Max Lucado reads my mail – I am not sure how he does it. When I get home from work, the envelopes in my mailbox have apparently all been carefully resealed. I don’t know how Max gets back home to San Antonio from Tulsa each weekend in time to be in the pulpit on Sunday. But there is no doubt he is reading my mail. How else can I explain it? The guy writes his books TO me.
A few weeks ago you read my whining post in this blog about my daughter moving out of the house to go to college. Those of you who are empty-nesters had no sympathy for me. But it was a pretty emotional time for a guy who was losing his first child and only daughter to the cold, cruel world. My daughter struggled with the transition too. Her college soccer coach’s old-school, break-‘em down and then build-‘em-back-up approach was a big change for my daughter. After ten years of being told what a great soccer player she is, she was now hardly worthy of her scholarship according to her coach.
Being the loving dad that I am, I went to find my daughter some little gift to encourage her at school. I picked up a copy of Max’s Every Day Deserves A Chance. I thought that its positive theme and bright yellow dust cover might raise the spirits of the most important soccer player in our family. Back at home, I decided to skim the book. After all, I was feeling a little melancholy myself so maybe Max’s words of wisdom could give me a boost.
I made it all the way to page 3 when I read, “This is the day [that the Lord has made] includes every day. Divorce days, final-exam days, surgery days, tax days, Sending your first-born off to college days. [emphasis mine] That last one sucked the starch out of my shirt. Surprisingly so. We packed Jenna’s stuff, loaded up her car, and left life as we had known if for 18 years. A chapter was closing. One less plate on the table, voice in the house, and child beneath the roof. The day was necessary. The day was planned. But the day undid me.
I was a mess. I drove away from the gas station with the nozzle still in my tank, yanking the hose right off the pump. Got lost in a one-intersection town. We drove; I moped. We unpacked; I swallowed throat lumps. We filled the dorm room; I plotted to kidnap my daughter and take her home where she belongs. Did someone store dry ice in my chest? Then I saw the verse. Some angel had tacked it to a dormitory bulletin board. This is day that the Lord has made. We will be glad and rejoice in it.
I stopped, stared and let the words sink in. God made this day, ordained this hard hour, designed the details of this wrenching moment. He isn’t on holiday. He still holds the conductor’s baton, sits in the cockpit, and occupies the universe’s only throne. Each day emerges from God’s drawing room including this one.”
I don’t know if an angel actually put that verse on the bulletin board for Max or not. But I am sure that Max is reading my mail. I have no other explanation for why this story would be in the one book that I selected for my daughter. By the way, my daughter never got the book. I couldn’t give her that copy because I had highlighted all over it. Besides, I think a couple of salty drops had dripped from my cheek to the page.
Throughout Max’s book, he lists several “Daylifters;” i.e. things one can do to give every day a chance. One of those that resonated with me is to consider, “If today were the last day of our lives, would we do what we’re doing?” Or would we love more, give more, forgive more? Max concludes that we need to know that we are all one day closer to death than we were yesterday. Max’s advice is to forgive and give like it is our last opportunity. Love like there’s no tomorrow, and if tomorrow comes, love again.
Now that is an idea that I can get passionate about. Max, thanks for the reminder. And by the way, stay out of my mailbox.
What are you passionate about? What are you doing about it?
A few weeks ago you read my whining post in this blog about my daughter moving out of the house to go to college. Those of you who are empty-nesters had no sympathy for me. But it was a pretty emotional time for a guy who was losing his first child and only daughter to the cold, cruel world. My daughter struggled with the transition too. Her college soccer coach’s old-school, break-‘em down and then build-‘em-back-up approach was a big change for my daughter. After ten years of being told what a great soccer player she is, she was now hardly worthy of her scholarship according to her coach.
Being the loving dad that I am, I went to find my daughter some little gift to encourage her at school. I picked up a copy of Max’s Every Day Deserves A Chance. I thought that its positive theme and bright yellow dust cover might raise the spirits of the most important soccer player in our family. Back at home, I decided to skim the book. After all, I was feeling a little melancholy myself so maybe Max’s words of wisdom could give me a boost.
I made it all the way to page 3 when I read, “This is the day [that the Lord has made] includes every day. Divorce days, final-exam days, surgery days, tax days, Sending your first-born off to college days. [emphasis mine] That last one sucked the starch out of my shirt. Surprisingly so. We packed Jenna’s stuff, loaded up her car, and left life as we had known if for 18 years. A chapter was closing. One less plate on the table, voice in the house, and child beneath the roof. The day was necessary. The day was planned. But the day undid me.
I was a mess. I drove away from the gas station with the nozzle still in my tank, yanking the hose right off the pump. Got lost in a one-intersection town. We drove; I moped. We unpacked; I swallowed throat lumps. We filled the dorm room; I plotted to kidnap my daughter and take her home where she belongs. Did someone store dry ice in my chest? Then I saw the verse. Some angel had tacked it to a dormitory bulletin board. This is day that the Lord has made. We will be glad and rejoice in it.
I stopped, stared and let the words sink in. God made this day, ordained this hard hour, designed the details of this wrenching moment. He isn’t on holiday. He still holds the conductor’s baton, sits in the cockpit, and occupies the universe’s only throne. Each day emerges from God’s drawing room including this one.”
I don’t know if an angel actually put that verse on the bulletin board for Max or not. But I am sure that Max is reading my mail. I have no other explanation for why this story would be in the one book that I selected for my daughter. By the way, my daughter never got the book. I couldn’t give her that copy because I had highlighted all over it. Besides, I think a couple of salty drops had dripped from my cheek to the page.
Throughout Max’s book, he lists several “Daylifters;” i.e. things one can do to give every day a chance. One of those that resonated with me is to consider, “If today were the last day of our lives, would we do what we’re doing?” Or would we love more, give more, forgive more? Max concludes that we need to know that we are all one day closer to death than we were yesterday. Max’s advice is to forgive and give like it is our last opportunity. Love like there’s no tomorrow, and if tomorrow comes, love again.
Now that is an idea that I can get passionate about. Max, thanks for the reminder. And by the way, stay out of my mailbox.
What are you passionate about? What are you doing about it?
1 comments:
Toby, we sure love reading your blog. Keep up the great work! I hope you are all coming to terms with this new stage of your lives. We're just getting used to one in all-day school...and it seems tough! Now with your preview, I wonder...am I cut out for parenting?
Post a Comment