Rhodes Scholars, the Chicken, and the Egg

As I looked at pictures this week from missions trips, I was reminded of my first music mission trip to Uganda, Africa.  We traveled by mini-bus where there were roads, and motorbike where there were no roads.  Knowing when to travel by bus, or when to travel by bike, was up to our guides who knew the roads well. You could say they were road scholars.
The great thing about the mini-bus is that it had room for 15 people.  That would be 15 Ugandans which apparently equals about 8-10 Americans who enjoy a bit of personal space.  Frequently we would see the buses stuffed with over twenty people and their goods. Clown cars have nothing on these guys.
On the paved roads in Uganda, there are police checkpoints.  If the driver of the bus is carrying more than the allotted 15 passengers, he is fined along with the riders.  This explains the phenomenon of seeing buses on the side of the road randomly letting people off and putting people in.  About one half mile before the checkpoint, the bus pulls over to let out all the extra passengers and they begin to walk. After the bus clears the police and are out of view, they pull over and wait for the ones who walked through the checkpoint and get back into the crowded bus.
We traveled through busy towns and tried to ignore the frustrated looks of the locals who wanted to hitch a ride with us. After all, there were only about 10 of us in the bus. Surely we could fit about 10 more.
One day as we traveled to visit some family of our host, we stopped in a remote location well outside the normal path a mini-bus would take. We visited the home of an elderly woman and her family. It was really nice. She gave us gifts. As the leader of the group, I received the most notable gift. A live chicken.
I am not really sure what was said when she gave it to me or what we were supposed to do with a chicken, but we said thanks and put it in the van with us. It squawked and made quite a bit of noise as we spent the next several hours driving around Kampala with a chicken scurrying under our seats. At one point it made such a commotion we pulled over to see what had befallen our new feathered friend.
Sure enough, she laid an egg. In the van. Under my seat. Now we had dinner and breakfast!
Upon return, our host asked if I wanted to help prepare the chicken. I asked if that meant killing it.  She looked at me wondering if I was serious and then smiled as she took the chicken around the back of the house.
I would like to say it tasted good. It really didn't. It was like when you catch tiny fish on your first fishing trip and eat them just because you caught them.  It was tough and chewy. But we thought of how we received that meal.  An elderly woman who had nearly nothing gave us this chicken. All of a sudden it was amazing.
I think this is how God sees our gifts. What can we give to the one who created everything? We give what we have to offer knowing we have nothing worthy to give.  Help someone less fortunate than you. Help someone more fortunate than you.  Respect people. It seems so little. It seems so tough.  But God sees it.  And then all of a sudden it becomes amazing.  

My Favorite

Today I returned from a vacation. Not just any vacation, but a vacation on a cruise ship. I would have to say that is one of my favorite ways to enjoy time off.  One of my favorite things about cruising is dinner. You sit at the same table each night with the same waiter and get to know some interesting people. Our waiter for the trip was named Rolando.  Every item we ordered from the menu he would affirm by saying "my favorite".  This was amusing for a while, but after seven nights it lost the effect.
It didn't take long to figure out every item on the menu was his favorite. It reminded me of some recent favorite stories.
I had coffee with a man high in status with the Anglican Mission leadership recently.  He wanted to meet "people on the ground".  He really did use terminology like that. We were there to discuss things that were "above board" and "effective for the people in the trenches".  As we discussed the problems that other churches have and their hypothetical solutions, we discussed ways to mentor younger worship leaders. He told me that his church just hired the young man he "poured his life into" for the last several years.
In fact, or at least in the words of the guy I was talking with, he was like a father to this young man and helped to develop his leadership skills for many years.  He was "his favorite" worship leader now that the church had put him on full time. I expressed my nearly sincere appreciation for his dedication to "shape and mold him" (his words not mine).
I asked him the name of the young man that meant so much to him. Well....not even a first name? Nope. Could not recall the name of the young man, as the expression goes, to save his life (or ego).
This was nearly like the recent incident of a new father who approached me on a Sunday to request a song. Not an odd thing actually. I get song requests more frequently than when I played in bar bands. This one stood out because it was to accompany a baptism. This couple had a wonderful testimony. After many years of trying to conceive in which there were many problems, his wife finally gave birth to a beautiful baby. As the song request went, the father told me during the times of struggle, one song was like the foundation of peace. It was the song they listened to almost every day to get through this troubled time. It was their favorite song.
Sure I will do it! What is the name of this favorite song? "Um....I can't recall".  No problem, what are some of the words that meant so much to you? "Um... " How does it go? Hum a few bars (that never works).  Three strikes and we are out. No worries, he emailed me a few days later with the title, probably after asking his wife.  I did it for the baptism. It was wonderful.
I like the image the Bible gives for how God knows us. He knows each hair on our head (Mat 10:30). For me that isn't very much but my daughters have lots of hair. He knew us before we were born (Jer 1:5). And the scary part is he knows what we have done. Not in a silly Santa Claus "naughty or nice" sort of way, but in the "you may not get into heaven" kind of way.
I saw a bumper sticker once that read "Jesus loves you, but I'm his favorite". I'd like to think that's true.