Where Are the Heroes?

A-Rod hit #500. The world--more than 99% of it--barely stifled a yawn. But for someone out there, A-Rod is a hero. Folks are speaking of his historic achievement. Really? Five hundred homers is an achievement, to be sure; but historic? Hardly. But, as I said, sports figures are heroes for a number of people.

On my television at this moment is a series called "Heroes." I heard that this show is one of the hottest in the U.S.A. It has two dimensions to it: it is spiritual; and it projects men and women doing heroic things.

Harry Potter is a hero for a lot of kids (maybe some adults, too). So is Britney. So is Paris. And Brad. And too many more like them.

One common thread runs through many of these modern heroes: they lack moral fiber. I am not saying A-Rod lacks it; I don't know him. But we know that a lot of sports figures, music stars, and movies stars, and even fictional characters are morally bankrupt. They live a duplicitous life, partying and doing things that cannot be mentioned in a public forum; or, when they find themselves in trouble, talking about how much they love the Lord. And these are the men and women that we try to immortalize in our minds.

Here is the true definition of a hero: "a man [or woman, in the case of a heroine] of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities."

Where, may I ask, are the true heroes? Where are the men and women that make a difference, but for the greater good of this world and of eternal things?

They are out there. They work quietly most of the time. Many would never consider themselves to be heroes. Their eyebrows would raise so high they would run under their hairline if they knew you thought of them as your hero. But there they are: sacrificing their lives for others, loving unconditionally, spending sleepless nights so you can rest comfortably. They leave their comforts behind to help take others to a higher level. Some work in offices, some in labs, some in hospitals, some in the streets.

Do you have a hero? Do you have a heroine? Take time to pray for them. Take time to tell them.

Pray for the Korean Hostages

We must pray. Our body is hurting; we must pray. God will hear us. I don't know what his answer will be; but he will hear us.

Press On!

Today I read where a 94-year-old received her Masters degree. What a story of perseverance! What a message for us all!

Paul said, "Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me. Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus." (Phil. 3:12 - 14, NKJV) The NIV says "I press on..."

Just as Phyllis Turner pressed on for her Masters, we must press on towards Christ, ever growing, always reaching higher and higher. It will seem like many things set themselves against us, preventing us from reaching our goal. What we often see as a hindrance, though, is God's training room to make us fit for the next level.

You can bet Phyllis Turner did not waltz through the program. You can be assured she worked hard for what she got. She stretched until she finally reached her prize.

We, too, must stretch. We will not reach the prize of the upward calling, the price of Christ-likeness easily. We will have days we are discouraged. We will have days we don't believe we can do. But we can; we will. We must press on!

A Day at an Oasis

Yesterday I was with three volunteers, working in a squatter community called Oasis. Believe me when I tell you it is a misnomer to call this place Oasis. Oasis is built right on top of a garbage dump. It smells. Because of the lack of sanitary conditions, it smells even worse than the landfill covered with sand and dirt that it is. I am not looking forward to next summer (January through March down here); the flies, already swarming, will be plague-like in their presence. That's another story.

Before the Bible study I spoke with two ladies. They both asked me to visit their "house" after the study. They called it a house; we would not even call it a shack. These are huts. I was in more than one of them in the past few weeks. The majority have dirt floors; the walls are made of woven straw mats. Or cardboard. Or plywood if they can get a little money together. Some have tin roofs; most are plastic, like you may use in construction. I have to duck to stand up inside any of them; their ceilings are only about 6 feet. They are illuminated with single light bulbs. I was headed into these after the study.

The study was good. The pastor was very encouraging for the small crowd who had gathered. After the study finished, before I could join the ladies who asked for a home visit, a lady approached me. She had a question, one that led to eternal life for her. Ana asked how she could belong to our group. I opened The Book and preached Jesus. She readily identified with her need for salvation and, with tears in her eyes, she prayed to receive the Lord. As I began her immediate follow-up, a leader from the next group of squatters came up to me, drunk and belligerent. He wanted to know what had these people done to merit my personal attention. I made him repeat himself, and afterwards told him what he needed (not wanted) to hear: God loves them; that is why we are there.

I asked him to let me continue my conversation with Ana, our new believer; but he kept interrupting. If it could get worse, I didn't believe it. And maybe things did not get worse. Maybe it was just one of those days.

I was sipping the hot chocolate they served to me while I was speaking with Luis and Ana, alternating between the two in the time I could divert Luis away from us. As I got to the bottom of the cup, I looked down. The styrofoam cup was full of little black spots. I put on my glasses and saw that those spots had even smaller legs. They were bugs! How appropriate! I had a 6 foot tall bug standing before me, interrupting my witness to this new believer. Now I had no telling how many swimming around inside my stomach.

I finally dispensed with Luis and made arrangements for Ana's discipleship. Now it was time to visit the two ladies' homes. I entered these homes with a little reluctance. They know I live better than they do; it's embarrassing for them for The Gringo to visit. But I was there at their request. We prayed, we talked, and we tried to listen to the Holy Spirit. We tried to encourage these broken women to walk with the Lord Jesus, to let him have first place in their lives.

By now it was dark. You don't want to spend much time in Oasis after dark. It's not safe. And it had been dark for close to an hour. We finally got away, bugs and all. But we all left a part of our heart in Oasis.

And so went another day at a not-so-typical Oasis, somewhere in South America.