TMI

Posted on by

Back when I was in grad school learning to write captivating ad copy, we were taught a lesson on roadside billboard advertising. Highway billboards are unique in the ad world because of the few seconds of opportunity advertisers have to get their message across.

In order for fast-moving drivers to absorb a road-sign’s idea and information, a billboard should have 8 words or less on it, along with a simple but compelling picture. Color choices are important (yellow on black is the most arresting), and plain is always better than fancy.

Driving from Chicago back to Michigan recently, a clever billboard caught my eye. The speed limit was 70, and the ad was nestled in a row of 6-7 other billboards, so there were probably less than 3 seconds to focus on any particular sign. Nevertheless, I “got it.”

The photo, covering half the billboard, was of a clear drinking glass full of water and… a set of false teeth. Big bright letters said, “Don’t die with your teeth in a glass.”

I laughed out loud and have to say I don’t remember what any of the other billboards said, but I’m still chuckling over that one. The advertiser, the one paying the bill for that sign to sit on the side of the expressway would love to hear from me, I’m sure. The only trouble is, I can’t remember who it was.

Although there were additional words beneath the headline and the photo telling me how to avoid dying with my teeth in a glass, I never got a chance to read them. I assume they promoted a local dentist and vaguely thought I saw the word “implant”, but a name, web address, or phone? Didn’t get any of those for one reason:

TMI.

The billboard, clever that it was, had been funded by wasted money. Even if I knew it was an ad for a dentist, I didn’t find out which one. Although I was willing to absorb that information, my car had whizzed past before I could read it all.

Is God ever guilty of giving us too much information? Actually the opposite is true. We usually want more than he gives us. Maybe if we did have more, it would clutter up his main message to us and we’d end up with nothing. Or maybe a Bible that was 6” thick wouldn’t be read at all.

God gives us the need-to-know info and classifies the rest as TMI. One day, though, I believe he’ll give us all the details about everything, finally satisfying our currently insatiable desire for more. When that happens, we’ll be grinning ear-to-ear…

…just like a toothless person who’s been given a mouthful of gleaming white implants.

“Jesus did many… things. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.” (John 21:25)

Wall Art

Posted on by

Years ago a good friend was walking through our Illinois home after we’d completed some renovations and said, “Everything looks good, but the only art on your walls is pictures of your kids.”

I had to admit we’d probably overdone that. Every child was represented in every room, including bathrooms. I responded to him with humor, saying our children were our artwork, and Nate chimed in with a statement about how big the price tag was for such art.

But when we moved to Michigan, there were fewer rooms to decorate and far fewer walls. So I thought I’d show some restraint by not nailing up our children all over the place, deciding instead to give the seven of them one framed wall-picture apiece. Choosing the pictures was easy.

Because there will be no more photos taken with Nate, those we do have with him are precious, maybe even qualifying now as works of art. So I decided the seven kids’ pictures would all be father-and-child. The result is hanging in the hallway at the top of our steep, narrow stairway with a quote from the Bible’s love chapter written above them:

“Now abideth faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love.” (1 Cor. 13:13)

Many times each day I walk past these seven hanging frames with their accompanying verses and sometimes stop to study them. I enjoy looking into Nate’s face and like the way he’s got his arms wrapped around each child in the pictures. It’s an effective way to re-appreciate everything he did for his family, and to be continuously thankful for him.

Linking it with a verse about love reminds me of Nate’s love for his children, which was unstoppable.  I hope none of them ever doubt that, since they know he would have done anything for them to make their lives better (and often did).

A piece of mental artwork my mind treasures is the love Nate demonstrated toward his children on the day he received his diagnosis of metastasized pancreatic cancer. As he and I drove home from the doctor’s appointment that day, his first priority was to personally tell each of his children of his illness, one-on-one.

This was no small task for a man who’d just been clobbered with a death sentence, but he did it. He had to press through his own emotional pain seven times on seven phone calls in order to be present with each one during that difficult moment when they received the bad news. He had his arms around them as best he could.

And that’s true love.

Maybe the key to the most valuable artwork for any wall is the combination of people-pictures and scriptural words. God’s one-on-one love for all people is unstoppable, and he wants to be present during every traumatic moment of our lives if we’ll let him, to wrap “the greatest of these” loving arms around us.

As for the walls in the heavenly home he’s preparing for those who love him? I’ll bet every wall will be covered with us.

“How amazing are your thoughts concerning me, God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.” (Psalm 139:17-18)

I’m sure.

Posted on by

Dad and Mom lived in four homes during 50 years of marriage: a newlywed bungalow, their bring-the-babies-home house, their larger place, and a downsized-ranch. Mom loved being a homemaker, and when Dad (13 years her senior) suggested a retirement community, she wouldn’t hear of it.

Later, when he died after only two weeks warning, Mom clung to their home like it was Dad himself. Being without him was heartbreaking, but it focused her attention on life after death like never before.

She told us about the night she was out watering her garden near midnight when she heard footsteps approaching. “Were you afraid?” I said.

“Actually I was hoping he had a gun and would do me in,” she said. “Then I’d get to be with your father.” She was only half joking.

Not long after that, Mom fell and broke her hip badly, requiring surgery. She had great confidence in the doctor, a family friend, but was secretly hoping the O.R. would be her launch pad to heaven. But the surgery went flawlessly, and Mary was there to tell her about it when she came out of the anesthetic.

Still groggy, Mom’s first word was, “Carl?”

“No,” Mary said. “It’s just me.”

Mom pulled the covers over her head and burst into tears, realizing she hadn’t ended up in heaven after all. Days later, well on the way to a full recovery she said, “I gave God a perfect chance to take me, and he passed it up.” (She lived 13 more years.)

Mom’s push toward heaven seemed extreme, but I admire two things about it: (1) her true love for Dad came through, and (2) her certainty of heaven was unshakeable. Day to day, hour to hour, a real heaven was on her mind, a specific place where her beloved had already gone.

Mom’s desire to be with Dad wasn’t her only heaven-themed longing. Her deepest craving was to run into the waiting arms of Jesus her Savior. She referenced that moment often and never doubted its authenticity. In 60 years as her daughter, I never heard a smidgen of uncertainty in her talk of one day living with Jesus.

Sometimes I find myself a little unsure. It isn’t exactly doubt, but it’s a serious wondering. How will it work when I move to the next world? The greeting we’ve heard some will get at heaven’s gate (well-done-good-and-faithful-servant) won’t apply to me. I love the Lord, but faithful servant? Not really. So, what are the other greeting possibilities? I wonder.

And what about the rush of guilt I’ll feel when I look into Jesus’ eyes? Or the regret that’ll sweep over me about my disobedience? What about my idle words? Time wasted? Bypassed opportunities? I wonder and wonder. How can it possibly go well?

But Mom? She never wondered. She was just plain sure, and that was delightfully refreshing.

“You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory.” (Psalm 73:24)