CHAPTER 1

War Stories

"We did not all come over on the same ship, butwe are all in the same boat."—Bernard Baruch

Remembering

(Shane Stanford)

One of my great uncles landed at Normandy as part of theJune 1944 D-day invasion. He rarely spoke of the event, exceptto answer a specific question or two at family gatherings. Whenmy great uncle did answer, his responses were always short, tothe point, and he never allowed follow-up questions.

Of course, those of us in the family were fascinated thatone of our own had taken part in such an important event inhistory. Our inquiries stemmed from our adoration of him, butmy uncle never wanted to open up. I realized later that whateverhappened in those few days on that beach in France was almostmore than my uncle could bear to live through, much less rehashtime and again over the years.

But we persisted, and I can't remember a single family eventthat someone did not ask him about the war. Finally, my aunt(his wife) told him, "Just talk to them. They want to know becausethey care."

My uncle responded sternly, "I don't want to walk downthat road again."

"Yes," she said, "But, how will they ever know what youwent through?"

"They only need to know one thing," my uncle responded."We won the fight."

"But, shouldn't they also know why you fought at all?" Myaunt grinned slightly and then finished, "After all, if they don't rememberthat, does it really matter that you landed on that beach?"

Remembering is an important concept for any generation.Those who fought in World War II told their stories for manyreasons—to recount heroism and warn of tyranny but also toprepare the next generation for the battles to come. Some werepersonal stories about intimate connections and circumstancesthat affected a single life, possibly two. Other stories were aboutentire companies of men whose lives, and the lives of all connectedto them, changed in an instant.

This chapter is about remembering. The Christian communitytreasures the act of remembering. We tell our stories overand over again, as a means of shaping, warning, and encouragingthose who will follow. Some stories are about miracles and love.Others tell our heritage as the family of God gathered aroundhis Table. But some stories are war stories, much like my uncle's,and tell when people ran across valleys of fear and doubt andconfronted giants in battle.

Certainly, no two giants are exactly alike. One person mayencounter the giant of cancer—a deeply personal battle—whileanother battles global giants, such as pandemic disease, poverty,and despair. Regardless the details, we remember, and we valuethese stories. The stories are valuable not because we may findourselves in the same situations but because they reveal lessonsabout the nature of humanity, our ability to overcome obstacles,and the strengths and capabilities that sometimes we forget wepossess. Our responsibility is to listen and learn what we canabout our fellow human beings, and about ourselves, so that wecan apply these lessons to the life that awaits us.

A Child Who Sleeps in Miseri

(Shane Stanford)

Several years ago, a friend of mine left her middle-class lifeand spent two years as a missionary to Kenya. Many were shockedby my friend's decision. Sure, she had always loved working withchurch groups and social organizations at various mission locationsaround the world, but no one could have imagined that shewould actually leave life as she knew it and serve full-time. Herdecision came after one particular trip that changed her forever.

My friend was only supposed to be in Africa for two weekswhen she left on this particular trip, organized through a reliefagency. My friend had always been drawn to children, and althoughshe and her husband had tried to conceive for some time,they had no children of their own. Yet God kept placing needychildren in her path, and she had already made several trips towork in orphanages in Africa. This particular trip was different.On this trip, she would be working in a day orphanage.

When most of us think of an orphanage, we imagine a placewhere children without family live and attend school. In Kenya,as in other nations in sub-Saharan Africa, needs created by theHIV/AIDS pandemic have placed excessive strain on institutionalservices, especially those serving children. For this reason,day orphanages, not residential orphanages, provide basic necessitiesto those little ones who are the most vulnerable andwould otherwise have nothing—truly a last resort for the "leastof these" among us.

Upon arriving at the day orphanage in Kenya, my friendmet a worker carrying a small girl. The child's body was frail andmalnourished, but her face shined with the most beautiful smile.Whereas her body revealed every sign of what is most disturbingand troubling about the plight of children in her country, herface revealed a spirit that was anything but hopeless.

As these contrasting images collided in my friend's mind—thegrave circumstances and the child's beautiful face—shegreeted the young child with the help of an interpreter. Myfriend learned that the child's father had died just after she wasborn; her mother died when she was three. Now she lived withan aunt who also was sick and who could not provide much inthe way of care. In fact, the child told our friend that she caredfor her aunt at night, trying to provide her with as much comfortas possible. Like so many in similar circumstances, this child'slife was a difficult, troubling existence.

However, every morning the workers arrived in a goat cartand took the little girl to the day orphanage. Here she found notonly food and an occasional change of clothes, but also friendsand caretakers with whom she could talk and play. Sure, toyswere few, meals meager, and clothes secondhand, but this placein the daylight seemed worlds away from her bare home at night,and it provided what previously appeared impossible: glimpsesof hope.

Our friend listened intently as the workers described thelittle girl's daily routine. "We pick her up," they said in theirbroken English, "and bring her here so that she might find alittle food, some clothes, and some schooling. It is not much,but it is more than she has when she returns to Miseri."

"Returns to where?" our friend asked, not sure that she hadheard correctly.

"Miseri," the worker replied. "It is the name of her settlement.The word comes from the Swahili for 'Egypt.'"

Our friend realized that although she had not actually heardthe English word "misery," it certainly conveyed the propermeaning. "Misery" was more than appropriate to describe thechild's life. After all, what hope did she have? She would notenjoy an abundant childhood like the children our friend knewin the States. She most likely would not grow up to finish school,train for a job, or even have a family. No, the chances for her futurewere those same impossible odds the disease deals everyonein poverty who suffers from it. This realization hit our friendwith a powerful force. She had seen poverty before, especiallyon her previous visits to Africa. But the situation of this childseemed deeper and more tragic. Yet the child had a beautiful,smiling face.

Standing there, our friend was lost in thought. Where wasGod? Where was hope? What would effectively confront the onslaughtof this disease, not only for this child but also for all children?What could possibly fill the void left by such desolationthat wrecked not only a child's present but also her future? Myfriend paused a moment, lost in sorrow. But then, as she lookedup, she saw the child's smile and the embrace of the workers,their love and care for this little one. She saw that in spite of obviousstruggles, the people in this picture seemed to express peaceand hope, a sense of possibility. Surrounded by so much sorrowand despair, our friend was amazed by this scene. In it, she foundthe answer to her questions.

The answer was right in front of her, resting in what she hadalmost missed. Our friend realized that despite the disease andthe impossible circumstances facing this child, nothing was setin stone. Why? Because of the acts of these people who loved,touched, and cared like Jesus—who had become Jesus for thechild—misery was not all this child would know.

Though my friend was thousands of miles from her home,this scene was not entirely foreign to her. She had been an "emotionalorphan" from the age of seven and had fought this gianther entire life. Though she had two living parents, they hadabandoned her—one to addiction and one to personal ambition.My friend had spent her life caring for her younger sister,who fought the giant of depression. From one foster home toanother, they lived the best they could in their own version of aday orphanage.

My friend traveled halfway around the world before she defeatedthe giant she had fought her entire life. By holding ontoa picture of love for this child in Kenya, my friend experiencedthe power of love in her own life. The giant that had terrorizedher had to go. No matter what the giant had convinced her ofregarding the world, he didn't have a say in how her future unfolded.And, as she framed the picture of that Kenyan girl's faithand life in her heart, she realized God never intended for herown address to be misery. It's not meant to be yours, either.

Last Words, or Second Chance?

(Brad Martin)

In 1998 while serving as a member of the Board of Trusteesof the American Film Institute, I had the opportunity to casta ballot to select the AFI top 100 Movies of all time. The OrsonWelles' classic, Citizen Kane, was named the number onefilm, and my ballot agreed with this ranking decision. But alsohigh on my list was another movie, which did not receive asmuch attention from my fellow voters. Hoosiers, a 1986 film setin Indiana about a small-town basketball team that wins a statechampionship, was etched in my mind just as strongly as CitizenKane. For sure, the lead character, Charles Foster Kane, accumulatesriches beyond imagination and power unrivaled in his time.But this film depicts a tragic life. In the end, Kane possessesnothing of lasting value; and on his deathbed, Kane's last wordis "Rosebud," the name of his childhood sled and a reminderof the last time he was happy. No one present at his death evenunderstood the meaning of the word Rosebud. Kane lost his lifelongbattle against giants.

In Hoosiers, Gene Hackman stars as Norman Dale, the newcoach of the fictional Hickory, Indiana, high-school basketballteam. Before arriving in Hickory, Dale had been fired from aprevious, more prestigious coaching position after hitting a studentathlete. He paid the price for losing his battle with the giant,Anger. In the small town of Hickory, Dale sets out to rebuild hislife. Also in the film, Dennis Hopper portrays Shooter, the fatherof a player on the Hickory team and the town drunk. In themidst of extraordinary odds and with very little support, CoachDale molds the Hickory high-school players into a championshipteam while challenging Shooter to be his assistant coach, requiringShooter to confront his giant of addiction. My favorite scenein the movie shows Shooter listening to the radio broadcast of hisson's game, cheering from his bed in an alcohol treatment center,as Hickory becomes the unlikely state champion.

Sure, Hoosiers is another underdog-versus-favorite story, andwe like to see the underdog win. But Hoosiers is not just aboutan underdog basketball team winning a championship game. Itis a story of redemption. Coach Norman Dale and Shooter beatthe giants that were destroying their lives and their relationships.They won victories far more significant than a state basketballchampionship.

So which will it be for you? Will you be a Citizen Kane, yourlast words clinging to something forgotten so long ago that noone comprehends what you are saying? Or will you be a NormanDale or Shooter and take the first step to build, or rebuild,your life?

It's time to choose.

Two Cathedrals

(Shane Stanford)

Two cathedrals sit opposite each other at the corner of FifthAvenue and 50th Street in New York City. One cathedral is theEpiscopal seat of the Roman Catholic Archbishop of New York;the other is the headquarters for some of capitalism's most fashionabledisplays.

While St. Patrick's Cathedral and Saks Fifth Avenue point totwo different worlds, they stand as neighbors at one of the mostprominent real estate locations in the world. Millions of peoplepass by these cathedrals each year, and untold numbers entertheir doors, at Saks perhaps looking for some of the splendor ofthis life; at St. Patrick's, seeking hope in the life to come.

My co-author, Brad Martin, successfully led Saks Incorporated,the parent of Saks Fifth Avenue, as its CEO for a numberof years. Prior to entering the business world, Brad served as amember of the Tennessee House of Representatives. Whetherin public service or business activities, Brad believes one's workmust have significance and purpose, and he approaches his responsibilitiesin this manner.

On September 11, 2001, our nation was stunned and oursecurity devastated by terrorist attacks in New York and Washington.In the traumatic and unprecedented days that followed,clergy in the pulpits across our land, from St. Patrick's in NewYork to my own church in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, rose in theirchurches to lead congregations and communities to a place ofcompassion, hope, and resolve. And so did many business leaderssuch as Brad Martin at Saks.

We used the venue of our churches to proclaim right fromwrong. They used the platforms of their commercial enterprisesto do the same.

The giant of terrorism did not strike a mere segment of oursociety. It attacked our very values and our way of life. And so tocomfort the hearts and inspire the spirit of our people to battle,we joined arms—the faith community and the business community—and resolved that this giant of hatred and terrorism onour land would not stand.

The Stories We Tell

Pearl is a faithful, loving, hard-working wife and mother.Her family is the center of her life, and it doesn't take much timein Pearl's company to grasp this fact and be blessed by it. Pearl'soldest daughter is a delightful child who uses a wheelchair, islegally blind, and faces additional medical challenges. Her brightdisposition lightens the load of everyone who crosses her path,and her mother, Pearl, is her primary caretaker.

To watch Pearl and her daughter is to view the most authenticexpression of a parent's love. "You would never know thather life is not absolutely perfect," my wife has commented manytimes. "Pearl makes the world a more joyful place."

Joy. That is the word most used when people talk about Pearl.One day while waiting in the carpool pick-up line at my daughter'sschool, I noticed a van in front of me and saw Pearl get outof the driver's side. Once she caught sight of her girl, Pearl's faceexploded with an amazing smile, the kind you usually see at partiesor celebrations. I looked to my right and saw her daughter inher electric wheelchair, approaching. I could not hear the dialogbetween them, but I didn't need to. Anyone could tell that theirreunion was full of happiness and excitement. Their joy was sustainedeven as Pearl undertook the strenuous task of loading herdaughter and the wheelchair into the van.

Since that day, I have gotten to know Pearl and her sweetfamily better. They are the real deal. They are truly joyful, maybeone of the most joyful families I have ever met. They also fightmore giants than most families could ever imagine, as the rigorsof caring for a child with disabilities takes a significant physicaland mental toll on the caretakers. Providing the best life possiblefor her daughter, in spite of the struggles and trials, and findingjoy in serving and relating to her child is where Pearl claims victoryover giants.

Here's what I find most remarkable about Pearl's story:When asked to explain her extraordinary, joyful spirit, she laughsoff the question. "Oh, that's crazy," she says. "It's not extraordinaryat all. Anyone can have this kind of joy. Because anyonecan have Jesus."

Pearl's story matters to you and me, whether we fully realizeit or not. I believe God wants us to know the Pearls of thisworld and her story for more than the tender sentiment it createsin us, because the lessons of her story are more profound thanwe might first recognize, deeper than the feelings we get from aheartwarming tale. Pearl walks many of the same paths that youand I do, and many that we have not experienced. But Pearl'scourage is increased by the fact that she knows she never goesalone. She walks in the constant company of the one who lovesus all, more than we can imagine or fully understand. The bestway for her to experience this truth is to receive practical andemotional support from those around her—from people likeyou and me. In that way we join Pearl on the battlefield in herfight against giants. And, we share in her victories.