I stopped at the corner convenience store on my way home from the gym.  Dressed in my workout duds, I purchased a bottle of water to guzzle on the way home.  As I walked to my car, a young man said to me as I stepped into my car, “Please forgive me.”  The door almost closed when I realized that he was speaking to me.

Fumbling with my keys so that I could lower my window, I replied, “Come again?”  He said, “Forgive me for blowing smoke from my cigarette in your direction as you walked by.”

Frankly, I had not noticed.   I was on my way home, and my thoughts were on getting there, and quickly.  But I had to stop.  “You know, you should not be doing that in the first place, especially at your age.  However, I had not noticed, but thank you for your politeness!”  We continued to talk together.  He told me he was nineteen, and was in the National Guard.  But, then he said, “I would like to stop smoking, but it so hard.”  That statement prompted something profound from my mouth, that I had not planned on saying, but as I thought about it later, and especially these past few days since this took place.  I quickly uttered “Anything that is worth doing is never easy.”

Since then, I have reflected on those words.  There are 365 days a year.  Multiply that by how many years you have walked on this earth (for me more than 21,000!), and you begin to get the picture that there have been a lot of life events.  There have been a lot of days driving to and from work.  A lot of days (when I was younger) going to and from school.  There have been a lot of hours watching television.  There have been a lot of days mowing the yard.  There have been a lot of days working and wrenching on cars.  There have been a lot of meals eaten (with a lot of bites for each meal).  There have been a lot of church services I have attended.  There have been a lot of sermons I have preached.  There have been a lot of songs listened to on the stereo, and a lot of songs picked out on the guitar.

So here is a test.  What do you remember the most from the days you have walked this earth?  What are your most vivid memories?  You would think it were the things that you did repeatedly.  But it is not.  Instead, it is the things that were hard – that you had to work for – that you had to stretch your faith – that you had to test your values – those are the ones that you remember.

I remember starting a church.  Starting with my family in my living room,  we scratched together a core group, found a venue – failing – trying another venue – an alternate day of the week – eeking out a little money to do some marketing – the first public launch service – wondering if anyone would show up – if anyone would return!  I remember the temperature, the color of the outdoor lights, the sounds and sights as if it were yesterday – because it was a day that stretched me, and made me rely on faith and prayer.  I remember our children’s births.  I remember the days of Cathy living through those pregnancies, in the heat of summer in the South, and the cold of winter in the West.  I remember the days that I first saw them and the joy it brought me because there were no guarantees, no security, no rest, and the overwhelming thoughts that I had to live for someone else.  My faith and my character were stretched.

We all strive for comfort and ease.  The soft retreat of the recliner in the evening, or the latest techno gizmo that delights us, or the quick meal that pops out of the microwave that requires no work, and very little dishes to wash afterward are the things that our head tells us – assures us – that we have arrived.  But it is the things that we have to work for are the most meaningful.

So, Lord, as I wrap up this season of Lent, craving the fizz of a cola, or the crisp, salty taste of a potato chip, forgive me for living for myself, and not remembering the hard task of the cross, and the abandoning relief of a resting place in the tomb  (when you never had a home, nor memory foam bed, nor big screen TV, and was constantly dealing with difficult people) – and then intentionally rising from the dead (dealing with disbelief and shallowness of people who say believe but abandon you when things got truly tough for them).  The death, burial, and resurrection were hard, but it certainly was worth it.

Thank you for your forgiveness.