I couldn't help it. I went out to Atlantic beach with my parents tonight to enjoy some fireworks, and it hit me. A distant memory flashed before me as if it just happened yesterday. Confession time: I was a strange child. I guess being the middle child of five requires you to go to extreme measures to stand out. To be unique. To get the attention every child (ahem, every person) likes and requires to feel significant. All that to say this: as one of my childhood quirks, I was scared of fireworks. That's right. As everyone else was enjoying the first-hand sights, I was overly fearful of the sound of fireworks. As a result, I'd go into my aunt's living room and shove pillows into my ears until the madness was over. I don't know when or how I eventually overcame this strange fear of mine, but tonight, as I sat on the beach with my parents, I realized how very glad I am that I no longer fear fireworks. Rather, I can now enjoy them as the sign of freedom that they are. You know what? I'm gonna go here with that thought: aren't our spiritual lives the same way, sometimes? We see others enjoying the freedom that Christ came, died, and rose again to give us, yet the silly ( yet oh-so-real) fears in our hearts, minds, and lives require us to bypass the firework moments of life, shove spiritual pillows in our ears, and miss the celebration altogether. Whatever fear you're facing tonight, let go of your comfort pillows and join the family in celebrating the freedom and victory Christ died to give you. Your fireworks are waiting.
When I was younger, my siblings and I very quickly learned which errands to go on with my mom and which errands to run far away from. The one errand in particular I want to share with you this morning is when my mom would go up to the bank. Now, I don’t believe this bank is in business any longer; but back in the 90s, my mom would go to the drive-through teller at Barnett Bank. Whenever you went to the drive-up teller at Barnett Bank, they would give out lollipops to the kids in the car, which is probably while they’re no longer in business today because the Hill kids depleted them of their lollipops back in the 1990s. But seriously, mom would pack all of us in the car, she’d talk with the bank teller, she’d get her envelope full of money, and they’d ask how many kids were in the car… she’d say 5. They’d say “send back some of the money to cover the cost of all those lollipops, lady.” No just kidding. But on those bank errands, everything was fine. Things went surpri...
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