I've always contended that, if I hadn't become a Christian, I would have become the most selfish person on the face of the earth. Sometimes I still think I am. My mother certainly thought so, and when I got out of Bible School, she sat me down and point-blank told me so. Ouch. Mom was never much for flattery. She was right, if a little extreme. I've been blessed to be in ministry for three decades. If that doesn't knock the selfishness out of you, nothing will.

Paul did not share this idea. He referred to both bad things (Killing Christians) and good (sitting at Gamaliel's feet) as part of what made up the person he became. God often uses the bad of our experiences - and the good - even before Christ - to be the octave that speaks into someone's life.

God puts to death our old sin nature but does not annihilate our CHARACTER. Insightful, quiet and melancholic people aren't turned into Robin Williams. Upbeat, funny, sunshine morning types get saved, and usually remain upbeat, funny, sunshine morning types.

As children, we are burdened by the inevitable blossoming of sin, and then sin's consequence, death - but we are also shaped and molded by circumstances, people and things - and these are things that God will redeem when we give our lives to Him.

I was about the shyest, most fragile kid in grade school. No one picked me for softball, because I threw “like a girl.” I hated recess and avoided getting picked on by hiding in the corner with the kid everyone called “retard” who I knew wouldn't hurt me.

My mistake was wearing it to school the next day. During recess, someone saw the ring and within minutes, it seemed like all the bullies in the school had surrounded me. “Look!” they taunted. “He's wearing a GIRL'S ring! What a sissy!” “Fag!” another one yelled, and they started to shove me around, and I was scared to death.

“Hey!” I heard an angry voice shout, and like a blur, a redheaded kid jumped in running and started to shove the kids back hard. “Leave him alone!!” “He's got a girls' ring!” one of them protested. The redheaded kid, whose name was Danny (I knew he was about the toughest kid in school) shoved his fist underneath the nose of the other kid while grabbing him by the shirt and making him look. “SO WHAT? Look at MY ring! You think I've got a girl's ring, man? HUH?” “N…no!” the other kid said, shaking now. “Yeah I didn't think so.” All the kids skulked away, leaving just Danny and me. I couldn't believe it - 11 year old Danny DeLeonard defended ME! “Thanks”, I said shyly. “Don't worry `bout them”, he grinned. “I got a ring just like yours!” And he walked away. I'd just found my first hero.

One, I can no longer remember the names and faces of the vast armies of bullies that tormented me from grade school to Junior High. They stopped mattering. They stopped making a lasting impression on me, all because one person thought I was worth defending.

Two, my heart began to feel the hurt of other kids who were rejected, cast out, ridiculed. Before, it was just MY hurt, and I just crawled off into a corner to bleed. But God had sent Danny DeLeonard to place the seed of compassion in my heart, and it grew, and I found myself drawn toward the outcasts.

Eileen Spooner was in the 4th grade and had coke-bottle thick glasses. One day the kids circled her like sharks when the teacher was out and started calling her “four eyes.” The feeding frenzy intensified until they got the desired result - she broke down and cried in humiliation and shame. It fed their tormenting until she cried out, “Today's my birthday!” and sobbed uncontrollably. Dead silence. The criminals were caught and shamed by their own cruelty. And I felt an ache I'd never felt for anyone but myself - my heart was breaking for her. I caught her on the playground. “Don't worry about them”, I said. “Happy birthday, Eileen.” “Yeah, happy birthday” a couple others said. She smiled through her tears. “Thank you”, she said, wiping her tears away. Was kindness and compassion that simple? Did I do for her what Danny did for me? Would she remember the sweetness of a kid who was kind in a moment the whole world was cruel? I hope so. Either way, the die was cast. That little bit of God's heart toward the outcast began to grow in me.

Danny T. was a tiny, skinny, scared kid. So, so abused, I knew it even then. So I tried my best to be his friend. But with brutally abusive alcoholic parents, dirt-poor conditions and no safe refuge, he was almost already gone, even at eight. I was devastated - but not surprised - to learn he had brutally murdered two girls at age 17, and is to this day locked up as one of California's most dangerous prisoners. Too little kindness…too late. How many Danny T.'s are in our schools today?

Tommy C was also in my 4th grade class. A sadder kid I'd never seen. He never talked, never smiled. His clothes were old and worn. Tommy was the brunt of every evil taunt from every cruel kid at school. One day while the teacher was distracted, a group of little devils had begun verbally hacking into Tommy until he finally cried out, “Leave me alone! I can't help the way I dress! My father's a DRUNK!!!” He ran out of the room sobbing. The mob, so typical, got what they wanted, then went dead silent when they actually got it.

What they didn't expect was the wrath of our teacher, Mr. Chestley. He was a very tall, imposing and normally very nice man. But today, he strode over to these evil little children and started yelling at them. The shock on their faces was priceless. “Don't you EVER make fun of that boy again!” he practically screamed. “You have NO IDEA what he goes through at home! One more stunt like that and you're ALL going to the principal's office! Am I CLEAR?!?” Heck yeah, he was clear! They understood - and so did I. Our School had a Champion for hurt kids, and I had an adult hero. I wanted to be just like him.

I got my chance on a two day scout hike when I was twelve. The hike was hell, and I kept wondering if the scoutmasters had Nazi armbands in their backpacks for after-hours training. Equating a ten-mile hike with character building, I disagreed after six miles of torturous uphill walking, and I managed to pull off an all-troop sit-down strike. The scoutmasters blinked, and we set up camp at the top of the San Bernardino Mountains.

Chris was a little guy, probably just eleven, skinny, shy and wearing glasses. He slept between me and another kid, the three of us snuggled in our sleeping bags under the glorious star-strewn sky. But I did not sleep, because Chris moaned, cried out and whimpered all night in his sleep. Even at twelve, I knew he was in terrible emotional pain - he was hurt and he was terrified - and tortured inside. I felt a stab in my heart every time he cried out. I felt water in my eyes. I felt helpless.

As I rounded the final part of the trail, I heard a ruckus - yelling, laughing, and crying - Chris' crying. He was cornered and being shoved by a thirteen-year-old bully I never liked while several other kids stood by and cheered.

Something snapped in me. I ran toward the middle of the fray, screaming, “LEAVE HIM ALONE!!!” and before the 13 year old goon had even a chance to see it coming, I had him on the ground and was pummeling him over and over, screaming primal, unintelligible threats. Three guys dragged me off of him. "Don't you EVER hurt him again, you GOT IT?!?” I screamed, and yes, they all got it. I put my arm around Chris and walked him out of the now silent crowd. “Th..thanks”, Chris sniffled, wiping the snot on his flannel shirt sleeve. “It's ok Chris”, I said quietly. “Are you my friend? Will you be my friend?” Chris asked hopefully. “Yeah, I'm your friend.”

Wherever Chris is, I hope he is strong, and successful, and unafraid. I pray he got healed of whatever hurt him. And I still pray he finds the Lord of Compassion, that, unbeknownst to me at 12, drove this skinny, scared kid into a pack of juvenile hounds and transformed me into a fierce lion for one moment - for one kid.

As He stripped off the old, layer by layer, much of what I thought was “me” was being taken away - arrogance, fear, rage - (and much still ahead, I am sure) - I felt at times only a shell would remain. To my surprise, a jewel lay shining underneath the rubble. It had been placed years ago and protected by my Father's loving hand, and try though he did, Satan was not able to steal it away. It was compassion.

But when I met Johnny, a scared, horribly abused 13 year old at church, the gem God had placed in my heart began to burn. In his face I saw Tommy C., Eileen Spooner and Danny T…and myself. Scared and uncertain, I stepped into Johnny's life and became his friend…another story, written in another book. God gave life to me, and now I knew this was what I longed to give others. I FELT the pain of others. I burned with anger at injustice and the injury of the innocent…the defenseless.

From that gem, God birthed a heart of ministry in me. Though the years have passed, it burns still. Most days, I'm just Joe Average. But if there's a hurting kid, you may find me weeping all night over them, or holding them while THEY weep. Injure a child, and this very average lamb will become a furious lion. I learned it long ago…from a kid named Danny DeLeonard…a teacher named Mr. Chestley…and from the fierce heart of the Lion of Judah Himself. Paul said it best. “Who is weak and I am not weak? Who is offended and I do not burn?” “Rejoice with those who rejoice…and weep with those that weep.” That is the heart of real ministry. Bringing God's love to the widow, the orphan, the fatherless and the friendless.

…I was lost in worship, my hands raised, singing a gentle song about God's love, when someone next to me interrupted my worship by tapping on my shoulder. “Are you Greg Reid?” he softly asked. I turned. “Tommy?!?” It was Tommy C., from almost a lifetime ago, now a healthy, full grown and Jesus-filled Christian! Suddenly we are lost in embraces, laughter, tears. Fifteen years and a world away, suddenly, compassion had come full circle. We had both been touched by a stranger's kindness, a Champion's care.