Have you ever had one of those weeks where everything went exactly as planned? Well, neither have I, except for last week. I do not know what was going on last week, all I know is everything went according to plan. My plan, that is. I was on a roll.
In a sense, that worries me. I am not accustomed to having my week work out according to my plans. Normally, if I can get 50 percent of my plans accomplished in a week, I am doing pretty good. Last week was one of those weeks, which may never repeat itself ever again, I am sorry to say. Or, am I sorry?
In contrast, the week before it was horrendous.
I was out of town on business for the week and had to return via the airplane. If you have ever been on an airplane, you know that the 10 dwarfs of Snow White fame designed the seats. I think the one in charge of the seat project was Grumpy.
I was flying from Chicago to Orlando, which is not that bad of a trip. I boarded the plane in Chicago and took my seat at B3. I got all snuggled and strapped in and was prepared for the trip. No sooner had I gotten into this state of affairs, and you know getting into those seats is one of the great challenges that a real man has, somebody came and stood at the aisle looking at me and said in a high pitch grumpy voice, “You are sitting in my seat.”
The emphasis on the word “my,” indicated to me I was up against someone that I did not want to be up against.
“I’m sorry, madam,” I stated as calmly as possible, “but this is my seat.” I tried to emphasize the word “my” to get the message across.
She stared at me with one of those stares that penetrates the very soul of a person’s manhood. Then she waved her ticket at me and said, “You are sitting in my seat.”
I took out my ticket to wave at her and prove she was wrong. Much to my chagrin, my seat was B13. Do you know what it takes to get unbuckled from a plane seat and extradite yourself out of it? Especially when Ms. Grumpy is staring at you with one of those stares.
I went back to B13 and went through the same procedure to get myself situated in the seat for someone half my size. Just before the plane took off, I heard in the seat behind me a little baby start to cry.
“Oh, no,” I said to myself, “not a crying baby.” Sure enough, in the seat behind me was a baby with lungs the size of an elephant. I tried pretending I did not hear, but the more I pretended the more I heard. That baby cried from the moment we took off until the moment we landed. When we landed, the baby fell asleep. I wanted to cry myself.
That was last week. This week was different in every respect. I enjoyed this week, particularly the fact that I got all my “to-do-list” accomplished and by early Friday afternoon, I had nothing to do.
Nothing to do.
Then a thought wrestled my brain to the mat. What if the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage found out I had finished all my work and had nothing to do?
When I thought about this, one thought that was predominant was that it is a good thing when I do not finish everything in a week. Then, I have the excuse that I have too much to do to delve into the “honey-do-list” of which my wife is most famous.
I believe this “honey-do-list” is something mothers pass on to their daughters. It is part of the women’s secret society that does not permit any intrusion from the non-female counterpart. It is the reason wives prefer their husbands call them the secret name, “Honey.” Whenever the husband uses this term of endearment the wife smiles one of those romantic smiles that her husband has no idea what is behind that smile.
It has taken me a long time to come to this point of understanding. While, it is very gratifying to get your work for the week done ahead of schedule, it creates an opportunity for the intrusion of that infamous “honey-do-list.” This list has no end to it.
When you accomplish one item on the “honey-do-list,” three other items appear automatically. It is virtually impossible to finish everything on that list. It is part of the wife’s secret society no man can penetrate.
Being on such a good roll in any given week is not the grand thing I thought it was. I am now content to have my desk piled high with unfinished work at the end of each week.
Since I had a little bit of time on my hands, I read what good old King Solomon, the wisest man that ever lived, thought along these lines. “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.” (Ecclesiastes 9:10).
If I do not use my time to the best of my ability, the probabilities are pretty high somebody will intrude and use that time for some other use.
Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, P.O. Box 831313, Ocala, FL 34483. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 1-866-552-2543 or e-mail email@example.com. His website is www.jamessnyderministries.com.