Greatness Passes

Late on the afternoon of October 22 I watched the passing of greatness. It was not like the passing of a baton in a track meet, that critical hand off when relays are won or lost. In those moments there is something definitive to see, something you know is coming and you already know what it will look like. It can look smooth, it might look like a stumble or even a dropped baton, but all of those are pictures you have seen before. They are just a part of what happens. On that day in October I saw the passing of greatness in a picture I had never seen before.

My 96 year old grandma died that afternoon. For 54 years I had come to know and love her as, Gram. There was greatness in everything about her. Pregnant at age 15 with the baby that would turn out to be my father, she married and entered a world she knew little about. Her husband turned out to be an alchoholic, an abusive man; but she was just plain great. There was greatness in the way she survived, how she raised her three kids, how she seemed to always have a good attitude about the things that made up life, and in being Gram!

She did not have any of the trappings usually assigned to greatness. She only had one bedroom in her house but most Sunday afternoons there was always room for eight grandsons and their parents. It was, as you might guess, a great place to be. Gram was also a great cook. Not all grandmas are, even though it seems like it should come with the territory. I loved her beef and homemade noodles along with mashed potatoes. Nothing like red meat and plenty of starch to keep a growing boy growing.

That day in October I sat by Gram's bed and listened to her labored breathing. I didn't know if she knew I was there, but I talked to her anyway. I let her know it was OK to let go and find her way to heaven. Remarkably,it was just short time after that when I saw the passing of greatness.

In one solitary moment she took her last breath and greatness left the room, it passed on. I wonder who was there to see that greatness for the first time in this place we call heaven. Would it have been Jesus? Maybe it was an angel or a loved one. All I know is that in one solitary moment that October afternoon I witnessed the passing of greatness.

A little over 2000 years ago the greatness of God came into this world in a small city called Bethlehem. He came in the form of a baby. His name was Jesus. What an incredible twist on the ways of this world. Greatness packaged in an infant and born in a feeding trough. No buildings or magazines named after him. No politicians courting him for an endorsement. No ambitions beyond giving His life away for others, even to the point of His death for their sins and the hope of eternal life.

Gram knew all of that to be true. No wonder it felt like I was watching the passing of greatness in that October moment. I was!

What about you? What do you know to be true?
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Talking to the Butter Man

A trip to the grocery store is not always my idea of a great moment in the day. Where is the adventure? Well, there is the time I left my cart for a moment to walk up an aisle to get something, and when I returned it was gone. I searched the entire store, even scouting out other people's carts, but in the end I never found it. I had to start all over. I guess that was an adventure.

This evening Melodee and I went to County Market. I still call it Cub Foods. I went to prove that chivalry is not dead, and besides that the first snow of the season was due in while we would be shopping. I wanted to come out of the store and experience the new fallen snow. Wow, that almost sounds poetic.

While we were shopping we were jousting back and forth in conversation and I mentioned that in these "unemployment days" I have developed some imaginary friends to talk with and sometimes we even go places together. What happened next could have qualified for commitment if it were not for such a benevolent wife of 32 years.

I was parked with the shopping cart in front of the butter section while Melodee was picking out her favorite flavors of yogurt a few feet in front of me. That's when it happened. I heard a voice saying, "Excuse me, Sir". I thought someone was behind me wanting to get to the butter, but when I turned to look over my left shoulder there was no one there. Strange! Within moments I heard the same voice and the same words. When I turned to look over my right shoulder this time, there was no one there. I was starting to feel a little like Samuel and wondered if I should find some guy named Eli in the store to understand what was happening.

At about this time I realized there was a man behind the butter shelves and he was talking to me. You know, a little like the guy on the orange juice ads. He wanted me to tell him which shelf had the sign for Prairie Farms butter, and so I told him there were actually two shelves with that signage. We spoke a few more words never realizing that by this time Melodee was watching me talk to the butter shelves.

I wonder what people think and what we look like when the Spirit of God is talking to us?
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Red Shoe Prints

There is nothing quite like a trip to Lowes, in fact it is more like a mission. It is one of those moments in a man's life that is definable, focused, task oriented and finite [as opposed to going on forever like shopping]. It is, like I said, a mission. There is none of that exploring,comparing or even deciding. Heaven forbid any man would ever be caught deciding in a store. You do that kind of detail work long before you pull out of your driveway!

On a recent mission to Lowes I was deeply embedded in the manly thought process that allows you to focus on one thing and block out every other noise on the planet. Not knowing exactly where I was headed, signage was of the up most importantance. I was not lost so there was no need to stop for directions. That's what signs are for. However, the one sign I did not see was the one that said "wet paint" or at least was designated as wet paint or "stay off this spot on the floor". Who would put two yellow cones at knee length when a man on a mission is looking up for critical information? There are many strange animals on this planet of ours but I don't think even any of those have eyes in their knees.

Do you know how totally impossible it is to disguise the fact that you are the one who just walked through the fresh, not even close to being dry, red paint. You could run for the front door but your tracks would follow you. You could take your shoes off and carry them in your hands but then again that would seem a little strange at a Lowes store. This is where men are on finite mission!

As a follower of Jesus I would like to think that somehow my feet have found their way through the crimson stain that was left at Calvary. I would like to think that wherever I go I leave some of that red footprint behind me. That should be the definable, focused, task oriented and finite mission of a man. What do you think?
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