Two things.

First, this past Sunday I preached a sermon about our tendency to treat priceless things that should never be for sale as if they’re petty, and also the flipside—our tendency to treat trivial things as though they were worth the world. I also mentioned that the essence of temptation was mixing up these price tags. Treating marriage like it’s not important, for example, and an affair like it is.

But it’s not always that major, is it?

I’d just plopped my rump down on our sagging couch in the basement and fired up our PS3 for another rousing round of pointless fun when my own message got thrown in my face. Not even five minutes earlier I’d arrived at home after a long day at work, planted a heartfelt peck on my wife’s cheek while she prepared dinner, and sagged my way downstairs.

There are times when we need to flake out. It’s a matter of eternal importance. This wasn’t one of those times. This was one of those “I want to flake” times, not an “I need to flake” moment.

And then the Holy Spirit whispered something to me that I’ve been pondering for two days now.

“You  can never get back the time you don’t spend with her.”


Off went the blinking green button, up went the lazy husband. To wash some of the dishes Shauna’d left in her preparatory wake. To wipe a few sloppy counters with a hot washcloth and make a salad and set the table. But more just to be with her. It was a quiet kind of heaven.

Second thing.

I work out at the gym a couple times a week with my eldest son, Noah. Tonight’s regimen was a killer. We usually bring in the bare minimum so we don’t have as much to lock up when we’re busy. Tonight I accidentally brought my iPhone in my sweater pocket. Ooops. Between our workout and our customary cooldown swim I ran my sweater and iPhone back to the car to lock up nice and proper. When we traipsed into the change rooms a staff member was sitting on a bench surrounded by two custodians and a few guys telling him what to write on a long blue form he was filling out for them.

“Something get stolen?” I asked, and they tossed me a grim nod. Locker broken into, I think.

Minutes before I decided not to risk keeping my iPhone in a locker with my pathetic little golden lock that’s more of a symbol than protection.

On both counts, I need to say, “Thanks, Lord Jesus. Thank you for speaking to us about little things and big things and “every things” in between. You rock!”

– Love, your son Bradley