On the Anvil - Max Lucado [12]
Now, I’m not talking about a get-away-from-it-all day where you shop, play tennis, and relax in the sun (although such times are needed, too). I’m suggesting an intense, soul-searching day spent in reverence before God and in candid honesty with yourself. Write down your life story. Reread God’s story. Recommit your heart to your Maker.
I might mention that a day like this won’t just happen. It must be made. You’ll never wake up and just happen to have a free day on your hands. (Those went out with your braces.) You’ll have to pull out the calendar, elbow out a time in the schedule, and take it. Be stubborn with it. You need the time. Your family needs you to take this time.
Getting some press-box perspective could change the whole ball game.
What areas of your life require your focused attention or judgment?
In your quiet time with God, what truths has he revealed to you?
21: The Value of a Relationship
I used to visit George every Thursday when I lived in Miami. At the time I wasn’t sure what kept drawing me to his musty little trailer. But looking back on it now, I think I know.
George had an unusual appearance: a patch over one eye (“I lost it in the war”) and not a hair on his head. He was Canadian to the core and always kept the Maple Leaf draped in front of his trailer. Though over sixty, he swam and golfed daily and danced nightly. His voice boomed like a cannon when he talked, and he walked with such a pendulum swagger that he could have cleared a path for a bull.
But there was something much more profound about George that made me want to visit him. One summer day I realized what it was.
It was a hot Miami afternoon when I knocked on his door. He invited me in with his customary “Well hello, Max! Come on in here!” (He gave every visitor a glass of lemonade and some secret-recipe popcorn.) I stepped into the trailer.
“I’ve got someone I want you to meet,” continued George with his Canadian twang. “My friend, Ralph.”
I looked toward the corner. My eyes were still adjusting from the outside sun to the dimly lit trailer. As my vision cleared, I could see Ralph—and I wasn’t sure what to think. There was a certain wildness about him: shoulder-length unkempt hair, a chest-length untamed beard. He was at least George’s age, probably older. Apparently he didn’t know what to think of me, either. His darting eyes sized me up from beneath his salt-and-pepper hair.
My palms began to sweat.
George interrupted the silence. “Sit down, Max. I’ve got something to show you.” I sat on one side of the table while George scooted in next to Ralph across from me. “My most valued possession is right here.”
I looked at his hands and then around the trailer.
“Where, George?”
“Right here.” George put his big arm around Ralph’s bony shoulders. “My most valued possession is my buddy. Ralph.”
A new set of wrinkles appeared on Ralph’s face as he broke into a toothless grin. Old friends. George and Ralph. Two crusty old travelers on the back curve of life’s circle. They had found life’s most precious element—a relationship.
Relationships. America’s most precious resource. Take our oil, take our weapons, but don’t take what holds us together—relationships. A nation’s strength is measured by the premium it puts on its own people. When people value people, an impenetrable web is drawn, a web of vitality and security.
A relationship. The delicate fusion of two human beings. The intricate weaving of two lives; two sets of moods, mentalities, and temperaments. Two intermingling hearts, both seeking solace and security.
A relationship. It has more power than any nuclear bomb and more potential than any promising seed. Nothing will drive a man to greater courage than a relationship. Nothing will spawn greater devotion than a relationship. Nothing will fire the heart of a patriot or purge the cynicism of a rebel like a relationship.
Ah, but George said it best. “My most valued possession is my buddy.”
What matters most in life is not what ladders we climb or what ownings we