Could I Be A Grand Canyon?

Jo Ann Brown

As I sat at the Grand Canyon, we were asked to reflect on what the Grand Canyon said to us. I felt the usual minuteness and the presence and love of God, but I also felt some similarities to my own life. I thought that maybe I could have another perspective. Could I be a Grand Canyon?

The Grand Canyon started out at the bottom of an ocean, even the bottom dwellers were above. I am sure that the angels looked into the canyon and saw only the ocean bottom if they even looked that far. However, God saw the beauty that lay ahead for this bottom of the ocean but it would have to withstand many hardships.

One of the first chapters in the life of the canyon was a volcano. I can compare the volcano to "world rocking" events in my own life. Could the lava be my reactions to those events that changed my world? Could the lava be symbolic to anger, bitterness, and lack of forgiveness?

As I remember, the ranger spoke of the river pushing up against the lava. I see that river as God's love. The river continued to push against the lava until it broke through. Does my lava hold back love? Will I allow God's loving river to break through my lava dam to flow freely?

The water eroded the rocks and made the beautiful crevices in the canyon. Also within the water, there were many stones that caused the ridges in the rock. Could the stones be patience, integrity, honesty, and kindness? Will I allow those stones to permanently etch upon my own life?

Although the stones were small, I am sure it was somewhat "painful" to be etched upon. Will I allow uncomfortable circumstances to etch character into my life? The river brought beauty to the canyon and made it more interesting.

The next step was the meeting of the two earth plates. As I understand it, the two plates met, maybe the lower plate is my selfishness and the higher plate is God's love. The lower plate submitted to the will of the higher plate, which caused the elevation of the canyon. Again, I would imagine that the collision was painful and earth shattering, but without the elevation there would be no Grand Canyon.

The Grand Canyon is such an inspiration to everyone that comes into contact with it. Their lives are permanently changed having been there. Could I be an inspiration to others? The beauty of the canyon lies deep within. They are not mountains that you can readily see from the surface. You can only really appreciate the beauty, as you get closer to the "heart" of the canyon. Isn't it like that with us? Our beauty lies within but you have to be close to our heart to see it.

The ranger also spoke of the river at the base of the canyon. He told us that the settlers originally thought the river to be 6' wide. As they got closer to the river, they saw the enormity. The actual size was closer to 300'. God is that way to me. He is always enormous, but the closer I get, I see it more clearly. When I distance myself, He only appears to be small.

In conclusion, the Grand Canyon changes continuously. When it rains, the weaker rocks or dirt fall off into the river. Do we allow the rain to continually help us to grow and change? Isn't it interesting that the weaker portions fall into the river at the bottom never to be seen again? This continually renews the canyon.

I hope you can see the symbolism in the Grand Canyon and the creation of our lives. Can we be a Grand Canyon if we allow God's love and purpose to rush through and withstand volcanoes of life and stone-life lessons? I pray that as I experience life's lessons that I can be an inspiration to others, and that other's lives will have been enriched by knowing me. I pray that I will continue to grow to be a "grand" person formed with life by the hand of God.

Push

Michael Segal

"How are you feeling?" asked my friendly neurosurgeon Dr. Alex Gol as I lay in my hospital bed in the rehab hospital at 3:30pm after a torturous day in therapy. I could not yet utter a single word after sustaining a severe traumatic brain injury (TBI) at the age of 19. So I nodded as if to say, "OK." Dr. Gol then calmly replied, "That's nice," and quickly left the room with a smile.

As he was leaving I thought to myself, "Dr. Gol...so nice...so calm...so peaceful." I tried to reposition myself in my bed as the door closed behind him in order to get more comfortable, but something was not "right" in the hospital hallway as I heard a great commotion coming from there. (True, I could not yet speak; however, nothing was wrong with my hearing and there was plenty of screaming coming from the hall.) I wondered, "What was the problem?"

I soon found out the cause of the chaos: it was sweet, serene, and calm Dr. Gol who was causing it.

As soon as he left my room he erupted: "WHO'S THE NURSE TAKING CARE OF MIKE? WHAT'S HE DOING IN BED SO EARLY? HE'S A 19 YEAR OLD VICTIM OF TBI, NOT A 95 YEAR OLD STROKE VICTIM! GET HIM OUT OF THAT BED, AND I DON'T WANT HIM BACK IN BED UNTIL HE GOES TO SLEEP!"

The nurses had never seen Dr. Gol act like that. In fact, they had never heard him raise his voice. They quickly got me out of bed and put me in my wheelchair until 9pm.

I was miserable. I wanted to get back into my comfortable bed—well, it was not so comfortable but it was much less uncomfortable than my wheelchair or any kind of chair, for that matter.

As I said, after therapy was over at 3pm, I wanted to get straight back in bed; however, throughout the following weeks and months the nurses did not want to face "the wrath of Dr. Gol." Therefore, after therapy I remained in my wheelchair in my room until I went to sleep. Being in the wheelchair for so long was agonizing!

I hated Dr. Gol after that eventful day when he asked me that seemingly simple question while I was trying to relax in bed. However, years later I loved him as I realized Dr. Gol was only doing what was in my best interest.

When I returned to college after being out for so long, my professors, after learning what had happened to me and realizing that I could no longer read as quickly as before I was hurt, were more than happy to say, "Mike, it's okay. Just read what you can and we'll test you on that material." However, one professor did not say that. Dr. Sheldon Ekland-Olson, a sociology professor, said, "Mike, I understand you have difficulty reading. I've had many students with many visual problems. For those students, I refer them to Recording for the Blind. They have access to many textbooks on cassettes. Here's the phone number..."

I "hated" that statement as I wanted to take the "easy way out." (My feelings of "hate" were very similar to those I had for Dr. Gol on that eventful afternoon in the hospital.) However, I have since learned that the "easy way" is quite often the "wrong way."

Sometimes everyone needs a "push." Even I, recently, had to be reminded to push myself as I had gotten "lazy" at the gym. However, a "stranger" reminded me to use my right hand. Even though it was difficult, I thanked him for the reminder.

I have learned that the difficult things in life are often the sweet things in life. One cannot experience "beauty" without experiencing "bitterness." Remember, "push" yourself to get through the thorns of the rose bush, to experience the beautiful flower of the rose.

Every time I think of some difficult thing in life, I close my eyes, see Dr. Gol, and smile.

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Shot in the head during a robbery, Michael Jordan Segal defied all odds by first surviving and then returning to college. He then earned two degrees with honors, married his high school sweetheart, Sharon, and became a father to their daughter Shawn. Mike is a social worker at Memorial Hermann Hospital in Houston and an author (currently he has two book projects he's working on: an autobiography and an anthology of his short stories). He also is a popular inspirational speaker sharing his recipe for recovery, happiness, and success.

Uncommon Decency

Michael Josephson

Sara Tucholsky, a 5-foot-2-inch softball player in her senior year for Western Oregon University, was playing in a big game with Central Washington University. Both teams were vying for the Division II NCAA playoffs. Sara, who was batting less than .200 all season, hit the ball over the fence with two runners on.

She had never hit a ball out of the park before, even in practice. She was so excited, she missed first base. Realizing this, she turned to go back but collapsed in agony as her knee gave out. Her first-base coach yelled that she had to crawl back to first base because if anyone on Sara's team touched her, she'd be out and her home run would be nullified. Her coach encouraged her to try to crawl around the other bases to preserve her home run, but it was out of the question.

That's when the star player on the other team, Mallory Holtman, asked the umpire if she and a teammate could carry Sara around the bases. It was an unprecedented request from an opponent fighting for a playoff berth, but the rules allowed it. Without hesitation, Mallory and shortstop Liz Wallace lifted Sara and carried her, lowering her to touch each base with her good leg.

To Mallory it was simple: "In the end, it's not about winning and losing so much; it was about this girl. She hit it over the fence and was in pain and deserved a home run."

Mallory was right. It's just common decency.

Sadly, such kindness isn't common at all in sports, and that's why all the coaches, players, and spectators who were stunned by this spontaneous act of sportsmanship wept. And that's how Mallory became a national hero.

By the way, her team lost 4-2, but in my eyes, everyone won.

Sermons We See

Edgar A. Guest

I'd rather see a sermon
Than hear one any day.
I'd rather one should walk with me
Than merely show the way.

The eye's a better pupil
And more willing than the ear;
Fine counsel is confusing,
But example's always clear.

And the best of all the preachers
Are those who live their creeds,
For to see the good in action
Is what everybody needs.

I can soon learn to do it
If you'll let me see it done,
I can watch your hands in action
But your tongue too fast may run.

And the lectures you deliver
May be very wise and true,
But I'd rather get my lesson
By observing what you do.

For I may misunderstand you
And the high advice you give,
But there's no misunderstanding
How you act and how you live.

Magic Moment

Steve Goodier

Something magical once happened in Cinderella's Castle in Florida's Disney World. Children and parents were crowded into a room waiting for Cinderella's appearance. She made a dramatic entrance and the children clamored around her.

Whoever hired the young woman to play the role of Cinderella found a remarkable match. She was perfect. Flawless skin; beautiful face; bright eyes and smile; and she was costumed exquisitely. She looked as if the cartoon character had come to life.

The children wanted to touch her and have her wave her wand over their heads. She smiled down at them and the room was electric with excitement.

Electric for everyone except two boys, apparently brothers, who stood next to a far wall, away from the other children. The older boy held the hand of the younger, much smaller boy, whose body and face were disfigured.

The look in the young boy's eyes was that of yearning. How he wanted to be with Cinderella. How he wanted to be a part of other children. But he held back, probably out of fear. He had likely been hurt too many times before by children who didn't understand.

But unexpectedly, Cinderella turned and saw the boys. And she must have noticed the longing in the little one's face, for she slowly made her way through the throng, inching toward the far wall.

Then something magical happened. Cinderella did the most remarkable thing—something I'm sure she never learned in Cinderella Training Class. She bent down and kissed the little boy's face. He smiled a big and beautiful smile. Cinderella kissed him!

Could anything be so wonderful? Cinderella kissed him. Out of all of the children in that room, Cinderella kissed him. No matter what happens to him, he'll always have that—Cinderella kissed him.

And when he looks into the mirror he will always see the face that Cinderella kissed looking back. Who knows...for months, for years, maybe forever, stings and barbs of life will hurt a little less. And he will stand a bit taller and feel a little more special. He'll never forget that...something magical happened...the day that Cinderella kissed him.

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