Sometimes Winning is Losing

By Connie Cavanaugh –

I love Coupon Day at my local grocery store. You save 15 percent on every hundred bucks you spend. We’re talking pizza for supper! For free! (That’s femonomics, where spending is actually saving.)

One Coupon Day long ago, an item on my list was underwear — I never bought my own until my mother died. At the tender age of 36, I was cruelly thrust into the world of shopping for big girl panties.

A stroll through the aisles confirmed they did not carry my brand but I found my preferred style: I want the whole whale, not just the tail if you get my drift. I chose two packages marked M.

I finished shopping, pocketed my 15 percent and grinned all the way home. I ripped into the first bag and pulled out … a crib sheet with leg holes! I grabbed the package – “M”. As in Mega?

I was steamed. Although I had read the sign in the department saying “No Returns” I felt wronged. There were no samples on the wall. How was I to know not all “M’s” were equal? I headed back to the store.

I couldn’t find my cashier so I chose another near my age. “These are not the size they claim to be and I want to return them,” I whispered, smiling and nodding.

“But madam, there are no returns on….” She smiled and nodded too. We looked like two wooden bobbing birds with a water glass between us.

“Ah, yes. I read the sign,” I murmured. “However, the manufacturer is lying to the customer regarding the size.” I raised my eyebrows and gave one slow nod.

The line of carts grew. Children whined. Mothers grew restless. The cashier and I both stood our ground. She called for reinforcements. A skinny kid strode up. I doubted if he even shaved yet. “Is there a problem?”

I repeated my complaint ending with: “This M must mean Much Much More!” He failed to see the humor.

He leaned toward me. “There. Are. No. Returns. On…,”

I snapped. Grabbing the opened package, I pulled out an M for display. “I’m no Tinkerbell, but does this look like a Medium to you?!” Mothers covered their kids’ eyes. The manager’s face went gray.

“Give her a full refund,” he rasped and dashed.

But the cashier still had some fight in her. “I will refund you for the sealed package, “she huffed, “but not the opened one.” We locked eyes. No more smiles.

“What do you think I did? Wore them all over town? Then washed them, dried them, and ironed these creases back in? I bought them 30 minutes ago!”

She harrumphed, punched some keys, stabbed at some bills, dropped the money into my hand and dismissed me with a toss of her head.

As soon as the cash hit my hand I had a Judas moment. Instead of celebrating my victory I was filled with remorse. When I could have represented the Jesus in me who turns the other cheek, gives the shirt off His back and goes the second mile (Matt 5:39-42) I showed them the Judas who, for a handful of silver, bullishly pursues his/her own agenda.

Thankfully this lesson wasn’t wasted. I became more conscious and careful of whom I represent in all my interactions. The next time I accidentally bought something too big I passed it along to a friend of mine. She never calls anymore….

Green Flowered Bag in a Black Suitcase World

By Rhonda Rhea –

I was waiting for my luggage at the airport recently and I made an interesting observation: I think about 90% of travelers have black luggage. If you have a black suitcase on wheels, forget about just reaching out, grabbing it off the belt and rolling on your way. Just try it and you could very possibly get mugged by a dozen or so other black-luggage-lugging passengers. I had to take my husband’s black luggage on a trip one time, and I lost two nails in a bad black suitcase scene. I think I still have a couple of emotional scars from that one. Talk about emotional baggage.

It was actually pretty funny when I watched it this week. Tons of luggage was sliding down to the carousel and every time the crowd spotted a black, wheeled bag coming down the pike, the entire mob leaned in as one. It was a little freaky. As the bag got closer, they would all circle around it like over-sized vultures.

Three or four would reach for it to try to check the tags. Then there were several awkward smiles. And then for that one person (who had probably already reached for the wrong bag a good dozen times), it would be sort of like when you guess the right price from contestant’s row and get to go up on stage. Ding, ding, ding! “I won! It’s mine!”

This time I got to simply stand back and observe. Why? Because my luggage is green. Not just green, but green with flowers. And if that’s not distinctive enough, I’ve tied a white scarf in a giant bow around the handle. I can identify my luggage before it’s even all the way down the chute. Never a doubt. I always know when mine is coming.

Jesus knows us that way. He can see us coming. How it fills our lives with hope when we’re assured that we are identified as His.

The Bible tells us that everyone who is born of God wins. 1 John 5:4 says, “For everyone born of God overcomes the world. This is the victory that has overcome the world, even our faith.”

There’s even more dark stuff in this world than there is dark luggage. But for those of us who’ve by faith given our lives to Christ, there’s a bright and shining hope that is our ultimate victory. It’s brighter than the brightest green luggage and more distinctive than any white bow. You can say, “I won! Victory is mine!” Hope is instant once we understand what it is to become that green-flowered bag in a black suitcase world.

So go ahead. Check the name tag. If you’re His, your name is written in the Lamb’s Book of Life. It’s settled. Never a doubt. The suitcase is yours. It’s a bag that comes packed full of all the hope you’ll ever need to carry you joyfully through this life journey.

And this is actually one of those times when it’s good to be left holding the bag.

Pleeeeze, Not Ice!

By Steph Prichard –

Because I’m somewhat expressive (I say “imaginative,” my children say “drama queen”), I occasionally lack credibility with my offspring. Take the time I was in Chicago helping my daughter recover from surgery. Every day I walked my grandchildren to and from school, loving the stroll with them between rows of condos on a street bustling with traffic. A right-hand turn down a quieter, tree-lined street led to the school.

It was that quieter (read “deserted”) street that caught my imagination when the sidewalks turned into sheets of ice the very hour I needed to get the kids. “I can just see myself falling and breaking my leg,” I told my daughter. “I’ll be lying there, unable to move, and along will come some man. ‘Can I help you?’ he’ll say, and when I tell him I can’t move he’ll wring his hands in delight and go ‘Mwhooohooohooohaha!’” I paused at my daughter’s rolling eyeballs.

“It’s your last day here, Mom. The kids will be disappointed if you don’t walk them home.” She handed me a scarf and mittens and pushed me out the door. Well, it felt like she did, anyway.

Hoo, were those sidewalks slick! Barely maintaining my balance, I slipped and slid and skidded ten steps forward, heart thumping, sweat gushing from my armpits. Dare I crawl on my hands and knees? If I could make it to the corner, maybe someone would help me stand and cross the street. But what if no one was there? I’d have to crawl across the street in front of the stopped traffic, and they’d all laugh at me. We drama queens do have our limits, you know.

I eyed the patches of lawn between the sidewalk and condos. Well, duh, why not walk on the grass? The blades, though glazed with ice, would provide texture to tread on. With a sigh of relief, I stepped onto the frozen grass.

And fell.

Yep. Onto the hard sidewalk. With my foot twisted under me. And I couldn’t move.

“Can I help you?” A man appeared out of nowhere.

As if following my own script, I said, “I can’t move.”

I stiffened, waiting for the “Mwhooohooohooohaha!” Instead, he pulled out his cell phone and asked, “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

“Please! And can you call my daughter too?”

Within minutes, she was skidding across the winter wonderland to kneel beside me. Tears spilled from her eyes. “Mom, I’m so sorry!”

How could I say “I told you so” to that?

An ambulance ride and five hours in the emergency room later, I learned I had broken my ankle. Ouch. The very circumstance I had feared … had come true.

That little drama effected a mighty change in me.

I was a coward, and I had ended up in exactly the situation I was afraid of. What if, instead of squaring off my anxiety against circumstances (pleeeeze, not ice!), I had addressed my character deficiency (I need to be brave)? Until this incident, my prayers for myself and others had pretty much asked for avoidance of any kind of suffering. Please, heal his cancer … give her a happy marriage … don’t let him lose his job. My prayers spoke only to circumstances, not to character transformations. Now I pray, Please, may he trust in Your plan for his life … may she learn to forgive her husband … may he see his shortcomings at work. We don’t know if it’s God’s will to change a circumstance, but for sure we know it’s His will for us to grow in godliness.

Laughter: Making the Best of a Bad Situation

By Judy Davis –

Several years ago I was a contestant in a humorous speech contest at Toastmasters. Barbara Johnson’s book, Pack Up Your Gloomies in A Great Big Box, Then Sit on the Lid and Laugh, was instrumental in helping me to compete.

Barbara mentioned in her book, “Humor is to life what shock absorbers are to automobiles.” This reminded me of an incident I had with my new Honda.

My day started off great, but ended with a thud. I decided to get up early since I had a big day planned. After Bible study, prayer and meditation, I drove to the newspaper office to drop off my weekly article, then to the library to research material for a book proposal.

Turning the corner to my house, I hit a curb—I’ve hit it before, only this time I heard a loud noise. I parked in my driveway and looked at the damaged, right rear tire. I walked into the house and my husband was in the den. I thought (only for a few seconds) that I wouldn’t say anything. Then immediately, I said, “Honey, you’re not going to believe what happened!” I proceeded to tell him about the curb getting in my way.

He said, “That was the third time you hit that curb.” The last time I was driving my mother’s car. I told him I was sorry and it would never happen again. He went outside and looked at the bubble in the tire. He then informed me that I would need to buy a new tire, a new cover, and possibly a new rim. Needless to say, I had to use my own money.

My daughter didn’t make the situation any better. When I called her and related the incident, she calmly said, “Mom, you could have bought a brand new outfit!”

I learned a valuable lesson from that experience. From now on, I will be very careful, since I not only blew my tire, but $100 and my whole afternoon.

The day before in our Women’s Prayer Group we had studied about giving thanks in all things. “Always give thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” Ephesians 5:20.

I started thanking God that the car was not damaged any worse and no one was injured. And thank goodness I didn’t have to get a tire cover, saving me $20. We can always find something to be thankful for.

Learn to laugh at yourself as laughter is good for the soul. This experience not only taught me a lesson, but I also won a First Place Trophy in the humorous speech contest at Toastmasters International.

Stamped with His Image

By Dawn Wilson –

Ruth Chodrow met her husband while working in a science library. He came in every week to read all the newest journals, but he eventually decided he’d like to take out the librarian instead of the books! After a year and half of dating, he showed up at the library and started rummaging through Ruth’s desk.

“What are you looking for?” she asked. He didn’t answer. Finally, he unearthed one of the rubber stamps Ruth used to identify reference books.

“Since I couldn’t find the right engagement ring,” her creative beau said, “this will have to do.” He firmly stamped Ruth’s hand.

“Across my knuckles, in capital letters,” Ruth said, “it read ‘NOT FOR CIRCULATION.’”

That stamped image carried a lot of weight in Ruth’s heart that day. It meant that she was deeply loved, and no one else could lay claim to her heart. I was reminded of the old hymn, “O to be Like Thee.” The chorus ends with an earnest prayer, written by Thomas O. Chisholm: “Stamp Thine own image deep on my heart.”

When we become Christ-followers, God takes us out of circulation from our enemy’s grasp. He lays claim to us, and we belong to Him forever (1 Peter 1:3-5). He stamps the image of Jesus in our hearts.

Our Father uses His Word to make us holy (John 17:17); and through the power of the Holy Spirit, we become more like His Son (2 Corinthians 3:18). As we study the Word of God, it is as if God’s truth is stamped into our thoughts, renewing our minds (Romans 12:2), and the Holy Spirit uses this truth to convict us of sin and teach us how to live. We learn to put off things that do not align with the image of Christ in us, and put on things that honor Him and reflect His righteous character (Colossians 3:1-2, 8-17).

As I walk with the Lord each day, I can see the evidence of God changing my mind and heart; but I’m also aware of areas in my life where I still don’t resemble my Savior. I am prone to wander and inclined to sin—especially when the temptation involves overspending on things I don’t need, or overindulging in chocolate!—but I am grateful for the continuing mercy of God.

Nothing and no one can separate me from God’s love (Romans 8:38-39), and my loving Father will continue to do His good work in me (Philippians 1:6).

Is Christ’s image stamped in your heart?

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