Comforter

Lee So-hee, a 30-year-old office worker, used to live alone in Seoul. That changed in November when a friend gave her a rock. “If you really think of your rock as a pet, I do think it makes things a bit less lonely and more fun,” she said.

Pet rocks, a kooky and best-forgotten fad of 1970s America, are resurfacing in South Korea.

South Koreans, who endure one of the industrialized world’s longest workweeks, have a tradition of unwinding in unusual ways. They have lain in coffins for their own mock funerals, checked into prison to meditate, and gathered in a Seoul park each year for a “space-out” contest.

Pet rocks are the latest new thing. Lee, a 30-year-old researcher at a pharmaceutical company, made her pet rock a winter blanket from an old towel. It came into her life during a demanding stretch at work when she was working long hours in the lab, often late into the night.

“I’d occasionally complain to my rock about what a tiresome day I had at work,” she said. “Of course, it’s an inanimate object that can’t understand you. But it’s kind of like talking to your dog, and can feel relaxing in some ways.”

Choi Hye-jin, a 39-year-old Seoul homemaker, picked up a stuffed cloth trinket in the shape of a rock at a tourist shop next to one of South Korea’s famed rock formations. She takes pictures of it when traveling and has brought it to concerts and autograph-signing events of her favorite singer, who now recognizes her because of it, she said.

Only a fifth of Americans have experienced “true comfort” in the past 24 hours, according to a new survey. The poll of 2,000 Americans reveals that true comfort—feeling completely relaxed or at ease—can be hard to come by, as just 21% say they’ve been able to reach this state.

The survey also finds that the average American only feels comfortable for a third of the day—roughly eight hours.

The survey reveals that more than anything else, taking a nap (47%) is the top way respondents find true comfort. This is followed by taking a walk outside (41%) and having a spa day (36%), rounding out the top three ways respondents prefer to find comfort in their day.

When temperatures drop, respondents say they also find true comfort in taking a hot bath (34%) and creating the perfect temperature at home (25%)—which is 72 degrees Fahrenheit.

Possible Preaching Angle:

The Christian does not look for unreliable temporary comfort in the things of this world but genuine and lasting comfort through our Father in heaven, who personally comforts us (2 Cor. 1:4), with eternal comfort (2 Thess. 2:16), through the Holy Spirit (Acts 9:31), through his promises (Ps. 119:50), and by means of his rod and his staff (Ps. 23:4)

Molly Lee was a passenger on a flight from Charlotte to New York when another passenger made it clear she was not comfortable. She said it was at that point the woman began crying. One of the flight attendants overheard the woman and immediately went to comfort her and help her overcome the anxiety she was experiencing.

Lee said, “He just was so reassuring, so calming and said, ‘You know what? I got you.’ 'I'm gonna be there for you, just anything you need to let me know.’ With every little noise, she'd be like, 'What's that?' He's like, 'That's okay. That's just the jet bridge pulling away' or whatever the case may be. And that really helped her. He didn't have to do that, you know, and to just see someone extend their heart in that way to a stranger was just beautiful to me, and I wanted to capture it.”

Lee said the flight attendant, Floyd Dean-Shannon, sat next to the woman for nearly 10-minutes just holding her hand and reassuring her that she was safe. She captured the moment in a photo and posted it to her Facebook. The post has since been shared more than 11,000 times.

Possible Preaching Angles:

1) Experiencing God; Presence of God – Jesus told us never to fear because the Father’s full attention is on us, even to numbering the hairs of our head (Matt. 10:29-30); 2) Comforter; Holy Spirit - The disciples were full of fear to hear that Jesus would be leaving them. But he reassured them by saying, “And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever” (John 14:16; John 16:7)

Luke Winkie writes on Vox.com:

Jen Glantz is there for women on the biggest day of their lives—for about $2,000 a wedding. The 31-year-old entrepreneur has been a professional bridesmaid since 2015, working dozens of ceremonies each year around the country. She's a dear friend for a day, not a wedding planner. Glantz says, “I'm not going to be able to pick your flowers or taste your cake with you.” Instead, she specializes in energizing the dance floor, distracting problem relatives, and above all, comforting the bride. “You're running around putting fires out. You'll clock 30,000 steps in one wedding.” Some clients have suffered a recent falling-out with a bridesmaid and need a quick fill-in, while others just don't have enough close friends.

About three-quarters of the time, brides ask Glantz to make up a fake name and backstory—she usually claims to be a friend from some obscure hobby. Glantz launched her company, Bridesmaid for Hire, in 2015 after serving as a civilian bridesmaid in her 20s for numerous friends. “That got me thinking that if I could do this for friends, I could do it for the wedding industry.” She now has a team of pro bridesmaids but rejects any applicants who emphasize how much they love to party. Glantz says of the job, “It's not a party, it's an emotional roller coaster.”

Someone (J.D. Grear) has said that many of us think that the Holy Spirit is like our pituitary gland. You know it's there, you're glad you've got it, and you don't want to lose it, but you're not exactly sure what it does. Well, the Holy Spirit does a lot. For our purposes here, the Holy Spirit is our teacher, reminder, and enabler.

A number of years ago I suffered from a hip problem. For over a year I walked with a cane. Every time I leaned on one side, I felt an excruciating pain. As long as I was leaning on the other side, sitting, or in bed, there was no problem and no pain. But turn the wrong way and "Ouch!!" That pain was a teacher. I learned to be very careful about the way I walked, how I turned, and the steps I climbed. The pain was also a reminder: "Hey, be careful. Don't lean on that side." But when I did, there was always a kind soul who became my enabler, and would grab my arm and make sure I didn't fall.

The Holy Spirit is like that.

There is an Anton Chekhov story called "The Lament." It is a simple story about an old man who drives a horse and buggy for hire through the city.

The story goes that the old man's son died recently and he wants so desperately to tell someone. A wealthy man hires the horse and buggy for a ride across town. As the wealthy man steps into the carriage, the old man says, "My son, my son. Let me tell you about my son." But the busy man doesn't have time to listen.

Well, after the wealthy man leaves, another man steps into the carriage. He wants to be driven to the other side of the city. Again, the old man says, "My son. My son. Let me tell you about my son." And again, this second man also doesn't bother to listen.

At the end of the day, the old man returns to the stables, unhitches his horse, and as he begins to brush the horse down for the night, the old man begins to tell the horse, "My son. My son." And he tells the horse the tragic story.

There is a Japanese word, kintsukuroi, that means "golden repair." It is the art of restoring broken pottery with gold so the fractures are literally illuminated—a kind of physical expression of its spirit. As a philosophy, kintsukuroi celebrates imperfection as an integral part of the story, not something to be disguised. The artists believe that when something has suffered damage and has a history, it becomes more beautiful.

In kintsukuroi, the true life of an object (or a person) begins the moment it breaks and reveals that it is vulnerable. The gap between once pristine appearance and its visible imperfection deepens its appeal.

Possible Preaching Angles: (1) Christ, power and grace of—Jesus is the ultimate Kintsukuroi artist. He takes our broken lives and makes them new. (2) Suffering—We probably shouldn't take this idea of beautiful brokenness as a symbol of how suffering makes us better. In the face of serious life damage, some tragedies are not "for the better" but are just that: tragedies, for the worse, which we would have been better off without. But kintsukuroi nevertheless remains a wonderful illustration for the Christian life, which holds symbols of both life and death in one ruddy old jug.

You might not know the name Angelo Dundee, but you've undoubtedly heard of Muhammad Ali, probably the most famous professional boxer of all time. For more than two decades, Angelo Dundee was in Muhammad Ali's corner, literally. He was Ali's cornerman! He's the one who made Ali float like a butterfly and sting like a bee. He also trained fifteen other world boxing champions. Angelo Dundee described his job as a cornerman this way: "When you're working with a fighter, you're a surgeon, an engineer, and a psychologist."

As followers of Jesus Christ, we have something even better than a surgeon-engineer-psychologist in our corner—the Holy Spirit.

Pro baseball player R.A. Dickey was the 2012 National League Cy Young Award winner, the highest honor for a pitcher. But Dickey's career almost ended before it started. In 1996, the Texas Rangers made him their #1 draft pick and offered him an $810,000 contract. All he had to do was pass a routine team physical. But unknown to Dickey, the physical revealed that his right elbow was missing its ulnar collateral ligament.

As Dickey, a committed follower of Christ, entered training camp he uttered a prayer of gratitude: "Thank you, Lord, for all your blessings and for helping me get this far." But shortly after that prayer, his agent pulled him into a meeting with Doug Melvin, the Rangers general manager. Melvin flatly said, "We are going to retract our offer. We think there's something wrong with your elbow."

Dickey writes:

I try to take in those words for a second or two: We are going to retract our offer … I don't feel devastation, or even anger. I feel rage. Complete rage. It feels as if it starts in my toes and blasts upward through my body like a tsunami, into my guts and right up through the top of my head … [I want to tell Melvin] about … how this is the one thing … that I can do right and that makes me somebody … I want to make sure he knows [that] he's matter-of-factly dropped this atomic bomb on my baseball career. On my life.

[But] it's as if there's a strong hand on my shoulder holding me back, giving me pause. In that instant I have a self-control that wasn't there a moment earlier. I hear a voice: "Relax, I've got you. Relax, R.A. It's okay … I've got you." The voice is the Holy Spirit … I was just talking to God in prayer and now he is talking back, giving me a composure that could not have come from anywhere else. The tsunami passes. I am crushed by Doug Melvin's words but I am not going to do anything stupid … "I've got you."

Editor’s Note: Update – Robert Allen Dickey is a retired professional baseball pitcher. He played in the MLB for the Texas Rangers, Seattle Mariners, Minnesota Twins, New York Mets, Toronto Blue Jays and Atlanta Braves. You can read his testimony here: https://www.faithdrivenathlete.org/bios/ra-dickey

Letting go and moving on is a difficult, painful process. Bad relationships, bad decisions—we tend to revisit the moments when we were not-so-smart (or when others were not-so-smart), beating ourselves up for our mistakes or blaming others for the ways they've hurt us. That's why Jeff Goldblatt started what he hopes will become a movement—"Get Over It Day." The day, which was recently featured on Good Morning America, is midway between Valentine's Day and April Fool's Day.

The idea behind "Get Over It Day" is simple: all of us have something—an ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend, stressful school or work-related issues, fears and insecurities, embarrassing moments, bad relationships, and so on. "Get Over It Day" motivates people to use sheer will-power and move on—no matter how deep the scars. Goldblatt's website even sells "get over it" and provdes helpful hints like, "If you're not sure what you have to get over, just ask your friends what they're tired of hearing you complain about."

Possible Preaching Angles: (1) Suffering; Wounds—"Get Over It Day" sounds great on paper, but most of us need power and healing from God and others to truly heal and move on from our past wounds, failures, and regrets. (2) Comfort; Compassion—Fortunately, God doesn't just tell suffering people to "get over it" and neither should we.

In many fictional tales, characters die after suffering a devastating loss. The Bible often refers to the anguish of the "broken-hearted." But has anyone really died or suffered physical harm from a "broken heart"?

Surprisingly, medical researchers at Johns Hopkins University have now identified a medical condition called stress cardiomyopathy, also called "broken heart syndrome." This new research shows that tragic or shocking life events—including loss of a loved one, a car accident, armed robbery, a fierce argument—can cause a sudden surge in adrenaline that weakens heart muscles. According to the lead author of the John Hopkins study, "It looked like a heart attack in the sense that the EKGs were abnormal, the blood work was abnormal, but when you went to the [lab], the arteries had no blockages." The patients had very few or none of the typical risk factors for heart disease. But the emotional pain they experienced had literally stunned their heart, making it feel like they were having classic heart attack symptoms, including chest pain, fluid in the lungs, and shortness of breath.

In some cases, broken heart syndrome can be as dangerous as a real heart attack, although after treatment, most patients quickly recover. But in all cases, broken heart syndrome hurts just as much as a real heart attack. Research has also shown that the same regions of the brain that signal physical pain are also activated when we feel emotional pain, such as grief or rejection.

So when the Bible talks about the anguish of the broken-hearted, it's describing real hurt and real pain. As one of the doctors said about patients with this condition, "We'll definitely be paying more attention now than before to patients who are grieving."

Most who champion on-line chat rooms and message boards argue that such technology encourages community. The question, however, is just how healthy on-line community really is. Emboldened by anonymity, people often say things to others that they would never say face-to-face. Armed with a certain sense that "this isn't really the real world," people have little concern for the consequences of their actions or words. To put it simply: pseudo-, virtual community can often bring out the worst in us.

Consider the devastating story of Abraham Biggs.

The message board section of Biggs' favorite site, BodyBuilding.com, was his source of community—even family. The 19-year-old college student posted at least 2,300 messages, many of them chronicling his personal struggles. On November 19, 2008, after several messages that hinted at his desire to commit suicide, Biggs posted one final note, swallowed a medley of pills, and directed his on-line community to watch his death on a live video website.

What is especially horrifying is what investigators discovered after the suicide. Many in Biggs' on-line family had actually encouraged him to take his life. In fact when officers finally found where Biggs was located, 181 people were watching the video, many of whom were typing "LOL"—"laugh out loud"—on the screen.

In an interview with the New York Times about Biggs' death, Jeffrey Cole, a professor who studies technology's effects on society at the University of Southern California, said, "[Online communities] are like the crowd outside the building with the guy on the ledge. Sometimes there is someone who gets involved and tries to talk him down. Often the crowd chants, 'Jump, jump.' They can enable suicide or help prevent it." In the same interview, he later adds: "The anonymous nature of these communities only emboldens the meanness or callousness of the people on these sites. Rarely does it bring out greater compassion or consideration."

When The Associated Press spoke to Biggs' father about the tragedy, he said, "As a human being, you don't watch someone in trouble and sit back and just watch."

While working his way through seminary, pastor and author Ed Rowell took a job driving a school bus for kindergartners. Ed shares a story about a valuable lesson he learned from that experience—a lesson about the power of presence and a willingness to say the things God whispers into our hearts. The story begins with Ed meeting a memorable little boy named Ryan:

Several of the kids came from single-parent homes. Ryan was one. As he got off the bus one day he asked me if I'd like to meet his mom sometime. "She's real pretty."

"I'll bet she is," was my response. "But I have a pretty wife at home."

Heading back to the bus barn one afternoon after finishing my route, I glanced in my mirror and saw a shaggy blonde head peeping up over the last seat. "Ryan, why didn't you get off at your house?"

"I fell asleep," he said.

"When did you wake up?" I asked.

"At Kim's house," he replied. I quizzed him further. "Well, why didn't you tell me you were still on the bus?"

Sensing my irritation, Ryan responded quietly, "I just didn't want to bother you." We circled back to his home, where he let himself in with the key hanging from a shoelace around his neck.

Halloween came. Friday afternoon, the kids were in costume, high on sugar and anticipation. Ryan was made up like a vampire. It was a long run. Lord, just get me through this so I can go take some aspirin. After my last stop, I scanned the bus for stowaways, and headed home.

I slept in on Saturday. When I finally got moving and settled down with my first cup of coffee and the newspaper, a story on page two caught my eye. There had been an accident at the YMCA Halloween party. A heavy piece of gymnastic equipment was turned over. A child was killed. It was Ryan. …

I went to the White Chapel Funeral Home. I'm so scared. My greatest fear was that I would say something that would make his parents cry. Just don't say anything sad or stupid, I told myself.

There were just a few people talking to Ryan's family. His mom was pretty, just like he said. His dad was there too, with Ryan's stepmom. I imagined that the issues that had led to their divorce must seem pretty insignificant compared to the nightmare they were living right now.

I looked at the body in the half-sized casket. I thought I detected a little bit of Halloween makeup on his ear. Don't cry, you idiot, you'll upset his parents.

I looked up. There was no one left in the room except these three parents. I walked up to shake their hands. "I was Ryan's bus driver." His mom's eyes began to glisten. Watch it, don't get her started.

I told them about the day Ryan fell asleep on the bus and missed his stop. Even as they laughed at his response, "I didn't want to bother you," I could see the tears begin to well up in everyone's eyes. Way to go, Ed. Now you've made them all cry.

Ryan's mom started to speak, then grabbed me tight and started shaking with those choking sobs that I dreaded worse than anything… To make matters worse, I started crying too. Not discreetly, but all noisy and messy. I held this young mother I'd never met before, and wished I had something to say that would turn their attention away from my tears and runny nose.

A thought came to me. It sounded good until I said it aloud. "Just remember," I said when we all quieted down a little, "God knows the pain of losing a son, too." With those words, another wave of grief crashed over us.

As soon as I could, I got out of there. I feared I had poured salt in the wounded hearts of those parents.

The months passed quickly. Christmas came and went. My midterm exams were on the horizon. One Saturday, I spent the whole day studying and nursing a stomach ache that wouldn't go away. Finally, I called my doctor. "You'd better get to the emergency room, sounds like appendicitis to me." My wife drove me over right away.

As I lay there on the gurney, waiting for tests before surgery, a shot of something warm took the edge off the pain. In walked a pretty, young woman in white. She looked like Ryan's mom. You're hallucinating, I told myself.

"Hello, bus driver," she said with a smile… It was her—carrying a needle in her hand.

"I want to thank you for being there that night," she said as she tightened the tourniquet until my veins popped out. "I can't tell you how much your words about God understanding have helped me over these past few months." She slipped the needle in—I never even felt it. "But the fact that you cared enough to cry with us meant more than anything."

When I was in high school my father passed away rather suddenly. It was just two days before my high school graduation. At that time in my life I was a baby Christian; immature and shallow. I was still drying off the baptistery waters. All I cared about was not going to hell.

But then my dad died. I found myself in a place I'd never been before. I wanted to hear God speak. I wanted to know what he had to say about this situation; how he was going to get me and my family through this difficult time. So I prayed. And I waited for God to speak.

Then came the day of the funeral. The church was packed. I sat on the front pew with my mother and two younger sisters. The Lutheran priest spoke, but I don't remember what he said. I continued to wait for God to say something. Then the service was over. It was the tradition of this church to have the family line up in the foyer. Everyone would file past us and offer words of condolence and encouragement. Tears were shed, hugs offered, and words were given. I don't remember what anybody said to me in that time. But I continued to wait for God to speak.

Then I saw Kim O'Quinn. She was my age. We were in the youth group together. When she got to me, she didn't say a word. She had tears in her eyes. And she simply hugged me and walked off. But I heard God speak. It dawned on me. Just months before, I had attended another funeral; the funeral for Kim O'Quinn's father. In that moment she knew exactly what it meant to be me.

If you want to hear God's voice in your life look no further than the one who knows exactly what it's like to be you. He knows what it is to be human, he knows what it is to suffer, he knows what it is to be rejected, he knows what it is to be human. If you want to hear God's voice speak, allow your soul to be quieted long enough so that you can hear the one who was in the beginning say to you, "draw near to me and I'll draw near to you."

Author Garry Friesen writes: When my friend Reilly told me about his first visit to our church, I learned something about prayer. Reilly says that after the service he lingered, talking to this person and that. When he stepped outside, his four-year-old daughter, Melody, did not come out. By then the building was empty, and the door was locked and could be opened only with a key.

Reilly called through the mail slot in the large oak door, "Melody are you in there?" A small frightened voice answered, "Yes, Daddy." Then Melody put her hand through the mail slot so Daddy could hold it until someone fetched a church key. Melody could not see him, but she knew her father was there, and she was comforted.

Prayer is like a comforting hand through a mail slot. The Father is there listening and comforting even when you can not see him.

Jack Hayford writes:

On January 17, 1994, 10,000 freight trains seemed to be thundering through our house as the Northridge earthquake hit Los Angeles. When it was over, our family was safe and our home virtually untouched. Yet in the days following the disaster, I was gripped with a fear I had never known.

After four days, I desperately sought God in prayer. "Lord, I can't understand myself! I am not afraid for my life, and I am not in doubt of your presence and protection. Is there something wrong with me?"

Instantly, I sensed an inner whisper: My son, there is nothing wrong with you. I allowed you to experience the depth of the trauma and fear that has gripped multitudes so that you might comfort them beyond their fears.

It was the words of 2 Corinthians 1:3-4. God uses his children who have endured difficulty to become strength to others experiencing the same trial. We comfort others not from the foundation of our superior faith, but from the commonality of our mutual struggles.

The story is told of a certain 9-year-old who is sitting at his desk in school when all of a sudden there is a puddle between his feet, and the front of his pants are wet. He thinks his heart is going to stop, because he knows when the boys find out, he'll never hear the end of it. And when the girls find out, they'll never speak to him again as long as he lives.

The boy puts his head down and prays this prayer: "Dear God, this is an emergency! I need help now! Five minutes from now I'm dead meat." He looks up from his prayer, and here comes the teacher with a look in her eyes that says he's been discovered.

As the teacher is coming to snatch him up, a classmate named Susie is carrying a goldfish bowl filled with water. She stumbles and dumps the goldfish bowl in his lap. He pretends to be angry but prays, "Thank you, Jesus! I'm born again!"

Now, rather than being the object of ridicule, this kid is the object of sympathy. The teacher rushes him downstairs and gives him gym shorts to put on while his pants dry out. When he comes back to class, all the kids are on their hands and knees cleaning up around his desk. This sympathy is wonderful!

But as life would have it, the ridicule that should have been his has been transferred to Susie. She tries to help, but they tell her to get out: "You've done enough, you klutz!" As the day progresses, the sympathy gets better and better, and the ridicule gets worse and worse.

Finally, at the end of the day, they are waiting at the bus stop. The boy walks over to Susie and whispers, "Susie, you did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Susie whispers back, "I wet my pants once too."