Live Life With No Ifs

Famed pianist Artur Rubinstein, celebrating his 84^th birthday, said: 

"As long as we have what we have inside, the capacity to love, to work, to hear music, to see a flower, to look at the world as it is, nothing can stop us from being happy...but one thing you must take seriously. You must get rid of the ifs of life. Many people tell you, 'I would be happy - if I had a certain job, or if I were better looking, or if a certain person would marry me.' There isn't any such thing. You must live your life unconditionally, without the ifs."

- Bits & Pieces (April 30, 1992)

Fat And Pretty

The little boy loved his mother and loved to sit on her lap.  One day the boy was sitting on his mother's lap while she was reading a book to him.  After she finished the book, he cuddled up close to her and said, "I love you, Mommy!"

His mother was grateful for his love but mistakenly questioned the worth of its object.  She asked, "How can you love a mother who is so fat and ugly?"

The son quickly protested, "Oh, Mommy, you are not!  You're fat and pretty!"

- Parables, Etc. (March 1996)

Forgiving In The Midst Of The Dark Days

On the morning of October 2, 2006, Charles Carl Roberts barricaded himself inside West Nickel Mines Amish School. After murdering five young girls and wounding six others, Roberts committed suicide. It was a dark day for the Amish community of West Nickel Mines, but it was also a dark day for Marie Roberts, the wife of the gunman, and her two young children.

On the following Saturday, Marie went to her husband’s funeral. She and her children watched in amazement as Amish families — about half of the seventy-five mourners present — came and stood alongside them in the midst of their blinding grief. Despite the horrific crimes the man had committed against them, the Amish came to mourn Charles Carl Roberts as a husband and daddy.

Bruce Porter, a fire department chaplain who attended the Service, was profoundly moved: “It’s the love, the heartfelt forgiveness they have toward the family. I broke down and cried seeing it displayed.” He said Marie Roberts was also touched. “She was absolutely, deeply moved by the love shown.”

 — “Amish Mourn Gunman in School 
Rampage,” USA Today (October 7, 2006)

An Invitation of Unconditional Acceptance

Longing to leave her poor Brazilian neighborhood, Christina wanted to see the world.  Discontent with home having only a pallet on the floor, a washbasin, and a wood-burning stove, she dreamed of a better life in the city.  One morning she slipped away, breaking her mother's heart.

Knowing what life on the streets would be like for her young, attractive daughter, Maria hurriedly packed to go find her.  On her way to the bus stop she entered a drugstore to get one last thing.  Pictures.  She sat in the photograph booth, closed the curtain, and spent all she could on pictures of herself.  With her purse full of black-and-white photos, she boarded the next bus to Rio de Janeiro.

Maria knew Christina had no way of earning money.  She also knew that her daughter was too stubborn to give up.  When pride meets hunger, a human will do things that were before unthinkable. Knowing this, Maria began her search.  Bars, hotels, nightclubs, any place with the reputation for street walkers or prostitutes.  She went to them all.  And at each place she left her picture--taped on a bathroom mirror, tacked to a hotel bulletin board, fastened to a corner phone booth,  and on the back of each photo she wrote a note.  It wasn't too long before both the money and the pictures ran out, and Maria had to go home.

The weary mother wept as the bus began its long journey back to her small village.  It was a few weeks later that young Christina descended the hotel stairs.  Her young face was tired.  Her brown eyes no longer danced with youth but spoke of pain and fear.  Her laughter was broken.  Her dream had become a nightmare.  A thousand times over she had longed to trade these countless beds for her secure pallet.  Yet the little village was, in too many ways, too far away.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes noticed a familiar face.  She looked again, and there on the lobby mirror was a small picture of her mother.  Christina's eyes burned and her throat tightened as she walked across the room and removed the small photo.  Written on the back was this compelling invitation.  "Whatever you have done, whatever you have become, it doesn't matter.  Please come home."

She did.

- Max Lucado, No Wonder They Call Him Savior (Multnomah Press, 1986)