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by James Collins

“The rich and poor meet together: the Lord is the maker of them all.” Proverbs 22:2

“Collins,” the old sergeant snorted. “Putting you in that fancy dress uniform is like putting perfume on a pig.” The old sergeant was Sgt. 1st Class Luster, my platoon sergeant. Behind his back, we called him, Luster the heart-buster, because he ran us ten miles a day. He had served multiple tours in Vietnam. He was a hard man, but he knew his stuff. That was why I asked him to inspect my dress uniform. I had to look my best.  

The year was 1992. I was a young enlisted soldier in the U.S. Army. Somehow, I had been chosen to have dinner with the President of the United States, George H.W. Bush. To this day, I still don’t know how I was chosen. Maybe it was White House charity. Maybe some politician said, “I’ve got an idea that will make us look good with the common folk. Let’s find the dumbest redneck in the armed forces and send him to an official state dinner.” It must have been something like that because I knew I didn’t belong there from the moment I entered. 

The place was full of big-shots – corporate presidents, heads of state, politicians who hadn’t been caught yet, and Hollywood celebrities. Sylvester Stallone walked past me with a famous swim-suit model clinging to his arm. Tom Brokaw stood behind me in the entrance line.  

We were ushered past a reception area. President Bush grabbed my hand and gave me a firm handshake. A photographer snapped our picture – a photograph which still hangs in my office today. 

 A man in a tuxedo escorted me to my table. I was seated across from President Bush next to a man from Boston. I think he owned Massachusetts or something. He had more money than the Kennedys. 

“What’s your racket, young man?” he asked striking up a conversation with me.  

“I’m an artist.” I could tell my answer surprised him.  

“What kind of artist?”  

“I’m a painter. I paint men and women.”  

“Is your work well known?” 

“Yes, it is in some of the most respected places,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. I painted “MEN” and “WOMEN” on the bathroom doors at Fort Knox.  

When it was time to eat, I panicked. There were four forks. I didn’t know which one to use. So, I watched George H.W. and the rich guy next to me. I just used whatever fork they used. The meal was elegant – seven courses. If I had to pay for it, I am sure it would have cost my mortgage.  

All evening long, even in my Luster the heart-buster inspected uniform, I felt out of place. If you put perfume on a pig, the pig still stinks. I was just a penniless boy from the country. I was worried one of those elegant sophisticates would discover an imposter was among their midst. I didn’t belong. We had nothing in common. 

Yet, when President Bush died in November of 2018, I realized we did in fact have something in common – the Lord is our Maker. Both millionaire Bush and minimum-wager Collins have the same Creator. The Lord is the maker of us all.  

The point is: God has given life to both the rich and the poor. No matter where you fall on the income scale, you owe your existence to God Almighty.  

Since He has given life to you, wouldn’t it be wise to live for Him?  

It makes more sense than putting perfume on a pig. 

James Collins

James Collins is pastor, columnist, and author. You can write to him by email at james@thepointis.net.

Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening Devotionals Podcast – Listen live at 6am Pacific and 6pm Pacific. Visit http://anchor.fm/russell-sherrard any other time to listen to all of our episodes. Now on EDIFI.APP. Download from GooglePlay or AppleStore and start listening.

This site contains Third Party Advertising, using online behavioral tracking technology. Some of the links in the post above are affiliate links. This means if you click on the link and purchase the item, we will receive an affiliate commission. Regardless, we only recommend products or services we believe will add value to our readers.

Send to Kindle

by James Collins

“Do all things without murmurings and disputings: That ye may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke, in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world.” Philippians 2:14-15

Uncle Elmer lay in a bed in a darkened hospital room. He was attached to a maze of tubes, wires, and machines. Near the end of his life, he struggled for consciousness one last time. Next to him was my Aunt Maimy, his wife of 55 years. Elmer reached for the hand of the person he had known for more than five decades of marriage. 

“Maimy, is that you?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she said. “I’m here.” 

“Maimy, you have been with me for 55 years of marriage.” 

“Yes, I have been with you.” 

“I remember in our first year of marriage when a fire destroyed everything we owned, you were there with me.” 

“Yes, I was with you.” 

“I remember when I lost my job and was unemployed for over a year, and you were beside me.” 

“Yes, I was with you.” 

“And several years ago, after my first stroke, you were with me then.” 

“Yes, I was with you then.” 

“Now, in these final months, as I lay dying in this hospital bed, you’re with me again.” 

“Yes, dear, I am with you.” 

Uncle Elmer paused for a moment and said, “Maimy, you’re nothing but bad luck.” 

Do you know someone like that? Do you know someone who finds something to complain about no matter how good things are going? 

There is a woman in our church, Lois Steam, who complains about everything. “I don’t know how anybody can praise Jesus in this icebox,” she said two weeks ago. “What is this, a church or a walk-in freezer?” The following Sunday she quipped, “It’s so hot in here that you could poach eggs in the baptistry.” 

Lois would complain if her ice-cream was cold.  

“You shouldn’t talk so loud when you preach. I’m not deaf,” Lois said a while back. When I toned it down she yelled, “Speak up! You, soft-spoken nitwit!” 

I was tempted to rebaptize her and hold her under for a while. 

“We need more young people around here,” Lois said when I first came to the church. “Why are all these kids running in the halls? Why do we have all these kids in in here?” she said last week. 

Lois makes me want to fire the church and form a congregation search committee. 

The point is: Complainers can drain the joy not only out of their own lives, but also out of the lives of everybody around them. Clearly, complaining is no laughing matter to God. God hates complaining. The Bible says to do everything without murmurings and disputings. In other words, stop complaining! 

The next time you feel like complaining, resist the urge and look for a way to pay a compliment. Who knows, if you do that enough, you may be cured of your complaining? 

James Collins

James Collins is pastor, columnist, and author. You can write to him by email at james@thepointis.net.

Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening Devotionals Podcast – Listen live at 6am Pacific and 6pm Pacific. Visit http://anchor.fm/russell-sherrard any other time to listen to all of our episodes. Now on EDIFI.APP. Download from GooglePlay or AppleStore and start listening.

This site contains Third Party Advertising, using online behavioral tracking technology. Some of the links in the post above are affiliate links. This means if you click on the link and purchase the item, we will receive an affiliate commission. Regardless, we only recommend products or services we believe will add value to our readers.