When I entered the world, I was born prematurely, I weighed only four pounds. I had holes in my heart, and my prognosis for living was very grim. A doctor told my parents I had a five percent chance of living. If I did live, they said I would most likely be blind and retarded. My parents were Christians, and asked people to pray. Many people in different churches were praying for me. Before I was taken into surgery, the doctor checked me out one more time. It was remarkable because the doctors couldn’t find the holes in my heart…I was healed.

A doctor who was in Grand Island at the time wanted to see me for himself, because he wanted to see the “miracle baby.” I always knew from as a small child that there was a God, and that prayer could be powerful and effective.

When I was five years old, I was shopping at a bookstore with my mom. I didn’t have any money and decided to slip a little eraser that was shaped like a snowman into my pocket. I left the store with my mom. I went home and felt very, very guilty. I eventually confessed to my mom that I had stolen the eraser. She took the opportunity to tell me about how Christ had died for my sins. She said if I asked him to be my Savior, I could have eternal life. That night I prayed with my dad to receive Christ. I remember feeling like Christ had forgiven my sins and I knew I would live with Christ someday. (My mom took me back to the store and hid around the corner because she was embarassed, while I paid for the eraser and returned it.)

My faith continued to grow and after I graduated from UNK, I ended up attending a conservative Bible college in Wyoming for three years. While I was there I saw teachers who were living on missionary support, with modest homes, and modest lives investing in young people. They were not teaching in a university, with a comfortable income because their meaning in life came teaching young people about God and equipping them to serve in ministry. They believed in storing up rewards in heaven, and not so much on earth. They had found a way to find meaning in their life.

I ended up co-leading a Bible study in the Scottsbluff County Jail for three years. It was a ministry that I enjoyed. I wanted people to have a personal relationship with God, and have hope for a meaningful life. I graduated after three years from that Bible Institute. I walked away from that school knowing in my heart, the Word of God had the power to change lives.

Now, I am 32 years old. I am delighted to know God, but I think I am still in a growing process. I sometimes sit and read Ecclesiastes, where the wisest man in the world who had all the women he wanted, and had funded great building project, beautifying the world. However, he seemed to struggle with finding meaning. I think many of us would think that if we had the wisdom, power, and prestige that Solomon had, we would be happy. He had all the women he wanted, all the money he wanted, and yet he was frustrated with life and at times, found it to be empty.

There are times in my life where I think, “If I had more money, I would have less anxiety about the future.” But when I think back to my friend who had a very rich dad. I remember comparing the two dads, her rich dad and my dad who was a rancher. I remember thinking I have the best deal, because my dad loves me and not material things. Her dad would spend time watching sports on the big screen, and my dad would actually take time for me. Life is not about the acquisition of “stuff” but about loving and spending time with people.

After, I had attended Bible school for a while, a fellow student jokingly said to me “What is the meaning of life?” I automatically responded to him by saying “to glorify God.” In Colossians 1:18 it states “that in all things he [Christ] might have the preeminence. It sounds simple, but sometimes I think life really isn’t about us at all. Once we start figuring out that happiness isn’t the ultimate goal, but pleasing God is, it is then our lives will be more meaningful and fulfilling.

There is a story I want to share with you from Dale Carengie’s book that I thought was interesting. It even mentions Broken Bow, Nebraska...so I thought that was fun, since I used to live just down the road from Broken Bow.

This is a story of Earl Haney of Winchester, Massachusetts.

Back in the twenties, he said, I was so worried that ulcers began eating the lining of my stomach. One night, I had a terrible hemorrhage. I was rushed to a hospital connected with the School of Medicine of Northwestern University of Chicago. My weight dropped from 175 pounds to 90 pounds. I was so ill I was warned not even to lift my hand. Three doctors, including a celebrated ulcer specialist, said my case was ‘incurable.” I lived on alkaline powders and a tablespoonful of half milk and half cream every hour. A nurse put a rubber tube down into my stomach every night and morning and pumped out the contents.

“This went on for months...Finally, I said to myself: “look here, Earl Haney, if you have nothing to look forward to except a lingering death, you might as well make the most of the little time you have left. You have always wanted to travel around the world before you die; so if you are ever going to do it, you’ll have to do it now.”

“When I told my physicians I was going to travel around the world and pump out my own stomach twice a day, they were shocked. Impossible! They had never heard of such a thing. They warned me that if I started around the world, I would be buried at sea. “No, I won’t,” I replied. “I have promised my relatives that I will be buried in the family plot at Broken Bow, Nebraska. So I am going to take my casket with me.’

I arranged for a casket, put it aboard ship, and then made arrangements with the steamship company—in the event of my death—to put my corpse in a freezing compartment and keep it there till the liner returned home. I set out on my trip...

The moment I boarded the S.S. President Adams in LA and headed for the Orient, I felt better. I gradually gave up my alkaline powders and my stomach pump. I was soon eating all kinds of foods—even strange native mixtures and concoctions that were guaranteed to kill me. As the weeks went by, I even smoked long black cigars. I enjoyed myself more than I had in years! We ran into monsoons and typhoons which should have but me in my casket, if only from fright—but I got an enormous kick out of all this adventure.

I played games aboard the ship, sang songs, made new friends, stayed up half the night. When we reached China and India, I realized that the business cares that I had faced back home were paradise compared to the poverty and hunger in the Orient. I stopped all my senseless worrying and felt fine. When I got back to America, I had gained ninety pounds and I had almost forgotten I had ever had a stomach ulcer. I had never felt better in my life. I went back to business and haven’t been ill a day since.

First I asked myself, “What is the worst that could possibly happen?” The answer was death.
“Second, I prepared myself to accept death. I had to there was no choice. The doctors said my case was hopeless.
Third, I tried to improve the situation by getting the utmost enjoyment out of life for the short time I had left...If,” he continued “if I had gone on worrying after boarding that ship, I have no doubt that I would have made a return voyage inside my coffin. But I relaxed—and I forgot all my troubles. And this calmness of mind gave me a new burst of energy which actually saved my life.”

I took this picture of a sunrise near Amherst, Nebraska two weeks ago.

Yesterday I went to one of those "cool, new" churches in Omaha. It is the type of church that has a guy up front who doesn't wear shoes and they play bongo drums. Almost everyone there are young people in their twenties and thirties.

So, it comes time for communion. You are supposed to go to the front of the church whenever you feel led, while the worship music continues to play.

I follow my friend Valerie up to the front. There is a guy standing there with a bread and wine. You are supposed to tear off the bread, dip it into the wine, and eat it and sit back down. It sounds very simple. So Valerie takes off this tiny little piece of bread, dips it in the wine, and off she goes.

I think "Yes, I am going to grab a tiny little piece too." So, I go and pinch this tiny piece of bread between my fingers and pull, and off comes a BIG CHUNK of bread.

My eyes get huge and I am looking at the guy holding the bread, and I think I even say to him half alarmed, "What should I do?" He just smiles. My first urge is to take off a little chunk off the big chunk and set it on his big chunk of bread. But I realize if I do that, it will fall on the floor...not cute.

So, I take the big old chunk, dip it in the wine, and take a huge bite. So then I am walking back to my seat and show Valerie the big piece of bread in my hand and she was like "I saw that was going to happen."

Anyway, I get back to my seat and don't want to look like I am greedily chewing a minature Subway sandwich while while the worshipful music is continuing to play.

So, I decide to shove the remaining bread in my little coat pocket. Crazy. I guess I could have stood up there with the wine/bread man and gave away pieces of my bread. Ha.