We're all wounded healers.  The only comfort we have to give others is the comfort that we've cried out for in our grief and received from God and Christ's Ambassadors.

You and I, we're thirsty travelers sharing water with those who are dying of thirst in this desert world.  The only refreshment we have to give is the living water that we've found, first in a spiritual oasis that God led us to, and then in an overflowing spring with the Living Waters of the Holy Spirit that God dug into our own souls.

These are the two pathways to God, two rivers of life: Grief and longing.  They are the only two ways to God.

What Was In Jeremy's Egg?

By Stephanie Rexroat Gaumer, MA,

Program Manager, Center for Leadership Development, sgaumer@uci.edu

Jeremy was born with a twisted body, a slow mind and a chronic, terminal illness that had been slowly killing him all his young life.  Still, his parents had tried to give him as normal a life as possible and had sent him to St. Theresa's Elementary School.

At the age of 12, Jeremy was only in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with him.  He would squirm in his seat, drool and make grunting noises. At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain. Most of the time, however, Jeremy

Irritated his teacher.

One day, she called his parents and asked them to come to St. Teresa's for a consultation. As the Forresters sat quietly in the empty classroom, Doris said to them, "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn't fair to him to be with younger children who don't have learning problems. Why, there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other students!"

Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue while her husband spoke.  "Miss Miller," he said, "there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know he really likes it here."

Doris sat for a long time after they left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathize with the Forresters. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn't fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach and Jeremy was a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read or write.  Why waste any more time trying? As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. "Oh God," she said aloud, "here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared with that poor family! Please help me to be more patient with Jeremy."

From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy's noises and his blank stares. Then one day he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him. "I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loudly enough for the whole class to hear. The other children snickered, and Doris' face turned red. She stammered, "Wh-Why, that's very nice, Jeremy. Now please take your seat."

Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Doris told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg. "Now," she said to them "I want you to take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Miller!" the children responded enthusiastically - all except for Jeremy. He just listened intently, his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about Jesus' death and resurrection?  Did he understand the assignment?  Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them.

That evening, Doris' kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it.  After that, she still had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy's parents.

The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller's desk.

After they completed their Math lesson, it was time to open the eggs. In the first egg, Doris found a flower. "Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life," she said. "When plants peek through the ground we know that spring is here" A small girl in the first row waved her arms.  "That's my egg, Miss Miller," she called out.

The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Doris held it up. "We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes that is new life, too." Little Judy smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one is mine."

Next Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that the moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom. "My Daddy helped me!" he beamed.

Then Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty!  Surely it must be Jeremy's, she thought, and, of course, he did not understand her instructions. If only she had not forgotten to phone his parents.  Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another. Suddenly Jeremy spoke up.  "Miss Miller, aren't you going to talk about my egg?" Flustered, Doris replied, "but Jeremy - your egg is empty!" He looked into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus' tomb was empty too!"

Time stopped.

When she could speak again. Doris asked him," Do you know why the tomb was empty?" "Oh yes!" Jeremy exclaimed. "Jesus was killed and put in there. Then his Father raised him up!"

The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the schoolyard, Doris cried. The cold inside her melted completely away. Three months later Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of them empty.

Even with Jeremy's disabilities, in the midst of his struggles and pain, he longed for God and found him.  Will you enter into his pain?  Will you feel his longing for God?

Unless you Become Like a Child.

"Unless you become like a child you cannot enter the kingdom of God," Jesus told us.  Children cry out for help when they hurt.  They long to be loved and to love.  They're eager to believe in God and to follow his ways.

One morning when Briana, my youngest daughter was seven-years old, I awoke to find her sleeping on the floor next to the bed her mother and I were in.  Apparently, as she often does when she's had a bad dream or isn't feeling well, she had crept into our bedroom with her pillow, sleeping bag, and "Oreo" kitty cat stuffed animal and camped out on our carpet.  When she woke up later that morning my wife told me that she had heard Briana singing a song she made up based on a Sunday school song called "My Father's House":

"Come and go with me into my Father's house.  It has a big, big room with lots and lots of floor that we can sleep on.  Come and go with me into my Father's house.  It has a big, big table with lots of time that we can all talk.  And then we get to play with Jesus!"

In the safety of sleeping next to her mommy and daddy, in the freedom to share in dinner time conversation, and in the joy of playing "rough and tough" with her daddy and her brother and sister she experienced her Heavenly Father's care, the deepest longing of her soul.

The Two Rivers Become One

When we care for souls in Jesus' name the two rivers, pain and longing, come together.  We're taking our pains and our longings for God and to be used by God to help others and we're offering these at God's altar,

"Lord, what will you do with my story? Here am I send me!  May your comfort overflow from me to others even as your sufferings have.  My food is to do your will O Lord.  Use me as Christ's Ambassador."

Reflections from Ground Zero

by Gordon MacDonald, "Leadership Journal" September 18, 2001

Sunday after the World Trade Center attack, Gail and I spoke to 200 Salvation Army officers and cadets in New York. Then two officers took us downtown. Our first view of Manhattan came as we passed over the George Washington Bridge. The World Trade Center was missing.

For those of us who pride ourselves in being full-time or part-time New Yorkers, who know what it's like to get up each morning and look to see if the Towers are visible or in the clouds, it was the first of many shocks. We drove down the West Side Highway, passing through checkpoint after checkpoint with our special credentials. The Salvation Army insignia is pure gold.

We parked and walked and then, suddenly, there was Ground Zero, six square blocks of twisted rubble, 110 floors of two imploded buildings, and their entire volume is less than two stories high. It is like a gigantic European plaza with open sky. But each building surrounding the plaza is lifeless, every window (and often the facade) gone.

Then you notice the workmen, several thousand, like ants crawling over the pile, in bucket brigades of a hundred or more in a line. When I asked why such a primitive form of rubbish removal, I was told that it was the only way to get at bodies.

An unbroken line of workers was arriving, like soldiers to the front in a war. Each carried some kind of tool: a shovel, a pickax, electronic equipment. Another line, just as fascinating, but far more disturbing, was coming out. Men exhausted, filthy, hardly able to walk.

We joined a small team of SA people at a nearby canteen, just feet away from the crater. Gail immediately set about to organize supplies because they were in disarray.

My place was with the workmen. I simply stepped out as the lines moved by and started saying, "You look like a man who needs something to drink." Virtually every man I encountered stopped and took what I offered. I would make conversation: "How long have you been in the hole?" "What's your job?" "Where's your family?" "Do you have buddies in the pile? (Meaning: did you lose someone?)." Virtually everyone did. Many had lost more than one. Many had lost relatives (the police and fire services are full of related people).

Almost no one refused my offer to talk. They would spill their guts. I talked with men who'd just uncovered body parts. You could smell death in their clothes. Often I would say, "I'm a guy who likes to pray for his friends. Would you mind a prayer?" No one ever refused. Most reached out and grabbed my hand, or, if I put my hand on their shoulders, would come instinctively closer. My prayer: "God, I thank you for my new friend. Please keep him brave, strong, safe, and true. And help him remember this city dearly loves him today."

Then word came that the men on the bucket brigades were hot and thirsty. So a couple of us filled large buckets with small plastic bottles of water and entered the crater. I found myself up on the piles of rubble alongside the men and the sniffer dogs. The smell was not as oppressive as I'd been warned, but it was there.

Some of the men at the very top of the piles could not be reached. So I lobbed bottles, like throwing passes at a football game, up the piles. It became for some of the men almost a game, a moment of welcome distraction. Like a chaplain in war, my experience was going from soldier to soldier reminding them God is there.

No church service has spoken so deeply into my soul and witnessed to the presence of God as those hours at the crash site. Being on that street, giving cold water to workers, praying and weeping with them, I felt like saying, "This is the place where Jesus most wants to be."

Do you see it?  Can you feel it yet?  Comforting others in pain, sharing God with those in need, "This is the place where Jesus most wants to be."

We're So Thirsty for God and Sharing Him with Others

"As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?  My tears have been my food day and night. Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls (Psalm 42:1-3a, 7a, NIV). "There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God" (Psalm 46a, NIV).  The Father draws us (John 6:44).  Jesus offers, "If anyone is thirsty let him come to me" (John 7:38a, NIV).  "The Spirit and the bride say, 'Come!' And let him who hears say, 'Come!' Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life" (Revelation 22:17, NIV).  "Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb" (Revelation 22:1, NIV).  "Let him drink and streams of living water will flow from within him" (John 7:38b, NIV).

The spring of living water is the Holy Spirit.  The Spirit refreshes us.  The fruit of the Spirit is the soul food that we long for.  We drink.  We eat.  And the living water overflows, the bread and fish are multiplied as we pass it out to those who are hungry and hurting.

How to Receive and Give God's LIFE

I want to show you what I'm talking about, how it is that the rivers of grief and longing lead us to "The Tree of Life."

What do you Need to Cry Out to God For?

Pain comes to all of us in life.  What do we do with it?  So often we deny it and hide from God others.  Maybe we feel sorry for ourselves and get depressed.  Maybe we get busy and anxious.  Or maybe we cover our pain with alcohol, food, or sex.  No, no, no.  We need to feel our pain and bring it to God and to Christ's Ambassadors.  We need comfort.  Then we can be comforters of others.

Matthew 9:18-38 (Visual Bible)