After the sun and sugar had their way the girls were ready to go home. We loaded our loot from the silent auction into the car and rolled down 19th Street, happily chatting about how fun it was to smash confetti eggs on people’s heads and when we were going to use the movie tickets we’d just won.

In mid-sentence Annie said, “Whoa, Daddy. Funeral.”

We all looked to the right. Resthaven Cemetery. The familiar roll away green awning. A small group of people huddled in a semi-circle. An American flag fluttering in the wind in front of the honor guard from the VFW.

At 45 miles per hour the solemnity passed quickly.

We were all quiet for a moment. Even Annie and Emma, about to turn 8, seemed aware of the contrast. Just a few blocks away kids are running and laughing, playing ring toss and bouncing around on giant inflatable moon walks.

Such a short drive.

Near where I grew up in Iowa there is a quaint country church, surrounded by corn and soybean fields. A big shade tree sits on their property, the perfect spot for the playground equipment they erected…right next to their cemetery. Not even a fence to separate.

I recall thinking how odd to see monkey bars and swings so close to headstones. As if one has nothing to do with the other. Then a moment later realizing that, intentional or not, this was a picture of life. In the scope of eternity, the distance between the playground and the burial ground is shorter than we think. A quick ride down the slide and we’re bumping against the granite.

Glancing in the rear view mirror I see my daughters. My beautiful, sun-kissed, sweaty, sticky mess squirrely girlies.

Take them home.

Hug them.

Hose them off.

Hug them.

Eat lunch.

See if they’ll share some of their Pixy Stix while we watch Scooby Doo together and remember my childhood as I enjoy theirs.

It’s such a short drive.

“Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” – Psalm 90:12

Todd A. Thompson - www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Every Thursday I pick up Annie and Emma from school and we drive here to see our elderly friends. It’s our favorite part of the week, something we look forward to. The girls help me put fresh roses on the dining tables and then we go room to room, pausing to visit as we replace last week’s rose with a new one for their vase.

There are 20 patients on this end of the floor. Making the rounds on this day, we’re sad and happy. Sad that we don’t get to see Mr. Billy. Happy because after six months he finally got to go home. The first few times I stopped by his room, he seemed like a tough nut to crack. A big burly man with a flat top haircut who wasn’t much for talking. Then several weeks ago I noticed a small Marine Corps sticker on his bulletin board. “Are you a Marine, Billy?” It was like I’d discovered the magic key that opened the door of conversation. For ten minutes he told me about what it was like to join the Marines at age 17. About fighting in the Pacific Theater during World War II. About being on Iwo Jima. He spoke of his two Purple Hearts and the shrapnel he still carries in his body. He held up the palm of his thick hand and I saw a scar from his thumb to his wrist. “That’s where I grabbed a bayonet that was coming at me. Almost cut my whole thumb off. That guy didn’t live long.” He said it not with braggadocio, but with the somber tone of a man who put his life on the line for freedom.

There is a suitcase on Kathleen’s bed. After being here for several months, she gets to leave tomorrow. She’s only half excited because though she’s leaving, she can’t go home. An intermediate step of an assisted-living apartment is required. In reference to dealing with the disappointment of not being able to go home she says from her chair, “I’ve got some adjustments to make in my attitude. I’ve got some growing up to do.” To hear this retired school teacher speak openly of our never ending need to grow and learn inspires me.

We go to the General’s room and find it empty. The light is on. Perhaps he’s down in the therapy room. Annie and Emma are concerned. They love the General. The first time we saw the name on his door, we thought “General” was a nickname. Then I saw the 8×10 photograph of General with Edwin Meese from President Reagan’s administration and realized the General is a real General. Air Force, two stars. 91 years young and a wealth of life experience. Last week I brought him a copy of his career biography that I printed from the Internet. He hadn’t seen it before. I watched him look it over and tried to imagine what it would be like to read the story of your life on two pages. Emma leaves a chocolate bar on his bed and returns several times to see if he’s back.

Wanda thinks she’ll be going home in a couple weeks. She’s trying to get strength back after a stroke. Word puzzle exercise sheets and color by number projects are on her table, part of her therapy to regain fine motor control in her right hand. She told me how good God has been to her, even in the details of her stroke. “Just a few days before I was thinking about how I don’t know how to use the speed dial on my cell phone. So I figured out how to put my son’s number in there. When I got dizzy and collapsed all I had strength to do was push that one button. Thankfully, he was only five minutes down the road.”

When I saw a new name on the door a couple weeks ago I figured Herbie would be a guy. But Herbie is an elegant professional woman, patiently enduring treatment so she can go home and get back to her real estate business. God willing I make it to 83, I hope I’m still hard at work like Herbie.

Phyllis paces back and forth down the hall with her walker. I feel for her. How frustrating when you can’t make the connection between your brain and your speech. She tries and I patiently listen. Inevitably she sadly sighs and shakes her head, wanting desperately to form the words. Then Annie and Emma come through the door and her face lights up like a billboard in Times Square. Just their presence seems to comfort her. She smiles and breathes easier and I stand there, dumb and humbled by the frailty of our humanity and the blessing of children.

From her bed, Gladys says,”I just love to see those little girls. And those roses are so pretty! You know that big pink one at my table in the dining room is still beautiful after a whole week.” Gladys loves roses. She has a big oil painting on the wall, a still life of roses in a vase. She leans forward a bit and extends her arthritic hand. “You know, I take care of that one out there. I put ice cubes in there every meal so they melt and keep the water full. And I think that’s why it’s doing better than all the rest.”

The hope of returning home. The desire to return to work. Striving to regain physical and mental abilities. We all need something to look forward to. A purpose that makes us feel significant. Today my friends at the care center, each in their own way, reminded me that there is no such thing as insignificant purpose.  

This week as I work and pray over my life struggles, wondering and worrying how it’s all going to turn out, Gladys is faithfully feeding ice cubes to the pink rose at her table, doing her best to keep it beautiful until next Thursday.

I can’t think of anything I’m doing this week more important than that.

- Todd Thompson

www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

They achieved success by selling hundreds of thousands of people on the idea that their lives would be complete if they could lock and load garden produce like clips in an M-16 and fire cucumbers slices into a bowl at 120 rounds per minute. What do you get when you cross a tomato with a Tommy Gun? The Salad Shooter™.

America is a world power. In the marketplace. On the battlefield. And in the kitchen. We lead the world in salad technology. While other countries toss their greens with primitive wooden spoons, we prefer to fire at our lettuce from point blank range with electric pistols. All the safety rules apply. First and always, check to see if it’s loaded. Is there a potato in the chamber? Don’t point it at anything you don’t intend to slice and dice. When not in use, be sure the safety is on. This prevents accidental firing. All it takes is one slip of the finger on the trigger; one unfortunate blast of bacon bits and life as you know it is never the same. It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

In sales, we talk about “need based selling”; the importance of explaining how the product or service will fill a need that the customer has. While the concept is valid, practically speaking, America hasn’t been a true need based society for over 60 years. In America, our economy is primarily driven by wants. It’s both the luxury and the curse of living in a land of plenty. Most Americans, while perhaps not yet at the income level they desire, are far beyond earning money for basic survival. For example, in 1950, 10 percent of all income in the United States was spent for luxuries. By 1980, 30 percent of all income went to luxuries. And that was 20 years ago.

Madison Avenue doesn’t sell needs. It sells wants. The best sales people today aren’t need fillers. They are want creators. No one needs a Salad Shooter. We may want it, but we don’t need it. With their creative and persuasive commercials, the marketers of the Salad Shooter have brushed aside the inexpensive practical efficiency of a simple kitchen knife and created a desire to see mushrooms flying out the end of a barrel. Tossing a salad is old fashioned. Shooting a salad is 21st century. Using a knife to cut your veggies is passé. Electric whirling blades are high-tech. Fulfilling a need is boring. Fulfilling a want is exhilarating.

Sometimes conversations about needs and wants imply that satisfying a want is a bad thing. Follow that line of logic and it’s easy to see the problems. Who determines the break point? Who draws the line between necessity and luxury? If fulfilling a want is bad, then is God displeased with everyone who lives beyond a stripped down utilitarian existence? I don’t think so.

The place to start, as always, is to allow God to define Himself by His own terms. God says that He owns it all. God also says that He is a loving, generous God who enjoys providing for us. Jesus Himself said that He came so that we “might have life and have it more abundantly.” In our American consumer culture we’re too quick to equate abundance with material gain. To point at Jesus’ words and say, “See, Jesus wants me to be rich!” is (besides a gross misinterpretation of the text) to miss the point.

Jesus had something much better in mind. He knows that it’s possible to fulfill every want and still not have what we need. Jesus understands we face the deadly possibility of fulfilling every want we have to the point of gaining the world, and in the process lose our soul. Or, as the bumper sticker says, “He who dies with the most toys…still dies.” In the end it’s our soul we need to keep.

Jesus knows our needs. Jesus also knows our wants. When we begin to experience the abundant life He wants to give us, it’s easier to discern the difference between the two.

Something to think about next time you’re firing hollow point croutons at your spinach salad. (Wear your safety glasses.)

“The thief comes to steal and destroy. I have come that they might have life, and have it more abundantly.” – John 10:10

While their older cousins plowed through piles of presents, Annie and Emma amused themselves with the old silver coasters they found on the end table, the same coasters they had been playing with for several days. The twins had their share of gifts to open. We tried to get them excited about it. Annie seemed to understand the concept of the initial rip, but then continued to tear the same bit of wrapping paper into smaller bite size pieces. The two of them had no desire to see what was inside their packages. Instead, Annie and Emma happily “gave” each other coasters. “I put one in your hand and you put one in my hand and we both get excited!” They spent their time gathering the old silver coasters the way a raven gathers shiny objects for its nest; oblivious to their relative value.

Watching my girls play I recalled their first Christmas last year. Babies, 2 months old, in red flannel sleepers snuggled together holding hands during an afternoon nap. And I thought about next Christmas when, God-willing, they will join their cousins in the merry mosh pit. What a brief and unique stage of life they are in. At 14 months of age they are too young to know better than to be anything but content with what they have. This year a silver coaster. Next year, a coaster wagon.

Are we happier after Christmas than before? Are we happier after receiving what was on our Christmas list than before we put in our request to Santa? In the days prior to December 25th we’re told and sold that we will be.

Marketers spend hundreds of millions of dollars to convince us that the perfect gift brings happiness to both the giver and the receiver. What they don’t tell us is that happiness is a moving target. The gadgets that hit the bulls-eye this Christmas will miss by a mile next year. Were that not true, we’d all still be enamored with our 8-Track tape players.

Inherent in anything labeled “new and improved” is a Trojan horse of discontent. If what they have is new, then what you have is old. If what they have is improved, what you have isn’t as good as it could be. The screaming Pentium 3 computer that made you happy last Christmas is now a daily reminder it’s not the speedster that is a Pentium 4. Who would have guessed that our level of technological awareness would become so focused as to be irritated by a two-second delay in processing time? Thirty years ago, the phrase “slow computer” would have been an oxymoron. God help us if we have to go back to electric typewriters and carbon paper. Because in our hard drive world I don’t think there’s anyone left who knows how to change a ribbon.

Are we happier after Christmas than before? Perhaps we can ask ourselves that question when we’re replacing the batteries on our Christmas Palm Pilots. Certainly there is value in giving and receiving, even if the good feelings are temporary. To watch our gifts bring smiles and excitement to those we love warms us. To open a gift and know that we are important to someone else is a wonderful honor.There are inherent blessings in giving and receiving, not the least of which is expressing our love to one another. We can always look for new and improved ways to appreciate the people in our lives.

Are we happier after Christmas than before? Annie and Emma showed no decrease in joy. They just kept playing with their coasters. Then again, they aren’t mature enough to appreciate that this may well be the purest, most innocent Christmas they will ever experience.

Happy are the toddlers, for no one has told them they shouldn’t be.