I READ A STORY ABOUT AN AMERICAN who was traveling in the Middle East and had the opportunity to talk with a political figure, and in the course of the conversation he brought up the subject of Christianity. The American told the official that Christians believe God has given us three revelations of Himself. “We too believe that,” said the official, who was a Muslim.

“We believe God revealed Himself in the works of creation,” said the American. “We also believe that,” the other responded. The American continued, “We believe God has revealed Himself in a book—the Bible.” The Muslim answered, “We too believe God has revealed Himself in a book—the Koran.” The American declared, “We believe God has revealed Himself in a man—Jesus Christ.” “We also believe God has revealed Himself in a man,” replied the official—the prophet Mohammed.” “We believe,” added the American, “that Jesus is able to substantiate His claims because He arose from the dead.” The Muslim hesitated, then his eyes fell. Finally he replied, “We have no information concerning our prophet after his death.”

More than chocolate bunnies, fancy dresses, and spring vacation. Easter is power surging, life-giving, Resurrection! The living Son of God came from heaven to be mocked, spat upon, pierced, and crucified for us, then arose and ascended for us so that we can live forever!

On Monday morning after Easter, a pastor was leaving his church when he noticed “the flower lady.” She had been there for several days. At her feet, corsages and boutonnieres were parading on top of a spread-open newspaper. She was smiling, her wrinkled old face alive with some inner joy. On impulse, the pastor turned and picked out a flower. As he put it in his lapel, he said, “You look happy this morning.” “Why not? Everything is good.” The flower lady was dressed so shabbily and seemed so old that her reply startled him. “You’ve been sitting here for many years now, haven’t you? And you’re always smiling. You wear your troubles well.”
“Well, you can’t reach my age and not have troubles,” she replied. “Only it’s like Jesus and good Friday…” She paused for a moment…” You see, when Jesus was crucified on Good Friday, that was the worst day for the world. And when I get troubles I remember that. And then I think of what happened three days later---our Lord rising from the dead. So when I get troubles, I’ve learned to wait three days…somehow everything gets all right again.”

A FEW YEARS AGO, I had the privilege of attending a conference at which time Charles “Tremendous” Jones was the keynote speaker. He was a great storyteller and motivator. I believe his goal in life was to encourage people to dream big—to think positively. His whole premise was how tremendous it was to be learning that no matter how big you see things or how simple you keep them, you’ll never reach the ultimate. No one has ever seen things as big as they could have been or kept them as simple as they might be. Sometimes we do well in one area at the expense of the other—like the little boy on the corner with his flip-flop puppy.

A salesman passed the corner each day, and after a week he began to pity the boy who was striving to sell his puppy. Somehow he new the boy did not see the big picture. One day he stopped and said, “Listen, son, do you really want to sell that pup?” The boy said, “I sure do.” “Well,” said the salesman, “You’re never going to sell him until you learn to see it big. What I mean is, take this pup home, clean him up, doll him up, raise your price, make people think they’re getting something really great, and you’ll sell him.”

That noon the salesman came by and there was the boy with his pup that was groomed, perfumed, and had a big red ribbon tied around his neck. Alongside was a big sign that read, “TREMDOUS PUPPY FOR SALE---$5,000!” The salesman gulped as he realized that he had forgotten to tell the boy about keeping it simple.

That evening he stopped by to tell the boy the other half of the formula, only to discover that the boy was gone, the puppy was gone and the sign lay there with “SOLD” written across it in big letters.

The salesman couldn’t believe it. This kid couldn’t have sold the dog for $5,000. His curiosity got the best of him and he rang the boy’s doorbell. The boy came to the door and the salesman blurted, “Son, you didn’t really sell that pup for $5,000 now, did you?” The boy replied, “Yes, sir, I did and I want to thank you for all your help.” The salesman said, “How in the world did you do it?” The boy replied, “Oh, it was easy. I just took two $2,500 cats in exchange!”

THIS PRIVACY ISSUE HAS GONE TOO FAR in my opinion! Return with me for a few moments to the pre-op prep room at one of our local hospitals. Listen in as the attending nurse goes over a list of questions regarding my health history and current situation. She goes over a litany of ills from sexuality to sanity. Then one last question: “Do you mind if we say your name out-loud?” “What?” I ask. “Could you repeat that again?” She did, and I said, with a tone of disbelief, “Of course not.”

What sort of madness is this about? I can only think of a few categories of individuals that would want to remain anonymous:

1. Fugitives
2. Dead-beat dads
3. Men who ran away from the marriage altar
4. Celebrities
5. Illegal aliens
6. Debtors
7. Terrorists

There are, of course, situations that demand privacy, but have we gone over the top on this issue? I must admit that I don’t want the government, or anyone else, for that matter, poking their noses into my personal life, but it seems to me that there is a whole lot of difference between stealing my ID and speaking my name. Frankly, I was glad when I entered the operating room that the surgical team addressed me by name. Suppose they hadn’t and they somehow mistakenly confused me with the guy in the suite next to mine who was scheduled for brain surgery!

Common sense! That’s what I’m calling for. If I had said “No” to their request, would they have put a name tag on me? Probably not, because I already had one on my wrist, which is an invasion of my body, and is kind of a joke because I had already surrendered my entire self to the pleasure of the staff. I suppose they could have used another option: a number! I can just hear the surgeon now: “Good morning, 44, how are today? Are you ready to get this gall bladder out?”
Oh well, just some rambling thoughts from a discharged patient who has nothing better to do while cooped up.