Each june i put my calendar together for the coming year. June is the month of D-Day. I don’t mean D-Day as in Normandy invasion. I mean D-Day as in decisions to be made.
This morning I began the process of decision. I opened the “Decision File” and began reading the speaking invitations. A church planter in Wyoming wonders if I could spend time with his church. A church camp in Washington invites me to speak to its campers. A missionary in India has read my books and asks, “If I can come up with the money, can you spend a week with us?”
Something happens as a person fields the invitations of others. He or she begins to feel important.
As I looked at the letters, it dawned on me how vital I was to the progress of humanity.
I wondered how the earth stayed on its axis before I was born. I nodded my head in understanding at the letter that read, “You are the one for this meeting.” I put my hand under my shirt and rubbed the S on the red jersey—“Super Max.”
I was feeling puffy and proud when I read the last letter. But as I put down the file, I noticed another request. One that didn’t make it into the folder. One that was lying on my desk.
It had no date, no signature, no deadline. It wasn’t a letter or a phone message. It was a photograph—a photograph so recent that it had no frame. It was a portrait of a mom and a dad encircled by three little girls. Our family portrait.
The positioning of the photo and the file struck me. There was something symbolic about the way I’d unintentionally placed the letters next to the family picture. The singular photo lying in the shadow of the stack of requests seemed to whisper a question that only I could answer:
“Max, who will win?”
There is only so much sand in the hourglass. Who gets it?
You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Since you don’t stockpile your requests until June, your situation may not be as graphic as mine. But it’s every bit as real.
“The PTA needs a new treasurer. With your background and experience and talent and wisdom and love for kids and degree in accounting, YOU are the perfect one for the job!”
“There’s going to be some shuffling in the ranks. With the retirement of the branch manager, somebody will move up. The company is looking for a bright, young salesman—someone like you—who is willing to demonstrate his dedication to the organization by taking on some extra projects … and working some late hours.”
“I apologize that I have to ask you again, but you are such a good Sunday-school teacher. If you could only take one more quarter … ”
“I just lost my hygienist. Will you come back to work for me? I know you don’t want to go back to work until your children start school. But it’s only four hours a day and there’s a day-care center just a few blocks from my office now. Wouldn’t the extra money be nice?”
“Would I be willing to serve as chapter president? Well, to be honest, I was going to sit out this term because our youngest goes to college next fall. Yes, I realize this is a critical year for the organization.… Oh, no, I wouldn’t want the club to falter.… Yes, we have made great progress over the last few months. It’s just that … ”
It’s tug-of-war, and you are the rope.
On one side are the requests for your time and energy. They call. They compliment. They are valid and good. Great opportunities to do good things. If they were evil, it’d be easy to say no. But they aren’t, so it’s easy to rationalize.
On the other side are the loved ones in your world. They don’t write you letters. They don’t ask you to consult your calendar. They don’t offer to pay your expenses. They don’t use terms like “appointment,” “engagement,” or “do lunch.” They don’t want you for what you can do for them; they want you for who you are.
Clovis Chappell, a minister from a century back, used to tell the story of two paddleboats. They left Memphis about the same time, traveling down the Mississippi River to New Orleans. As they traveled side by side, sailors from one vessel made a few remarks about the snail’s pace of the other.
Words were exchanged. Challenges were made. And the race began. Competition became vicious as the two boats roared through the Deep South.
One boat began falling behind. Not enough fuel. There had been plenty of coal for the trip, but not enough for a race. As the boat dropped back, an enterprising young sailor took some of the ship’s cargo and tossed it into the ovens. When the sailors saw that the supplies burned as well as the coal, they fueled their boat with the material they had been assigned to transport. They ended up winning the race, but burned their cargo.
God has entrusted cargo to us, too: children, spouses, friends. Our job is to do our part in seeing that this cargo reaches its destination.
Yet when the program takes priority over people, people often suffer.
How much cargo do we sacrifice in order to achieve the number one slot? How many people never reach the destination because of the aggressiveness of a competitive captain?
A world of insight is hidden in four words in Matthew 14:22: “He dismissed the crowd.” This wasn’t just any crowd that Jesus dismissed.
These weren’t casually curious.
These weren’t coincidental bystanders.
This was a multitude with a mission. They had heard the disciples. They had left their homes. They had followed Jesus around the sea. They had heard him teach and had seen him heal. They had eaten the bread. And they were ready to make him king.
Surely Jesus will commandeer the crowd and focus their frenzy. Surely he will seize the chance to convert the thousands. Surely he will spend the night baptizing the willing followers. No one would turn down an opportunity to minister to thousands of people, right?
Jesus did.
“He dismissed the crowd.” Why? Read verse 23: “After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray.”
He said no to the important in order to say yes to the vital.
He said no to a good opportunity in order to say yes to a better opportunity. It wasn’t a selfish decision. It was a deliberate choice to honor priorities. If Jesus thought it necessary to say no to the demands of the crowds in order to pray, don’t you think you and I should, too?
“Blessed are the meek,” Jesus said. The word meek does not mean weak. It means focused. It is a word used to describe a domesticated stallion. Power under control. Strength with a direction.
Blessed are those who are harnessed. Blessed are those who recognize their God-given responsibilities. Blessed are those who acknowledge that there is only one God and have quit applying for his position. Blessed are those who know what on earth they are on earth to do and set themselves about the business of doing it. Blessed are those who are able to “discern what is best.”
As I looked at the photo and the file, I decided to try something. I decided to make a list of what I would lose by saying no to my family one night. It wasn’t hard to do; I just made a list of what I would have missed by not being home with my family last night.
I could have been out of town this week. I had an invitation to be in the Midwest at a church. I turned it down. What if I hadn’t? If I had gone, I would have had the attention of a thousand people for an hour. I would have had the opportunity to speak about Jesus to some people who don’t know him. Is a Tuesday evening at home with three children and a spouse more important than preaching to an audience?
Read my list of what I would have missed. Then you decide.
I would have missed a trip to the swimming pool in which I saw Jenna climb onto her inner tube for the first time.
I would have missed fifteen minutes of bouncing up and down in the shallow end of the pool, with Andrea clinging to my neck singing the theme from “Sleeping Beauty.”
I would have missed seeing Denalyn get sentimental as she unpacked a box of baby clothes.
I wouldn’t have gone on a walk with the girls during which Jenna found ten “special” rocks.
I wouldn’t have been there to hold Andrea when her finger got slammed in the door.
I wouldn’t have been there to answer Jenna’s question: “Daddy, what is a handicapped person?”
I would have missed seeing Andrea giggle as she took Jenna’s straw when Jenna’s back was turned.
I wouldn’t have heard Jenna tell the story of Jesus on the cross during our family devotional (when she assured us, “But he didn’t stay dead!”).
I wouldn’t have seen Andrea make a muscle with her arm and sing, “Our God is so BIIIIIIIG!”
What do you think? I know my vote. There are a hundred speakers who could have addressed that crowd, but my girls just have one daddy.
After I made my list, just for the fun of it I picked up the phone and called the church that had asked me to come and speak this week. The minister wasn’t in, but his secretary was. “Isn’t this the week of your seminar?” I asked.
“Oh, yes! It has been a wonderful success!”
They didn’t even miss me.
Now I’ve got a better idea what to do with my stack of requests.
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