Heroes rarely get the press they deserve.  At least not in this life.

Take Samuel Whittemore, for example.

I'd never even heard of the man until I learned that he was one of the men most admired by a friend that I admire.

Samuel Whittemore was born in Charlestown, Massachusetts in 1696.  A farmer by trade, he was a patriot at heart. At the age of 78, Whittemore became the oldest known combatant in the War of Independence.   Here's how it happened.

British forces were returning to Boston, having just fought the battles of Lexington and Concord.  As you may recall from history class, those were the opening skirmishes of the war.

Whittemore was doing what farmers do—working in his fields—when he spied an approaching British brigade.   Imagine the ice water that chilled his veins.

Whittemore quickly took up a position behind a stone wall.  As the British approached, he unloaded his musket, killing one soldier.  But there was no time to reload the rifle, so he picked up his dueling pistols, took careful aim, and shot another, then mortally wounded a third.

But by now, Whittemore, who was fighting entirely alone, was completely surrounded by a British detachment.  He reached for his sword, only to be shot in the face.  Next, he was bayoneted numerous times.   Left for dead in a pool of blood, he was later discovered by colonial forces—alive—still trying to load his musket to fight again.

Whittemore was taken to a Doctor Cotton Tufts of Medford, who saw absolutely no hope for survival.   But Samuel Whittemore refused to die.  History records he not only recovered, but lived another full 18 years, dying of natural causes at the age of 96.

Samuel Whittemore embodied the spirit of Ecclesiastes 9:10: “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.”  And with that, I raise a salute to my newest old hero--Samuel Whittemore.

When you run a business, the name of that business is.....well, big business!  Branding experts tell us we want crisp and cool.  Something with a little razzle dazzle.  Something that positions our product or service in a way that people will remember.

But in West Africa, they take a different approach.  Traveling through Ghana, the roads are lined with wooden stalls selling everything from fruit to phone cards to photocopies. Most of these so called shops are between three and six feet wide—that's it!  And most all of them are clearly marked with a business name hand painted on a tired gray board.

Some of the business names were humorous.  Among them:

• The “No Comment Hair Cut” shop.
• The “No Weapon Food Joint”
• Another restaurant alternative, the “Don't Mind Your Wife Chop Bar.”

But more than the occasional humorous names, I was struck by the strong references to Jesus and the biblical faith that I saw everywhere.

For example, every  taxi had a name.  Such as....

• God is One
• The Lord is My Shepherd
• To God be the Glory
• Jesus Family
• Fear Not—given my impression that there is plenty to be afraid of in Ghana traffic, I found that name somewhat assuring.

Then there's the cab titled, “By Grace.”  Imagine being asked, “How did you get here?”  You simply answer, “I've come this far...by grace.”

In our travels, we drove by...

• God First Upholstery Works
• The Blood of Jesus Christ tile store
• God Will Do—Welding and Fabrication Shop
• Christ Must Increase Restaurant
• Jesus is Lord Quality Frozen Foods
• Ask God Electricals
• King of the Universe—Dealers in Hardware

At first, I found all those signs mildly humorous.  Then they struck me as quaint. The more of them we saw, the more I became impressed with these shop keepers.

Would I be so bold as to put the name of Jesus before the name of my business?  Would I have the courage to put God first—not just in my dealing—but in the very sign that defines my occupation?

I now admire these people.  Their work ethic, their hope to achieve something more for their families in a tough economy.  But mostly, I admire the way they are unashamed to name the name of Jesus, who himself said, “Whoever acknowledges me before men, him will I acknowledge before my Father.”

If I ever do go into business, I hope I'll take a lesson from my friends in Ghana—and let JESUS get top billing.

Darkness has descended upon Ghana and we are stuck in a poky line of traffic streaming into the capital city, Accra.  The stop and go driving leaves me pondering two signs I saw earlier in our travels to the Cape Coast.

This morning, as we cruised along the George Walker Bush Highway (named for the U.S. President that brought financial aid to this West African nation) I saw a billboard that I really liked.  It said, “Behold, I am coming soon.”  And the quote, of course, is attributed to Jesus.

“What a great sign,” I thought, as we rumbled down the highway.

But less than one minute later, we encountered another billboard.  This one featured the large photo of a bearded man wearing a turban.  The caption identified him as “The Promised Messiah, Mahdi.”

While I support free speech, and the rights of other religions to express their views, I was angered in my spirit by the deception.  The true Messiah, Jesus, has already come.  Already given His very life for us paying for our ticket to heaven with the signature of His own blood.   Yet in the second billboard, Jesus was essentially being assaulted by a fake messiah.

God has given us the choice to believe whatever we want. We are welcome to worship whatever god we like. But we do NOT get to choose the consequences of our choices.

The Bible says, “He that believes on the Son has everlasting life: and he that does not believe the Son will not see life; but the wrath of God abides on him.”

The truth is the penalty for rejecting Jesus is Hell.

So when I see a billboard promising a different Messiah than Jesus, it makes me feel the same as if I saw a doctor prescribing chocolate to cure cancer.

Our enemy loves nothing better than to quickly counter truth and beauty with lies and ugliness.   Let's not be fooled.

What does true greatness look like?

I think I saw a glimpse this week.

Imagine a training conference for Christian media professionals from all across West Africa. Envision197 participants from 15 countries all gathering in Accra, Ghana to learn practical techniques in radio, video, leadership, and social media.  Moody Radio calls it the “Global Partners Training.” 

The conference featured energetic presenters, powerful worship, great preaching at night...not to mention delicious meals.  Over the course of the conference, I figured they served a total of 2000 meals to our group.

Unlike typical American conference centers, there were no “built in” facilities here.  We all ate outside underneath three large white tents.   Two serving lines formed outside the tents for every meal.

Every plate, fork and water bottle had to be carted by hand out to the tents.  Every grain of rice, every bite of fish was hauled over in coolers, or on large trays.

But there was one meal I will remember for a long time.   It was lunch time and the dark clouds overhead made good on their threat with a rainstorm the likes of which I have never encountered.

Bathtubs of rain dumped all over the conference grounds, just as the lunch was being served.  The conference participants were largely spared the soaking, protected under the tents.

But the servers just outside the covering of the tents were entirely exposed. In seconds, their white blouses and shirts were drenched. As I took cover, I watched rain dribble down noble faces. I was in the presence of greatness.

Jesus said, “Whoever would be the greatest among you must be the servant of all.”

The greatest of all at the Global Partners training were not the presenters or the preacher or the worship leaders.  But the great ones were easy to spot. They were the ones serving.  Dripping in the rain.

They say that we either waste time, use time, or invest time.

Several weeks ago, my wife and I enjoyed the weekend company of five year old Joslynn, our granddaughters. The little blonde kindergartner is reluctant to leave our house on Saturday.  Doesn’t even like to get changed out of her pajamas.

But she loves to make paper airplanes, which we take great pains to color before folding and flying.   Joslynn is not content until we’ve created not just one or two planes, but a fleet sufficient in number to replace an entire wing of the United States Air force. 

But Joslynn had recently seen the Pixar movie, Monsters, Inc.  She asked me draw the outlines of the main characters so she could color them. The truth is I can't draw for diddly.   Never could.

But Josie absolutely positively had to have those characters drawn, so I gave it my best shot. Grabbed my tablet and did an online search for images that I did a poor job of copying onto her paper.  But Josie never once complained or criticized.  She colored.

There was the big and fluffy Sully, Mike—the happy go lucky green guy whose one eye represents the full orb of his diminutive body. We drew Randall, the mean hearted purple lizard, and Boo—cute as a button—smiling and waving.

The day flew by and by nightfall, Josie was back home.   Getting ready for bed, I grabbed my tablet.  But before powering it down, I checked the most recent image on the screen. It was Boo.  The cute little girl from Monsters, Inc.  Still smiling.  Still waving.  Only now, it felt like a wave goodbye. I was not prepared for the lump in my throat.  

Left to myself, I probably would not have suggested we take a whole day and sit around in pajamas with crayons in our hands. But now that it's come and gone, I feel schooled.  Humbled.

I’m not sure that Saturday of coloring connects directly with Proverbs 22:6—"Train up a child in the way he should go..."  But I’m thinkin’ somehow….it just might.