My dad was always proud of me, but sometimes would hesitate to answer when someone asked "is Michael your son?" He had learned like I had, that if someone was going to get caught having fun, it was me. If something would get broken, and I happened to be in the state, it was me. And if some good deed was performed, and my name came up, it had to be another Mike. So over the years he learned to question these "do-gooders," only to respond to them, "he was with me." Or "he was on a camping trip with the Boy Scouts." "Or it couldn't been his motorcycle, it doesn't have loud pipes. (It was a BMW.) Which had the potential to open doors he didn't realize. "That was your son who was with you?" Raising more questions. "So that's what happened at the campout." Or "all motorcycles are loud, and only losers ride them because they have loser parents." And it seems that most everyone is ready to unload about you with some sort of bad news. You will always fail to meet their mark, to agree with their opinion, or make as much money as them. They just can't stand to hear that "he" did something nice. And can't wait to tell your parents when you screw up. As a public service, "no charge Mr. Mohn, thought you'd like to know." So many idiots, and so few villages.
So when I was in high school, I knew a woman Mrs. Spach who would let us hang out at her house, and party. We were young, stupid, and immature, all the qualifications for fun at that age, and took full advantage of it. Which all her neighbors knew, and couldn't stand. I had just gotten my license, and was driving the Pinto when Mrs. Spach's dad died. She was unable to drive, and had many things to do dealing with his death. So I offered to drive her where she needed to go after school, just doing what I had been taught, and helping out a friend. And she was able to get things settled quickly and get on with her life and kids. This is what friends do, and I never thought much of it.
Until I came home one night, and my parents wanted to talk to me. My instant memory told me I hadn't done anything that wrong for a week, maybe my past aggressions were finding me out. It seems they had gotten a letter from Mrs. Spach, thanking them for raising such a good son, and how she appreciated all the help I had been to her, and her son Billy. I think they were in shock, Michael? Their son? We weren't trained for letters like this? And they were proud of me, and it felt good. Until a few weeks later my dad ran into Gavin's dad, who knew Mrs. Spach and told him about the parties. Seems someone is always willing to steal and rob from you. Can't be nice to those kind of people. Which made my good deed even more better to my dad, for I was not helping out someone in the clique, but someone in need. Like I had seen him do before, also without being recognized for it. We talked about it, not happy about the parties, but proud of helping out a woman in need.
Satan comes to rob and destroy, even those who aren't saved, which I wasn't at the time. I am sure if I had helped the principal's wife, or the mayor's, Gavin's dad would not have tried to insult my dad. "Nice thing your kid did, too bad the woman is a loser." Like the Pharisees, he just had to try to show he was better, which he wasn't. Too bad he didn't realize he was in the same category as she was. Would it have been OK to help him or his wife? Or his mother?
Someone is always watching. They love to comment on what they see, or think they see us doing. Not a new situation. But God looks on the heart. Big difference. He sees our motives, our actions, and where and why we do the things we do. The Pharisees, which are the father of religion, and inhabit too many churches today, still carry on their traditions of look at me, I am so religious. And so do so many things to show how great they are. But God looks on the heart.
My particular complaint today is with the Super Bowl. Take a cool Christian man like Walter Payton, name a humanitarian award after him, and then nominate a man who makes $17million dollars a year for his good works off the field. And they call that man a hero? Almost like using Walter's name in vain. The Pharisees of football.
The Bible tells us what is in the heart will come out of the mouth, and reflect in our actions. I am reminded again and again how true that is. But I am blessed to see so many trusting God, and ministering in Jesus name. No trophy, no award, and no $17 million. For no award could add to what their Father in heaven sees. For just like He bragged about Job to the devil, He brags on us when we do something for the least of them-in love. No qualifications, no agenda, just meet the need. Like Jesus did. Again and again, today and tomorrow. Maybe that is why He hung with the low lifes of society, they were a better class of people. And why He hangs with people like us today. It is called love, just like I showed Mrs. Spach but didn't know it. Just like we do when we meet a need in Jesus name. For in doing so, we are doing it to Him. For all have sinned, and fall short of the glory of God. And He is the only way back. And yeah, my heart is a mess sometimes, but God loves and forgives me. He wants nothing between us, so has forgiven my sin-like it never existed!
Let love be the only thing between you and God, and those created in His image. Don't worry what people say, the only words I care to hear is "well done my good and faithful servant." From my Father in heaven, courtesy of Jesus Christ. If you wish to repeat anything about me, tell about how He saved me and changed my life. I dare you!
love with compassion,
Mike
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