The Titus 2:4 Project

Thursday morning, after the hurricane, as the sun rose above the trees, we nervously stepped outside to assess the damage. Despite the winds that had howled all night long, our neighborhood was in surprisingly good shape.  As we surveyed our neighbor’s lots (neighbors who had not yet returned for “the season”) we began dragging big, green palm fronds to the street and loading them into the bed of our truck. First this lot. Then that lot. I snapped pictures and messaged friends to let them know if there was any visible damage to their property. T hey would reply with their gratitude and then ask “can you check lot ‘such and such for so and so’…” so we would. More clean up. More pictures. More messages. And our 8ft truck bed filled up fast. Very fast. Over and over. As the day wore on, my mind was filled with thoughts like, WOW! These palm fronds are heavy! I asked my husband how much he thought they weighed on average… he guessed about 25 pounds.  Lifting them over an...

I used to be able to get my son to take trash to the burn barrels or pick up fallen branches around the yard by offering to let him drive his dad's big 350 Ford diesel truck around the farm.  Now that he is almost 16, and driving often on his learner's permit, the allure just isn't there anymore.  I can no longer dangle that carrot in front of him.  What used to be a privilege has become a chore. Isn't it strange how that happens. And it happens a lot.

Today I got to help deliver lunches to several school-aged children that the local school has labeled as the ones most in need of proper nutrition during the summer, when they are not able to get free breakfast and lunch from the cafeteria.  It's a city-wide program that some group organizes, then recruits other groups (like Rotary Club) to pick three or four days during the summer to provide meals.  That's how I got involved - as a Rotarian.  We delivered boxed Subway lunches, which always draws a smile from the little faces that peek through the window to see who's knocking on their door. Only a few (usually an adult) acted as if they expected or were owed this lunch for their children, but when we were greeted at the door by a youngster, their eyes lit up and they always thanked us, some in a mere whisper, others with a boisterous "Thank you!" as they waved enthusiastically.  That's why volunteers do what they do...for the happy faces left in their wake a...