Enthusiasm is Contagious

Each morning as I venture out of my home, 37 pair of wagging fins await my arrival. I have a small fish pond full of Koi. It’s uncanny that the moment my feet hit the porch, all my fishies eagerly swim to the east side of my pond awaiting their anticipated rations for the day. By their show of enthusiasm, you’d think I was the most popular person in their universe. I think I am. As I cast the little food pellets in and around them, they change from exuberant to almost piranha like. The larger ones muscle the smaller ones out of the way and within seconds eat the majority of what has been cast to them. Now satiated, the fish once eager to see me, now slip off for a comfortable nap under a lily pad and promptly forget me; until the next time. I can’t help but feel used.

The fish world seems no different from the world I live. There always seems to be a plethora of individuals who want something of me but rarely will they ever reciprocate the generosity I so freely give them. This morning as I watched the riots on the news from Baltimore, I couldn’t help but make a comparison to my Koi fish. Each individual fish cares little or nothing for the fish behind them. It’s every man for himself, or in this case fish.

A mother was arriving home with her little boy from a trip to town. As they exited their car to the sidewalk, the elderly next door neighbor was returning from a trip to the produce stand. In his arms he carried a bag full of delicious fruits and vegetables. Seeing the little boy, he smiled and reached in his bag and pulled out the most succulent orange. Leaning down he patted the boy on the head and said sweetly as only a grandfather type could, “I bet you’d love one of these” and placed it in the boy’s chubby little hands. The mother now smiling from this kind gesture, turned to her son and said, “What do you say?” To which the boy looked at the fruit, held up his hand immediately and said, “Peel it!”

This week as I have seen the carnage of angry protesters in Baltimore, I am struck by the realization that none of these individuals hold any gratitude for anything. They find no redeeming qualities in life except to enact revenge. Like the little boy, they think everything should be given to them with no effort on their part.

Harriet Martineau was an atheist. One morning she and a friend who was Christian, stepped out into the a beautiful fall morning. As she saw the brilliant sun peaking through the haze, and the frost on the meadow, and the brightly colored leaves flitting their way down lazily to the ground, Harriet was filled with the beauty of it all and blurted out the statement “I am so thankful. I’m just so grateful for it all.” It was at that moment her believing friend turned looking at her and asked, “Grateful to whom, my dear?”

What we’re seeing daily from Baltimore is not injustice and racism. What we’re seeing is a lack of gratefulness. The aggrieved have no relationship with The Creator; their focus has only been upon themselves. Regarding their anger, Romans 12:19 says, “Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord.

One day at the end of my life, God is going to ask me the very same question the mom asked her little boy when he was offered an orange, “Now what do you say?” It will be then that I will introspectively look over my life and voice to Him what I should be saying today and everyday; Thank You!

A man found himself carrying out a task he did every month; placing flowers on the grave’s of relatives. One day while stooping over adjusting a geranium on his parent’s grave, he heard the grief of a fellow visitor. Walking cautiously as to not be heard, he found himself at a distance gazing upon a man prostrate on the ground in front of a headstone. The man was literally crying his eyes out. As he got even closer, he was touched by the man’s sob’s and heard him repeating over and over again, “Why did you have to die, oh why did you have to die?”. Gently walking up and placing his hand on the bereaved’s shoulder, he tried to comfort him with the only words that came to his mind.

“You must have really been close.” The distraught man looked up and wiping his eyes said, “No I wasn’t.” The man who came to inquire then asked, “You must have really loved the person then?” Again the man through tears replied, “No I never knew them!” Puzzled he then asked, “Then why are you so overcome with emotion?” He blurted out, “He was my wife’s first husband.”

It is difficult to follow a legend. How can someone walk on water when in comparison to you, you wear concrete shoes? I remember my first day as a pastor an individual who loved the previous pastor shook her finger at me and with an heir of disgust stated, “YOU’LL NEVER FILL HIS SHOES.” Being larger in girth than my predecessor I replied, “Yes, but He’ll NEVER fill my pants!” I could tell by her facial expression that that was not the response she was expecting. As I turned to leave I heard the voice of another member smile and say, “He’ll do”.

Unlike the Hollywood elite, I am not so narcissistic that I’ve convinced myself that there can’t be anyone smarter, better looking, brighter, or more talented men than me. But one thing I do take solace in, I am unique. I have met a lot of people, and I’ve never met one that was just like me. Just ask my family.

A lawyer was just waking up from anesthesia after surgery, and his wife was sitting by his side. His eyes fluttered open and he said, “You’re beautiful!” and then he fell asleep again. His wife had never heard him say that so she stayed by his side. A couple of minutes later, his eyes fluttered open and he said, “You’re cute!” Well, the wife was disappointed because instead of “beautiful,” he used the word “cute.” She asked, “What happened to ‘beautiful’?” His reply was “The drugs are wearing off!”

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It doesn’t matter what others may think, my wife and my Creator think I am a legend. And at least she thinks I’m cute too, and that’s all that matters!

Researchers at Great Basin National Park in January of this year stumbled upon a mystery. No one knows how long a 132-year-old Winchester Model 1873 rifle lay resting at the base of a juniper tree. It was found in a remote part of the park 300 miles northeast of Las Vegas.

All the rangers know at this time, is that the lever-action repeating rifle was manufactured and shipped by Winchester in 1882. An archaeological crew stumbled upon the rusted rifle leaning against the tree during a park survey. One of the team members said, [We were] “…the right people in the right place at the right time.” Imagine, an antique rifle resting against a tree for 132 years out in the open yet not one person noticed it in all that time.

Often as I drive my car I concentrate on the road or the stresses in my life and my wife will interrupt my train of thought by asking, “Did you see the deer in the field? Did you see how beautiful that house was?” Most often my reply is, “Nope, sorry honey, I missed it; I wasn’t paying attention.”

Back when our oldest son was in school in North Carolina, we traveled down there for the weekend to visit him. He wanted to get off campus in the worse way so we accompanied two other couples and their kids and descended on a local pizza joint. Multiple tables had to be pulled together to accommodate our large group of sixteen enthusiastic parents and kids. As we excitedly carried on our conversations, we filled the restaurant with our loud talk and laughter. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed while we were having a grand time, the waitress seemed distracted and distant. She appeared to have that look that she would rather be anywhere else than serving us.

As the others in our party continued their lively conversations, I joined in but kept a watchful eye on our wearied waitress. I didn’t want her to suffer the same fate as the Winchester rifle; blended into the background forgotten.

Our order was complete, and she came to the table and placed the pizzas in front of us with nary a comment. As she filled our empty beverage glasses, I made eye contact with her and said, “You seem so tired and sad tonight, are you okay.” Instantly a flood gate of emotion poured out of her. She blurted out her daddy was dying, then told us as she leaned on her husband for emotional support, he told her she was stifling him and he left her that very day. Her world was crashing down all around her and no one seemed to care. The conversation around the table died down as she shared the pain in her life. As tears began to form in her eyes, she excused herself quickly; no doubt to compose herself. We all asked each other, “What can we do to help her?”

We all had the same idea. When the meal was finished, we pooled our monies together and left her a whopping tip. As we prepared to leave, we thanked her for being such a good waitress. As we filed out to our cars, the waitress must have returned to the table because within seconds, she ran out into the parking lot with tears asking us who we were. My wife typically shy, embraced her and told her we were Christians and wanted her to know that she had not been forgotten by God. She held on to my wife like a drowning person would hold a life preserver. At the beginning of the night, the waitress started brokenhearted and faceless; we were able to restore her faith with a little act of kindness.

In a major newspaper following a large church having taken over a city for a week of spiritual meetings, the editor wrote his assessment of the attendees. “They came to our city with the Ten Commandments in one hand, and a ten dollar bill in the other, and they didn’t break either of them!”

If we don’t start making an effort to find the faceless individuals and offering them hope, we too may suffer the same fate as the Winchester rifle; standing alone, forgotten, and obscure.