When we were first married, my husband Gene was introduced to the board game “Risk”. Playing with my two brothers, he quickly found himself in a bad spot, hemmed in on many sides, his armies falling like flies. He was new to the family, and my brothers were kind. They offered him an incredible deal. I can’t remember the details now, but essentially they would protect him from utter annihilation and an early exit from the game. They would give him another chance to develop a strategy and to build up his armies before they sought to destroy him. In exchange, all they asked was that he give up one little country (which, truth be told, he was about to lose anyway). Gene looked at them, as they made this amazing offer, and said, “what’s in it for me?”.
And he was serious.
Poor man. It has been 26 years since that incident, and my family still won’t let him forget it.
This story is funny because Gene just didn’t get it: he was (almost literally) being handed the world on a platter, yet he wanted to make sure he was really getting the best deal, looking out for his own interests. I think it is also funny because I recognize myself in it. “What’s in it for me?” can all too easily be my framework. Looking out for me and mine. And that can translate into expecting God’s particular care and blessings in my life to always look a certain way. Sunshine and roses. Empty parking places when I need them. Smooth paths.
Yet what does the Bible say is in it for us, when we follow Christ?
Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. (Mt. 11:29-30)
Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. (Mt. 16:24)
So hard! We want to teach our children the truth; we don’t want them knocked for a loop when trials enter their lives, on whatever level; and we want to guard and protect them and give them happiness. We believe what Jesus teaches, yet we want what we want.
Here’s another story to make the point. When my girls were 4 and 5, we had a big school campout. All the kids were gathered together one evening, and at the close of the program, the MC tossed a giant bag of candy, so that the pieces were scattered all over the ground. Imagine a pinata, on a much larger scale. Pandemonium ensued, as children scrambled for the candy and grabbed as much as they could.
My girls just stood there. Didn’t move, didn’t get a single piece of candy. This was not a spiritual moment–I think they were just little and scared. I was conflicted. Pleased that they had not joined the fray and pushed to get what they wanted; yet distressed that they were so timid that they didn’t even try; and sad that they ended up with no candy at all. What was in it for them? Setting aside their opportunity to grab for what they could, meant they had zilch.
The beautiful end of this story is that a gentle young man (a middle school student, at the time) noticed them on the edge of the crowd, standing empty-handed. He came over and gave them his candy.
What a picture. That young man loved and served my girls, without regard for his own desires (I’m sure he liked candy, too). And what was in it for him was the furthest thing from his mind. That’s what I want to teach my kids. That’s what I want to live.
And yes, after I figured out who he was, I told his mom the story.
79