“Face it. Embrace it. Defy it.” That motto has become the driving force for Victoria Arlen who, at the age of eleven, slipped into a vegetative state from which survival was unlikely.

Arlen shared her story in her new book, Locked In. “My back and side ached, so doctors took out my appendix,” she wrote. “Then my legs began giving out. My foot dragged. Within two weeks, I lost all feeling and function in my legs. Next, my hands stopped working. I couldn’t control my arms, couldn’t swallow properly, or find the right words when I wanted to speak.” Arlen says she was “slowly slipping away” from her family before “everything went dark.” Two years later, she woke up but couldn’t move. She could hear the conversations going on around her—including doctors claiming there was “no hope”– but had no way of letting anyone know. After three years, she was diagnosed with two autoimmune disorders that caused swelling in her brain and spinal cord. Arlen’s family refused to believe the prognosis and set up a hospital room in their house. In December 2009, after four years in a vegetative state, Arlen made eye contact with her mom. Unbeknownst to her parents and twin brothers (they are triplets), Arlen had been writing screen plays in her head, practicing her times tables and listening to Good Morning America. More importantly, she constantly dialogued with God, promising if she was given a second chance, she would “not waste a single moment.” Over the next year she gained more control. “Raw sounds became words, became sentences. A twitch of my index finger became the wave of my hand. The ability to swallow pudding eventually led to me mowing on a steak.” The wheelchair became her legs, after being told she would be paralyzed from her belly button down for the rest of her life. Her brothers disagreed, and remembering what a “water baby” their sister was growing up, threw her into the pool. “I was terrified,” she wrote. “But it was a turning point in my life. It was the ‘jump’ I needed to get back to my life. When I was swimming, I was free from the chair. And to my surprise, I was still good. In the water, I found freedom — and my confidence.” Arlen’s difficulties were not over. After missing five years of school, she went back in 2010 and was surprised that she was bullied for being in a wheelchair. Instead of quitting, that fueled her passion to dig into her studies and graduate…and swim. At age 17, Arlen made the USA Paralympic swim team and competed at the London Games, bringing home three silver medals and a gold in the 100-meter freestyle and setting a world record in the 100-meter free. On March 3, 2016, six years after waking up, six years after working up to six hours a day learning to walk, Arlen, strapped into a harness above a treadmill, took her first step. You might know her better as a 2017 semi-finalist in the hit show Dancing With the Stars or as a television personality for ESPN. Both Victoria and her mother, Jacqueline, say all this tragedy happened for a divinely-appointed reason.  “I wouldn’t choose this life,” Victoria said, “but I wouldn’t change it…I think there’s a lot of people going through different things where you feel like your whole world’s imploded and you feel like you lost it all, whether it’s physical, emotional, whatever you’re going through…If I can be that beacon of hope for people that need it the most through dancing and through our storytelling, then I’ve done my job.”

And how does Jacqueline hope Victoria’s story “impacts the world”?  “Bring them to Jesus!” she exclaimed.  “That’s what we want to do, to bring them to find God’s light and love, to give faith and hope, and to realize that all is not lost.  That you can do all things through Christ who strengthens you.  That’s what we really want at the end of the day. I pray we all can say the same.

“My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.” Psalm 121:2

Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” she asked. I replied, “No. I’ve got some work to do around the house.” I kissed her, and she got in the car. She waved at me as she backed out of the driveway. I smiled and went back in the house. I thought, “She will be so surprised when she gets home.”

My wife, Amanda, has a collection of windmill shaped cookie jars. She has over seventy windmill cookie jars. She has been collecting for years. Some are valuable. She shows off her collection when company comes over. She is very fond of her windmill cookie jars.

Most of her cookie jars are kept in a large cabinet with glass doors. The other day, we took a vote for me to clean and dust the cabinet. Actually, Amanda took a vote of one to nothing for me to clean and dust the cabinet…

Last Saturday afternoon, I decided to do some household chores while Amanda was out running errands. I wanted to surprise her by cleaning her cookie jars and dusting the cabinet.

She had been gone for a little while when she called me and asked, “What are you doing?” I said, “I am about to clean and dust your cookie jar cabinet.” She said, “Honey, don’t do it now. Wait until I get home. I want to help you move my cookie jars.” I said, “I can do it,” and hung up. She called me four times in the next thirty minutes. She said, “Please wait until I get home. Don’t try to move my cookie jars by yourself.” I said, “I’m a grown man. I know what I’m doing.” And I hung up.

Instead of taking them out of the cabinet one at a time, I grabbed two or three in my arms. I was in a hurry, and that was the fastest way.

Suddenly, the lid fell off a cookie jar. It seemed to fall in slow motion. I watched it fall. It hit the floor and shattered into 8 or 10 pieces.

Immediately, I thought, “Amanda is going to kill me when she gets home.”

I got scared and I went straight for the gun – the hot glue gun. After a few minutes, ugly yellow strands of glue ran everywhere. I pieced the lid together, wiped off the excess glue, and put the cookie jar back in the cabinet.

I didn’t think she would notice. However, when Amanda returned, the first thing she noticed was the broken lid glued together. She said, “Why didn’t you wait for me? Why did you try to carry all that stuff by yourself? I told you I would help you.”

Sometimes in life, we try to carry a burden by ourselves when there is no need. Help is waiting. All we must do is ask for it.

The point is: God looks down at His hard-headed children, and asks, “Why are you trying to carry all that stuff by yourself? Why are you trying to carry all your relationship issues by yourself? Why are you trying to carry all that comes with raising your children by yourself? Why are you trying to carry the stress of your job by yourself? Why are you trying to carry all your problems by yourself?

The Bible says, “My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth” In other words, God says, “I am your strength.”

Are you carrying a load that is too much for you? Cast your burden on the Lord and He shall sustain you.

Pastor James Collins serves at Fort Scott’s First Southern Baptist Church. He can be reached at (620) 223-2986 or through the webpage www.thepointis.net.

I appeal to you, brothers, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree, and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment (1 Cor. 1:10)

Denominational splits might have been much fewer had churches put Paul’s advice into practice. Researching this topic, I was shocked at some of the petty arguments leading to denominational divides:

• Which picture of Jesus should hang in the foyer
• If a weed eater should be purchased or not
• If “deviled” eggs should be served at the church dinners
• If cranberry/grape juice instead of grape juice is a communion substitute
• Whether or not to add stall dividers in the women’s restroom

No doubt it was issues like these that led to the joke about a rescued man who had lived on a desert island for years. His liberators questioned why he had built three huts. “Well, the first one is my house, the second one is my church.” The obvious question followed: “What’s the third hut?”

“Oh, that’s where I USED to go to church!”

Sometimes instead of church splits, there are mere rifts:

• A three-hour meeting over whether or not to buy a new vacuum cleaner followed by a vote to determine which church members should be allowed to use it
• A quarrel over replacing a worship song with a Bible reading/ singing verses 1-3 instead of 1,2 and 4
• A squabble over where the pastor stood outside to greet the people after church
• A 45-minute spat at a women’s group meeting over whether dinner rolls for an upcoming church supper ought to be sliced horizontally or vertically
• A remodeling project in which an elderly man didn’t like the idea of recessed lighting and referred to the scripture about not hiding our light under a bush

One church elder wrote about his experience: “One time in our church staff meeting (9,000- member church in a very affluent suburb in North Houston), a 25-minute argument ensued over how many hot-dogs we should order for the 4th of July service celebration: ‘Should we order 1,200 or 1,500?’ There was a food bank/kitchen literally three blocks away that would gladly take the excess. But we had to argue over 300 hot dogs for 25 minutes … because, you know, they’re so darned expensive and ‘we have to be good stewards.’”

Typically, churches do not split over trivial matters. The most common splits happen over financial or doctrinal issues, members who have a sense of entitlement instead of service and dissenting church-goers who move from church to church, sowing seeds of discord. Nevertheless, they all leave in their wake hurt feelings and un-Christlike attitudes.

Imagine what would have happened had Paul’s appeal been practiced from his day forward. I think we all know the answer to that.

The Bottom Line

I remember my parents teaching me the value of money and how to work. My first job that earned money was given to me by my mother. She handed me a fly swatter and told me she’d give me a nickel for every hundred flies I killed. We lived in Arkansas and had chickens and pigs, so there were plenty of flies. I’d kill my hundred (learning to count as well), ride my bike a half mile down the gravel road to the store, and usually spend my nickel on a PayDay candy bar. If I worked really hard, I could earn enough to buy a 10-cent grape pop as well. I’d keep my eyes peeled for pop bottles in the ditch because I could redeem them at the store.

Let’s do a quick study on wages and gifts. A wage is something you earn because you work for it, and a gift is totally free. The best example of this is found in the Bible. “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 6:23 NLT). The “wages of sin” refers to the payday that comes as a result of working for the devil. You may think, “Now wait a minute! I certainly don’t serve the devil!” But God’s Word says that if you haven’t accepted God’s free gift of salvation through His Son, you’re earning wages of death from Satan. There’s no in-between, it’s one or the other. If you’re thinking of moonlighting for God, forget it — that won’t work either. Jesus said, “You must love the Lord your God with ALL your heart, ALL your soul, and ALL your mind” (Matthew 22:37 NLT).

A life of sin will eventually destroy you. The nonbeliever works hard for sin his whole life and then his pension is eternal torment. Obviously, the devil makes a rotten boss. The deceptive thing about sin is that it comes disguised as self-gratification, fun, and fulfillment. Satan is the master deceiver who lures people into a life of misery by promising them all kinds of happiness. However, the real payoff for all their hard work is disappointment, destruction, and death. But God’s gift is abundant life now and into eternity, all freely given by Christ Jesus.

The meaning of “gift” is an endowment, something freely given. God lovingly gives grace (favor) to those who call upon His name. Blessings, benefits, and bestowments all come to us from a kind heavenly Father who gives, and gives, and keeps on giving because it’s His nature. Because He loved the world, He gave His Son.

The wages of sin is earned. The gift of God is graciously given and freely received. Before conversion we were all on Satan’s payroll. But as believers, we’re on God’s gift list! The devil’s final payoff is eternal punishment, but God’s ultimate gift is His Son, Jesus. He loves you and wants to bless you and give you a mansion in heaven. When Jesus died on the cross, He paid the price that was necessary for your sins to be forgiven. If you believe that, then forsake your sins, confess Him as Lord, and you‘ll receive forgiveness and the gift of eternal life.

The Bottom Line: Payday is coming for those who refuse God’s wonderful gift.

A Time To Mourn

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

I was awakened at 2:30 in the morning by a pounding on my door. Adrenaline immediately hit my system as I jumped to my feet. You learn how to sleep and sort of stay awake at the same time in combat. I threw open the door to see the face of Pfc. Clark. “Come quick chaplain,” he said. “We had a convoy get hit. There is one casualty.” Clark turned to run back to headquarters. I yelled after him, “Who?” He stopped, looked over his shoulder, and said, “Maj. Culver.”

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. My eyes welled up with tears. As I hurriedly dressed, I argued and bargained with God. “No! No! No! You can’t do this. Not Wayne. Let it be a mistake. Take my life instead.” I slipped my boots on without lacing them and ran out into the night. There was a red haze in the air. Literally, the Iraqi desert looked like hell.

The tactical operations center was quiet when I enter the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me. The squadron commander, Ltc. William Rachal walked over. He put his hand on my shoulder and whispered, “Chappy, the vehicle Wayne was in was struck by an IED. He was killed instantly.” My legs felt weak, I backed up against the wall, and slid down into a chair. Ltc. Rachal leaned in and continued, “I know that you are hurting, but I need you to hold it together. Everyone will be looking to you.” I choked back tears, stood to my feet, and said, “Yes, sir.”

Ltc. Rachal was right. Over the next few days, people did look to me. As the chaplain for Task Force Geronimo, the soldiers looked to me for spiritual guidance and comfort – especially in a time of loss. Wayne was a huge loss. To our unit, Maj. Ronald “Wayne” Culver was our executive officer. To me, he was the best friend I had on the deployment.

We spent a lot of time together in the year leading up to our arrival in Iraq. Once we arrived, we made it a point to have coffee every morning. We didn’t talk business over morning coffee. The conversations were about family, movies, music, and God. I intentionally ended each morning coffee with a prayer for Wayne. The last time I saw him, I also prayed for him. He was getting ready to depart on the ill-fated mission. When I finished praying, Wayne smiled and said, “You didn’t pray in little baby Jesus name.” He was jokingly referring to a line in the movie, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.

Since his death and over the years, I often think about his children. His daughter, Michelle, finished her master’s degree last year. She lives in Austin and works for the State of Texas. His son, Ron, graduated from the University of Kansas last week. Wayne would be proud of them.

It is going on ten years, since I last spoke to Wayne’s wife, Tracy. I can’t work up the courage to contact her. At our deployment ceremony, Tracy said to me, “I am so glad that you have come into Wayne’s life. Since he met you, he is more focused on the Lord. Wayne loves you.” Then she said something to me that haunts my dreams. She said, “Keep him straight. Take care of him.” Tragically, I couldn’t take care of him…

The day before Wayne’s death, I had just returned to Iraq from ten days in the United States. I had been given leave to go home to be with my wife, Amanda, for the birth of our son, John. My son was born one week, and my best friend died the next. There is a time to be born; and a time to die. To everything there is a season…

The point is: The Bible teaches there is a time for mourning. When Wayne died, I really couldn’t process his passing. I had to be strong. I had to soldier on. I had to preach his memorial service. My season for mourning had to wait. It had to wait until today. As I write these words, my heart breaks over the loss of my friend.

Memorial Day is this Monday. It is a solemn day to remember those who gave everything in the service of this country. It is a time to honor those who gave their lives for the freedoms we cherish. It is a time to mourn their loss.

However, I have come to realize that Wayne would not want me to mourn forever. So, I have decided to look forward. There will come a time when I will see Wayne again. There will come a time when we will share a morning cup of coffee. There will come a time when death and sadness will be no more. There will come a time when there will be no more crying, pain, or mourning.

I don’t know about you, but I look forward to that season…

James Collins is a pastor, columnist, author, and retired U.S. Army Chaplain. He can be reached at Fort Scott’s First Southern Baptist Church at (620) 223-2986, or through the website www.thepointis.net.

“Well, I told you not to do it like that and you did it anyway.” A very irritated postal worker here in Florida was not pleased with a co-worker. After she repeated that statement two more times, my mission, when I got to her station, was to try and ease the tension. In the meantime, I would enjoy the Lady Gaga music over the speaker system and be thankful I safely had ridden my bike the two miles to get there without getting run over by some maniac driver.

On my turn, I began by saying how much I enjoyed the music. Her snarky silence let me know that she couldn’t care less. She applied the extra postage I needed while I quietly hummed along to “Shallow.” I gave her a ten-dollar bill; she told me that she did not have change and needed a credit card. Because I biked there, I didn’t have my wallet, I said. “Well, I don’t have change,” she replied, loudly and rudely. Since the line behind me was rather long, I was in hopes a Good Samaritan would offer change. Nope. (You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy, I told myself, which has become my mantra here in Jupiter on multiple occasions.)

“I will just stand over here and wait for all these other people to be helped. Perhaps then you will have change.”

“Forget it,” she barked. “Just take all of my change. Then I won’t have any left.”

Looking at her nametag (Ms. Khan), I continued. “I’m sorry, You’ve been open only 10 minutes. I’m surprised that’s all the money you have left.”
“Forget it.” And with that, she handed me $8.46…which might have been the perfect time to join Lady Gaga in song:Tell me somethin’, girl, are you happy in this modern world?
Or do you need more? Is there somethin’ else you’re searchin’ for?

Then again, perhaps silence was a better option.

As I exited, she began shrieking at the woman behind me who didn’t bring the right change either. I turned to hand the poor lady some of my money just as she pulled out a credit card that prevented Ms. Khan from jumping over the counter and poking her eyes out. Once we both were outside, she shared how she had reported “that rude clerk before” and encouraged me to do the same…right then. Emboldened by this lady’s courage, I went back inside. No supervisor was available. I was given a phone number to call.

Over the next couple of days, God began to change my mind. This clerk was rude for a reason. Perhaps she was having marital issues or financial issues. Perhaps she just didn’t like Lady Gaga. Today I returned to the post office to show Jesus’ love to a hurting soul. With no line and only Ms. Khan working, the timing was perfect. Thank you, Lord.

I began. “Ms. Khan, the last time I was in here, you were rude not only to a co-worker but also to me and another lady who encouraged me to report you. I chose not to do that but to speak to you in person.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You informed a lady working at the counter next to you—long brown hair and glasses—that you had told her not to do something and she did it anyway.”
“I have no memory of that.”

“Well, I do. You said it three times, and she appeared terribly embarrassed. I later thought that perhaps you were going through some difficulties. Sometimes I’m unkind when times are tough, and as a Christian I wondered if maybe I could pray for you.

“I’m not going through anything except I’m fasting twice a day for my religion” (I’m guessing Muslim), “and no, I don’t need your prayers.” And that was that.

As I turned to leave, she left me with these parting words: “Besides, I’m just loud.” I wanted to remind her that there is a difference between loud and rude. Lucky for her (and probably for me), silence was the better option. I think I’ll pray for her anyway.

“Whom having not seen, ye love; in whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory: Receiving the end of your faith, even the salvation of your souls.” 1 Peter 1:8-9

I have discovered that one of the main reasons to stay married to is to help each other find stuff. Whenever I lose something, my wife Amanda, always asks me, “Where did you have it last?”

“Where are my keys?”

“Where did you have them last?”

“Where’s my wallet?”

“Where did you have it last?”

“Where’s my phone?”

“Where did you have it last?”

“Where’s my nose hair trimmers?”

“Where did you have it last?”

A while back, I was cutting up a couple of old dead trees for firewood. I had my chainsaw, bar and chain oil, gas, saw file, and a scrench. What’s a scrench? A scrench is a tool that is a combination of a screwdriver and a wrench. It is used to adjust the tension on your chainsaw blade.

So, I was out cutting firewood. I noticed the chain on the chainsaw needed to be tightened. I looked down and saw the gas, oil, and file. However, I couldn’t find the scrench.

I started to look for the scrench. I looked under the gas can. I got down on my knees and crawled around looking for it in the grass. Then I thought, maybe I left it in the tool shed. I went to the shed and I looked and looked. I tore the shed apart. When I finished looking, it looked like a bomb had gone off in the shed. But I still couldn’t find it. I was getting frustrated.

Earlier, I had gone into the house to get a drink. Did I leave it in the house? I went inside.

I looked in the laundry room. I looked in the living room. I looked in the kitchen. I even went in the bedroom and I tore the covers off the bed just in case the scrench was somehow in the covers.

After I looked for about an hour, I remembered my wife’s words, “Where did you have it last?” I thought, “I am pretty sure that I had it out by the old dead tree.” So, I went out to where I had been working earlier. I looked, and I looked, and I looked. I could not find the scrench. I was mad at this point.

Amanda came outside and said, “Are you still looking for that screwdriver thingee?” I said, “Yes, and it’s called a scrench.” She smiled at me and said, “It’s right there sticking out of your back pocket.”

The point is: If you have lost something, the best place to look is the last place you had it. Do you know where I found that scrench? Right where I left it? Do you know where your joy is? Right where you left it? Do you know where your peace is? Right where you left it? Do you know where your passion is? Right where you left it? Do you know where your fire is for Jesus? Right where you left it?

Jesus is right where you left Him. Come back to Him today.

Pastor James Collins serves at Fort Scott’s First Southern Baptist Church. He can be reached at (620) 223-2986 or through the webpage www.thepointis.net.

As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another. (Proverbs 27:17)

The United Kingdom’s Eric Liddell was the athlete who refused to run on a Sunday in the 1924 Olympics. Chariots of Fire was the movie made famous by his story. If you watched it, you might remember Liddell’s notable line: “I believe God made me for a purpose, but He also made me fast. And when I run, I feel his pleasure.” Later, when asked from where he drew his strength, he answered, “The secret of my success over the 400 meters is that I run the first 200 meters as hard as I can. Then, for the second 200 meters, with God’s help, I run harder.”

In 2016, On Wings of Eagles was released, depicting the rest of Liddell’s life as a missionary/teacher in China who refused to leave as the Japanese advanced, staying behind to continue his work after sending his pregnant wife to Canada with their two daughters. Liddell was captured and ended up in a Japanese internment camp.

After watching the movie alone one evening, I knew it was one I wanted Dave and my visiting friends—very academic, total history buffs– to see. After viewing it, we discussed the history of that war and the inhumane treatment the Japanese inflicted on their prisoners. I learned more than I wanted to know.

Then one of our friends questioned why more of Jesus was not illustrated. Liddell’s faith and love of the Bible were apparent as he sacrificially protected and offered hope to his fellow prisoners, but omitting the redemptive story of forgiveness and the Cross was painfully absent. She questioned why screenwriters are so afraid of offending their audiences and consequently stop short of crossing the Jesus’ line, that showing the Olympian teaching the young children Bible stories was not enough. Liddell’s faith was so strong, surely he shared Jesus with his fellow prisoners. So, why was that not included? To her, it was a representation of how our world-view is changing which led to an exchange about laws before Congress that are hell-bent on leaving God out of everything.

I said that I was pleased to see any faith characterized, and even if it lacked boldness, it was evident throughout the movie that Liddell was a prayer warrior who relied on God for his strength as he set up church services, schooling, and sporting activities for the children, as well as cared for the sick. Our talk continued as we discussed how Christian movies now are far superior to those produced a few years ago.

That conversation was revisited this past Friday when Dave and I had dinner with Gene and Carol Kent. Carol was here in Jupiter, Florida, speaking at a local church for Mothers’ Day. I shared the interchange we had had the previous week with our other, mutual friends. Carol asked if we had seen Unplanned, a bold, new release based on the memoir of Abby Johnson who left Planned Parenthood to be an advocate against abortion. Carol shared that she recently had attended its premier with Solomon, the writer of the Unplanned’s screenplay, who happened to be at Carol’s house helping her finalize her latest book. At the premier, Carol stood up before the movie began—an atypical, bold move for her, she admitted– and introduced the screenwriter to the audience. At the end of the movie, Carol was thrilled that Solomon got a standing ovation.

I love these kinds of exchanges, where Christian lives intersect with various perspectives and experiences and where sometimes we might have to agree to disagree. Most of the time, I am keenly aware that we are not “iron sharpening iron” but more like “iron sharpening rusty, tin can, but I always leave these conversations knowing that my faith has been strengthened because God has been honored in what we had to say.

Now, if I could just do that all the time…