What Does It Cost?

He is an old man.  No really. He is closing in on his eightieth year.  Yet, there he stands looking at me.

He is waiting for my approval.  Mine!

A confident man, he has always struck me as almost arrogant.  He strides in wearing his suit and tie, with a black felt fedora shoved back on his head.  One after another he reaches for the most expensive guitars on my wall and strikes the strings, shaking his head disapprovingly after each successive trial.

“It just doesn’t have the ring I’m used to,” he gripes.  “Give me an old Martin any day.  These Chinese don’t know how to make a guitar.”

I won’t argue.  Not that it would do any good.

Every other time he has walked in my door, he has left with his head held high, the last thing I see of him, the top of his fedora set on the back of his proud head.

Not today.

His friend has set the scene by bragging about the old man’s accomplishments.  The words he uses are professional and talented.

I don’t know what to say.  No wait!  I do know what I want to say.

What I want to say is, “Yeah, we get lots of guys just like him in here every day.”

I want to put the old man in his place.  I want him to leave here more humble than he was when he arrived.  I want him to understand that I hob-nob with better musicians than he is nearly every day.

This old guy just rubs me the wrong way.

Perhaps if I knock him down a peg or two, I can make him understand how important I am.

Suddenly, I look–really look–at the old guy in front of me.  He’s just an ordinary, aging man, wondering if he’ll ever again feel that sense of accomplishment he knew when he was young.  He wonders if all the good things are behind him, and he’s struggling to hold onto the memory of the proud moments he has experienced.

With the words, “…even song-writer of the year.” his friend has stopped talking and now they are both looking at me, obviously awaiting a response.

My mind is going a mile a minute to cipher out the dilemma I’m faced with.  A mile a minute may not be fast enough.

What is so hard about muttering a few complimentary words?  Am I afraid I’ll look smaller because of making this old man feel good about himself for a few moments?

Who’s the prideful man in this room now?

Glancing in the face of the old man standing before me, I see the look of a child awaiting the approval of his or her father.  Head cocked to the side, he pleads silently for me not to let him down in front of his friend.

What would it cost me to say something nice?
__________

The Lovely Lady often tells me that I’m too hard on myself when I relate these little personal episodes.  Funny.  I usually feel that I’m not tough enough in my assessment.  Then again, sometimes I feel like I’m boasting if I tell you how well I did in a given situation.

I think for now, I’m just going to leave it right there, with the proud old man and the proud shop keeper standing at the counter.  Someday, the rest of the story may be told, but not tonight.

Whether I passed the test or not is of no consequence.  Well, not, at least, as far as the reader is concerned.

What does matter is if there is anything to be learned, any lesson to be taught, regarding how we are to treat old proud men.  Or young, timorous school kids.  Or rude, passionate teenagers.

There is much more to be said on the subject.  Perhaps your minds are going a mile a minute as you consider what that is.

Perhaps the answer will come, in time.

What does it cost?

Really.  What does it cost?

Will you pay the price?

Will I?

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit.  Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.”
(Philippians 2:3 ~ NIV)

“If only I had a little humility, I would be perfect.”
(Ted Turner ~ American businessman/founder of CNN News)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2014. All Rights Reserved.

Gifts from the Wise


Tonight, I read once again the old Christmas classic short story, “The Gift of the Magi”
Written by O. Henry, who was ironically a convicted embezzler and an alcoholic, it remains—in my mind at least—one of the best stories of true love that I have read. 
Every year around this time, the cynics come out, clamoring of the foolishness rather than the wisdom of the two protagonists.  In spite of the misanthropy of these detractors, I find amazing hope in the story, choosing to believe that it is a better thing to give up something we love for someone we love; in spite of the chance that the result will be other than we would wish.

I grew up receiving an annual gift from my father, one I was never happy to receive. 

It was the only Christmas present he ever gave me.
You see, we didn’t celebrate Christmas at our house.  Ever.
My parents are believers, but my dad had spent hours of research and had determined that, because of the pagan roots of the original holiday celebrated at this time of year and the fact that a number of the practices had been borrowed by the church as it replaced the pagan celebrations, he and his family would not be celebrating Christmas. 
To a young child growing up, it was not a happy situation.  Since we attended a church which celebrated the day, we were surrounded by friends who expected us to enjoy the season.  I can tell you, we did not! 
Other children received presents galore.  We didn’t. 
Other friends spent the holiday with their extended family.  We didn’t. 
Other people enjoyed Christmas caroling and times of fellowship afterward.  We didn’t.

I’m not seeking sympathy, because the gift from my father was irreplaceable and given in love.  To this day, I treasure and value it. 

His gift to his family was the courage to stand for his convictions
No matter how unpopular they were, he stood on those principles in which he had confidence.  And they were unpopular.  He was accused of not being a Christian by some and outcast (at least for the month of December) by others. 
It was pretty unpopular from our point of view also, since we had to face the kids at school, either with explanations or lies.  I’m ashamed to say that many times, my choice was the latter. 
It was easier for me to reply, “Oh, I just got clothes,” to the inevitable question of what I received for Christmas, than it was to explain why I didn’t get any presents from my family.  But as I have matured my admiration for the stance my father took, regardless of whether you view it as wrong or right, has grown immensely. 
He believed what he said and was willing to pay the price for it.

As an adult, I have not retained the viewpoint my father had regarding Christmas.  While it’s a much larger conversation than I want to have here, let’s just say I see many areas in life wherein we have utilized the tools available to us to do God’s work.  In this case, it is a time of celebration in which we have the opportunity to spread the good news of God’s love. 

But the lesson of standing firm for what you believe is not lost on me, and my stubbornness nearly matches my father’s in a number of areas.  If you don’t believe me, ask my children, or the other men who are Elders in my church.

What sort of gifts are we giving our children

It’s a sure bet that the lion’s share of the toys we buy will be forgotten long before the kids reach maturity.  They’ll have dim memories of the expensive decorations and elaborate feasts. 
They will forever remember the things that matter to us—the principles we are willing to stand for in our lives. 
As we wrap all those temporal presents in the next few weeks, let’s take some time to think of the gifts we are giving which will last for a lifetime. 
We should make sure they’re the things we want to be remembered for.

The O. Henry story is a great romantic tale which brings tears to the eyes and a short-term rush of sentimentalism, leading unfortunately, to no real or lasting transformation. 

The stories of who we really are and what we really believe in, on the other hand—those are the stories that can shape lives for eternity.

Make sure your gift is a wise one.

The true gift of the magi.



“The greatest gift is a portion of thyself.”
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

“As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”
(Joshua 24:15)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2014. All Rights Reserved.