I spent this Thanksgiving at my daughter's bedside as she lay in the hospital recovering from her second brain surgery in two weeks. The doctors confined her to bed to allow a slender tube they had inserted into her spinal chord to drain brain fluid that had begun to leak from her first surgery's incision.

It all began twenty-three years ago.

We had left a cushy job in a church in Oklahoma to begin a new church in a dance study in the Atlanta area. My wife and I lived in a drafty rental with orange, shag carpet with our three preschoolers, all under the age of 4. And our financial support totaled $100 a month plus a gas credit card a friend allowed me to use for 6 months. We had felt God's call to begin a new church that we assumed would make us famous as I would pastor a future Saddleback or Willow in the south.

I was so successful that after 6 months, the 51 who attended our first service dwindled to 17.

That was hard enough until we realized that a sinister brain tumor lurked deep within Tiffany's brain, ready to take her life unless we took action.

Fast forward 23 years.  This journey has taken us through six brain surgeries, radiation, and an experimental brain implant. Now, I sat next to Tiffany this Thanksgiving grateful that she was alive.

As a type 'A' person, I'm most happy goal setting, dreaming big dreams, and accomplishing something tangible.

But as I sat next to Tiff, although I was accomplishing little from a metrics perspective, God was teaching me much about  true servant-leadership.

Here's what I learned as I sat in room 831 of Rush Hospital in Chicago.

1. Servanthood is the essence of leadership. Helping Tiff shuffle to the bathroom, pouring her a cup of water, and covering her with a blanket wouldn't make the front page of 'Outreach' magazine, but I think heaven took notice.
2. The ministry of presence, just simply being there, may appear to accomplish little at the moment. Yet, my presence nourished the soul of a precious daughter of God.
3. The complete leader must realize that the sum of leadership is not just vision casting, developing other leaders, correcting mission drift, etc. but includes faithfulness in the simple, mundane experiences of life.

As I continue down this journey with my daughter, I look forward to God's gentle reminders about true leadership.

Related Posts:  Are your Shadow Beliefs Stifling Your Leadership

I've been in full-time vocational ministry nearly 30 years and used to  think that the most important use of my time was preaching the message. I still believe that, especially for the masses, but perhaps the second most important time is what I do right before the service and right after the service.

I call it the "ministry of presence." My high visibility as I chat with people, shake their hands, and give them a listening ear provides a tiny "one-on-one" window into their hearts. I believe those brief interactions often affect them more than the sermon itself.

Here are four simple choices to maximize that time.

• Look for the "deer-in-the-headlights" look. This look often telegraphs new people. I look at peoples' eyes and I can usually catch their "I'm new here and have no idea what to do or where to go." I will introduce myself and try to make them feel that I really care. A touch like that from a pastor can make a profound impact on a new person.

• Seek out those in wheelchairs, those with canes, or those with other physical or mental challenges. One guy, Robin, comes to our service in a motorized wheelchair. A mobile ventilator attached to his wheelchair keeps him alive. Another boy, Nicholas, is confined to his wheelchair. He is twelve. One older teen walks with a bent body and slurs her words when she talks. I don't let a service go by without talking, touching, and affirming them.

• Give your full attention to people when you do talk to them. Avoid the, "talking to one person while you are getting ready to talk to the next person" persona. People quickly sense half-hearted listeners.

• Finally, steer clear of the monopolizers. This may sound harsh, but some people will take your entire time before and after a service as they talk about themselves or some problem. I will often walk up a different aisle so as to avoid getting cornered by a monopolizer.

These simple practices have made many powerful spiritual deposits in others as I offer them my "ministry of presence."

Try out these ideas this month and see if you, too, feel God's pleasure.

Related posts:

• What a guy on a ventilator taught me

• What a dying man taught me

For more Help and Resources for Pastors, visit Pastor Stone’s main site.

Two experiences this morning caused me to pause not only my body, but my leader's mind that seems to always churn, thinking about the next project or task.

This first occurred at a local diner as I ate breakfast with a friend.  The both I choose gave me a view of the exterior entrance to the diner. Out of my peripheral vision, I noticed a middle-aged man walk up to the glass door. Nothing odd there...until he reached for the door handle. He missed it, by about a foot. For about fifteen seconds he kept fumbling with his right hand to find the handle. I thought that a bit odd at first. He finally opened the door. The view from where I sat also allowed me to see the inside entrance. As he walked in, the waitress spoke to him. Then she gently held his arm and directed him to a table. He was almost blind.

In an instant I felt both compassion toward this man and gratefulness for my vision.

When I arrived at the office an hour later, the second experience forced me again to push the mental pause button.

The older daughter of one of our admin staff takes care of a young boy confined to a wheelchair. His body is broken, he can't speak, he drools, but his mind remains intact. She had left him alone in his wheelchair a few moments to go into our conference room. I stood at the end of the hall and noticed him alone. I walked up to him, patted him on the head and shoulder and said something like, "You're a bit wet. That rain is a mess out there." As drool slid off his lips, he responded was a loud grunt, the best his body would allow him to articulate.

As I reflect on these two experiences, I was reminded of a concept that Phil Yancey, the great author, described as 'time between time.' He explains that he tries to discipline himself to mentally pause between each day's activity to reflect over what he just experienced and to prepare his heart for what comes next.

My encounter with a blind man and a boy with a broken body reminded me of those moments in time, the 'time between time,' that are often pregnant with meaning.

Leaders are always looking ahead for the next hill to climb. But sometimes, we must pause and make ourselves fully present in the moment so we don't miss God's subtle, but important lessons.

related post: The Guy on the Ventilator

First impressions often stymie how God wants us to perceive others.

Recently we vacationed in Mississippi to visit my wife's dad and sister. Our visits there have become quite routine. Each day I get up, run, take a shower, go to a buffet, take a nap, watch TV, go to bed, and then the next day I do the exact same thing. Boring, but restful. On that visit's third day we were enjoying lunch at Ryan's all-you-can-eat buffet on 16th Avenue...for the third time that week. I'm naturally skinny, so I justify these twice annual binges without too much concern for lasting weight gain.

Unfortunately, Mississippi has the dubious distinction of being the third most overweight state. I understand why when every other restaurant advertises their version of the "all-you-can-eat buffet."

That day at Ryans as I pigging out on tacos, field peas, fried chicken wings, and yeast rolls, I noticed a table about 15 feet from ours around which sat four very large women.

I watched as one woman brought her two plates back from the buffet line. They both overflowed with multiple varieties of fried foods stacked on top of a six-inch high dollop of mashed potatoes and brown gravy.

With disgust I thought to myself, This woman is slowly killing herself. Doesn't she realize what she is doing to herself? She is easily a 100 pounds overweight. Doesn't she even care? Makes me sick!

As I downed my pile of fried okra like I was eating M&M's, I felt disgust at this woman. At that moment in the midst of my insolent conceit, God's gentle voice whispered something like this to my heart.

Charles, you don't know her story, do you? How can you be so proud? She may not have come from a family who loved you like yours did you. On the contrary, for all you know, she may have been abused as a child. She may have never known real love from a mom or a dad or a grandma or a grandpa. Her unhealthy eating may be her misguided way to numb the pain in her heart. Charles, remember I want you to see others through My eyes, not yours. Are you seeing her in that way?

In a flash, God did two things for me.

• First, He convicted me of my condescension toward that woman.
• Second, He gave me new eyes though which to see her.

Sometimes life lessons come to us in the most unusual places through the most unsuspecting ways.

I hope this brief experience will remind me of this lesson the next time someone's unpleasant appearance or poor choice tempts me to to see him or her through my eyes, rather that through God's eyes.

How about you? Have you ever prematurely drawn conclusions based simply on what you see in someone's appearance rather than looking deeper?

The sign read Elephant ears, Churros, Funnel cakes.

I had just finished a burger and fries and my wife Sherryl and I were strolling along Navy Pier on Lake Michigan when I noticed the sign. It had been years since I had eaten one of those fried "looks like a serrated wooden dowel with sand stuck to it" pastries. I gave in to my sweet tooth and decided I wanted one.

I stuck my head into the tiny opening of the stand and said, "I'd like a bavarian creme-filled churro, please." With a defeated tone in her voice the girl at the counter said, "Two dollars, please." I reached into my wallet and pulled out a five. As I handed it to her, I noticed her head was cocked to one side. As she handed me the churro and the change, I could see why.

She had tried to hide a deformity that had twisted one side of her face. I felt awkward and only glanced at it  for a moment and then our eyes locked.

Her eyes seemed to speak, almost as if they were telegraphing her thoughts. They seemed to say,"You think I'm ugly, don't you? Everybody thinks that."

I took the churro and change, and said, "Thanks," at a loss for works. I wish I could have said something profound, to cheer her up. But I was taken aback.

As Sherryl and I continued to walk, I realized a lesson from the churro girl's sad eyes. Everyday we look into the eyes of others and think, at least subconsciously, "I wonder what this person thinks of me."

When that happens the Enemy wants us to tell ourselves, that we are ugly, stupid, fat, incompetent, unloveable, etc.

The One, however, who gave His life for us wants us to think of ourselves through His eyes.

I hope my brief encounter with the churro girl will remind me that I must see myself as Jesus sees me.

And, I must see others as He sees them.

I'm working on a series on the Beatitudes called Jesus Uncensored: Words of Hope in Uncertain Times. I found this touching story in my file. I'm not sure where it came from, but it beautifully pictures how God showed up one day on a baseball diamond. Having a daughter who never got to enjoy many things most kids have, it touched my heart. I hope you enjoy it. (sorrow about no paragraph breaks-I couldn't create them for some reason)

At a fund-raising dinner for a school that serves learning-disabled children, the father of one of the school's students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question. "Everything God does is done with perfection. Yet, my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is God's plan reflected in my son?"

The audience was stilled by the query.  The father continued. "I believe," the father answered, "that when God brings a child like Shay into the world, an opportunity to realize the Divine Plan presents itself. And it comes in the way people treat that child."

Then, he told the following story:  Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, "Do you think they will let me play?"

Shay's father knew that most boys would not want him on their team. But the father understood that if his son were allowed to play it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging.

Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his teammates. Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said, "We are losing by six runs, and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning." In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.

At the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the outfield. Although no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base. Shay was scheduled to be the next at-bat. Would the team actually let Shay bat at this juncture and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.  However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly toward Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have ended the game. Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman.

Everyone started yelling, "Shay, run to first. Run to first." Never in his life had Shay ever made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.  Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second!"

By the time Shay was rounding first base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman for a tag. But the right fielder understood what the pitcher's intentions had been, so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman's head. Shay ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home.

As Shay reached second base, the opposing shortstop ran to him, turned him in the direction of third base, and shouted, "Run to third!" As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams were screaming, "Shay! Run home!"

Shay ran home, stepped on home plate and was cheered as the hero, for hitting a "grand slam" and winning the game for his team.

"That day," said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face,"the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of the Divine Plan into this world."

____

This should remind us that the truly blessed life comes not from the pleasure of this world, but from the pleasures we receive when we care for the least, the last, and the lost, like those boys did that day on a baseball diamond.

My daughter, one of the most gifted writers I know, served two weeks in Thailand last year with her husband, Charlie. They served those caught in sex trafficking there. She posted something on her Facebook one morning that brought me to tears. As you read it let your heart be touched.

_______

I found him under the wide, leafy arms of the langan tree.

As I strolled along the cobbled pathway to our "jungle bungalow", I spotted something startlingly black against the mocha-colored earth. As I stepped closer and kneeled down to investigate, I found myself peering at a tiny baby bird, covered in silky ebony fuzz. He lay on his side as red ants swarmed over his little body. Thinking he was long dead, I grabbed a nearby banana leaf resting on the ground and touched his lifeless form.

To my disbelief, his gangly legs feebly pedaled the air as his tiny wing shivered.

Immediately, I scooped up the barely-alive little creature into my hands as I brushed the ants off his body. He was no bigger than a small tangerine. He had two long black legs, four spindly toes at the end of each foot, and a tiny beak tipped with yellow. He was listless in my cupped hands as I marched hurriedly back to our kitchen to help him.

I filled a small saucer with water and dipped his beak gently into the cool liquid. Thirstily, he began to drink. After several tiny gulps, he started to regain his strength. His large black eyes blinked open as his tiny head pivoted side to side to observe his surroundings.

After a few people had gathered to take pictures and investigate this little black ball of fuzz, we tried to figure out what he was. After comparing him to the native Thai chickens with smallish black bodies perched on long, sturdy yellow legs, we decided that he was indeed one of them. So naturally, I named my little chicken "Nugget".

Immediately, I knew something was wrong with Nugget. As he regained strength, he did not strut around proudly, chest puffed out, pecking at dirt as you'd expect a chicken to do. Every few minutes, he tensed all of his muscles, closed his eyes, and arched his head back towards my fingers and trembled, his tiny fluffy breast pointed directly at the sky. Nugget's peculiar behavior mimicked a little boy I used to babysit named Jackson -- a little boy with cerebral palsy. All of Jackson's muscles would regularly and involuntarily spasm, and as Jackson tensed and arched his back against his special chair it looked as though this little boy was trying to burst out of this feeble body with its withered hands and useless legs and into another body that could run and jump and play soccer with friends.

This is what Nugget did.

When I placed my baby bird on the ground, his gangly legs did not support him. Instead, he fell on his side and frantically pedaled his legs furiously in the air as he flapped his tiny wings. My little Nugget could not walk.

The realization of Nugget's situation did not come easy to me; actually, it tore my heart out. I am a devout animal lover. Even as a child I brought home a menagerie of stray creatures -- canine, feline, reptilian -- to my patient mother who always managed to find them homes. I want the blind puppy, the three-legged kitten, the abandoned turtle in the road. I am – and always have been -- attracted to unwanted, lost, and broken things.

I realized very quickly that my little chicken Nugget had been abandoned because he is broken. He has broken legs and a broken body, and therefore was not useful, was determined to be "less than". He was left to die because he is not whole.

The second realization was worse than realizing my chicken was broken: I was also powerless to repair him. I could do nothing to fix his broken body, to restore his motor control. But I could love him, care for him, and make him comfortable while he is still here. I would not let Nugget be alone.

I searched for a box and found one – narrow and rectangular with tall sides. I made him a nest of shredded Kleenex, filled a bottle top with water, and added crunched-up corn flakes to his little home. I set him in the shade to be in peace.

I checked on him regularly. He still hung on – not dying -- resting in my hands, blinking his orb-like black eyes. I pet him and held him and watered him and tried to interest him in some granola.

One day during our team devotions, he began to do something that I did not anticipate. He had been quiet all along, very still. But now, he began to cheep. Except rather than a cheep, it was more of a loud, high-pitched bleating -- a distinct, desperate cry for help. As we were singing some hymn, tears began to flow in rivulets down my cheeks. My broken little bird was crying his lungs out -- loudly, desperately cheeping -- and I was the only one that heard him. I was the only one that heard his little cries.

I didn’t search for Nugget – he was lying there, dying, directly in my path as I walked by. I only had to go to him, to reach out, to pick him up, and to take him to safety. We do not have to travel anywhere to find the wounded and broken that line the paths in our own lives – we have only to pick up our heads and look.

I took him and gave him water and some food. We know the truth – we know what it is to have our souls nourished and satisfied with the Bread of Life, to drink from the Living Waters where we will never again be thirsty. Why are we not compelled to share this truth with all those surrounding us whose souls are parched and starving for the Jesus that we know?

Chicken Nugget cried out – pleadingly, desperately, constantly. How often do we walk by the broken and wounded, and caught in the busy noise of our jobs, our lives, our commitments, we do not even hear the desperate pleas of those around us who are so lost, and so in need of the healing love of a Savior?

It seems that in our numbers-conscious, goal-driven, efficiency-based society, we have forgotten the most basic command to us as ambassadors of Christ: to go and love one another as He has loved us.

Chicken Nugget is gone now. A large tawny man next door heard Nugget’s cries and came and scooped up Nugget with his gentle hands, assuring us in broken English that he would now take care of him. Such a relief that we serve a Jesus who is so much the same way.

Working with the broken is messy, uncertain, difficult. We cannot repair a broken heart, a broken past, a broken spirit. We must walk by faith, knowing that the Great Healer with His gentle, pierced hands will scoop them up, repair all their deepest wounds, and welcome them into his courts, making everything new.

I pray that we all will see Nugget in the faces of those in our lives: in the dirty man on the street corner who holds a tattered sign scrawled with “God Bless. Please Help”; in the single mother in the club on North Avenue who sells herself to men nightly to pay her rent; in the faces of our co-workers, our neighbors, our friends. And I pray that we will go to them – that we will take the love and promises of Jesus to the darkest places in the world, which sometimes happen to be right along the cobbled pathways of our lives.

“The heart that

breaks open can

contain the

entire universe.”

-Joanna Macy

-----Heather Anderson, Aug. 6, 2009, 3.03 am, Thai time