One Monday morning, the mother of one of my novice academics asked if she could have a birthday party for her daughter in the classroom on the following Friday. The day came, and after the mother’s frenetic preparation, we all entered the room. She had turned our little classroom into a birthday kingdom! The walls and table were lavishly decorated; multicolored streamers on from the ceiling, and a balloon within a balloon was tied to the back of each chair. At each seat was a ribbon tied cellophane bag of party favors. The only exception was the birthday girl, who was surrounded by a huge pile of beautifully wrapped gifts.
At the far end of the table sat Johnny. Johnny kept doing the same thing over and over. He would look at his little bag of party favors, then at the birthday ’s mound of gifts, fold his arms, stick out his lower lip, and let out an audible humph! Each time, the look on his face got more ugly and his humphing got more audible. Before long he had become the center of attention and was well on his way to spoiling the party. Then one of the mothers walked over and knelt beside him. She turned his chair so Johnny was looking directly into her face, and she spoke these profound words: “Johnny, it’s not your party!”
[Paul David Tripp, Instruments In the Redeemer's Hands (P & R Publishers, 2002), p. 34]
3 comments:
You have one of those hyperactive filters that won't let you post the word "girl," don't you?
Thanks again. I ought to send these to you before I post them so you can edit them for me.
You don't do this for Doug do you?
D'you think I could make a living at that...editing people's blog posts? Doing it pro bono seems to be an occupational hazard for me...similar to my inability to spend time in a bookstore without straightening a shelf, even though I haven't worked in a bookstore in about 15 years.
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