When Timmy was a little boy, he had a shoebox; and in that shoebox, he kept all his favorite things, like his yo-yo and marbles. As he got older, he put other stuff in there, too; stuff that meant a lot to him and expressed who he was. Some things stayed and some things were replaced.
We all have a special shoebox like that, friend. We all have trinkets from the past that stick to us like an old campaign badge. Those shiny souvenirs collected over a lifetime of living that define us and even dictate how we think. When you get right down to it, I guess each one of us really lives in a shoebox of his own making and perceives this dizzy world around us through it.
These beat-up, old shoeboxes of ours that we lug around all day long and sleep with all night that may contain our favorite brand of cigarettes or beer; and maybe, hidden beneath the memorabilia of a “Dear John” or “Dear Mary” letter, there’s a risqué magazine or two. These shoeboxes replaying the countless, wasted hours of TV soap operas and game shows we watched when there was nothing better to do. These shoeboxes lined with newspapers and stacked with books. These shoeboxes always cluttered with sayings like, “My mother always told me…” and “Father always said…” These shoeboxes littered with fading photos of our Italian or Irish or Jewish ancestors. These shoeboxes all tangled-up with Catholic rosaries and fake gold chains.
What’s in your shoebox, friend? What’s in there that makes you tick like your grandfather’s busted pocket watch? What’s in there that makes you see things through the eyes of your Great Aunt Tilda’s spectacles that she bought at the five ‘n’ dime? And what’s in its deep, dark secret places like grandma’s grave, that’s killing you?
Is it booze, a broken heart or an empty wallet? Have you been lied to too much, dumped too many times, or wasted too many nights on pot, pills, blow or bourbon to care anymore? But, be that as it may, the big question is this: Is that shoebox you covet killing you bit by bit and sending you to hell?
God’s bigger than all of our shoeboxes put together. His thoughts are higher than ours and His ways are not our ways. Throw away all that accumulated junk you cherish and get rid of the gunk like somebody else’s bubblegum on the bottom of your shoe, then fill that empty space it leaves with His Son.
Don’t get trapped in your comfort zone; don’t cling to a treasure trove of boloney. Accept Jesus Christ into your life, friend, and become the person you were always meant to be.
Dare to Dream,
We all have a special shoebox like that, friend. We all have trinkets from the past that stick to us like an old campaign badge. Those shiny souvenirs collected over a lifetime of living that define us and even dictate how we think. When you get right down to it, I guess each one of us really lives in a shoebox of his own making and perceives this dizzy world around us through it.
These beat-up, old shoeboxes of ours that we lug around all day long and sleep with all night that may contain our favorite brand of cigarettes or beer; and maybe, hidden beneath the memorabilia of a “Dear John” or “Dear Mary” letter, there’s a risqué magazine or two. These shoeboxes replaying the countless, wasted hours of TV soap operas and game shows we watched when there was nothing better to do. These shoeboxes lined with newspapers and stacked with books. These shoeboxes always cluttered with sayings like, “My mother always told me…” and “Father always said…” These shoeboxes littered with fading photos of our Italian or Irish or Jewish ancestors. These shoeboxes all tangled-up with Catholic rosaries and fake gold chains.
What’s in your shoebox, friend? What’s in there that makes you tick like your grandfather’s busted pocket watch? What’s in there that makes you see things through the eyes of your Great Aunt Tilda’s spectacles that she bought at the five ‘n’ dime? And what’s in its deep, dark secret places like grandma’s grave, that’s killing you?
Is it booze, a broken heart or an empty wallet? Have you been lied to too much, dumped too many times, or wasted too many nights on pot, pills, blow or bourbon to care anymore? But, be that as it may, the big question is this: Is that shoebox you covet killing you bit by bit and sending you to hell?
God’s bigger than all of our shoeboxes put together. His thoughts are higher than ours and His ways are not our ways. Throw away all that accumulated junk you cherish and get rid of the gunk like somebody else’s bubblegum on the bottom of your shoe, then fill that empty space it leaves with His Son.
Don’t get trapped in your comfort zone; don’t cling to a treasure trove of boloney. Accept Jesus Christ into your life, friend, and become the person you were always meant to be.
Dare to Dream,
Papa Balloons
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