kennethbaucum

Now time stands before me, beckoning to me, asking that I decide what I want.

Money stands before me asking -- no, pleading for me to allow it to sit by my side.

Then friends, some closer than a brother and others as mere acquaintances beg silently in their own minds for someone to notice them and give them attention that in one sense, they deserve.

Finally, I turn to look for anyone else who wishes to be with me, jby my side, ready to honor any wish my mind would desire.  That's when I saw him --  a man standing in the shadow of a tree, who now is stepping forward into the glow of the street lamp, silently gazing toward me.  His eyes, tender and still, speak volumes of the thoughts that are on his mind and love that is in his heart.  He steps toward me and places his left hand on my shoulder, and extends his right hand to grab mine.  In a small-town, friendly gesture, I reach out as well and shake his hand.

The whole world suddenly seemed to fade away, leaving only he and I together in the street, staring at each other, speechless.

It took no more than a split second for me to realize whom I had forgotten, but that short moment seemed like a lifetime.  Twenty four years to be exact.  With consciousness and memory returning to the foreground of my mind I realize that I should have come to this man first, to ask him to walk with me and help me make these other, now relatively insignificant decisions.

For some reason, I recall coming to this man several times, needing help, but soon after forgetting to continue growing our friendship.  I hate to label myself as a hypocrite, but I've never been fond of it when others do the same to me; befriending me on the weekends only, during the week completely forgetting I even exist.  It seems as though now I've committed a personal evil against my fellow man.  Actually, gazing into his eyes again I don't think this can even be a man.  His compassion flows through his gaze like a fresh spring that, after racing down a mountainside, turns to a larger river and brings life to people, plants, animals and entire civilizations.  Such grandeur from such a small source.  An infinite source.

I begin to recognize the background fading back into the scene, as time, money and friends take their rightful place behind this man.  I noticed, as I dipped my head down to wipe away a tear, that this man carried no luggage, no phone, no computer and no -- anything.  He was here by himself.  He needs nothing else to accomplish his mission, and has open arms ready to take my burdens upon himself.  I saw his hands were bruised and scarred.  I was able to see that these wounds were deep and must not have been properly cared for when they occurred.  They've been there for awhile, but were not infected, and didn't appear to bother the man.  "Perhaps he's used to them by now," I thought.  He's carried so many things for so many people, I suppose he had more important things to worry about than himself.  This is my kind of friend.

After a few more moments, I looked back up and caught his gaze again.  His hand released mine, and he simply asked, "Do you trust me?"

"I do."  I replied.  I couldn't think of any reason not too.  He's been there any time I needed him, regardless of my attitude, actions or my forgetfulness of him.  "I will." I restated.  "Will you help me?"

"I will never leave you, nor forsake you." He promised.  He's told me this before, yet I still forget him.  He is so good to me.  God is so good.

So, what is sacrifice, anyway?  To me, sacrifice is a medal that you earn doing something extraordinary for others, but you don't wear it around your neck.  This medal, while commendable, is kept secret.  Someone else may find it, and tell others, and that's okay.  It's your job to keep it to yourself.

There's a lot of people making sacfirices of many kinds every day.  There are some sacrifices only certain types of people can make.  There's a short list of things only you can sacrifice to help another human being.  No one else can provide the sacrifice on your behalf.  I'd like to encourage any one who reads this to think about their life as you pillow your head, and think of what you have done -- and can do -- as a sacrifice for others.  Then do it.

I have been thinking a little the last few days about how much different each person's life is, while still being basically the same.  I also blend into my thoughts the idea that everybody has their own story, and how careful we should be before we judge or accuse someone of a wrongdoing or a misstep in their decision making, since we may not know their story or how they got to that decision.

With this in mind, I'd like to reprint my story from September of last year, in the hopes that those who have just begun reading here will get the information they've missed, and that those who have already seen it will be encouraged again.

Everybody has a story.

Each person around you is writing a chapter in their story every second of every minute of every hour of every day.  Each person has a timeline that they are traveling through.  For many of the people you interact with daily, your place on the timeline is not the same as someone else's place on theirs.  Everyone is taking life at their own pace.

When you interact with someone, realize this -- your story of how you got to this very moment is not always public knowledge.  You have your own thoughts, desires and passions that shape your reactions to different experiences that you've had.  Not everyone around you has had that same set of experiences.  And you have not likely had theirs, either.

As you write down your story -- based on the decisions you make and your reaction to things around you -- bear in mind that what may be the last straw for you, on your timeline, may not even be an issue in someone else's journey.  So before you get mad, consider this -- does the person you're about to respond to understand where you are and where you're coming from?  Will they really see it the same way you do -- once you've made your response?  If the answer is not 100% yes, then there should be more thought in your answer.  Period.  I'm as guilty as anyone else.

Consider others.  Everyone has a story -- don't start writing in red on someone else's pages.

"Let your speech be always with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man."  -Colossians 4:6 KJV

"Let no man despise thy youth; but be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity."  -1 Timothy 4:12

Do you have a thought or train of thought that seems to be persistent in your mind -- constantly popping up and causing your previous thoughts to come to a grinding halt?  Perhaps it is because of your circumstances.  Maybe the circumstances of your friends.  Don't dismiss these things, they're clues given to make intentions actionable.

Don't sweat the small stuff, but don't disregard it altogether, either.  There's a fine balance for these two opposing sides, a balance that is different for different people.  Find yours, hold to it.

I'm beginning to write my thoughts on passionate daily life.  My problem right now is, I'm not living each day fully passionate about my dreams.  Some, but not all, days are fully lived and reflect my dream for a great life.  Some days fall by the wayside.  The trick here is to create your passion, not follow it or discover it.  Create your dream and turn it into something that can be done.  Start small, because each day starts fresh with choices to make and your reactions to daily events will determine how close you come to realizing your dreams.  I'll tell you what -- you work on yours, I'll work on mine, and we'll talk about them later -- deal?

If I told any more now, I'd be ruining the surprise.  Stay warm and don't run with scissors. G'night!

productive /prəd'ʌktɪv/

1. A word used to describe the feeling one gets when they are a little tired from all the extra work, but the work is done and rest is coming.