If you live beyond the reach of a Portillo's restaurant, I pity you.  Not just for your lack of access to their unequaled Italian beef sandwiches, but also for your dwarfed understanding of what a chocolate cake really can be.

I accept (even anticipate) your skepticism.  But be assured my chocolate cake claim is far from exaggerated.  Just check the buzz online.

So there we were, at our local Portillo's, sharing pieces of this fabulous fabled cake with our daughter and son-in-law and their three children.  Their eldest had just received her three-year Sparky Awana award and we were celebrating--big time.

Two year old Lucy wolfed down her half, worked on my wife's, then dug into mine.  As the wonderful wedge dwindled, there was one bite left.  The arc of my arm swooshed past Lucy's shoulder (she was nestled on my lap not so much out of affection as for better access to the cake: sitting higher = reaching farther).  Just before my fork plunged in, her little index finger wagged twice over the remaining cake as she mumbled (whilst chewing a large mouthful) “that's my bite.”

We learned long ago when Lucy declares a thing, it is so.  Do not question.  Do not doubt.  So I speared the last of the lusciousness, poked it in her mouth and smiled at the boldness of her claim. You might say—she took the cake.

As in love with that cake as Lucy appeared to be, your heavenly Father is even crazier about you.  When he thinks about you, He smiles.  When God looks at you, ponders you, says your name--He does so with an intensity far greater than Lucy's and declares, “That's MY daughter....that's MY son!  You are mine. Mine!”  

And when God declares a thing, it is so.  Do not question.  Do not doubt.   Just savor the sweetness of His love.

God says, "I have loved you with an everlasting love; Therefore I have drawn you with loving kindness.”  

--Jeremiah 31:3

Of course you've heard about Auschwitz.  The complex was the largest of its kind established by the Nazi regime, which included three main camps. There, 1.1 million people were murdered.  But it's rare to meet a survivor.   Raise a salute to one Fritzie Fritzshall.

Just 13 years old when she arrived at Auschwitz - Birkenau, her train car was so overcrowded, half its occupants were dead on arrival—including her own grandfather.  

“A Jewish man in a striped uniform was forced to clear out the train car as quickly as possible,” Fritzie remembers.  “He asked me how old I was and when I told him I was 13, he told me, 'You will tell them you are 15.'”   His kind advice saved her life, as Fritzie was separated from her two younger brothers who had survived the train ride, but were later killed.

“They immediately shaved off our hair,” Fritzie told me. “When you are 13, your hair is very important to you.  I remember standing there, tears rolling down my face, bits of hair stuck to my cheeks as I stroked my head.” 

Not knowing her mother's fate, Fritzie inquired when she would be able to see her again.  Authorities merely pointed to the column of white smoke belching from the furnace chimneys. 

Yet even in this ocean of cruelty, she found an island of kindness in a gaunt stranger so emaciated Fritzie failed to recognize her as her own aunt.  “At night, she would stroke my face and say, 'Well, we made it through this day.  Maybe tomorrow will be better.  Let's get through one more day.”

It was encouragement Fritzie seized like a life preserver.  Indeed, she credits her survival to her aunt's positive outlook, though her aunt was eventually killed by the Nazis.

More than seven decades later, Fritzie has nightmares.  With the rise of ISIS and its extreme hate for Jews and Christians, in concert with a global slide toward anti-Semitism, I shudder to think those nightmares could be as much about the future as they are the past. 

“Woe to those who scheme iniquity....”  (Micah 2:1)

It's one thing to read about the holocaust in a book. Quite another to read it in the face of a survivor. 

At the Illinois Holocaust Museum, (ilholocaustmuseum.org), I sat across from Fritzie Fritzshall who lived in the former Czechoslovakia.  After the Nazis occupied her town, Fritzie and her mother and two brothers were forced into a ghetto, and ultimately deported to Auschwitz.  She was just 13.  

Jammed into a railroad car, there was standing room only.  One tiny window offered far too little ventilation for the more than 100 people crammed inside.  With agonizing detail, Fritzie described the thirst, the hunger, the heat and the smells.

“It was there we surrendered the first of our dignity,” she almost whispered.  Fritzie recalled the one bucket in the center of the train car that served as the only toilet.  “An old woman sat down and several tried to give her some privacy, holding up a blanket.”  But before long, dehydration and hunger sapped them of their modesty.  The bucket was constantly full, constantly sloshing the excess of its filth on those who sought relief.

Over the course of the long train ride Fritzie remembers, “I saw mothers with tiny babies, unable to feed them or give them something to drink.  They died in their mothers’ arms.” Before the train ride ended, Fritzie's own grandfather was dead.  Indeed, half the train car's passengers were dead.  

And that's when the doors slid open.

At Auschwitz. 

There is so much more to Fritzie’s story.  But what must be said is that Fritzie Fritzshall is not just a survivor.  She's a hero.  

Fritzie does not ask for your sympathy.

Yet she demands that you remember:  The Holocaust did happen.

Given the global rise of anti-Semitism, I think it less than alarmist to suggest the Holocaust could happen again—this time with an even broader range of targets. 

Psalm 94:16, “Who will rise up for me against the wicked? Who will stand for me against those who practice iniquity?”

Consider the Panama Canal—a modern marvel. It took 75,000 workers 12 years to dig 10 miles to create the Panama Canal, the water gates that join the Atlantic and the Pacific.    Although the locks are a generous 110 feet wide, the largest of the vessels that pass through, called Panamax, have just one foot to spare on either side!  So there are plans for expansion underway.   Good thing, because every year, between 12,000 and 15,000 ships go through the Panama Canal!

But here's the stat that blows my mind.  A boat traveling from New York to San Francisco that travels through the Canal saves a staggering 7,872 miles (nearly one third of the circumference of the entire globe!).    

Creating this convenience has come at a price.   When the canal opened in 1914, it did so at a cost of 375 million dollars (that's 8.9 billion in today's money).  At the time, it was the single most expensive construction project in U.S. History.  And it was also extremely costly in terms of human life—with more than 5,600 workers perishing from disease or accident.   That's more than one death every day for more than a decade!

Allow me to grab the rudder of this little blog and steer the ship into a hard turn. 

Consider the extraordinary price that Jesus paid when He came to earth.   Like the land mass that separated the Atlantic from the Pacific, our sin stood between us and God—“uncrossable.”

In choosing to die a horrific death in our place, Jesus made possible the ultimate passage: from earth to heaven…from death to life.   But perhaps like the Panama Canal, the story has grown so familiar, we've lost our sense of awe.  Time to get it back.

Grace—the kind that bids us cross from death to life—is inexplicably costly. 

He said, “Ask God to open doors for you to walk through with your unsaved loved ones.”

Dr. Jim Coakley had no idea of the adventure his wise counsel was about to help unleash.

For years, now, we have been praying for a small list of people who need to come to Christ: neighbors, friends, relatives.  My commitment is to keep praying for these lost people until I die--or they die.   No kidding.  But since we started praying the prayer Jim recommended—that God would open up doors of opportunity--life has revved into high gear.

Example A

For years, we have prayed for Sam, a great guy, a helpful neighbor who happens to be gay.  Though we've spent time together socially, we had always wanted to have Sam over at our house for dinner.  But it never happened—until.... 

My wife had made a beautiful pot roast with potatoes and carrots....fresh rolls.  As we looked out the window and noticed our neighbor, Sam, my wife suggested, “Ask him to come in.”  So I did.  That's when we offered him dinner...which he sat down to and ate hungrily. Sam stayed a long time, too. He agreed with us that coming over again would be a good idea. 

Example B

Though we've been friends at the surface level for years, we've never gone out to dinner with a couple I'll call Pete and Jackie.  Sensing what I thought  might be a Holy Spirit nudge, I simply asked this couple if we could treat them to dinner out.  Pete and Jackie accepted.  And despite the enormous differences between us (they are people of wealth and community standing) we had a spectacular time together.  And here's the kicker—THEY asked if we could do this again!

I still believe in the practice of daily prayer for these lost souls.  But I have to say, life has turned more adventurous since we started asking God to open doors of opportunity.  

Funny thing about doors, though. You and I have to knock first.  Only then does God seem to do the opening.

Praying for some lost people in your life?   I dare you—ask God to open some doors.  Then get ready for the adventure!