Several years ago, I invited a congregation I was serving to complete the following statement in writing:

God, you were with me even when...

Many were willing to write their responses and have them read in worship. I'd like to share some of these with you now.

God, you were with me even when: I lay having radiation treatment in a room where no other human being could be. I felt you with me.

God, you were with me even when: As a new pilot in World War II, the engine on my training plane quit on a night flight. Suddenly a light showed me the way to the airbase, and I landed with no power.

God, you were with me even when: My marriage seemed hopeless. You restored and healed us and gave us hope to continue to try.

God, you were with me even when: My son Ian died at age 25.

God, you were with me even when: My husband of almost 30 years left me for a much younger woman, and I didn't want to go on living. You stood by me through my pain and didn't let me die.

God, you were with me even when: We lost our business and went through financial hardship. You helped us see all the important things in our life — our family. You taught us to be less judgmental of others. Through this time you also strengthened our marriage and our faith in you.

God, you were with me even when: No one else was.

I have read that list many times since, and it stops me every time. Radiation treatments. A dying engine in the dark sky over a training base. A marriage that seemed beyond saving. The death of a child. A husband who left after thirty years. A business lost. And underneath every one of those very different stories, the same quiet refrain: you were with me.

Not that the pain was avoided. Not that the outcome was always what they hoped for. But that in the middle of it - something held.

I wonder what your own sentence would say. God, you were with me even when...

Prayer: Loving God, you have promised never to leave us or forsake us. Even when things are at their worst, you are there. We thank you for the witness of others who have been through the darkest of nights and found you faithful. Open our hearts to your presence with us, even now. Amen.

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Today’s message was written by my friend, Rev. Roger Kunkel, founder of Dial Hope.

Something was missing. The disciples noticed it immediately. When they entered the Upper Room to celebrate the Passover feast with Jesus, they whispered to one another, "Where is the servant? Who will wash our feet?" They felt uncomfortable through the first part of the meal. Should one of them offer to wash the others' feet? The thought was quickly dismissed as beneath them. No wonder they were shocked when Jesus himself rose from the table, took a towel and a basin, and began to wash their feet. How could this be? They should have been washing his.

Washing the disciples' feet, like the cross that would soon follow, was something Jesus did because he knew why he had come into the world and where he was going. He was free to become a servant because he knew he was the Suffering Servant. Jesus said, "If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet."(John 13:14)

That means more than water and a towel. Serving one another in Jesus' name means genuinely caring, lifting burdens, standing with each other through difficulty, and doing the hard work of forgiving and reconciling, regardless of cost.

Prayer: God of love, help us to think, act, and react as servants, doing what we can to serve others today. Through Christ we know where we came from and where we are going — and therefore we have nothing to lose, and everything to give. In Jesus' name. Amen.

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There's a story about a young girl sitting on her grandfather's lap as he read her a bedtime story. From time to time she would take her eyes off the book and reach up to touch his wrinkled cheek — then her own, then his again, comparing the two.

Finally she asked, "Grandpa, did God make you?"

"Yes, sweetheart," he said. "God made me a long time ago."

She paused. "Did God make me too?"

"Yes indeed, honey. God made you just a little while ago."

She felt their faces once more and said, "God's getting better at this, isn't he?"

It's a sweet story, and her logic makes a kind of innocent sense — smoother skin, fewer wrinkles, newer must mean better. But of course that's not how it works. God didn't make her grandfather as a practice run. God made him exactly as he was meant to be at every age — including the one he was in that very moment, wrinkles and all.

We live in a culture that tells us something closer to the little girl's logic than to the truth. Every day, in advertisements and on screens, we are told that we need to look a certain way to be happy, accepted, loved. Bright white teeth. A full head of hair, no gray. A certain shape, a certain size, a certain youthfulness we're meant to chase indefinitely.

It isn't true. Scripture tells us we are made in God's own image — and that image was never contingent on age, weight, skin color, or appearance. God's love has never worked that way.

The Psalmist wrote: "It was you who formed me, Lord... I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." (Psalm 139:13-14) Not fearfully and wonderfully made once, at twenty-five, and then slowly less so every year after. Fearfully and wonderfully made — full stop, at every age, including this one.

Prayer: Loving God, we pray today especially for those who are struggling with self-image. We recognize how hard it is to love our neighbors when we can scarcely love ourselves. Wash over each of us with your grace. Remind us that it was you who formed us, and that we are fearfully and wonderfully made — in your own image, at every age. Amen.

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There's an old story about two friends who loved baseball so much that they weren't sure they wanted to spend eternity in heaven unless they could keep playing. They made a pact — whoever died first would find a way to send word back, letting the other know whether baseball existed in heaven.

Sure enough, John died first, and Jim grieved deeply for weeks. Then one night Jim was startled awake by a voice calling his name. "Jim. Jim. Wake up. This is John."

"John — where are you?"

"I'm in heaven, and I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, there's baseball in heaven. It's wonderful — we play every day, marvelous teams, tough competition."

"That's great," Jim said. "What's the bad news?"

"You're scheduled to pitch next Tuesday."

I love that story. There's something beautiful about finding life so wonderful, so compelling, that we don't want it to end — that we genuinely hope whatever comes next includes the things that bring us joy here.

For me, that's surfing. Being out on the water in the middle of God's creation gives me a sense of renewal I don't find many other places. I hope there's good surfing in heaven too.

But I've also learned, over the years, that surfing alone isn't enough to give my life meaning. Even secular thinkers have recognized this. The philosopher Will Durant argued that for life to take on real meaning, it has to be oriented around a purpose larger than itself.

Jesus said something similar, though far more pointed: "Those who want to save their life will lose it, but those who lose their life for my sake will find it." (Matthew 16:25) That's a hard paradox to fully wrap my mind around. But I've found it true more often than not — there is something healing about giving ourselves away. The things we hold onto too tightly tend to shrink. The things we give away tend to multiply.

Enjoying life is a gift. Surfing and baseball are certainly gifts! But the deepest meaning seems to come not from what we chase for ourselves, but from what we offer to others. May we keep looking for those opportunities — small and large.

Prayer: Dear God, give us eyes to see the world as you see it. Give us hearts that break at the things that break your heart. And then, O God, help us not to duck — but to act. Amen.

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Today’s message was written by Rev. Roger Kunkel, founder of Dial Hope.

It is an old story, but it is true, and it is good. The famous British author John Ruskin one night in his later years sat watching a lamplighter who, with a torch in his hand, was lighting the lamps on a distant hill. The man himself could not be seen, but the lights would gleam as each one was lighted. Ruskin said to a friend, "That is what I mean by a real Christian. You can trace their course by the lights they leave burning." 

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, "You are the light of the world... let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in Heaven." (Matthew 5:14-16). Friend of Dial Hope, make today a masterpiece with your contagious enthusiasm, the light of your joy, and hope.  

Let us pray: O God of china blue skies and dazzling sunrises, with each new day your promise of hope is restored. Each day is like the Day of Resurrection filled with new life and hope. Grant us the boldness to move out of comfortable security to the risk of faith, the joy of service, the laughter of love. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

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