The Box

Yesterday, I heard the big brown truck before I saw it.

Please. Stop it.

About this time each year I feel compelled to offer the same brief advice, specifically to my fellow Christians.

Sometimes I have to go to work really early or get home from work really late.

Both mean making as little noise as possible (I’m talking to you, front door). And changing in the dark (OK, Google, turn off the light).

And visits to a darkened bedroom to kiss a child.

Her bed used to be smaller. Much smaller. Rails and bumpers. That pink blanket.

And there’d she lay.

While the words of a tired prayer reached up, I’m pretty sure He heard. Not entirely sure she did. Maybe. Still still.

But then this morning. 5:02.

Two steps in. A sleepy eye, opened.

One-armed hug.

“Amen.”

“Have a good day, Daddy.”

All is well.

I unequivocally, completely, categorically refuse to take the bait.

I’m not gonna ridicule.
I’m not gonna scorn.
I’m not gonna assume.
And I’m not gonna mock.

Call it naive. Doesn’t matter.

It’s gonna be both.
Conviction and conversation.
Principle and humility.
Mouth and ears.

Life’s too short to be small.
Too eternal to be petty.
Too important to earn irrelevance.

People. All of ’em.
God’s fingerprint.
I refuse not to see it.

Think. Not react.
Period.

I’m not gonna hate the other side.
Either of ’em.

However correct I may feel about something, increased volume tends to compromise credibility.

Persuasion in the context of love rarely needs a microphone.

Wise is the one who recognizes the relationship between tone and reception. Between content and delivery. Between message and method.

Forgetting any of this makes it possible to be right and wrong at the same time.

Remembering any of this makes it possible to communicate more effectively, disagree more fairly, respect more fully, and love more genuinely.