Love is a powerful, powerful thing.

Where would any of us be without it?

A hugely popular book, the storyline was almost immediately turned into a screenplay and, in 1930, became a major motion picture.

Both – the title and the theme – seem oddly appropriate to me today. Even as I eased out of bed this morning and padded stumbled to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of ambition…make coffee, the news in the background was alerting me to the fact that things in Israel and Lebanon had seemingly gone from bad to worse overnight.

Was it just yesterday that all the current events in the Middle East were filed under the labels such as "crisis" and "conflict"? Now terms like possible World War III and emergency evacuations are making headlines at a rate of speed that is just way too fast for me to comprehend.

So – for the moment anyway – I turned off the news, turned on the coffeepot, and retreated to my spot in the living room. It doesn’t have my name on it or anything, and is not even a chair that’s known as "Mom’s Only".

But it is a spot on the couch that is uniquely mine. It knows my body, and always cradles it in a way that is comforting and familiar. From years of repetitive thought/prayer/meditation time, this corner spot has become a place where I go to think, ponder, and plan.

And just be.

So, in the morning minutes before our Saturday becomes the crazy day I know it has the potential to become, I savor the quietness and the saneness.

I am the only one up and, save for the slow yet steady drip of my much-anticipated drug of choice morning cup of sunshine, the only sounds I hear are that of my own breathing and a neighbor’s dog somewhere far down the block.

And I feel at peace.

I’m feeling so tranquil, in fact, that, after a second cup of that special sunshine, I decide to prepare breakfast for my guys. My big guy (a.k.a. Mike) is now up and enjoying his own cup of coffee (yes, I do share, contrary to popular belief) but so far no sounds have come from Nate and Jorge’s end of the hallway.

So while the boys sleep on and while Mike sips his first cup of coffee and reads his Pilot’s Handbook on his laptop, I venture into the kitchen and begin to pull out a string of ingredients. Eggs, sausage, onion, and cheese… (Yes, the heavens did open up, a blinding shaft of light engulfed my small kitchen, and I do believe an actual angel choir broke into a contemporary version of the “Hallelujah” chorus.)

It’s not that I have anything against breakfast. I rather enjoy a leisurely conversation over a Denver Omelet and orange juice every once in a while. But at I-Hop or Cracker Barrel.

While the smell of quietly sizzling sausage, sauteed onions, and baking biscuits are the the scents that fill every Mitford kitchen I’ve ever read about, the long-lasting lingering aromas are where I take issues.

Jan Karon’s kitchen may be filled with the scent of freshly squeezed citrus right after her breakfasts, but this writer’s kitchen (a.k.a. MINE) tends to hold the morning meal hostage, refusing to let it go to aroma-heaven where it duly belongs.

But here’s the long and short of the morning breakfast deal.

I live with a bunch of boys of various ages, sizes, and shapes.

And boys like big breakfasts.

And I like these boys.

And I was feeling tranquil, what can I say?

So for a brief amount of time in our house this morning, sausage quietly sizzled and biscuits gently baked and – for the moment anyway – all thoughts of the Mid-East crisis, the Israeli conflict and soaring gas prices were nothing but a distant hum in my memory as…

all was quiet on the Wilder front.

In 1986 I read a book that moved me. The kind of book that inspires from page one, that grabs hold of you, heart and soul and, when the last paragraph is read, you reluctantly close the book, breathe deeply, and investigate the emotions it created inside of you.

Peter Jenkins, author of A Walk Across America and The Walk West, did that for me. As a high school senior, I was on the cusp of something intangible, yet exciting, and felt like the world was mine for the taking. Reading Peter’s journals about his trek across America and the kaleidoscope of people and cultures he not only encountered, but immersed himself in, made my heart beat just a tad bit faster.

People who take big bites out of life and then relish the flavors of their discoveries continue to inspire me. I love the fact that there are still folks in the world who truly care about humanity and its condition and aren’t afraid to step outside the box of what is normal or expected and dare to leave an imprint that will be read about and marveled over for weeks or months or years to come.

Which brings me to the one red paperclip. On July 12, 2005, Kyle MacDonald wrote the following post on a brand new blog:

This might not surprise you, but below is a picture of a paperclip. It is red. This red paperclip is currently sitting on my desk next to my computer. I want to trade this paperclip with you for something bigger or better, maybe a pen, a spoon, or perhaps a boot.

If you promise to make the trade I will come and visit you, wherever you are, to trade. So, if you have something bigger or better than a red paperclip to trade, email me with the details at oneredpaperclip@gmail.com Hope to trade with you soon!

PS I’m going to make a continuous chain of ‘up trades’ until I get a house. Or an Island. Or a house on an island. You get the idea.

Well, today – July 12, 2006 – exactly one year later, Kyle MacDonald will trade with the town of Kipling Saskatchewan for a recently renovated, historic, 1100 square foot house on Main St.

Remember, he started with one red paperclip. And now he has a house.

But the real tale, and the part that inspires me, is the journey of the past 365 days. His quest led him to people he’d ordinarily never come across, it gave him entry into segments of society and culture that traditionally house walls of protection, and it illuminated the very spirit of what I love about humanity – the capacity to reach out and make connections.

To extend yourself to others without fear – or maybe in spite of the fear – and begin to generate a current of good faith and generosity that, in turn, creates a trickle-down effect, must be rewarding. Life-changing even.

Just think. If one man can take one red paperclip and the zany notion that he could begin a bartering process that would ultimately reap him a house, then how much more can one Christian do?

One Christian, one Truth, and the not-so-zany notion that we can, indeed, take the whole gospel to the whole world.