It is the dream of most every Dominican boy to play ball in the United States. Throughout the Domincan Republic young boys swing old rake handles or "anything else they can get for a bat, trying to hit a ball a little quicker, a little farther than anyone else" -- hoping to one day play in our major leagues.
Tony credits his mother not only for teaching him and his brothers how to play baseball but also for giving him a love for the game. His mother had been a pretty good softball player herself when she was young. When school was out and their chores were done, she'd walk her boys to a nearby pasture. She would stand on a rough dirt patch that served as the pitcher's mound and pitch to her sons. "All right, little Luis," she'd call in, "this pitch will be right down the middle." When it was Tony's turn she would say, "Okay, Tony look for this one in on the fists. You must learn to hit the inside pitch."
Tony Pena is thankful for the influence of his mother. Before he left for the United States, he prayed, "God, all I want from life is to be able to help my family. Please help me do that." Tony has helped his family. "Not long after I made the majors," he recalls. "I drove with Mama through the streets of Santiago." As they were driving Tony asked his mother, "what do you think of that house over there? Take a good look, Mama." They stopped in front of the house. "It's a wonderful house," his mother replied, "why do you ask? Are you thinking of buying it?" He paused--hardly able to contain himself. He handed her a set of keys, "I already have, Mama. For you." "Oh Tony," she said as tears began to stream down her face. At that special moment, Tony writes, "I thanked God for giving me such a mother."
WHO IS NOT MOVED BY SOMEONE WHO MAKES A WILLING SACRIFICE IN THEIR BEHALF?
Let me tell you about another man--a man named Willis Moore. Willis Moore recalls that his grandmother always ate cold grits. She preferred them hot. It was her priorities that caused them to be cold. Willis fondly remembers how his "Grandmother would cook a hot breakfast--fresh farm eggs, crisp bacon, homemade blackberry jelly and biscuits, and bowls of hot grits." The family would gather around the table. His grandfather would ask the blessing.
While the family was eating breakfast the grandmother would read devotions to the family. When she prayed everyone stopped eating and bowed their heads. Afterward everyone cheerfully joined in table conversation while finishing breakfast. "Only then," Willis remembers, "did Grandmother start to eat her breakfast and that is why she always ate cold grits." Willis remembers those special mornings and the example of his Grandmother. At that time it didn't seem all that important, but as the years rolled on he came to recognize the significance of those cold grits. "Spiritual formation," he writes, "is the memory of Grandmother putting God first at breakfast. Of course she did so in the other areas of her life, too, but the memory of her putting aside a hot breakfast to share God's word with her family feeds me yet."
We respond to such a sacrifice, don't we? So did the disciples of Jesus. The disciples looked up to Jesus. He called each of them and they followed him. For the better part of three years they listened and learned from him. Over and over Jesus tried to prepare his disciples for his impending suffering and death. They had a hard time understanding what he was talking about. They were confused and unsure of what would happen next. Jesus sensed their uneasiness and sought to reassure them. "Do not let your hearts be troubled," he told them. "In my Father's house there are many mansions...." Still, they needed to know that before there could be mansions there would be misery. To use the modern cliche, there could be no gain without pain--no triumph without trial--no crown without a cross. His cross. Love always requires sacrifice. Eating cold grits is not only the nature of a loving grandmother; it is the nature of a loving God. Who would not respond to such a sacrifice?
WHO WOULD NOT FOLLOW SUCH AN EXAMPLE?
James Moore remembers the time when he was seven years old and got lost at the Ringling Brothers Circus. It was a frightening experience for a seven-year-old boy in a crowd of over twenty thousand. Jim and his older brother, Bob, went to the concession stand to buy some cotton candy. People were pushing and pressing toward the counter. Since Bob was taller he was waited on first. After Bob got his cotton candy he stepped aside for his brother. Just then loud laughter came from the arena. Bob wanted to see what was going on. Certainly he didn't mean to leave his small brother alone. He simply got caught up in the excitement listening to the crowd laugh at the clowns.
Little Jim also got his cotton candy and then he looked around for his big brother. His brother was gone. In that moment of panic nothing looked familiar to this little fellow. He was lost. At that point he wondered if he would ever see his family again. "I started to run," he recalls, "trying to fight back the tears. Everyone was laughing loudly at the antics of the clowns, but they weren't funny to me at that moment." In this young boy's moment of panic and confusion he thought, "How can they laugh at a time like this? How can they laugh when I feel so lost?"
Just then Jim felt a touch on his shoulder. He turned around and saw his father. "My father had come after me and had found me. He held me down, reassured me, then bought me a Coke, a hot dog, a Yo-Yo, a lizard, a little stuffed bear, and a candy apple. I learned a valuable lesson that day: Being lost is terrible...being found is wonderful!"
Jesus wanted his disciples to know that even though he would no longer be with them he would not let them get lost. He would be with them every step of the way. He is the Way. All they had to do was follow. Who would not respond to such a sacrifice? Who would not follow such an example?
WHO WOULD NOT WELCOME HAVING A FRIEND LIKE JESUS?
A little girl had a cut near her eye. Her father quickly took her to see the doctor. The cut was not serious, but the location of the injury made it important that it be fixed properly. The doctor decided a couple of stitches were needed, but he didn't want to give the child an anesthetic. He explained to her that the procedure would be painful and asked if she could stand it. The little girl replied that she could, if her father would hold her hand. The father then took her in his lap, slipped his arm around her, and held her tight. The doctor did his work, and the little girl never flinched. The father could not possibly have erased the pain from this process. If he had not been there, though, the girl's reaction would have been much different.
So it was for the disciples. The time was fast approaching when they would split up and travel to the far corners of the world to proclaim the gospel . Jesus would not be with them physically. He wanted them to know, though, that they would not be alone. His hand would still be in theirs. And that made all the difference in the world. Who would not respond to such a sacrifice? Who would not follow such an example? Who would not welcome having such a friend as Jesus? AND NOW FOR OUR PART.
One day Chuck Swindoll found a book on his shelf that had once belonged to his mother. As he was paging through it he recalled some special memories of her. She had died some twenty years before. She had written notes in the margins of this book little knowing the impression her words would make on her son twenty years later.
At the end of the book Chuck's mother had written these words, "Finished reading this May 8, 1958." That started a flood of memories for Chuck Swindoll. He began thinking where he was and what he was doing in May 1958. The month his mother finished reading this book he was a Marine stationed on a tiny island in the South Pacific. That very month he had written in his journal, "The Lord has convinced me that I am to be in His service. I will begin to make plans to prepare for a lifetime of ministry." Amazingly, at the same time his mother was finishing reading her book.
"As I looked back over the pages, I found one reference after another to her prayers for me as I was away." Charles writes. His mother was concerned for his spiritual welfare and for God's best in his life.
That afternoon years after his mother had died Charles was sitting in his study reading his mother's book and recalling those precious memories. "There I sat," he writes, "thanking God anew for my mother's prayers, [for] my pilgrimage and especially [for] His presence. Faithfully, graciously, quietly He had led me and helped me and blessed me. I bowed my head and thanked Him for His sustaining grace...and I wept with gratitude."
Chuck Swindoll was moved by his mother's sacrifice and by her example. By these she had led him to God. That's a story that could be told in many homes, couldn't it? It is the story of mothers and fathers and grandmothers and grandfathers and friends and guardians and faithful people throughout the ages who themselves have been moved by sacrifice and example of Jesus Christ. Who would not welcome having such a friend as Jesus?
Is that how your children will remember you? Will they remember the bowl of cold grits--grits made cold by concern for their spiritual welfare? If so, regardless of whatever else in life you may or may not accomplish, your life is an unqualified success. Sacrifice...example--these are the stuff of love. These are the stuff that lead us to God.
