This is my nephew, Tad. When Tad was eight years old, we decided to work on a project together. We went out in search of a way to build a dream catcher and found a kit to put one together. Tad was fascinated by the Native American legend: if a dream catcher was placed in the window of your bedroom, bad dreams would be caught in the web before they drifted into your sleep.
To be honest, I have few memories of the event. I do remember the joy of hanging out with my buddy Tad and spending a few moments investing in our relationship. Those moments are never wasted.
Every moment is a matter of perspective. If I keep an eternal mindset, every experience becomes essential and impactful. We have no idea how the Lord will use even the most inconsequential words or actions to permeate and permanently change a person’s life. Something said or done, even off the cuff, at a moment’s notice, can alter a person’s day.
We hear about emotional and verbal abuse all the time, aimed not just at children but at adults as well. How often do we forget that as believers in Jesus, every footstep we take is drawing us closer to our eternal home? How often do we recognize that every breath we breathe is laced with opportunity to show that reality to others?
Even when we don’t mention the name of Jesus, we are still representing him. What if I’m the only chance a restaurant server will have to see Jesus today? Will I leave just a little bit more on the gratuity, or will I fret over whether I should tip on the tax or not? Will I intentionally look at the person and take a moment to know him or her?
I have a great friend who is a pastor in Las Vegas. When Jimmy, Marna, and family go to supper at a restaurant, they always pray over their meal. Jimmy makes it a point to tell their servers they are about to pray, and he asks if there is anything he can lift up for them as they pray. It’s usually a shock to the servers. But there’s almost always a need offered up.
One day I was getting gas for my car. As I walked to the window to hand my cash to the young lady I’d seen in that same window many times before, I was suddenly struck with the realization that I never saw her smile. She was mechanical—not rude or unkind, but she pushed the same gas buttons every day and slid the cash drawer back and forth the same way day in and day out. No smile. Monotony.
When she slid the drawer back and asked if I wanted the full ten-cent discount per gallon the same way she probably had said it thirty times that day, I paused. She looked up for my response. I said, “Please don’t think I’m creepy, but the Lord has blessed you with the most beautiful eyes.”
It was an eternal moment. The young lady’s countenance completely changed. She beamed as she broke into a big, heartfelt smile and said, “Thank you.”
She might never remember it again; I don’t know. But in that moment, I felt the presence of the Lord.
Sometimes we have to be bolder. Sometimes those eternal moments present an opportunity to stand up for the bullied or disenfranchised. Though I wish I were better at handling those situations, I almost always lean toward the underdog. The problem lies in my knee-jerk tendency to demean the perpetrator. What I should do instead is verbally accost the bully with love.
I remember one example vividly. With an empty, gnawing stomach, I saw a sign at my favorite chicken place that said, “Nine pieces for $9.99.” For me, those pieces of chicken would cover three or maybe three and a half meals. (When I was younger, that much poultry would have been one meal, tops.)
Let me say, before you read the rest of this tale, I did say, “Ma’am,” at one point. That will be important later and maybe show I did try to retain a semblance of integrity. My feeble attempt at accosting with love.
The drive-through was insane, so I figured it would be much quicker to go inside. In theory, that would have been correct. When I got inside, there was only one customer in front of me, obviously waiting for her nine pieces of chicken.
I placed my order. The two girls bravely operating the cash registers, clearly exhausted, tried their best to be sweet and professional. The girl taking my order said it would be a few minutes. I told her it was no problem. I saw cooks and servers dashing around behind the counter. Yep, they were busy that day.
The lady in front of me, obviously feeling a little more entitled than she should have, yelled, “Could you please find out how long it will be for the rest of my order? It’s just two pieces!”
One of the counter girls, exasperated and deflated, sluggishly apologized. “It’ll be just a few more minutes. They’re trying to cook more.”
The lady heavy-sighed, crossed her arms, shook her head, and leaned against the counter.
I was, at that point, mildly amused, and to be honest, throughout the rest of our encounter, that amused interest never left me. The lady huffed, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to come earlier next time if I’m going to have to wait!”
The poor employee shrugged and almost whispered, “It wouldn’t matter. It’s been like this all night.” I almost laughed out loud.
The lady turned to me and, with the most exasperated voice she could muster, said, “Can you believe this?”
The girls behind the counter looked at me, weakly waiting for me to agree with her. I furrowed my brow, focused on her, and said, “Ma’am, followers of Christ are being beheaded by horrible pure evil. People are dying excruciatingly painful deaths all over the world by the thousands from a grisly virus that no one should have to experience, only because they don’t have access to a vaccine that can save them. Women and children in Sudan are abused and are dying from thirst or starvation because they refuse to deny their belief in Jesus. Dogs and cats are living together. And you, on the other hand, are all up in your feelings journal over a chicken leg. Seriously? It’s a chicken leg!”
For the next few seconds, I’m fairly sure I heard a nightingale sing in Berkeley Square.
I glanced over to see both the workers resembling baby sparrows with their mouths agape, apparently waiting for the momma bird to toss chicken nuggets into them.
Fortunately, the awkward silence was broken by one of the girls sliding a bag with two final pieces of chicken across the counter to the lady, who was still staring at me as if my head had spun around and I’d ralphed up green pea soup. She sheepishly picked up her bag and skulked away.
One of the girls, with mouth still ajar, slid my box to me. I shrugged and said, “Sorry. Someone had to do it.” She raised her fist in solidarity so I could give her knucks.
In the car, I did a HEART check: Was I hungry? Exhausted? Angry? Resentful? Tense? Apparently, I was starving.
I hope the lady who needed to hear words that might have been tough will think long and hard before she faults and berates others for petty circumstances out of their control. And maybe I will think long and hard before opening my mouth, even if it is the perfect rebuff. Or maybe not.
When I spent those few hours with my nephew, Tad—who, by the way, has grown into one of the best men I know—it never crossed my mind that it would be any more than a good time. Tad owned every Lego known to mankind. He would disappear for hours. None of us would worry about him, because he was never a rebellious kid. He never used drugs or abused alcohol. He was a really good guy. We would find him hours later, sitting in his room, surrounded by Legos, building an airplane or the Millennium Falcon or creating a labyrinthine safe house, totally content.
During Tad’s kindergarten year, my sister made the tough decision to hold him back in school. He didn’t do well that year, and she decided he needed a do-over. Because of that impossible decision, Tad made one B his entire school career. All the rest were As. He went on to study at West Point and became a Black Hawk pilot.
When Jacqui sent the above picture of Tad holding that silly dream catcher, she told me it had hung in Tad’s bedroom his entire life, even on the wall in his room at West Point. When Tad was in the army, it traveled with him to Afghanistan and every other post where he lived.
I never knew about it. That’s the important thing here. We have no idea about the ripple-on-the-pond effect. We never know how many of those tiny waves continue expanding until they reach the shores of heaven.
I’m convinced we will spend eons upon eons of time in heaven, if we have done the simple work of investing in moments here on earth, hearing people say, “Hey, I became a follower of Christ. I’m here because you invested time in our mutual friend.” Or “Do you remember the day you silently asked the Lord to bless that small child walking down the sidewalk? My life wasn’t always easy, but you listened to the Holy Spirit that day, and the Lord blessed your prayer, and he blessed me. And I’m here now. Thank you.”
Hebrews 10:24–25 (MSG) says, “Let’s see how inventive we can be in encouraging love and helping out, not avoiding worshiping together as some do but spurring each other on, especially as we see the big Day approaching.”
So what will be the opportunity look like for you today?
The answer is this: don’t look. Don’t wait for the Lord to say, “Here’s your chance to make an eternal difference in this person’s life.” You see, every moment is an opportunity. Every encounter you leave behind will be a chance for someone to say, “Wow, whatever they have, I want it.”
When Tad and his precious wife, Abby, were expecting their first child at any minute, Jacqui was there, waiting to do what she was made to do: be a grandmother. She sent me the following picture.
On the wall is a drawing of an elephant being held aloft by balloons with this precious little boy’s name, Thomas Allen Lefler, and under the picture, hanging just above Thomas’s bassinet is a twenty-five-year-old dream catcher filled with a lifetime of dreams.
I pray Thomas’s dreams will always be filled with visions of his eternal home in heaven and a Savior who knows him by name.
