Price, Cost, Value

At the time of the Columbia shuttle disaster over East Texas (2/1/03), I was working in the car rental industry and was involved in providing vehicles for the many response teams involved in the recovery effort. Of the 200+ vehicles rented, one was a 15 passenger van from my inventory. During its several months out, the rear seat was removed by the folks using it and in the confusion of such a massive effort never seen again. Upon its return without the seat, we were informed after diligent search among the many places and teams involved there was no sign of it. Ironic for a search and recovery team to be unable to find something they had lost.

We promptly obtained quotes for the replacement of the seat from a dealership. A new replacement seat is not an item that can be purchased whole, it must be ordered in so many parts (250+ as I recall) and be assembled. The cost of the parts was about $2,000 and labor was as much. So the federal taxpayer was billed this amount in the master invoicing which was apparently paid without a second thought. This provided maximum benefit to the company and ease for the customer. (Taxpayer/Government $4,000 loss/Company no loss, $4,000 gain)

The van, without the seat, was promptly sold in a car auction, 'as is'. The winning bid was slightly less than the potential wholesale cost of the van, because of the missing seat. My inventory was charged with the lost value and credited an equal amount out of the amount paid by the government, the balance of what was originally paid for replacement was credited somewhere else (never got a straight answer from the bosses). There was never a second thought of actually replacing the seat, that would have taken too much effort. This provided the least cost and greatest ease for the company. (Company loss charged to my cost center $2,000 for perceived difference to wholesale value, Company credit to company cost center for payment, $4,000 - net gain to company cost center now really $6,000) 

I later found out that the used car dealer who purchased the vehicle promptly went to a junk yard, paid $150 for a replacement seat and sold the vehicle for a gain more than the amount originally paid by the government for the replacement of the seat. This provided maximum profit for the dealer with the most effective use of his effort. (Dealer gain for effort and smarts +$4,000)

I have found a carryover from this experience - 

* when dealing with a problem for someone else, to our own benefit, we will tend to choose the most expensive option that is easiest for them to go along with,

* when dealing with a problem for ourselves, to our own benefit, we will tend to choose the least costly option that is easiest for us to go along with,

* when choosing to actually solve the problem a true entrepreneur will find the option that provides the maximum benefit with the least required amount of work / investment. Cost / Expense is translated into value added and ease is forgotten to become efficiency in effort to maximize overall gain.

Now extend this thought to personal relationships:

* when dealing with the ''problems" of others, we are most likely to charge them the full cost of their mistakes / failures / shortcomings and provide them the means of appeasing us that seems easiest to them (least price) but pays us the most,

* when dealing with our own "problems", we generally avoid them by considering them too costly to deal with and find the easiest means to pass over them or pass them on to someone who will deal with them at little or no cost to us,

* a person committed to development (personal and relational) will take all "problems" as they come, head on. They will properly consider and then pay the appropriate cost at the lowest price~ investing efficiently the time and resources needed to reap the full value. 

For real...?

If you know my youngest daughter Avery, you know humor and drama.  Being an independent and creative child, she has her own very unique perspective and strong personality to express it.  She is unafraid to ask questions and even tell you her opinion about most any topic.  Her stories are the stuff of legend.

She has one question that smokes my noggin every time she asks it.  Every now and again when we are watching TV, she turns and says 'Hey Daddy, is this for real?'  She has to ask more than you might imagine, but we do live in the reality TV age.  The question most often comes when there is something on TV that is completely off the wall or fantastical - especially if its even slightly spooky or pulse-pounding action.  She's trying to make sure what she is seeing is real or unreal since what she is seeing is beyond her perception of reality.  She is looking for reassurance that she should not be scared of something or try to do something that can harm her or others.

For the most part, I'd say her grip on reality is better than the average adult - but she still has to ask sometimes 'Is this for real?'.  She knows gravity works, she knows dad is serious when he snaps his fingers, she knows pretty well how to work people and things to her own end ~ she knows a few things, but not everything.  Her foundation is limited to her own experience and a little learning, what she's seen and heard in her few years.  When confronted with something that doesn't jive with her reality then it's time to ask.

Every single day, I deal with people and situations that are to me absolutely surreal.  Personalities, attitudes, actions and expressions that seem beyond belief and reasonable motivation.  If you know me well, you may have seen my typical reaction to these moments - I smile, eyes full of wonder, pause briefly and wade in to the deep end of whatever insanity I find myself confronted with.  I've been told it's unnerving to most folks and have found it generally pacifies most encounters that might otherwise become an extreme conflict.  

I recently caught myself in that pause and figured out I was actually asking something in my soul and awaiting the response.  It is in that moment that I am able to gather my perspective, keep myself firmly footed in the reality of God's Sovereignty, and move forward without fear of doing something that will cause harm to myself or others. I know a few things, I know how the physical universe works, I know when my Heavenly Father is trying to get my attention, I know how to work with most people and processes toward a mutually good end ~ I know a few things, but not everything.  My foundation of experience and learning is limited, but it includes what many others have seen and heard since creation ~ it includes the Word of God.  Even more it includes the Spirit of God working within me to tell me what jives with reality, most often I don't even have to ask - but I do, 'Hey Daddy, is this for real?' 

I woke up crying in my pillow this morning...

Starting Out

Sitting in the lobby, waiting. I have sat in this lobby only once before. Nearly 20 years ago, I came in through those doors, unannounced, looking for work. The receptionist took a quick glance at me, put my resume in a file full of resumes and said ‘Have a seat over there.’ I seem to remember her picking up the phone and saying, ‘I think the one you’re looking for is here.’


I was broke then too. All I really had was this suit my dad had given me. It was off the rack. A poor looking fella, that’s what I was. I had nothing then. Now, nearly 20 years later – same suit, same lobby, same fella, sitting here waiting again. I feel like a kid outside the principal's office. I’ve got nothing but trouble, I scratch at my face. I woke up crying in my pillow this morning.


I remember being overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by what I didn’t know, by what I thought I knew, by what I couldn’t even imagine. I was overwhelmed by the debt I owed ~ college loans mostly. I remember thinking, “How can I ever pay all this? It will take forever.” I was overwhelmed by the mere thought of life and the years to come. I couldn’t tell you what color the chairs were, or what time it was, or even if anybody else was in the lobby with me. I just remember being overwhelmed, like now.


Here’s the one part I remember most clearly. The old man came down the hall from the back office. He walked straight up to me and asked just one question, “Are you ready to get to work?” Dumbfounded, all I could say was, “Sure?” That was the interview.


He personally walked me around the whole place. He introduced to me to every single person there. Never once did he say, ‘remind me your name…’ – not to me or anybody. “This is our newest employee. Make him feel welcome. Help him figure it out. I expect great things from him.” He told everybody some version of that as he introduced me to each person. I remember thinking, what have I done to deserve this.


I also remember, this look. There was this odd look on each person’s face, like they were thinking the same thing. In fact, they were all looking at me as we went by. I never have figured out if it was because I was new or if it was because I was with the old man. Maybe it was… I still dunno ~ but they all just ‘looked’ at me with these odd looks.


Some of them looked at me like an envious brother, angry because of the attention I was getting. Some of them looked at me like an old granpa looks at his kid’s kids, but most of them looked at me like they knew me. They looked at me like they had sat in that same lobby and had been on this tour before with the old man. He probably did this with everyone.


Even now, I don’t know if he ever even looked at my resume. I don’t even know if the old man noticed I had on white socks with a dark suit. But I am sure of this, he didn’t care. He walked right into that lobby like a baseball coach pointing to a pitcher and said, “You. Get out there! Show me what you’ve got.”

Something Special

After the tour was over, the old man said, “I hope you enjoyed that tour. Treat these folks well, each one of them is very special to me. Now, I’ve got something really special for you.”


He explained to me that he wanted me to be what he called an Outside Representative. I would spend most of my time traveling to see folks and tell them about what the old man could do for them. He told me to check in at least once a day with him personally, more if I needed. He said to rely on other folks in the company to help me, but to keep in touch with him too.


He handed me a book and a cell phone. Pointing at the book he said, “Read that when ya get a chance would ya?.” Pointing at the cell phone, he said “Keep in touch too. Always remember I expect a lot from you. Make me proud.”


I was almost embarrassed to ask, but I said, “Sir, I have to ask, how much does this job pay?” He smiled and said, “What do you need?” I named a price I felt like he’d surely never agree to. I wanted to leave some room for him to come down to what I really needed. And then it happened, like so many times over the past twenty years I worked for him, he looked me square in the eye and said, “You’re worth more than that.” Not once in all the time I worked for him did I ever need, he always gave me more than I could even imagine.


Sitting here in this lobby nearly twenty years later, it is hard to believe I am here again like this. It is surreal, like waking up from a dream – crying. I woke up crying in my pillow this morning. Now I’m sitting here, again, waiting in that same lobby. Hoping he’ll see me, even though I walked out on him.


He wasn’t joking when he said he had something really special for me. There are lots of folks that work for him. Some in accounting, some in research, some just clean up, but I had the best job of all. I didn’t have to punch a clock or sit at a desk. There was no boss right there over my shoulder.


Sure, I worked for the old man, but he was never like a boss. I had so much freedom. Sometimes he’d tell me who to see and even sometimes people would just call me and say, “Hey can you tell me what the old man can do for us?” Most of the time, though, I just did what made sense. I went and saw the folks who needed what the old man could provide. I told them his track record, how he worked, and I always closed with the story of the first day I sat in that lobby and how he never forgot a name. That works most of the time.


If I didn’t get somebody to understand the first time, he’d say, “try again later” or “don’t worry they’ll get it soon enough”. We’d talk about what was said and how that person reacted. Never once did he ever say a negative word to me, he just said, “Talk to them like this…” Then he’d tell me how he built things, how he helped people, and how he wanted things to be. He shared with me everything I could keep in my head about what he did and could do.


Nearly twenty years now, I have given him my heart and soul. Oh, some days, I didn’t do all I could. I’d kinda fake my way through it and that never did really work well for me. Each day, I’d check in with him and those days I was just barely making it, he’d say, “Do you remember that first day you met me? What did I say?” I’d shrug and say back, “I expect a lot from you. Make me proud.” He’d pat me on the shoulder and send me on my way.


He made me something special alright. There are lots of folks working to support what I did for him. When I wondered around through the company, they’d just look at me. Those strange looks, some envious, some kind, but mostly just like me. Wondering, why the old man took such good care of us and everybody he did business with. I asked sometimes. What others did, how long they’d been there, why they did it? Every one of them told a story just like mine, they wandered in one day and went right to work. They worked hard, because they wanted to make him proud. I always felt special, because of that and because of the job I had.

Just a Few and Andy

The one thing I liked most about my job was that I was one of a few folks that was an Outside Representative. Sure we all worked for the old man and he was real serious about the idea that everyone who worked for him understood that people would judge him by what we all did. We were all really representatives, but just a few of us were Outside Representatives as our main job. I was one of those few.


I remember when he introduced me to the group. I had been working for him for a while, before he told me to come in for that meeting. I couldn’t imagine it was that long before I ever even sat down and talked with other people who did what I did for him, but it was awhile.


He told us all how things were going, what a good job we’d been doing, and what he expected from us. “I am proud of you. Keep it up!” he’d say. He was there with us every time we’d get together like that. Smiling that weird little smile of his, like this is exactly how he pictured it and was glad we were there. We’d talk mostly about him, sometimes about our visits with folks, and we always thanked him. I remember that, every man in that room was thankful for what he had been given.


Sometimes, people would miss a meeting or they’d say things that didn’t quite jive with the old man. He’d just look at them, smile and say… “You’re worth more than that.” That was usually the end of it.


I remember one fella in particular, now more clearly. As I sit here in this lobby, waiting and hoping the old man will see me again, I remember Andy. I want to blame Andy sometimes, he put this dumb thought in my head. He’d always say, “We deserve more. We work really hard for him, he should give us more. We are what makes him rich. They won’t even let us put our name on the door.” It’s his fault, nah… it’s mine. I listened to him.


Not the first time, mind you. The first time he tried it on me, I looked Andy square eye and said, “I’m getting so much more than I deserve. I hope I never feel like you.” Andy rarely talked to me after that, but when he did, it was always the same. How he was mistreated, how hard he worked, how little he got, how much he wanted, Andy went on and on. He deserved to be a partner, to make decisions, to have his name on the door.


Andy felt like he should be made Senior Outside Representative – I didn’t even know there was such a thing till Andy told me about it one day. I remember thinking it might be nice to be in charge. I also remember I didn’t like the idea of Andy being in charge, of anything.

Andy didn't... Andy wouldn't... Andy... Andy... Andy...
Andy didn’t like the rules. Andy would take the book and point to something in it and go on and on for hours about how that didn’t make sense, how it didn’t jive with some other part of the book or how he knew the book wasn’t really what the old man meant or wanted. I looked at the parts Andy mentioned, but I never really paid attention to the book anyway. The old man said the rules were important and made it easier to get along, but he never seemed to say much more than that about them.


Andy did some things most of us didn’t do. He didn’t check in with the old man very often. He was pretty rude to everyone that worked with us. He really wasn’t all that successful at his work. He made everyone mad, both inside and outside.


I was standing with Andy at a meeting one day when one of the secretaries walked by and Andy made a comment about her. She heard him, she kept going, crying. The old man stopped her, talked to her a bit, hugged her gently and she looked ok after that. Everyone else was telling Andy what they thought about that, how wrong he was and all, when the old man wandered back in. Looking a little disappointed, he put his arm around Andy and said, “I have to keep telling you to treat these folks well. Each one of them is special to me.”


Andy’s biggest complaint was that people were always looking at him. He said they looked at him with envy, they wanted what he had. I know they looked at him out of anger for what he said and did. I know they looked at him in sadness and disgust for how he treated everyone, especially the old man. I told him once to his face, it was because he really wanted them to, that he was too much about attention for himself. He didn’t like that. Andy didn’t talk to me for awhile after that. That’s kinda why I told him, I figured he’d get mad enough to leave me alone.


Andy left one day. I remember the old man telling me Andy wasn’t going to be working there anymore. I asked if he had been fired. “Nah, I don’t fire too many folks. Don’t have too many leave either. Andy is the first in a while,” the old man said. Andy left. He just quit, walked right out the door. After all he had been given and gotten away with for so long.


I asked the old man why he thought that was. He looked down and for the first time ever, I saw him look kind of sad. He was always happy, jovial even, but with tears in his eyes he explained to me how he’d asked Andy to do a different job inside the office. He told me how Andy was causing too many problems with folks and making them think poorly of the old man for having a guy like that out there representing him.


The old man took a deep breath, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I would have let him stay.” He told me Andy got so mad about the idea of the new job and how he felt like the old man was judging him that Andy just left. Yelling and screaming, he walked out the front door and slammed it so hard it nearly broke the glass. With a tear rolling down his check, the old man said, “That’s just what Andy chose. He’s out there on his own. I sure wish I could help him.”


Here I am, sitting here in this lobby, looking at that door, thinking of Andy. Why do I have to wait out here so long? Is the old man going to see me or not? I look over at the receptionist. She smiles really big and says, “Be patient. He knows you’re here.” I look down at my shoes, they are the pair I had on some twenty years ago when I sat in this same chair. It’s all I have left, this suit, these shoes. I’m even wearing white socks, it’s all I had then and it’s all I have now.

Living the Life

Life is a funny thing. More often than not, it just happens. You can make plans and try to make it happen, but it usually just happens that way.


The old man introduced me and my wife a few years after I started working for him. She’d been with him quite a while. Being still kinda new, she laughed at me a lot. She said I was different than most folks she knew who worked for the old man. She worked in the office, she was good at that. I walked in to see him one day and he had me working on a special project with some other folks. He walked over with her under his arm and said, “This is somebody really special. She’s going to help you for a while.”


This was the setup. He knew before he did it, she was meant for me. We spent a lot of time together working on special projects for the old man. We enjoyed each other then. Even when I had to be away for a while, when I came back she was there smiling that smile.


One day, the old man asked me point blank, “When are you going marry her? I see the way you look her. She makes you happy and you make her happy. Ya’ll work well together.” And so I did, and so we were. He was there the day we were married. He hugged us both and gave us a gift envelope, saying, “I hope this is enough.” We looked in the envelope and couldn’t believe ourselves. The old man is giver, he sure gave that day. Looking back, I’m just glad he came. He took the time from all he was doing to be there for us.


I’m not going to tell you I was a good husband to her or even a good father. I worked. She understood most of the time, she knew how much it meant to me to do a good job for the old man. Even the kids understood. They’d say, “Daddy, I’m glad you’re home tonight. Tell us about your chat with the old man today.” My youngest would always say, “I hope can work for him some day.” I’d say me too dear, me to.


I was embarrassed to ask, but one day I felt like I needed more to take care of my family. So I asked the old man, “Do you think you could help us out a little with some more?” He smiled, asked me what I needed and I told him a number which was a little more than I thought I really did need. He said, “You’re worth more than that.” Like I said, whatever I needed he always gave me so much more than that.


The old man told me something new each day. About him, about the job, about how it all worked together, about some guy in Accounting that I’d never met that he wanted me to be sure to say something nice to the next day. He was funny like that. But one thing the old man said every single day after I married that beautiful woman was, “I hope you are treating your wife well, she means a lot to me.” I’d just nod most days, smile others. When the kids came along it became, “I hope you’re treating your wife and kids well, they really mean a lot to me.”


He wasn’t just saying that. If the old man loves anybody more than anybody else, he loves kids more. He was there when both my kids were born. He even sat with us for a while when everybody else had left. He stood right there over us looking down with that silly grin, like he was thinking “this is how it should be.”


I can think of five times in my life he was there that I saw that look. The first was the day I walked into this lobby for the first time and said ‘Sure?’ when he offered me work. The second was that first meeting with the other Outside Representatives. The third was my wedding day and the fourth and fifth were my kids birthdays. After the kids came, I worked hard like usual.  For some reason though, I thought often of Andy.


I can think of twice that I saw the old man really saddened.   That one day when Andy left and the day I did. Sitting here in this lobby now, looking at that door that Andy walked out of and slammed shut. I see a little piece of glass, probably left over from when I broke the glass when I slammed that door. That was the first of a lot of bad days.  

Cracking Up

I always wondered what became of him. So it was weird that I saw him one day, I had gone for an appointment the old man had asked me to make. I walked in, told the lady at the front who I was with and that I wasn’t sure who I was supposed to see, that I just knew this is where I was supposed to go. She called back and out walks Andy.

Man he was mad. He said, “You tell that old man, I don’t care how many people he sends over. I’m not coming back.” I tried to be cool, I even told him that I just came to see him and see how he was doing. He didn’t look well.


He told me he’d been scrapping by. That out here ‘in the real world’ it was ‘eat what you kill.’ He told me he never liked how the old man tried to control him and make him follow the rules. He said he didn’t have to be nice anymore, “I’m working for me now, see my name on the door there.” I didn’t even notice it there in those little letters when I wandered in. Andy went on, “That’s the way you really make it, that’s were the real money is. Working for yourself. Making a name for yourself.” Andy’s words ringing in me ears still, it sounds so compelling. It seems like it makes sense. Andy told me to come back anytime and if I wanted to leave working for the old man that he’d make me a partner. He’d even let me put my name on the door, under his of course.


After I left that day, I didn’t go see the old man. I just went home. In fact, I didn’t go see the old man for a while. A week or two went by and my phone started ringing with him on the caller id. I’d think, I’m out here working for aren’t I? Why do I need to tell you how I’m doing? You see the reports, you know what I’m up to. Andy had made me think long and hard about this idea of being on your own. Why wasn’t my name on the door?


Twenty years, I’d worked for the old man. I’d had other jobs before that and made it ok. Nothing like working for him, but you had to wonder what would it be like… working for yourself or being in charge even. I went on with this attitude for a good while, months. I’d go to meetings, there he was like always, but now he’d look at me differently. Everybody looked at me differently, why do they look at me like that? Don’t they get it, I’m tired of this, I want more.


He’d walk my way, I’d head off to somewhere else. Every now and then, the old man would catch up with me. He’d say, “I sure miss visiting with you.” or “Don’t you remember how I asked you to check in with me?” I thought then to myself, he’s just trying to keep me under his thumb. A few people would ask me what I was thinking or what was wrong with me. At first I shrugged and said, “Nothing, bad day.” They’d smile and go on.


One day, I decided I’d tell a new guy about my troubles. I don’t know why, just seemed the thing to do. He looked at me puzzled and said, “The old man takes pretty good care of me. I hope I never end up like you.” That made me mad, I didn’t bother talking to him much anymore. But I sure did tell folks about it, I’d even mention how Andy was out there on his own making his way. They just looked at me, mostly sad little pathetic looks of the trapped people the old man made his name off of.


This went on for about a year. Then, I sent a memo through to the old man telling him all that I had done for him and how I felt like he owed me some things. I told him it was time we had a Senior Outside Representative and how good I’d be at that job. I told him I wanted a commission of what we made not just what he decided I should have. I told him I didn’t intend to wait forever for him to make good on what he owed me. That included my name on the door.


So one day, I walked in the door – right past the receptionist, through the lobby, down the hall, and he met me at the door to the back offices. “Hey, where ya been?” the old man said. “Busy.” I said with a tight faced grin, “You get my memo.” He smiled, “Yeah, I got it. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.” Finally, I’m going to get what I deserve.


“I’ve been pretty patient with you,” the old man said, “when you wandered in here you didn’t have anything. I gave you a job, taught you as much as you could learn, and have taken care of you for almost 20 years. I am disappointed in how you’ve been acting lately. I expect so much more from you.” I sat there, biting my lower lip, getting madder and madder. This is what Andy was talking about, I remember telling the old man he was really all about trying to control people. Then I walked out, I slammed the door so hard the glass broke. I thought, I’m never going back there.

This morning

I woke up crying into my pillow this morning. I’m broke. I left my wife and the kids a few weeks ago, not because I’m broke, but because we fight all the time. She wouldn’t quit working for the old man, she said she couldn’t she felt like she owed him. We see whose side she chose. Before today, I could have cared less. But this morning, I woke up.


I’m not talking about I quit sleeping for the night and was awakened in the morning. I’m saying it all came ramming into my little head this morning and I woke up. For the first time in the past 11 months since I walked out, I fully realized who I am and what I have done.


When I slammed that door and walked out, I walked straight down to Andy’s office. Now something was different that day than the months before when I’d been to see Andy. I walked in and there wasn’t a girl up front, just Andy sitting there answering the phone. “Hey man, where’s your receptionist,” I said. He looked at me angrily, “She quit. I couldn’t pay her anymore. What do you want, did HE send you down here?”


I tell him the story and he says, “Good for you!” When I ask about being his partner, he tells me he can hardly make it on his own, but if I want to split the bills I can put my name on the door. There is something about being your own man. My name on the door for all to see. “Deal,” I said.


My cell phone rings, the old man again. “Forget it old man!” I say out loud. Andy says, “I threw my phone in the trash the day I left. He’ll send people around every now and then, I run them off. He even came down here personally to see me once. That was interesting. I’m never going back, I wish he’d get the idea.” I throw my phone in the trash.


Andy left a month later. He didn’t say where he was going, he just left. My wife left last month, she said where she was going, but I don’t remember. The last year seems like a haze really. Just like Andy said, people came around saying the old man sent them down to see me. I never imagined Andy would be one of them, he came in telling me what a mistake he made and how I could go back like he did. I ran them all off. I don’t need them. I’ve got my name on the door.


I had saved up some of what the old man had given me over the years, it kept me going. I made some, but never really got it going for myself. I’m broke, I’ve got nothing except this suit my dad gave me.


I guess they repossessed it all ~ the house, the cars, the boat, and just about everything else. I couldn’t make the payments. Those student loans I owed, now they garnish what little I can make and that only covers the interest. When I had a phone here at the office, it usually only rang with debt collectors.


I live here at the office now. Andy’s old room in the back is now where I sleep. I woke up crying in my pillow this morning. I realized I don’t have to live like this. So I got dressed in the one suit I still have, the one my dad gave me. Now here I sit, in the lobby like 20 some odd years ago. Waiting to see the old man.


I’m hoping really, that he’ll give me any kind of work. I’d take a job cleaning up at night. Those folks that have the lowest jobs working for the old man have more than I’ve had out on my own. Maybe he’ll give me a break, another one I mean. I really don’t know what I’ll do if not.


I hear the door open down the hallway, lots of laughing. It always was kind of like a celebration in the back offices. It occurs to me I’ve only seen glimpses of the back offices, never really even seen in them. Although, I remember the old man telling me he’d take me back there one day.


I see a figure coming out through the door and down the hall. It’s not the old man.

What I deserve and what I am given

The son is coming down the hallway. The old man wouldn’t even come out here himself, he sent his son. What am I going to do now? Surely, he sent his son to tell me the bad news. I get up to leave and the son comes running after me. “Hey, wait up. I want to talk to you,” says the son, “We’ve waited so long, where are you going to go now?” It’s not funny I tell him, to make me wait that long to see the old man. Then he sends you out here to mock me like this. He smiles at me, it’s funny how the son smiles just like the old man.


“Come on, I want to show you something,” he says, “I’ve got a little work for you.” I follow him back through the reception area and into the work areas. Everyone is looking at us. Some look at me like they did before, like we looked at Andy. Some look at me with amazement as if they never expected to see me again. Most everyone there looks at me with the funny look like they are remembering something they have been through.


“Right here,” he says, “this is it.” I look around, it’s an area that looks like it hasn’t been used in a long time. There is a large room of cubicles with all kinds of things strewn around. Around those are several little offices that look long abandoned, trash everywhere. At the end of the area is a large office that sits completely empty. It’s a mess, I get the idea.


“I’ll get busy cleaning up, just tell me where the janitorial closet is,” I say with a shrug. He looks at me, those eyes. They are just like his fathers. He chuckles, “Man, you don’t get it.” He explains to me that this is an old area he and his father had always wanted to get going again, that they had been meaning to have me handle this project for them before I left. “It’s sat here for months waiting for you,” he says, “now you’re ready.”


“What do I do?” I say. He tells me my first job is to get this all set up and find the people to work. “Just introduce them to me and the old man first,” the son says, “but we’ll take anyone who walks in the door with you or even of the street.” The office at the end is apparently mine, I don’t need my name on the door I tell him. He laughs and hands me a ledger book saying, “Get what you need, tell them to charge it on my account.”


Now, I have always wondered how this really works, this business the old man is in. I saw the books once. I was wandering through Accounting to visit somebody the old man sent me down to see and I looked in some of them. Some people never pay what they owe him and the entry at the very bottom of the ledger for these folks says ‘on the son…’ I always wondered how it worked. There are others that aren’t that way, the entries go on and on and the debts keep piling up – I’ve always wondered how they will pay when it comes due. It’s not like he’d let that go on forever is it?


I look down at the ledger book and see it has my name on the cover. I open it up and inside is a list of debts related to what I’ve done these many years. There are a lot of entries for the past few months, even when I was gone. They bought my house, cars, and boat just before it all went into foreclosure. They’ve paid for my kids care since they were born. There are entries in the book I never even imagined the cost of. The last entry I see is for my student loans. I’m in tears. “You don’t have to worry,” He says, “It’s all taken care of.”


“I have to ask you something,” I sob out, “who pays for all of this?” He looks me square in the eye, points to the total and says a familiar phrase, “Your worth more than that. I paid for it all. For you, your wife, your kids, all these folks that work for us, for most of the people we sent you to see all these years. Whoever will let me pay for their debt, I will.”


He tells me the old man heard I was coming in the door and went straight away to find my wife and they are waiting for me at my house. The old man is throwing a party celebrating my return. I can’t breath, it's like when you wake up with your face stuffed in your pillow, crying, early in the morning. It’s overwhelming. What I know, what I don’t know, what I’ve been given these many years and what I have now, forever.


Andy walks in, takes a quick look at me, laughs and says, “It’s about time.”

AFTERWORD:

I woke up crying into my pillow this morning. Really, I woke up after the story.


See I prayed the day before, that the Lord would give me something worth writing, something worthy of His service. I love to write, to create, to imagine and establish. It is something deep within me that must find its place in this world. Often I have a unique thought or an off-perspective that I just have to document. I have to admit, I wish more people followed my work~ both in terms of actually reading it, but more so in understanding where it is coming from.


So my wife was talking with me about writing one day and somehow the issue of writers block came up. I rarely have a block to creativity, I just reach back and there is something to think about and express. It is almost natural, although I am still trying to develop the skill of expressing it to others well. So imagine one day, yesterday, when I reached back and ~ nothing. Not a thought in the world. It was one of those little empty moments in which I had nothing that flowed into or out of my heart and mind.


I realize now this was the set-up. That moment that began it and held the seeds of something incredible. Harmlessly enough, I said aloud ‘Lord, give me something to write or say or do that is worthy of you. Like the Prophets of old. Don’t let me waste my time with junk.’ It was a set-up. That’s our God, He is crafty, just one look at His Creation confirms this to me. I didn’t realize then this very thought would become a blessing in so many ways.


I woke up after the story. Tears rolling from my eyes and covering my pillow, I woke up after I’d seen the story played for me as a dream. My greatest fear was that I would forget it, like most dreams. Now, writing both about the story and preparing to express the story, I can’t forget it. See, it is my story, but not really. The details aren’t the same as my life, but the story is. I can’t forget, because it is really His story.


I have the moments like this. They are too few and far between, but they are profound. They are moments when the presence of the Lord is undeniable. He is overwhelming. Until today I could count them on one hand, this one makes six.


The first was in a park nearly twenty years ago at 2 AM in the morning. Now I realize, writing this now and figuring the time that it was in fact 18 years to the day ~ 6/6/92. Broke and broken, in trouble and troubled, empty of myself and hope ~ I simply said ‘God, if you are there – I need to know you.’ This was the set-up. That very day, as I cleaned a room at my parents house, which I hadn’t lived in for several months but now was moving back to. I found a Bible that I sat and read cover to cover.


I can’t even tell you now how long it took, I just remember seeing my dad poke his head around the corner every now and then. Seeing me sitting there reading for hours, hardly moving, likely wondering about this son of his. He had to wonder if I would make it through this world and the trouble I created for myself. Dads can’t solve every problem.


I remember feeling the Lord in that long moment. He was there with me in the park, as I walked to my parent’s house, and as I sat and read. He was with me in a profound way that was undeniable, so strongly it brings tears of hope and joy now as it did then. I remember knowing the Lord was there, watching me like my dad. His loving hand on my shoulder, whispering quietly in my ear, ‘You’re going to make it through this world and all the trouble you create for yourself. I am here with you.’


In that moment, I said aloud ‘I choose you Lord, because you first chose me.’


Whether I noticed or not, for 18 years He has been right there with me the whole time. It is sad to me that I can count on one hand the times I’ve fully realized it to the depths of my heart and soul. It is joyous to me that even one time is enough to make the difference.


This was my little prayer when I sat down to try to get it all out early this morning:


The Lord gave you this story- it is His- HE is telling it through you…
Thank you Lord, for the blessings You bestow on us, we are unworthy of Your lavish love and gifts, let us use the gifts You give us for Your Glory and not for ourselves.
Please Lord, help me not to get in the way of Your work. Let it be done like You want.


I realize, even now, this is not just about this story, it is about this life I am given. It is about what I do after the story is given to me and whether I rely on Him or on me.


This is really the story-


His Son, Jesus left the beauty and majesty of Glory, to be among us. To feel as we do~ hungry, hurt, even empty and without hope. He lived an earthly life that perfectly mirrored His meaning and purpose for our lives and then did something we could never do. He gave himself as a perfect sacrifice to pay the cost of all the trouble we make for ourselves. He chose pain and agony and despair ~ He chose us. He chose to empty Himself out in a life ending in death on a cross ~ He chose us. Even after death, He lives. He rose and He lives. And we can live fully and always with Him by believing and choosing to follow Him.


I choose Him, because He first chose me. Choose Him, because he first chose you.

This heart of mine...

This is the journey of deliverance from the bondage of slavery to the promise of a new life as seen in heart of an average person living through the trip.  This is our spiritual journey seen first in the Exodus and now in our hearts. Walk now in the same steps as the Israelites. Struggle as they did to find a right heart. 

This heart within my chest has wept tears of sorrow at the oppression of slavery, crying out for a savior to deliver it from this bondage. It has pounded into my head as the heat and exhaustion overcame this frail body from hours of toil in the burning sun. The adrenaline rush of pain and fear has quickened its pulsating rhythm as the crack of the whip separates flesh from flesh in a demand to give more. This heart within me aches with sadness that this is all there is each day of this trapped life, which is ending here in a sandy existence one beating after another. There should be nothing in this heart but hurt, yet here there is still something else – hope. Burning within this heart is the hope that there will be release from this place, this sorrow, this toil. This heart is broken, rended by the years and tattered by the harshness, yet this heart is hopeful. There is hope for comfort and peace, for rest and freedom, but most of all for joy and love. These are but downbeats, empty silence between the pounding pressures of a life enslaved to cruel masters forcing this heart to bow in brokenness. 

This is an angry heart, outraged that anyone should dare to make the load heavier on these bent old bones and tired muscles. Who is this man from the deep desert sands proclaiming boldly on my behalf, as if I had asked him? This rotten prince, a common criminal, where has he been these many years as we have continued to suffer under his father’s commands. He makes this heart grow fierce with fury and this blood boil within, he is the cause of our increased misery. He claims to speak both for the one true God and for me, but the trouble he is causing makes my heart seethe with resentment. Burning within this heart is hatred for anyone who would hurt it by upsetting those who oppress it making them weigh heavier upon it. Even the simplest of tasks made impossible, removing the binder of straw from mud, and a greater burden on me to pick for myself what little I can. This heart is enraged, ready to lay fault and proclaim wrongs done to it. There is rage and frenzy, storming wrath waking within, and this heart thunders each beat now with blame. This is the cacophony of emblazed anger, brought on by the ire of my master laid on me due to this man who would dare proclaim such brazen things.

Retribution has overcome this heart, stirred up now by miraculous signs and unexplainable events. Almost as if it had bleed itself into the waters as they changed from blue to red. My heart jumped within me to see the sight of so many frogs leaping forth from the depths and torturing them with fear. It is a heart that itches and twitches at very thought of biting mites covering chewing everywhere on those who have covered me with hurt these many years. Lurching at the very thought of the blackness of thousands of flies offset by the whiteness of their progeny. This heart now swells as the carcasses of their livestock and the sores upon their flesh do. Their suffering is long over due and this heart rains down vengeance with fire like the skies at the prophet’s command, smashing and burning their power over me. Like my heart once was now lays their land, stripped bare by the locusts gnawing at their crops and infesting their homes, just like they once chewed up my heart and taunted me at every beating. So darkness falls on this heart and these worthless people, a weight upon them as they were upon me. Such is as justice of a reckoning heart demands ~ more than a sense of fairness, it is indignation that drives me now. Each time each plague, they say our poor master hardened his heart, so break it I say ~ take from him as he once took from us, the smallest of hearts stopped from growing complete. Gathering courage in my heart, huddled in this hut, clothes gathered and ready to go, where I don’t know, anywhere but here. The blood covering over the entry to my home and my heart, the death’s knell crashing through the walls claiming the victims of their evil, scarring forever their lives as they have ours. We will take what is ours and what is theirs and leave them to suffer, quivering with weakness in full arrest drowning in the sand. This heart is full of revenge, set on settling the scores, and ready for retribution. Feel the pounding beat of the oarsman crying out for full speed ahead, the reckoning heart has come to the once pressed chest and payback shall be its sweet fulfillment.

Sinking inside me is this empty heart, trapped between what I once hated and certain death. My comfortable life of labor and undisturbed heart traded for this misadventure, here to fall at this water’s edge. I will return to that place I was, begging for reprieve, beating this breast trying to revive what little life I have. Here in this void that once held my hope, there is only fear creeping into an open hole left when the moment of change became real. Space becomes sparse and terror strikes its home as the pounding chariots are upon us, time is a few sands left to fall from this glass heart. The end feels so near. I fall here in this desert now, trapped between metal and sea, set adrift on this hard reality. On my knees as before, ready to die by the spear thrust through my side. Who is this man, this leader of men, who has brought me out here to meet my end? Where is the God you spoke of then? This heart is hollow, an abyss filled with fear, nothing inside it now but the fright of failure and loss of itself, horror cries out deep within. Silence, panic has stopped my heart, in this unfilled moment, it has sunk to the depths of these waters and cratered under the impending crash of the onslaught. Save me now!

Raised from the lowest point above all so they see, my heart parting from sorrow like now this reed sea. Blown by a mighty wind back into life, forcing the raging waters back from drowning my heart, it is alive again. Step by step, I go on solid dry ground and looking at the walls of water and creatures within, all around. A new journey we’ve begun this heart of mine and I, raised from death released from bondage, standing on the other shore. There rise now the waves crashing upon those who would pursue us as if the could tear from our chest this free heart. Here I am, looking back over the waves, looking forward into the sun, looking inward upon a newness of being. This heart is elevated, filled with wonder and astounded, ascending toward the heavens, bound for glory now; yet here within there is this disease that remains in mortal flesh, it is a heart that is still human, made imperfect by even one speck of sand.

Moaning and groaning, pressing from within, my heart aches for what it does not have. Surely its desires are normal, but for water, but for food, but for meat, but for rest, but for victory over these that demand from it more than it can bear. These people I cannot stand, they quarrel with each other and me, my heart argues back its plea, leave me be. Contention, strife, they throb through these muscles, every fiber now grumbles, especially this heart. Give me more than this. Where now then is this God who has promised so much? Let him show Himself that my heart might know His. Perhaps He will meet with my expectations, it can only wait so long. I would also like to mention not so briefly unto Him this insufferable sand that fills each crack and crevice as we wander in this land. This heart is dissatisfied, unfulfilled and wanting without patience or stillness, it mumbles out longing for what is to come, but now- NOW. Now is better than then, what is promised should be paid, and the presence is not present – when shall this heart be full. Beat now with some sound at all, wanting and waiting this heart becomes unsure of why it should continue without grumbling on about whatever it can.

So much for freedom and a heart that is free, He came, this Lord but I would rather He talked to you, not me. Fearsome and dreadful the sound of His voice, thundering and quaking the very mountain here before me – but my heart agreed to accept what he would say, so it shall. So many thou shalts and shalt nots to make a heart bound up so tight it cannot even beat. Why tell me more than once, twice, even three times not to do a thing? Ok, ok, I said I’d comply, but Lord tell the rest to this other guy. Then have him tell me every now and then, so my heart can have a moment away from you to comprehend. I count them as they’re told, 613 in all, plus these other rules too ~ these are straps for my arms, my head and my heart. There is freedom in this law, so you say, so we do, but it seems like so many of your commands make us slaves now to you. This heart is burdened, something new every day to follow you has become like work, baking in this sanding. Weighted down by Your demands and commands, by Your ways and will, by all You want from me and what little I have to give. This thud that bumps along with me is that heart pulling the cart filled with Your load, I will carry it bearing it until I cannot anymore.

On tempo, in order, by method and practice still, hear my heart plods on through a life of rules more than anything. Offer this, offer that, pray this, pray that, stand here, sit there, kneel and bow. This monotony has become my heart’s refuge, a protection from feeling even the slightest emotion for You or anyone. These rules of my heart make it what it is, an instrument whose tone is flat, and rhythm long drawn down. Wear it right, eat it right, each day, each night, each month, each year, until what ~ who cares. This is my religious heart, designed and made for You, fulfilling all I think You want even though it isn’t really true. Checking off the requirements, one by one until no one even knows what each one really means, just do them so they are done and my heart will be fulfilled. This clanging cymbal crashes, it is my heart and it cannot be fleet for I have given it over to the practice and doctrines of a god set forth in words and contained in my belief.

No longer do I care to force my heart to beat that song. No more will I carry your tune or try to get along. Oh no, that time is passed, for my heart has clogged with the sands of this life living by rules. My heart has closed, it will not open, for my neighbor? No! He is just like me, that is why I hate him so. There is nothing, nothing worth worrying over even where we’ll go. You say here in this desert my heart shall finally fall, because we wanted to stay and not go on. Is it my heart’s fault those men were 12 feet tall? Why even bring us out here if you knew this is how it would be? This is my hardened heart, just like that first master I knew back there, you know where ~ we were fine and well and may yet return there still. It is too proud to bend, too set to go along, too full of itself to empty out anything but this sand. Hear the crackle, drying in sun, my heart is a rock that will not bring forth a spring, no matter how hard you strike it.

So now, now has come the time to pump our fists and feel our hearts beat within us still. We raise our banners with our names to be emblazoned across eternity, for my heart stands against you and any you have sent. We will build it like they did, high unto the sky and forget you, ignore You when you call, it is You who shall die ~ proud proud heart beating strong here I am. We shall rule and reign over all that is and deny you ever came, what is here is all there is we make as our heart wills. This is my rebellious heart, standing firm against your claim finding strength and courage in itself rather than your name. Arrogance within my heart ignores the tales: two expelled for not doing as they should, of water covering over, forgotten speech, a chosen people, and deliverance to a promised land. That quaking sound beneath my feet, the sand opening to claim at last the last beat of my heart, a beat too late to regret revolt, an uprising quelled by violence rather than by peace. Save me!

Ah but I have considered your ways, they are better than any other and my heart is wise because of Your Word placed there within. Your yoke upon my heart crafted specifically so that it would rest gently and no burden there impose. This heart of stone torn from my chest and replaced by You come in the flesh. Christ has my heart, singing within me this eternal song. How can you forgive me a sinner, whose heart wanders to and fro? For I now understand, you’ve always held it in Your hand. Sometimes firmly, and others loose, but always there. And like your heart on that night, in the garden there, my heart aches with pain at what you should endure on my behalf. My heart breaks as yours does on the cross, crying for us and out to the Father, as your earthly heart stopped its work in death. Only briefly though, till rising to resound the song of victory as it beat again across these ages until Your coming reign. Then the sands of time shall cease and all hearts shall be fulfilled, some in grace and glory, some in judgment still. This is my renewed heart, thankfully filled now with grace and joy, given by You through Your sacrifice. A heart that suffers without anger or resentment, that does not fear or grumble but is elevated, that is not burdened, hardened, religious, or rebellious; instead it is Yours, it is renewed. Now that quiet voice of Your Spirit speaks through all the noise to still my heart and hear within from You.