Outlive Your Life_ You Were Made to Make a Difference - Max Lucado [9]
Remember, dear brothers and sisters, that few of you were wise in the world’s eyes or powerful or wealthy when God called you. Instead, God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise. And he chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful.
(1 Cor. 1:26–27 NLT)
Loving Father, you made me, so you know very well that I am but dust. Yet you have called me into your kingdom to serve you at this specific place, at this specific time, for a very specific purpose. Despite my ordinariness, I belong to you—and you are anything but ordinary! Help me pour out your grace and compassion upon others that they, too, may experience the richness of your love. Through me, my Father, show others how you can use an ordinary life to bring extraordinary blessing into the world. In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.
CHAPTER 3
Let God Unshell You
They’re speaking our languages,
describing God’s mighty works!
—ACTS 2:11 (MSG)
May I show you my new clamshell? It just arrived. My old one was thinning out. You know how worn they can get. Sheer as the wall of a cheap motel. Mine was so chipped I could see right through it. And noise? It couldn’t block the sound of a baby’s whimper.
So I bought this new model. Special-ordered. Tailor-made. Top-of-the-line. I can stand up in it. Sit down in it. Sleep in the thing if I want to. Go ahead, take a look inside. See the flip-down ledge on the left? Cup holder! Check out the headphones. As if the shell’s insulation wasn’t enough, I can turn up the music and tune out the world. All I do is step in, grab the handle on the interior of the upper shell, and pull it closed.
Better than body armor, thick as an army tank. Think of it as a bunker for the soul. In here the world has no hunger or orphans. And poverty? This shell comes factory coated with a sadness screen. Racism? Injustice? They bounce off my shell like rain off a turtle’s back.
Let me tell you how good this baby is. I went to the convenience store this morning for coffee and a paper. I was standing in the checkout line, minding my own business, when I noticed the fellow in front of me was paying with food stamps. He wore a baseball cap, baggy khakis, and flip-flops and had three kids at his knees. Close enough to detect his thick accent, I pegged him as an immigrant. I can typically stir up a good smirk and pigeonhole these people as fast as you can say, “Burden on society.” But this family started getting to me. The little girls were strawberry sweet, with their skin the color of milk chocolate and their almond-shaped eyes. One of them smiled in my direction. Before I knew it, I smiled back.
About that time the cashier shook her head and returned the food stamps. Apparently their value wasn’t enough to cover the purchase. The father gave her a confused look. That’s when it hit me. I can help him out. Little did I know, a cloud of kindness vapor had been released into the store. My body began to react. A lump formed in my throat. Moisture puddled in the corners of my eyes. I began to experience a sensation in my chest: gelatinous cardiacinus, better known as soft heart.
Then came the involuntary reflexes. My left hand lifted to signal my willingness. The other dug in my pocket for money. That’s when I snapped to my senses and realized what was happening. I was under a compassion attack. I immediately lifted the lid of my shell and climbed in. I noticed other shoppers had already taken cover. I barely escaped. What would we have done without our clamshells?
Don’t know what I’d do without mine. When news reports describe Afghan refugees, into the shell I go. When a homeless person appears with a cardboard sign, I just close the lid. When missionaries describe multitudes of lost, lonely souls, I climb in. Why, just last week someone told me about regions of the world that have no clean water. Without my clamshell to protect me, who knows what I would have done. I might have written a check!
This is quite a shield. You probably have your own. Most of us have learned