You can imagine that when in August of that year God moved me to Phoenix, Arizona to attend seminary that it was quite an adjustment. Out of some two million people living there at the time I knew only four. It didn’t take long before I was missing my family and friends in a major way.

It took several months of visiting churches before God pointed me to First Baptist-Tempe. In December just before Christmas I was invited for dinner at the home of Chet and Rosie Farrington who were long time members there.

After a delicious meal, Rosie said to me, “Todd, there’s something here you might be interested in.” She reached out and pulled a small plaque off the wall. It looked old and it had a Bible verse on it. Nice, I thought. I like old things that have character.

“Look on the back”, she said.

I turned it over. A list of signatures. And the names…”Hey, I know all these people!”

“That’s the plaque the Men’s Brotherhood of First Baptist Church in Swea City, Iowa gave to Chet in January of 1956 just before we moved to Arizona.”

Swea City, Iowa is my hometown. And First Baptist Church is where I grew up from the week I was born. On the list of names are the signatures of my great grandfather, both my grandfathers, a great uncle, and many of my neighbors growing up.

What I hadn’t known in moving to this big city was that before I was so much as a twinkle in my parents’ eyes, Chet and Rosie had lived across the field from my grandparents and attended my home church.

To see those names and the familiar signatures of my family members in this new and lonely place was like water in the desert. It was a connection. A reminder of my heritage. That I come from somewhere. And most important, that the God who grew me up in Iowa was with me in Arizona.

That plaque didn’t just happen. Back in 1956, someone in the First Baptist Church thought it would be a nice gesture to give Chet Farrington something to remember them by as he moved away to the big city. 37 years later that person’s thoughtfulness encouraged another guy who had moved away to the big city.

Friends, when we extend kindness to others we never know how far it reaches. Or who it touches. Across the miles and across generations. Let’s be purposeful in our kindness and intentional in our encouragement.

That’s a legacy we can gladly sign our name to.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Some years ago my friend Duane Cross and I were in the Chicago area attending a preaching/speaking conference at Willow Creek Church. Before going to O’Hare to catch our plane, we spent several hours at the Chicago Art Institute.

If someone gave me a ticket to anywhere in the country to spend a day in solitude, I’d be walking up the steps of the Chicago Art Institute. I get misty just thinking about the big lion statues that guard the front doors. Even though I can’t draw a straight line if you spot me a ruler, the Art Institute is a magical place for me. Home to some of the world’s most famous masterpieces, it is at once a place of awe, romance, inspiration and reverence. It’s impossible for me to be in the presence of such exquisite art and not worship God.

The Art Institute has an extensive Monet collection. As Duane and I stared at one of his genius examples of Impressionism, Duane said, “Check this out”, and pointed to the signature on the lower right corner of the canvas. It read simply,

Monet 77

Duane astutely observed, “Just “Monet 77″. Not “1877″. Because for Monet, what other “77″ would there be?”

However self-aware Monet was of his God-given talent to paint, I doubt he could have imagined that this canvas he signed off on would be hanging in a world famous American gallery being admired by thousands of people some 130 years later.

It’s 2011. Whatever you and I sign off on today, literally and figuratively, ends in “11″. Unless you’re born this year and possess some stellar genes, it’s highly probable that this “11″ is the only “11″ you’re ever going to know.

Which brings us back to the question. What are you signing your name to today?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to acts of service and generosity? As you walk through the parking lot at Sam’s Club are you looking for the elderly lady who could use a hand lifting the 20-pound box of Tide into her trunk? Are you stopping to buy Girl Scout cookies from the red haired, freckle faced cutie in the Brownie vest because it will make her day and if you’re going to overpay it may as well be for Thin Mints?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to working with integrity in your job? Are you standing up for a co-worker who’s being gossipped about in the break room? Are you refusing to engage in office politics, choosing instead to focus on being your best in the position you occupy?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to being an amazing spouse in your marriage? Are you loving your wife unconditionally and working hard to speak her love language? Are you respecting your husband unconditionally and working hard to speak his love language?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to being a good parent? Are you looking as hard for what your kids do right as what they may be doing wrong? Are you building them up with words of encouragement and praise? Are you taking time to tell them stories about their heritage and where they come from that they may develop a sense of place and belonging?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to being honest with God? Can you summon the courage to dump the trappings of church and religion and ask God for genuine relationship with Him? Can you release your grip on who you think you are so God can show you who He designed you to be?

What kind of brush strokes are you laying down on the canvas of your life today?

If we are signing our name and “11″ to a life of living for and loving others, then the canvas of our life will be viewed and remembered long after we’re gone. Because a life lived for others leaves a legacy that points people back to God.

Monet couldn’t have imagined his canvas being honored and appreciated 130 years later. He just applied the paint with the talent God gave him and signed off on it. Which is another way of saying that if we focus on painting a beautiful life of loving others and loving God, our legacy will take care of itself.

Todd A. Thompson “11″ – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

]]> http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2011/02/16/monet-77/feed/ 0 http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2010/08/29/the-wiser-ones/ http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2010/08/29/the-wiser-ones/#comments Mon, 30 Aug 2010 05:36:16 +0000 todd http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/?p=482 We notice him as we walk into Whataburger. A frail, slightly stooped elderly man helping his equally frail wife get out of a big white Mercury Marquis. While she balances precariously on a four-footed cane, he tries to pull the sleeve of her red sweater up over her shoulder.

Inside we are second in line. A good spot, I think, until I realize that the lady behind the cash register is either really new or Whataburger is having a hard time finding help. She struggles with the coded buttons, correcting herself five times before finally concluding the transaction. I take a step toward placing our order when the lady customer who’s politely and persistently made her wishes understood has an attack of honesty. “I don’t think you charged me enough”, she says. This sets in motion a five minute detailed audit of order #52, Whataburger with cheese, no onions, mustard only, fries and a medium Dr. Pepper.

My kids are surprisingly patient throughout. Emma stares at the back lit menu board while reciting her order over to herself. Annie is facing backwards. It appears she’s looking around me to what’s behind. I glance over my shoulder. The frail man has successfully gotten his wife’s sweater sleeve in place and they stand gamely, him hanging on to her and her leaning hard on the cane. They are smiling smiles of age and experience and perspective. Yes, this is taking a really, really ridiculously long time. But it’s just an order at a hamburger stand.  Their smiles seem to say that, in the span of their lives, they know it’s not that big a deal.

Annie motions me to lean toward her. “What’s up, Annie?”

“Daddy,” she says, still looking past me, “I think we should let the wiser ones go first.”

I’m always proud when my girls get it. Proud when they think of others without my prompting. Because of our weekly time spent at Carillon’s skilled care center and Vista Care’s in-patient hospice unit, they are comfortable around the elderly and all the canes, walkers and wheelchairs that come with that stage of life.

What strikes me is her choice of words. “I think we should let the wiser ones go first.”

We step back and motion to them. “Please, go ahead. I’m still deciding what I want and we’re in no hurry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Mrs. Frail says, “Thank you so much. I’ve been to the doctors and I’ve had to stand a lot today. I appreciate it.”

Mr. Frail smiles and guides his wife forward. “Thank you so much.” And they step into their own game of Whataburger order roulette.

The wiser ones. I wonder what it is that makes Annie see them as wiser? It’s a given that with age comes experience. Yet experience runs the gamut. Good and bad. Wise and foolish. Thoughtful and impulsive. Generous and selfish. Age and experience do not guarantee wisdom. There is such a thing as an “old fool”. Experience becomes wisdom only when we are purposeful in applying truth to the process. It is, as they say, the difference between having 30 years of experience and experiencing the same year 30 times.

Do a search of the Bible on the word “wise” and one discovers that the quickest path to wisdom is to possess a teachable heart and spirit. Even King Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, when told by God He could have anything he asked for chose to ask for “a listening heart”. God was most pleased with that request. God loves a teachable heart because a teachable heart pushes personal pride aside for the sake of growth. When we listen to everyone, when our hearts are open to instruction, when we’re not afraid of criticism and correction, then we’re able to learn and grow in every situation.

Let’s live so that when we become the frail person in line at Whataburger, people might see wisdom instead of age.

“The wise person accepts instructions, but the one who speaks foolishness will come to ruin.” – Proverbs 10:8

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Purposely provoking her sister Annie to frustration. Lots of button pushing in her communication with me. A good measure of “I hear what Daddy is saying but I’ll do it when I feel like it.” Then, when called to accountability, blaming her sister or feigning poor hearing as excuses for her actions or lack thereof.

She knew better, but on this morning she was determined to live on the edge. 

As a farm kid, I remember seeing cattle in a great big lot with room to roam, yet insisting to stand right by the electric fence. Then having the nerve to look surprised when they got shocked.

On this morning, Emma seems bent on getting a close look at the fence.

After reprimanding her for poking her sister while they watched Scooby Doo, Emma stood up and looked at me. Determined to make this my fault and not hers, in a full lung bluster of self-righteous indignation she blurted, “I never want you to talk to me again!” With high drama she made her exit, stage left.

As a parent there are things we do to show our children we mean business. Yet if truth be told, we’re just freezing them mid-step or mid-stomp, hoping to buy time till we think of something to say.

“Emma Elizabeth! You get back here right now! One, two…”

What the heck? How should I address this? Think….think….

Emma came back around the corner. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, shoulders squared. She was ready for a showdown.

Then I looked in her brown eyes.

Anger, yes. But fear, too. A dash of confusion. And playing peek-a-boo behind it all, a soon to be 8-year old saying, “Daddy, I’m in over my head and I don’t know what to do.”

“Come here, Emma.” When we’re mad and deep down know we’re wrong, we don’t like walking toward accountability. Her steps were grudging.

“Emma, you said you never want me to talk to you again. That hurts my feelings.” Her eyes lowered. I had begun the familiar “you shouldn’t talk that way to me because it hurts my feelings” argument. The one that attempts to modify the offending party’s behavior by making them stare at the verbal martyr statue of ourselves that we sculpt right in front of their eyes. But somehow it just doesn’t feel right.

Is this about my feelings? Or about our relationship?

“Emma, if I could never talk to you again that would make me so sad. If I couldn’t talk to you again then I’d never get to say, “Emma, can I get you some ice cream?” or “Emma, do you wanna play the Wii with me?” or “Emma, I have a surprise for you!”

Speaking of surprises, I was surprised at what was coming out of my mouth. If this teachable moment is for Emma, why do I feel like the one learning?

“And I could never say, “Emma, wanna go to Krispy Kreme and get some donuts?” That would be so sad.”

Maybe God wanted me to give enough examples to get Emma’s attention. Then again, maybe He wanted to get mine. See, I’ve been a Christian for 40 years. I know God loves me. He has to love me. It’s in His job description. Yet my heart has always struggled with wondering.

I know God loves me…but does He like me?

Too often I’ve thought about my relationship with God from the bottom up. How it looks to me. Rarely have I looked at God’s relationship to me from the top down. How it looks to Him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, telling my daughter all the things I’d miss saying to her if I could never talk to her again gives me pause to think, that just maybe, God would miss not communicating with me. It’s a thought I want to hold, but am not sure how. So I just say the next thing that comes to mind.

“And Emma, I’d never ever get to say, “Come here so I can hug you…”

At the sound of those words Emma’s defiance melted. She threw herself into my arms, sobbing and bear hugging my neck.

In the middle of our anger and our frustration, even in the middle of our sin, we crave relationship. God’s response to our clenched jaws and squared shoulders is not to say how much our defiance hurts His feelings. His response is to open His arms and say, “Come here so I can hug you.” God does not force our obedience. He loves us into submission.

Walking through Wal-Mart later that day, Emma had to be corrected a couple times. Except this time after the teachable moment, she grabbed me and said, “Hold my hand, Daddy. Wrap your fingers around really tight, ok?”

And that’s how we walked. Her ornery streak still intact, but with a grip on her Daddy’s hand.

“Do you not know that it is God’s kindness that leads you to repentance?” – Romans 2:4

Todd A. Thompson – www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

One day I commented on this. “I’ve noticed how friendly you are to everyone. Even the people who aren’t very nice.”

His answer was insightful. With a big smile and a delightful British-Caribbean accent he said, “When you live on an island, you quickly learn that everyone “recycles”. Sooner or later, you’ll see them all again. So it makes sense to be kind.”

How would we treat people if we knew we would see them all again? If we knew that everyone would eventually “recycle”?”

Sometimes the best way to think about a question is to flip it upside down. What if we knew no one would recycle? How would we treat people if we knew we’d never see them again? 

Would we use our “once and done” point of contact as an opportunity for selfish expression? Would we allow our tongue to lash? Would we step on them to elevate ourselves?

Or would we consider it a once in a lifetime chance to impress a kindness? To build up a stranger? To deliver a single act of goodness?  

Would we take the moment for ourselves?

Or would we give the moment to others?

Certainly the presumption of future anonymity has been a catalyst to human behavior ranging from harmless practical jokes to great evil. To be sure, acts of generosity have been extended to strangers one never expects to see again. Yet ever since Adam and Eve’s failure in the Garden of Eden, our human nature is weighted toward the dark side. Our desire for recognition craves the spotlight and left to itself, our sin nature thrives in anonymity. If to the general population we put the question, “what if you knew you’d never see that person again?”, it’s a sad but safe bet the answers would be more selfish than sacrificial.

How do we treat people when we think we’ll never see them again?

Then again, I wonder…how would our attitudes toward others change if we knew that, as my island friend assumed, we’d see them all again sometime?

What if we knew the 20-something kid behind the counter at the convenience store, the one with the rivets in her ears and angry tattoos on her arms, would recycle back into our life at some point? Would we look past the body art and into her eyes?

What if we knew the hyperactive kid, the one who acts like a bouncy ball loose at Wal-Mart, was guaranteed to fly across our path again? Would we make an effort to grab his shirt tail long enough to let him know we care about more than just trying to slow him down?

What if we knew the invisible street person sitting on the downtown city sidewalk would someday enter our field of vision again? Would we stop to see them, and treat them, as one created in the image of God?

All things considered, it makes sense to live as though everyone we meet will eventually “recycle”. Even if they won’t. Acts of kindness are not forgotten. They may never know your name and even forget your face. But they will not forget the good you did. Should that person recycle back into your life, what better starting point for relationship than a kindness remembered?

Starting now, live as though everyone will “recycle”. With every person you encounter, assume you will see them again someday.

Then ask yourself this question:

“When they see me again, how do I want them to remember me?”

It just makes sense to be kind.

“I expect to pass through life but once. If therefore, there be any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow human being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again.” – William Penn

“Do you not know that it is God’s kindness that leads you to repentance?” – Romans 2:4

When our server left to go get our beverages Annie asked, “Daddy, what’s her name?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?”

When she came back delivering our iced tea and lemonade Annie did just that.

“What’s your name?”

“Joanna. What’s your name?”

“Annie.” Annie stuck a straw in her mouth and Joanna went back to the kitchen to bring our food.

When she returned to our table Annie looked at her and said, “Joanna. That’s a pretty name.”

For a brief second Joanna looked disoriented. As though the unexpected compliment was an item she wasn’t used to finding on her daily menu. She smiled. A real smile. Not a Sweet N Low substitute smile, but a 100% real sugar smile that takes over your face when someone has genuinely made your day.

“Thank you, Annie.”

“You’re welcome.”

Joanna went back to the counter with a tiny tear in her eye and a spring in her step. Annie went back to her chicken strips and fries. I sat staring, blessed by a lesson in the power of a kind word as taught by my 6-year old daughter.

A truth about relationships is that when we meet people we either leave them a little bit better or a little bit worse, but we never leave them the same. There is no neutral. People are either a little bit better or a little bit worse for having spent any amount of time with us.

When we live by this truth, it changes the way we view the so called “random encounters” in our day. We have opportunity to significantly bless the lives of others in the briefest of interactions. She may be the person behind the counter of the convenience store who takes your money as you say “$20 on Pump #2″. But what would happen if you linger just a few seconds to ask how she is really doing and really listen? That simple act alone sets you apart from every other person she will ring up that day.

In the past few weeks I’ve tried to be mindful of Annie’s lesson in kindness and take time to do more than the blow and go greetings that are my habit. I’ve tried to stop and ask questions. How are you? How are your kids? What’s happening in your life? How’s work? Once people realize you really care, their life, full to the brim, comes spilling out.

“My daughter keeps having ear infections.”

“My Grandma died.”

“They moved me to a different department at work and I hate it.”

“I’m going through a divorce and I’m at the end of my rope. I can’t do this anymore.”

“My kids are driving me crazy!”

“The doctor says it’s cancer. He thinks he got it all but I’m waiting for the biopsy. Am I scared? You have no idea.”

“There’s nothing for me here anymore. I’m so lonely. I don’t know what to do.” 

Life is hard. For all of us. When we communicate kindness we’re saying, “You’re not alone.” When we communicate kindness we are following God’s example. God is infinitely kind to us. What is mercy and grace but the ultimate kindness? Sparing us the punishment we deserve and in it’s place showering us with favor we don’t deserve?

Kindness is a catalyst. It encourages us to risk being more of who we really are. We relax a bit. We open up a little more. We’re more comfortable and less threatened. Timely words that touch our heart leave us better than before. Because kindness shown to us respects our inherent value as people created in the image of God.

Take time to be kind. Sincere compliments. A listening heart. A helpful hand. We know how good it feels to be on the receiving end of such blessings. Even better to be a giver of kindness.

Go make someone’s day.

“Do you not know it is God’s kindness that leads you to repentance?” – Romans 2:4

“Kind looks, kind words, kind acts, and warm handshakes – these are secondary means of grace when men are in trouble and are fighting their unseen battles.” – John Hall

So what if it’s a mundane task? So what if no one else would think this is a big deal? On this day I am the best ice chipper out’er in the world. So instead of blowing her off, I said, “Yes I am. I’m very good at this. And thank you for saying so.” I likely did twenty other jobs that day more important than defrosting the freezer. But the only job I remember is the one my daughter complimented me on.
 
Today make it a point to pay a sincere compliment to the people in your path. When it comes to kind words, we’re all sponges ready to soak them up. Express your appreciation. Praise a job well done. Acknowledge that which is taken for granted. Give kudos for consistency. The one hearing your words will never forget the sound of your applause.
 
And if you’re going to compliment someone on their ability to defrost a freezer, you can tell them they’re a really good ice chipper, but you can’t say they are the best.
 
Because that would be me.
 
Now go make someone’s day.

“Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” – Proverbs 16:24

Finally, we get off the ground. The Dad and Mom decide to switch places. He’s holding the boy and from my vantage point all I can see are two little legs sticking out into the aisle, flailing and kicking.

Then the little guy loses it. He freaks out. He red lines his volume. And that’s when it all breaks loose.

Mr. Wall Street Journal spins his head toward the Dad, “Can’t you keep that kid quiet??!!” The Dad exercises enormous restraint, “I’m doing the best I can!” Mr. Wall Street Journal then says a little too loudly to no one in particular and everyone in general, “I didn’t pay for a ticket to listen to this all the way home!” and in the same instant slams his fist into the back of the seat in front of him where the little boy’s Mom is sitting. He hits it hard enough to break the latch on the tray table so it won’t stay in its locked and upright position.

Ever experience one of those flashpoint situations where everything happens at once?

In the microsecond after the passengers realize what has happened, public opinion swings 180 degrees in favor of the little guy. They turn on Mr. Wall Street Journal like a pack of wild dogs. They yell and hiss and in short order make him wish he would have rented a car to get home.

Then something wonderful happens. A kind, wonderful, spontaneous thing that changes the entire atmosphere on the plane. Rolling like a wave from the front to the back, over the top of the seats all you can see are hands filled with bounty from purses and tote bags and backpacks, passed from one row to the next. In less than a minute the Dad’s lap is overflowing with stuffed animals, candy and toys.

Thankfully, a few minutes later, the little guy falls asleep.

Kindness. It transformed the atmosphere on that plane from hostility to peace.

Whatever shape it takes and however it’s offered, kindness has the power to transform. A harsh and angry attitude can be calmed with kind words. A closed and fearful heart can learn to trust when surrounded with kindness. Kindness helps welcome new folks into the neighborhood. Kindness helps dispel our fears. Kindness gives people the courage to try again. Kindness helps people out of awkward situations. Kindness paves the way for reconciliation.

Perhaps kindness is transforming because it’s so surprising. We live in a reciprocal world. Be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you. Be mean to me and I’ll be mean to you. That’s why kindness is often unexpected. It catches people off guard.

This idea of transforming kindness was God’s idea. God is not reciprocal with us. In our faults and failures, God responds with kindness. God is kind toward sinners, which is to say God is kind to me and to you. (Romans 2:4; Ephesians 2:7) That’s certainly a surprise when we’re expecting to be punished. He desires that you and I extend the same kindness to those around us.

Do something wonderful today. Go surprise some people.

Be kind.

“…clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.” – Colossians 3:12-14

Panhandlers are fairly common around America West Arena, especially late at night after events. Usually at least one of them will hit you up for money as you’re leaving work and headed for your car. Some ask for food. Most ask for money that they say is for food. Most of them are lying.

But wheelchair guy is across the street. Not someone I’ll have to talk to tonight. He made the green light, though, and headed straight for me. With one leg stretched out stiff and straight on the foot step, he pushed himself with his other leg. He steered with his hands while looking over his shoulder, like driving everywhere in reverse.

The car was on the third level of the garage so, short of running up the stairs, there wasn’t any way to avoid him. Was I trying to avoid him? Honestly? Yes.

He spun his chair around and launched into a well-rehearsed spiel. You know, the overly friendly and enthusiastic greeting that attempts to overwhelm you and get you off balance.

“Excuse me, how ya doin’ tonight?” Verbally he plunged ahead while fumbling with his left hand for a tattered cardboard sign. “All I’ve gots is 75 cents to get something to eat. Can you spare anything?” With his right hand he held up a cheap clear plastic glass and jiggled the three quarters at the bottom. With his left hand he pulled out the sign wedged in the arm rest of his wheelchair. “Homeless and hungry. Please help. In Christ’s love…”  A nice variation on the typical “God Bless”. You can never really know if they mean it or if it just helps with the donations.

Even though I’ve been in this situation many times, I’d be lying to say I’m comfortable with it. Sometimes it’s easy to say no. I could say no. I could walk away. But my eye was stuck on his sign and the last three words scrawled in black. “In Christ’s love…”

I reached in my pocket and pulled out my wallet. All I had was a $10 bill. I gave it to him and said, “This is all I’ve got.” He looked twice and surprised. “That’ll do! Thank you!” Kicking his worn out Nike against the asphalt he pushed away and down the sidewalk.

Our most honest conversations are the ones we have in our mind. Conversations no one else hears.

“A $10 bill. Am I crazy? Why did I use my $1′s buying dinner tonight? Great. I just let a panhandler talk me out of $10 when my finances are tight. He’s probably on his way to a six-pack of beer or worse. And I gave him the money. And that sign. “In Christ’s love”. Right. Every panhandler puts “God Bless” or something like it on their sign. For all I know the guy was faking it and he’s parking his wheel chair in the alley while I’m out $10 bucks. Was I just so stupid to hand that money over? Then again, maybe he will use it for food. Who knows? That’s what’s maddening about this. Who knows?”

The next day I still felt conflicted. And the conflict produced some questions.

Why am I so concerned about the stewardship of a ten dollar bill when giving it to a homeless person? And why don’t I apply the same level of scrutiny to myself when I spend ten dollars on something I don’t need? Why am I so high and mighty in trying to discern whether or not the money I give to a panhandler will be spent judiciously?

Ten bucks. That’s a cheap pizza. So why am I wondering about the stewardship of the ten dollar bill I handed to the guy in a wheelchair when I don’t give it a thought if I’m chewing on a slice of Canadian bacon and mushroom from Hungry Howie’s? (With sesame crust, of course.) I don’t always spend money wisely. So where do I get off deciding whether or not the recipient of my pocket change is worthy to receive it?

What if God used my thought process when deciding whether or not to give me something? What conversation would God have with Himself? “How do I know Todd won’t waste it? How do I know he won’t go spend it on something foolish?Something that’s harmful to him? And is he working hard to be responsible for himself? Is he asking for this because he’s lazy? Or does he genuinely need it?”

Any way you look at it, God is generous with us. All of us. Or as the Bible puts it, “He sends His rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” (Matthew 5:45) Jesus also said, “If you, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Heavenly Father give what is good to those who ask Him?” (Matthew 7:11) Say what you will about God. He is a Giver.

“In Christ’s Love”. We can never know if they mean it or it just helps with the donations. Yet given a choice, it’s better to be generous and wrong than stingy and right. A CPA could argue that from a purely financial standpoint, God is crazy to keep giving to us. We don’t always manage the money well. But God keeps giving to us in abundance.

If God’s ok with being crazy in His giving, maybe we can risk being a little crazy ourselves.

The subject line of this one read “Bits of Wisdom”. The list included tongue-in-cheek thoughts about health and exercise. “I am in shape. Round is a shape.” “I am a nutritional overachiever.” “Brain cells come and go, but fat cells live forever.”

Halfway down the funny list I found a genuine bit of wisdom. “The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing at the right time, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.”

Working my way through graduate school I had a small cleaning business. Placing one ad in the newspaper saying I had been “trained by meticulous Grandmothers” prompted enough calls to get me started.

Occasionally, I would do “move outs”. Move outs are cleaning jobs in homes that have been vacated after being bought or sold. My job was to clean the house from top to bottom in preparation for the new occupants. One afternoon I got a phone call from a lady saying her uncle, who was in poor health, was moving into a new place. She was helping him relocate and wanted me to clean the house before he moved in. We agreed on a price and she said she would leave the key under the flower pot.

I started in the kitchen at 7:30 AM. Two hours later, I was still in the kitchen. It needed a lot of elbow grease. When I pulled the refrigerator away from the wall I found some stray Lego blocks and a red plastic dinosaur covered with so much fuzzy crud that I had to look twice to be sure it wasn’t a real fossil.

None of this should have bothered me. I was hired to clean the house. Regardless of condition, I was being paid to clean. I’d been paid to clean houses that needed nothing more than a feather dusting and I’d been paid to clean houses that needed an industrial strength power washing. This job was somewhere in between. Yet for some reason on this day I was letting these two hours in the kitchen bother me.

I was standing at the sink rinsing the dirt off the dinosaur when the lady who hired me walked through the front door. We exchanged pleasantries and some small talk. She looked around the room and said, “It was kind of a mess, huh?”

Have you ever thought to yourself, “I really don’t need to say what I’m thinking. It isn’t necessary.”…but said it anyway?

“Yeah, kind of a mess. They didn’t leave this is very good shape for you, did they?”

She paused to look at me. With awkward kindness she said, “No, …we didn’t.”

Turns out she and her husband were the owners of the house. Their family had been living there. They were moving out so her uncle could move in.

The back pedaling I did was as frenetic as it was ridiculous. “Uh, oh, it’s really not that bad. Really. I’ve seen worse. A whole lot worse. This really isn’t bad at all. I’ll be done in no time.” With every word I bore down harder on the SOS pad and made the worst of a bad situation.

She graciously excused herself and I went back to work, feeling every bit the idiot that I was. Channeling my moronic energy, I flew through the rest of the job to get out of there as soon as possible.

Remember how King Solomon taught that God rewards us when we love our enemies? That when we respond with acts of kindness we heap burning coals on their head? (Proverbs 25:21-22) When I finished the job, the lady paid me our agreed upon fee, plus a $20 tip. My head smelled like smoke for a week.

“The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing at the right time, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.” When we leave the wrong thing unsaid, we’re extending anonymous kindness to others. Much better for our kindness to go unnoticed than to receive full credit for our hurtful words. I’ve never seen that kind lady again. I remember her for what she could have said, but didn’t. She likely remembers me for what I shouldn’t have said, but did.

My Grandmother used to say that in the tempting moment before speaking, it’s wise to ask yourself three questions:

Is it true?

Is it necessary?

Is it kind?

That’s a genuine bit of wisdom.

Because there’s no way to clean up spilled words.

“Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned, as it were, with salt, so that you may know how you should respond to each person.” – Colossians 4:6

To my right, a guy in a chair is trying to keep hold of a squirming, screaming pre-schooler. To my left, a young mother bounces a yelling toddler on one knee while rocking a baby in a car seat with her foot. In front of me, a long zig-zag of people with weary, exasperated expressions. They face the same direction like cattle in a storm, all focusing on the service window. Sitting there in the seat that we all want to be in, is a lady…leisurely reading a book.

When I ask the security officer if this is normal, he looks at his watch and yawns. I guess it’s a good thing I’m here at the Social Security office. By the time I get waited on, I’ll look old enough to collect.

When waiting in a line, one looks for any encouraging sign of forward movement. If it’s the grocery store you peek over the shoulder of the customer in front of you and say to yourself, “What’s he got? Milk, Doritos, green beans, bananas, yogurt, pork chops…great! Only six items. I might get home before my Rocky Road melts to slush.” If it’s the line at the bank, you look for the ratio of “teller windows” to “occupied teller windows”. Eight windows with only two “closed” signs means you have a good chance of being back in your car before your savings bond matures.

If it’s the line at the Department of Motor Vehicles, there is no encouragement to be found. You just pray your dog will still remember you by the time you get home.

I’m looking for something, anything that will encourage me while standing in this line of frustrated taxpayers. There are several signs prominently displayed on the walls. None offer hope. “No Smoking”. “No Firearms Allowed In This Building”. And “Abusive Language May Be Cause For The Refusal Of Service.” If you see a sign forbidding something, you can be sure it’s not to prevent a hypothetical scenario. I wonder who’d be foolish enough to stand in a line that stretches all the way to Tucson only to mouth off to a customer service rep behind the counter.

I didn’t have to wonder long.

“I’m not leaving here until I get an answer to my question!” The book lady put aside her novel, yelling at the man behind the counter. “Tell me what I have to do!”

“I’ve told you already several times. You need to find out if the hospital has already filed for a Social Security number. If not, the parents have to provide identification and file for the child’s number. It’s right here in the instructions.” The manager, wearing a button-down shirt and tie that matched his gray hair, was quickly losing patience.

“The person I spoke to on your 800 number told me to come here. Now I’m here and you’re telling me I can’t get what I came for. I’ve been here for two hours and I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.” A sit-in at the Social Security office? Could you please move over one chair and continue your protest while the rest of us get on with our lives?

“I’ve told you what you need to do. Multiple times. We have other customers that we need to take care of, so please take your information and go.”

“You’ll have to get a cop to throw me out because I’m not leaving.”

If there’s going to be a floor show, I can stand here a little longer.

The manager nodded to someone in the back and the security officer made his way to the front. Regretting her threat but too stubborn to admit it, she hissed at the manager, “Anyone touches me and I’ll sue!”

As the security guard stood next to her chair, she filibustered for another ten minutes. Alternating between rude and ridiculous, her behavior was embarrassing. Even the screaming pre-schooler stopped to watch. He seemed surprised that his tantrum was one-upped by a grown-up.

When she finally left, escorted by the now wide awake security officer, everyone in line breathed deep and smiled at each other. We were all thinking the same thing and I waited for someone to say it out loud. For someone to say how much of our time this woman had wasted with her stubborn attitude and refusal to listen to the person trying to help her. To say how rude she was to the manager. But no one did.

The retired man behind me felt the need to break the tension by changing the subject. “Ya know, It wasn’t so hard to get my first Social Security card. Back then it was against the rules to laminate it. But I did anyway. Wanna see?” He pulled out his original Social Security card issued in 1948 and held it out for us to look at. We gathered around, strangers all, and looked at his card as if it were an ancient artifact.

Standing in line at the Social Security office I was reminded of four truths:

Few sights are more pathetic than adults behaving like children.

When we don’t hold our tongue and choose to be rude, we hurt people.

When we do hold our tongue and choose to be silently kind, we bring dignity to awkward moments.

When we offer a kind word in the wake of an awkward moment, we draw people together.

“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. The tongue of the wise commends knowledge, but the mouth of the fool gushes folly.” – Proverbs 15:1-2

At the end of a long day of driving, we spotted a motel just outside a tiny town in Indiana. One of those small, 30-room Mom and Pop operated lodges with the orange neon sign that flickers like a bug zapper. It was this or drive another 50 miles. We stopped and checked in.

Grandpa and Grandma had their own room and we had ours. It was a nasty hot and humid night. One of those “90/90″ days; 90 degrees and 90% humidity. A Midwestern summer night that sits on you like a sweaty 300-pound wrestler pinning you to the mat. The only reason to come outside tonight would be to slide quarters into the Coke machine and pull out icy cold bottles of The Real Thing.

Sometime around midnight, the air conditioner in our room died. It got real hot real fast. Being the sturdy Iowa farm family that we were, we tried to make the best of it and not let it bother us. But it became unbearable. Opening the windows just let more heat in. My Dad said, “Todd, run over to the motel office, tell them the AC is out and that we need a different room.” That sounded like a fantastic idea to me.

I stood outside the glass window with the slotted circular aluminum talk-through vent and rang the bell for the manager. It was after midnight but it felt like high noon. The air, oppressive and heavy, was almost too thick to breathe. The manager emerged from that back room that all motel offices have, the room with the couch and the TV blaring in the background. I explained our plight, the manager said “no problem” and left to get the key for a different room.

Just then a four-door sedan drove up. A young couple got out of the car and walked toward the office window where I was standing. She was holding a fussy, squirming baby who was doing everything but sleeping. They had that exhausted “we’ve been driving forever” look.

They got to the window just as the manager came back with the key. Before he could finish with me the husband blurted out, “We need a room”, pointing to the orange neon “vacancy” sign. He reached in his pocket for his wallet when the manager said, “I’d like to help but there’s only one room left. This boy’s taking it because the air conditioner’s out in his room.”

He dropped the key into that little metal dip tray under the window. It was attached to the oblong plastic motel key rings with the room number in silver and “If found, please drop in any mailbox. Return postage guaranteed” on the other side. I looked at the key and I looked at the couple. Whatever energy they had when they drove in was gone. The wife bounced the baby in her arms. She was biting her lip, doing the “I’m the mom, gotta be strong” thing. But her eyes were exhausted. They turned around and headed back to their car.

I said out loud, “It’s ok. They can have the room.” Six eyes stared at me. The husband looked confused. The wife looked like she was going to cry. The manager looked at me like I was nuts, then shrugged before grabbing a registration form.

Walking back across the parking lot I heard the corporate hum of fully functioning air conditioners. Arriving at the door of the sauna that was our family’s room, I realized my decision created some implications. I twisted the knob and walked in.

“Well?”

“Um…Dad, uh,…”

“Well, did they have another room?”

“Uh, yeah. They did. But this family came in and they were…and…I said they could have it.”

“You what???!!! What the…how could…it’s so hot in here!”

“But Dad, I thought it was the right thing to do!”

My Dad stopped talking. In retrospect, I think he realized that the sweaty miserable night he was going to endure was a direct result of how he and my Mom had raised me. After a moment he said, “That’s ok. Don’t worry about it. We’ll get up and leave early in the morning.”

I didn’t sleep that night. None of us did. It was too hot. But I remember trying to imagine how happy I hoped that young family was in their cool room.

I’m still a rookie parent. 18 months of experience qualifies me as an expert diaper changer, formula fixer and car seat clipper. That’s all. It’s uphill the rest of the way. Parenting gets more difficult by the day. I’m old enough to know that I don’t have a clue how challenging it will become. I wonder about my kids. What will they learn from me? How much of what they learn will I deliberately teach them? How much will they learn by observing the way I act and behave? It’s a sobering thought.

Somehow, my parents were able to teach their innately selfish child the lesson that there were other people on the planet besides himself. And that it’s a good idea to consider their needs as more important than my own. I don’t remember learning the lesson. I just remember saying, “That’s ok. They can have it.” to total strangers in a motel parking lot on a sweltering summer night in Indiana.

Whatever my parents did for me, I hope I can do for my kids. To take advantage of teachable moments today in hopes they will someday find themselves doing the right thing in the heat of the moment.

“Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind let each of you regard one another as more important than himself. Look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.” – Philippians 2:3-4

An elderly woman took a seat nearby. It was obvious from the style of her clothes she wasn’t from Minnesota. I’m no fashion expert, but her long black dress appeared African or Middle Eastern. Large airports daily welcome international travelers. A person from another country is a common sight. Yet this person looked like a stranger in a strange place. She held her belongings close to her and tightly clutched her tickets as she stared at the scrolling red message board above the gate entry.

She looked my direction. I smiled at her and she smiled back. She held out her ticket, pointed to it and looked at me as though she wanted help. The ticket said she was on the same flight that I was on to Phoenix. But she didn’t speak English and I had no clue as to what she wanted, other than it was obvious that she was nervous and even a bit scared. I felt for her, but with the language barrier I was helpless.

About that time I noticed two sharply dressed African-American women watching us from their position in the duty free shop. They made a beeline in our direction. They blew past me as if I wasn’t there. One sat on either side of this elderly women and began excitedly chattering to her in a language I had never heard before. The old woman’s face lit up like Christmas in New York when she heard these two speaking her language. The three of them talked easily, like old friends, for 20 minutes.

When I sensed a break in their conversation I tapped one of the ladies on the shoulder and asked, “Do you know her?”

“No. But she’s from our country.”

“How can you tell?”

“By the way she’s dressed.”

I asked what country. “Eritrea.” Admittedly, my knowledge of world geography isn’t what it should be. But I had never heard of Eritrea. The lady informed me it had been part of Ethiopia but was now its own country.

Feeling ignorant and intrigued, I did some schooling when I got back home. Eritrea is a tiny country that for many years was part of Ethiopia in northeastern Africa. Originally settled by Italy several hundred years ago, Ethiopia colonized the area in 1952 and in 1962 forcibly annexed Eritrea. That sparked 30 years of civil war, culminating in Eritrea establishing its independence in 1991.

Eritrea has a population of about 3.4 million people. Ravaged by a long war, they are struggling to rebuild their infrastructure. Life there is much different than we know it. There isn’t a single cell phone in the entire country. For those precious few who have computers, only one Internet service provider. Their per capita annual income is $750. By comparison and perspective, the per capita income of the United States in 1999 was $25,518.

The gross national product of Eritrea is $760 million dollars. By comparison and perspective, in 1998 Americans spent $6.3 billion dollars on video games. That’s billion with a capital Nintendo.

We could spend all day flashing statistics verifying what we already know. The United States of America is the wealthiest country in the world. The money we spend on one form of leisure activity is more than the GNP of many Third World countries. The fact that we even have a category called “leisure activities” or “discretionary income” is proof enough that we are blessed with incredible, and to the rest of the world, unbelievable wealth.

Often, conversations about comparable wealth end up with one side making the argument that there is such a thing as having too much money. Those of a socialistic persuasion who believe the answer is to make everyone equal with regard to money might find it interesting that God doesn’t put a salary cap on earnings. Nowhere in the Bible does He say, “This much is too much.” King Solomon was wisest and wealthiest man who ever walked the planet. Solomon’s wealth would make Bill Gates’ Microsoft look like a struggling lemonade stand.

Free market capitalists who believe that the correct economic answer is the creation and preservation of wealth might find it interesting that while God doesn’t put a salary cap on earnings, He does hold everyone accountable for how they use their money. God seems to care more about our attitude toward money than how much or little we have. In God’s eyes, there is no such thing as insignificant income.

The first rule of money is as simple as it is true: God Owns It All. Solomon may have been a king, but when it came to money he was never an owner. He was always a manager. The same is true for you and I. Never an owner, always a manager. If we possess much, we don’t have the luxury of frivolous spending. If we have relatively little, we aren’t absolved from managing it wisely. God cares more about our attitude toward money than how much we have in our bank account.

Something I need to remember on this money making Monday morning.

“The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it; for He founded it upon the seas and established it upon the waters.” – Psalm 24:1-2

Early in the 2nd quarter, a young family showed up to occupy the empty seats next to us. A Mom and a Dad, and a daughter and a son, who appeared to be about 8 years old. Outward indications were that he had a slight degree of Down’s Syndrome. He watched the basketball players intently but during the timeouts he was standing on his seat, straining to see the Sun’s mascot, “The Gorilla”.

“The Gorilla” is a superb entertainer. Actor, gymnast, and clown all wrapped up in a furry black suit. The job is not without a degree of danger. Last year the Gorilla broke his ankle when he landed wrong from a trampoline slam dunk. Even with a walking cast, he still showed up to make people smile.

The Gorilla is everywhere during a game. Sometimes throwing out boxes of pizza to a lucky section of fans. Sometimes firing t-shirts into the crowd with an air cannon. And sometimes just making the rounds with his primate personality.

During a break in the action in the 4th quarter, the Gorilla made his way into the stands. He ran up the stairs in our direction and after a couple monkey hops over handrails it was clear that he was headed straight for us. The little boy was beside himself. The Gorilla was now only a couple rows away. He high-fived a grown-up or two, then bounded over the rail in front of us. The little boy could not believe his good fortune. He just looked up, wide-eyed, mouth open. The Gorilla rubbed him on the head, did a little dance and headed back toward the court.

About five rows down, the Gorilla made an abrupt about-face and came back. He did a two-hand vault over the handrail and stuck the landing right in front of the little boy, who was now dancing like a runaway fire hose. The two of them exchanged hand slaps and a friendly push and shove before the Gorilla reached into the pockets of his Suns warm-up jersey and handed the boy some souvenirs. He took half a step back and it was all the opening the little guy needed. He laid a giant hug on Gorilla, a hug that was returned with enthusiasm. One more high-five and he was gone, bouncing and jumping back to court side.

I did a quick scan of the row behind me and discovered I wasn’t the only one with a tear in my eye. The boy announced to everyone, “I know him. He comes to my hospital.” The way he put a first-person pronoun in front of “hospital” told me that hospital was a regular part of his routine.

We came to America West Arena to watch a professional basketball game. What I got was a graduate level lesson in communication. The Gorilla never speaks. Yet he is a highly skilled communicator. A master of body language. The tilt of the head, the motion of the hands, the shrug of his shoulders, the bounce in his step. How would you communicate to 15,000 people if you couldn’t speak?

Often we struggle to find the right words to express our thoughts, our feelings, our emotions. Choice words, well-spoken are a treasure, both to speak and to hear. But because we’re fallible human beings, we sometimes don’t choose our words carefully. We blurt out or spit out words we wish we could retract. And what do we use to repair words ill spoken? More words. Using more words to fix words ill spoken is not unlike changing the answer on a test question to which you don’t know the answer. You cut your chances in half again of being right. It doesn’t take long before we’re drowning in our own verbiage.

If communication is 90% non-verbal, how would it be if we tried communicating more by speaking less?

Somewhere in the valley there’s a little boy who considers The Phoenix Suns Gorilla his friend. In a brief moment, a team mascot made this kid feel welcome, excited, important, special, the center of attention and loved.

All without a word.

“Words from a wise man’s mouth are gracious, but a fool is consumed by his own lips. At the beginning his words are folly; at the end they are wicked madness–and the fool multiplies words.” – Ecclesiastes 10:13-14