Good Deeds Archives - Page 3 of 6

November 2, 2013 by Karin 2 Comments

~ Day 22 ~

Did you know that just watching a good deed elevates and inspires? Just watching. “Research shows that we tend to act unselfishly when we see others do the same.” The ripples go on and on.

The possibilities are endless. Here are some great ideas for random acts of kindness (don’t you know, there is a whole site dedicated to them. Very cool.)

“How lovely to think that no one need wait a moment. We can start now, start slowly, changing the world. How lovely that everyone, great and small, can make a contribution toward introducing justice straightaway. And you can always, always give something, even if it is only kindness!”

Anne Frank (1929 – 1945)

We can learn so much from kids.

Happy weekend, friends.

Matthew 11:25-26

At that time Jesus said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure.

October 29, 2013 by Karin 6 Comments

When You Meet James

31 days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 21 ~

I knew better this time.

I remembered the woman with the worn skin, sunken eyes, and faded flannel.

I remembered the whispers of the Voice that beckoned. The One I had forgotten to listen to a time or two.

I remembered the way she looked at me with her wry smile and the glimmer of gratitude in her eyes before she disappeared into the sea of cars.

I knew better this time and waited in anticipation for the breath of His instruction.

Be prepared. There is someone waiting.

The thing is, there is always someone waiting. Waiting for a hand, a word of truth… a hope. There is always someone who needs to hear,

You are not alone. You are loved.

It’s our job, you know. This is what He asks from us. I didn’t want to miss it this time.

I checked my wallet,

Good to go.

Another day of shopping for the small army in our house. Another day of scanning, searching, and surveying the aisles. Another day of hunting and gathering. This time, my view of this mob scene changed.

We’ve got it made.

There is more than enough for every one here. Yet, there are some who can’t get in the front door.

I packed up the supplies and headed for the exit. The intersection was jammed with cars and the left turn would take me home.

There he was.

Sitting on the right side of the road.

He was different, though. He didn’t even look up.

His face was buried in the back of his rough hands as he held fast to a cane. A cardboard sign sat propped against his bent legs. It simply stated,

I’ve lost everything, but my faith.

I wonder how much we have to lose before faith fades to memory.

I wonder why he held tightly to faith while sitting lost on a street corner, while I struggle with faith in a truck full of groceries.

I scrambled for my wallet trying to grab anything I could give to him before the light changed. It was too late. The light turned green and the rush of traffic propelled me forward. I had to turn, you know. Can’t keep people waiting.

That’s when I heard it. The whisper I had been waiting for…

Turn around and go back.

My stomach churned and I could feel my skin prickle with the sense of His presence. I peered into the rearview, and thought for just a moment,

It seems crazy to turn around.

Hands grabbing the wheel, I turned a U in the road and headed back to where the lost soul waited.

Ok, God, I’m going back. This seems a little crazy, but I’m going back. Please keep the traffic off me while I stop.

I turned and veered through the congested lot as my truck found its way to the right turn lane. A lane that would take me miles off course with no chance of a turn around.

Don’t we just want to get to a place where we can’t turn back? A place where we have to move forward in this blind faith, following the whispering and urging Voice.

I sat three cars back and saw him. He had not lifted his head from his tired hands. I could see the back of his sign now,

You can at least smile.

The man with nothing but his faith wanted a hand… or at least a smile.

Why do we do that? Drive by, averting our eyes, not offering the slightest smile of kindness. Those are free. Why is it that we greedily hold those close, only to share them with someone who bothers to share first. Just a smile.

I held up the money in my hand just as he lifted his head.

Then, I saw.

His leg, partially covered in white bandaging, was a mangled mess of broken skin. As if the man had begun to crack wide open, leaving nothing to be seen but the oozing pain that he carried with him.

He shuffled slowly to my truck and stopped short at the car in front of me. They handed him a dollar and he nodded in thanks.

He winced in pain as he proceeded toward the money I held in my hand. My heart nearly bled as I watched him stumble in my direction.

He was worn and tired. His eyes squinted with each step. I wanted to get out, but I was sandwiched in this red light place.

As he reached my car, I rolled down the window and handed him the twenty dollars,

I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to walk this far.

He didn’t hear my words as he turned his eyes upward and murmured,

Praise Jesus.

I looked into his blue eyes, aged with pain, and could see that he was not as old as he appeared.

What is your name?

He looked at me, his eyes soft and wet, and replied,

James.

James. The book I have studied twice in the past two years. The brother of Jesus. The man who wrote of good deeds and patience and taming the tongue. The book that convicts us to open hands and hearts to the poor. The book that wrecked me for good. I remember weeping over that study, as my eyes went to the faces of children on my screen. The book that grabbed me by my comfortable shoulders and said,

…faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. (James 2:17)

The book that opened my sleepy eyes and exclaimed,

Wake up!

James. Of course his name was James.

I looked into his tired face,

James, I am going to pray for you.

His eyes lit with understanding,

Oh, yes! Please. Pray for healing and deliverance.

God bless you.

God bless me. Yes. He already has. I smiled at James,

I will, James. I will pray right now. God bless… you.

The light turned, the traffic pushed, and I drove away.

I am just learning to be bold. Bold in faith, that is. Here is what amazes me. A disheveled and wounded soul sitting on a street corner knows just exactly what he needs from God. Healing and deliverance.

Too often my prayers are vague, unsure, nondescript, rote. I am learning. This art of conversation with God; it begins with listening. Listening to the Voice that pushes and urges. Listening to the souls who have lost everything, but their faith.

Listening. And responding. This art of a relationship. A dance, really.

I drove away. The sense of His presence overwhelmed me. I felt Him in my breath as I prayed for James. Healing and deliverance.

I prayed the words of James as God enveloped me in His presence. His voice hung in my words as He whispered,

I am here.

And, we danced.

James 2:14-16

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, “Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?

October 24, 2013 by Karin 12 Comments

When We Begin To Get Over Ourselves

31 days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 19 ~

I’ve been a mother for 12 years today.
Really, though, motherhood began 9 months before that (ok, we all know it’s actually 10). When you carry the weight of the future on your bladder for any amount of time, you know the exact amount of time. Down to the very minute.

What I didn’t know… the weight of the future was the very thing that would begin the release of the weight of my selfishness.

Motherhood. The vessel He uses to get us over ourselves.

We enter into this place with a million preconceived notions of how we will play this whole thing out. We step through the door holding this perfect breath from God and we think we might have a clue. This is where it all begins. We have no idea. The thoughts in our minds give way to the crashing wave of pure love. This love washes any idea of who we think we are… away. We come face to face with someone we want to die for – again and again. But, first, we have to die to ourselves. And this is the rub.

The battle – my thoughts, my ideas, my wishes, my dreams collide… with His.

Holding tightly to the holy moment of birth is just the beginning of letting it all go.

This is when our hearts begin to take residence – outside of our bodies. With each baby, over and over again, we die to ourselves… and open up to Him. Only God would begin this slow and often painful death to our selfish natures through the birth of something so breathtakingly exquisite. New life wrapped in the sweet aroma of innocence cradled in our unsuspecting arms. The best of us is yet to come.

Sometimes, though, he lets us begin our journey into selfless love much earlier. Sometimes He allows to exercise these muscles of you-before-me when we are much younger. Perhaps even as young as 11… soon to be 12.

And, sometimes He surprises this unsuspecting mama with a story of an unselfish good deed. A good deed that mama didn’t have to prompt or prod or produce. Sometimes He lets us know we are doing this motherhood thing a little bit right.

I was away on a trip (a small miracle in itself, thanks to my gold-hearted warrior). Dad decided to take our six pack to a carnival. The bravery in that task is another story entirely.

The pumpkins, rides, and treats thrilled this young crew of ours. Most of all, of course, the rides and slides were mission number one.

Tickets bought, treats ingested, it was time. The kids rode and squealed and lived it up.

Our four-year-old discovered quickly that some thrills look better from the ground up.

It’s too scary! I don’t like it!

Our red-headed summer warrior shrieked.

Sometimes bravery is just knowing what you’re not ready for. And saying so.

Tickets dwindled and energy faded.

With only a handful of tickets left to thrill these little ones, my warrior offered them one more ride.

The big kids, ready to tackle the most thrilling ride, grabbed their chance and took off.

Our normally brave little summer girl exclaimed,

But, I want to go on those swings. I’m too scared of that ride.

Daddy stood holding the baby, knowing the only way she would go was with a companion. We don’t really want to go this alone, do we? It’s always better with two.

The kids want to ride that one, sweetie.

Then, the part that bursts a mama heart. All these years of do-this-don’t-do-that-be-nice-share-love-each-other. All the refereeing of siblings. All the times of it’s-not-about-you. Then, this one time. It takes root… and I wasn’t even there. I can’t take credit (but, I can give plenty to my warrior). I can’t even begin to think it had anything to do with what I told my boy to do. He just did it. And my heart explodes.

I’ll go with her, dad.

C’mon, little sister, I’ll take you on the swings.

Now, the swings… they go round and round, not up nor down. Pretty lame for an 11, almost 12-year-old.

They spun in circles, she squealed with glee, and my heart melts.

We teach and train and cajole and plead. We bark and bellow and beg. We hold and hug and pour ourselves out… day after day. Then, God. He gives us a glimpse. A momentary whisper of,

Job well done.

The pouring out… from a big brother to a little sister. This.

This whole new soul dying to self and giving to love. And my heart wholly fills.

2 Thessalonians 3:13

And as for you, brothers, never tire of doing what is right.

October 22, 2013 by Karin 8 Comments

When We Put Our Feet On The Ground

31 Days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 18 ~

I can almost see his house from here.

The water snakes just around the buildings, under the bridges, and presses hard against the dam. The trees carpet the landscape. I can’t make out trees from bushes from fields. It all looks lush and quenched from up here. I miss the green in the rugged beauty of desert.

Like a drink of water before entering the parched land of jags and cliffs and red-painted rocks.

I can almost see my brother’s house. And it feels like home.

It’s not my home or my town or my state. But, just the proximity to him feels like home. Funny how that settles the nerves of a pilot’s wife in the air. Funnier still that a pilot’s wife feels oddly misplaced up here though I know this air feels like home to my other half.

You can sense the whispers of home in places that aren’t home.

You can feel close to a brother, sometimes even a brother you don’t know.

This story is from a friend. A woman I met by God’s circumstance in the most unexpected place. He orchestrates these meetings, you know. It still blows my mind.

My friend is a musician. She shares her gift with my girls. The music from the piano and the seasoned voice leading the tentative new voice cover the air like white wash over the dull. Music brightens and brings light to the landscape.

She told me a story. A good deed…

They turned into the parking lot of the grocery store and saw him. She and her young daughter. His sign didn’t ask for money. Just food. Strategic positioning right outside this store filled with enough to feed more than enough. I wonder if our attempts at strategy ever really amount to much… without His positioning?

Her little girl exclaimed,

Mom, we should bring him some food!

She nodded agreement,

We’ll get him a sandwich and a drink.

After checking out, supplies and sandwich in hand, they pulled their truck to where the man had waited. He was gone.

Man, we were all ready for him.

My friend drove to the main road and that’s when she heard it. That Voice that whispers. The same Voice that prompted me to pocket a twenty just weeks before. This Voice, it beckoned,

Go across the street. Go to the Wal-Mart parking lot.

It’s when that whisper comes to you so specifically that you wonder,

Seriously? Am I imagining this?

It’s when the Voice whispers so specifically that it’s most imperative to listen.

My friend listened. She laughed to herself,

I don’t know what the deal is, but ok.

She drove across in anticipation. The anticipation is the best part. And, sometimes it throws us off.

Nothing.

No great sign. No homeless man waiting for his sandwich. Nada.

Really, God? Here I am. I’m not sure where to go.

There was nowhere else to turn, but toward the exit. All prepped and nothing. This is sometimes when it happens. We lose our direction. We question the Voice. We wonder what kind of stuff we are dreaming up anyway.

And, this… this is when we have to keep going. The Voice doesn’t lie. Our doubt just begins to seep into the ear trying to play over the melody of that Voice.

That’s when she saw him. He rolled along in a chair, oxygen tank in tow. He wasn’t the same guy. Not the one she saw at the store. This one was the one she was supposed to see. He orchestrates these meetings, you know.

The older man waved arms at blind passersby. Not one soul stopped as the man rolled and waved and tried to get anyone to see. The best of us can be blind sometimes, can’t we?

She pulled her truck alongside,

Hey there, what do you need?

His voice, gruff and worn,

I just got out of the hospital. I’m a diabetic. I just need something to eat because of my blood sugar.

She answered,

Well, I’ve got your sandwich right here.

City traffic doesn’t stand still for good deeds, so she pulled to the side and climbed out of her truck. This is what gets me. She stopped. And, got out. She stepped feet onto the ground next to the weary soul in the chair.

They talked for a short time. The street side conversation went to God and faith. She told him about the hungry man she had bought the sandwich for, but that God pointed her to him instead.

He responded to her kindness,

I’ve helped people all my life. I’ve always tried to do good for others.

He motioned to his legs and whispered,

Now look at me. I’m wondering, where is God?

Then, you gave me this.

His eyes went to her face,

You’ve got the Spirit. I see it in you.

She hugged the man,

Where are you going to go?

The man in the chair replied,

I gotta get to the shelter before they close. I don’t have any bus money. If they close the doors, I can’t get in tonight.

The good deed kept on giving. My friend answered,

Well I have $5 that you can have for the bus.

She handed him the money and climbed back into her truck.

He called to her by name,

Hey, be good to your husband. Stop arguing with each other. He’s doing the best he can and he’ll never leave you.

Then, he paused as tears welled in her eyes,

From the looks of your face, I can tell that means something to you.

And, he was gone.

We don’t have to go very far to be near a brother. Or a sister. We don’t have to go very far to feel close to home. We don’t have to look around and wonder in anticipation when we will go home again. We just have to get out. Put feet on the ground. Feet on the ground next to our brothers and sisters. He orchestrates the meetings, you know. The Voice whispering in our souls,

Follow me and I’ll show you Home.

Mark 10:29-31

“I tell you the truth,” Jesus replied, “no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age (homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—and with them, persecutions) and in the age to come, eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last first.”

October 19, 2013 by Karin 2 Comments

If We Could See

31 days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 17 ~

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. ~ Plato

Happy weekend, friends.

(If you are reading this in an email, please click over to the blog to watch this 4 minute video.)

Ephesians 4:32

Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.

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