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WEEKLY FOOD FOR THOUGHT June Archives * * * * * * * * *
* * A man walks into a pub with a lizard on his shoulder and takes a seat at the bar. "Nice pet," the bartender says. "What's his name?" "I call him Tiny," the man replies. "Why's that?" ... ... ... "Because he's my newt." (from Reader's Digest-February 2002) (when I sent this out to my mailing list, I had several replies saying they "didn't get it"...so...just in case you're confused.......my newt = mi-nute meaning exceptionally small) * * * * * * * * * * * (Friday, June
20)
6/19/03 Branded <http://www.fischtank.com> Ever wonder what non-Christians think of Christians? I'm afraid most hear the word "Christian" and see a white, middle-class conservative on a political soap box, with an American flag in one hand and a Bible in the other. They don't imagine a kid with dread locks and bones in his nose singing about Jesus; or an African American pastor helping neighborhood kids get off drugs; or a body of Vietnamese Christians sharing a church with Hispanic believers in rural California. Saddest of all is the fact that they don't imagine non-judgmental people with compassion who are marked by their kindness to others and generous spirit of service and unconditional love. It is truly a tragedy that a merciful gospel that welcomes everyone is branded by an image that speaks for only a few.
6/18/03 "Stereotype-busters" <http://www.fischtank.com> I bet there are a lot of people out there who would be Christians if they
didn't have to become a Christian to be one. If that sounds confusing, it's
because I'm not talking about true Christianity, but about how the word
"Christian" has been translated into contemporary American life and culture. What we
think of when we use the "C" word is rarely what the world is thinking. But Jesus said, "Foxes have dens to live in, and birds have nests, but I, the Son of Man, have no home of my own, not even a place to lay my head." (Matthew 8:20) A few weeks ago I spent an extended period of time pondering all the things I had convinced myself that I needed that I did not already have. During my private "I wish" and "If only" party I developed quite a list of things that I was convinced were essential if my life were to be complete. You may know the routine. You may have a similar list. My thinking went something like this. * "Everyone else had a new car, why am I driving a ten-year old model?" * "Man, a pool sure would be nice." * "Those folks down the street just built a huge new church building, and man, what a nice parking lot." * "I wonder what it would be like to be a member of that country club?" * "How do those people afford to take such extravagant vacations?" * "That new computer will do everything I will ever want to do!" Have you been down that road? Have you ever spent any time on the "Iwonderwhatwouldbelike Highway?" I was cruising along minding my own business, when all of a sudden my daydreaming came to an end. It was late in the day. I was the only person at the building when Anthony came in. He sat for a while. I listened to his story. He had just moved to our area and was looking for work. He was trying to get "back on his feet" and make a "new start" in a new location. He had spent a few nights in a local motel, but his money had run out before his need for a place had been met. He was desperate. I pulled out my wallet, gave him a little cash, and told him if he did not find something to come back the next day. He left. I did not see him the next day. I sat there in my office thinking: "I'm focused on cars, buildings, computers, and me. Anthony doesn't have a place to stay." I don't need a lecture on how unwise it is to give cash to strangers. I know that he "may have gone to the first liquor store he came to." I don't need to be reminded of all the "other agencies" out there who can really help "people like that." I don't even need anyone to tell me how blessed I am to be able to reach in my wallet and find cash to share with a stranger. I know all that. What I need is a way to get my eyes off myself, my stuff, my things, my wants, my needs, and think about others on a more consistent basis. What I need is to find a way to stop (or at least slow) my desire for more things. What I need is some way to be less consumed by the things of this life, and more concerned about the people who need life. What I need is some way to stop thinking about all the stuff I want while Anthony has no place to sleep. I have some needs. God is generously providing for those needs. I have lots of wants. But more than anything, I want to be like Jesus ... and I also want to help Anthony find a place to sleep. Lord, help me! --------- Copyright (c) 2003, Tom Norvell <tnorvell@comcast.net>.
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(Tuesday, June 10) THE WINNER I was watching some little kids play soccer. These kids were only five or six years old, but they were playing a real game - a serious game - two teams, complete with coaches, uniforms, and parents. I didn't know any of them, so I was able to enjoy the game without the distraction of being anxious about winning or losing - I wished the parents and coaches could have done the same. The teams were pretty evenly matched. I will just call them Team One and Team Two. Nobody scored in the first period. The kids were hilarious. They were clumsy and terribly inefficient. They fell over their own feet, they stumbled over the ball, they kicked at the ball and missed it, but they didn't seem to care. They were having fun. In the second quarter, the Team One coach pulled out what must have been his first team and put in the scrubs, except for his best player who now guarded the goal. The game took a dramatic turn. I guess winning is important even when you're five years old - because the Team Two coach left his best players in, and the Team One scrubs were no match for them. Team Two swarmed around the little guy who was now the Team One goalie. He was an outstanding athlete, but he was no match for three or four who were also very good. Team Two began to score. The lone goalie gave it everything he had, recklessly throwing his body in front of incoming balls, trying valiantly to stop them. Team Two scored two goals in quick succession. It infuriated the young boy. He became a raging maniac - shouting, running, diving. With all the stamina he could muster, he covered the boy who now had the ball, but that boy kicked it to another boy twenty feet away, and by the time he repositioned himself, it was too late - they scored a third goal. I soon learned who the goalie's parents were. They were nice, decent-looking people. I could tell that his dad had just come from the office - he still had his suit and tie on. They yelled encouragement to their son. I became totally absorbed, watching the boy on the field and his parents on the sidelines. After the third goal, the little kid changed. He could see it was no use; he couldn't stop them. He didn't quit, but he became quietly desperate; futility was written all over him. His father changed too. He had been urging his son to try harder - yelling advice and encouragement. But then he changed. He became anxious. He tried to say that it was okay - to hang in there. He grieved for the pain his son was feeling. After the fourth goal, I knew what was going to happen. I've seen it before. The little boy needed help so badly, and there was no help to be had. He retrieved the ball from the net and handed to the referee - and then he cried. He just stood there while huge tears rolled down both cheeks. He went to his knees and put his fists to his eyes - and he cried the tears of the helpless and broken-hearted. When the boy went to his knees, I saw the father start onto the field. His wife clutched his arm and said, "Jim, don't. You'll embarrass him." But he tore loose from her and ran onto the field. He wasn't supposed to - the game was still in progress. Suit, tie, dress shoes, and all - he charged onto the field, and he picked up his son so everybody would know that this was his boy, and he hugged him and held him and cried with him. I've never been so proud of a man in my life. He carried him off the field, and when he got close to the sidelines I heard him say, "Scotty, I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son." "Daddy," the boy sobbed, "I couldn't stop them. I tried, Daddy, I tried and tried, and they scored on me." "Scotty, it doesn't matter how many times they scored on you. You're my son, and I'm proud of you. I want you to go back out there and finish the game. I know you want to quit, but you can't. And, son, you're going to get scored on again, but it doesn't matter. Go on, now." It made a difference - I could tell it did. When you're all alone, and you're getting scored on - and you can't stop them - it means a lot to know that it doesn't matter to those who love you. The little guy ran back on to the field - and they scored two more times - but it was okay. I get scored on every day. I try so hard. I recklessly throw my body in every direction. I fume and rage. I struggle with temptation and sin with every ounce of my being - and Satan laughs. And he scores again, and the tears come, and I go to my knees - sinful, convicted, helpless. And my Father - my Father rushes right out on the field - right in front of the whole crowd - the whole jeering, laughing world - and he picks me up, and he hugs me and he says, "John, I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son, and because I control the outcome of this game, I declare you - The Winner." - Author Unknown received from Inspiration List * * * * * * * * * * * (Monday, June 9) Pearls
"Oh please, Mommy. Can I have them? Please Mommy, Please?" Quickly the mother checked the back of the little foil box and then looked back into the pleading blue eyes of her little girl's upturned face. "A dollar ninety-five. That's almost $2.00. If you really want them, I'll think of some extra chores for you and in no time you can save enough money to buy them for yourself. Your birthday's only a week away and you might get another crisp dollar bill from Grandma." As soon as Jenny got home, she emptied her penny bank and counted out 17 pennies. After dinner, she did more than her share of chores and she went to the neighbor and asked Mrs. McJames if she could pick dandelions for ten cents. On her birthday Grandma did give her another new dollar bill and at last she had enough money to buy the necklace. Jenny loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown up. She wore them everywhere- Sunday school, kindergarten, even to bed. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a bubble bath. Mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green. Jenny had a very loving daddy and every night when she was ready for bed, he would stop whatever he was doing and come upstairs to read her a story. One night when he finished the story, he asked Jenny, "Do you love me?" Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you." "Then give me your pearls." "Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have Princess-the white horse from my collection. The one with the pink tail. Remember Daddy? The one you gave me. She's my favorite." "That's OK Honey, Daddy loves you. Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss. About a week later, after the story time, Jenny's daddy asked again, "Do you love me?" "Daddy, you know I love you." "Then give me your pearls." "Oh Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have the baby doll. The brand new one I got for my birthday. She is so beautiful and you can have the yellow blanket that matches her sleeper."
"That's OK. Sleep
well. God bless you little one. Daddy loves you."
A few nights later when her daddy came in, Jenny was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. As he came close, he noticed that her chin was trembling and one silent tear rolled down her cheek. "What is it, Jenny? What's the matter?" Jenny didn't say anything but lifted her little hand up to her daddy. And when she opened it, there was her little pearl necklace. With a quiver, she finally said, "Here, Daddy. It's for you."
With tears gathering in his
own eyes, Jenny's kind daddy reached out with one hand to take the
dime-store necklace, and with the other hand he reached into his pocket
and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of genuine pearls and
gave them to Jenny. He had them all the time. He was just
waiting for her to give up the dime-store stuff so he could give her the
genuine treasure.
So it is with our Heavenly
Father. He is waiting for us to give up the cheap things in our
lives so that he can give up beautiful treasure.
God will never take away
something without giving you something better in its place.
(Monday, June 2) The true
secret of giving advice is to be perfectly indifferent whether it is taken
or not. Never explain
-- your friends do not need it, and your enemies will not believe you
anyway. The man who
thinks he can live without others is mistaken; the one who thinks others
can't live without him is even more deluded. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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