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Monday Moments
Monday Moment: September 3, 2007
The customs officer led me to a corner of a plain, bright room in the airport of Kiev. He had motioned to me in the green line to follow him and asked to see my money. Eastern European customs officials frequently did this in the mid-1990s, and I watched in some discomfort as he fingered his way through the hundred dollar bills I was carrying in behalf of the ministry I represented. On this occasion I had two envelopes destined for different groups, but together the amounts totaled more than what one person was allowed to carry.
Monday Moments
Monday Moment: August 27, 2007
A telemarketer for a lawn service spent fifteen minutes persuading me of the value of aerating our lawn. He made the sale and then took another few moments trying to identify possible barriers to carrying out the service successfully. Any locked gates? . . . Guard dogs? . . . Underground sprinkler system? No, the only boundary that might interfere—my reluctance to spend money—had already been crossed.
Monday Moments
Monday Moment -- August 20, 2007
A staff member in a dermatologist's office was taking my medical history in preparation for a first-time appointment. She asked if I had any family history of skin cancer. I could think of none and said no. Later my wife wondered how the appointment had gone, and I told her about the interview, asking if she could remember any family members who had had skin cancer. "No one except you," she said. Oh, yes, that time in California two decades ago . . . . In my casual survey of family health problems, I had conveniently overlooked the one the doctor would be most interested in my own.
Monday Moments
Monday Moment: April 24, 2006
Common wisdom says, “Don’t count your chickens before they are hatched.” It reminds us not to make significant choices before we have some facts. Too often we go with our hunches, not taking time to count the cost. We substitute wishful thinking for sound decisions.
Monday Moments
Monday Moment: April 10, 2006
The four of us—Gary, Bill, Ross and I—used to find ways to get together at ministers’ meetings. It was lunch one day, dinner the next, pie and coffee late at night. We were the young hotshots, the four horsemen and, we imagined, the hope of our denomination. Our churches were thriving. Coming from different parts of the country, we looked forward to otherwise humdrum clergy gatherings to be able to talk, strategize, pontificate, trade stories and laugh—above all to laugh—together. We recommended books to one another, talked about political issues within the church, and agreed on what ought to be done next to advance the kingdom of God. Though we seldom saw each other more than twice a year, we were friends . . . good friends.
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