Tuesday, January 17, 2006

a good and faithful servant

(this is based on a true story, though some facts have been changed)

The thing about Wes is his passion. Wes is certainly intelligent and hands down, the funniest person I’ve ever known. But what will absolutely amaze you about Wes is his passion.

He was primed to be a missionary, or a minister. Either way, his potential for achieving great things for the glory of God could never be over estimated. He could’ve change the world. I believe that.

But Wes never made it to ministry, at least ‘vocational’ ministry. Wes learned early in his senior year at bible college that his mother had brain cancer and was going to die. Wes never had a father. He never had anyone who took care of him, except his mother. But now the roles had been reversed. Now, she looked out from her bald head to him. It was his turn to be the caretaker. No one could have guessed how long she would survive. As his classmates graduated and went on to take ministry positions all over the world, Wes was living at home in a small, rural town in Indiana. As the years past and his classmates climbed the church ladder, Wes barely ventured outside the walls of his house, existing solely to help his mother live, and live well. And today, this remains to be his existence.

Think of the multitudes he could have baptized. Think of the lives that he would have touched and the lives that they, in turn, would have touched. His mother’s cancer wasn’t confined to her brain; it has spread through out the world, through eternity, killing along the way the opportunity for millions to come to know Christ. Wes’s gifts and talents have gone unused and his humor has slowly faded. His passion, that could’ve have changed the world, has its only outlet in the life of one woman.

This seems to be a horrible waste.

But Wes, I applaud you. To a God who couldn’t care less about our numbers and statistics, you are the minister that your fellow-classmates pretend to be. We may claim the title, but you live the life. What you are doing is more than just honorable, or noble. You are Christ to your mother, everyday and every night. You don’t collect the benefits, but you have earned the heavenly honor. Your hands are dirty and your feet are tired, while we get fat sitting in comfy office chairs. I respect you more than you will ever know. My logic cannot make sense of it, but I believe in the truest realm of reality, the realm that we cannot see or touch (yet), that you have achieved every bit as much as Billy Graham and Rick Warren put together. God is not concerned with our productivity; he is concerned with our hearts. He is concerned with the way we treat his children. One day your mother will breathe out her last breath, and in that moment she will let go of your hand and grab onto the hand of Christ. And a voice will whisper, loud enough to shake the mountains, but so soft that only you will hear, “Well done, you good and faithful servant. Well done.”

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