Once there was a little sheep named Lily. She knew the shepherd loved her very much, and so she always stayed as close to him as she could.

So she was with him one day when a giant, smoke breathing beast came from the bottom of the mountain, puffing and chugging straight for the sheep’s pasture.

In fear the sheep ran away, until the shepherd came and told them it was nothing to be afraid of. It was just a man-made machine that made roads. A road was being built that would pass right by their pasture.

It took a few days to work up enough nerve, but finally Sage, an elderly sheep, went closer. The others followed until they were near the fierce machine.

For days men worked, and more fierce machines came, until one night everything went silent and the men went home for the evening and a peaceful silence fell over the mountain.

Sage and his followers approached the new road. Sage was the first to put his front hoof gingerly into the new road. Instead of a firm road, it was a warm, soft pile of goo.

“It’s warm,” Sage said, putting his next foot in. A couple other brave sheep put in their front hooves as well.

Suddenly, from behind, the Shepherd called, “Get out of there now!”

The sheep, startled, jumped back. Rarely did the Shepherd ever raise his voice.

The Shepherd came forward and spoke gently to them, “Don’t put your feet in the tar. It will hurt you.”

The sheep nodded their agreement and left, talking amongst themselves.

When they were a safe distance from the Shepherd, they held a meeting.

Sage lifted up his two front hooves, showing black shoes melded to him.

“I love my new shoes,” he said.

The other sheep looked enviously at his black front-footed shoes.

“Do you think the Shepherd really knows what he’s talking about? It doesn’t hurt and he said if we touched it we would be hurt. I think he’s mistaken.”

Many of the other sheep bleated their agreement, and the tar-hooved sheep agreed that it didn’t hurt.

“I say we go back,” Sage whispered. “The nights are getting colder and the new road is warm.”

Many of the sheep nodded their agreement, and so quietly they snuck back to the road. Lily said fearfully, “I think you should listen to the Shepherd. What if it does hurt you?”

But Sage just looked at Lily and said, “Don’t be so hateful. Just accept us for who we are. We like to do this.”

Lily hung her head sadly, and the other sheep went on their way.

That night, in the light of the moon, Sage and his followers marched through the tar, coating their feet with the tar, before falling asleep happily in the grass.

The next day there was a lot of raucous as the workers returned to work to find their ruined tar.

Sage and his followers watched as the Shepherd paid the men money to pay for what they’d done. He looked sadly at Sage and the others.

Sage just glared at the Shepherd, “You said it would hurt us.” He said. “You lied.”

“No,” the Shepherd said. “I didn’t lie. Already I have used up all my earnings.”

“Well, that’s your problem, it didn’t hurt us.” Sage said ungratefully. “Anyway, those men should share with us anyway. Why should they get all the tar? I think they are being hateful and purposely trying to leave us out of all the fun.”

The Shepherd looked at them sadly, and knowing nothing he could say would change their minds, he remained silent. He could lock them up in a shed, but the Shepherd knew forcing them to do the right thing would only make them more angry.

That night, Sage and his followers slept in the tar. They rolled in it and spread it all around, laughing at their appearance.

But by morning their laughter turned to cries of pain and fear. They had hardened into the tar and couldn’t move!

The Shepherd came, and with his shearer he sheared off the sheep until all the tar was sheared off and they ran away, woolless and shivering in the cold.

Then the Shepherd built a hay filled stable where then could huddle together and stay warm. The sheep watched from their new, warm shelter as the Shepherd put on workers clothes and he worked day after day until all the damage was paid for.

After many days, the Shepherd came by Sage. Sage looked at the Shepherd and saw how exhausted he was after working all day on the roads then coming home and working all evening taking care of the sheep.

One of Sage’s followers started to cry. “Shepherd,” he said. “I’m sorry. You’ve had to work so hard for me, because of what I did. I don’t deserve your kindness. And you don’t deserve to pay for what I did. It wasn’t your fault.”

The Shepherd knelt by the sheep and said, “I forgive you and I love you.” And gave the sheep a hug.

Soon all the other sheep, even Sage, began to apologize mournfully as well.

The Shepherd lovingly forgave each of them.

Eventually the road was done and the Shepherd didn’t have to work anymore on the road. The sheep’s wool grew back, and they could run around again. It was a long time before any of them went near the road though.

Some things seem good and right, but if God says they aren’t, they aren’t.

Proverbs 14:12

There is a way that appears to be right, but in the end it leads to death.

Once there was a watchmaker. He was famous throughout the land because of the excellence of his watches. He would carefully make each watch, and none of them were ever the same. He made digital watches, mechanical watches, big ones, small ones, kids, adults…everything you could imagine. He would carefully design each one, meticulously perfecting each little gadget and part until it was perfect. Then he would look at it with pride and say, “This is good.” He would put it on display to be sold.

People came from far and wide to buy his watches until they were spread throughout the world.

Now a fad started, where people would decorate their watches. They would add on bows, decorations, anything they could imagine to make their watch more noticeable then anybody else’s.

One day, the watchmaker was walking along the street when he was stopped by a strong looking young man who was slouched over to one side.

“Please sir, what time is it?” He asked the watch maker. “I think I’m late for work.”

“Why don’t you look at your watch?” the watchmaker asked, looking at the monstrosity dangling from the young man’s arm. The watch was so heavily decorated that the young man could only dangle his arm in helplessness and shuffle along under the weight.

“I can’t see the time anymore.” He whispered in confidence to the watchmaker. “But I’m not ashamed. It’s happening to everyone.”

The watchmaker reached over and took hold of the watch. Under all the decorations, the face of the watch was painted a dark black, concealing the time.

“What is this?!” the watchmaker cried in fury. “I made this watch for a purpose. What have you done to it?!”

With that he yanked off the decorations and threw them to the ground. Working up a big wad of spit he spat on the face of the watch and rubbed off the paint until the time shone through again.

The young man looked around self-consciously at the onlookers but stood taller and taller as the weight of the watch returned to normal.

The watchmaker said to the young man, “Now you tell me what time is it?”

The young man looked at his watch and said, “1:15.”

“And can you lift your arm over your head?” he asked the young man.

The young man lifted his arm and with a gleeful sound waved it about. Some from the surrounding crowd oohed and aahed while others gasped in distaste as the young man began to jump around completely straight and whole without the burden.

“Don’t do that again to the watches I’ve made,” the watchmaker told the young man.

“I won’t!” he promised as he rushed off. “And thank-you! He yelled over his shoulder.”

The watchmaker also continued on his way, while many from the crowd milled about in little clusters talking amongst themselves.

Before long, people began bringing in their watches, asking the watchmaker to return them to normal. The watchmaker gladly obliged.

And the question is, how is your watch? Do you need to make a trip to the watchmaker and be returned to who He created?

Psalm 139:14 (NIV)
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

Once there was a Great Shepherd. He loved and protected his sheep.

One day the Great Shepherd had to go away, so he carefully found someone to take care of his sheep until he returned.

No sooner had the Great Shepherd left on his journey, when a wolf came and talked to the new shepherd.

“Shepherd,” he said, “for years we’ve been at war with the sheep, but we would like to be your friends. We don’t want to fight anymore. Let’s live in peace.”

Thrilled, the shepherd agreed. Just wait until the Great Shepherd comes back, he thought, he’ll be so impressed.

For days, all was well and peaceful. But then a bleating of sheep drew the shepherd’s attention. A wolf was in the middle of the sheep pen.

“What’s going on?” the shepherd asked.

“This wolf wants to live here. With us!” the sheep huffed, obviously upset.

“I don’t see the problem with that,” the shepherd said. “The wolf and I have come to an agreement. He’s willing to live peacefully.”

The sheep bleated their protests, but the shepherd just gave a self-satisfied smile and walked away. Change is always hard for some, he thought, but this is progress.

It wasn’t long before the sheep adjusted to the wolf. More wolves came, and before long, except for a few old-fashioned sheep who built their own little hiding place and moved off by themselves, the wolves and the sheep lived together as friends.

The shepherd built a comfortable home for himself and put his feet up. Now that there was peace, the wolves could protect the sheep and he could relax.

When a group of sheep came to him one day, he half-heartedly listened to their concerns. They worried about their lambs, stating the wolves were seen to be drooling when around them. When the parents approached the wolves, the wolves snarled at them. The parents were terrified and very concerned for their children.

The shepherd knew it was just a misunderstanding. After all, they had a peace agreement. But he decided to talk to the wolves anyway.

When confronted, the wolves said, “Well, we have found ourselves hungry at the sight of those tasty looking lambs.”

“But we made an agreement,” the shepherd reminded them.

“True,” said the wolf, “but that was with the sheep. There were no lambs then. So they aren’t part of the agreement. If we can have the lambs to eat, we won’t hurt the adult sheep.”

With a sick feeling, the shepherd suddenly realized his mistake. By now the wolves were scattered throughout the sheep pen, and to try to get rid of them would be too difficult. If he tried to get rid of the wolves, they would kill him and all of the sheep. Besides, many of the sheep were friends with the wolves now, would they even mind losing a few lambs? Now what? Should he sacrifice the lambs for the sake of peace? Or should he fight and lose a few sheep? What a predicament, no matter what he did, someone would get hurt. He made an agreement with the wolves to give him one night to decide what he wanted to do.

Then he thought of the old-fashioned sheep. The ones no one had wanted to listen to, that had gone off and built their own little safe place. Would there be enough room in there for all of them? He decided to go and see.

Ashamed, he approached the old-fashioned sheep. Everyone had been so unkind to them, would they even listen?

With shouts of joy, the sheep bleated for the shepherd to come in and see their safe place. “We made it with enough room for everyone,” they told him cheerfully. “We knew this day would come.”

“How soon can they move in?” the shepherd asked, still too ashamed to say sorry.

“Right away! The sooner the better!” the sheep replied.

The shepherd left immediately, and quietly began to sneak the lambs one by one into the safe place. Until he got to one young sheep, snuggled up against a wolf. “I’m not going over there with those bigoted and hateful sheep!” he cried. “They don’t tolerate the wolves who are our friends. I’m more accepting and would never want to be as hateful as them.”

His loud words had brought a crowd, and the wolves began to snarl while some of the sheep remaining huffed in dignity. Other parents with their little lambs snuck over behind the shepherd.

A wolf approached the shepherd, “What were you going to do, shepherd? Try to sneak them away overnight? These sheep are ours. We made an agreement, remember?”

The shepherd stammered. Trying to think of what to say or do, he was shocked when seemingly out of nowhere something hit the wolf and sent him flying through the air. Turning, the shepherd watched in amazement as the Great Shepherd, who had just returned, boldly took on wolf after wolf, sending them yelping and limping away. Sadly, some of the sheep looked angrily at the shepherds and followed them.

Meanwhile, a great cheer went up as the sheep came running to the Great Shepherd. “Our rescuer!” they bleated.

A great feast was held in honor of his return, though some mourned the loss of their foolish sheep friends who had run away with the wolves.

“They’re deceived,” the Great Shepherd told them sadly, “Even if I tried to bring them home, they would only resent me and run away again. But don’t worry, when they finally realize their folly, some of them will escape and come running back to us. And what a day of rejoicing that will be!”

The shepherd bowed before the Great Shepherd, “I am so sorry for what I have done to your flock.”

The Great Shepherd gravely touched the shepherd on the head, “I am sad to see what happened. It took only one decision to change everything. If you had stood your ground when the wolf first came, none of this would have happened. The battle is over now, you are forgiven. Go in peace.”

The shepherd learned his lesson the hard way. Never again would he forget to stand his ground.

“….God keep our land, glorious and free, Oh Canada we stand on Guard for thee…”

Eph. 6:14-17
14 Stand your ground, putting on the belt of truth and the body armor of God’s righteousness.
15 For shoes, put on the peace that comes from the Good News so that you will be fully prepared.
16 In addition to all of these, hold up the shield of faith to stop the fiery arrows of the devil.
17 Put on salvation as your helmet, and take the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

*The shepherd of the flock here is not a particular pastor of any church, but it refers to the church today that isn’t standing its ground. And the wolves are the little bits of sin that we have let into our lives, and into our families.

My daughter made a painting
She made it just for me
I loved it so I framed it
And hung for all to see.

Over the years I hung more paintings
But not made by my daughter
And though their names were famous
My daughter’s I did favor.

My collection became famous
I’d obtained quite a few
And people came from far and wide
To get a little view.

And hardly a day would go by
When people would ask me
You have so many famous paintings
How did this one come to be?

And then I couldn’t help but smile
For I was still so proud
All those paintings were so good
But I’d say this out loud.

“Thomas Kincaide never sat at his desk
Thinking just of me
Nor Andy Warhol or Leonardo Da Vinci,
It wasn’t me you see.

“But my little girl got out her paints
And with all her heart
She made this painting just for me
Now it’s my favourite art.”

Do you think that maybe God
Sometimes feels the same?
He’s not concerned with how well we do
Or even in the fame.

But when somebody gives all their heart
And love Him with their all
That each little act that is done for Him
Is like my painting on the wall?

My best friend and I lived in one of the biggest apartment buildings in our town. He lived right next door to me, and we could tap messages to each other through the walls as we were going to sleep.

Our building sat next to a cliff, that rose high up into a mountain. We spent hours on that cliff, learning to climb, pretending we were mountain goats. Sometimes we actually made it to the top, too.

It was on one of those adventures that we discovered it. What is it? It was the most scariest, most frustrating, and when it was over, the most exciting adventure of our lives.

You see, as we were climbing the cliff, some of the rocks came loose. And as they did, we saw some water start to trickle through. We started playing with it, watching as the water trickled down. But then it dawned on us. This wasn’t good. We were going to flood out our apartment building. So we put rocks back into place to block the water and went happily on our way.

The next day when we returned, the water had made its way past our blockage, and was running down the rock. We knew we had to tell someone.

We ran home to our parents and told them. They laughed at our funny antics and said we had great imaginations. No matter how we insisted, they wouldn’t listen to us.

So we knew we had to let the apartment manager know. We played rock-paper-scissors to see who had to talk first to the manager. I lost.

He’s a pretty scary man in my opinion. He walks around telling everyone where and how they should go. We’d always been careful to avoid him. But we figured this was important enough to risk.

So, hands trembling and hearts pounding, we wrote out what we would say and how we would say it, practicing and practicing until we finally got enough nerve to walk to his great big door and knock on it. When he opened the door, I could only stare at him. He glared down at us like we were pesky little ants and I was sure he would squash us. My friend finally had to say something, ‘cause nothing would come out for me.

“Sir,” he croaked, his voice trembling, “we were playing on the cliff behind our apartment building, and we noticed some water starting to come out of it.”

He squinted his eyes at us, then looking around from side to side he bent down and whispered.

“Are you sure?”

I looked at him. He looked almost scared the way he kept looking around and whispering like that.

“Yes, sir,” my friend said.

“Don’t say a word to anybody else.” He said.

“How come?” I asked, finally finding my voice. He invited us in and closed the door behind him.

He turned down his blaring tv and pushed aside some newspapers from his couch as he invited us to sit down. He sat on a chair facing us.

“Years ago there was a mine here.” He said. “But one day as the miners were digging, they hit an underground spring and the mine flooded. So they got dynamite and blew up the mine, closing it all in.”

“So why did they build an apartment building here?” I asked.

“The people who built it didn’t know about any of this, or they probably would have chosen another spot.”

I could feel a quivering in my belly, that started to spread throughout my body until all of me started to quiver as fear set in.

“Will we be flooded?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” the manager said. “This apartment has been standing for forty-four years now with no problems. We don’t want to worry anybody. Don’t tell anybody about any of this, you’ll scare them.”

“But shouldn’t people know what’s going to happen?” my friend asked.

“Yeah.” I agreed with him.

“No they shouldn’t. If you tell people, they’ll get scared and move away. Then our apartment building would go bankrupt. We wouldn’t have any money. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

I thought about it. I thought about all our friends and neighbors. I sure didn’t want them to move away, and I loved this place.

“Could anybody get hurt?” I asked.

“Well, potentially, yes. But if water ever burst through that rock, it wouldn’t be just our apartment that flooded, it would be our whole town. And it would happen all of the sudden, like a volcano.”

Now I was really shaking.

“We have to warn everybody!” my friend and I said at the same time.

He looked down at us. “You can’t evacuate a whole town. Besides, it might not happen for years to come yet. Would you move a whole town just because of one little trickle of water?”

“But shouldn’t you at least tell people so they can make their own decisions?” I asked.

“There’s no need to cause unnecessary fear,” he said. “Just keep an eye on it. If you notice it getting worse, come and let me know.”

He walked to the door and opened it, and we knew it was time to go. As we were walking away, he spoke in the most terrifying voice that gave me nightmares for days, “Remember, not a word to anyone.”

We just kept walking until we were out of sight and then we burst into a run like we were being chased by the demons of hell until we made it safely into my room and closed the door.

We sat on my bed, looking at each other, wide eyed and out of breath. I didn’t know what to say or think.
My friend spoke first. “What do we do now?” he asked.

“I don’t know. What do you think?” I could only shake my head.

“Why don’t we go look at it again?”

“Sure.” And off we went.

I don’t know what I was expecting. I think I thought we were going to die that day. But when we got there I was relieved to see it was exactly the same. Just a little moisture dripping down the side of the cliff. I think my friend felt the same cause he breathed out a breath and said, “Oh good.”

We went home in silence. I thought about the flood that was coming, and about all the people and places I loved. I thought about the manager and his threats to keep quiet. Could I really not say anything?

“Maybe we should tell our parents,” I finally said.

“I think you’re right,” my friend agreed.

But when we got home our parents still didn’t want to listen. They knew how terrified of the manager I was and didn’t believe that we ever went there and talked to him.

I had trouble sleeping that night, and when I finally did sleep I had nightmares.

I didn’t feel any better the next morning. In fact, I felt worse. I knew I couldn’t keep quiet. I just didn’t feel right.
When I met with my friend, he agreed.

“Let’s go to the mayor.” I said.

“Ok.” My friend said.

Our town wasn’t very big, so when we asked our parents if we could walk into town, they were fine with that.

We weren’t really sure where the mayor’s office was, so we stopped at the first store and asked. The lady there told us where to go.

When we arrived at the office, I looked around in awe at the high ceilings and the large windows. A lady I’d never seen before worked at the desk.

When she saw us, she took off her glasses and smiled. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“We would like to speak with the mayor,” my friend replied.

“He’s in a meeting right now. Can I ask why you want to see him?”

My friend and I looked at each other. I hadn’t considered that he might be busy. Now what?

Finally my friend said, “Can we see him when his meeting is over? We had something we wanted to tell him.”

The lady looked at some papers on her desk.

“He should be available for an appointment next Wednesday. He’s booked up until then.”

“Next Wednesday?” I groaned. “That’s still another week away. This is very important. Our town is in trouble and we need to talk to him.”

She leaned towards us. “Why is our town in trouble?”

And then we blurted out the whole story to her, taking turns and finishing each other’s sentences. When we were done, she leaned back in her chair. “Well,” she said, “You have a very good story there. But I really can’t fit you in any sooner then next Wednesday. Would you like me to make an appointment?”

I felt like crying. Didn’t she hear what we’d just told her? She didn’t seem like she believed us.

“Yes, we’ll make an appointment then,” my friend said.

She wrote down the time and date on a little card and handed it to us. We took it, thanked her, and trudged out the door.

I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders.

The next week felt like an eternity as we waited for our appointment. We must have checked the cliff every hour, making sure it wasn’t leaking any more and everything was still intact. And we practiced what we would say over and over until our voices were hoarse.

But the next week finally came, and we put on our best clothes and went to the mayor’s office.

I’d never met the mayor in person, but of course I’d seen him before.

“How can I help you?” the mayor asked when we finally sat in two chairs facing him and his desk.
And then our whole story came out, and we said it just as we’d practiced it, finishing with a, “and so, Mayor, we are concerned for our town and know you can do something about it.”

The Mayor sat for a moment, drumming his fingers together as he sat there, then he smiled at us.

“I believe your apartment manager is right,” he said. “This news shouldn’t be told to anyone. That water is going to flood this whole town, but we don’t know when. We can’t evacuate a whole town based on the fact that something bad might happen. And we don’t want people scared. So it’s best if you don’t say any of this to anyone.”

I felt all my hopes go down the drain. I’d thought the Mayor would help us.

“But Mayor,” I asked, “aren’t you worried about getting flooded?”

“Oh I won’t get flooded, my house is high on the hill.”

“Well what about your family and friends?”

“All my best friends are safe on a hill. The only real people who have to worry about this potential danger are the ones in your apartment building. It’s not my job to take care of you.”

Never had I felt so alone or abandoned.

Then he leaned towards us and used the same terrifying kind of voice that our hotel manager had used and said, “Not a word. If you say any of this to anyone you could ruin our whole town. Understood?”

I just sat there with my friend and nodded, my heart pounding in my chest and my body shaking like before. If the Mayor said to be quiet, then he must be right. He’s the mayor, after all.

We left, and I felt worse then ever. I felt betrayed, actually. Like we’d gone for help and come up empty handed. We went the whole way home and didn’t say a word to each other. I was so lost in thought, I didn’t know what to say.
We didn’t even play that day. I didn’t want to. I only pecked at my supper, and went to bed early, only to stare up at my ceiling for most of the night. He was my mayor, and I didn’t want to ruin the whole town, but how could we not tell people?

A week went by, and my friend and I moped around. I tried to play, but the joy had gone out of it, knowing what I knew. How could I play and have fun when we were all going to get flooded and maybe even die?
My friend was the first one to say something, nine days later. “I can’t be quiet.”

“I know.” I said.

That’s all we needed to say, we both knew how each was feeling, and knew to be silent was just wrong.

“But what do we do?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe there’s a way to save the town.” I said.

“Like how?” he asked.

“Maybe we should tell other people. Don’t you think the people in our apartment building deserve to know they might die?”

“You’re right, but how do we do it?” my friend asked.

“Let’s start by telling our other friends.”

So we did. The first girl we told burst into tears. Then I thought maybe the Mayor and the manager really had been right. Look what we’d done just by telling one person.

But after she calmed down, we went on to tell twelve more of our friends.

All fifteen of us climbed up the cliff to see the water. It was coming out faster now, and my heart beat louder as the girl started to cry again.

“I say we all tell our parents,” one of the children said.

“Great idea.” I said. My parents weren’t listening, but maybe one of theirs would.

After that, things went crazy. People were running around in hallways and there was yelling and shouting. The manager was nowhere to be found. I found out later he had moved away.

People started moving out, leaving their possessions behind, fearing for their lives.

My parents still didn’t want to believe it, so we stayed. So did my best friend.

Then a construction worker that lived down the hall from us started talking.

He said we should make a hole on the other side of the mountain for the water to come out of so it would funnel out in a different direction and we would be saved.

It seemed like such a simple solution I wished I had thought of it.

And that’s what they did. When they funneled the hole and hit water, it came gushing out. I guess it was a good thing they did it when they did. People speculated that it could have blown anytime.

And my best friend and I became famous in our town. We even made it in the newspaper. When we told our story, people didn’t like the mayor anymore. He lost his job. But most of the people in our apartment building came back. We were glad to see them, it wasn’t the same without them. But our manager never came back. I was glad because a really nice elderly couple took his place and they gave us candies every time they saw us.

And life went back to normal, except now we have this great story, and I tell it every chance I get.

The End

Remember, it is sin to know what you ought to do and then not do it. James 4:17

I lived on a shelf with all the other spices in one of the most sought after restaurants in our city. Our shelves were full of rich and fresh spices. Cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, oregano, basil, salt, and on and on it went.

And then there was me. Pepper. I sat in the back of the shelf because I was rarely used. I made the chef sneeze too much, and he didn’t want to sneeze and ruin someone’s food, so he just banished me. No more pepper.

So I sat day after day watching all the spices being used and loved. And I smelled their fragrance fill the room. I knew I was getting bitter, but I felt so left out. Why were they all being used and appreciated while I just sat here? Was I really so unlikable? So unappetizing? Why was I even here?

Then one day the kitchen flurried with excitement. An important restaurant critic was coming and the chef wanted his restaurant to be loved and recognized. Everything had to be perfect. And when the plates went out, you could see they were the best ever. Steam rose from fresh vegetables and meats, and the smells made everyone’s mouth water.

Yet as the plates went out, one by one they kept coming back. When the chef questioned the waiter he replied, “He says it’s delicious but it needs more spice. ‘It’s missing something,’ he says.”

The chef reached into our spice drawer and added more salt, sending the plate back.

The waiter returned, holding the same plate, and the Chef’s face took on a pink tinge.

“He says it’s too salty. It’s missing something else,” the waiter said.

The chef grabbed the plate and threw it into the garbage, fancy plate at all. The kitchen turned silent as everyone turned to stare.

“What are you looking at?” the chef yelled. “Back to work, all of you. We need to make this plate over.”

Everyone got back to work, and over the usual clinking and clanking of cooking, there was an unusual hush as though everyone was holding their breath. What had they done wrong? This was such a good restaurant. Why didn’t the food critic like it?

Then, the food critic himself walked into the room. Once again silence fell over the room except for the sound of sizzling and boiling at the stove.

“What spices do you have?” the food critic asked the chef.

The chef brought the food critic to our spice cabinet. The food critic began picking up our jars and reading our labels. He came to me and picked me up.

“Pepper,” he said. “That’s what was missing. There was no pepper, was there.”

The chef dropped open his mouth. “You really like pepper?” he asked.

“I certainly do!” replied the food critic. “Why do you think almost every home in America has a salt AND pepper shaker on their table? You can’t have one without the other! Pepper is one of the most popular spices in the world! And in my opinion, one of the best. Make me the same plate, but please bring out a shaker of pepper to go with it.”
The chef and kitchen staff set to work immediately, but I hardly noticed because they had taken me out of the drawer. And instead of just watching, I was suddenly opened up and poured into a shaker, never to be left at the back of the drawer again.

The restaurant didn’t get the five star reference they wanted, all because of me. But I can tell you one thing, I was never left out again.

Have you ever been in a place where you were overlooked or rejected? God wants to be like the food critic and redeem you. He loves you and has never rejected you.

1 Peter 2:4
4 As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him—

My church went into battle
And what a funny sight
They hardly had their armor on
So they couldn’t fight.

Helmets were on almost all
But shields there were few
And rarely did I see a sword
Poor defense I knew.

The breastplate of righteousness
Had long been left behind
But in it’s place sharp, fiery darts
Were all I could find.

But then what really shocked me
Was when I saw their hands
They had no belt of truth on so
They held up their pants.

Over-sized shoes too heavy
They surely held their peace
But their feet were so cumbersome
Few steps were released.

To make it worse, one brave man
Approached the watching crowd
For they had no armor on, and
didn’t make a sound.

Earnestly he called to them
“You need God! Follow me!”
But his pants fell to his ankles and
The crowd laughed with glee.

“Just look at you,” they told him,
“You can’t stop fiery darts
You say you have the answers but
You just fell apart.”

The man gave up and walked away
Mooning the crowd behind
He hid behind the others and
Threw his shield aside.

As I watched I thought aloud
“If not for God my King,
I think I’d say the same.” Instead,
I began to sing.

“Holy, holy, holy,
Is the Lord God Almighty
Who was, and is, and is to come.”
Revelations 4:8b

Who knew it would mean so much?
Praise is an awesome thing
And as the others joined my song
The darts lost their sting.

One by one we grabbed our swords
And then picked up our shields
Singing louder we got our belts
Less shoes we did wield.

We then shined up our helmets
Our singing shook the ground
Then last we put our breastplates on
Righteousness now found.

The crowd around stopped laughing
As darts fell to the dust
True praise and righteousness restored,
God stood around us.

Isaiah 58:8
Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.

Isaiah 61:11
For as the earth brings forth its sprouts, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to sprout up, so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to sprout up before all the nations.