What I pointed out in the last post, I believe, is quite obvious. The plaques, the pieces of paper, the trophies, none of these are meaningful in and of themselves. But I think we’re deceived if we don’t recognize that we’re still playing for rewards.
As we grow older, our plaques become bigger. The wood now has vinyl siding over it. Instead of just having our name on it, we also have a few extra letters and numbers–like 835 Plum Street. And if you do a little bit better, your plaque might be covered with brick and mortar instead of wood and vinyl. As for the piece of paper, it just turns green and shrinks a bit. And the trophy that you raised for all to see after winning the contest is now the car you drive for all to see.
Once again, please don’t misunderstand me. Shelter is a necessity. Transportation is a great convenience. And money is what makes the exchange of goods possible these days. But when we see our houses, money, and cars as achievements or accomplishments or crowns of glory, we are way off base.
When we’re willing to neglect our children or lose our wife so we can have bricks instead of vinyl, or have a taller stack of greenbacks, or have a shinier piece of metal to drive, then I think we’re missing the point. Actually, I know we’re missing the point. Because it is not about how many toys you have when you die. It’s about the people who mourn losing you and how you affected them. It’s about the God you will meet and what He will think of how you spent the time He gave you.