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Very few attributes in life are as important as a sense of humor. A chuckle of amusement can become the healthiest and sanest response we can make to life’s calamities. Laughter can defuse a tense confrontation, produce a sense of humility and perspective, turn enemies into friends, build courage in the face of life’s sternest trials. We recall former American President Ronald Reagan cracking jokes with the surgeons who were about to remove an assassin’s bullet, or we recall the gallant courage of Shakespeare’s Mercutio, who responds to a death wound with puns and wit. Laughter in the face of great tribulation is perhaps the best indication we have of character.
Beauty has been called the handwriting of God.1 Something of the divine is in us when we recognize, appreciate, or create beauty. It lifts, enlivens, and gives meaning to life.
The great glad tidings of Easter proclaim, “He is risen!” Throughout the Christian world, bells ring joyously, and congregations sing the good word, “Christ the Lord is risen today!” Perhaps, amid the solemn festivities, we might pause to ask: “And what of us? Have we risen to a fullness of joy in the Easter message?”
On “the most memorable Sunday in history,”1 Mary Magdalene and other women set out at dawn for the Lord’s tomb. Upon arriving, they were consoled by an angel: “Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus.”2 And then, a little later, the Lord himself comforted, “Be not afraid.”3
Sometimes it takes a serious jolt in life to open our eyes and see the glory of an ordinary day. Such was the case of one woman who recently faced a life-threatening illness. Through major surgery, though disfiguring, her life has been prolonged. Those who call to give her comfort are surprised when they hear her say that she is so blessed—that each morning when she awakes, she is so happy and thankful to be alive. For this woman, every ordinary day is now an extraordinary day that she greets with hope and enthusiasm.
One of the most difficult dilemmas of life can occur when we sense that a loved one or friend needs help, but we’re not sure how to provide it. Perhaps we see a child crying. Something has upset her; but, when we ask what’s wrong, she quickly replies, “Nothing.” Maybe a friend has lost his job, and we want to show our support and sympathy. But it is often difficult to find the right words. Perhaps a neighbor has suffered a loss, and we want to provide what comfort we can. But we are also reluctant to intrude inappropriately.
There is something about looking upon the stars lighting the black night’s sky that gives rise to dreams and wants and wishes. Perhaps it is the infinite range of the heavens that suggest what we hope are our own limitless potentials. Maybe the unknown and unexplored make us wonder what lies ahead for us to discover. Or, possibly, we feel a connection with the divine that helps us seek to transcend life’s limitations.
We human beings are, for the most part, strong-willed creatures. We want to do things our way, make our own decisions, follow our own path. But, when we have lost our path, when we stumble and feel mired in confusion and despair, then we yearn for someone to lead us. We long for a kindly light to give us wise and sure direction.
Life’s true treasures are those we can share with others without ever reducing our own supply.
A critic of modern culture once asked, “Why do so many people pray to acquire good fortune, and so few pray to acquire good judgment?”1
One of the most frustrating, but important, aspects of life’s journey can be the search to find our place in this world. We all need to be needed. We want to serve, and we want to feel as though we’ve made a difference. We all know that we’ve been given talents, but too often we are at a loss as to how to use them.
Throughout the scriptures we are encouraged to praise God. The arts, for example, are filled with works which celebrate His goodness and His glory. In countless paintings, songs, poems, and sculptures we experience how artists pay tribute to the Creator and inspire in us feelings of reverence and gratitude.
Long ago, the prophet Samuel was taught: “. . . the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.”1 This passage of scripture is familiar to many. But, like Samuel, we may find it difficult at times not to be distracted—or even misled—by appearances.
After World War II a statue of Christ that was damaged in the fighting was painstakingly restored—except for its hands, which could not be repaired. Instead of crafting new hands, the addition of this powerful phrase gave the statue new meaning: “Christ has no hands but ours.” While earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal, it is our opportunity to lift and bless the lives of others. Acting in harmony with the best we know, we can become the hands of heaven.
Of all the plants that grow in this garden that is our life, none is hardier than peace.
Nations across the world teach their young to honor their elderly, but to those who look in the mirror and see an older person looking back at them, comes the question: Are you honoring yourself as you grow old?
Have you ever watched a young child at play? But is it really play? What we call play can be serious business to a child. Watch a child listening to the dial tone on a telephone or touching the prickly ends of a fir tree or catching snowflakes in gloved hands. These are simple things that we, as adults, take for granted. But, to the child, the sound, the feel, the sight is pure delight.
It is hard sometimes to understand why we must suffer in this life. A father watched his daughter play through the one-way glass of her nursery school window. He smiled, and like many of us, more than once he would reach for the doorknob, ready to rescue her from the dangers of discovery. However, his desire to protect her was tempered by the instinct of a loving father, who knows that scraped knees, tear-stained cheeks, and bruised feelings are sometimes part of the growth development.
Most people are generous in giving support to others during difficult times; but surprisingly, some are less generous with support and praise during the good times. Surely, we must mourn with those who mourn; but, just as surely, we ought to rejoice with those who rejoice.
There are two ways to look at life and the world. We can see the good or the bad, the beautiful or the ugly. Both are there, and what we focus on and choose to see is what brings us feelings of joy or feelings of despair. As a simple example, on a foggy day some people choose to complain about the inconvenience the fog causes, while others accept this occurrence of nature with anticipation for the beauty it brings. When it happens in a cold climate, the results are almost magical. As the fog lifts, it leaves moisture frozen to every branch on every Bush and tree, and the effect is breathtakingly beautiful. Or, in a warmer climate by the sea, as the fog rolls in there is a mystic feeling of suspense and wonder as ships come from out of nowhere or as a setting sun, diffused by the mist, becomes a huge, enchanted red ball in the sky. What we see and enjoy is up to us.
In times of privation and hunger, all people dream of feasts of tables piled with fruits and game of rich sauces and warm bread. Perhaps This is why metaphors of hunger and feasting are so frequently applied to spiritual matters. Those who “hunger and thirst after righteousness”1 are blessed; at the same time, we are urged to “feast upon the words of Christ.”2 As George Bernard Shaw put it: “No nation… can live without public-houses in which to seek refreshment… In the church alone can our need be truly met, so that the soul may open all its avenues of life to the holy air of… truth.”3 We must eat to sustain life and so God reminds us that we must similarly partake of his inspired words to sustain our spiritual lives.
A popular phrase today is “don't sweat the small stuff.” but, in fact, life is made-up of small stuff - little details that combine, like stitches in a tapestry, to make a work of art.
There is a great joy in knowing that God is watching over us, that He cares about us and wants us to be happy. Relying on this knowledge, we can call upon our caring Creator and significantly increase the peace and happiness we desire in life. As we reach out to Him in prayer, He is with us. This was demonstrated recently when a young couple expressed fears they had after a series of drive by shootings occurred in their city. The husband told how they became afraid to go anywhere, even to work, for fear of becoming a random target. He said their fears were completely dispelled and peace returned when they began praying specifically to be protected, even directed, from the path of such danger.
In his famous biography of Samuel Johnson, James Boswell quotes from a conversation between Johnson and a man named Oliver Edwards. Edwards makes the following observation: “I have tried too in my time to be a philosopher; but I don't know how, cheerfulness was always breaking in.”1
Among the resources we each possess; our time is the most precious and perishable. Each day ticking clocks and changing calendars, growing children and aging parents, remind us that life is fragile and fleeting. When we were children, it seemed like an endless processional of days would give us more than enough time to do everything; as adults, we realize that our limited time forces us to make important decisions and to create priorities. Still, too easily and too often we squander our time, forgetting that "time is the stuff of which life is made."1
The tight grip of every newborn’s hand is a tangible reminder of our need for each other. Physicians may call this the “grasp reflect,” but mothers and fathers know it as a baby’s tender clutch – the instinctive ability of a newborn to grab hold of a finger. The implications of this spontaneous grip are far reaching; we are born with the ability, even the need, to hold on to each other. Hand in hand we make our way through infancy and childhood; hand in hand we must make our way through life.
No matter who we are or where we come from, we all react to certain warning signs the same way. We all know to pull over when we hear a siren. None of us would ignore the shout of “Fire!” or a call for help. Likewise, we all know the symbol for poison.
How do we measure beauty? What is its essence, its substance, its reality? From the beginning of time, people have looked at landscapes and paintings and words and declared them “beautiful”; even while philosophers have asserted that beauty is something purely subjective, a quality that exists only in the eye of the beholder. And yet, year after year, people pack their belongings into cars and travel to parks and vistas, canyons and waterfalls, museums, and theaters to stare in wonder, to marvel together. At what? This thing we call beauty.
Were it not for trust, our society simply would not work. For, when we proceed from an assumption of mistrust, we become paralyzed by our doubts, by our cynicism, and suspicions. We end up wondering whom we can trust, in the whom we can confide, by whom we will be cared for.
What is the fascination we have with the coming of each new year? Is it not that we hope things will turn out better? There are so many improvements to wish for, but none so important and long lasting as what we can hope to accomplish in our own homes, families, and neighborhoods.