James Collins's Blog: The Point Is... - Posts Tagged "inspirational"
Shake Things Up
“And when they had prayed, the place was shaken where they were assembled together; and they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and they spake the word of God with boldness.” Acts 4:31
The Cow Chip Festival was an annual event held where I grew up. Hundreds of people would come to town for the Cow Chip Festival to enjoy the Bull 5K Run, the Mad Cow Parade, and Cow Chip Bingo featuring a real cow. It was always an exciting time.
Our family would always have a family reunion during the Cow Chip Festival. Family would come from all over to visit and eat at my great grandma’s house. After my great grandma died, there was talk about cancelling the family reunion because there was no place to have the big supper. However, my Aunt Maimy decided that she would have the supper at her house. She decided to cook for our entire family.
On the day of the reunion, Aunt Maimy got up before dawn. All day long, she stressed and sweated, cooked and cleaned, and fussed and fidgeted. By that evening, she was exhausted, and totally stressed out. However, everything was in place. The food was ready. The house looked magnificent.
When the family showed up, Aunt Maimy got ready to serve the food. She had borrowed tables and folding chairs from the church. All the family was there. The house was full.
Before she sat down to eat, Aunt Maimy thought it would be a cute idea to ask my cousin to say the blessing. Her son was named Jimmy Joe Jeff Johnny Paul Ray Elmer Jr. – but we just called him Bubba. Aunt Maimy thought it would be cute to have Bubba say the blessing. She said, “Bubba, would you pray and bless the food.”
Bubba was about six-years-old. He was nervous because he was scared to pray in front of all those people. He said, “Momma, I just don’t know what to pray.” Aunt Maimy said, “Son, just pray what you have heard Momma pray today.”
My cousin, Jimmy Joe Jeff Johnny Paul Ray Elmer Jr. – we just called him Bubba – Bubba bowed his head. Bubba closed his eyes. Then said, “Oh dear God in heaven; why did I invite all these people over to my house!”
Bubba prayed a prayer that shook up the place, but it was nothing like the Book of Acts. In the Book of Acts, they had a prayer meeting that literally shook the house. The building shook. The foundation quivered. The roof swayed. The walls shook.
The point is: God showed up and shook the place up. I believe we could all use a little shaking. When was the last time you were shaken in your spirit? When was the last time you had a sweet hour of prayer? When was the last time you felt the presence of God?
Why don’t you let the Lord Jesus Christ shake things up a little?
James Collins is the author of the top-selling Christian Humor book “Don’t Throw the Believer Out with the Baptistry Water.” Enter to win a free autographed copy now in the Giveaways section on Goodreads.
The Cow Chip Festival was an annual event held where I grew up. Hundreds of people would come to town for the Cow Chip Festival to enjoy the Bull 5K Run, the Mad Cow Parade, and Cow Chip Bingo featuring a real cow. It was always an exciting time.
Our family would always have a family reunion during the Cow Chip Festival. Family would come from all over to visit and eat at my great grandma’s house. After my great grandma died, there was talk about cancelling the family reunion because there was no place to have the big supper. However, my Aunt Maimy decided that she would have the supper at her house. She decided to cook for our entire family.
On the day of the reunion, Aunt Maimy got up before dawn. All day long, she stressed and sweated, cooked and cleaned, and fussed and fidgeted. By that evening, she was exhausted, and totally stressed out. However, everything was in place. The food was ready. The house looked magnificent.
When the family showed up, Aunt Maimy got ready to serve the food. She had borrowed tables and folding chairs from the church. All the family was there. The house was full.
Before she sat down to eat, Aunt Maimy thought it would be a cute idea to ask my cousin to say the blessing. Her son was named Jimmy Joe Jeff Johnny Paul Ray Elmer Jr. – but we just called him Bubba. Aunt Maimy thought it would be cute to have Bubba say the blessing. She said, “Bubba, would you pray and bless the food.”
Bubba was about six-years-old. He was nervous because he was scared to pray in front of all those people. He said, “Momma, I just don’t know what to pray.” Aunt Maimy said, “Son, just pray what you have heard Momma pray today.”
My cousin, Jimmy Joe Jeff Johnny Paul Ray Elmer Jr. – we just called him Bubba – Bubba bowed his head. Bubba closed his eyes. Then said, “Oh dear God in heaven; why did I invite all these people over to my house!”
Bubba prayed a prayer that shook up the place, but it was nothing like the Book of Acts. In the Book of Acts, they had a prayer meeting that literally shook the house. The building shook. The foundation quivered. The roof swayed. The walls shook.
The point is: God showed up and shook the place up. I believe we could all use a little shaking. When was the last time you were shaken in your spirit? When was the last time you had a sweet hour of prayer? When was the last time you felt the presence of God?
Why don’t you let the Lord Jesus Christ shake things up a little?
James Collins is the author of the top-selling Christian Humor book “Don’t Throw the Believer Out with the Baptistry Water.” Enter to win a free autographed copy now in the Giveaways section on Goodreads.
What in the World Are You Talking About?
“And this gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come.” Matthew 24:14
The frying pan was held high in her right hand as she talked to me. My wife, Amanda, usually holds something in her hand when she talks to me – a rolling pin, a hairbrush, nunchucks. I think she holds something to emphasize her point. Last Tuesday night, she was holding a frying pan.
Amanda opened the dishwasher door, turned around, held up the frying pan and asked, “What in the world are you talking about?” I was sitting at the kitchen table working on my sermon for Sunday. I said again, “I am worried about my message Sunday. I think it’s going to be the worst sermon in the world.” She said, “That’s impossible. That will never happen. You preached the worst sermon in the world last week.”
As soon as Amanda finished boosting my self-confidence, she stepped back. She obviously forgot the dishwasher door was open. She tripped, threw the frying pan in the air, and fell backwards. As Amanda was falling, she reached out to grab the countertop. She missed and slammed her right thumb down on the corner of the open dishwasher door. Somehow, the dishwasher door cut a deep gash in her thumb.
Amanda grabbed her bloody hand and said something spiritual. I think she said, “Oh Lordy!” I grabbed a towel and applied pressure to get the bleeding to stop. Not long after we arrived at the emergency room.
Walking in, holding her bloody hand, Amanda said, “I need to see a doctor. I need stitches.”
The lady behind the counter looked at Amanda’s hand and said, “We just ordered queso dip and chips.”
Another lady, a nurse in the back, said, “I just love the queso from El Charro. It’s a good thing you ordered it before they closed.”
“I know, right?”
“Do you know what else is good? Their guacamole. I could eat a gallon.”
Amanda was bleeding to death and they were talking about chips and dips.
In the same way, the world is bleeding to death, but Christians are too busy talking about unimportant things. This world is dying and going to hell, and we’ve got the Way to save them, but most Christians act like the good news of Jesus Christ is a secret.
The point is: Jesus commanded us to share the gospel with others (Matthew 28:19; Acts 1:8). He ordered us to take the gospel to the world (Matthew 24:14). He will hold us accountable for how we shared the gospel when we stand before Him (2 Corinthians 5:10).
You may be thinking, “I wouldn’t know what to say.” It’s simple. Just tell them that Jesus, the Son of God, came to earth and died to forgive your sins. Everyone who believes in Him is saved from the penalty of their sins and will spend eternity with Him in Heaven. Believing in Christ means to turn away from your sins and turn to Him. Confess Jesus as your Savior and Lord.
You could be the person that God uses to have an eternal impact in someone’s life, or you could just talk about chips and dips.
When was the last time you shared your faith? When was the last time you told somebody about Jesus?
What in the world are you talking about?
James Collins is the writer of the top-selling book, “Don’t Throw the Believer Out with the Baptistry Water.” Enter to win an autographed copy now on Goodreads.com.
The frying pan was held high in her right hand as she talked to me. My wife, Amanda, usually holds something in her hand when she talks to me – a rolling pin, a hairbrush, nunchucks. I think she holds something to emphasize her point. Last Tuesday night, she was holding a frying pan.
Amanda opened the dishwasher door, turned around, held up the frying pan and asked, “What in the world are you talking about?” I was sitting at the kitchen table working on my sermon for Sunday. I said again, “I am worried about my message Sunday. I think it’s going to be the worst sermon in the world.” She said, “That’s impossible. That will never happen. You preached the worst sermon in the world last week.”
As soon as Amanda finished boosting my self-confidence, she stepped back. She obviously forgot the dishwasher door was open. She tripped, threw the frying pan in the air, and fell backwards. As Amanda was falling, she reached out to grab the countertop. She missed and slammed her right thumb down on the corner of the open dishwasher door. Somehow, the dishwasher door cut a deep gash in her thumb.
Amanda grabbed her bloody hand and said something spiritual. I think she said, “Oh Lordy!” I grabbed a towel and applied pressure to get the bleeding to stop. Not long after we arrived at the emergency room.
Walking in, holding her bloody hand, Amanda said, “I need to see a doctor. I need stitches.”
The lady behind the counter looked at Amanda’s hand and said, “We just ordered queso dip and chips.”
Another lady, a nurse in the back, said, “I just love the queso from El Charro. It’s a good thing you ordered it before they closed.”
“I know, right?”
“Do you know what else is good? Their guacamole. I could eat a gallon.”
Amanda was bleeding to death and they were talking about chips and dips.
In the same way, the world is bleeding to death, but Christians are too busy talking about unimportant things. This world is dying and going to hell, and we’ve got the Way to save them, but most Christians act like the good news of Jesus Christ is a secret.
The point is: Jesus commanded us to share the gospel with others (Matthew 28:19; Acts 1:8). He ordered us to take the gospel to the world (Matthew 24:14). He will hold us accountable for how we shared the gospel when we stand before Him (2 Corinthians 5:10).
You may be thinking, “I wouldn’t know what to say.” It’s simple. Just tell them that Jesus, the Son of God, came to earth and died to forgive your sins. Everyone who believes in Him is saved from the penalty of their sins and will spend eternity with Him in Heaven. Believing in Christ means to turn away from your sins and turn to Him. Confess Jesus as your Savior and Lord.
You could be the person that God uses to have an eternal impact in someone’s life, or you could just talk about chips and dips.
When was the last time you shared your faith? When was the last time you told somebody about Jesus?
What in the world are you talking about?
James Collins is the writer of the top-selling book, “Don’t Throw the Believer Out with the Baptistry Water.” Enter to win an autographed copy now on Goodreads.com.
May I Be Excused?
“But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.” Matthew 14:30
Some things are just hard to say.
On my first day of kindergarten, I asked Momma what I should do if an emergency came up. She said, “Raise your hand. When the teacher notices you, walk up to her and whisper, ‘May I be excused?’”
“Excused?” That was a new word for me. When I was five years old, I had never heard of asking to be “excused.” The word sounded foreign. It sounded French. I reasoned that “May I be excused?” was French for “Can I go to the potty?”
However, I soon realized that most people don’t speak French. One day, I walked into Kate’s Country Store. An old man smoking a cigar was sitting behind the counter. I said, “Sir, may I be excused?” He blew out a puff of smoke and said, “Sure, kid,” but he never told me where to go. So, I said again, “Sir, may I be excused?” He looked at me and asked, “What’s wrong with you, boy? Are you brain damaged?”
Later, as a teenager, I enlisted in the U.S. Army. I was standing in formation one day and I raised my hand. The drill sergeant looked at me, frowned, and said, “Private Collins, what’s wrong with you now?” I said, “May I be excused?” I never did get to go. I did pushups instead.
Obviously, some people do not understand French.
I used the word “bathroom” for a while, although I never thought about taking a “bath” in the tiny wash basin of a public “bathroom.” Then I noticed “restroom” on a sign. That was a good word, but I was not comfortable using it. I didn’t “rest” in a public “restroom.”
A while back, I was out with some people from church. Someone said, “I need to use the washroom.” That’s perfect. Now, after the waitress takes my order, I look at my hands, turn to her and ask the perfectly logical question, “Ma’am, where is your washroom? I need to wash my hands.”
It would be a lot simpler if everyone knew French.
There is another statement that is hard for people to make, “Lord, save me.”
One night, the disciples of Jesus were sailing across the Sea of Galilee when a strong storm blew up. During that storm, Jesus showed up walking on the water. Peter asked Jesus if he could walk on the water with Him. Jesus said, “Yes,” and Peter stepped out of the boat and walked toward Jesus. But he lost his focus and started sinking. He screamed, “Lord, save me,” and Jesus rescued him.
Today, someone is reading this, and you are going through a storm. Your life and circumstances have not turned out the way you intended. You feel like your boat is taking on water and you are about to go under. As difficult as it may be for you to say, the best thing you can do is cry out, “Lord, save me.” Pray to Him and ask Him to save you.
The point is: Some things are hard to say. Because of stubbornness, pride, self-reliance, it is hard for you to turn to Christ. Eternity depends on you swallowing your pride and saying, “Lord, save me.”
You can ask the Lord to save you in any language, even French, “Seigneour sauve-moi.”
James Collins is a chaplain, pastor, author, and columnist. He speaks some French, but with a country accent. For more information on his ministry, check out the website www.thepointis.net.
Some things are just hard to say.
On my first day of kindergarten, I asked Momma what I should do if an emergency came up. She said, “Raise your hand. When the teacher notices you, walk up to her and whisper, ‘May I be excused?’”
“Excused?” That was a new word for me. When I was five years old, I had never heard of asking to be “excused.” The word sounded foreign. It sounded French. I reasoned that “May I be excused?” was French for “Can I go to the potty?”
However, I soon realized that most people don’t speak French. One day, I walked into Kate’s Country Store. An old man smoking a cigar was sitting behind the counter. I said, “Sir, may I be excused?” He blew out a puff of smoke and said, “Sure, kid,” but he never told me where to go. So, I said again, “Sir, may I be excused?” He looked at me and asked, “What’s wrong with you, boy? Are you brain damaged?”
Later, as a teenager, I enlisted in the U.S. Army. I was standing in formation one day and I raised my hand. The drill sergeant looked at me, frowned, and said, “Private Collins, what’s wrong with you now?” I said, “May I be excused?” I never did get to go. I did pushups instead.
Obviously, some people do not understand French.
I used the word “bathroom” for a while, although I never thought about taking a “bath” in the tiny wash basin of a public “bathroom.” Then I noticed “restroom” on a sign. That was a good word, but I was not comfortable using it. I didn’t “rest” in a public “restroom.”
A while back, I was out with some people from church. Someone said, “I need to use the washroom.” That’s perfect. Now, after the waitress takes my order, I look at my hands, turn to her and ask the perfectly logical question, “Ma’am, where is your washroom? I need to wash my hands.”
It would be a lot simpler if everyone knew French.
There is another statement that is hard for people to make, “Lord, save me.”
One night, the disciples of Jesus were sailing across the Sea of Galilee when a strong storm blew up. During that storm, Jesus showed up walking on the water. Peter asked Jesus if he could walk on the water with Him. Jesus said, “Yes,” and Peter stepped out of the boat and walked toward Jesus. But he lost his focus and started sinking. He screamed, “Lord, save me,” and Jesus rescued him.
Today, someone is reading this, and you are going through a storm. Your life and circumstances have not turned out the way you intended. You feel like your boat is taking on water and you are about to go under. As difficult as it may be for you to say, the best thing you can do is cry out, “Lord, save me.” Pray to Him and ask Him to save you.
The point is: Some things are hard to say. Because of stubbornness, pride, self-reliance, it is hard for you to turn to Christ. Eternity depends on you swallowing your pride and saying, “Lord, save me.”
You can ask the Lord to save you in any language, even French, “Seigneour sauve-moi.”
James Collins is a chaplain, pastor, author, and columnist. He speaks some French, but with a country accent. For more information on his ministry, check out the website www.thepointis.net.
What Do You See?
“…For the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7b
My nine-year-old son, John, has quite an imagination. He loves to build things with Lego bricks. The other night he said, “Look at this rocket ship I built.” He held up what looked like a square glob of tiny, multicolored, plastic bricks. To me, it looked more like a toaster than a rocket ship.
John spends hours in his room playing with Legos. He builds everything from tractors to towers, from cars to castles, from submarines to space stations. He has quite an imagination.
When I look at those toy plastic bricks, I see toy plastic bricks. When John looks at them, he sees knights slaying dragons, airplanes flying across the sky, and heroes on a jungle quest. In his imagination, Legos are not Legos at all. They are robots, Batmobiles, and skyscrapers.
What people see in their minds and what they see outside are two different things.
Not too long ago, John saved his money to buy a new Lego set. He saved allowance, birthday, and Christmas money. When he had enough for the set he wanted, I took him to Walmart.
As we pulled into the parking lot, we noticed a family sitting in an old station wagon. The father sat on the hood. He held a cardboard sign that read, “WILL WORK FOR FOOD.”
The station wagon looked to be on its last leg. The family inside looked dirty and disheveled. They appeared to be living in their car.
I looked over and noticed John was staring at the family. Neither one of us said anything.
We went inside and made our way back to the toy aisle, but John didn’t seem interested in Legos. He looked up and asked, “Can I use my money to buy those people some food?” I choked back tears and answered, “Sure.” John said, “I can’t wait to tell them about Jesus.”
There was an excitement in our steps as we filled up a cart with groceries. We hurried through the checkout, loaded up our car, and drove to the end of the parking lot. John leaned out the window with two bags of groceries, and said, “Sir, I want to give you some food.” The man put down his sign, took the groceries, and said, “Thank you.” John said, “You are welcome, and Jesus loves you.”
To tell the truth, most likely, I would not have noticed the needy family in the station wagon. I am proud of my son. He sees things that I miss.
What people see in their minds and what they see outside are two different things.
We need to see people as God sees them.
The point is: God looks at people differently than you and I look at people. We look at people on the outside. God looks at the heart. It doesn’t matter if you are freshly bathed and wearing a three-piece suit, or dirty wearing a t-shirt, and torn jeans, God looks at your heart.
The Bible says that the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. God loves everyone, but all have sinned, and come short of His glory. Every person we meet is lost without Jesus. The only cure for the sin-sick heart is the Lord Jesus Christ. Without Christ, even people who look nice on the outside go to hell.
When you look at people, what do you see?
Do you see somebody who needs Jesus?
Tell somebody about Him today.
James Collins is the author of Don't Throw the Believer Out with the Baptistry Water, now available on Amazon.
My nine-year-old son, John, has quite an imagination. He loves to build things with Lego bricks. The other night he said, “Look at this rocket ship I built.” He held up what looked like a square glob of tiny, multicolored, plastic bricks. To me, it looked more like a toaster than a rocket ship.
John spends hours in his room playing with Legos. He builds everything from tractors to towers, from cars to castles, from submarines to space stations. He has quite an imagination.
When I look at those toy plastic bricks, I see toy plastic bricks. When John looks at them, he sees knights slaying dragons, airplanes flying across the sky, and heroes on a jungle quest. In his imagination, Legos are not Legos at all. They are robots, Batmobiles, and skyscrapers.
What people see in their minds and what they see outside are two different things.
Not too long ago, John saved his money to buy a new Lego set. He saved allowance, birthday, and Christmas money. When he had enough for the set he wanted, I took him to Walmart.
As we pulled into the parking lot, we noticed a family sitting in an old station wagon. The father sat on the hood. He held a cardboard sign that read, “WILL WORK FOR FOOD.”
The station wagon looked to be on its last leg. The family inside looked dirty and disheveled. They appeared to be living in their car.
I looked over and noticed John was staring at the family. Neither one of us said anything.
We went inside and made our way back to the toy aisle, but John didn’t seem interested in Legos. He looked up and asked, “Can I use my money to buy those people some food?” I choked back tears and answered, “Sure.” John said, “I can’t wait to tell them about Jesus.”
There was an excitement in our steps as we filled up a cart with groceries. We hurried through the checkout, loaded up our car, and drove to the end of the parking lot. John leaned out the window with two bags of groceries, and said, “Sir, I want to give you some food.” The man put down his sign, took the groceries, and said, “Thank you.” John said, “You are welcome, and Jesus loves you.”
To tell the truth, most likely, I would not have noticed the needy family in the station wagon. I am proud of my son. He sees things that I miss.
What people see in their minds and what they see outside are two different things.
We need to see people as God sees them.
The point is: God looks at people differently than you and I look at people. We look at people on the outside. God looks at the heart. It doesn’t matter if you are freshly bathed and wearing a three-piece suit, or dirty wearing a t-shirt, and torn jeans, God looks at your heart.
The Bible says that the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. God loves everyone, but all have sinned, and come short of His glory. Every person we meet is lost without Jesus. The only cure for the sin-sick heart is the Lord Jesus Christ. Without Christ, even people who look nice on the outside go to hell.
When you look at people, what do you see?
Do you see somebody who needs Jesus?
Tell somebody about Him today.
James Collins is the author of Don't Throw the Believer Out with the Baptistry Water, now available on Amazon.
Perfume on a Pig
“The rich and poor meet together: the LORD is the maker of them all.” Proverbs 22:2
“Collins,” the old sergeant snorted. “Putting you in that fancy dress uniform is like putting perfume on a pig.” The old sergeant was Sgt. 1st Class Luster, my platoon sergeant. Behind his back, we called him, Luster the heart-buster, because he ran us ten miles a day. He had served multiple tours in Vietnam. He was a hard man, but he knew his stuff. That was why I asked him to inspect my dress uniform. I had to look my best.
The year was 1992. I was a young enlisted soldier in the U.S. Army. Somehow, I had been chosen to have dinner with the President of the United States, George H.W. Bush. To this day, I still don’t know how I was chosen. Maybe it was White House charity. Maybe some politician said, “I’ve got an idea that will make us look good with the common folk. Let’s find the dumbest redneck in the armed forces and send him to an official state dinner.” It must have been something like that because I knew I didn’t belong there from the moment I entered.
The place was full of big-shots – corporate presidents, heads of state, politicians who hadn’t been caught yet, and Hollywood celebrities. Sylvester Stallone walked past me with a famous swim-suit model clinging to his arm. Tom Brokaw stood behind me in the entrance line.
We were ushered past a reception area. President Bush grabbed my hand and gave me a firm handshake. A photographer snapped our picture – a photograph which still hangs in my office today.
A man in a tuxedo escorted me to my table. I was seated across from President Bush next to a man from Boston. I think he owned Massachusetts or something. He had more money than the Kennedys.
“What’s your racket, young man?” he asked striking up a conversation with me.
“I’m an artist.” I could tell my answer surprised him.
“What kind of artist?”
“I’m a painter. I paint men and women.”
“Is your work well known?”
“Yes, it is in some of the most respected places,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. I painted “MEN” and “WOMEN” on the bathroom doors at Fort Knox.
When it was time to eat, I panicked. There were four forks. I didn’t know which one to use. So, I watched George H.W. and the rich guy next to me. I just used whatever fork they used. The meal was elegant – seven courses. If I had to pay for it, I am sure it would have cost my mortgage.
All evening long, even in my Luster the heart-buster inspected uniform, I felt out of place. If you put perfume on a pig, the pig still stinks. I was just a penniless boy from the country. I was worried one of those elegant sophisticates would discover an imposter was among their midst. I didn’t belong. We had nothing in common.
Yet, when President Bush died in November of 2018, I realized we did in fact have something in common – the Lord is our Maker. Both millionaire Bush and minimum-wager Collins have the same Creator. The Lord is the maker of us all.
The point is: God has given life to both the rich and the poor. No matter where you fall on the income scale, you owe your existence to God Almighty.
Since He has given life to you, wouldn’t it be wise to live for Him?
It makes more sense than putting perfume on a pig.
James Collins is a pastor, writer, and columnist. Find out more about his ministry at the webpage www.thepointis.net.
“Collins,” the old sergeant snorted. “Putting you in that fancy dress uniform is like putting perfume on a pig.” The old sergeant was Sgt. 1st Class Luster, my platoon sergeant. Behind his back, we called him, Luster the heart-buster, because he ran us ten miles a day. He had served multiple tours in Vietnam. He was a hard man, but he knew his stuff. That was why I asked him to inspect my dress uniform. I had to look my best.
The year was 1992. I was a young enlisted soldier in the U.S. Army. Somehow, I had been chosen to have dinner with the President of the United States, George H.W. Bush. To this day, I still don’t know how I was chosen. Maybe it was White House charity. Maybe some politician said, “I’ve got an idea that will make us look good with the common folk. Let’s find the dumbest redneck in the armed forces and send him to an official state dinner.” It must have been something like that because I knew I didn’t belong there from the moment I entered.
The place was full of big-shots – corporate presidents, heads of state, politicians who hadn’t been caught yet, and Hollywood celebrities. Sylvester Stallone walked past me with a famous swim-suit model clinging to his arm. Tom Brokaw stood behind me in the entrance line.
We were ushered past a reception area. President Bush grabbed my hand and gave me a firm handshake. A photographer snapped our picture – a photograph which still hangs in my office today.
A man in a tuxedo escorted me to my table. I was seated across from President Bush next to a man from Boston. I think he owned Massachusetts or something. He had more money than the Kennedys.
“What’s your racket, young man?” he asked striking up a conversation with me.
“I’m an artist.” I could tell my answer surprised him.
“What kind of artist?”
“I’m a painter. I paint men and women.”
“Is your work well known?”
“Yes, it is in some of the most respected places,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. I painted “MEN” and “WOMEN” on the bathroom doors at Fort Knox.
When it was time to eat, I panicked. There were four forks. I didn’t know which one to use. So, I watched George H.W. and the rich guy next to me. I just used whatever fork they used. The meal was elegant – seven courses. If I had to pay for it, I am sure it would have cost my mortgage.
All evening long, even in my Luster the heart-buster inspected uniform, I felt out of place. If you put perfume on a pig, the pig still stinks. I was just a penniless boy from the country. I was worried one of those elegant sophisticates would discover an imposter was among their midst. I didn’t belong. We had nothing in common.
Yet, when President Bush died in November of 2018, I realized we did in fact have something in common – the Lord is our Maker. Both millionaire Bush and minimum-wager Collins have the same Creator. The Lord is the maker of us all.
The point is: God has given life to both the rich and the poor. No matter where you fall on the income scale, you owe your existence to God Almighty.
Since He has given life to you, wouldn’t it be wise to live for Him?
It makes more sense than putting perfume on a pig.
James Collins is a pastor, writer, and columnist. Find out more about his ministry at the webpage www.thepointis.net.
Going Home
“For our conversation is in heaven; from whence also we look for the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ.” Philippians 3:20
On an overcast day, we gathered to mourn the death of Tammy Combs. Her metallic gray casket sat toward the front of our hometown church. Flower arrangements of pinks, yellows, reds, and purples surrounded it.
The church that had seemed so big to me as a child, now seemed so small. It was crowded with people who had known her, who had loved her, and who still did. The pews filled up quickly. Latecomers sat in folding chairs in the aisles and along the back wall. Those who couldn’t find a seat stood in silence in the foyer. Grief is shared best in silence.
The old preacher walked up on the platform and stood tall in the pulpit behind the casket. He read Scripture in a baritone voice, “…that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.” His funeral sermon was filled with words of comfort. He ended by saying, “And she lives on.”
When the preacher finished speaking, a recording of Tammy singing The Old Rugged Cross was played. Throughout her life, Tammy often sang in church. Now in her death, she sang there again.
I grew up with Tammy, but I hadn’t seen her in years. We stayed in touch only through Facebook. It took her funeral to bring me back home. Over twenty years had passed since I had stepped foot in our hometown church. After high school graduation, I joined the U.S. Army. Trips back home became less frequent. Everything seemed so different. The place had changed.
The church was filled with people from my youth. I didn’t recognize many of them. Some didn’t recognize me. Age has caught up with us. Everyone seemed so different. The people have changed.
Somehow, I feel different. When I left home, I was lost. Then Jesus Christ found me, and He saved my soul. I am different. I have changed.
There is an old saying: You can’t go home again. I think I understand that saying a little better now. The old hometown will never again be the same place I left all those years ago. I will never again be the same boy who left all those years ago. That home exists only in my memory.
When I think about home, I don’t think so much about a place. When I think of home, I think of people. I think about my wife, Amanda, and our children. They make home – home. At least, on this earth.
However, this world is not my home. The Bible says that if you are a believer in Jesus Christ, your citizenship is in heaven. When I think of my future home, I think of a Person. I think about Jesus. He makes heaven – heaven.
The point is: All of us are pilgrims on a journey in this land. Someday, if the Lord tarries, each of us will die and go to our eternal home. If you belong to Jesus, then you’ll be with Him in a home called heaven. If you don’t belong to Jesus, then you’ll spend eternity separated from Him in a home called hell. The choice is yours.
The death of my friend, Tammy, has made me homesick. Not for a small town in Southeast Oklahoma. No. I am homesick for heaven. I am homesick to be with Jesus.
My heart longs for home.
James Collins is a pastor and writer. He can be reached through the webpage www.thepointis.net.
On an overcast day, we gathered to mourn the death of Tammy Combs. Her metallic gray casket sat toward the front of our hometown church. Flower arrangements of pinks, yellows, reds, and purples surrounded it.
The church that had seemed so big to me as a child, now seemed so small. It was crowded with people who had known her, who had loved her, and who still did. The pews filled up quickly. Latecomers sat in folding chairs in the aisles and along the back wall. Those who couldn’t find a seat stood in silence in the foyer. Grief is shared best in silence.
The old preacher walked up on the platform and stood tall in the pulpit behind the casket. He read Scripture in a baritone voice, “…that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.” His funeral sermon was filled with words of comfort. He ended by saying, “And she lives on.”
When the preacher finished speaking, a recording of Tammy singing The Old Rugged Cross was played. Throughout her life, Tammy often sang in church. Now in her death, she sang there again.
I grew up with Tammy, but I hadn’t seen her in years. We stayed in touch only through Facebook. It took her funeral to bring me back home. Over twenty years had passed since I had stepped foot in our hometown church. After high school graduation, I joined the U.S. Army. Trips back home became less frequent. Everything seemed so different. The place had changed.
The church was filled with people from my youth. I didn’t recognize many of them. Some didn’t recognize me. Age has caught up with us. Everyone seemed so different. The people have changed.
Somehow, I feel different. When I left home, I was lost. Then Jesus Christ found me, and He saved my soul. I am different. I have changed.
There is an old saying: You can’t go home again. I think I understand that saying a little better now. The old hometown will never again be the same place I left all those years ago. I will never again be the same boy who left all those years ago. That home exists only in my memory.
When I think about home, I don’t think so much about a place. When I think of home, I think of people. I think about my wife, Amanda, and our children. They make home – home. At least, on this earth.
However, this world is not my home. The Bible says that if you are a believer in Jesus Christ, your citizenship is in heaven. When I think of my future home, I think of a Person. I think about Jesus. He makes heaven – heaven.
The point is: All of us are pilgrims on a journey in this land. Someday, if the Lord tarries, each of us will die and go to our eternal home. If you belong to Jesus, then you’ll be with Him in a home called heaven. If you don’t belong to Jesus, then you’ll spend eternity separated from Him in a home called hell. The choice is yours.
The death of my friend, Tammy, has made me homesick. Not for a small town in Southeast Oklahoma. No. I am homesick for heaven. I am homesick to be with Jesus.
My heart longs for home.
James Collins is a pastor and writer. He can be reached through the webpage www.thepointis.net.
Buried
“For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; And that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures.” 1 Corinthians 15:3-4
Dad looked out at the vultures circling near the back pasture. I walked onto the back porch and handed him a cup of coffee. He took the cup with his right hand and put his left on my shoulder. I was seven years old.
"Something's dead out there," he said. As he sipped his cup, I looked up at him and asked, "Is it Miss Bossy?" Miss Bossy was the name I had given to Dad's gentle, tan-colored Guernsey cow. We had raised her from a calf. She hadn't come up to the feedlot for the past three or four days. "Most likely," he said.
We lived on a small forty-acre farm. I sat on the wheel cover as Dad drove his old International Harvester tractor. It didn’t take us very long to reach the back pasture. Miss Bossy had been dead long enough to bloat. Flies buzzed around the carcass.
I asked, “What happened to her?”
“All living things die,” he answered. “We have to bury her.”
“Why? Why don’t you let the buzzards have her?”
"Because as she decays, the soil and the groundwater will be contaminated. We don’t know what killed her. She might have a disease that could spread to the other animals. Some diseases can even spread to people.”
I climbed off and watched as Dad started digging. He had a small back-hoe attachment on the back and a bucket on the front of the tractor. Dad made quick work of the hole and climbed down. He attached one chain end to Miss Bossy's back hooves and the other end to the back of the tractor. He climbed back on, pulled the remains into the hole, climbed off, and unhooked the chain. Dad got back on the tractor and used the front bucket to push the pile of dirt into the hole.
Tired of standing, I sat in the grass and intently observed him as he did the job. When he finished, he said, "Son, let's go." I started to crawl back up, but he reached down and pulled me up before I could. He sat me in his lap. I steered the tractor as he shifted gears and ran the pedals.
When we returned to the house, I asked, "Dad, why do things die?" He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Dying is part of living. The trick is to learn to let the dead stay buried and go on with your life."
His words, which I didn't understand then, have stuck with me over the years. I have come to realize that the wisdom of an old Oklahoma farmer is echoed in the Gospel. In 1 Corinthians 15, the Apostle Paul clearly stated that the Gospel is the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. He died to take away our sins and rose to defeat death, but why does the Bible emphasize His burial?
In first-century Israel, when a Jewish person died, they were embalmed, wrapped in linen, and buried in a tomb. That is what Jesus did with our sins. Paul also wrote in Galatians 2, "I am crucified with Christ…" Not only have we been crucified with Christ, but we have also been buried with Christ. Your past isn't just dead; it's buried.
The point is that if you are a believer in Jesus Christ, your old life is buried. Through His death, burial, and resurrection, you can be raised to live a new life of victory.
Are you preyed upon by buzzards of guilt? Is the devil buzzing around the bloated carcass of your old life? Does the stench of past sins remind you of the person you once were? Is the disease of your past killing your present?
You don’t have to live defeated. If you are a Christian, your past is dead and buried. Let the dead stay buried and go on with your life.
The Overcomer: God's Answers to Overcoming Life's Greatest Challenges
Dad looked out at the vultures circling near the back pasture. I walked onto the back porch and handed him a cup of coffee. He took the cup with his right hand and put his left on my shoulder. I was seven years old.
"Something's dead out there," he said. As he sipped his cup, I looked up at him and asked, "Is it Miss Bossy?" Miss Bossy was the name I had given to Dad's gentle, tan-colored Guernsey cow. We had raised her from a calf. She hadn't come up to the feedlot for the past three or four days. "Most likely," he said.
We lived on a small forty-acre farm. I sat on the wheel cover as Dad drove his old International Harvester tractor. It didn’t take us very long to reach the back pasture. Miss Bossy had been dead long enough to bloat. Flies buzzed around the carcass.
I asked, “What happened to her?”
“All living things die,” he answered. “We have to bury her.”
“Why? Why don’t you let the buzzards have her?”
"Because as she decays, the soil and the groundwater will be contaminated. We don’t know what killed her. She might have a disease that could spread to the other animals. Some diseases can even spread to people.”
I climbed off and watched as Dad started digging. He had a small back-hoe attachment on the back and a bucket on the front of the tractor. Dad made quick work of the hole and climbed down. He attached one chain end to Miss Bossy's back hooves and the other end to the back of the tractor. He climbed back on, pulled the remains into the hole, climbed off, and unhooked the chain. Dad got back on the tractor and used the front bucket to push the pile of dirt into the hole.
Tired of standing, I sat in the grass and intently observed him as he did the job. When he finished, he said, "Son, let's go." I started to crawl back up, but he reached down and pulled me up before I could. He sat me in his lap. I steered the tractor as he shifted gears and ran the pedals.
When we returned to the house, I asked, "Dad, why do things die?" He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Dying is part of living. The trick is to learn to let the dead stay buried and go on with your life."
His words, which I didn't understand then, have stuck with me over the years. I have come to realize that the wisdom of an old Oklahoma farmer is echoed in the Gospel. In 1 Corinthians 15, the Apostle Paul clearly stated that the Gospel is the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. He died to take away our sins and rose to defeat death, but why does the Bible emphasize His burial?
In first-century Israel, when a Jewish person died, they were embalmed, wrapped in linen, and buried in a tomb. That is what Jesus did with our sins. Paul also wrote in Galatians 2, "I am crucified with Christ…" Not only have we been crucified with Christ, but we have also been buried with Christ. Your past isn't just dead; it's buried.
The point is that if you are a believer in Jesus Christ, your old life is buried. Through His death, burial, and resurrection, you can be raised to live a new life of victory.
Are you preyed upon by buzzards of guilt? Is the devil buzzing around the bloated carcass of your old life? Does the stench of past sins remind you of the person you once were? Is the disease of your past killing your present?
You don’t have to live defeated. If you are a Christian, your past is dead and buried. Let the dead stay buried and go on with your life.
The Overcomer: God's Answers to Overcoming Life's Greatest Challenges
Do You Feel Lucky?
“He that receiveth you receiveth me, and he that receiveth me receiveth him that sent me.”, Matthew 10:40
Many years ago, before we were married, my future wife's parents invited me to their home for a visit. Amanda and I had been dating for a while. I suppose her mom and dad realized they would not get rid of me, so they invited me to stay for a couple of days to get to know me better.
When I arrived, Amanda’s mom said, “We want you to feel welcome.” I said, “Thank you.” She said, “No. You don’t understand. We really want you to feel welcome. We want you to feel like you are part of the family.” I smiled and said, “I really appreciate your hospitality.”
I stayed in the bedroom of their youngest daughter, Amy, who bunked with Amanda. It was a little awkward to stay in the room of a thirteen-year-old girl. The bed was very small, and my feet hung over the end. Stuffed animals covered the bed, and the blankets were pink. It was not very manly, but I didn't mind. I looked forward to relaxing. My plan was to sleep in the following day.
I was awakened early by a knock. I opened my eyes and looked at the red digital clock. It was 4:45 in the morning. Amanda's dad knocked at the door. He said, "Today is spirit day at school, and Amy needs her red shirt." I said, "Come on in." He came in with Amy. They turned on the light and started digging through the closet. It was 4:45 in the morning.
Amanda’s parents had a dog. His name was Lucky. Lucky was not a small dog. He was a giant, gray Weimaraner. He must have weighed a hundred pounds. Lucky ran through the open door, jumped onto the bed, and attempted to get under the covers. He grabbed the pink blankets with his teeth and started to pull them off me. It was 4:45 in the morning.
Amanda's dad and sister were still searching for the red shirt. They paid no attention to the dog. After a minute, Lucky let go of the blankets, but he licked my face and nibbled my ear. All the while, Amanda's dad and her sister continued to look for the shirt. It was 4:46 in the morning.
Amanda came in and started helping them. Three people were in the room looking for a red shirt. The lights were on, and the dog was trying to rip my ear off. It was 4:47 in the morning.
Amanda’s mom walked into the room. The entire family was there – Amanda, her sister, her mom, and her dad. They all searched for the red shirt. Lucky the dog chewed on my ear. Nobody paid attention to Lucky. I thought I should jump up and scream, “Let me help you all find that red shirt!” It was 4:48 in the morning.
Twenty minutes went by. They destroyed the bedroom…but they never found the red shirt.
They walked out, turned out the light, closed the door, and left Lucky on the bed with me.
My hair and face were wet from dog slobber. Lucky had his teeth clenched on my ear.
After a minute, Amanda's mom opened the door and called the dog. I heard her scream as she slammed the door, "You left the dog in there. You are going to wake James up if you're not careful. We want him to feel welcome!"
Looking back, I don’t know if I felt welcome, but I sure felt Lucky.
Sometimes, we treat Jesus the same way. We say, “Jesus, You are welcome in my house, but don't enter the computer room. There are some things in there that I like to look at, but I don't want You to see."
Jesus, You are welcome but don’t look at my television. There are programs that I watch, but I don’t want You to see them.
Jesus, I want to welcome You into my heart because I don’t want to go to hell, but you can’t own everything. You can’t be welcome everywhere in my life.
In the tenth chapter of Matthew, Jesus said, “He that receiveth you receiveth me, and he that receiveth me receiveth him that sent me.” In other words, we should receive or welcome Jesus into every area of our lives.
The point is that Jesus can't be your Savior if He is not your Lord.
Will you welcome Him into every area of your life?
Many years ago, before we were married, my future wife's parents invited me to their home for a visit. Amanda and I had been dating for a while. I suppose her mom and dad realized they would not get rid of me, so they invited me to stay for a couple of days to get to know me better.
When I arrived, Amanda’s mom said, “We want you to feel welcome.” I said, “Thank you.” She said, “No. You don’t understand. We really want you to feel welcome. We want you to feel like you are part of the family.” I smiled and said, “I really appreciate your hospitality.”
I stayed in the bedroom of their youngest daughter, Amy, who bunked with Amanda. It was a little awkward to stay in the room of a thirteen-year-old girl. The bed was very small, and my feet hung over the end. Stuffed animals covered the bed, and the blankets were pink. It was not very manly, but I didn't mind. I looked forward to relaxing. My plan was to sleep in the following day.
I was awakened early by a knock. I opened my eyes and looked at the red digital clock. It was 4:45 in the morning. Amanda's dad knocked at the door. He said, "Today is spirit day at school, and Amy needs her red shirt." I said, "Come on in." He came in with Amy. They turned on the light and started digging through the closet. It was 4:45 in the morning.
Amanda’s parents had a dog. His name was Lucky. Lucky was not a small dog. He was a giant, gray Weimaraner. He must have weighed a hundred pounds. Lucky ran through the open door, jumped onto the bed, and attempted to get under the covers. He grabbed the pink blankets with his teeth and started to pull them off me. It was 4:45 in the morning.
Amanda's dad and sister were still searching for the red shirt. They paid no attention to the dog. After a minute, Lucky let go of the blankets, but he licked my face and nibbled my ear. All the while, Amanda's dad and her sister continued to look for the shirt. It was 4:46 in the morning.
Amanda came in and started helping them. Three people were in the room looking for a red shirt. The lights were on, and the dog was trying to rip my ear off. It was 4:47 in the morning.
Amanda’s mom walked into the room. The entire family was there – Amanda, her sister, her mom, and her dad. They all searched for the red shirt. Lucky the dog chewed on my ear. Nobody paid attention to Lucky. I thought I should jump up and scream, “Let me help you all find that red shirt!” It was 4:48 in the morning.
Twenty minutes went by. They destroyed the bedroom…but they never found the red shirt.
They walked out, turned out the light, closed the door, and left Lucky on the bed with me.
My hair and face were wet from dog slobber. Lucky had his teeth clenched on my ear.
After a minute, Amanda's mom opened the door and called the dog. I heard her scream as she slammed the door, "You left the dog in there. You are going to wake James up if you're not careful. We want him to feel welcome!"
Looking back, I don’t know if I felt welcome, but I sure felt Lucky.
Sometimes, we treat Jesus the same way. We say, “Jesus, You are welcome in my house, but don't enter the computer room. There are some things in there that I like to look at, but I don't want You to see."
Jesus, You are welcome but don’t look at my television. There are programs that I watch, but I don’t want You to see them.
Jesus, I want to welcome You into my heart because I don’t want to go to hell, but you can’t own everything. You can’t be welcome everywhere in my life.
In the tenth chapter of Matthew, Jesus said, “He that receiveth you receiveth me, and he that receiveth me receiveth him that sent me.” In other words, we should receive or welcome Jesus into every area of our lives.
The point is that Jesus can't be your Savior if He is not your Lord.
Will you welcome Him into every area of your life?
The Periodic Pen
“For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Romans 6:23
I understand people today don’t believe in spanking kids, but I was raised in a different time. Spanking was a daily occurrence for me.
Corporal punishment was still in the public school system when I was growing up. I used to get spankings at school. At my school, they used the Board of Education, which was a wooden paddle.
In the eighth grade, we studied the periodic table of elements in science. I struggled to memorize it and was as lost as a goose in a snowstorm.
Who came up with those abbreviations anyway? Some of them made sense. For example, hydrogen is H. Oxygen is O. But some don’t make sense. Take potassium, for example. Potassium is K. There isn’t even a K in the word potassium. Sodium is NA. I thought NA meant “not applicable.” Silver is AG. Isn’t AG the abbreviation for agriculture?
In the eighth grade, I could not remember the periodic table for the life of me. A big test on the periodic table was coming up, so I decided to cheat.
I took a clear plastic ink pen and copied the periodic table on a small piece of paper. Then, I rolled up the paper and put it inside the pen. All I had to do was look at the pen for the test answers.
My plan would have worked if not for my cousin, Bubba. Bubba’s real name was Jimmy Joe Jeff Johnny Paul Ray Elmer Junior. But that was a mouthful. We called him Bubba.
Bubba was in Mr. Alford’s Science Class with me. On the test day, he sat at the desk behind me.
When the test started, things were going great. Thanks to the periodic pen, I was filling in all the blanks on the test.
Suddenly, Bubba whispered, “What’s the abbreviation for Mercury?” I tried to ignore him because I didn’t want to get caught.
He was persistent. He asked again louder, “What’s the abbreviation for Mercury?” I still didn’t answer.
Finally, Bubba stood up and said, “Mr. Alford, my pen quit writing. Can I borrow James’ pen?”
Mr. Alford walked over, took the pen, and marched me into the hall. Mr. Alford had my pen and the paddle in one hand. It was a bad day after that.
I cheated, got caught, and had to pay the price.
The point is not just about the consequences of cheating but the broader concept of sin. Just as I faced consequences for my actions, there are consequences when we sin and disobey God. God is just; because He is, He must punish sin. This is a lesson I learned the hard way and one I hope you can take to heart.
The Bible says the wages of sin is death. For the lost, it means death in hell. For the Christian, it can mean physical death pre-maturely. Sometimes, God will kill a Christian if that person loses his testimony and lives like a non-Christian. Sin brings physical death.
Sin can also bring death to your marriage, to joy in your life, and to your relationships. Sin destroys. Sin kills.
However, God has given us a gift: His Son, Jesus Christ. Eternal life waits for those who call on Him in repentance for salvation. Get off the path that leads to death. Get on the highway to Heaven. Turn to Christ today.
I understand people today don’t believe in spanking kids, but I was raised in a different time. Spanking was a daily occurrence for me.
Corporal punishment was still in the public school system when I was growing up. I used to get spankings at school. At my school, they used the Board of Education, which was a wooden paddle.
In the eighth grade, we studied the periodic table of elements in science. I struggled to memorize it and was as lost as a goose in a snowstorm.
Who came up with those abbreviations anyway? Some of them made sense. For example, hydrogen is H. Oxygen is O. But some don’t make sense. Take potassium, for example. Potassium is K. There isn’t even a K in the word potassium. Sodium is NA. I thought NA meant “not applicable.” Silver is AG. Isn’t AG the abbreviation for agriculture?
In the eighth grade, I could not remember the periodic table for the life of me. A big test on the periodic table was coming up, so I decided to cheat.
I took a clear plastic ink pen and copied the periodic table on a small piece of paper. Then, I rolled up the paper and put it inside the pen. All I had to do was look at the pen for the test answers.
My plan would have worked if not for my cousin, Bubba. Bubba’s real name was Jimmy Joe Jeff Johnny Paul Ray Elmer Junior. But that was a mouthful. We called him Bubba.
Bubba was in Mr. Alford’s Science Class with me. On the test day, he sat at the desk behind me.
When the test started, things were going great. Thanks to the periodic pen, I was filling in all the blanks on the test.
Suddenly, Bubba whispered, “What’s the abbreviation for Mercury?” I tried to ignore him because I didn’t want to get caught.
He was persistent. He asked again louder, “What’s the abbreviation for Mercury?” I still didn’t answer.
Finally, Bubba stood up and said, “Mr. Alford, my pen quit writing. Can I borrow James’ pen?”
Mr. Alford walked over, took the pen, and marched me into the hall. Mr. Alford had my pen and the paddle in one hand. It was a bad day after that.
I cheated, got caught, and had to pay the price.
The point is not just about the consequences of cheating but the broader concept of sin. Just as I faced consequences for my actions, there are consequences when we sin and disobey God. God is just; because He is, He must punish sin. This is a lesson I learned the hard way and one I hope you can take to heart.
The Bible says the wages of sin is death. For the lost, it means death in hell. For the Christian, it can mean physical death pre-maturely. Sometimes, God will kill a Christian if that person loses his testimony and lives like a non-Christian. Sin brings physical death.
Sin can also bring death to your marriage, to joy in your life, and to your relationships. Sin destroys. Sin kills.
However, God has given us a gift: His Son, Jesus Christ. Eternal life waits for those who call on Him in repentance for salvation. Get off the path that leads to death. Get on the highway to Heaven. Turn to Christ today.
He Never Said a Word
“Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him: but weep sore for him that goeth away: for he shall return no more, nor see his native country.” Jeremiah 22:10
His name was Pickering, but everyone called him “Pick.” He never spoke to me, but I talked to him. That was all I could do—talk. He never answered me. Pick never said anything to me, but his silence spoke volumes. In his quiet presence, I found a friend who changed my life.
On July 9, 2010, I was serving in the Army as the Combat Army Support Hospital (CASH) Chaplain at Contingency Operating Base (COB) Adder in Southern Iraq. That was the day Pick came into my life. He was brought into the hospital by air ambulance. He was unresponsive.
I stood at the head of the gurney while the doctors and hospital staff worked to save Pick. I leaned close to his ear and said, “I’m Chaplain Collins. You are at the hospital. The doctors working on you are the best in the Army. Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.” He never spoke back. His eyes remained closed, and his expression never changed.
I have always believed hearing is the last of the senses to go before someone dies. So, I prayed for Pick. I whispered in his ear. Only he could hear me. The medical personnel were oblivious to my prayer as they frantically worked to save his life.
I realized I didn’t know his name. The field medics had cut his uniform off, but a silver chain hung around his neck. On that chain were his identification tags and a little silver cross. Identification tags are also known as “dog” tags. I reached down, took his dog tags, and read his name. HORACE PICKERING.
I leaned into his ear and said, “Hello, Horace.” I smiled and joked, “What kind of a name is Horace? Who names their kid Horace? I bet they call you Pick. Can I call you Pick? We can forget rank, and you can call me James. I am glad to meet you, Pick.” The expression on his face never changed.
One of the medics who came in with Pick screamed, “We are losing him again!” Again? I later learned Pick died twice in the field, and the medics resuscitated him twice. The crash cart was wheeled over, and his heart was shocked. He started breathing again. I whispered, “That a boy. Hang on. Stay with me.”
Pick was finally stabilized, but he was in terrible shape. A ventilator breathed for him. The doctor believed he had been too long without oxygen. The prognosis was not good. The doctor said, “He’s already dead. The machine is the only thing keeping him alive.” I whispered to Pick, “Ignore him. What do doctors know anyway?”
I prayed again. I asked God to save this man’s life.
I pulled a chair up next to his bed. I sat there all night and just talked to him.
Four soldiers from Pick’s unit came to the hospital the next day. We stood around his bed and cried. They said “goodbye” and went back to the war. I stayed by his bedside. He had nobody else. I determined he would not die alone. I sat with him for three days. I held his hand. I talked to him, but he never said a word.
On July 12, 2010, three days after Pick was brought into the hospital, the doctor walked in and pulled a chair up next to me. He said, “Chaplain, I have been on the phone with his family. We are going to turn off the ventilator.” Hot tears rolled down my face. I nodded in agreement.
I stood up and moved back to the head of the bed. As the medical team turned off the machines, I whispered, “It has been a pleasure. I will see you again.”
Then he was gone…
Horace Pickering never said a word to me, but what his death said to me was to make each day count. Before I met him, I was focused on myself and my career, often to the detriment of my family. The time I spent with Pick changed me. A job will not be there to hold your hand when you die. Pick’s death reminds me to cherish everyone in my life and never take them for granted. It’s the people in our lives that truly matter.
Take a walk with your spouse and hold hands. Play games with your kids. Call your parents. Go to church with your grandma. Go fishing with your grandpa. Spend time with your grandkids. Help your neighbor. Take some food over to a sick friend. Make each day count. There may come a time when you wish you could, but it may be too late.
I learned that from Pick, even though he never said a word.
This Memorial Day Weekend, people will come up to me and say, “Thank you for your service.” However, this weekend is not about me or my service. Memorial Day is about a young man named Horace Pickering and the many, many other men and women like him who left their country to never return.
I hope you enjoy your weekend cookout. I hope you enjoy a Monday off work. I hope you enjoy weekend activities with your family. I will enjoy all of those things too, but, God willing, I will spend some time on Monday honoring our nation’s military fallen… and I will cry for my friend, Pick, even though he never said a word.
His name was Pickering, but everyone called him “Pick.” He never spoke to me, but I talked to him. That was all I could do—talk. He never answered me. Pick never said anything to me, but his silence spoke volumes. In his quiet presence, I found a friend who changed my life.
On July 9, 2010, I was serving in the Army as the Combat Army Support Hospital (CASH) Chaplain at Contingency Operating Base (COB) Adder in Southern Iraq. That was the day Pick came into my life. He was brought into the hospital by air ambulance. He was unresponsive.
I stood at the head of the gurney while the doctors and hospital staff worked to save Pick. I leaned close to his ear and said, “I’m Chaplain Collins. You are at the hospital. The doctors working on you are the best in the Army. Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.” He never spoke back. His eyes remained closed, and his expression never changed.
I have always believed hearing is the last of the senses to go before someone dies. So, I prayed for Pick. I whispered in his ear. Only he could hear me. The medical personnel were oblivious to my prayer as they frantically worked to save his life.
I realized I didn’t know his name. The field medics had cut his uniform off, but a silver chain hung around his neck. On that chain were his identification tags and a little silver cross. Identification tags are also known as “dog” tags. I reached down, took his dog tags, and read his name. HORACE PICKERING.
I leaned into his ear and said, “Hello, Horace.” I smiled and joked, “What kind of a name is Horace? Who names their kid Horace? I bet they call you Pick. Can I call you Pick? We can forget rank, and you can call me James. I am glad to meet you, Pick.” The expression on his face never changed.
One of the medics who came in with Pick screamed, “We are losing him again!” Again? I later learned Pick died twice in the field, and the medics resuscitated him twice. The crash cart was wheeled over, and his heart was shocked. He started breathing again. I whispered, “That a boy. Hang on. Stay with me.”
Pick was finally stabilized, but he was in terrible shape. A ventilator breathed for him. The doctor believed he had been too long without oxygen. The prognosis was not good. The doctor said, “He’s already dead. The machine is the only thing keeping him alive.” I whispered to Pick, “Ignore him. What do doctors know anyway?”
I prayed again. I asked God to save this man’s life.
I pulled a chair up next to his bed. I sat there all night and just talked to him.
Four soldiers from Pick’s unit came to the hospital the next day. We stood around his bed and cried. They said “goodbye” and went back to the war. I stayed by his bedside. He had nobody else. I determined he would not die alone. I sat with him for three days. I held his hand. I talked to him, but he never said a word.
On July 12, 2010, three days after Pick was brought into the hospital, the doctor walked in and pulled a chair up next to me. He said, “Chaplain, I have been on the phone with his family. We are going to turn off the ventilator.” Hot tears rolled down my face. I nodded in agreement.
I stood up and moved back to the head of the bed. As the medical team turned off the machines, I whispered, “It has been a pleasure. I will see you again.”
Then he was gone…
Horace Pickering never said a word to me, but what his death said to me was to make each day count. Before I met him, I was focused on myself and my career, often to the detriment of my family. The time I spent with Pick changed me. A job will not be there to hold your hand when you die. Pick’s death reminds me to cherish everyone in my life and never take them for granted. It’s the people in our lives that truly matter.
Take a walk with your spouse and hold hands. Play games with your kids. Call your parents. Go to church with your grandma. Go fishing with your grandpa. Spend time with your grandkids. Help your neighbor. Take some food over to a sick friend. Make each day count. There may come a time when you wish you could, but it may be too late.
I learned that from Pick, even though he never said a word.
This Memorial Day Weekend, people will come up to me and say, “Thank you for your service.” However, this weekend is not about me or my service. Memorial Day is about a young man named Horace Pickering and the many, many other men and women like him who left their country to never return.
I hope you enjoy your weekend cookout. I hope you enjoy a Monday off work. I hope you enjoy weekend activities with your family. I will enjoy all of those things too, but, God willing, I will spend some time on Monday honoring our nation’s military fallen… and I will cry for my friend, Pick, even though he never said a word.
