There is only one memory logged in my mind of Mr. Lute. From it I know two things about him: he is tall and his name makes me think of a flute.
This memory takes form on a playground. I am found on my favorite playground apparatus: the swings. My skinny 5-year old legs dangle in front of me. They have long since given up the arduous task of launching me into flight. The failure to launch has cast me into a spell of despair until my hero enters the scene. Mr. Lute, with his effortless stride, crosses the length of the playground, towers behind me and woosh... in one powerful movement he pushes the swing, runs under me, and I am airborne. It is the highest altitude that I have experienced thus far in my life - made possible by a maneuver which I affectionately term "the underdoggy".
Let me make a couple things clear. I was 5 and I was skinny. The lift that I experienced would have been impossible without the effort of this very tall man.
And I think that this is why God is a fan of using underdogs...the underdog would be ridiculous to claim any credit. Think of how absurd it would be if, after Mr. Lute pushed me, I started pumping my little legs and shouting at the top of my lungs "look what I did...look how high I pumped myself!" Ridiculous, right?
How beautiful is our God: breathing life into death - bringing hope into despair - trading beauty for my ugliness. I know that he is a fan of the underdog, because he's a fan of me.
