A friend of mine baked a nice hot pie and delivered it to the house of a grieving family. She was surprised no one came to the door when she knocked, but assumed the family was at the funeral home making arrangements, so she let herself in and left the pie on the breakfast table.
As she drove away from the house, she passed the house where the grieving family ACTUALLY lived. It dawned on her: she just walked into a stranger's house and left a fresh baked pie!
Faced with such a dilemma, most of us would have kept that a secret, gone back home, baked another pie, and delivered it to the right house. But not DeAnna.
She went back to the "wrong" house where she left the pie. This time, she didn't even knock. She walked in and went to the breakfast table to get the pie.
But it was gone! She panicked. Was she in ANOTHER wrong house? No. THIS is the table she left the pie on. She began looking around without ever deducing that the missing pie was a strong indication that someone in this house was HOME!
The oven was on. The little red light was glowing. She opened the oven and found her pie! Someone in the house found the pie she left and put it in the oven to warm it up! Did they question how the pie got there? Did they search the house for the Pie Fairy?
Just then DeAnna heard a toilet flush. Though most of us would not be in this position to begin with, we certainly at this point, would run like the wind...right? Not DeAnna.
She grabbed the pie...and, with dignity and grace, walked out as if she were returning to her own home for a set of forgotten keys. She got back into her car and out of the driveway before any crazed residents came running out the door.
DeAnna successfully delivered the warm pie to the right house straight from the wrong house. On her way home, she began thinking about the poor soul who came back for a pie that was no longer there.
A verse of Scripture comes to mind: "The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away..." (Job 1:21).
Put yourself in the house slippers of the old man who lived alone in that house of the appearing and disappearing pie. You get out of bed, walk into the kitchen, grab the milk from the fridge, and saunter over to the breakfast table. There sits a freshly baked home-made pie. You rub your eyes and it's still there.
There's no note. No one else is in the house. No cars are in the driveway. No one you know would make you a pie, enter your house, and leave it on your table.
What are your options? You could question your sanity, deny the existence of the pie as a figment of your imagination, and go back to bed. Or you could tally the existence of the pie up to a cosmic accident where a series of tasty molecules collided and burped out a pie.
Or you could believe that the existence of the pie meant the existence of a pie maker. Even though you don't see the pie maker or know who the pie maker is or where she came from, you know that she exists. You don't know who to thank or how this delicious gift got here, but by golly, it's a pie and it's going in the oven!
Which option makes the most sense? Even if you didn't know DeAnna's story. Even if all you knew was what the owner of the wrong house knew. You would still believe someONE caused this to happen, not that someTHING just randomly happened. The existence of a pie means the existence of a pie maker.
The world we live in is ten billion times more intricately designed than the best pie. There cannot possibly be a design so magnificent without a magnificent Designer. Yet no matter how much sense that makes, we can't teach it to our kids in school.
As for the second half of the story...if you are that same old man who found the pie and you put it in the oven to warm it up while you ponder the mystery of the pie in the "thinking room" of your house, and then come back to find the oven empty --- then it would be pretty easy to convince you that there's a devil, too! But that's another story...
Knows Who to Thank,
Perry Crisp
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Monday, November 24, 2008
Mr. G
"They know about God, but they don't honor Him or even thank Him" (Romans 1:21, Contemporary English Version).
A certain village was filled with car-crazed citizens. They drove cars everywhere. Every day. They did everything by car. They were nuts about their cars. And boy, were they cranky when their cars wouldn't crank!
The village had a single mechanic. He alone knew how to maintain, diagnose, and fix cars. He was a genius at work, turning out repaired automobiles like factories turn out shoe laces and bubble gum.
Though the lone mechanic had a monopoly on this service industry, his prices were significantly lower than they should have been. He could have charged ten times as much, but he barely charged at all for his services.
Through the years other mechanics had tried to compete, but none could compare with Mr. Greatwrench. Failed mechanics moved away and set up shop elsewhere. They found normal villages where people expected high prices, long delays, shoddy work, and questionable fees.
Mr. G enjoyed serving the good people of Motorville...until lately. Lately, he noticed a change in the attitudes of his customers. Smiles were replaced by grimaces. Appreciation was absent. No matter how quickly Mr. G repaired and replaced a broken this or a faulty that, the vehicle owners grew more and more impatient.
They checked their watches and paced. They let out deep sighs of exasperation. Mr. G overheard phone conversations that regularly sounded like this: "I don't know! I thought he would be finished by now. I can't believe it's taking this long!"
Upon overhearing one such conversation, Mr. G put down his ratchet, rolled out from under a car, stood up, wiped grease from his tired, gnarled, and constantly bleeding hands, dropped the grease rag on a workbench, and walked away.
No one ever saw him again.
There's another Mr. G who lives in your neighborhood. He doesn't work on cars. He works on hearts. God.
God does amazing work. He has even absorbed the cost Himself. His Son, Jesus, paid for everything. God can fix a broken heart when we feel it is beyond repair. God can heal a neglected relationship that appears hopeless to everyone else. God works day and night. No one else can compare.
Shouldn't His patrons be grateful? Are we? Am I?
Happy Thanksgiving,
Perry Crisp
A certain village was filled with car-crazed citizens. They drove cars everywhere. Every day. They did everything by car. They were nuts about their cars. And boy, were they cranky when their cars wouldn't crank!
The village had a single mechanic. He alone knew how to maintain, diagnose, and fix cars. He was a genius at work, turning out repaired automobiles like factories turn out shoe laces and bubble gum.
Though the lone mechanic had a monopoly on this service industry, his prices were significantly lower than they should have been. He could have charged ten times as much, but he barely charged at all for his services.
Through the years other mechanics had tried to compete, but none could compare with Mr. Greatwrench. Failed mechanics moved away and set up shop elsewhere. They found normal villages where people expected high prices, long delays, shoddy work, and questionable fees.
Mr. G enjoyed serving the good people of Motorville...until lately. Lately, he noticed a change in the attitudes of his customers. Smiles were replaced by grimaces. Appreciation was absent. No matter how quickly Mr. G repaired and replaced a broken this or a faulty that, the vehicle owners grew more and more impatient.
They checked their watches and paced. They let out deep sighs of exasperation. Mr. G overheard phone conversations that regularly sounded like this: "I don't know! I thought he would be finished by now. I can't believe it's taking this long!"
Upon overhearing one such conversation, Mr. G put down his ratchet, rolled out from under a car, stood up, wiped grease from his tired, gnarled, and constantly bleeding hands, dropped the grease rag on a workbench, and walked away.
No one ever saw him again.
There's another Mr. G who lives in your neighborhood. He doesn't work on cars. He works on hearts. God.
God does amazing work. He has even absorbed the cost Himself. His Son, Jesus, paid for everything. God can fix a broken heart when we feel it is beyond repair. God can heal a neglected relationship that appears hopeless to everyone else. God works day and night. No one else can compare.
Shouldn't His patrons be grateful? Are we? Am I?
Happy Thanksgiving,
Perry Crisp
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Saved from the Flames
Twenty years ago a single mother lived alone with her baby girl on the second story of a rental home. She needed a couple of items from the store just around the corner, so she left her baby asleep in her cradle, and hurried to the store.
While paying for her items at the counter, she heard sirens and looked up to see a firetruck pass by and turn the corner toward her house. She ran outside the store and around the corner to see the firetruck stopped in front of her home. Smoke and flames rose from the roof of her house.
She dropped her items and ran toward the house screaming, "My baby! My baby is in there!" A fireman stopped her and held her back. The chief came over and gave her the worst possible news: "Ma'am, I'm sorry. The fire is out of control. It is too dangerous for anyone to go in there. It means certain death to anyone who tries to enter that structure now."
One of the fireman stepped forward and said that he would like to try to save the baby. The chief informed the brave fireman that there was no way he could get out alive. But the fireman said, "Sir, I have a baby at home. I have to try."
The chief reluctantly allowed the brave fireman to enter the burning house. The young fireman scampered up the stairs, turned the corner and found the child. He took the baby into his arms and started back toward the staircase. A beam from above cracked and caused a large section of the roof to fall. The staircase was completely wiped out. Much of the floor was gone.
The fireman stood against a wall holding the baby. Between him and the window the floor was gone. He called to the men outside and instructed them to prepare the safety net below the window. Then he said, "I can't get to the window, but I think I can save the baby. Her only chance is if I can toss her through the window into the net."
The brave fireman counted to three, kissed the baby girl on the forehead, and lobbed her perfectly through the window. She was caught safely in the net.
The fireman never made it out.
Today, twenty years later, a small statue of a fireman stands in a cemetery marking the place where he was laid to rest. Today, like every day, a young lady bends over his grave and places flowers at the feet of the statue. Today, like every day, just before she leaves, the young lady kisses the forehead of the statue and whispers, "Thank you for giving your life for me."
Why have a time of daily prayer? Why spend time with God in the morning? If for no other reason -- to say, "Thank you, Jesus, for giving your life for me."
Garlands of Praise Laid at His Feet,
Perry Crisp
While paying for her items at the counter, she heard sirens and looked up to see a firetruck pass by and turn the corner toward her house. She ran outside the store and around the corner to see the firetruck stopped in front of her home. Smoke and flames rose from the roof of her house.
She dropped her items and ran toward the house screaming, "My baby! My baby is in there!" A fireman stopped her and held her back. The chief came over and gave her the worst possible news: "Ma'am, I'm sorry. The fire is out of control. It is too dangerous for anyone to go in there. It means certain death to anyone who tries to enter that structure now."
One of the fireman stepped forward and said that he would like to try to save the baby. The chief informed the brave fireman that there was no way he could get out alive. But the fireman said, "Sir, I have a baby at home. I have to try."
The chief reluctantly allowed the brave fireman to enter the burning house. The young fireman scampered up the stairs, turned the corner and found the child. He took the baby into his arms and started back toward the staircase. A beam from above cracked and caused a large section of the roof to fall. The staircase was completely wiped out. Much of the floor was gone.
The fireman stood against a wall holding the baby. Between him and the window the floor was gone. He called to the men outside and instructed them to prepare the safety net below the window. Then he said, "I can't get to the window, but I think I can save the baby. Her only chance is if I can toss her through the window into the net."
The brave fireman counted to three, kissed the baby girl on the forehead, and lobbed her perfectly through the window. She was caught safely in the net.
The fireman never made it out.
Today, twenty years later, a small statue of a fireman stands in a cemetery marking the place where he was laid to rest. Today, like every day, a young lady bends over his grave and places flowers at the feet of the statue. Today, like every day, just before she leaves, the young lady kisses the forehead of the statue and whispers, "Thank you for giving your life for me."
Why have a time of daily prayer? Why spend time with God in the morning? If for no other reason -- to say, "Thank you, Jesus, for giving your life for me."
Garlands of Praise Laid at His Feet,
Perry Crisp
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
This Far!
"Who am I, O Lord God...that You have brought me this far?" (1st Chronicles 17:16)
I am grateful for "this far" today. "This far" is so much farther than I could ever have imagined. "This far" is oceans deeper and mountains higher than a Christ-less Perry would have ever reached.
Normally, I'm looking ahead. I always want to keep going. I'm the chubby kid in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. I want to eat the grass of God's grace, lick the candied flowers of His blessings, and dive into the chocolate river of His love.
But today, I pause with David to say, "Thank you, God, for bringing me this far and blessing me this much."
My name is written permanently in Heaven's Hilton even though I don't deserve a tent outside the gates. My terribly abused and overdrawn sin account has reached depths of debt from which I could never recover. But "Paid in Full" is stained across my account with the precious and permanent blood of Jesus.
My past is forgiven. My future is secure. What else could I want? It doesn't matter. God gives me more anyway. Every day on the calendar of my earthly life I find boxes of gifts from God. I open His Word and read His promises. I pray and feel His presence.
It's as if He stays up all night shopping for something else to bless me with. And then gently nudges me awake each morning with a smile on His face to show me what He has prepared for me.
Why? David asked, "Who am I?" But that's irrelevant. It's who God is. That's why we've been brought this far.
Before I open today's undeserved boxes of blessings, I just want to stop, look back at the mountains of crinkled giftwrapping and the trophies of His blessings in my life, and say, "This far is way farther than I ever dreamed. Thank You, Father. I owe it all to You."
Halle-loompa,
Perry Crisp
I am grateful for "this far" today. "This far" is so much farther than I could ever have imagined. "This far" is oceans deeper and mountains higher than a Christ-less Perry would have ever reached.
Normally, I'm looking ahead. I always want to keep going. I'm the chubby kid in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. I want to eat the grass of God's grace, lick the candied flowers of His blessings, and dive into the chocolate river of His love.
But today, I pause with David to say, "Thank you, God, for bringing me this far and blessing me this much."
My name is written permanently in Heaven's Hilton even though I don't deserve a tent outside the gates. My terribly abused and overdrawn sin account has reached depths of debt from which I could never recover. But "Paid in Full" is stained across my account with the precious and permanent blood of Jesus.
My past is forgiven. My future is secure. What else could I want? It doesn't matter. God gives me more anyway. Every day on the calendar of my earthly life I find boxes of gifts from God. I open His Word and read His promises. I pray and feel His presence.
It's as if He stays up all night shopping for something else to bless me with. And then gently nudges me awake each morning with a smile on His face to show me what He has prepared for me.
Why? David asked, "Who am I?" But that's irrelevant. It's who God is. That's why we've been brought this far.
Before I open today's undeserved boxes of blessings, I just want to stop, look back at the mountains of crinkled giftwrapping and the trophies of His blessings in my life, and say, "This far is way farther than I ever dreamed. Thank You, Father. I owe it all to You."
Halle-loompa,
Perry Crisp
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