The Cost of Trivial Excellence

Once there was a man who set out to get rich so that he could afford all the things his heart desired. He hung pictures of expensive cars and boats, luxurious homes, exotic vacation resorts, and the latest entertainment technology on his wall. He believed that these pictures would motivate him to work hard for the things that he wanted. He devised strategies to meet persons of means and influence, to impress them, and to earn their trust. He believed that these people would provide him with opportunities to make money.

So the man worked very hard, met all the “right” people, and eventually became very rich. Then he discovered that the amount of work required to maintain the lifestyle he had built left him with little time to enjoy that things he had accumulated or the people he had so impressed. He found himself very lonely. He eased the pain of his loneliness by turning with even greater intensity toward the thing he had learned to be good at, making money. His life grew increasingly complex. More money required more work, added stress, and even greater isolation. He was left with no time to love or to be loved.

Is your life filled up with busyness in the pursuit of things that lacks eternal value? Do you keep doing something you’re good at just because you’re good at it? Do you avoid things that are more important because you’re not good at them? It takes great courage to evaluate the value of what you do. Purging your life of trivial busyness can be as challenging as overcoming an addiction.

What kinds of pictures do you hang on your walls? These are the same images that hang on the “walls” of your mind and heart. They are the things that drive you; they are the things that you love. It has been said that one kind of person loves people and uses things; another kind of person loves things and uses people. Do you find yourself being inauthentic with people in order to get what you want from them? If so, than which kind of person are you?

~John

The Quiet Voice of God

I plopped down at my desk. Staring back at me was the Bible I hadn’t cracked in several days. Next to it was yesterday’s “to do” list with less than half the tasks crossed off. Lingering in the background was a darkened computer screen loaded with fresh emails which, with the faintest touch of the mouse, would steal the spotlight from the gold-edged pages waiting for today’s verdict. What a poignant picture of my life right now, I thought.

“Read your Bible first,” the Spirit inside me whispered.

“But I have so much to do,” my flesh argued back. The knot in my stomach twisted and tightened as I pondered this week's demands. “If I can just get through my list, then I’ll have time to focus on my Bible reading and give God the attention he deserves,” I reasoned, knowing full well how that strategy had panned out yesterday.

The gentle whisper answered back, “In whom are you depending?”

Guilty. My reluctance to open God’s Word betrayed my distorted view of God and myself, for that matter. Today, I saw no power in Scripture, just a duty to read it. Through the years, I’ve learned to follow that sense of duty when it’s all I can muster.

I opened to 2 Samuel. “Drat, I lost the flow by skipping several days,” the excuses started to flow. “Was Abishai a priest or Joab’s brother? Now I have to look up all the names again.” In time, the frustration dissipated and God began to speak to me through his Word. In today’s passage, revenge’s stench was strong, but mercy’s beauty proved more powerful. My heart and mind were transported from the broken freezer and the Open House guest list to the company of my Creator, who knows my daily anxieties but wants to offer me more than a rescue. He wants to elevate my heart, soul and mind to a place where my daily worries are small when compared to the greatness of the Father who loves me.

An Honest Confession from a Hurried Mom

I picked up my purse and said to the kids, “Come on; let’s get in the van.” It was as though I’d fired the gun for the 100 meter sprint.

Both kids grabbed their shoes (to put on in the car) and said to each other, “Hurry, hurry, we’re late.”

For once, I wasn’t running late or short on time, but their programmed response revealed more that I cared to know. My frantic pace was reproducing itself before my eyes in the lives of my two children. I hadn’t intended to stress out my children, but I couldn’t deny it. My chaos had become theirs.

Other parents had warned me that I’d begin to see my own bad habits show up in my kids. I was prepared for a child with a stubborn streak, or a shortage of patience, one who was a little too bossy or independent. In fact, I’d probably laugh off those shortcomings in the same way I’d learned to dismiss them in myself. But this scene was uglier than I’d expected. I saw my children having ulcers by age ten. I knew I had to change my ways, for their sake as well as mine