My pastor once used the word “boogers” during a sermon. I hate the word boogers. It invokes gross, appetite-killing imagery. He used it in describing his home: it was once a clean place, but three young sons later, he and his wife, outnumbered by three young hooligans, are losing the battle to keep their house tidy. This includes, my pastor explained, their youngest son's “booger wall” – the wall on which he wipes his nose goblins.
...ew.
My pastor described this behavior in making the point that it's not our homes, our houses, a family cherishes, but rather the people in them. The walls of a home can be soiled with mucous, but it's the love for those in the home that should be most important. I bring this up to say that the word of God, messages of truth, can make even a word like boogers, which causes me to shrivel up inside, a tool in crafting a beautiful message of edification like my pastor gave that Sunday.
In my experience I've found the same is true for depressing, hard, gritty things. Things hard to take, things hard to think about.
In Colorado in the 1930s, Joe Arridy, a man with an IQ of 46, was wrongfully convicted of murder, despite overwhelming evidence of his innocence. The warden of the prison, out of some odd pity or guilt or both, gave Mr. Arridy a toy train. Like a child, Mr. Arridy treasured it. He was executed in the gas chamber in 1939, apparently unaware he was going to die until the end. When he was told he had to give up his train, Mr. Arridy thoughtfully gave it to Angelo Agnes, a black inmate he'd befriended (who would later be executed as well).
Maybe I'm reading too much into the latter, but Joe Arridy's childish mind made him blissfully unaware of the fact that in 1939, white people just didn't give away their things to black people. It made him unaware of any sort of biases and walls and barriers we build between one another. I wish I was dumb enough and naive enough to give more without thinking, to love more without cramming that love through some intellectual filter that makes me rethink it and remove the selflessness of Christ from it.
I even wish I was too dumb to fear death.
Do you see all the beautiful things I got from that depressing story? Much like my pastor's message was not mired by snot, there is an abundance of truth waiting to be found in the shadows of such stories as that of Joe Arridy's.
I just can't get any joy from “Ferret Learns To Rollerskate! Click Here!” I've no interest in Chicken Soup For the Soul, All Creatures Great and Small, or any of those Dalai Lama quote books.
It's in the darkest places that light does the most good.
“You, who have shown me great and severe troubles, shall revive me again and bring me up again from the depths of the earth.” -Psalm 71:20
Note: Joe Arridy received a posthumous pardon in 2011. His tombstone in Canon City, Colorado reads, Here Lies An Innocent Man.
...ew.
My pastor described this behavior in making the point that it's not our homes, our houses, a family cherishes, but rather the people in them. The walls of a home can be soiled with mucous, but it's the love for those in the home that should be most important. I bring this up to say that the word of God, messages of truth, can make even a word like boogers, which causes me to shrivel up inside, a tool in crafting a beautiful message of edification like my pastor gave that Sunday.
In my experience I've found the same is true for depressing, hard, gritty things. Things hard to take, things hard to think about.
In Colorado in the 1930s, Joe Arridy, a man with an IQ of 46, was wrongfully convicted of murder, despite overwhelming evidence of his innocence. The warden of the prison, out of some odd pity or guilt or both, gave Mr. Arridy a toy train. Like a child, Mr. Arridy treasured it. He was executed in the gas chamber in 1939, apparently unaware he was going to die until the end. When he was told he had to give up his train, Mr. Arridy thoughtfully gave it to Angelo Agnes, a black inmate he'd befriended (who would later be executed as well).Maybe I'm reading too much into the latter, but Joe Arridy's childish mind made him blissfully unaware of the fact that in 1939, white people just didn't give away their things to black people. It made him unaware of any sort of biases and walls and barriers we build between one another. I wish I was dumb enough and naive enough to give more without thinking, to love more without cramming that love through some intellectual filter that makes me rethink it and remove the selflessness of Christ from it.
I even wish I was too dumb to fear death.
Do you see all the beautiful things I got from that depressing story? Much like my pastor's message was not mired by snot, there is an abundance of truth waiting to be found in the shadows of such stories as that of Joe Arridy's.
I just can't get any joy from “Ferret Learns To Rollerskate! Click Here!” I've no interest in Chicken Soup For the Soul, All Creatures Great and Small, or any of those Dalai Lama quote books.
It's in the darkest places that light does the most good.
“You, who have shown me great and severe troubles, shall revive me again and bring me up again from the depths of the earth.” -Psalm 71:20
Note: Joe Arridy received a posthumous pardon in 2011. His tombstone in Canon City, Colorado reads, Here Lies An Innocent Man.
