knew that each human being is a treasure. And because he did, people were not a source of stress, but a source of joy.

When Jesus lands on the shore of Bethsaida, he leaves the Sea of Galilee and steps into a sea of humanity. Keep in mind, he has crossed the sea to get away from the crowds. He needs to grieve. He longs to relax with his followers. He needs anything but another crowd of thousands to teach and heal.

But his love for people overcomes his need for rest.

When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.

He had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd.

He welcomed them and spoke to them about the kingdom of God, and healed those who needed healing.

It is doubtful that anyone in the crowd thinks to ask Jesus how he is doing. There is no indication that anyone is concerned with how Jesus is feeling. No one has come to give; all have come to take.

In our house we call 5:00 p.m. the piranha hour. That’s the time of day when everyone wants a piece of Mom. Sara, the baby, is hungry. Andrea wants Mom to read her a book. Jenna wants help with her homework. And I—the ever-loving, ever-sensitive husband—want Denalyn to drop everything and talk to me about my day.

When is your piranha hour? When do people in your world demand much and offer little?

Every boss has had a day in which the requests outnumber the results. There’s not a businessperson alive who hasn’t groaned as an armada of assignments docks at his or her desk. For the teacher, the piranha hour often begins when the first student enters and ends when the last student leaves.

Piranha hours: parents have them, bosses endure them, secretaries dread them, teachers are besieged by them, and Jesus taught us how to live through them successfully.

When hands extended and voices demanded, Jesus responded with love. He did so because the code within him disarmed the alarm. The code is worth noting: “People are precious.”

I can hear somebody raising an objection at this point. “Yes, but it was easier for Jesus. He was God. He could do more than I can. After all, he was divine.”

True, Jesus was equally God and man. But don’t be too quick to dismiss what he did. Consider his loving response from another angle.

Consider that, along with his holy strength, he also had a holy awareness. There were no secrets on the mountain that day; Jesus knew the hearts of each person. He knew why they were there and what they would do.

Matthew writes that Jesus “healed their sick.” Not some of their sick. Not the righteous among the sick. Not the deserving among the sick. But “the sick.”

Surely, among the many thousands, there were a few people unworthy of good health.

The same divinity that gave Jesus the power to heal also gave him the power to perceive. I wonder if Jesus was tempted to say to the rapist, “Heal you? After what you’ve done?” Or to the child molester, “Why should I restore your health?” Or to the bigot, “Get out of here, buddy, and take your arrogance with you.”

And he could see not only their past, he could see their future.

Undoubtedly, there were those in the multitude who would use their newfound health to hurt others. Jesus released tongues that would someday curse. He gave sight to eyes that would lust. He healed hands that would kill.

Many of those he healed would never say “thank you,” but he healed them anyway. Most would be more concerned with being healthy than being holy, but he healed them anyway. Some of those who asked for bread today would cry for his blood a few months later, but he healed them anyway.

Jesus chose to do what you and I seldom, if ever, choose to do. He chose to give gifts to people, knowing full well that those gifts could be used for evil.

Don’t be too quick to attribute Jesus’ compassion to his divinity. Remember both sides. For each time Jesus healed, he had to overlook the future and the past.

Something, by the way, that he still does.

Have you noticed that God doesn’t ask you to prove that you will put your salary to good use?

Have you noticed that God doesn’t turn off your oxygen supply when you misuse his gifts?

Aren’t you glad that God doesn’t give you only that which you remember to thank him for? (Has it been a while since you thanked God for your spleen? Me, too. But I still have one.)

God’s goodness is spurred by his nature, not by our worthiness.

Someone asked an associate of mine, “What biblical precedent do we have to help the poor who have no desire to become Christians?”

My friend responded with one word: “God.”

God does it daily, for millions of people.

What did Jesus know that allowed him to do what he did? What internal code kept his calm from erupting into chaos? He knew the value of people.

Interestingly, the stress seen that day is not on Jesus’ face, but on the faces of the disciples.

“Send the crowds away,” they demand. Fair request. “After all,” they are saying, “you’ve taught them. You’ve healed them. You’ve accommodated them. And now they’re getting hungry. If we don’t send them away, they’ll want you to feed them, too!”

I wish I could have seen the expression on the disciples’ faces when they heard the Master’s response. “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.”

I used to think that this was a rhetorical request. I used to think that Jesus knew the disciples couldn’t feed the crowd, but that he asked them anyway. I used to think that it was a “test” to teach them to rely on God for what they couldn’t do.

I don’t see it like that anymore.

I still think it was a test—not a test to show them what they couldn’t do, but a test to demonstrate what they could do. After all, they had just gone on tour achieving the impossible.

Jesus is asking them to do it again. “You give them something to eat.”

I wish I could tell you that the disciples did it. I wish I could say that they knew God wouldn’t ask them to do something he wouldn’t empower them to do, so they fed the crowd. I wish I could tell you that the disciples miraculously fed the five thousand men plus women and children.

But I can’t … because they didn’t.

Rather than look to God, they looked in their wallets. “That would take eight months of a man’s wages! Are we to go and spend that much on bread and give it to them to eat?”

“Y-y-y-you’ve got to be kidding.”

“He can’t be serious.”

“It’s one of Jesus’ jokes.”

“Do you know how many people are out there?”

Eyes watermelon-wide. Jaws dangling open. One ear hearing the din of the crowd, the other the command of God.

Don’t miss the contrasting views. When Jesus saw the people, he saw an opportunity to love and affirm value. When the disciples saw the people, they saw thousands of problems.

Also, don’t miss the irony. In the midst of a bakery—in the presence of the Eternal Baker—they tell the “Bread of Life” that there is no bread.

How silly we must appear to God.

Here’s where Jesus should have given up. This is the point in the pressure-packed day where Jesus should have exploded. The sorrow, the life threats, the exuberance, the crowds, the interruptions, the demands, and now this. His own disciples can’t do what he asks them. In front of five thousand men, they let him down.

“Beam me up, Father,” should have been Jesus’ next words. But they weren’t. Instead he inquires, “How many loaves do you have?”

The disciples bring him a little boy’s lunch. A lunch pail becomes a banquet, and all are fed. No word of reprimand is given. No furrowed brow of anger is seen. No “I-told-you-so” speech is delivered. The same compassion Jesus extends to the crowd is extended to his friends.

Look at this day one more time. Review what our Lord faced.

Intense sorrow—the death of a dear friend and relative.

Immediate threat—his name is on the wanted poster.

Immeasurable joy—a homecoming with his followers.

Immense crowds—a Niagara of people followed him everywhere.

Insensitive interruptions—he sought rest and got people.

Incredible demands—crowds of thousands clamored for his touch.

Inept assistance—the one and only time he asked for help, he got a dozen “you’re-pulling-my-leg” expressions.

But the calm within Christ never erupted. The alarm never sounded. What did Jesus know that enabled him to do what he did? He knew the incredible value of people. As a result:

• He didn’t stamp his feet and demand his own way.
• He didn’t tell the disciples to find another beach where there were no people.
• He didn’t ask the crowds why they hadn’t brought their own food.
• He didn’t send the apostles back into the field for more training.
• Most important, he stayed calm in the midst of chaos. He even paused, in the midst of it all, to pray a prayer of thanks.

A boy went into a pet shop, looking for a puppy. The store owner showed him a litter in a box. The boy looked at the puppies. He picked each one up, examined it, and put it back into the box.
After several minutes, he walked back to the owner and said, “I picked one out. How much will it cost?”

The man gave him the price, and the boy promised to be back in a few days with the money.

“Don’t take too long,” the owner cautioned. “Puppies like these sell quickly.”

The boy turned and smiled knowingly, “I’m not worried,” he said. “Mine will still be here.”

The boy went to work—weeding, washing windows, cleaning yards. He worked hard and saved his money. When he had enough for the puppy, he returned to the store.

He walked up to the counter and laid down a pocketful of wadded bills. The store owner sorted and counted the cash. After verifying the amount, he smiled at the boy and said, “All right, son, you can go get your puppy.”

The boy reached into the back of the box, pulled out a skinny dog with a limp leg, and started to leave.

The owner stopped him.

“Don’t take that puppy,” he objected. “He’s crippled. He can’t play. He’ll never run with you. He can’t fetch. Get one of the healthy pups.”

“No thank you, sir,” the boy replied. “This is exactly the kind of dog I’ve been looking for.”

As the boy turned to leave, the store owner started to speak but remained silent. Suddenly he understood. For extending from the bottom of the boy’s trousers was a brace—a brace for his crippled leg.

Why did the boy want the dog? Because he knew how it felt. And he knew it was very special.
What did Jesus know that enabled him to do what he did? He knew how the people felt, and he knew that they were special.

I hope you never forget that.

Jesus knows how you feel. You’re under the gun at work? Jesus knows how you feel. You’ve got more to do than is humanly possible? So did he. You’ve got children who make a “piranha hour” out of your dinner hour? Jesus knows what that’s like. People take more from you than they give? Jesus understands. Your teenagers won’t listen? Your students won’t try? Your employees give you blank stares when you assign tasks? Believe me, friend, Jesus knows how you feel.

You are precious to him. So precious that he became like you so that you would come to him.

When you struggle, he listens. When you yearn, he responds. When you question, he hears. He has been there. You’ve heard that before, but you need to hear it again.

He loves you with the love of a Theresa Briones.

He understands you with the compassion of the crippled boy.

Like Theresa, he battles with hell itself to protect you.

And, like the boy, he paid a great price to take you home.

First Post! / The Choice - Max Lucado

I'm a cradle Catholic, and I just decided to share my Christian stories that I've collected over the years. I hope that someday, one of my stories will touch the lives of someone who has been reading this blog.

The Choice
Max Lucado

Why do I want to do bad?” my daughter asked me, unknowingly posing a question asked by many seekers of truth. “Why do I do the thing I hate? What is this ape that gibbers within?” Or, perhaps a more basic question is being asked. “If sin separates me from God, why doesn’t God separate me from sin? Why doesn’t he remove from me the option to sin?”

To answer that, let’s go to the beginning.

Let’s go to the Garden and see the seed that both blessed and cursed. Let’s see why God gave man … the choice.

Behind it all was a choice. A deliberate decision. An informed move. He didn’t have to do it. But he chose to. He knew the price. He saw the implications. He was aware of the consequences.
We don’t know when he decided to do it. We can’t know. Not just because we weren’t there. Because time was not there. When did not exist. Nor did tomorrow or yesterday or next time. For there was no time.

We don’t know when he thought about making the choice. But we do know that he made it. He didn’t have to do it. He chose to.

He chose to create.

“In the beginning God created … ”

With one decision, history began. Existence became measurable.

Out of nothing came light.

Out of light came day.

Then came sky … and earth.

And on this earth? A mighty hand went to work.

Canyons were carved. Oceans were dug. Mountains erupted out of flatlands. Stars were flung. A universe sparkled.

Our sun became just one of millions. Our galaxy became just one of thousands. Planets invisibly tethered to suns roared through space at breakneck speeds. Stars blazed with heat that could melt our planet in seconds.

The hand behind it was mighty. He is mighty.

And with this might, he created. As naturally as a bird sings and a fish swims, he created. Just as an artist can’t not paint and a runner can’t not run, he couldn’t not create. He was the Creator. Through and through, he was the Creator. A tireless dreamer and designer.

From the pallet of the Ageless Artist came inimitable splendors. Before there was a person to see it, his creation was pregnant with wonder. Flowers didn’t just grow; they blossomed. Chicks weren’t just born; they hatched. Salmons didn’t just swim; they leaped.

Mundaneness found no home in his universe.

He must have loved it. Creators relish creating. I’m sure his commands were delightful! “Hippo, you won’t walk … you’ll waddle!” “Hyena, a bark is too plain. Let me show you how to laugh!” “Look, raccoon, I’ve made you a mask!” “Come here, giraffe, let’s stretch that neck a bit.” And on and on he went. Giving the clouds their puff. Giving the oceans their blue. Giving the trees their sway. Giving the frogs their leap and croak. The mighty wed with the creative, and creation was born.

He was mighty. He was creative.

And he was love. Even greater than his might and deeper than his creativity was one all-consuming characteristic:

Love.

Water must be wet. A fire must be hot. You can’t take the wet out of water and still have water. You can’t take the heat out of fire and still have fire.

In the same way, you can’t take the love out of this One who lived before time and still have him exist. For he was … and is … Love.

Probe deep within him. Explore every corner. Search every angle. Love is all you find. Go to the beginning of every decision he has made and you’ll find it. Go to the end of every story he has told and you’ll see it.

Love.

No bitterness. No evil. No cruelty. Just love. Flawless love. Passionate love. Vast and pure love. He is love.

As a result, an elephant has a trunk with which to drink. A kitten has a mother from which to nurse. A bird has a nest in which to sleep. The same God who was mighty enough to carve out the canyon is tender enough to put hair on the legs of the Matterhorn Fly to keep it warm. The same force that provides symmetry to the planets guides the baby kangaroo to its mother’s pouch before the mother knows it is born.

And because of who he was, he did what he did.

He created a paradise. A sinless sanctuary. A haven before fear. A home before there was a human dweller. No time. No death. No hurt. A gift built by God for his ultimate creation. And when he was through, he knew “it was very good.”

But it wasn’t enough.

His greatest work hadn’t been completed. One final masterpiece was needed before he would stop.

Look to the canyons to see the Creator’s splendor. Touch the flowers and see his delicacy. Listen to the thunder and hear his power. But gaze on this—the zenith—and witness all three … and more.

Imagine with me what may have taken place on that day.

He placed one scoop of clay upon another until a form lay lifeless on the ground.

All of the Garden’s inhabitants paused to witness the event. Hawks hovered. Giraffes stretched. Trees bowed. Butterflies paused on petals and watched.

“You will love me, nature,” God said. “I made you that way. You will obey me, universe. For you were designed to do so. You will reflect my glory, skies, for that is how you were created. But this one will be like me. This one will be able to choose.”

All were silent as the Creator reached into himself and removed something yet unseen. A seed. “It’s called ‘choice.’ The seed of choice.”

Creation stood in silence and gazed upon the lifeless form.

An angel spoke, “But what if he … ”

“What if he chooses not to love?” the Creator finished. “Come, I will show you.”

Unbound by today, God and the angel walked into the realm of tomorrow.

“There, see the fruit of the seed of choice, both the sweet and the bitter.”

The angel gasped at what he saw. Spontaneous love. Voluntary devotion. Chosen tenderness. Never had he seen anything like these. He felt the love of the Adams. He heard the joy of Eve and her daughters. He saw the food and the burdens shared. He absorbed the kindness and marveled at the warmth.

“Heaven has never seen such beauty, my Lord. Truly, this is your greatest creation.”

“Ah, but you’ve only seen the sweet. Now witness the bitter.”

A stench enveloped the pair. The angel turned in horror and proclaimed, “What is it?”

The Creator spoke only one word: “Selfishness.”

The angel stood speechless as they passed through centuries of repugnance. Never had he seen such filth. Rotten hearts. Ruptured promises. Forgotten loyalties. Children of the creation wandering blindly in lonely labyrinths.

“This is the result of choice?” the angel asked.

“Yes.”

“They will forget you?”

“Yes.”

“They will reject you?”

“Yes.”

“They will never come back?”

“Some will. Most won’t.”

“What will it take to make them listen?”

The Creator walked on in time, further and further into the future, until he stood by a tree. A tree that would be fashioned into a cradle. Even then he could smell the hay that would surround him.

With another step into the future, he paused before another tree. It stood alone, a stubborn ruler of a bald hill. The trunk was thick, and the wood was strong. Soon it would be cut. Soon it would be trimmed. Soon it would be mounted on the stony brow of another hill. And soon he would be hung on it.

He felt the wood rub against a back he did not yet wear.

“Will you go down there?” the angel asked.

“I will.”

“Is there no other way?”

“There is not.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to not plant the seed? Wouldn’t it be easier to not give the choice?”

“It would,” the Creator spoke slowly. “But to remove the choice is to remove the love.”

He looked around the hill and foresaw a scene. Three figures hung on three crosses. Arms spread. Heads fallen forward. They moaned with the wind.

Men clad in soldiers’ garb sat on the ground near the trio. They played games in the dirt and laughed.

Men clad in religion stood off to one side. They smiled. Arrogant, cocky. They had protected God, they thought, by killing this false one.

Women clad in sorrow huddled at the foot of the hill. Speechless. Faces tear streaked. Eyes downward. One put her arm around another and tried to lead her away. She wouldn’t leave. “I will stay,” she said softly. “I will stay.”

All heaven stood to fight. All nature rose to rescue. All eternity poised to protect. But the Creator gave no command.

“It must be done … ,” he said, and withdrew.

But as he stepped back in time, he heard the cry that he would someday scream: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He wrenched at tomorrow’s agony.

The angel spoke again. “It would be less painful … ”

The Creator interrupted softly. “But it wouldn’t be love.”

They stepped into the Garden again. The Maker looked earnestly at the clay creation. A monsoon of love swelled up within him. He had died for the creation before he had made him. God’s form bent over the sculptured face and breathed. Dust stirred on the lips of the new one. The chest rose, cracking the red mud. The cheeks fleshened. A finger moved. And an eye opened.

But more incredible than the moving of the flesh was the stirring of the spirit. Those who could see the unseen gasped.

Perhaps it was the wind who said it first. Perhaps what the star saw that moment is what has made it blink ever since. Maybe it was left to an angel to whisper it:

“It looks like … it appears so much like … it is him!”

The angel wasn’t speaking of the face, the features, or the body. He was looking inside—at the soul.

“It’s eternal!” gasped another.

Within the man, God had placed a divine seed. A seed of his self. The God of might had created earth’s mightiest. The Creator had created, not a creature, but another creator. And the One who had chosen to love had created one who could love in return.

Now it’s our choice.