One thing we see a lot of in the store is tattoos. From the small, understated rose on an ankle to full arm images of mythical dragons. Nicknames on knuckles. Names on necks. Some in multiple colors, some with plain black ink. All applied with a needle. Which is why you won’t find any tattoos on me.

Last week during halftime of the Suns/Mavericks game, a 20-something guy came in the store sporting a tattoo unlike any I’d seen. It was a dandelion. About ten inches long from top to bottom. The kind of dandelion you blow the fluff off of. It was expertly done. Some of the seeds in flight, as if it had just been bumped by a light breeze. But this tattoo also showed the root of the plant, deep into the ground. And where the green stem stopped and the root started, a gray cross section of concrete, smooth on the top and jagged on the bottom. 

I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “There’s got to be a story behind this. What is it?”

He looked at the tattoo and then at me. “Years ago someone asked me what my favorite plant was. I said the first thing that popped into my head. “The weeds that grow through the cracks in the driveway.” It was a random answer, but it kind of stuck with me. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. You know, growing in a hard spot. Perseverance. That kind of thing. So when I decided to get a tattoo I knew exactly what I wanted it to be.”

Pointing to his arm he added, “I just had the concrete added this week. I think it turned out great.” 

It sure did.

Growing in a hard spot. Thriving in difficult circumstances. Blooming where you are planted, even if where you’re planted is an unforgiving rock hard place. There are plenty of days I wish I had the perseverance of a dandelion.

In God’s design you and I are higher in the created order than a dandelion. Though we’re sometimes hard pressed to see it in our rough and tumble world, we are created in the image of God. Psalm 8 says that we were “made a little lower than God” and that He has entrusted us to rule over His creation. All that to say we are very valuable to God and He has a divine purpose for our lives.

And that’s the rub. In the middle of our gut wrenching, heart shredding, head banging hard times, we don’t see the purpose in it. How can anything that hurts so much be for our good? Caring friends might attempt to encourage us with a card that says, “God has a plan for your life”. They mean well. And it’s true. God does have a plan. So we smile and nod and say “thank you”, while our pain thinks about how satisfying it would be to put the entire Hallmark section through a paper shredder, one platitude at a time.

We may know in our head that God has a plan. Psalm 139 says that “all our days were written down in His book before there was yet one of them.” In our hurt, our hearts wonder if He’s looking at the wrong page. Yet the only way we can grow in a hard spot and thrive in difficult circumstances is to remember that every difficulty in our lives is attached to a higher purpose. In God’s economy, our pain is never for free. It’s always attached to the higher purpose of conforming us into the image of His Son Jesus Christ, who suffered all things that you and I might be made complete.

God never promises that our pain will make sense to us. We may die confused. God does promise that everything has a purpose and no experience is wasted. 

So in the middle of our pain, much better to ask “what?” than “why?”. The “why?” may never be answered. Yet the prayer, “God, what will you have me learn from this?” is one He never fails to answer.

Growing in a hard spot. Thriving in difficult circumstances. Blooming where you are planted, even if where you’re planted is an unforgiving rock hard place.

Persevere. Your pain isn’t for free. God is growing something good in you.

“And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. For whom He did foreknow, He also predestined to become conformed to the image of His Son…” – Romans 8:28-29

Still focused on the shirts he answered, “Do you have this in a Small?”

That voice. I’ve heard it before. But not in a very long time. And where? My brain started flipping through the mental file cabinet, trying to match the voice with a name. In less than 15 seconds it came up with the answer. I happened to have a small toy hockey stick in my hand and before I could check myself, I lightly whacked him on the shoulder.

“Ron!”

He spun around, surprised by my aggressive approach to customer service. He looked confused and stared at my name badge until he made the connection.

“Todd!”

We had gone to high school together. I hadn’t seen or spoken with him in 25 years.

We exchanged the customary “what have you been up to?” questions, trying to quickly sum up two decades in less than five minutes. Turns out he had a great job as general manager of a large business in the valley. We talked for a bit, then he went back to watch the game and I went back to work.

This brief meeting got me thinking about a couple things. First, how amazing it is that my brain was able to make a positive ID on a voice I hadn’t heard in 25 years. Second, and more importantly, how much we as human beings can change over time. Were I to ask him, I think Ron would agree that no one would have ever accused him of taking high school too seriously. I remember him as one quick to laugh and always joking around. He liked to drive his cars fast and hard and somewhere there’s a couple transmissions in a junkyard that will attest to that. I don’t remember ever seeing Ron study, though I’m sure he did. At least once in awhile.

25 years later the guy who shook my hand had worked his way up and earned the title of the guy in charge, responsible for many employees. I sure wouldn’t have expected that. But that would be my shortsightedness, not Ron’s.

If asked the question, “What’s happened to you in the last 25 years?” we would each be able to relate a series of decisions and circumstances, events both anticipated and unexpected. Surprises that run the gamut. We could talk about how we aren’t where we expected to be. Maybe we chose the road on purpose or maybe life ran us into the ditch and we ended up on the other side; shaken up and scratched up and on a different path that, good or bad, is what it is. We’d talk of stepping forward and falling backward. At the end of our story would stand a truth so obvious it wouldn’t need mentioning.

The truth that we aren’t the same person we were 25 years ago.

We all have a tendency to freeze people in our mind. We remember them the way they were, like faces in a school yearbook, not allowing them the same grace we extend to ourselves. That being the grace of growth and change. Class clowns sometimes grow into responsible adults with a great sense of humor. Wallflowers sometimes bloom into effervescent, winsome personalities. Reckless risk takers sometimes become conservative, measured businessmen who trade their RPM gauges and double pumper carburetors for Morningstar reports and stock charts.

All of us are frozen in time in someone’s mind. They may remember us as a nice person. They may remember us as a mean person. They may remember us as a good friend. Or as one who hurt them.

We can’t do anything to melt the memory they have of us. All we can do is be the best person we can be going forward. If it’s inevitable that we’ll be frozen in someone’s memory, much better to be remembered as a kind person who cared.

We’ve all grown. We’ve all changed. Bumping into Ron reminded me that I need to extend the grace of growth and change to those I remember. Even if I never see them again. Because God is at work in all of us, whether we realize it or acknowledge it.

Next time you think about someone from long ago and ask, “I wonder how so and so is doing?”, add one more question.

“I wonder if they’ve changed as much as I have?”

Extend grace.

Even in your memories.

It’s dry in the desert. That’s why they call it a desert. On a good year, the Phoenix valley receives only 7″ of rain. This hasn’t been a good year. Until God turned on the faucet last Saturday, it had been 143 days in a row with no rain. The last time water fell from the sky was October 18th. My twins’ birthday. When you’re 5, not seeing something for 143 days can make you forget you ever knew what it was. Annie looked out the window with disbelief and asked, “Daddy, is that rain?”

Rain here is a tease. Sometimes it’s spotty. It might be pouring buckets at your friend’s house a half mile away while you’re washing your car under sunny skies. Rain is especially fickle here during monsoon season. It’s a seasonal weather pattern of hot, moist air that blows up from Mexico during July and August. You see the clouds form in the late afternoon and you think it’s finally going to pour. More often than not, all you get is a dust storm; a wall of wind whipped dirt followed by 12 drops of rain on your windshield. A little mud in your eye as it laughs going away.

Saturday was not a tease. It really rained. The clouds rolled into town, took off their coats and stayed awhile. In a place where the sun shines 330 days a year, a day like this is more than a treat. It’s an event not to be missed. Gray skies. The steady sounds of water dripping off bougainvillea leaves onto the sidewalk. The splash of tires rolling through puddles. The smell of water in the air. The feel of raindrops on your face. The sight of accumulated dust and grime being washed away clean.

I worked the Suns game that Saturday night. Fans came through the doors from the parking garage and the street, coats damp and dripping, no one complaining. When you’ve been dry and dusty for five months, you welcome the shower. Wet rubber soles squeaked on the floor and folks stopped to wipe off their glasses before moving along the concourse. It was easy to see the rain made people happy. It had been 143 days. Now the wait was over. The rain came.

Waiting.

We do a lot of waiting.

In Phoenix, we wait for rain. In Seattle, they wait for sunshine. We all wait in line at the grocery store. Some waiting is expected. No one in their right mind ever goes to the Social Security office or the Department of Motor Vehicles expecting to be in and out in five minutes. Some waiting we plan for.

It’s waiting when we didn’t plan to wait that is the hardest.

Like waiting for a job when we’ve been unemployed two months after the savings runs out. Waiting for the doctor to say this round of chemo therapy finally worked. Waiting for a baby to place in the nursery that’s been ready, and empty, for years. Waiting for that estranged relationship to be reconciled.

This is the waiting that exasperates and exhausts us. And if we’re honest, it is a waiting that frustrates and angers us. Because deep down, whether we admit it or not, we realize we’re waiting on God. He could do something about it if He wanted to. So why doesn’t He? Why doesn’t He do something? Anything to show us a glimpse of forward progress?

Most of the time we want our waiting to be over because we’re ready for a change of scenery. We want to be delivered from our immediate circumstances. All we can see is what’s in front of us. God has a different vantage point. He sees the big picture.

Though it pains me to say it, our waiting may be God’s working.

Abraham was an old and childless man when God promised him a son. If it was a hilarious thought that at 75 years old Abraham would be shopping for bottle warmers and a bouncy seat, then it was beyond incredible for him to be in the delivery room at age 100. But that’s what happened. God promised Abraham a son. And delivered on His promise 25 years later. They named him Isaac. It means “laughter”. Being a new dad when you’re 100 is pretty funny.

We can read the account in the book of Genesis and we can wonder about the wait. But God must have had His reasons. Albert Baylis put it this way,

“It appears God wants to do more with Abraham than drop promises on him. Abraham had received an irrevocable promise from God. But being God’s candidate for blessing is not a trip to Disneyland. Because God is going to bless Abraham, he’s going to make him into a man of faith. Because He is going to make Abraham a blessing, God will take whatever time is necessary. And God has never let time bother Him.”

Time bothers us. But it doesn’t bother God.

If you’re waiting, know that God is working. It’s ok to yell and scream about it. It’s ok to wonder how and why. The Bible is full of people who, in the middle of their dry dust wait, threw up their questions to God. No worries. He is big enough to handle them. You may not get the answers you like. You may not get answers at all. But this much is true. God always delivers on His promises. In His time and in His way. And always for your good and His glory.

Hang in there.

The rain is coming.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” – Proverbs 13:12

“The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him.” – Lamentations 3:25

So what if it’s a mundane task? So what if no one else would think this is a big deal? On this day I am the best ice chipper out’er in the world. So instead of blowing her off, I said, “Yes I am. I’m very good at this. And thank you for saying so.” I likely did twenty other jobs that day more important than defrosting the freezer. But the only job I remember is the one my daughter complimented me on.
 
Today make it a point to pay a sincere compliment to the people in your path. When it comes to kind words, we’re all sponges ready to soak them up. Express your appreciation. Praise a job well done. Acknowledge that which is taken for granted. Give kudos for consistency. The one hearing your words will never forget the sound of your applause.
 
And if you’re going to compliment someone on their ability to defrost a freezer, you can tell them they’re a really good ice chipper, but you can’t say they are the best.
 
Because that would be me.
 
Now go make someone’s day.

“Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” – Proverbs 16:24

In my part-time job I sell merchandise at America West Arena. Home to the NBA Phoenix Suns, Arizona Rattlers Arena Football team, and the Phoenix Roadrunners Hockey Club. For these events, our walk in store is open like any in a mall. For concerts, the set up is different.

In a concert setting we put two long tables across the opening to the store and set up grids behind us to display the merchandise. Boxes on the floor are full of t-shirts, arranged by style and size. The popularity and notoriety of the group in concert determines the size of the crowd and the pace of the evening. We’ve worked so many concerts that we are fairly able to predict what to expect. How steady sales will be, the length of the walk out, what type of outfits and clothing the fans will be wearing, whether it will be a heavy cash or heavy credit card night, and what kind of behavior will be displayed. Put another way, how many drunk and/or belligerent concert goers will the police escort out of the building?

The style of music determines the style of the crowd. George Strait brings in more cowboy hats and Tony Lama boots than you’ve ever seen under one roof. Cher (whose “Farewell Tour” has played the arena three times…so far) brings in more cross-dressers than you’ve ever seen under one roof. And the Rolling Stones are a magnet for Baby Boomers who rang up their credit cards for a building record of over $260,000 in merchandise in one evening.

We’ve worked so many concerts that we are fairly able to predict what to expect. Most of the time we’re right. But once in awhile we’re surprised. Which is to say that once in awhile my prejudices are challenged.

Nine Inch Nails came to town some time ago. It’s not music that I listen to. Some of the words on their concert T-shirts I wouldn’t feel comfortable listing here. Many of their fans are big into the Gothic look. The black overcoats, tattoos, multiple body piercings, black eye and lip liner. Part of me doesn’t care about this. To each his own. But when I push past the platitude, I know that I have pre-conceived ideas about the Goth look and the people who dress this way. If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t have been surprised on this night.

I expected the usual crush at the tables. Ten people across and thirty people deep, pushing for position and demanding to be next. Only I expected worse from this crowd. Anyone in a leather jacket with a spiked green Mohawk, an angry neck tattoo, and a chain connecting the ring in his nose to the ring in his ear can’t be of pleasant disposition, right? I was fairly certain this would be a night we’d be yelling for Security to help keep order.

But it didn’t happen. At all. Not once. There was no crush of people. No yelling. In fact, on their own they formed two neat lines. One for cash and one for debit/credit. This never happens at a concert. Ever. The odds of two neat lines at a concert merchandise table are the same as a pack of wild dogs forming a line behind a plate of pork chops.

There was no profanity, no demanding to be waited on. Quite the contrary. We heard, “I believe that she was here first. Please go ahead. I’ll wait.” And “May I please see the black photo T in a large? Thank you.” And “I’m sorry to be a bother, but could I see this in a medium instead?” And “Thanks for helping me. Have a great evening, ok?”

The courtesy and politeness were mind blowing. Especially in contrast to the Baby Boomers (read: “people my age”) who attended the REO Speedwagon/Styx concert within the same two week period. There was no black finger nail polish or wallet chains to be found on that night. But they were, for the most part, obnoxious, rude and downright insufferable. Put French cuffs and a silk tie on a jerk and all you have is a well-dressed jerk.

One reason we hold to wrong beliefs about people is that we don’t get close enough for our prejudices to be challenged. It’s easy to judge from a distance. The only conversation we have to have is with ourselves. We decide not to like people based on what we see or what we think we know. Humans tend to be down on what we’re not up on. The only way to get “up” is to get close enough for our prejudices to be challenged. I was down on the Gothic image because the only conversation I had about it was with myself. The concert forced me to examine my attitudes, which were proven to be selfish and short-sighted. I’ll still never buy a Nine Inch Nails CD. But since that night my attitude is different toward those who do.

During His time on earth, Jesus loved people up close and personal. While the religious leaders and power brokers judged from a distance, Jesus mixed and mingled with everyone. Including everyone no one wanted to be associated with. The lepers, the tax collectors, the prostitutes, the “sinners”. Why? Because Jesus understood that people matter to God. All people. Whether someone’s sporting a black trench coat and a rivet in their ear or are prepped out in Izod and Sperry Topsiders, it’s just the outside of an inside that’s the same. We all need God.

Here’s hoping your prejudices are challenged this week. Maybe it’s getting close enough to better understand your mother-in-law. Or the co-worker with the Hoover personality that sucks the life out of you. Maybe it’s getting close enough to understand the culture your kids live in. Whatever it is for you, get close enough to be challenged. God will honor your effort. And you’ll be better for it.

By the way… up close, that spiked green Mohawk was really cool.

“…For God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” – 1 Samuel 16:7

Steve Nash, Shawn Marion and Amare Stoudemire have been a three-headed scoring monster in the second half, breathing 3-point fire from the perimeter and pounding down earthshaking slam dunks underneath. The clock ticks toward double zeros.

Marion, aka “The Matrix”, launches from the free throw line as from an invisible catapult. Twisting. Weaving. Flying. At the apex, over the outstretched arms of sweaty seven foot behemoths, he floats a soft high arcing shot that bounces once on the rim, once against the glass and through the net at the buzzer.

The crowd goes wild.

The crowd standing around the TV, that is.

Of all the curious human behavior I observe while at my job in America West Arena, one is most mystifying. It happens, without fail, every time there is a close game. In the final moments of the contest with the outcome hanging in the balance, a crowd begins to gather around the TV monitors in and around our Team Shop.

They’ve left their eye witness seats inside the arena to watch the end of the game on a 21″ Sony Trinitron. And the closer the game, the bigger the crowd. From time to time I’ll ask them why. Their answer? “We want to beat the traffic.”

These people paid anywhere from $60 to $500 per ticket. The live event is less than 40 feet away, yet they’re watching the end of the game on a TV monitor. Just so they can be one of the first out of the parking garage.

Who goes to a movie, sits through an hour and 45 minutes of suspense and at the point of “who dunnit?” says, “C’mon, Marge. Let’s go home. We’ll see the end when it comes out on video”?

It doesn’t make sense that we will sit through a movie to the end for an outcome that’s been recorded on film but walk away to watch on a television screen a live event whose outcome has yet to be determined.

What is it about us Americans that we find it so difficult to live in the moment? Why are we always thinking about the next big thing (or worrying about the next little thing) instead of enjoying the here and now? It’s certainly not because the here and now is lacking. We live in the most prosperous country in the world. What we as a nation spend on video games each year is more than the gross national product of some Third World countries. We have discretionary income. We have leisure time. We are, for the most part, well beyond the basics of food, shelter and clothing.

Years ago a missionary returning to America after many years serving in a remote area of a poor country was asked if he was surprised by the level of affluence in the United States. He answered, “No. It doesn’t surprise me how much you have. What surprises me is how little you enjoy it.” We have a lot. So why are we not enjoying it? Why are we consumed with the future at the expense of the present?

Jesus talked about the importance of living in the moment. That’s intriguing, seeing as how that advice comes from the One who was literally on a mission to save the world. Jesus had reason to think ahead. But He never walked away from today to get a peek at tomorrow. He said, “Don’t worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” (Matthew 6:34)

Perhaps this week we can be mindful of how we short-circuit the present moment. In what ways are you watching life on TV instead of living it live and in person? We can think about tomorrow but it only becomes ours if God gifts it to us. Today is all we have. To walk away from today is to not open the gift He has given. How many unopened packages have you left behind?

If you come to America West Arena, don’t let me see you standing in front of a TV at the end of the game. If I do, I’ll take your ticket and go live your moment for you. Trust me, there’s no need to leave early. To paraphrase, “Do not worry about the traffic. The traffic will worry about itself. Every freeway has enough traffic jams of its own.”

Carpe diem.

Panhandlers are fairly common around America West Arena, especially late at night after events. Usually at least one of them will hit you up for money as you’re leaving work and headed for your car. Some ask for food. Most ask for money that they say is for food. Most of them are lying.

But wheelchair guy is across the street. Not someone I’ll have to talk to tonight. He made the green light, though, and headed straight for me. With one leg stretched out stiff and straight on the foot step, he pushed himself with his other leg. He steered with his hands while looking over his shoulder, like driving everywhere in reverse.

The car was on the third level of the garage so, short of running up the stairs, there wasn’t any way to avoid him. Was I trying to avoid him? Honestly? Yes.

He spun his chair around and launched into a well-rehearsed spiel. You know, the overly friendly and enthusiastic greeting that attempts to overwhelm you and get you off balance.

“Excuse me, how ya doin’ tonight?” Verbally he plunged ahead while fumbling with his left hand for a tattered cardboard sign. “All I’ve gots is 75 cents to get something to eat. Can you spare anything?” With his right hand he held up a cheap clear plastic glass and jiggled the three quarters at the bottom. With his left hand he pulled out the sign wedged in the arm rest of his wheelchair. “Homeless and hungry. Please help. In Christ’s love…”  A nice variation on the typical “God Bless”. You can never really know if they mean it or if it just helps with the donations.

Even though I’ve been in this situation many times, I’d be lying to say I’m comfortable with it. Sometimes it’s easy to say no. I could say no. I could walk away. But my eye was stuck on his sign and the last three words scrawled in black. “In Christ’s love…”

I reached in my pocket and pulled out my wallet. All I had was a $10 bill. I gave it to him and said, “This is all I’ve got.” He looked twice and surprised. “That’ll do! Thank you!” Kicking his worn out Nike against the asphalt he pushed away and down the sidewalk.

Our most honest conversations are the ones we have in our mind. Conversations no one else hears.

“A $10 bill. Am I crazy? Why did I use my $1’s buying dinner tonight? Great. I just let a panhandler talk me out of $10 when my finances are tight. He’s probably on his way to a six-pack of beer or worse. And I gave him the money. And that sign. “In Christ’s love”. Right. Every panhandler puts “God Bless” or something like it on their sign. For all I know the guy was faking it and he’s parking his wheel chair in the alley while I’m out $10 bucks. Was I just so stupid to hand that money over? Then again, maybe he will use it for food. Who knows? That’s what’s maddening about this. Who knows?”

The next day I still felt conflicted. And the conflict produced some questions.

Why am I so concerned about the stewardship of a ten dollar bill when giving it to a homeless person? And why don’t I apply the same level of scrutiny to myself when I spend ten dollars on something I don’t need? Why am I so high and mighty in trying to discern whether or not the money I give to a panhandler will be spent judiciously?

Ten bucks. That’s a cheap pizza. So why am I wondering about the stewardship of the ten dollar bill I handed to the guy in a wheelchair when I don’t give it a thought if I’m chewing on a slice of Canadian bacon and mushroom from Hungry Howie’s? (With sesame crust, of course.) I don’t always spend money wisely. So where do I get off deciding whether or not the recipient of my pocket change is worthy to receive it?

What if God used my thought process when deciding whether or not to give me something? What conversation would God have with Himself? “How do I know Todd won’t waste it? How do I know he won’t go spend it on something foolish?Something that’s harmful to him? And is he working hard to be responsible for himself? Is he asking for this because he’s lazy? Or does he genuinely need it?”

Any way you look at it, God is generous with us. All of us. Or as the Bible puts it, “He sends His rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” (Matthew 5:45) Jesus also said, “If you, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Heavenly Father give what is good to those who ask Him?” (Matthew 7:11) Say what you will about God. He is a Giver.

“In Christ’s Love”. We can never know if they mean it or it just helps with the donations. Yet given a choice, it’s better to be generous and wrong than stingy and right. A CPA could argue that from a purely financial standpoint, God is crazy to keep giving to us. We don’t always manage the money well. But God keeps giving to us in abundance.

If God’s ok with being crazy in His giving, maybe we can risk being a little crazy ourselves.

Several months ago I worked the Phil Collins concert. I was at my stand selling T-shirts and other merchandise when in the crush of people a little girl appeared in front of me on the other side of the table. There with her mother, the little one looked to be about 9 or 10 years old. Way too young to be at a concert, let alone know who Phil Collins is. But she seemed like a true fan. She was giggly excited. All bouncy and wiggly and grinning and trying to decide which T-shirt to buy.

In the middle of her decision she spun toward her Mom and blurted, “Isn’t this just incredible?!!!”

“Yes, this is incredible!”

I said to the little one, “You seem really glad to be here.”

“I so am!”

Not five minutes earlier they had been upstairs headed for their seats in the nose bleed section of the arena. You know, the “Section 223 – Row 50″ seats where the band on stage looks like a musical flea circus.

A man stopped to talk with them as they were finding their way up the steep stairs to the upper row.

“Are those your seats up there?”

“Yes.”

“They don’t look like very good seats.”

“Yeah, well…it was the best we could do”, said the Mom.

Looking down at the little girl, the man asked, “Do you like Phil Collins?”

“Are you kidding?!!! I LOVE Phil Collins!”

Looking up toward the top row, the man said, “Those seats aren’t very good. I think you need better ones.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope.

Two tickets.

Floor seats.

Front row.

Dead center.

The man was with the band.

It was the little girl’s front row smile that said “Thank you!” when I handed her the T-shirt. She pulled her Mother into the portico and down the stairs to the arena floor.

That would have been enough, wouldn’t it? To tell your friends at school that you were going to the Phil Collins concert only to come back the next day and say you went from last row to front row? And what street smart fourth grader on the playground would believe that? You’d have to show your ticket stub to prove it and how much fun would that be? To flash the evidence and say, “See? I told you!”

That would have been enough, right?

In the middle of the last song of the set, right before the encore, Phil Collins came off the stage down to the front row. He gave the little girl a big hug, a kiss on the cheek and held up the microphone so she could sing the chorus with him. There was her front row smile, big as life up on the JumboTron, for 10,000 people to see. Excited? She was absolutely out of her mind.

The kids on the playground will never believe this.

Sometimes, just when you think it couldn’t possibly get any better, it does.

We live in a broken world. Because we do, our view of the good stuff on the stage is often from Row 50 in Section 223. The irony is when we do get front row seats on this fallen planet, it’s usually to an ugly or painful event we’d rather not be close to. Chronic health problems, financial stress, strained relationships, or the loss of someone we love. Those seats are always front row, dead center.

We live in a broken world, but we’re loved by a gracious God. A God who promised a long time ago that He would never leave us or forsake us in this broken world. Which is to say that wherever our seats happen to be at any given life event, He promises to be right there with us.

That would be enough, right? To have the promise of God that we will never do life alone? That He will always be here to guide and encourage? To love and strengthen and comfort?

That would be enough, right?

But God goes one better. He promises that all His lavish, gracious love will never end. Not in this broken world, nor in His perfect world that’s yet to come. Someday, when the show’s over down here, we’ll be front row, dead center up there. An unobstructed, up close view of our Savior. The One who came down off His stage so we could sing along.

Sometimes, just when you think it couldn’t possibly get any better…

It does.

“But because of His great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions – it is by grace you have been saved. And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with Him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages He might show the incomparable riches of His grace, expressed in His kindness to us in Christ Jesus.” – Ephesians 2:4-7

Early in the 2nd quarter, a young family showed up to occupy the empty seats next to us. A Mom and a Dad, and a daughter and a son, who appeared to be about 8 years old. Outward indications were that he had a slight degree of Down’s Syndrome. He watched the basketball players intently but during the timeouts he was standing on his seat, straining to see the Sun’s mascot, “The Gorilla”.

“The Gorilla” is a superb entertainer. Actor, gymnast, and clown all wrapped up in a furry black suit. The job is not without a degree of danger. Last year the Gorilla broke his ankle when he landed wrong from a trampoline slam dunk. Even with a walking cast, he still showed up to make people smile.

The Gorilla is everywhere during a game. Sometimes throwing out boxes of pizza to a lucky section of fans. Sometimes firing t-shirts into the crowd with an air cannon. And sometimes just making the rounds with his primate personality.

During a break in the action in the 4th quarter, the Gorilla made his way into the stands. He ran up the stairs in our direction and after a couple monkey hops over handrails it was clear that he was headed straight for us. The little boy was beside himself. The Gorilla was now only a couple rows away. He high-fived a grown-up or two, then bounded over the rail in front of us. The little boy could not believe his good fortune. He just looked up, wide-eyed, mouth open. The Gorilla rubbed him on the head, did a little dance and headed back toward the court.

About five rows down, the Gorilla made an abrupt about-face and came back. He did a two-hand vault over the handrail and stuck the landing right in front of the little boy, who was now dancing like a runaway fire hose. The two of them exchanged hand slaps and a friendly push and shove before the Gorilla reached into the pockets of his Suns warm-up jersey and handed the boy some souvenirs. He took half a step back and it was all the opening the little guy needed. He laid a giant hug on Gorilla, a hug that was returned with enthusiasm. One more high-five and he was gone, bouncing and jumping back to court side.

I did a quick scan of the row behind me and discovered I wasn’t the only one with a tear in my eye. The boy announced to everyone, “I know him. He comes to my hospital.” The way he put a first-person pronoun in front of “hospital” told me that hospital was a regular part of his routine.

We came to America West Arena to watch a professional basketball game. What I got was a graduate level lesson in communication. The Gorilla never speaks. Yet he is a highly skilled communicator. A master of body language. The tilt of the head, the motion of the hands, the shrug of his shoulders, the bounce in his step. How would you communicate to 15,000 people if you couldn’t speak?

Often we struggle to find the right words to express our thoughts, our feelings, our emotions. Choice words, well-spoken are a treasure, both to speak and to hear. But because we’re fallible human beings, we sometimes don’t choose our words carefully. We blurt out or spit out words we wish we could retract. And what do we use to repair words ill spoken? More words. Using more words to fix words ill spoken is not unlike changing the answer on a test question to which you don’t know the answer. You cut your chances in half again of being right. It doesn’t take long before we’re drowning in our own verbiage.

If communication is 90% non-verbal, how would it be if we tried communicating more by speaking less?

Somewhere in the valley there’s a little boy who considers The Phoenix Suns Gorilla his friend. In a brief moment, a team mascot made this kid feel welcome, excited, important, special, the center of attention and loved.

All without a word.

“Words from a wise man’s mouth are gracious, but a fool is consumed by his own lips. At the beginning his words are folly; at the end they are wicked madness–and the fool multiplies words.” – Ecclesiastes 10:13-14

The 20-something brother and sister were looking through a stack of Phoenix Suns shirts.

“Who knows? We’re buying for our mother. She’s really picky.”

“Don’t you have the “it’s from my daughter, I’m sure whatever it is I’ll love it” thing going for you?”

“You don’t know our mother.”

“So it’s more like, “You’re my daughter, you should know better” that you’re dealing with?”

“Exactly…This looks like the right size but if it shrinks it’ll be too tight and she’ll be upset. If I go a size bigger and guess wrong she’ll open it and say, “What’s this? Do you think I’m fat?”

The brother speaks. “She likes Diamondback stuff. Get her the World Series DVD. She and Dad can both enjoy that.”

“But that’s really more of a present for Dad. And we already got him a shirt. Which means Dad would be getting a gift and a half and Mom would just be getting half a gift.”

“So buy a shirt for her and the DVD for both of them and it’s even.”

“What if I get the wrong size?”

“She can always return it.”

“From Minneapolis?”

A few minutes later they left the store carrying the weight of Christmas present in a two-ply shopping bag.

The holiday music floating above our heads proclaims this a season of comfort and joy. A quick check of the facial expressions in any mall during the month of December and you’ll see that many of us aren’t buying it. Retailers do their biggest business around the holidays. So do counselors and psychologists. Stress and the holidays go together like red stripes and candy canes.

We open more than neatly wrapped packages at Christmas. We also open up the emotional boxes we’ve been stuffing in our closet all year. Or, perhaps more accurately, Christmas opens them for us. There’s something about Christmas that shines the light of reality on our relationships. Be they good, bad or ugly, we’re more aware of our perceived success or failure with others this time of year. And our awareness presents itself…in presents.

The preferred year-end relationship therapy of Americans is to buy something. The perfect gift, we tell ourselves, will make everything better. The perfect gift will communicate what I haven’t been able to say this year. The perfect gift will make up for all my mistakes. The perfect gift will reconcile me to the one who pulled away from me. Or to the one I pushed away.

On December 24th and 25th people from New York to Newport Beach will gather in living rooms and sit in front of fireplaces, anxiously waiting for their perfect gift to land on the lap of the one they love. Or the one we wish loved us. Or the one we’ve never been able to get along with and wish we could. Or the one we’ve been trying to please all our life. Or the one we hurt. Or the one who hurt us. Or the one who keeps us at a distance.

In a few days, many of us will live or die by the expression on another person’s face. Our success or failure depends on that microsecond flash of non-verbal feedback when they open our gift. If in their eyes we see happiness and affirmation, we win. If we don’t, we lose. Until that moment, our perfect gift sits under a tree like a time bomb and we’re praying it’s full of confetti.

For many of us, “the hopes and fears of all the years” are wrapped in ribbons and reindeer paper and sealed with Scotch tape. The perfect gift, we tell ourselves, will make everything better. It will break the communication log jam. It will be the key that opens the door to a locked heart. It will win us the approval we desperately seek. It will close the gap and heal the hurt. That’s an awful lot of weight to put on a cashmere sweater from Sak’s. Or a socket set from Sears.

There’s something about Christmas that shines the light of reality on our relationships. Some 2,000 years ago God shined His light on a broken, hopeless humanity. His preferred method of relational therapy was to give a Gift. And God knows all about the deep desire for a gift to be well-received. Every day He watches the eyes of His created humans for that expression of affirmation, that confirmation that His gift of forgiveness has been accepted. It’s the grandest gift money can’t buy. Accepted, it closes the gap, heals our hurts and heads us toward heaven.

That’s an awful lot of weight to put on the shoulders of a baby in a manger.

And that’s the miracle of God’s Christmas present.

“And the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which shall be for all people; for unto you this day in the city of David is born a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you; you will find the baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” – Luke 2:10-12