Touched by Miss Maggie’s love
By Kathy Yoder

They come from far and near.

Some traveling thousands of miles by planes, trains and interstates. Some driving through winding hills and back roads. Some walking a few blocks.

They come from tiny towns that aren’t on any map to cities so big it takes a lifetime to find an exit. They come from foreign countries and they come from next door.

They come from every station of life. From the kingly to the pauper.
The outgoing to the shy. There are politicians, celebrities, ordinary people. The pampered. The ignored. Homeless souls trying to find their way back. The proud who’ve become humble, and the humble who’ve found a little pride.

But, most of all, there are
children. And the children who aren’t children any more were children when their lives were changed by Miss Maggie’s love, who’s gone home for good.

Shawn, a stranger passing through town, thinks he’s stumbled onto the funeral of a famous actor or some other celebrity.
He pulls off the
interstate for gas and coffee, but everywhere he looks there are signs that say, “Closed for Funeral.”

Shawn’s eyes follow the crowds. He looks for an enormous church, but instead sees a beautiful, white-clapboard structure with a tall steeple that touches the clouds.

Looking up, Shawn notices the mountains for the first time. “They look like giant blueberries,” he says to himself.

He looks at the sign: “Blueberry Mountain Community Church. Welcome Home.” Goosebumps travel from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Shawn hasn’t felt at home for a long time.

He squeezes into the small church without knowing why. It’s been years since he’s been inside one. Expecting to see hundreds of fancy flower arrangements, he sees one vase filled with white daisies. A picture next to the coffin shows an elderly woman smiling, surrounded by children. Out of nowhere, children walk up front and lay hundreds of freshly picked dandelions on the coffin. The flowers smell like summer released from a jar — warm, sweet, dusty, filled with possibilities. The flowers give the casket a golden glow.

A choir sings. “Must be a CD,” thinks Shawn, as he looks around for the singers. “It’s beautiful.”

The crowd thinks the same thing: “The singing sounds like angels.”

What they don’t know, and only the smallest children can see, is that the angels themselves came to sing this woman home.

As he walks up to the pulpit, Pastor Jake thinks to himself, “I’ve never seen a larger funeral.”

Smiling, he thinks of Miss Maggie.

“Miss Maggie was not famous,” begins Pastor Jake. “She was not wealthy. Books will not be written about her. Streets will not carry her name. She’ll never be referred to as a star or an important person. At least not by the world’s standards.

“By the world’s standards, she was ordinary, poor, unimportant. But look how many people are here today to honor her? Did she touch the hearts of every single person here today?

“We are not members of her fan club. Yet, we belong to a very select club. We are the ones who knew Miss Maggie and loved her. We are the ones she touched with her unending good cheer, compassion and selfless love. How many of you met Miss Maggie as a child? How many of you did she feed? How many ate her chocolate chip cookies?”

People chuckle and smack their lips.

“How many of you did she look at with those penetrating brown eyes that commanded you to tell the truth? How many of you found Jesus in those brown eyes? How many of you will really miss her, but know you’ll see her in Heaven one day?”

Pastor Jake looks down as he speaks because he knows the tears filling his eyes will spill over if he doesn’t. But he hears a rustle and looks up. Every single person at Miss Maggie’s funeral is standing up.

“How many of you would like to thank God right now for Miss Maggie?”

And the entire church shakes from thunderous applause.

Even Shawn the stranger finds himself clapping. He realizes that even though he never knew Miss Maggie, he’s been touched by her. And for the final of many times in his life he thinks, “I want to know Jesus.”

But this time, he asks Jesus into his heart.

And even though only the smallest children can see them, Shawn thinks he hears the thunderous applause of angels.

And, of course, he does.

Annie’s Adventure
By Kathy Yoder

Annie grew up watching “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.” She dreamed of adventures in Africa, of seeing giraffes and meeting tribes who lived prehistoric lives.

Annie’s life has been an adventure, but in a different way. Her most important journey has been to Jesus and back again. Even though she believed, Annie drifted from her faith. Just a little at first, but with each passing moment she floated farther away until one day she woke up wondering, “Who am I? How’d I get here?” Sometimes sin happens slowly, gradually. We drift along not knowing that the shoreline has disappeared.

Annie knew Jesus loved her. Asking Him back into her life was easy. Truly living as the daughter of the King, that’s the hard part. “I struggle with it every day,” says Annie. “But I don’t do it alone. Trust me. That doesn’t work.”

Annie watches a TV documentary on war photographers. A woman about Annie’s age is featured. She’s an attractive woman, but her appearance seems to change before Annie’s eyes. She wears an eye patch, but it’s the hardness in her heart that makes her features sharp. Sitting in her mother’s backyard, the war photographer chain-smokes as she talks.

The mother, off to the side, is pretty, soft, elderly -- like the grandmother you wish for your children. “There was a time,” Annie thinks, “when I would’ve seen her as her daughter does – mundane and unsophisticated, but now I hope to become her.”

The photographer doesn’t mention faith or God and doesn’t seem thankful for the battles she’s survived. She just talks about herself and her adventures. Stuck on fast forward, continually searching for the next near-death experience, she’ll shoot and tell. Shoot and tell.

“I feel incredible sadness for her,” says Annie. “I’ve lived behind a telephoto lens. It brings life closer to you visually, at the same time keeping it away.

“I’ve never shot a war or seen a person die, but I’ve known tragedy and I’ve known spiritually dead people. I’ve lived life in the fast lane, where experiences trip over each other racing to the finish line with no idea of the prize at the end. When I was running so fast that I couldn’t keep up, I met Jesus around a corner. It was a sharp corner, but it was softer than it should’ve been.

“I was at a car accident where people I knew were strewn around like smashed-up crash dummies. Some survived, some didn’t. And I realized that if I didn’t slow down, I could end up just like them.

“I saw the aftermath of arson. A family’s house was destroyed, along with their hopes and dreams for their little baby who died from smoke inhalation, a precious little guy I’d held in my arms only two days earlier.

“Then one dark and rainy night I was walking on the sidewalk when a voice in my head said, ‘Stop!’ I stopped just inches from a live wire. I was still floating on my own, not realizing that God graciously provided my life jacket, but at that moment I knew God was there. It was my burning bush moment.

“In one blinding second, I knew that I’d been living my life without God. I was so infinitely sad. But good comes out of everything for those who love the Lord. God used my sin as a way to make me more patient with others. I asked him to take away my critical nature and the Lord of abundance did even more. He gave me the ability to look past outward appearances and to see something special about each person I met.”

Yes, the war photographer’s appearance changed before Annie’s eyes. She became Annie. “I’m thankful God reeled me back in from my drifting days and brought me home. I know that as long as I live, I live for Him,” says Annie.

“He truly is the way, the truth and the light! I’m so thankful for His grace! If I die tomorrow, I know I’ll live forever, not in darkness, but bathed in the joy of His incredible light!”

And the little girl who dreamed of becoming an adventurer is part of the greatest adventure of all – walking with the King of Eternity!

Broken angel wings
By Kathy Yoder

Every year at Christmastime I accidentally drop an angel, and
every year I unintentionally chip a piece off its wing. I have an odd collection of porcelain, glass, plastic and ceramic, chipped-winged angels. Instead of throwing them out, I point the chipped parts toward the wall, trying to hide the damage. After so many years, I have a rag-tag collection of wall-facing angels, not good representatives of the angels present during Jesus’ birth.

This year, just when I thought I might have an injury-free angel year, I dropped an antique gold angel from my childhood. It’s part of my favorite angel choir. It was the one remaining angel with flawless wings who stood front and center, fully visible. But now he’s destined to be just another wall-facer.

And that’s not all. As he fell from my hand, dropping slowly in a special angel-wing-chipping time zone, I heard a heartbreaking sound.
After the familiar sound of impact when the wing hits the floor, the noise repeated itself. The angel bounced. Bounced! (I didn’t know they could bounce.) I hated to look. It’s like when you know you’re going to receive bad news and you keep stalling, trying to delay the inevitable as long as possible. When I finally looked, I saw the worst angel injury of all time. Both wings were gone. And so were the arms, making him the Venus de Milo of the angel world.

I stood in place for a while, holding the angel and looking at all of the gold pieces glittering off the floor. I had the strangest
thought: They shouldn’t glitter when they’re broken, should they? And my dreams and hopes for one fully-winged angel shattered.

During this blessed time of the year, there are broken-winged people everywhere. We need to stop pointing them to the wall so we don’t see their brokenness. We need to slow down and notice them. We need to reach out to them and their brokenness.

I know what it’s like to spend Christmas alone. No other time is as lonely. I know what it’s like to have dreams die just as the season starts. I know what it’s like to have my world turned upside down and inside out and then to marvel that the sun still shines.

And to be surprised that the earth still rotates on its axis and that people still smile when everything in my world has come to a screeching halt and life as I know it has forever changed. I know what it’s like to breathe in so much disappointment that it’s hard to exhale.
If you are one of the lucky ones whose Christmas is like a Hallmark movie, take just a little time to pray for those who don’t have your life. Pray for those who are walking in brokenness. Stop for a few minutes and ask God who you can help. Ask Him who needs a nice card?
Who needs a kind ear? A genuine smile? Ask God to show you how to help.

And for those of you who live in the glorious light of God and live blessed lives, continue to fly on God’s love and be a light in the darkness of others.

For those who live quietly with broken wings, for those who plaster on strained smiles, determined to somehow make it through the holidays without crying or screaming or just giving up, there is help. If your Christmas is not greeting-card perfect, know this. God cared enough to send His very best, His one and only Son, Jesus Christ, just for you.

“For God so loved the world that He sent His one and only Son. …”
— John 3:16a

Merry Christmas!

Lemons
By Kathy Yoder

“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”

We’ve all heard that saying. It’s a nice sentiment. I believe in making the best of everything, of being positive, in having a cheery outlook and in cherishing each day.

But what if life throws you many lemons and you don’t know the recipe for lemonade? What do you do? Emily didn’t know what to do, so she asked different cooks. They all gave her different answers. “I don’t know who to believe,” thinks Emily.

Emily has her own recipe book, but she’s never opened it. It looks nice sitting on the shelf. She likes the idea of people seeing her recipe book. She imagines them thinking, “She must be a wonderful cook. Look at how fancy that recipe book is.”

Or, “Only a really expert cook would buy such an expensive recipe book. Emily must be one of the best.”

Even though it’s not the truth, Emily lets them view her with admiration. “It’s not really a lie,” thinks Emily. “After all, I never said I was an expert cook.” Emily thinks how nice it would be if she was a great cook. Then, gradually, she starts believing her own story until one day she calls herself an expert cook and lemonade maker. She loves the way people look at her. They want to be like her. Some people even envy her. Emily secretly enjoys that last part the most.

There’s just one problem. The day has come when Emily’s expected to actually make lemonade. “What do I do?” Emily asks no one in particular. “Maybe I’ll have to admit I’m a fraud. But I don’t want to lose respect. I don’t!”

Emily looks at the lovely recipe book on the shelf. She thinks about picking it up, but she’s never opened it. She doesn’t know how to find anything in the book, so she leaves it on the shelf. “It does look pretty on the shelf,” she thinks.

What now? Emily comes up with a plan: “I’ll fudge my way through,” and with the determination of an army ant leader preparing to rally his troops for war, Emily says, “OK, what do I know about lemonade?”

She thinks. “I know! I know what I need! I need … lemons! And … some sugar. Water and something about shaking.” So, Emily cuts a lemon in half and takes a big bite. “Wow! That’s so sour!” Emily says as her lips freeze in a permanent pucker. She takes a big spoonful of sugar and tosses it down her throat. “Not the greatest taste in the world.” It makes her mouth dry. She guzzles water. Emily chokes, but remembers something about shaking, so she wiggles her arms and jumps up and down, waving her spoon around in the air at the same time, just for good measure.

“Funny,” she thinks. “Something’s not quite right. It doesn’t taste like lemonade. In fact, it tastes awful!” As Emily involuntarily puckers again, she asks herself, “Is this lemonade?”

Emily doesn’t know, so she asks herself some questions. “Did it quench my thirst? I’ve heard it’s very thirst-quenching. No, it didn’t do that. Does it taste good? No! It’s supposed to be delicious. Does it make me happy? No!”

Emily has no idea what’s wrong. And there’s only 15 minutes before her first class of new students arrive to “learn from the best.” Only now is Emily truly sorry for her lie. “What should I do?” she asks.

“If only I knew the head chef. He could help me. I just know it. But I don’t know him; I’ve only said I do -- another stupid lie.” As the women are pulling into Emily’s driveway, she runs over to the shelf and picks up the pretty recipe book. She opens it and says, “Please help me.” A peace comes over Emily as she welcomes the women into her home.

“Ladies, I want to be honest with you. This is the first time I’ve ever opened this recipe book. I’ve only attempted to make lemonade once, with disastrous results. I think I may have a permanent pucker.” The ladies laugh. “So, if you’re willing to learn together, I am, too.” And that was the day Emily learned to make real lemonade.

Some people pretend to know God when they don’t know Him at all. They’re seen as great believers when they’re not. This pretending leads to bitterness even more sour than lemons. But it’s easy to know God. You can open the Bible and start reading. You can go to church. You can ask for help. All easy steps. Not one complicated recipe. In fact, knowing God is the sweetest experience on this earth. And that’s not something to pucker about!

Hate came robed in silence
By Kathy Yoder

Hate came robed in silence one bright and sunny day. He walked up to the children. He said, “Do you want to play? I know a game so very old. It was here before your birth. It takes no time to learn it. It’s filled with magic, with mirth.”

And so the children made two lines, with a chooser on each side. They battled over whom they picked and the losers left behind.

“I won’t take her. She’s too slow.”

“And he’s way too fat.”

“She’s not very smart, you know.”

“His voice squeaks like a bat.”

Hate stepped in and shook his head. “You’re doing it all wrong. You’re acting like weak amateurs. Remember, I am strong!”

He taught them with proficiency, his talents so sublime. He had the weak kids crying. “Hey, honesty’s not a crime!”

Hate makes them feel like nothing. He steals their hopes and joys. He tramples on their spirits. He turns them into toys. This one’s a marionette. Hate holds all the strings. He makes the puppet hurt himself. He makes another scream.

Then Hate saw her. A pretty girl so nice. He set his sights on wooing her. He figured out her price.

“Would you like to be famous? Admired? Adored? Forget the life you’ve lived so far. Renounce the name of the Lord. I’ll take you all around the world. I’ll give you what you want. You only have to worship me and assist me with the hunt. I need to find more kids like you – innocent, sweet, divine. You’ll help me trap each one of them. Together, we’ll make them mine.”

She said “Yes!” without a doubt, a thought or even a prayer. She said “Yes!” with her mind, thinking her heart wouldn’t care.

It was such a long time ago, but I saw her one yesterday. She looked happy, young and pretty, but her eyes gave her away. They were empty. Cold. Lifeless. God’s love could not be seen. Something had a hold on her -- something horribly mean. When Hate wasn’t looking, she whispered secretly, “Keep the children away from him! Keep the children free!”

“Did you say something, my dearest Dear? Did you tell her that I’m so nice?” Hate stared at her with eyes as cold as frozen mice. Then he grabbed her arm and roughly yanked her from me. I didn’t have the chance to say, “Pray! God will set you free!”

I asked the Lord to help her. I cried on her behalf. “Lord, kick the enemy in the head. Don’t allow him one more laugh.”

But life’s not predictable. Life’s never cost-free. I prayed for her, but she chose her own path to eternity. She didn’t ask for forgiveness. She stuck to Hate like glue. She’d forgotten about the Lord of light and His love for me and you. She could have asked the Lord for help, but she didn’t even try. Hate kept her bitter, confused. Eventually, she died.

Hate came robed in silence one bright and sunny day. Because no one was watching, all the children ran away. At first, the kids left in their minds, but their bodies stayed behind. Eventually Hate took all of them. Hate is never kind. By the time the parents noticed, it was entirely too late. The children grew into adults spending their lives with Hate.

So, if Hate comes robed in silence one bright and sunny day, stand up and speak the truth. It makes Hate run away. Make sure your children know the Lord. Keep them from Hate’s dark night. Tell them of God’s perfect love. He’s the Way, the Truth and the Light.

Hate came robed in silence one bright and sunny day. All the children were praying in church, so Hate ran away.

By Kathy Yoder

Seeking — and finding —‘more’ in the land of Perfection

In the land of Perfection where the pencils are always sharp and the weather is always sunny. Where the socks are always matching and missing objects are always found. Where the children are always content and their toys are always new. Where the parents are always happy and the TV is always educational. Where the books are always entertaining and the librarians are always helpful. Where the teachers are always kind and the principal is always laughing. Where hot lunch is always hot and the desserts are always chocolate. There lived one child who wanted more.

“More?” his parents ask, as if the concept is so strange they have to keep repeating the word. “More?”

“Yes. Isn’t there more?” says the boy.

“Don’t you like your toys? Your room? Your school?” asks his father.

“The sunshine? Your teachers? Fun books? The laughing principal? Your hot lunches? The chocolate desserts? Us?” asks his mother.

“Of course, but is that it? Isn’t there … more?”

“All?” says mother. “More!”

His parents drive the boy to the edge of town. “What does that say?” they ask, pointing to a sign.

“Welcome to Perfection, the Most Perfect Town Around!”

“See? What more could you want?”

“Well, that settles that,” says father, relieved that his son understands.

But he doesn’t. He just stops asking the question out loud. And even though it looks like things are back to being perfect in Perfection, they aren’t.

Other children stop playing with him. His parents start raising their voices. His brother and sister tease him. Even the family dog, Perfect, behaves less than. He growls when the boy enters the room. Puff Bunny, the cat, hisses at him. One day when the family is gone, Perfect has his first accident in the house. So does Puff Bunny.

The next day at school, the hot lunch is lukewarm. A teacher is less than kind. The librarian shushes the children. The principal’s grumpy. It rains all day and the children wonder: What if it never stops raining? What if the sun never comes out? What if the principal stays grumpy? What if my favorite book is checked out? What if. …”

And perfection is no more. You might sigh and say, “Oh, that’s too bad.” But it isn’t bad at all. In the midst of the newfound chaos, the boy finds true perfection. It happens one day at the Perfection Public Library where the books are always reachable and the due dates are always in the future. Way back in a forgotten corner, the boy finds an old book. He opens it slowly, like a dying man who finds a bottle of water in the desert. He’s afraid to hope, but more afraid not to.

The boy holds the book carefully as he opens the cover and reads the title, “Holy Bible.” He’s never heard of it. “In the beginning God created the Heavens and the earth.” Genesis 1:1. Like a thirsty man, he drinks the refreshing words. He reads more, gulping down page after page.

“Oh God, you are my God; early will I seek you. My soul thirsts for you; my flesh longs for you in a dry and thirsty land where there is no water.” Psalm 63:1

“For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The man who fears is not made perfect in love.” I John 4:18

“Yet to all who received Him, to those who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God.” John 1:12

Somewhere between the beginning and the end, the boy realizes that he’ll never be thirsty again. He shares the Good News with the people of Perfection. Not all want to hear it, but some do. And some are forever changed.

And the Bible answers the boy’s question, “Is there more?” Yes, there is more. Much more. And that is the only perfection anyone ever needs.

Kathy Yoder is a devotional writer.

Patched up hearts
By Kathy Yoder

Annie’s a middle aged woman who is “home-challenged” as she likes to say. The only clothes she has are the ones she’s wearing. They’re patched with a variety of fabrics and colors. She wonders if her original clothes are gone. She has patches on top of patches. “I’m so lucky I know how to sew,” she thinks to herself.

A little cart is her constant companion. It’s filled with her necessities and her treasures – the greatest one being the Holy Bible. She’s had it since she was a young girl. Annie finds a suitable sleeping spot under a viaduct. She unfolds newspapers and lies down. Holding her Bible close to her heart, Annie prays, “Lord, sometimes I feel so alone. I know you watch over me, but how do I know if I’m living the life you want me to. I wish there was a way I could know.” Annie falls asleep.

Annie dreams she’s in Heaven. Every person she sees is wearing patched up clothes. Not the gossamer gowns she’s imagined – flowing white, lighter than air. No, everyone here’s dressed as if they’re going to a Holly Hobby costume party.

Annie walks into a large room. Without turning around, an angel says, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m sorry. I must’ve taken a wrong turn.” But Annie doesn’t leave. She walks to one of the gigantic windows, the size of an entire wall. “What’s this for?”

“This is an observation window. I’m checking on people on earth.”

“Wow!” she says, her nose pushing against the glass. “Look at all the beautiful clothes! They’re so pretty.”

“Yes they are,” the angel says sadly. “Yes they are.”

Annie looks at him closer. “You’re crying.” She touches his tears. “Why?”

“I feel so sad when I see these humans.”

“The ones in the beautiful clothes?”

“That’s right. Their clothes reflect their journey.”

“I don’t understand,” says Annie. “I’ve never had clothes that beautiful, but I’d like to.”

“No, Annie, you don’t,” he says, looking at her patches. “Have you noticed that all the people up here are dressed in patched up clothes?”

“Yep, I sure fit in, don’t I?” Annie laughs.

“Annie. You have no idea how well you fit in, but it’s not your time. You have to go back.”

“Right now?” asks Annie.

“No, you can stay a little while. You know how to sew, Annie, right?”

“Yep. I used to do alterations.”

“What’s the first thing you do when trying to make a dress fit?”

“I rip out all the seams I need to change. Then about half the work’s already done.”

“That’s right, Annie. It’s the same with faith. We ask God to make alterations on us so that we can be more like him. That’s when he really goes to work in our lives. It’s not always pretty. In fact, sometimes we end up frayed and faded, ragged and tired. Patches on top of patches. But when all the ripping out has finished He says, ‘Because my son died on the cross, all the real ripping out has already been done. What I’m ripping now are the areas filled with worldly things.’ So all the people with patches…”

“…they’re the ones God really knows, right?”

“Yes, Annie. They’re the ones who say, ‘Make me more like you. Rip out what I don’t need. Patch in what you want.’”

“What about all those people on earth with the beautiful clothes?”

“They’re the ones whose lives are filled with perfect stitches. Like their beautiful clothes, they look great on the outside. But on the inside their hearts are tiny and hard. You see, our hearts can only grow if Jesus lives inside them. He fills our hearts with love and they grow forever. Sometimes they grow so much and so fast that they seem to burst. That’s when Jesus patches them up.”

“I think I understand,” says Annie.

“Annie, you’re filled with patches because you’re filled with the love of Jesus.”

Annie wakes up. Still wearing her patched clothes. Still sleeping on newspapers. Still clutching her Bible. Smiling, she says, “Thank you Lord, for my patched up heart.”

Kathy Yoder is a devotional writer.