It's Always Darkest Before the Fridge Door Opens: Enjoying the Fruits of Middle Age (8 page)

Speak well of your enemies, sir, you made them.
Oren Arnold

An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.
Gandhi

¹
At least
we
think they are.

Out of the Dust

If the world seems cold to you, kindle fires to warm it.
Lucy Larcom

When a little boy’s grandmother died, his mother told him that Grandma had gone to be with Jesus. ‘‘But what about her body?’’ asked the child. His mother thought for a second and then told him, ‘‘It returned to dust.’’ The little boy didn’t seem to let it bother him. But a few months later he came running into the living room. ‘‘Mama,’’ he hollered, ‘‘Grandma’s back. I just opened the back door and she blew in all over the kitchen floor!’’

Dust has been known to visit our kitchens, too. It doesn’t take up a lot of room, and it takes only a broom or dustcloth to get rid of it, but for the most part, dust is an unwelcome presence.

Have you ever thought, however, about what God did with a little bit of dust?

First of all, he created man from it: ‘‘The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being’’ (Genesis 2:7).

He healed the blind man with it: ‘‘He replied, ‘The man they call Jesus made some mud and put it on my eyes. He told me to go to Siloam and wash. So I went and washed, and then I could see’’’ (John 9:11).

And Jesus preached a sermon in it, shutting up the mouths of some self-righteous folk of that day when he bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. You’ll remember this story from the chapter on Pharisees.

And here you thought dust wasn’t of much use; that it’s just something we walk on. But God saw value in that which we walk on. Even though it was mere dust, it was still something he could use. In fact, he saw enough value in it to fashion us from it, heal a man with it, and teach the people an important lesson about grace. It’s funny, isn’t it, that God found a use for something we consider pretty insignificant, something we’re inclined to discount and discard. You know what? He sees value in people who have been discarded and walked on, too.

We say, ‘‘He failed so miserably.’’

God says, ‘‘And you’ve never failed me?’’

We say, ‘‘But look at her past.’’

God says, ‘‘I’d rather look at her future.’’

We say, ‘‘But you don’t know what they did to me.’’

And God gently whispers, ‘‘I forgave those who nailed me to a cross.’’

If God still chooses to love the unlovely, shouldn’t we love them, too?

If God still chooses to raise up those whom society walks on, maybe we should see the same value in them.

Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
William Shakespeare

The only service a friend can really render is
to keep up your courage by holding up to you a mirror
in which you can see a noble image of yourself.
George Bernard Shaw

Clearing Out the Fridge

Nothing so needs reforming as other people’s habits.
Mark Twain

Once while I (Martha) was putting fuel in my car at a local gas station, my son drove by and saw me there. He pulled in and we started talking. When my tank was full, I said good-bye to him and drove off. I didn’t get very far before hearing a loud noise behind me. Looking in my side mirror, I noticed something long and skinny hanging out of the side of my car. I also saw the gas tanks that were now a good hundred feet away from the tank. Unless an anaconda had somehow slithered up to my car and was taking a drink out of my tank, there was only one explanation for what I was seeing—I had forgotten to take the gas hose out before driving off, and I was now dragging it along beside me.

It’s not always a good idea to hang on to things, is it? Luckily, the gas station forgave my carelessness. But often the things we hang on to in life aren’t quite as innocent. We know exactly what we’re doing every single time we drive off with our pain when we could have easily left it behind. But they’re
our
wounds. Of course we want to hang on to them. We’ve carried those hurts for so long, we might not know what to do with ourselves if they weren’t a part of our lives.

The main reason most of us don’t let go of our pain is because we fear that letting go of it will change the fact that it happened in the first place. If we forgive those who’ve hurt us, will that mean they didn’t hurt us? Of course not.

Jesus forgave the people who crucified him on the cross, but it didn’t change the fact that he was hanging there. Forgiveness isn’t denial. It just means we’re not going to be carrying the hurt around any longer. We’re going to leave the hose back at the gas station and go home and clear out the fridge—and our emotional baggage, too.

Write injuries in dust, benefits in marble.
Benjamin Franklin

The injury we do and the one we suffer
are not weighed in the same scales.
Aesop

Prayer for My Enemies

Lord, thank you for my enemies.

They sharpen me.

They make me uncomfortable.
They teach me about myself.

Lord, thank you for my enemies.

They show me why I should never gossip or spread irretrievable rumors.

They help me spend more time in prayer.
Praying for them and the weakness they bring out

in me.
You said I’d be forgiven just like I forgive, so I’ll choose forgiveness right now.

And half an hour from now when I want to take it back.

And tomorrow, too.
With your help.

Lord, thank you for my enemies.

They help me appreciate my friends.

While we may not be able to control all that happens to us,
we can control what happens inside us.
Benjamin Franklin

Joy Comes in the Mourning

Joy is the serious business of heaven.
C. S. Lewis

We should give as we would receive, cheerfully, quickly,
and without hesitation; for there is no grace in
a benefit that sticks to the fingers.
Seneca

Between the two of us, we have written some one hundred books. Some of these have hit bestseller lists; others have hit bargain bins. Mostly you will find our books in the humor section of bookstores and libraries. Or at the bottom of a broken desk leg, keeping the desk in balance.

Wherever you happen to find our books, we hope they’ve brought a few smiles your way. But don’t think we don’t try to write serious things, too. It’s just that our train of serious thought only has a caboose. We both love to laugh and would rather make whatever points we feel we’d like to make through the avenue of humor.

Often complete strangers will come up to us and tell us a joke or a funny happening in their lives. We love and expect this. If after several hours they’re still not done and they want to go home with us to finish telling the story, well, that can get a bit uncomfortable. But still, like we said, we have come to expect this and other odd but fun behaviors from our readers.

I (Phil) was sitting in a restaurant once when an autograph seeker came over and said, ‘‘Excuse me, would you mind . . .’’ and I said, as politely as I could, ‘‘Can this wait until after dinner?’’ The stranger looked at me funny and said, ‘‘I just wanted to borrow your salt shaker.’’ I gave him the salt and an autograph. He had never heard of me and didn’t really want the autograph, but I didn’t want to come across as proud and not give him one.

Perhaps the most surprising thing is how often someone will come to us and tell us the single most tragic event of their lives. Laughter and tears are closely linked, it would seem. We’re not sure why so many people will share their needs with us. Perhaps they sense that humorists can laugh about almost anything, and they want us to help them find what they can laugh about in their lives, too. Sometimes, though, they will tell us a story that stops us in our tracks, and we can’t stop thinking about it for days. One of those events took place a hundred miles from Phil’s front door, and the results are still being tallied.

On a dark February night, fourteen-year-old Daniel Garrard took the family van out for a joyride, collided with a semitrailer, and was killed. Daniel’s mother, Terra, and his three siblings were devastated. As a single mother, Terra worked hard in a grocery store to make ends meet, but without a car and without hope, despair closed in around her.

Two teens, Katelin Allert and Amy Fitzpatrick, were watching, though. And they wondered what they could do to help their co-worker. How about a fund-raiser? Maybe they could help her buy a van.

At first the dream seemed impossible. For one thing, the logistics would have challenged a
professional
fund-raiser. But the two teenagers began to plan. First, they convinced the manager of the grocery store where they worked to give them five hundred dollars. They used the money to put down a deposit on the best venue in town. Next, they began visiting business after business asking for an auction item or a donation. Something surprising began to happen.

‘‘Before we went into each one, we prayed,’’ recalls Katelin. ‘‘Only one business in the whole city turned us down.’’
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At her irresistible urging, Katelin’s father, Gord, a guitar virtuoso, began inviting musician friends to come and play at the event. Gladly they hopped on planes. Country star Paul Brandt heard about it and donated an autographed guitar. And Gord asked me (Phil) to speak. I knew I couldn’t say no, but what would I speak about? A comedian speaking at a fund-raiser for a young teen who had died such a tragic death?

When Katelin and her mom, Liz, shared the plans with Terra, she was overwhelmed. Liz and Katelin took her shopping for a new outfit to wear at the event. Daniel’s mom also expressed interest in a Bible, so they gladly gave her one. As the community heard what was happening, tickets began selling fast. On a Sunday evening in June, three hundred people gathered to support this family in their grief. Standing before them, I talked of joy— how it had invaded our lives when we couldn’t explain it. I told them of the peace I’d found in walking with Christ, how happiness depends on what happens but joy does not. We cried together and prayed together.