hotel

Alright, husbands, here we go. Today’s the big day. It’s time to muster our level best and not drop the ball on Valentine’s Day.

It’s not too late to make plans, or give them an upgrade — though it might be hard work scrambling at the last minute.

Even so, sometimes our best of Valentine’s intentions go awry. And when we botch it, at least we should try to learn something from it.

Here’s what John Piper learned (perhaps among other things) from botching a Valentine’s dinner. He told the story one Easter Sunday in the sermon “Irrevocable Joy.” (The Scripture text is the words of Jesus in John 16:22: “You have sorrow now, but I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.”)

Noël and I went downtown for a special Valentine’s Day dinner last February 14. It was one of the many dates I have botched over the 20 years of our marriage. The restaurant I had chosen especially for her was closed. It was cold as we walked around trying to find another one. We wound up at a fast food place in the center of the city sitting by a window overlooking 8th Street.We sat there looking around at this great city. The street was dark and almost deserted. There was trash in the gutter. The little street level shops seemed worn and chintzy. The few people walking around gave the appearance that made you wonder whether more cocaine might be sold that night than chow mein and egg rolls.

The glitzy hotel facades looked pretty weak against the darkness — like they were hoping against hope that rich people would want to come down and spend some time here. The magnificent new lighting of the Norwest Bank building that gives a fairyland flavor to the Minneapolis skyline sheds no light on the streets beneath. The doors were locked.

I got the eerie feeling that this exploding downtown, this urban pearl and pride of the upper Midwest, with all its upscale shops and classy hotels and stunning skyscrapers, is built on sand. I got the sinking feeling in my stomach that the millions and millions of dollars that have been poured into downtown Minneapolis could, with just the slightest turn of popular displeasure, become a billion dollar boondoggle — a dark, sleazy, dirty downtown slum where nobody wants to be.

The Fragility of This Life and World

Piper continues,

I mention this just to illustrate how even the big enterprises of our life and culture are very fragile. We plan and we save and we build, and things look good and successful, and then it starts to collapse. And we can’t believe it. Nobody comes to shop. Nobody rents the office space. Retailers begin to leave. The streets are deserted. The hotels can’t pull the conventions. Restaurants close. The pushers move in. The gangs take over. And pretty soon the unthinkable has happened. The pearl is ruined. The Timberwolves don’t stay. The new convention center can’t fill its schedule. And all that’s left is cheap sleaze and empty buildings.It has happened elsewhere. It could happen here. And it can happen in your own life. We are very fragile. Not much is sure and firm and solid in our lives. That’s why this word from Jesus is very precious to me. “No one will take your joy from you.” You’ve heard of unconditional guarantees — warranties that seem too good to be true? Have you ever heard of any product that says: “In this you will find pleasure and no one will take your pleasure from you”? If you read that on some box or bottle, you would smirk and call it marketing ballyhoo.

But that’s what Jesus says. Minneapolis may come “a-tumblin’ down,” and all the money be lost and the dreams be dashed, but, “No one will take your joy from you.”

by David Mathis

Mulţi

Ani,

România!!!

Mama…Poveste scrisă

de Dan Puric

Intr-o zi, asteptand sa vina liftul la parterul unui hotel am vazut, intr-un tarziu, cum, in pragul usilor automate care se deschideau, a aparut faptura blanda a unui copilas de o mare frumusete. In spate, discreta ca o umbra, mama lui.

Dar, vai, la prima miscare pe care a facut-o, mi-am dat seama ca pustiul suferea de un handicap. Se misca greu, cu o incordare a intregului sau trupusor ce facea ca aerul sa se crispeze. Isi indrepta ochii rugatori spre mama sa si apoi, simtind sprijinul, indrazni sa paseasca. Dar pasul acela era cat o Golgota, nu pentrul sufletul lui, inca nestiutor, cat pentru biata sa mama.

Si astfel, de acolo, din lift am vazut cum a coborat dragostea absoluta a mamei pentru copilul ei. Zeci de brate invizibile se intindeau in jurul lui ca aerul sa nu-l sfarame, sau ca privirea curioasa a celor din jur sa nu-i raneasca sufletul mai mult decat o facuse viata. Il apara parca, mangaindu-l incontinuu.

Si, nu stiu de ce, in clipa aceea am avut revelatia ca asa trebuia iubit si acest popor roman de o frumusete rara, dar handicapat de o istorie mizerabila.

M-am gandit instantaneu ca numai dragostea materna, cu dimensiunea ei absoluta ce putea iubi neclintit in fata istoriei potrivnice, ne mai poate ridica din tragedia prezenta.

Dragostea de mama are ceva din dragostea lui Dumnezeu catre om, este acea “dragoste care nu cade niciodata”.

Oare, astfel de mame nu sunt in fond niste martiri anonimi, ce zilnic isi ascund jertfa in tresaririle tacute ale fiintei?

Si, de ce oare, m-a dus gandul ca la o prabusire dureroasa in gol, la poporul roman ?

Pesemne ca am fost rapit de amintirea acelui biet preot de tara care, in timp ce neamul romanesc gemea sub piroanele criminale ale comunismului ce-ncerca sa-i zdrobeasca atata trupul cat si fiinta, indraznea sa spuna :”Ideologiile nu sunt bune pentru ca nu au mama”.

Am citit candva o mica povestioara. Se spune ca, intr-o companie comerciala, un om tanar si cumsecade a murit. Mare a fost durerea colegilor sai, cand au vazut ce s-a intamplat, dar mai mare a fost surprinderea cand au aflat, nu se stie cum, ca sufletul bietului om, ajunsese in iad.

Iar povestea spune mai departe cum, revoltati, acestia s-au dus pana la portile Iadului ca sa-l scoata de acolo. Dar, cu toate rugamintile si eforturile, nu au reusit.

Apoi a venit directorul companiei, care s-a dus la randul sau sa-i roage pe cei care ii rapisera sufletul bietului om, sa-l elibereze. Dar totul a fost zadarnic.

Disperati, in cele din urma, oamenii au apelat la episcopul locului, sa-ncerce sa faca ceva. Dar si in fata acestuia, portile Infernului au ramas inchise. Si astfel, peste toata aceasta nedreptate, zilele treceau fara speranta, adancind durerea celor care il iubeau.

Pana cand, intr-o dimineata, in fata portii Iadului, cu pasi marunti, garbovita parca de o durere care-i tinea inima ca intr-un cleste, aparu o batranica.

-“Tu, cine mai esti?”rasuna vocea, o voce inspaimantatoare coborata ca un trasnet din neantul Infernului.

Necutremurata de nimic, decat de propria-i durere, batrana raspunse:

_”Sunt mama lui. Lasati-ma sa intru! “

Si abia atunci, ca prin minune, portile Iadului s-au deschis, s-au deschis pentru intaia oara iar mama a intrat acolo ca sa-si salveze fiul.

Niciun copil din lume nu a crescut vreodata atat de mult fata de mama lui, incat sa poata sa nu-i spuna mama. Ce sfanta ierarhie!

De cand am fost mic si pana-n ultima ei clipa, mama imi dadea un sfat:

-“Dragul mamei, nu-ti arata inima oricui!”

Si nu stiu de ce, atunci cand imi spunea adevarul acesta, frumosii ei ochi albastri, erau strafulgerati pentru o clipa de o indefinita tristete. Parca ar fi vrut sa ma apere pentru tot restul vietii, si realiza ca nu putea.

Dureroasa fatalitate, ce o facea sa-si traiasca viata din inabusite strangeri de inima, infinite griji ce-i marcau necrutator fiinta.

O asiguram instinctiv ca totul o sa fie bine. Ca apoi, pe ascuns, sa ma arunc in valurile vietii. Iar viata, imi cerea sa nu imi ascund inima si abia atunci, destinul indiferent o lovea cu tarie, zdrobind-o.

Prabusit, dezamagit cumplit de tradarile vietii, ma-ntorceam in mica ei garsoniera.

Mama se facea ca nu-mi vede rana adanca ce ma-ngenunchease. Imi facea de mancare, apoi imi intindea masa avand grija sa am in farfurie bucatile cele mai bune.

-“Lasa, dragul mamei, ca trece si asta!”

Inima mea se refacea incet-incet, oblojita de invizibile si tandre mangaieri.

N-aveam de unde sa stiu ca, vindecat, plecand apoi, inima ei ramanea cuprinsa de un suvoi de tristete, coplesita de singuratati.

Se spune ca in “realitatea de Rai” oamenii aveau trupul acoperit de haina de har a inimii. Si atunci, oamenii isi vorbeau de la inima la inima. Ce minune facuse Dumnezeu, cand spusese ca “totul o sa fie la vedere!”

Dar, ce cumplit ca acest “totul”a fost distrus, mai apoi, prin pacat. Si atunci, de rusine, se spune ca inima s-a ascuns in trup.

“Trei inimi ai in tine, muritorule!” spun sfintii, “Cea a lui Dumnezeu, cea a sufletului tau si cea de carne si sange prin care curge viata . Si toate trei bat dimpreuna. Dar atunci cand in tine, inima Domnului nu mai bate, sa stii ca esti in moarte sufleteasca.

Dar eu, simt ca langa inima lui Dumnezeu, mai este o inima …cea a mamei.

Iar cand aceasta nu mai bate…esti singur!